"And another box gone," Jack muttered to himself, putting the heavy box aside. "Only what, a billion more boxes to go?" The silent storage unit didn't respond, but Jack nonetheless felt like the sweltering box was mocking him. It was in the mid 80s outside, a lovely summer day. But inside this metal hell the temperature was hovering in the high 90s. Jacks' shirt was plastered to his sweaty body, and his jeans felt like a swamp inside. "Thanks again, Uncle Al."
Uncle Al was actually his great-uncle Albert. No matter how much he wanted to, Jack really couldn't be mad at the old coot. He had been more like a grandfather to Jack during his life, and had even helped him six months ago when Jack moved to New York against his parent's wishes. Even though he was nearing a hundred, his death had surprised everyone. More surprising than that was the will that left his worldly possessions to Jack, bypassing several other members of the family and ruffling a few feathers in the process.
Everyone knew that Albert was a packrat, and had been for his whole life. Not like one of those horrible hoarders like that TV show, he wasn't collecting 20 tons of newspapers or anything. But his house was always cluttered with knick-knacks and tchotckes from all over the place. It had taken Jack the better part of a month to go through it all and get Al's place ready for sale. It was only after the closing that he received the bill from the storage company about Uncle Al's storage locker. And that's how Jack found himself sweating to death in a metal box looking through dozens of smaller boxes sorting through crap.
"Alright..." Jack said to himself as he lugged another box down. He had three piles: junk, keep, and sell. Right now almost everything was landing in the junk pile, which he had conveniently put inside a nearby dumpster. All Jack had kept so far was a box of old beer glasses, a cool art-deco picture frame, and a box of old Playboys that he thought he might be able to sell himself. Everything else was going straight in the dumpster: old National Geographics, text books, old buttons, boxes of other people's business cards... Yeah, maybe Uncle Al was one of the hoarders.
Jack opened the box, finding various old pots and pans. He dug to the bottom and found something wrapped in a bright cloth. Working at the bundle, Jack laughed when he found a dingy brass oil lamp. He tossed it with the other pots and was about to toss it into the dumpster when he noticed some smudged writing on the side of the lamp. He pulled it out and tossed the rest in with the trash, heading back into the storage locker to take a better look under the lockers' bare light bulb. Under the light he could see that there was definitely writing, a faint inscription that he could barely see. Taking his sweaty tee shirt he wiped the area vigorously, hoping to get the grime off. Suddenly the lamp seemed to throb and vibrate in his hands, a purple mist beginning to leak out of the lamp's spout. Jack dropped it in surprise, which only deepened as the mist formed a thick column of smoke in the dim locker.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me..." Jack said to no one in particular as the smoke began to take shape in front him, solidifying into the shape of a person. The body seemed to form first, spinning out of nothing until there was a short young woman standing in front of him, her long dark hair floating around her. A beautiful young woman with shocking violet eyes, Jack was stunned to realize. A naked beautiful young woman. Her body was pure perfection: lightly tanned skin without a tan line in sight, perfect teardrop breasts that defied gravity despite their size, a narrow waist that swelled into delightfully curvy hips and lovely supple thighs. Her pussy was covered with a thin smattering of soft dark hair, her lips barely visible through her bush. But just as soon as she had formed, her clothing formed around her, the smoke swirling about her to take the form of silky coverings and sashes, leaving her tummy and arms bare. Jack stood before her, dumbfounded, and the lamp fell from his limp fingers with a metallic clatter.
"Master," she said, bowing deeply. "I am the djinni of the lamp, and I exist to serve you. I am to grant you-"
"What?" Jack asked, interrupting her.
"I... I am the djinni of the lamp, and I exist to serve you. I am to –"
"You're a genie? You're a genie."
"I am the djinni of the lamp, and I exist to serve you, yes," the woman repeated, clearly thrown off by Jack's repeated interruptions. Jack stepped forward and touched her on the arm, cautiously, as if he expected her to burn him. When she didn't, he touched her again, gripping her arm, feeling it's soft solidity. He pinched her. "Ow! Master, is something wrong?"
"Uh, I'm not sure," Jack said. He was still covered in sweat, but he suddenly felt the cold sweat of terror. "You're real."
"Yes, yes I am real," the genie replied, starting to get a little exasperated. Jack took a step back, then dashed to the storage unit door and shut it, hiding the genie from the rest of the world.
"Okay, what is this? Is this some sort of prank? Where did you come from?" Jack said, stalking up to the woman. I'm not calling her a genie, not even in my head, Jack thought to himself. "Genie's aren't real, so you aren't a genie. So what? Answer me!"
"I am a djinni. I belong to the third caste of Oridonno, of the house Allajjadiene. I have served 33 masters in my time. I have the power to grant you three wishes, to make your desires manifest, to give you whatever you want. Why do you doubt me? Surely you have heard the tales of the djinn."
"Yeah, tales. Stories. Fucking Aladdin. Everyone has. Children's stories. I don't want to blow your mind, but I don't believe in Hansel and Gretl either, honey."
"Then believe your own eyes, Master," the genie said, taking a step closer. Jack couldn't help but notice her tiny adorable feet as she did, adorned with a few jeweled toe rings. "Did you not see me emerge from the lamp? Please Master, I am not here to deceive you, only to serve," she finished, bowing again at the hips.
"Alright, fine!" Jack said, exasperated himself now. "I wish this storage locker was cleared of all this crap!" he said, waving his hands around, indicating the hundreds of boxes.
"Your wish is my command," she said solemnly as a wind started to whip through the storage locker. Jack froze as the wind whipped through the boxes, lifting them up and blasting them out the door and into the dumpster. Occasionally a little bauble or knick-knack would fall out onto his "keep it" pile, but within 20 seconds the entire locker was empty and the dumpster was groaning under a pile of junk.
Jack was dumbfounded. She's real, Jack thought. She's a genie. She's a real genie. Jack couldn't quite wrap his brain around it. He went to check the "keep it" pile, and found a gold watch, some jewelry, a box of financial documents. Looking closer, Jack could see that they were stock and bond certificates. She certainly kept the valuable stuff, Jack thought as he flipped through the items.
"Okay... Okay," Jack said as he stood, a plan beginning to form in his head. "Okay. Okay! Alright, we're done here, so... I guess we can go," Jack said quickly as he gathered up his few finds from Uncle Al's stuff, making sure to grab the lamp. "So let's go... It's not that long a ride back to my place." Jack opened the storage locker door before he realized what he was doing. "Wait a second, you can't go out like that."
"Like what?" the genie asked, her hands on her hips.
"Dressed like that. You'll stick out like a sore thumb. You've got to put on something more fitting to the times..." Jack paused for a moment. How do you describe fashion to an omnipotent being? Is she an omnipotent being? Jack shook his head; there would be enough time for questions later.
"I could copy your clothing," the genie said, and almost before the words had left her mouth, her clothing began to disappear into swirling smoke, again exposing her amazing body to his eyes. As the smoke reformed, the genie was wearing an exact copy of Jack's clothing, right down to the sweaty tee shirt. Although it did look much better on her, accentuating her breasts and stiff nipples.
"No, no that won't work. I mean you might blend in, but then we'd be attracting stares. Here," Jack said, putting down the box of Playboys and flipping through them. "Here, here. Look, copy this outfit," he said, pointing to an ad. The magazine might be from the 60s, but at least she would be wearing women's clothes. And it would give him another chance to see her naked body as she changed. She really was exquisite.
"Is this acceptable, Master?" she asked, indicating her clothing. The jeans were tight and high-wasted, but Jack thought it made her hips and ass look fantastic. The top was a sort of flouncy blouse, and it didn't do much to hide the lovely shape of her breasts. He noticed her feet were still bare.
"It's fine. Just copy my shoes and we'll get going," he said as they exited the storage locker and locked it up. He handed her the lamp as he hefted his boxes and they headed down the windowless hallway to the elevator. Entering the elevator he punched the button for the lobby, the doors closing behind them. The genie got a confused look on her face, looking around the small room. When the doors opened again on the ground floor, she gasped.
"You did not tell me you were a sorcerer!" she gasped, attracting a confused look from an old lady as they exited the elevator.
"What are you talking about?" Jack asked, mystified. He glanced back at the elevator and figured it out. "How long..." he began before lowering his voice to a whisper, "when was the last time you were out of that lamp?"
"During the reign of Alashkaban the Merciful."
"Who?" Jack decided to try again. "What year was it? Had Rome fallen yet? What year was it on the Christian calendar?" Jack had studied history in college, and was curious what era she came from.
