Greetings lit erotics. Loxley here. It's been a while since I've posted anything. That's because I only write when inspired. And guess what? The following story inspired me. I hope you like it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. All characters are 18 or older.
*****
Lester Elderberry was down on his luck. Fired 6 months ago, evicted from his apartment last month, he had been staying at the homeless shelter on the corner of 5
th
and Vine. His time there had run out yesterday, and only the charity of a local church his mother had belonged to had kept him off the streets. They had passed around a hat and given him $300. The pastor had made it clear there would be no more hand outs.
He had a week at a fleabag hotel. Then it looked like the streets would be his new home.
He shook his head as he walked back from yet another failed job interview. How had his luck fallen so low? Once a successful car salesman, he had developed a gambling problem. After his wife had left him, he'd gotten worse. Online gambling was his curse and scourge.
He'd hit his low when he stole money from the detailing fund at the dealership. Now he found himself shuffling from one failed interview to the next, his clothes dirty, stinking of b.o.
Not for the first time, he found himself thinking death would be better than this miserable existence.
As he turned the corner, he almost bumped into a business man wearing a fine grey pinstripe suit. He lowered his eyes, ashamed, and mumbled an apology.
"Lester?" said the gentleman, "Is that you?"
Lester glanced up in shock.
What the hell?
"It's me. Tom Neely!"
Lester gazed fuzzily.
"From the shelter. I left a few days after you arrived."
Lester's eyes widened suddenly as he tried to reconcile this man with the sad sack of a human shit Tom had been.
He squinted. Yes, take away the scraggly beard, the bags under the eyes, the sheen of oil and dirt, and Tom might just be this man. Maybe.
"What the hell, Tom?" he stuttered, "What happened to you?"
Tom smiled fiercely. "You're never going to believe it. I was living at the homeless camp out behind the Wal Mart. You know the woods back there?"
Lester nodded.
"Well a week ago I was squatting there, and a strange woman set up a tent. She started to 'negotiate' with people there," Tom said with a strange grimace, "her word, not mine."
"What the hell, Tom?"
"Okay, okay. I'll get to the point. She invited me in, and we... made an arrangement. I'm not allowed to talk about it, but as you can see, my situation has changed somewhat."
Lester was baffled. What the hell was this chump going on about? Yet, there was no denying the dramatic transformation.
"I'm a stock broker now, Lester. In a few months I'll have enough to put a down payment on a house. I've been thinking about getting on one of those dating aps. Like OK Cupid?"
But Lester wasn't listening. Was this his way out? Was this some kind of magical loophole? The more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. His desperate mind grabbed on with both hands. A way out of his death spiral. A light at the end of this miserable tunnel.
Tom was still rambling on as Lester turned abruptly and began marching off towards the Wal Mart.
"Hey well, guess I'll see you later then," he heard shouted behind.
* * * * *
He made his way rapidly to the camp. He'd heard others at the shelter talk about it. It was a wooded area with some nice flat areas, good tree cover, and pretty good drainage. The cops raided it every so often, but you could get a tent and a sleeping bag from local churches and live pretty good over all, at least for the warm months.
As he clomped across the back parking area, he thought again about his miserable luck. At first, he had been winning nonstop. Sports betting. Vegas style slots and poker. Even Hollywood gossip bets. He was on fire!
Then it all turned. And now his life was shit. Absolute shit. Maybe this could turn it around. He dared, for the first time in months, to feel a glimmer of hope.
As he entered the camp, he felt something weird at once. Something about the way the men in the camp were talking and moving. It was hard to define, but noticeable. It was early spring, so there was a fire, and a dozen or so men were gathered around, passing a box of wine in a circle, drinking straight from the tap.
There was a strange energy to their movements, a loudness to their voices. Almost a mania, thinly masked or subdued. He walked up to the circle, and was promptly offered the wine. He took a deep pull. These men had instinctively identified him as one of their own.
Lester began to share their high energy. They were laughing loudly and telling outrageous stories. He felt his spirits lift even more. There was no question, something strange and magical was happening here!
He was taking his fourth or fifth tug from the box when the men abruptly fell silent. He tipped the wine back down and looked around.
An old woman was approaching from behind him. She looked like she'd walked directly from central casting. "Gypsy hag."
She was old and wrinkled but her hair was dyed a deep flat black. She had a wart on her chin, and grey hair was sprouting from it! She was both ugly and strangely attractive all at once. Something in her dark limned eyes was mysterious and possibly dangerous. He shook his head; no, scratch that. Definitely dangerous.
She looked directly at Lester and said, "I've been expecting you, come with me," and she turned and walked away. The men in the circle were watching him with a strange intensity.
The woman shambled at an excruciatingly slow pace. As he walked behind her, he could hear her grunting with the effort of walking. How old was she?
Finally they came to a largish tent made of patched canvas. Lester ducked his head to enter the gloomy interior, although the shriveled woman did not need to.
When his eyes had finally adjusted to the gloom, he could see that she had seated herself behind an old card table. She was fumbling with a Coleman lantern, working the fuel pump with slow, deliberate movements.
After what seemed like ages, she had the lantern lit and the mantels adjusted. She turned to him and spoke.
"What is it you desire?"
Lester was uncomfortable all of a sudden and he stammered, "I don't know. Some fucking luck I guess."
Suddenly her smile widened and took on a sinister cast. "You shall have your wish, young man." She began to laugh, a low and gravelly sound.
The laughing went on for way too long, and finally Lester dared to interrupt.
"Say, the guy I talked to said there would be some kind of trade? Or perhaps a price?"
Her chuckles increased in volume and she spoke around wheezing laughter. "Oh," she chortled, "you most certainly will pay."
Something about the tone of her voice terrorized him.
He turned to leave, suddenly deathly afraid of the frail old crone. As he left, her laughter grew and she called after him, "Your fucking luck will be amazing now, my young boy!"
He staggered back to the fire, where the men sat waiting in rapt attention.
One stood and spoke. "What did you wish for?"
Still shaken from his frightful encounter he mumbled, "Luck."
The old man nodded. "Most of us did. But what I meant to say is what
exactly
did you wish for? What were your exact words?"
This strange request was enough to focus Lester's mind. "I said... some
fucking