I pull in and see the internet hasn’t let me down. The store screams hippie vibe. It practically has an aura. I park under limp Spanish Moss, my bright red electric beauty a shining contrast to the rusty pickup near the door.

The entrance is old and wooden, and a tiny bell rings when I open it.

The place reeks of of groovy and far-out. I’ll definitely find something here to horrify Kendall.

It seems like no one is around, though. Display tables with incense and rocks mix in with racks that have flowing natural-fibre scarves and crap. There’s some scent wafting through the air. I’m sure it’s anti-war something. There’s a counter with an old-fashioned cash register. Behind that is a door with a beaded curtain.

Oh, Kindall is gonna hate this. I didn’t know how I’d top last years Sesame Street themed party. I think I’ve just done that.

I’m even more sure when the beaded curtain clatters and she steps into the room.

“Hello!” she says sweetly. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

“I’m just browsing,” I reply, smiling at her.

“Well, welcome to Earthly Hexations. If you have any questions, I’ll be around.”

Poor dumpy thing. A foot shorter than me, and I’m not that tall. Worse, she’s fat.

“Plump,” I’m sure she’d say.

“Ozempic material,” we call them at the clinic.

I wander, making a mental list of the things that will go into decorating for the party. I see a variey of incense holders, genuine woo-woo natural hand-carved bullshit. Lots of sandalwood. “Utopian Dreams” — that’s a scent? “Purify the air,” some say. Increase psychic powers. Enhance witchcraft. Sexual release. Ease fear and anxiety. Aid fertility — male and female.

The scent in the air is nice, actually. I’m starting to … dig it.

I giggle at my own joke. I’m a clever guy.

I find some Buddhas, jade and bronze and wood. Some Indian-looking gods or whatever.

Kendall loves telling her girlfriends about my tacky parties. Last summer we were on a boat off Amalfi, she was tipsy on wine and gushing over a goth night I arranged, with actors playing vampires. I remember she watched as her best friend blew me on that trip.

A fine reward. Maybe this time I’ll get the pussy.

“Here’s a basket,” she says, suddenly by my side. It’s wicker — of course — and lined with a cloth covered in stars and moons. How groovy.

I smile down at her.

“You’re so kind,” I say.

You have to keep the plebes happy.

“Oh, thank you,” she gushes a little, looking up at me with blue eyes.

For a moment, I’m caught. Blue eyes are beautiful. Her’s are spectacular.

If only they were in a different face, one that didn’t have that sickly Southern drawl. Probaby some SJW liberal type. With a cat.

She walks back to the counter. From this angle I can see the cash register really is old — it has manual keys. I hope they have tap-to-pay.

I add a few things to the basket. I have a few incense holders to place around the suite. Some “Magic Candles” to add mood lighting. I’ve chosen sandalwood and ginseng sticks to go in them. I don’t know what they’re supposed to smell like, but they sound flower-power as hell.

There’s a bookshelf. I look at the titles. Manifest and Find Peace and Natural Cures for what ails the world.

One stands out.

“You.” Some title.

The cover is a murky, dark, blue-toned picture of a face, barely visible. The mouth is wide open or something, I can’t make it out. I open it.

BDSM stuff, I realize.

I turn the pages.

A man’s face with a ball-gag. A clearer view of the cover image. That stops me for a moment. I get a weird feeling. Kind of a good feeling. Maybe I should find someone to explore this. Kendall is adventurous. She suggested the poly thing we had in San Francisco.

Another page. A man in a rubber-like hoood, kneeling.

Yes, I’m definitely going to have to find some professional to try this out with. I can imagine Kendall, all dressed up and holding a whip.

I get an erection.

“That’s a very good one,” the syrup voice says.

I jerk around. She’s standing right beside me. I feel the blood rush to my face.

“I, um….”

How long have I been standing here?

And the air smells so good. Something familiar, relaxing.

She takes my basket, rummages around in it.

“Let’s go to the register,” she says.

I just follow. I’m not done shopping yet, but I follow her to the register.

She lifts the items out of the basket and places them around the counter. Holds her hands up in a kind of confused shrug.

“There’s no theme here,” she says.

“Theme?” I’m feeling a little dazed

“You’re throwing a party?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And you want it to be….?”

I find myself fumbling.

“Um, kind of 60s or 70s? Hippys? The war and stuff?”

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment her eyse squint hard, but then they soften.

Actually, her face is pretty. The short red hair … unexpected in a place like this.

I feel something shifting in me.

Does that even make sense?

“You don’t want any of this,” she says. 

Then she sets the book aside.

“Well, maybe this.”

I’m standing there, like a rube.

“Clementine,” she says, looking back up at me.

“What?”

She smiles. It looks oddly enough like a victorious smile. Poor deluded thing.

“My name is Clementine.”

“Kendall,” I say.

“Kendall?”

I shake my head hard.

“No, um, Garrick. Kendall, she’s having a party. No, I’m throwing her a party.”

Words are kind of fumbling out of my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I say, blushing. “I can’t remember-”

“Clementine.”

“Like the orange.”

Another smile. Sweet, but hard.

“Like the French. Merciful. Gentle.”

I don’t know why I can’t understand.

“And anything but.”

The air smells so good and I see the top of her breasts lift slightly. For a moment my mind goes blank. My dick is really, really hard.

Clementine comes around the counter, leans against it.

Dangerously close to me. God, her eyes….

“You are throwing a party for someone named Kendall, and you want to have a 60s vibe.”

“Yes.”

She smiles. Her lips are red. For a hippy, she buys very excellent makeup. Lips like that cost money.

“This isn’t for you,” she says, taking my hand. “Follow me.”

We go through the back doorway. The beads seem to move aside from us. Her hand is warm. Fingers squeeze my palm. I hadn’t really noticed her body much before. Yes, she’s short, larger. But the curve of her hips under that flowing dress is sexy. A little … demanding.

Rock fucking hard. And confused.

It’s a normal stockroom, but she leads me through it and to another room in the back.

It’s like a smaller version of the store outside. A spice rack on the wall has some essential oil bottles, but less than a dozen. There are five or six kinds of incense on the table. Beside them, a lone stick that was lit just minutes earlier, is letting free curling tendrils of smoke. Like the scent out there. Only stronger.

I feel a little dizzy.

I’m in trouble. I think.

“You want to entertain her with our lifestyle,” she whispers up at me.

“I’m not trying to make fun of you,” I whisper back, a little afraid of her.

She laughs.

“Yes you are. But that’s OK. It’s what brought you here.”

She lays her hand on my chest. The hand she used to lead me back here.

It feels warm. I’m warm.

“It’s what you needed.”

I’ve lost the thread. Like cobwebs?

She walks to a table, her hand floating over the few jars on it. Selects one. A small one. Brings it to me.

“Open this,” she says.

I unscrew the metal lid.

Inside is a sachet, a small sachet.

“Breathe it in.”

I hold it to my nose. I inhale. Deeply.

Something in me disappears.

Something else appears.

Something new.

Terrifying.

Joyful.

She takes my hand again and pulls me to the rack of essential oils. Choses one. Opens the top, slides out the glass applicator.

Applies it to her neck.

Steps close to me.

“I think this is what you want,” she says.

She looks me in the eye again.

So beautiful.

“What you really … really … really want.”

The words so slow. Dizzier. I bend down to her neck.

Breathe.

Was that a command or a thought?

As I breathe in the world shifts. The skin just under her ear, the light red tufts of hair, so beautiful. I feel my hips thrusting my hard-on forward. My knees are almost buckling.

So tasty as my lips just graze the skin.

Her scent.

Oh, her scent.

I feel myself bending down, taking her in my arms.

Holding her tight.

Those sweet lips, her tongue so forceful.

She puts her hands on my chest, gently pushes me back. Sets the bottle in the rack.

Irrestible, the label says.

Yes, she is.

For a moment she looks into my eyes. Then she leads me to a sofa. I’m confused about space and time.

She lifts her dress up and over her head.

I stare in wonder. Creamy breasts.

Her panties come off.

So red and silky.

I’m on my knees. Tasting her. Worshipping her.

She puts a foot on my face and pushes me back.

“Give me everything. All of you. Your mind, your heart, your life.”

My nose rests against her ankle. Even her feet make me hard. Head swims.

“Close your eyes,” she commands.

I obey.

Oh shit, obey.

“There’s a door in your mind. A door that leads to a dark room.”

I can see it.

“If you walk through that door, you give up all you ever were.”

Of course I’m going to walk through it.

“You become mine. You serve me.”

I want that so badly.

My mind shifts to the red Tesla in the parking lot. To our home, our third house.

But the door….

“You can walk away now.”

A pause.

“Unfulfilled.”

Another pause.

“Like you lived your whole life.”

She lets me slide my face up her leg a little, stops me when I get to her knee.

“Or you can give yourself up to me.”

Give up to her.

“To your Mistress.”

Oh, Mistress.

The door.

Tesla.

The door.

Kendall.

The door.

Mistress.

I step through.

The taste of her.

As she swallows me whole.

As I fall.

Rising.

Exploding inside of her.

In my mind.

Free.

In chains. Lovely, lovely chains.