Marcus and I had ridden by the shop on our way to the town square in hopes of meeting some girls, neither of us giving it much thought. It had always been there, at least as long as I could remember anyway. How it stayed in business was anyone's guess, what with all the rumors that had circulated about the place. The owner was reputed to be some sort of voodoo priestess or something, but no one really knew for sure. Somehow, while we were striking out at the square, the subject of visiting the shop had come up. I'm sure it was out of desperation on our part. But if the rumors were true then maybe we could get some kind of magic spell, incantation, or potion that would help us score with the chicks. At eighteen and still virgins, we were willing to go to desperate measures to finally get laid, at least that's what we told ourselves as we headed back to the shop. Of course when we got there neither of us wanted to be the first to go inside. Since Marcus had brought up the idea first I figured he should be the one to check things out.
"I double-dog dare ya," I sneered when he balked about going in.
He lowered the kickstand on his bike and stood there looking from the shop then back at me. I knew I was going to have to use my favorite weapon against him if he didn't make up his mind and go inside.
"What's the matter Marcus? Chicken!" I taunted.
He glared at me then said, "Fuck you!"
I made a motion with my head like I was a chicken pecking at the ground.
That did the trick, it always did when I wanted him to do something he really didn't want to. Slowly he walked to the door, glanced back once then went inside. I was actually surprised that he did. I was even more surprised when after only a few minutes he came running out, hopped on his bike and hauled ass away, leaving me more than a little scared. I glanced at the door of the shop expecting some axe-wielding witch to come running out, but nothing happened. Pedaling as fast as I could it still took me until we were a mile away from the place to catch up with Marcus.
"Marcus! Marcus, wait up!" I hollered, finally getting his attention.
He stopped and I pulled up to him. His face was ashen, even after all that effort of pedaling so hard to get away from the shop.
"What happened, you see a ghost or something?" I asked.
He told me everything that happened, from finding a stooped old lady that said she could make him irresistible, to what she wanted in return.
"She wanted what?" I asked, not believing what I was hearing.
"My stuff, man," he replied in a whisper.
"Your stuff?" I asked just for fun.
"Yeah, my stuff, my gunk, my goo, my spooge! My stuff dude!" he answered.
"Oh, that stuff," I laughed.
"Fuck you," he shot back after catching on that I was just making fun of him.
"She was probably just yanking your chain," I told him as we started to ride.
"I don't think so, she seemed really serious about it," he said.
We rode in silence until it was time for me to turn up my street. Before we split up I had to ask him one last question.
"So, do you think she was telling the truth about being able to make you irresistible to girls?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. I'm never going back there to find out," he answered then pedaled on.
I watched his back grow distant then rode home thinking about what had happened. He seemed sure that the old lady had the cure for our lack of appeal to the fairer sex, the only problem was the cost. I was pondering how the old lady planned to extract a sample of sperm from Marcus when I walked in the front door, unaware that my mother was waiting for me in my bedroom. She must have heard the front door close.
"Kenneth Wayne Ferguson, get your ass in here!" she hollered.
Uh oh. It was never a good sign when she called me by my full name. I sauntered down the hall to my room and found her standing in the middle of it, her eyes scanning the mess of dirty clothes scattered everywhere. She saw me come in and turned her gaze in my direction, her green eyes blazing.
"I thought I told you to clean up this pig stye," she barked, sweeping a hand around the room.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll do it right now." I told her.
"Well see that you do," she said, then slipping past me she left.
Twenty minutes later I had the room picked up, sorta. I'd be fine if mom didn't go looking in my closet. As far as relationships with my mother went, with me being an only child we have always been close. When she finally tossed my worthless father out on his ear four years ago our relationship grew even closer. I guess you could say we needed each other. Why she didn't date after her divorce always baffled me. It wasn't like she was too old; she was only thirty-eight, and not too shabby if you asked me. She was slim, and as tall as I was, with long tapered legs and a nice little round rump. Her tits weren't anything to brag about, but from what I could tell they would do nicely in a pinch, not that I'd ever seriously given them much thought. That would just be gross thinking about my mother's tits that way. My Aunt Silvia, mom's older sister, on the other hand I have given a lot of thought to. Her's were nice and big, and when she walked around the house without a bra, something she did a lot, they bounced delightfully under her clothes. I've pounded my pub many a night picturing her tits in my head.
Aunt Silvia had moved in with us nearly two years ago, and although she had taken her second husband to the cleaners in the divorce, she still kept her job as a cashier at the local supermarket. From the very get go she insisted that I call her Silvia, she said the Aunt part made her feel old. If it weren't for her, mom's salary as the town's head librarian would barely make ends meet, something her sister never threw up in her face. I liked that about her. I also liked the way she flirted with me when mom wasn't around. Prancing around without a bra, letting her titties shake knowing full well that I was watching. Even her occasional smooches on the cheek seemed designed to get my motor running. It's fair to say that I had no problem picturing my aunt spread out on my bed waiting anxiously for me to lay the pipe to her. With that thought in mind I locked my door and dropped my pants.
Dinner was a study in overactive teen hormones. Silvia had decided she'd wear her bathrobe, her obviously braless tits flopping teasingly under the thin cotton fabric. Of course I couldn't keep my eyes off them, something I'm sure mom was aware of judging by the looks she kept giving her sister.
"The least you could do is wear a brassiere under there," mom testily told her.
"Oh lighten up Vivian," Silvia said, before adding, "I like it when the girls are free."
To emphasize her point Silvia shimmied her shoulders causing her unencumbered tits to sway back and forth wildly.
"Silvia!" mom yelled, while I just sat there bug-eyed trying not to cream in my jeans.
Silvia chuckled, glanced my way, winked, then said, "Your Mom's no fun."
"I am too," mom said defensively.
Truthfully, I don't remember much after that. My penis had taken over and constantly reminded me to hurry up and eat so I could go to my room and whack myself silly. By the time I called it a night my cock was sore.
The next morning I opened my door to go to the bathroom down the hall but stopped and stared straight ahead. Mom's bedroom is directly across the hall from mine and her door was wide-open. From where I stood I had a sideways view of her bed, but more importantly I had a clear view of mom as she made up her bed. She was dressed in a plain white bra that covered her breasts completely and high-waisted white panties. With her back to me I had time to soak in the sight. It wasn't until this moment that I realized mom actually had a very nice figure. She was long and slender, with a narrow waist and barely-there hips. But what attracted my eyes the most was how her ass jutted out nice and firm. Before she caught me spying on her I closed my door and stayed in my room until I heard her's close.
After relieving my bladder I was tempted to stroke one out, with mom's ass for inspiration, but thought better of it. I buttoned my pajama bottoms and headed to the kitchen.
"Morning sweetie," mom said, looking up from the morning paper.
"Morning Mom," I replied, going over and fixing myself a cup of coffee. We were never big on breakfast.
It was no surprise that mom was dressed in just a slip; she always wore one around the house in the mornings before getting ready for work. It wasn't like I could see anything, she still had on panties and a bra. But this morning I couldn't help taking an occasional glance at her chest, hoping that somehow I'd be able to see something out of the ordinary, perhaps a jiggle or two, or even an accidental nip-slip. Mom caught me staring, blushed a little, but didn't say anything. At least not about my wandering eyes.
"Do you think I'm fun?" she asked, obviously stiff miffed about what her sister had said.
"You really shouldn't worry about what Aunt Silvia says," I told her.
"But am I fun?" she persisted.
