Ross had to wait for the entire street to be empty before he dared enter the storefront he was stood near for a few minutes. He pretended to read the USA Today he'd found near a trash can until everyone's back was turned, and he jumped into the entrance of Mystical Solutions.
As generic a name as any, Ross has received one email too many talking about 'natural enlargement' and 'male enhancement with herbs.' He'd always theorized that if those products worked, they couldn't possibly be kept a secret. The government would probably subsidize it and hand it out with the daily paper like that injection in Equilibrium.
This email was just a little too specific. His spam filter caught it, but not before he saw his home city of Walla Walla listed in the subject line. This may have been unsolicited, but it was also local.
Inside the Mystical Solutions shop were shelves and shelves filled with potions, triangular bottles with corks in the necks, mirrors and polished shields, and jars of eyeballs and shrunken heads that were presumably fake, but who knows? There was a single desk behind which sat a woman of tanned skin and uncertain ethnicity. She wore a wrinkled purple dress, two streaks of yellow paint under her eyes, shells woven into braids in her hair, and her bare feet crossed on the desk. In her hands, rather than a wand... was a Playstation controller. The woman wove with every move of the controller, as if she could control it with the sway of her shoulders. Even that was beyond her magic power.
She cursed in some unknown tongue and slammed the controller to the desk. The controller snapped in two like a stale bread stick. Ross was already intimidated. He'd always wanted to meet a chick who played video games... but he knew he wouldn't know how to handle her.
The woman sneered at her television and the high score she'd missed, and then turned to Ross. Her expression softened at the sight of the customer. Apparently, she wasn't mad about him interrupting her. "Welcome!" She said, speaking with a vague accent. "I am Katrina Turnenkov. I am a witch doctor. How can I heal you?"
Ross couldn't find his voice. Katrina stood and came around the table. Of all the qualities he expected to see from a witch doctor... beauty wasn't one of them. Maybe she was just in training. She couldn't be older than thirty, he thought. Maybe she was the assistant.
"Where did you hear about me? Or did you just walk in for the free air conditioning?" Katrina inquired, stepping closer.
"I got an email." Ross said softly, tugging at the collar of his ironic T-shirt.
"Ohh, you got a small dick, eh?" Katrina said in a half-shout that wasn't necessary. Ross was mortified, even though nobody else was in the shop.
"Maybe this was a mistake." Ross started to back away, towards the door.
"Hang on a second." She pointed her nail-polished finger at him, and then at the broken controller. With an incantation that sounded more like a sneeze rolled into a cough than any actual words, the controller jumped up into the air and assembled itself back into shape. To Ross, it looked like someone had reversed the video footage of her smashing it. On television, he would have sneered at such a cheesy effect. In real life, it was far more impressive.
"Where were we?" Katrina scratched her tangled brown hair. Ross expected a bat to fly out of it without warning. "Oh yes, your tiny dick."
"It's not tiny." He insisted.
"I'll be the judge of that." Katrina summoned a caliper from somewhere, perhaps another dimension, and dropped to her knees. "I need to see the specimen."
Ross unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans and boxers down at the same time. He was hanging free... if you could call it hanging.
"Aw." Katrina said at the sight of it. Ross' cheeks went red. That was the reaction he dreaded the most. Not a woman laughing at it, but sympathy. Pity. A woman so shocked by it's smallness, she wouldn't laugh at it for fear of hurting his feelings. He'd rather be in the range where a woman could feel fine just laughing at it.
"What are we working with here?" Katrina muttered as she lined the calipers up to Ross' penis. She measured from the base to the tip and came up with two and one-half inches.
"That's pretty tiny." She mocked, looking at the calipers up close. She summoned a jeweler's loupe from the dimension she obtained her comedy props, held it in her eye and inspected the unit closer.
"Well, I'm not hard yet." Ross protested, pulling up his pants a bit. Katrina turned in place and looked at him expectantly. Ross took hold of his unit and shook it a bit. There wasn't much material to shake, sadly.
Katrina reached both arms up to the edge of her strapless dress and pulled it down, freeing the large, soft mounds of her breasts. Ross gasped, and he was on his way.
Tucking herself back into her dress, she brought the calipers back up to Ross' now erect penis. "Four." She said shortly. "I'm sure it makes a difference."
"I'm not a virgin." Ross insisted. "I have actually given women orgasms before."
"With that, or your tongue? Because your tongue's bigger, and probably gets more use." She wrote something on a notebook on her desk. "Grower, shower... neither of the above."
"Can you help me, or are you going to just mock me all day?"
"I'm only open till five." Katrina said. "I can help you, but first... I need a sample."
Katrina pulled out the least mystical object in the room, outside of the Playstation: a clear glass petri dish. She set it on the desk and looked up at him.
Ross took in a long breath, took hold of his wang with thumb and forefinger and started to tug it back and forth, pointing it at the petri dish.
"Wow, you're just going for it?" Katrina leaned into her hand, elbow on the desk, watching him jerk off like a cat watching a screen-saver. "No lube or lotion or nothing?"
"Do you have any?"
"I've got hand lotion, but you can't use hand lotion on dicks. It's against the law." She said, still watching with a combination of intensity and apathy.
A little time passed in silence. Ross didn't feel like he was getting anywhere.
"Is it more insulting to say you're bad at this, or that you're really, really good at it?" Katrina piped up.
"I don't normally do this without porn..." Ross confessed.
"Oh, yeah... expert mode." Katrina remarked. "Jeez, don't you have any imagination?"
Ross worked his erection silently, trying to ignore her judging eye. He'd occasionally glance back at Katrina, at the deep fissure of her cleavage, heaving with every disinterested sigh.
"Alright, enough. As you Americans say, let's get this show on the street." Katrina sat up and started belting out intense orgasmic moans with the surprising vocal power of an opera singer. The tiny shop filled with her forced ululations.
"Oh, Ross! You've ruined me for all other men!" She cried, her voice as sincere and rapturously orgasmic as her face was tepid. "Ohhh, Ross! Sex with any other man would be like dropping a jelly bean into a pint glass! Ooohhh! Big doesn't begin to describe you! We need to invent one of those stupid American combo words like 'ginormous!' Ohhh! I'm going to start calling you Tyrannosaurus Ross!"
The moment she finished that sentence. Ross stuttered, lurched forward, leaned on a nearby shelf, and ejaculated into the petri dish. He made what Katrina considered to be an average sized sample, thankfully not getting any on her desk. Whatever the flaws of this little pistol of a penis... aim wasn't one of them.
Katrina took the petri dish gingerly and set it aside. She withdrew a single tissue from a box hidden under her desk, folded it into quarters and gently rubbed it on the underside of Ross' withering erection, picking up a small string of come like an errant booger from a nostril. She folded it again and tossed it off, presumably into a trash can, perhaps into the mouth of a highly trained and undiscriminating monster.
"Alright. I know what we're going to do." Katrina turned around and pulled a cylindrical bottle off the shelf. She pulled the cork out with her teeth and spat it to the desk. The bottle contained a white powder that she poured into her left hand and applied vigorously to Ross' nethers.
"What is this?"
"It's a secret magical ingredient called talc." She applied the powder to his bits and clapped it off her hands. She grabbed a different bottle, performing the same cork trick. This powder was red-orange, with a grain size closer to sand, with little crystals that caught the light like glitter. She poured a mound of it into her left hand.
Katrina applied the powder to Ross' penis and testicles. It stuck to the skin vigorously like a wet dough or mud. She massaged the material into the skin. Ross felt his face redden as he grew aroused again. "Don't worry about that." Katrina assured him. "That's normal."
The door to the shop flew open, the bell ringing and the door slamming into the opposite wall. "Katrina!" Someone shouted.
"I'm with a client." Katrina said, evidently agitated. "Come back next never."
"What's up with my cock?!" Said the customer, a taller man in a suit with short hair slicked back with gel. It looked like he'd come from the office on his lunch break to take up this grievance. It was equally possible he walked off the set of an eighties financial thriller.
"What do you mean, Martin?" Katrina said, never taking much attention away from her massage.
The man, evidently named Martin, stood next to Ross. He reached into his pants and pulled out his cock.
Suddenly, Ross was feeling more confident he'd made the right choice after all. Martin's cock hung long like a store-bought roll of cookie dough, at least a foot long and balls like small avocados. If they put a picture of that in the email, he would have thought the photo had been manipulated.
"What? It's right there." Katrina pointed, disinterested. "This wasn't exactly, how do you
Americans say, Where's Waldorf."
"It won't get hard!" Martin shouted. "I haven't been hard since I got it! What good is a dick that won't get hard?"
