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  • Ali Abel rarely left her home – a tiny wood cottage hidden in the woods outside of Portland, buried in ivy and mud and forest animals. Those who wanted to find it rarely did on their first try, but hikers seemed to always stumble into her gardens, only to get hexed out of her boredom and annoyance. With one bedroom, a miniscule kitchen covered in dried herbs, and a library containing animal skulls, pinned bugs, and various books of the sorcery variety, Ali’s house was what you’d expect of your new-age, recluse witch.

    She couldn’t forget her cat Luna, either. She was very important.

    Ali made her living as an apothecary – a healer and organic pharmacist. She tended to mundies who were usually looking for a bit of something natural to fix colds and erectile dysfunction, and with enough money, she could do something a bit more… magical. In Portland, witches were known to exist – they were a rare and fleeting species in the States, but they were likely the safest they’d ever be here than everywhere else. They were called witches in the States; shamans in Africa and the Caribbean; and persecuted and dead in numerous other communities. Lawmakers didn’t know how to handle them, and the general public oscillated between outright hatred and tepid fear and fetishization.

    To no one’s surprise, there existed a specific category for witch porn online.

    As a result, Ali didn’t really leave her house. Rather, she was content on staying in her little cabin, dressed in an oversized grey sweater and leggings with socks and boots, staring out her window, drinking a coffee. She was incredibly bored, of course, and was waiting for some entertainment to arrive in the form of some gullible hikers. To her surprise, however, what came stumbling into view was not a hiker, but rather a large man wearing a hard hat. Ali squinted and smirked. “Look at that, Luna,” she began, and Luna purred in response.

    Ali peeked past the small shades hanging against the tiny kitchen window, not wanting the man to think there was anyone in the house. People rarely did – it looked abandoned, and who lived in the woods anyway? He had strong looking arms, and brown curls that flowed out of his hat. He was hot, and Ali was interested. He glanced around for a moment, and Ali hid as he stared at the house. When he turned around, Ali continued to stare. He spread his legs a bit, and it took Ali a moment to realize that he was… pissing.

    He was pissing. His dick was out. On her property!

    Ali’s cheeks reddened. It’d been a while since she’d seen a suitable penis, and she had no doubt, of course, that this man’s would be incredibly suitable. She liked this man and his audacity, and after a quick look towards Luna, casted a hex on the man that would turn his piss pink.
  • Clark's construction company had, not long ago, signed an agreement that would, indeed, make his bosses very rich. Their crews had been making mountain cabins pop up in the woods outside of Portland, a result of a big name rental property looking to expand in the area. It meant job security for Clark, but not much more money. It was a good thing he enjoyed his job—he stayed busy, he stayed in shape, he got some sun, and most of his crew were his mates.

    They had just gotten done framing up a two bedroom when he felt it an opportune time for a smoke and a piss. They had one of those portable toilets on site but Clark preferred not to use that, if he could help it. It stank, and anyway, they were out in the woods. After extinguishing his smoke in the warm dirt with the heel of his boot, he walked a few meters away to find a good tree to mark. He scratched the back of his neck before unzipping, and pulled himself out of the hole in his boxers.

    Directing his stream at the tree, he let his gaze wander a bit at the trees around him, wondering exactly how long he could dick off until everyone expected him back at the site. He wasn't lazy, but he did enjoy his brief little nature walks. When he looked down, however, he discovered with a start that his stream of piss didn't look right. He jumped slightly at the bright pink sight of it, causing a bit to dribble on his shoe. It was, unmistakably, the color of Pepto Bismol, the evidence right there on his shoe. Thinking he might have been imagining things, he tried again. And, again, his stream of piss was bright pink. "Fuck!" he half-shouted, stumbling back a bit. God. What was happening to him? He'd never—he'd never heard of such a thing, even though his mates had described some disgusting and weird shit to him. Were his slutty ways finally catching up to him? Had he finally contracted his first STD?

    Standing there, dumbfounded, he heard a distant, muffled giggle. Realizing he wasn't alone, he quickly tucked himself back into his shorts. Brows furrowed in paranoia, cheeks burning red with worry that his dick was going to fall off, he glanced around. Tentatively, he took a couple steps in the direction of which he'd thought he'd heard the noise, zipping and buttoning himself back up as he did so. "Someone there?" he called. He pulled off his hard hat, letting it fall to the ground, and took a few more steps through the wet leaves toward the thing he'd assumed was a large, dead stump, which, upon closer inspection, was no stump at all. It had a window.
  • Loneliness and general boredom made Ali a very, very mischievous witch, and especially when it involved hot guys who were peeing on her property. Well, she didn’t own the trees – she didn’t really own much of anything – but these woods had been her home for years, and by proxy, the trees. She knew the man likely didn’t mean much by pissing on some tree, but Ali was nearly dying for some entertainment, and… well, there was a dick involved. Ali was desperate for a glimpse of a real life penis. It’d been far too long in witch years (if you were wondering, witch years were equivalent to human years).

    To her delight, the hot dude reacted how she’d expected, and Ali let out a sharp stream of giggles as he stumbled back and shouted. He was not taking this well, but she was. Somehow, however, he heard her, and Ali covered her mouth and hid as the man turned around. Sadly, he’d tucked himself away. He called out, asking if anyone was there, and Ali peeked over the edge of the window to see him pull his hard hat off. Oh, man. His hair was delightfully curly, plastered a bit, on the top, by the hat. She widened her eyes, momentarily fearful as he started to step towards her cabin.

    And then, of course, Luna started to head outside. “Shit,” Ali swore. “Luna. Luna!” she called, afraid for her cat’s safety. She didn’t know if this guy was some, like, deranged cat murderer, or had some child trauma involving a furry feline! And Luna was her BFF. She couldn’t let her cat get hurt. But in a typical cat fashion, Luna simply ignored her, making her way out the little door Ali had for her. The jig was up. Quickly, Ali headed to the mirror, and casted a quick hex on herself to make her hair less frizzy, finger-combing it to make sure. After a moment, she carefully ventured out onto her front porch, smirking towards the delightfully hot man, who looked delightfully pissed. “Hi,” she greeted, stifling a giggle. “You lost? You look a bit… pissed off and pink-faced.”
  • Clark wasn't exactly sure of what he should be thinking—his piss had just turned into some neon, psychedelic nightmare, and now someone was laughing at him. He'd lived in Portland less than a year, and he knew it was full of weirdos, but he didn't expect them to follow him into the woods. The giggle he'd heard had belonged to either a female or a child, neither of which was on his construction team, which had put him on high alert. That, and the whole pink piss thing. He was understandably confused and agitated.

    As he stepped closer to what he now realized was a small hut-like structure, heavily covered by the elements, a black and white cat popped out of the side of it. "What the fuck?" he muttered as the creature padded over to him. Clark was not a fan of cats, and didn't realize they were inhabiting forests these days. This shit was getting weirder and weirder. He was getting ready to shoo the thing away as it started to sniff at his hat, but became very quickly distracted when the side of the hut opened up, and a small woman stepped out. Clark's eyes widened. A small, beautiful woman, incidentally. She had long, blonde hair, and her perfect, mischievous smile was painted pink. He set his hands on his hips, shifting his weight as she began to speak. The cat was now pawing at his discarded hat, but he didn't notice, for obvious reasons. She looked a bit like a gypsy, he felt. Like she belonged in this forest, which, given she was apparently living in it, she probably did. "Er, I didn't think I was, but now I think I definitely might be," he replied, glancing around a bit. She looked young—early twenties, probably. "Are you—is this where you live?" he asked disbelievingly, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "If this is some weird kind of dream, I'm gonna be really pissed off that I was working through most of it," he joked, because he was Clark.
  • SolSol
    edited July 2015
    Being a witch in the States was not an easy thing to be. They were known, of course, but not widely accepted, and even then, people could be mean. Ali tended to avoid leaving her hut whenever she could, and ate largely what she grew in her gardens. She didn’t like to kill animals, and so was largely a vegetarian out of her squeamish nature than anything else. When she did make the rare trip to the store, however, she did sometimes buy some meat.

    Speaking of meat, however, this man was very, very hot, and Ali was a bit enamored with him at first glance. She didn’t get the chance to see men who looked like him very often – more often than not, they were scrawny, hipster hikers with stretched ears. Portland was a strange place, and this man was decidedly not a native, as evidenced by his accent. Ali was guessing Australian or Kiwi. The only thing she could be certain about was that he was foreign and hot.

    He asked if this was some sort of dream, and Ali giggled a bit, largely due to the hot guy’s proximity, despite him being meters away. He looked vaguely sweaty, and Ali enjoyed that. She started down her steps cautiously, a bit tentative to engage with an outsider, but… well. He was hot. Ali liked hot dudes. “Depends on what kind of dream you think this is,” she teased back. She was definitely not implying a sex dream. Ali glanced behind herself at her little hut. “I live here, yeah,” she confirmed, still smirking. She took a step closer. His shirt was stained with some dirt, and his scruff was lived in. She cocked her head to the side. “Is that hard to believe?” she asked, brows raised.

    Ali glanced over at Luna, who had begun to bundle in his hat, a fluffy, black and white mess. “Luna likes your hat,” she pointed out, smiling. “That’s Luna, obviously. I’m Ali,” she introduced, tucking some hair behind her ear. Realizing the whole reason he was talking to her, of course, Ali figured she might want to help the poor guy out. “D’you… y’know, want me to get rid of that whole pink pee business?” she asked, giggling to herself again. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I get bored and you were an easy target.”
  • ValVal
    edited July 2015
    When the strange woman giggled at his comment, he momentarily forgot the bizarre nature of their situation, enamored with her smile and musical laugh. He hadn't even realized how little he felt like shooing her cat away, and he felt a strange sense of calm, as if he'd just had an hour long massage followed by a warm bath. His lips twitched into a smirk. She was flirting with him, and he found it very welcome.

    She confirmed that she did live there, cocking her head adorably, asking if it was hard to believe. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin in thought. "I guess not," he decided. "We're buildin' cabins out here, so I guess it's a suitable enough place to live. This one looks a lot more... lived in, though," he said with a small chuckle. She pointed out that her cat had taken a shine to his hat. Sure enough, it had curled up in it and was licking its paw. It was kind of a cute cat, he thought in spite of himself. He looked back at her. "Clark," he said. She hadn't extended her hand, so he kept his at his side. "Nice meeting you," he added. His eyes widened with a slow realization when she went on. It took him a moment, but he got there. "Fuck," he swore softly, simultaneously amazed at what was standing in front of him, and grateful he wouldn't have to call the doctor. He didn't have insurance.

    He ran a hand over his curls, fluffing up where the hat had flattened them. "So that was you, ah?" He was amused, but also slightly afraid. Had she lured him there as prey of some sort? What was she capable of? He wished he'd listened more carefully now when Stu had gone on and on about his fascination with witches. Clark had been aware of their existence, but had never met one, nor had he ever expected to. He let out a sharp laugh. "Easy target? I'm incredibly offended," he teased. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to explain this back at the site, and wasn't sure he wanted to. He kind of wanted to keep Ali his own personal little secret. He'd have to get back soon, but didn't want to. "So. I guess you saw my dick, then," he said. "You didn't even buy me a drink first."
  • Unbeknownst to the man, of course, Luna was a magical little thing. She had a calming aura, encouraging all those around her to feel fluffy and warm. Ali had grown nearly accustomed to it, and yet, the moment she was without her cat, she felt anxious. In a way, Luna was very much a therapy animal, but far more effective, and far more magical. Most cats didn’t exactly radiate calming energy, after all.

    The man didn’t think it was very hard to believe that she was living here in the woods, explaining that they (who was they? His work?) were building cabins here, but that hers was a bit lived in. She laughed softly, grinning. “I like the rustic look,” she joked, gesturing towards her ivy covered cabin. After Ali introduced herself, he introduced himself. Clark. His accent made it sound funny, and she smirked at the thought.

    Despite the obvious signs – her hints towards his hex, her domain, her perfect hair despite the conditions – it took him a moment to come to the conclusion that he was a witch. She smirked, a bit bashful at his realization. Most people didn’t really react like this when they found out she was a witch. Then again, people didn’t really find out – they would either seek her out simply because she was a witch, or remain entirely oblivious. He joked that he was offended that she thought he was an easy target, and she grinned, playing with one of her earrings. She had plenty to spare. “I mean, you were just out here, all exposed,” she reminded him, giggling a bit again. He crossed his arms and raised a brow, and Ali nearly felt a bit faint at the look he gave her.

    At what he said next, however, Ali’s cheeks burned bright red with embarrassment. He didn’t even know her, and he was already mentioning dicks and drinks, and Ali, despite how much she adored penis, was not ready for it. “I didn’t see your – it!” she denied, shaking her head vehemently. Her face felt feverish. “You were turned around! I just… cast it.” Thinking of something, however, she allowed herself to calm down and smirk a bit. She tucked some hair behind her ear again. “But… I mean. I might have to see it to undo it,” she teased, smirking evilly. She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. D’you want a drink?” she asked, gesturing back towards her cabin. “I can make us some tea if you want. Unless you gotta get back.”
  • Clark was a pretty easygoing person, and he took this all in stride. Mostly, he was glad that he wasn't pissing poison, and that it was only some very attractive witch who'd cast a temporary hex on him. Well, he hoped it was temporary. He was a pretty confident person, but he might not have normally been quite so forward, but hell, she'd just turned his piss pink. She had to have seen his penis. It was adorable how flushed she became, stammering a bit as she explained that he'd been turned away from her. He couldn't remember the exact angle of his piss trajectory in relation to her strange little home. It seemed like, given her reaction, however, that she had seen it. Still, she wanted a closer look. Clark was intrigued by this mysterious, beautiful person.

    "Ahh," he said tentatively, laughing, when she joked that she might have to see it again in order to reverse the hex. "You might?" he asked. She asked if he wanted a drink, and when he opened his mouth to respond, his phone buzzed. His brows furrowed. "Shit," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. His boss was calling. He silenced the call, tucking his phone into his back pocket again. "I do have to go back, but..." he grinned again. "Do you have time to fix this before I do?"
  • Truth be told, Ali could easily reverse the hex without seeing his penis… but where was the fun in that? This man seemed to be the type to enjoy having his penis seen by women, and Ali was a woman who enjoyed seeing penises, and especially when they were attached to very pleasant, wholesome men like Clark. She shrugged. “Magic isn’t an exact science,” she lied, smirking. “And I’m a visual person.” She wasn’t lying about that.
    Ali wouldn’t mind him for coffee and whatever followed. She was desperately lonely, and any sort of interaction – especially with a hot dude – was more than welcome.

    To her disappointment, however, his phone rang, and he swore. Ali frowned. He had to get back to work. Ali didn’t want him to go. She tried to contain her pouting, and squinted towards his junk. “Hmmm…” she thought, tapping a wine-colored fingernail against her lips. Her hand reached out to tug on his belt a bit to really sell it. She sighed and shook her head. “Sorry. I need a lot more time and you’d have to a lot more exposed for me to undo it and… I think you’ll need to come back later,” she suggested, smirking. Ali wasn’t sure if they were talking in innuendo or not. She didn’t really care. “The last thing you want is for me to try a quickie and… y’know. mess up. I like things a bit slower, Clark.”
  • He had only wanted to see if he could make her blush—he liked to tease, and she seemed fun to tease. Besides, she had started this all, turning his piss pink. He didn't just go around flashing his penis to people, but he wasn't shy about it, especially if a hot woman was asking to see it. She flirted back, and he gave her a crooked grin.

    When he told her he had to go, she frowned a bit. She didn't want him to leave, either. She appeared to be thinking over their options, and he stiffened when her hand reached for his belt. For a moment, he thought she was about to take down his pants and fix the problem right then and there, but she said she thought he needed to come back later. So she could do it slowly, the right way. Clark could be dense, but even he understood the sexual innuendo here. "Me too," he said, lamenting her touch when she drew her hand away. "So, it's not hurting anything then, yeah?" he asked. He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, and she assured him it would be only a minor annoyance until she could reverse the hex. "Have you got a number you can put in here?" he asked, passing it to her. "I work on a construction site that's about a five minute walk from here. I kinda took a long break," he said, laughing a bit. "We'll be workin' on this one about six weeks, probably, every day except Sunday."
  • She shook her head. “No, it’s harmless. Just a nuisance,” she assured him. Ali knew plenty of hexes that could hurt, but they required a lot more energy and concentration – the hex she’d put on Clark barely required anything to set or undo. He pulled out his phone and handed it to her, and Ali took it, despite knowing she didn’t have a phone. His phone was warm. It’d been near his dick, probably. He’d taken a break, apparently, and Ali giggled a bit.

    “I… uh,” she started, her cheeks flushing a bit with embarrassment. “I don’t have a phone,” she admitted quietly, and once she realized she was still holding his phone, handed it back to him. She smirked when she got an idea, and after a second of focusing her energy a bit, placed her hand against his bicep softly. Tracked. Ali would sense where he was directionally now, and he didn’t know. She glanced up at him. “I don’t leave my house much,” she explained. “So you can find me here. Or… I’ll find you. Don’t worry too much.”
  • She didn't have a phone. Of course not, she was a witch, and a recluse. He took his phone back, embarrassed that he'd asked. "Oh. 'Course. Right," he said, sliding it back into his pocket. She placed a hand on his bicep, and he got a faint scent of lavender from her proximity. Her hand was warm, and again, he missed her touch when she pulled away. He wasn't sure what I'll find you had meant. She was a witch, but surely she wouldn't use her powers for stalking purposes. She probably knew where their site was, if she knew the area. Still, he wanted to keep her his secret, so he didn't want to risk her walking up on where he worked and reveal herself to the others. "We finish up around 5:30 every day. I've got something to do after work today, so why don't I just come by tomorrow after I get off work?" he asked. He was about to crouch down and grab his hat, but realized her cat was taking a little nap in it. Gently, he picked it up and handed it to her. "I believe this is your cat," he said with a smirk. "Keep it. Don't wake her up. I'll get another one." He had no idea why he was being so nice to this particular cat, but he imagined getting on Ali's good side had something to do with it.
  • Ali had spent the rest of the day and night thinking about the man, and his curly hair, and his crooked smile, and the way she almost saw his penis. Since she'd placed a tracking hex on him, she'd felt a distant, but faint, pulling in the night, and in the morning, the feeling was far more intense. He was working in the woods, and Ali had fretted around her house, dusting the animal skulls and hiding her necromancy books (it was just research!). She'd dressed in another sweater and jeans and some boots, applying makeup more to pass the time until he was finished with work, considering she could just hex it done. Ali was restless, and had completed her orders for the week; one for erectile dysfunction, another for balding hair, and one for longevity. Old, white men were strange creatures.

    Around five, Ali had begun to bake some cookies from scratch. Classic chocolate chip with a bit of a spell (and some crushed tail of newt) to make them magically delicious. Her grandma would always chastise her for using her magic so frivolously, but Ali never understood what the big deal was. She was a witch, and she had to deal with the prejudice, and so if she wanted to make her cookies extra delicious to impress a mundane, she would! Finally, around five-thirty-five, the pulling became nearly painful. He was here. He had to be. Ali looked at Luna. "Behave," she warned, narrowing her eyes before petting her. Luna meowed. "He's a hot man and I want to have sex with him. Which means I should probably stop talking to my cat like it's a human," she realized, furrowing her brows. Luna meowed again, and Ali stood up and headed towards her door.

    Spotting him out the window, Ali opened the front door and headed down the steps of her porch. She grinned. "Hi," she greeted happily. Luna trailed behind her. "D'you wanna come inside?" she asked. "Are you hungry? I have cookies baking. And tea. You should be well fed and hydrated before I undo the spell. It's witch stuff, y'know. Technicalities."
  • It had been hard not to mention Ali the witch to Stu the night before over beers. He'd tell him eventually, but he knew his friend, and as soon as Stu knew that Clark was potentially going to fuck a witch, he would make a big deal about it, over-analyze the situation, tell Clark exactly what he should do, and ask for every detail. He wanted to go into this situation—whatever it was—unfettered. He liked Ali, from what little he knew of her, and she just happened to have magical powers and live in isolation.

    What he had known, however, was that shortly after he left Ali, he felt different. He didn't feel as relaxed, but that could have easily been because he'd gone back to work. He was probably being stupid, he knew, in wanting to be around her, but he was justifying his behavior with the very real truth that she needed to fix his little pink piss problem, which he'd nearly forgotten until the night before in the pub, grateful no one had chosen the urinal next to his when he'd gone to the toilet.

    Clark had a penis. Ali was hot. Ali was also a witch. Clark wanted to fuck Ali. These were all facts. It's not difficult to see why Clark was making his way to Ali's hut. He was sweaty, and dirty, but she hadn't seemed to mind too much the day before. Besides, it made no sense for him to go all the way home, shower, and come all the way back out here when she was so close to where he was working. He'd driven his own truck today with the excuse that he'd wanted to take a long walk in the woods after work, which wasn't a very Clark thing to do, but his work mates were nearly as dense as he was.

    Either she had somehow sensed him coming, or she had been watching for him from the window, because she stepped out onto what Clark now recognized as a porch, wearing a similar outfit to what he'd seen her in the day before. He smiled. She had a decidedly witchy appearance, despite the fact that she was wearing somewhat normal clothes. She somehow seemed to fit both in the forest while she wouldn't have looked totally out of place in the Apple Store. Which, probably, she had never been in. "Hey," he replied, hands in his pockets. She asked if he wanted to come inside, and that she'd baked cookies and made some tea. She probably didn't have very many visitors, and longed to be a gracious host. That, or this was her attempt at making up for the magical little prank she'd pulled the previous day. When he looked more closely, he could notice the things about her dwelling that seemed like someone's legitimate home. There were plants surrounding the hut that, while they looked like they belonged in nature, weren't found anywhere else in the forest that he'd seen so far. She'd planted them herself. And there was a garden in the back, which undoubtedly had some sort of spell on it to keep out the squirrels and bears.

    Thinking of Ali taking down a bear with magic gave him a sudden little thrill, and honestly, his dick twitched a bit.

    "You baked? For me?" he asked, smirking. He was teasing her a bit, for the whole hex thing. It was fun to tease her. She had a fire in her, but he made her blush behind those adorable freckles. "Yeah, that sounds perfect," he added, giving her a little mercy. Inside, the hut was much what you'd imagine a forest witch hut to look like, to his amusement. Dried herbs hung in the window, shelves packed with ancient books, crystals on a side table, long necklaces draped over hooks on the wall. "This is a cozy little place," he said as she placed a steaming mug in his hands. He blew on it before taking a sip. "I like how you've decorated. Very witchy." He smiled. It smelled strongly of chocolate chip cookies in the small dwelling, and it felt slightly too warm and humid. She was probably used to it. He walked over to one of her shelves, which was lined with labeled jars. Next to the raven's blood and tail of newt was a small animal skull that looked to be about the size of a rabbit's. He raised a brow at her. "You really don't fuck around, do you?" he asked with a smirk.
  • Maybe Ali was a bit obsessed with Clark, but what could you expect? She hadn't gotten laid in a while, and he was hot, and very likely willing if she didn't accidentally set him on fire. When she told him how she'd baked for him, he teased her. Ali flushed. She realized how lame it probably seemed to be baking for a man she'd met the day before (and hexed!), and worried, briefly, that he'd be weirded out. "Chocolate chip," she admitted, her voice a bit small. Mercifully, he didn't think she was a complete freak and followed her inside, where Ali handed Clark his mug of tea. She put a lot of effort into making her little hut as comfortable as possible, even if her idea of comfortable was very, very witchy. He complimented her and her decor, and she smirked. "Thanks. I try to keep the place as cliche as possible."

    He seemed a bit fascinated with her array of jars and skulls, filled with blood and bones and bits of oddities. "D'you think I'm gonna half-ass my witch duties?" she asked playfully, raising her brows. She walked over to where he stood. "And I find these skulls in the forest," she explained, "and clean them. Give the animal the respect they deserve, y'know. We try to be kind to nature and the forest." We, of course, being fellow witches. At least, witches like Ali, who lived in isolation rather than in the spotlight, or even live a normal life.

    The egg timer buzzed, and Ali jumped slightly. She hurried towards the oven, grabbing a tea towel before pulling the cookies out of the oven and resting them on the stovetop. They smelled delicious, of course, and were a lovely golden brown. Placing the tea towel on the counter, she turned towards Clark. "Have you ever... Met a witch before?" she asked, curious. Most people hadn't, and Ali didn't exactly go around meeting many people. "They have them where you're from, right? Since you're obviously not from Portland. Australia or New Zealand?" She thought of something a bit more interesting. "Have you ever... Y'know. Been with a witch?"
  • He laughed a little when she said that she tried to make sure her home was a cliche. This was a far cry from his studio apartment downtown, the only redeeming quality of which was the sliver of the Willamette he could see from his kitchen window. He grinned as she walked over to him, asking if he expected her to half-ass her witchly duties. "No. Course not. I can tell you whole-ass everything, right down to the animal blood." He took another sip of his tea as she got serious for a moment, explaining how she came upon the skulls and what she did with them. They looked so menacing, all out on display, but the reason she had them was kind. His smile softened. "That's... really sweet." He sipped his tea. "And here I was thinking you were carrying out ritualistic murders!" he joked.

    They looked at each other for a moment, their bodies close, and it was quiet. They didn't know each other very well, but this seemed like a moment where you kissed a pretty girl if there ever was one. But her timer went off, and she jumped, and Clark smiled at the way she hurried over to the oven, pulling out the fresh cookies. "God, those smell good," he said with a small laugh. "I usually like 'em right out of the oven, but I'll wait a minute so I don't burn my fingers." She glanced back over at him, asking him a barrage of questions, including if he'd ever met one of her kind, if they even had them wherever he was from, and if he'd ever been with a witch. His grin widened. "Well. You hear of 'em more in big cities, but I'm from a little place. Howard Springs. Australia," he clarified. "But you're the first one I've ever met. Which is why the whole pink piss thing was so. You know. Confusing. I knew they were out there but I didn't think I'd ever meet one." He set down his mug of tea to reach for a small spatula next to the stove. "So then, no, I've never had sex with a witch." He smirked. He was, admittedly, using the word 'sex' to his advantage. Slowly, he worked the spatula underneath one of the warm, fresh cookies, liberating it from the pan. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't be open to it, though," he added. "Am I being seduced?" he teased before taking a bite of the warm cookie. He swore softly, mouth half full of delicious cookie. "It's workin'."
  • As expected, Ali didn’t get very many guests, and she certainly didn’t get many where the attraction was mutual. She hoped he was attracted to her, anyway, considering how attracted she was to him. Still, Ali was curious, and a bit socially inept given her isolation, and so her version of flirtation usually involved being a bit more straightforward than was customary. He explained that he was from Australian, and she made a noise in acknowledgment (even if she had no clue where Howard Springs was. Apparently Ali was the first witch Clark had ever met, and Ali grinned, happy to take his witch meeting virginity.

    When he said the word sex, however, so bluntly and unabashedly, Ali’s cheeks burned bright red. Now she was thinking of sex, and of sex with him, a man who was all sweaty and dirty and who could be rough or sweet or all these different things. The temperature in the hut might have raised a degree. To make things worse, he even added that he wouldn’t be opposed to having sex with a witch, all before asking if he was being seduced and taking a bit of a cookie in the manner a girl might deepthroat a banana for effect. Her ears and chest were red, and she tucked hair behind her ear as he told her it was working - the seducing she was definitely not doing. “I’m not!” she squeaked. “Seducing you. I’m not that kinda witch.”

    She glanced away from him, unable to stare him in the eyes (which were an incredibly lovely shade of blue that made Ali a little wet, in all honesty) and talk about this. She cleared her throat, fingering a necklace that rested against her collarbone. “It’s just that… y’know, having – laying with a witch can be different than a human. I’m just… precautioning you for your future reference. Not that, y’know. There’s any guarantee we’ll lay with each other or anything.” Finally, Ali mustered the confidence to glance over at him. He was taller than her by a few heads – he was probably six foot or so – and she was only five four. “I don’t get many guys who look like you visiting me. Attractive guys,” she admitted, taking a step closer to him. She realized she was holding her breath as she rested a hand on his chest. It felt solid, and she could smell his sweat. She raised her gaze to his. “Can I kiss you?”
  • Clark had a terrible flirting problem. Awful, really. But she had pranked him, and really she could do all manner of strange, crazy things to him, probably! He didn't know the scope of her powers yet, but he had to take these little victories where he could. He could tell how attracted she was to him, and she probably had an idea that it was a mutual attraction, but part of his little game entailed acting unaffected. It tended to work out pretty well for him. Her cheeks flamed again, and she insisted that she wasn't seducing him! She wasn't that kind of witch. "There are... different kinds?" he asked, genuinely curious. Still, that could probably wait. He had lots and lots of questions, and not enough time to ask them.

    She fiddled uncomfortably with her necklace, not able to meet his eyes with hers as she explained that "laying with" a witch was different than having sex with a normal person. Not that, of course, this meant she was going to "lay with" him. He smirked as he watched her try to explain herself, then took another small, slow bite of the warm cookie. It tasted perfect, and he wondered if she had used magic to bake them. He listened further as she explained she didn't have many attractive guys like him as visitors, and that gave him an ego boost he probably didn't need, but greatly appreciated. "That's a shame," he murmured, because it was. "Well, it looks like I came along just in time, then," he added. She stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his chest, and he stilled at her nearness. His mouth parted slightly as a reflex to her question, and he gave her a lazy smile. He wasn't used to being propositioned in this way. Usually, his first kisses with women tended to be drunken, horny things. This was such a sweet and earnest request, that he couldn't deny her. He nodded, small and slow, before letting his eyes drift shut as he bent to press his lips gently to hers. Her lips were soft, and full. He didn't try to turn this into some frantic sexual thing—he was suddenly remembering how nice sweet, unhurried kisses were. He hadn't had one since his last relationship. He didn't try to rush, and he didn't try to push his tongue past her lips. After a quiet moment, he pulled away. With the hand that wasn't holding a half-eaten cookie, he slipped his fingers around her wrist, holding it against his chest. "What d'you call people like me?" he asked quietly.
  • Ali’s brows furrowed, as if the answer was obvious. “Oh, yeah,” she informed him, but refrained from naming them all. Witches came in various forms and strengths and specialties – Ali’s family belonged to a fairly wealthy and powerful sect of witches who traced back to the Roman Empire. More recently, however, the witches in Ali’s family had begun rejecting the traditional roots of the lifestyle for something more… human. Ali didn’t want to. She liked who she was, so she’d moved here. Even if she was being true to herself, she was incredibly lonely, living like she did, and couldn’t help but need this kiss – and Clark was happy to let her.

    His mouth was soft, and he tasted like the chocolate chip cookies she’d baked him. She leaned against his body slightly, relishing the hardness of it, and how big he felt in comparison to her diminutive size. She wanted to bring a hand to brush against the scruff on his face which tickled her cheek, and to kiss him harder and push her tongue past his mouth, but she liked this, too. She liked how he didn’t try anything, either, and let her have this moment. Too soon, he pulled away, but Ali was left smiling up at him like an idiot, all dazed and happy.

    He slipped his fingers around her wrist, holding it to his chest, asking what she called people like him. She cocked her head to the side. “Australians?” she joked, giggling a bit to herself. It was a lame joke. “Oh. Of course. You mean you mundanes,” she teased. “Mundies. It’s easy for us witches to tell who’s a witch, and who isn’t. You mundies have like… a really plain aura. I mean, yours is pretty bright to me, but witches’ are much, much stronger. Kinda like they have a distinct smell, or something. Not always good or bad, just very different.” It was hard explaining this things to someone who wasn’t a witch, obviously, and couldn’t really sense auras like Ali could. Unable to help herself, Ali leaned up again and pressed her mouth to his again, softly and only for a moment. She pulled away and smiled, taking his half-eaten cookie from his hand and taking a bite for herself. “I like kissing you,” she said, “your mouth is soft. Y’know. For a Mundie.”
  • She gave him an adorable look, making a joke, and he chuckled, but she went on, explaining that witches called the common folk mundanes. He furrowed his brows as she explained about auras and whatnot, but Clark was having trouble getting past that word. Before he could protest, she kissed him again, and he obligingly returned the sweet smooch. She took his cookie from him while he was distracted, complimenting his kissing. "Well, now I've gotta get another cookie," he joked, reaching behind her to grab another. They had cooled enough that he didn't require the use of the spatula now. He took a bite. "Mundane," he repeated, grinning. "Y'know, I take offense to that. That means boring, right? I don't think I'm very boring." He grabbed his mug of tea and took another sip before taking a seat in a comfortable, ancient-looking chair. "I think we should come up with a better name than that," he suggested. "Like... a virile. Or a handsome." He had learned "virile" last week from Stu and was happy for a chance to use it. He smirked before finishing off his cookie and chasing it with more tea. He was sort of anxious to get his little problem fixed, but he didn't want Ali to think he was trying to rush out the door. He was enjoying himself, what with the kissing and cookies and tea and flirting. Besides, there were all these questions. "So, you've lived out here for...?" he trailed off, waiting for her to supply an answer.
  • Ali didn’t really understand why he’d be offended. Ali was a pretty staunch advocate for witches’ rights, and honestly, he didn’t know how easy he had it as a mundane. Sure, there was the obvious lack of magic, but magic was tricky, and not as fun as the normals thought it was. Witches were still killed in plenty of cultures, and there had been a few cases of hate crimes perpetuated against witches here, in the States, only recently. It wasn’t easy being a witch, and Ali could understand why a lot of witches would shun the lifestyle for an easier one, like her mom. Ali had chosen to be truer to herself, but even then, she didn’t live openly. She lived in a hut in the woods, and didn’t exactly have “I’m a witch!” tattooed on her forehead.

    Still, she didn’t want to freak out on Clark, even if she was a bit annoyed by his ignorance in the subject. He was, after all, a mundane, and a relatively harmless one. Her brows furrowed a bit at his official offense, but when he suggested other names – virile and handsome – she laughed loudly and unexpectedly. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she giggled. “I can call you that, if you’d like,” she teased, taking a sip of tea for herself. Her mug was from Disney World. He wanted to know how long she’d lived here for, and Ali glanced up in thought. “’Bout 3 years?” she answered, unsure. “I’m from Tennessee. The south,” she explained. She glanced down at her feet for a moment. “Didn’t really feel very like myself there, and I know Portland tended to be a pretty spiritual place – all the nature and stuff – so I moved out here, hiked a bit, and built this place. Magically, duh,” she informed him, smiling a bit now.

    A bit starved for affection and unsure as to what was acceptable, Ali walked over and sat on his lap. He was warm and solid, and Ali needed the nearness. “You don’t mind?” she asked quietly, brows raised. She hoped he didn’t. She was probably being far too forward for a man like him – he looked like he fucked girls regularly – but god, she was alone far too much, and couldn’t stop herself from resting her head close to the crook of his neck. He smelled sweaty, but she didn’t mind. “How long have you lived here, virile?”
  • Clark wasn't genuinely offended by the term. He just had to take the opportunity to remind his new witch friend (and possible future lover) how interesting and charismatic he was. Clark's default mode was teasing, and he had to use every opportunity to try and get a laugh out of someone. He especially liked making Ali laugh, the way her cheeks flushed as she giggled. How it sometimes burst out of her when he'd said something she didn't expect. Like now. He smirked. She said she'd been here around three years, give or take, and if she'd left home at the customary age of 18, his age prediction for her was just about right. She went on to tell him where she was really from, and how she'd never really fit in there, and how she'd magically built this hut. He glanced around, marveling at the detail she'd put into the place. "Really?" he asked, impressed. "It looks like it's been here for ages. Like, centuries."

    She settled into his lap, which was sort of what he'd been hoping for, and he wrapped an arm around her back, resting his other hand on her thigh and she curled up against him. "Course not," he said, smiling softly. She didn't seem to mind his smell or his sweat. "Y'know, I build houses too," he said quietly, amusement in his tone. "My way takes a little longer, though." He had to choose his words carefully, because he didn't want to imply that his method was more difficult than hers, even though it probably was. He didn't know the mechanics of magic, or how long it took to build this hut. How much energy it took or how many frog bones she had to dig up. His fingers slid over her thigh slowly and absently. He laughed a little at her term, newly adapted just for him. He let out a sigh. "Coming up on a year, I guess," he said, realizing how quickly time flew now that he was older. "Lived in Australia almost all my life, back and forth between Howard Springs and Darwin. You probably never heard of Howard Springs, but maybe Darwin, yeah?" he asked. He grinned crookedly before asking, "How old do you think I am?"
  • Clark complimented her house building, stating that her cabin looked like it’d been here for centuries. “Thank you!” she said genuinely. “That was kinda the aesthetic I was going for. Like… super old and embedded in nature. No one’s ever complimented it before.”

    Clark’s lap was warm and solid, and knowing her ass was rubbing against his ding ding made her feel warmer. His hand rested on her thigh and his other arm wrapped around her back, and he didn’t seem to mind her involvement in his personal space. Apparently, he built houses, too, but it took longer. She laughed. “Your way is fascinating, though,” she insisted. “All the wiring and plumbing and it’s just… incredibly interesting and complicated.” Magic was complicated, too, and this house had taken a lot of Ali’s energy to build, but it wasn’t like the mundane way. “My house really only works if I’m in it, though. It’s kinda, like… part of me. It’s strange to explain.” Apparently, Clark had only lived here around a year, and Ali nodded when he asked if she’d ever heard of Darwin, all before asking for her to guess how old he was.

    Ali smirked. “Well, not to burst your bubble or anything,” she started, grabbing his hand and lifting it close to her face, “but I can tell pretty easily by a quick look at your palm. Little witch trick.” She didn’t look at his palm yet, of course, just to make this a little more fun. “But I’ll be fair and not look,” she teased, grinning. “I’ll be a good witch.” Now, she furrowed her brows in thought, glancing over his features with scrutiny. “You’ve got a full head of hair and, like, no wrinkles, really, so I’m thinking under thirty,” she ventured, thinking aloud, running a hand through his hair. It was even softer than she’d thought it’d be. “But I think the scruff definitely makes you look older than 25,” she added, tracing her fingers over his cheek softly. She grinned widely. “You’re 27. That’s my final answer. I get a kiss if I’m right.”
  • ValVal
    edited July 2015
    Ali thanked him, pleased that her aesthetic had been communicated effectively through her work. She was proud, and he found it very endearing, because he knew the feeling of creating something and looking at it and thinking, Wow, I did that! I'm pretty amazing, right? She laughed a little when he compared the two of them, then told him she thought the way he built houses was fascinating. He snorted a bit. "You created this place out of magic and you think plumbing is interesting?" he teased. She explained that the house didn't work without her, and that it was complicated to explain. It sounded like it. "So it's sorta like... a living thing?" he ventured. "Do you use magic to get the stove to work and the water to run?" he asked, gesturing toward the kitchen with the hand that wasn't cradling her against him.

    When he asked her to guess his age, he hadn't even really been thinking she'd use magical means. He was just asking her like she was a regular girl, but of course, if she'd conjured this dwelling herself, she had to have some magical way of figuring out his age, or at least getting close. In the interest of fairness, however, she said she wouldn't look at his palm. She'd just guess the regular way. She released his hand, and he rested it on her knee, watching her face as she assessed him. To his delight, she guessed that he was under thirty. People usually thought he was about 30. He was a smoker and hadn't exactly lived a delicate lifestyle. He let her touch his hair, and his cheek, and she finally decided on a number, explaining that she should get a kiss if she was correct. He gave her a small smile, letting his eyes flick to her mouth before meeting her gaze again. He bent to press his lips against hers again, but this time after a moment, he let his tongue graze hers, his hand sliding gently up her thigh. When he pulled away, he said, "I'm 28. But I wanted to do that anyway." He dipped his head, placing a gentle kiss on the soft skin of her neck just beneath her jaw.
  • Ali grinned at his assumption. "Yeah! Kinda," she confirmed. "It runs on my magic. The lights and water and heating here runs exclusively on my magic. I don't really feel it now, though. I'm used to it," she assured him, considering it might be a bit disconcerting knowing this entire place operated on her energy. It was draining in the beginning, but Ali's tolerance and resistance had grown by then.

    When Ali gave him her final answer, he bent to kiss her. His tongue grazed against hers unexpectedly, his hand sliding up her thigh, and she moaned softly in surprise. He pulled away and Ali was left pouting slightly, eager for more kisses. Apparently, he wasn't 27, but a year older, but he decided to kiss her anyway. He kissed her again, right underneath the jaw. Oh, didn't he think he was something? He was a cocky thing, and while incredibly hot, Ali knew he probably thought he was hot shit. He was, of course, but so was Ali. He wanted to play games, but Ali was a witch. She was the queen of games, and she didn't even need her magical powers to toy with him. At the end of the day, no matter how desperately lonely she was, she didn't want to come across as someone who was too affected.

    But she had to give in a bit, just enough so he was invested and affected. Flipping some hair over her shoulder, she brought her mouth back to his, returning the favor as one hand grazed along his chest, her tongue brushing against his, establishing her dominance. She shifted herself so she could straddle him, moving her hips gently against his lap, her mouth sucking on his lower lip. She trailed some kisses down his jaw and to his neck, stopping to suck roughly, and when she pulled away, she giggled happily at the angry, red mark she's left.

    Then, of course, she stood up, walking to the kitchen to grab a cookie. She smirked coyly at him as she took a bite. "Y'know, I was thinking about possibly laying with you," she started, stifling more giggles, "but God, I don't think you could handle a witch. Mundies like you - the cocky ones - you're the ones who usually end up with frogs for hands when you can't satisfy us."
  • ValVal
    edited July 2015
    "Fuckin' hell. No electric bill!" he replied. Spoken like a true poor. He still didn't understand exactly how this all worked—it was a lot to take in. Was she constantly having to concentrate her energy when she took a shower or baked a casserole? Or was it something she could light like a candle, leave alone, and blow out when she was done?

    Clark could tell when he touched her or kissed her exactly how attracted to him she was—and hell, she was probably incredibly lonely—and he'd admit, he was using this to a slight advantage. If there was one thing Clark knew how to do, it was get laid. Not that he wasn't enjoying learning about all her magical proclivities—quite the opposite, actually—but she was flirting with him something serious, and her arse was pressing against his ding ding. And despite the fact that she'd cast a trick hex on him and lived in the woods with her weirdly inoffensive cat, she was smoking fucking hot.

    She kissed him back, their breathing becoming heavier as she straddled his lap. He let out a small noise of arousal when she moved her hips over his and sucked at his lower lip. Oh. So the mischievous but seemingly meek witch had a bit of a randy streak, ah? Clark was tremendously pleased, a hand coming to palm her arse as she sucked at his neck, no doubt leaving a trail of marks in her wake. All too soon, she hopped off his lap, walking back into the kitchen to smirk over her shoulder as she took another cookie. Ah, she was playing the game. Fucking with him. His expression was a little dazed, most of the blood in his brain having rushed elsewhere for the moment, as she said she was thinking of possibly laying with him, and he did grin crookedly at that. "You don't think that I could?" he asked, shifting a bit in his seat. He wiped a hand over his chin, trying to keep himself from using it to adjust himself. He wasn't sure if she really could turn his hands into frogs, but imagined she could probably punish him pretty easily if she wanted to, if she was feeling impulsive. He stood, grabbing his mug of tea and taking a sip before walking closer to her. "I don't wanna end up with frogs for hands, that's for sure," he said, smirking. "So, if you do decide to lay with me," he had to stop himself from laughing at saying the phrase aloud, "then I guess I better do a really good job." He took another step closer, so that their bodies were close again. "But if you think I'm unprepared, maybe you should fill me in. Is there some sort of... witch sexual requirement? Are you desensitized to Mundie sex?" He took her cookie from her, mirroring her earlier actions, and took a bite. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, his tone sultry. "Or do you like to be touched the way regular girls do?"
  • Living in the woods in isolation, Ali didn't really get many hot visitors, and especially not ones who were so flirtatious. Ali liked to flirt. It was fun, and especially when her opponent was so responsive and challenging. Still, as much as she did want to fuck him, she didn't want to come across as something easy to obtain. She was a prize worth working for, and she was making that abundantly clear to Clark as she fucked with him, challenging his ability to please her. When he asked if she thought he was unable to satisfy her, she shrugged. "You are a Mundie..." she reminded him.

    Ali laughed loudly at how ridiculous he sounded, but grinned as he took her cookie and took a bite. At what he said next, however, her cheeks burned again, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain unaffected when her face was bright red. She cleared her throat. "Depends on how you touch regular girls," she challenged, raising her brows. She shrugged, smirking. "But you still have to show me you deserve to touch a witch, Mundie," she added with a salacious grin. "You have to prove yourself worthy. We're venerated in some cultures, y'know. Worshipped." She flipped some blonde hair behind her shoulder. "As for sexual requirements.... Well, obviously, us witches expect orgasms. Many orgasms," she continued, grabbing her cookie back from him and taking a bite.

    There was some chocolate left on her finger, and licked it off to be coy. "And forewarning, but witch orgasms are pretty wicked cool. Strange shit can happen because we have all this energy and aren't very... Concentrated." Ali so rarely got the chance to flirt like this, and especially not with someone so hot and willing to challenge her back. It was a fun little game they were playing, and Ali was enjoying herself. She stepped back and assessed him for a moment, her eyes pausing at his crotch. Her brows raised. "How big are you?" she asked suddenly. "I need to know for both personal and professional reasons, if you want me to fix your problem."
  • Ali likely knew that if she challenged a man's sexual prowess, he would respond in the way that Clark did. She was smarter than he was, and he was playing right into her hands. He had to pull out the big guns to make her blush, but blush she did. "I thought we had decided on virile," he teased, since she kept calling him a mundie, like that would make him feel like he needed to further prove himself. Well, it was working.

    He listened with amusement as explained with a flip of her hair that witches were worshiped in some cultures, and that witches expected orgasms—multiple ones. Clark clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes salaciously. "That's not usually a problem," Clark said. Okay, he was a little bit cocky, but only because she was challenging him, implying that he couldn't handle her in the bedroom when, so far, he'd handled himself pretty well with the pashing.

    She licked her finger, going on to add that witch orgasms were something different from regular people's—that they were chaotic, and special. Okay. If Clark hadn't been interested in fucking her before... Well. An eyebrow went up, and he set down his mug. "Hm. Well, that might be something I'd be interested in experiencing. If I decide to lay with you, that is." He was laying it on thick, of course. There was no real doubt as to whether or not he would consider this. She glanced over him, eyes resting on his crotch, and he let out a sharp, sudden laugh at her question, for which she cited both personal and professional reasons. Of course, Clark knew the answer to this. Every man on earth had measured his own erect penis. And he knew that his was bigger than the average. "Personal and professional reasons?" he asked, cocking his head a bit to the side. "Well, since you need to know in order to fix me, I guess I better tell you." He was stalling just to make her squirm a little, and he couldn't tell if it was working. He sighed a bit, like he was thinking about it. "About 18 centimeters. But that's, you know. Hard. If you need to know what it's like soft, well. That'll take a minute."
  • Witch orgasms could be dangerous. Ali would know. Hers were pretty violent even for a witch, but, if she was being honest, she’d only had one orgasm at the hands of another man – who’d just been a one night stand, anyway, and kind of drunk and into witches to begin with, considering when most men found out she was a witch, they didn’t really didn’t want to sleep with her. Apparently, however, Clark seemed more interested in laying with her now than before, and she raised her brows. “Really?” she asked, surprised, “you’re not, like… turned off by that? Y’know. Witch sex.”

    Ali eagerly awaited his response, curious as to how big his dick was. Truthfully, it really didn’t make much of a difference how big his dick was, but god, he looked like someone who walked around like he had something meaningful in his jeans. “Yes. I need to know what I’m working with,” she teased, answering both of his questions concerning her professional and personal reasons. She stared at him as she waited, and finally, he sighed a bit, and Ali nearly choked when he said eighteen. Eighteen inches? Holy shit. Mercifully, for the sake of her cervix, his penis was eighteen centimeters, and not eighteen inches. She didn’t know how much that was, considering she was an American.

    More interestingly, however, he was hard, and she grinned in triumph. All she’d done was kiss him a bit and move her hips over his and he was aroused! Men were fascinating creatures – so fragile and responsive. “You’re hard right now?” she asked, brows raised, a smirk on her face. She glanced back down at his crotch to see if she could tell. She definitely could make out the outline of something sausage shaped, and she grinned. She had no idea how big 18 centimeters was, but it looked big, but not big enough to impale her. She glanced back up at him, voice more quiet than earlier, but still as amused. “Can I… see it?”
  • "Should I be?" he joked. "You're talking about 'wicked cool' orgasms. How would that turn me off?" Clearly, Ali had been with some dull men. God, Stu would flip if he knew what was going on with him and Ali. Clark was reeling himself. He couldn't say anything to his friend about it yet, though. Even if they fucked tonight. He wasn't ready to share her with anyone yet, even just kissing and telling. He was pretty private about his love life (Heh. Private).

    He was doubtful that she needed to know his length in order to fix his pissing problem, but they were talking about his penis, and this was always a good sign. He would like to do more of that. He wanted to talk about parts of her, too. And see them. And touch them. Incredulous and wickedly delighted, she asked if he was hard right this second, as if there could be any doubt. "Well, yeah," he said with a small laugh. "We just kissed a lot and you straddled me and now you're talking about orgasms." He gave a little shrug. "You've got a sexy voice." She looked down at his crotch again before glancing up at him, and her voice was a little quieter when she asked if she could see it. A slow, crooked grin overtook him. Clark was no exhibitionist, but if an attractive woman he was trying to lay with asked to see his junk... what, was he going to say no? He touched his mouth. "Hm. Is this part of you trying to see if I'm worthy? Or is this so you can get me fixed up?" he joked. It was a little of both. "Ehm. Alright, then." This was an incredibly bizarre and arousing exchange. He couldn't remember a time when a woman had just asked him to take it out so she could look at it—typically clothes were just being frantically removed and then his penis was inserted somewhere. He felt it was a pretty decent-looking dick, but he suddenly felt self conscious when he imagined how this would play out. Still, there was the possibility that she might do something fun with it if he got it out, so slowly, he unbuttoned his jeans, then pulled down the zipper. After a slight hesitation, he untucked himself from his boxers, awaiting her reaction.
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