“Don’t get me wrong. It’s a seriously good dream and I’ll definitely be sad when I wake up because you’re smoking hot,” she continues, leaving me confused as to why my temperature will be something she will pine for.

  “I do not understand. Why do you consider me to be hot?”

  “Oh, you’re one of those guys,” she snorts. “You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You’ve got that whole huge muscles, square jaw, eyes that stare into my soul thing going on. You’re hot as hell.”

  “Hot means handsome. Is that correct?” I ask, marveling at how humans change their language throughout time.

  “Yeah, and don’t act like you don’t know it. You’re shirtless for fuck’s sake. You’ve got to be pretty confident to be flying around in just a skimpy little satin belt,” she says, and a roar of laughter launches out of me.

  “I can manifest in any form. I am glad the one I have chosen pleases you,” I say, folding my arms over my chest and shamelessly making my muscles swell.

  “Props to you. If I could manifest in any form, I’d choose to be really hot too.”

  “You are already perfect,” I say, but instead of appreciating the compliment, she just groans.

  “Ugh, of course a hot guy in my dream would tell me I’m perfect,” she says, flopping backward onto the huge pile of burgers. “And now I’m horny, but you don’t have a dick, so it’s not like I can even get laid in my dream.”

  I am about to correct her yet again, that this is not a dream when suddenly she sits bolt upright, her soft waves bouncing around her shoulders.

  “I know what I want for my second wish. I want a vibrator. The combo of whisky and your body has given a girl some serious need, so I may as well have a dream where I cum,” she says, and I choke on air.

  “Bethany, please do not wish for this. Wait until you are sober. This desire isn’t -“

  “A big enough wish. I know. So, I don’t just wish for one vibrator, I wish for sex toys everywhere. Make my whole apartment sexy!” she giggles, and I grunt as I try to suppress the magic, but it soars out of me unbridled.

  “Holy shit,” she says, looking down at her outfit which has now been replaced with a cornflower lace underwear set that amplifies her voluptuous body.

  “Check me out in my sexy underwear,” she says, hooking her thumb into the top of her garter and letting the elastic snap back against her delectable thigh.

  “I’ve never had nice stuff like this before. I guess we’re both looking pretty hot now. I’m even blue like you,” she giggles, and despite how ridiculous her second wish was, I cannot say I regret the sight of her sitting before me with her flawless body on display.

  “But now that I look so hot, it’s a waste of a dream having to use a sex toy. I want a real man,” she groans, and I feel another searing hot stab of pain.

  A human’s hopes and wishes should not be my concern, but I loathe hearing her desire for a male with such need.

  “But I don’t have much luck with men, I’d probably get stood up even in my dream,” she mutters, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Not like Amy, I bet she’s never been stood up. Every guy in the world wants to date her,” she grumbles, then her hypnotizing eyes flick up to meet mine.

  “Okay Zeno, time to cash in my final wish. I’m tired of being the one nobody chooses. I want to be that girl. I wish that every man on this big green earth wants to date me.”

  “Bethany, no!” I roar, my body shaking as I try with all my might to prevent this cursed wish from coming true. But it is no use. I cannot stop it. Her terrible wish is my reluctant command.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bethany

  My pounding head wakes me like the worst kind of alarm clock, and my mouth is so dry it feels like I ate sand in my sleep.

  Water. Must get water.

  I throw back my quilt and heave myself up onto my elbows, my vision spinning with me as I do.

  “What the hell?” I say out loud when my focus settles, and I stare around my bedroom open-mouthed with confusion.

  At least I think it’s my bedroom. Everything is in the same place, it’s just different. So very different.

  My charming bed, which used to have a dove-gray headboard is now a black wooden four-poster with a leather bondage harness strapped onto each corner.

  My bedding is now red satin, and when I glance up, I get the shock of my life to see my hungover self staring back at me from the full-sized mirror screwed to the ceiling.

  I swing my feet out of bed and get the first good surprise when my feet sink into a soft sheepskin rug. Damn, that feels expensive. Much like the beautiful blue underwear set that I’ve just noticed I’m wearing.

  My lingerie triggers a ghost of a memory from last night and I have a blurred recollection of sitting on the kitchen floor talking to someone. But who could I have been talking to? Nancy? No, that doesn’t feel right. But who?

  I haul my ass out of bed, stumble across my bedroom like a hungover zombie, then pull open the door to find my living room has morphed into some kind of sex lounge.

  My floral couch is now plush purple velvet, my cushions are zebra print, there’s a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and my bookshelf is now overflowing with what looks to be sex toys.

  I walk over to get a better look and my jaw falls slack. This has got to be hundreds, no, thousands of dollars worth of some seriously kinky stuff.

  Vibrators of all shapes and sizes, nipple clamps, love eggs, the works.

  I pick up a smooth pebble-shaped item with a pea-sized hole and it starts sucking in a pulsing motion at the press of a button.

  “Nice, but so not something that should be on display,” I mutter to myself with a shake of my head as I replace it.

  I walk toward my kitchen and the sight of a stray vibrator lying on the floor next to the couch brings back another whisper of a memory, but I don’t bother trying to remember more because the only thing I care about now is getting water.

  I hold my breath as I walk into my kitchen, scared of what I might find, but I’m relieved to find it looks the same. Well, almost, there’s the minor issue of the giant pile of burgers on the floor but I’m sure I’ll be able to find a reasonable explanation for that once I’ve quenched my unbearable thirst.

  I pull open the cabinet to grab a glass and am knocked backward by something warm and soft slapping me in the face, then another, and another.

  I raise my arm to shield myself from the constant assault of what I now realize are flying burgers, and then charge forward to slam the door shut before any more fire out.

  “Now you make sense,” I say to the pile on the floor, before realizing that it actually makes even less sense.

  How are burgers flying out of my cabinet like bats from a cave? It’s a mystery, but I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it all out once I’ve had a drink.

  I pull open my refrigerator, push aside the jar of chocolate body paint, which I definitely didn’t buy at my last grocery shop, and grab myself a can of soda.

  I gulp it down, my dehydrated body gratefully welcoming a liquid that doesn’t have 40% alcohol proof, and then release a satisfied sigh. Thirst quenched, I should now be able to figure out exactly what is going on with my life.

  I look at the pile of burgers, still at a loss, then I spot the lamp lying on the floor and my memory comes flooding back in a powerful rush.

  The bush, the lamp, the sexy-as-sin blue genie. But that was all a dream, wasn’t it? Am I still dreaming?

  I pinch myself. It hurts. I pinch myself harder. It hurts even more, but other than that, nothing else happens.

  I think I might need to accept this is real life.

  I crouch down, feeling embarrassed about what I’m about to do even though I’m alone because it’s just so ridiculous.

  Oh well. Here goes nothing. I rub the lamp, and the ruby gemstones immediately start to shimmer and the lamp glows bright gold.

  It shakes uncontrollably, and then, in a puff of blue smoke the hot blue genie is back in my kitchen, and he’s even more gorgeous than my hungover brain remembered.

  His shoulders are broad, his arms are cut with muscles, and his black hair is so shiny he should be in shampoo commercials. His look is so striking, and there’s something about his blue skin that makes my stomach flutter.

  “You’re Zeno, right?” I ask as I rise from the floor, and he releases a rich chuckle that makes my skin prickle.

  “Yes, Bethany. You sound uncertain. Are you still dubious of my existence?”

  “No, I believe you’re real now,” I say, running my hand back through my hair. “It’s just a lot to process. Finding a genie and being granted wishes isn’t exactly something that happens a lot.”

  “On the contrary, Bethany. I have been granting wishes for seventy-two millennia. This is most certainly something that happens a lot for me,” he says, arching one of his thick black eyebrows and offering me a wry smile. “The only difference here is that you are my first owner to doubt me.”

  “I’m not your owner. That makes you sound like a dog or something. I just found your lamp, that’s all.”

  He chuckles again, his dark eyes shimmering with amusement and two gorgeous dimples softening his chiseled face.

  “I simply mean, Bethany, that most humans become rapacious when offered three wishes. You however became…”

  He pauses and strokes his hand down his beard as he considers the correct wording, then finally settles on, “like a calamitous whirlwind.”

  An ugly laugh barks out of me. I wasn’t expecting that description, but from the flashbacks of me sitting on the kitchen floor stuffing my face while defying his sensible suggestions, I have to admit he’s right.

  “So, how do we go about undoing all my stupid wishes?” I ask, but I can tell from the way his dark eyebrows knit together that I’m not going to like the answer.

  “Your wishes have been granted to your command. It is not within my power to revoke them,” he says, folding his thick arms over his chest.

  “But I was drunk. Surely there are rules about that?” I argue, hoping that there is some kind of get-out clause in the genie instruction manual.

  “The Romans believed wine to be a daily necessity, and the ancient Egyptians supped on fermented pomegranate. Most of my previous owners have been inebriated.”

  “Surely some of them made dumb wishes too. Come on, what kind of stuff did they wish for?” I demand, putting my hand on my hip and jutting out my jaw petulantly. There’s no way I can be the only drunk person in history to have messed up their wishes.

  “All manner of things. Pyramids, colosseums, roads. Cleopatra requested baths filled with milk. Maybe this was the most wasteful of previous wishes?” he says, smoothing his hand down his beard.

  “Uggh. Milk baths weren’t wasteful, they were iconic,” I groan, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “So other people wished for wonders of the world and crucial infrastructure that advanced mankind, and I‘ve got dildos, burgers, and…wait, what even was my final wish?”

  “Do you sincerely not remember?”

  “No. Do I even want to know?” I groan, looking around the kitchen nervously to see if there are any signs of my final disastrous wish.

  Zeno’s nostrils flare and a flash of anger crosses his face. Shit. How bad was this final wish?

  “Your final wish was to be irresistible to all men,” he says in a low and thunderous growl.

  “Really?” I ask, my mood suddenly lifting as I imagine all the possibilities this final wish opens up for me. “That one doesn’t sound bad at all.”

  “I am happy to have pleased you,” he says, but the words come out flat and cold, and his shimmering blue skin darkens like a stormy sea.

  “You don’t look pleased,” I say, teasing him a little, and I can’t help but notice his jaw tick. “Something about that wish you don’t like?”

  “It is not for me to judge or hold opinions on your wishes. I am here to serve, and your wish is my command.”

  “You just love your cliches, don’t you? Anyway, I better get ready for work. Make yourself at home while I’m out,” I say, then realize how weird the idea of leaving a total stranger in my apartment is. What if I come back and find the place ransacked?

  Although realistically, that doesn’t seem likely. I can’t imagine he’s got much use for a clit sucker, and aside from burgers and sex toys, my apartment hasn’t got much else to offer.

  “Farewell, Whirlwind. Try not to cause any more calamity,” he says with a smirk, before retreating into his lamp.

  A flutter of excitement flurries through me. There’s something about the way he talks that makes my insides dance.

  I head back through my pornographic living room and through to my bathroom, jumping as I flick on the light.

  There are mirrors everywhere. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Every tile in the bathroom is reflecting my image.

  I strip out of my underwear, giving myself a multi-angle peep show as I do, then step into the shower and attempt to wash away the sins from one single hour of drinking with Nancy.

  I grab my shower gel and lather it on, and soon my nipples and clit are tingling with urgent desire. What the hell?

  I snatch up the bottle and realize that my usual coconut body wash has been replaced with some kind of kinky sex gel that’s making me unbearably horny. Could be worse, I guess.

  I pull the shower head off the hook, turn the pressure on high, then nestle it between my legs and am soon cumming hard with the image of Zeno’s body invading my lust-filled mind.

  I climb out of the shower, the orgasm leaving me much more invigorated than any coconut body wash could, and then wrap a towel around myself.

  I head into my bedroom with a spring in my step to get dressed for work, but when I pull open my closet my heart stops for five beats, then goes into overdrive.

  “Zeno!” I shout out, snatching a couple of hangers from my closet and racing back into the kitchen.

  His lamp is still on the floor and my hands are full, so I give it a few awkward rubs with the soul of my foot, and he reappears before me, a vision of blue muscular perfection which almost quells my anger, but not quite.

  “Couldn’t you have left me with at least some normal clothes?” I fume, holding up a Playboy bunny corset and a slutty French maid costume.

  “You commanded for everything to be sexy. This is your wish fulfilled,” he says, his mouth tugging upward and amusement glittering in his dark eyes.

  “I clearly didn’t mean my work clothes. What the hell am I going to wear?” I ask, with a petulant stomp of my foot that makes his smile blow out into a huge grin.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I huff, trying to stay annoyed but his smile is so infectious it makes me giggle out my words.

  “You are extremely entertaining,” he says in a low growl that makes heat pool in my stomach.

  “At least help me figure out what to wear. I can hardly call in sick because my clothes are too sexy,” I scoff, as I march past him toward my bedroom.

  “Your wish is my -”

  “Cut it with the whole your wish is my command bull,” I say, spinning around and pointing a finger at him. “This isn’t a wish. You let me screw those up. This is a demand.”

  “As you demand, Whirlwind,” he grins, folding forward in a mock bow, then following me through to my bedroom and waiting patiently behind me as I rifle through my closet.

  For a moment, I think I’ve found something wearable when I pull out a pair of leather pants until I realize they're crotchless.

  “Ugh, there’s literally nothing,” I moan with frustration, knowing there’s no way I can skip work today when everyone saw Nancy drag me out of the office and into a bar.

  “I’ll have to pick up something new on the way in. Which outfit do you think is the least embarrassing?”

  “Have you considered wearing attire that includes a mask so nobody will know your true identity?”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I muse, pulling out a black latex catsuit complete with a mask, pointy ears, and platform shoes. “How about this?”

  He nods slowly and his eyes darken as he growls, “Yes, Whirlwind. This is what you should wear.”

  My pulse quickens from his heated stare, but I shake the thought out of my head. There’s no way he’s excited about the thought of me in a catsuit. Zeno has met Cleopatra, a Queen famed for her beauty. If he was going to fall for anyone, it would have been her, not drunk dildo-girl.

  “Time to try this bad boy on,” I sigh, hoping that his magic at least got my dress size right.

  “Do you mind turning around so I can get changed, please?” I ask, and he raises an eyebrow.

  “All you intend to do is get dressed and you are suddenly feeling shy?” he says with a smirk before swirling around, and I feel my stomach lurch. It’s pretty obvious that something else happened last night that I’m not going to like hearing.

  I try desperately to claw back some more memories as I grab a fresh pair of sexy lace underwear and slip them on.

  I remember being on the kitchen floor, then suddenly I was in the blue underwear, then…

  My heart starts to pound in my ears as flashbacks come at me in quick succession. I told him I was horny, then I told him it was a waste looking this good all alone.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, my hand flying up to slap over my open mouth. “Did I bring a guy back?”

  “No,” he booms, his blue skin darkening like a rain cloud. “But you wanted to, so I locked your front door.”

  “You locked me in my own apartment? Is that legal? Isn’t that like kidnapping or something?” I ask as I shove a foot into the catsuit.

  “You were unable to consent, and I prevented you from stepping outside in a world where every man is attracted to you, wearing nothing but your underwear.”

  “When you put it like that I guess I owe you a thank you,” I grunt, as I try to yank the tight material up my shin.

  “In my defense, I didn’t think anything happening last night was real. I wouldn’t normally behave like that,” I say, dropping onto my bed and making heaving sounds as I struggle to pull the catsuit up over my thighs. “But if I didn’t go get a man, what did I do?”

 

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