Four Kinky Wishes E-Book

Alana Church

• Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

A magical genie is helping spread love - and legs - in this erotic anthology! A shy girl turns into a man to save her best friend from a terrible mistake. A lonely college student and his landlady unite in lust. A man finds that turning into a horny bimbo is the best thing that could happen to him (or her!), and when a pair of lesbians make a sexy wish, they both get the surprise of their lives!

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

From "MILF's Kinky Wish"

Brendan watched Miranda as she bent to the ground again, then crawled in search of new prey. Her tight gray shorts clung to the taut curves of her rear, and her legs, tanned a light gold, caught the light of the late-May sun.

Damn, she's hot. Over the weekend, he had slowly become aware of his growing desire for her. Part of him knew he shouldn't be feeling the urges that were swelling inside him. But the warning voice had grown fainter and fainter, like a dream that faded beyond recall once he woke. Unconsciously, his hand slipped inside the pair of old sweats he was wearing, watching the gorgeous woman as she weeded, unaware of his attention. That moment last night, when he had knelt like a supplicant at her feet, was seared in his memory. He had been so close, so close to trying to make a move on her. Only some tiny fragment of self-preservation had kept him from planting a kiss on Miranda's crotch, instead turning it into a raspberry on her stomach.

Oh, but it could have been so sweet. If he had dared. If he had found the courage. His manhood swelled, filling his hand, as he gazed at her small, trim body. Not as busty as some. But he had never been attracted to women with breasts the size of cantaloupes. In his eyes, her slim, petite body was perfection. And that view had only been enhanced the previous evening. He wondered if she had felt the same siren song of attraction he had, if her body responded to his in the same way.

God. He was so hard now that he was aching. A sudden mad urge filled him. To slip down his shorts and stroke himself to release right there. But then she stood, brushed off her hands, slipped the screwdriver into a back pocket, and headed towards the door. Feeling like a kid who was about to get caught stealing from the cookie drawer, he jerked his hand out of his sweats as she slid the patio door open.

"Have fun weeding?" he asked with a smile.

"You know, you're never going to get them all," she replied. "That's what old Miss Phelps down the street used to tell me when I first bought the place. I'm not trying to win. Just fight them to a draw." Her eyes strayed to his crotch, then back up to his face, her lips curling in an amused smile. "Good movie?" she asked.

He found his face heating. It wasn't every woman who would remark, no matter how obliquely, on a man's erection. "It was at a sexy bit," he stammered.

"Oh, yes," she agreed cheerfully, and glanced at the television. "I always thought the prison shower scene in Shawshank was sexy as hell. Or maybe it was something else that got your motor running?

"I'm going to go clean up," she added, sauntering away. A look over her shoulder showed him her mouth, curled in a smile that made his heart skip.

"Try not to think too much about me when I'm gone. I would hate for you to have an...accident."

Leseprobe

Four Kinky Wishes

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2020 Alana Church

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

In-Genie-Us!

Chapter 1: Something Old

Hell, Shanaya Singh thought morosely, is watching your best friend get ready for a marriage you know will be flaming wreckage in less than three years.

What made it worse, if that were even possible, was the fact that she had been harboring a desperate crush for Allison ever since they were in middle school. The other woman was everything Shanaya was not; where she was small, dark, and homely, with mousy brown hair, unimpressive looks, and a chest that could only be called modest if you were doing a little creative flattery, Allison was tall, blond, and gorgeous, with a body which made men of all ages turn into stuttering idiots in her presence, unable to peel their eyes away from her stunning figure.

She was also, may all the gods damn fickle fate, resolutely heterosexual, with not the slightest interest in her – or any other woman, for that matter - as a romantic partner. Shanaya’s unrequited desire for her best friend would stay just that – unrequited. Over the years, she had made two fumbling attempts at seducing Allison - once when they were both in high school, and another the summer before her sophomore year in college. Both times the other woman hadn’t even recognized them for what they were. Shanaya didn’t know whether she should be relieved that she had been saved the embarrassment of having Allison reject her, or angry that her friend was so oblivious to her advances that she couldn’t even see a seduction attempt when she was waving it front of her face.

“Why are we doing this?” she grumbled as Allison pushed open the door of the antique shop, shoehorned between a comic-book store and a cut-rate Chinese restaurant. “Don’t you have enough jewelry at home? Why are we running all over town?”

Allison flashed her a dazzling smile over her shoulder. “Come on, Shannie. Don’t you know the old rhyme? ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?’”

“Yes. So what?”

“I need something old for the wedding. I already have something blue. Though,” she said, winking, “I’m not going to tell you what it is. It’s a surprise for Brad, too.”

Gross. She kept a smile on her face, even though her stomach heaved. To think of Brad Sorensen having his hands on Allison was like someone sitting on a whoopie cushion during the Ode to Joy. Some things were just plain wrong. “What about something new?”

“Well, that’s the wedding dress, silly. And I’m sure my mom can find something for me to borrow. Some of her earrings, maybe. But I still need something old.” She pulled her back towards the jewelry section. “It’s bad luck, otherwise.”

Shanaya sighed. She knew, as the maid of honor, she should be doing everything she could to help Allison out. But her heart wasn’t in it. She was her best friend, had been since their first day of preschool. Her lips quirked, remembering the story that their mothers never tired of telling.

“Are you reading a story?” the strange girl asked. Her mouth fell open when she looked up at her from her position at the bookcase, hiding away from all the other noisy kids. She had the most amazing hair, all golden and soft, tumbling around her face in curling ringlets.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re pretty.”

“I know.” She tossed her head and smiled. “My name’s Allison. Allison Weaver. But most people call me Allie. Who are you?”

She looked down at her shoes. “Shanaya.”

“That’s a nice name.” She sat down on the mat beside her with a thump. “Mommy reads stories to me. Can you read?”

“Yes. A little.”

“Good. Read the story to me, okay?”

And that was how shy, bookish Shanaya acquired a new best friend, almost by accident. Allison had always been there for her, even when the other kids had made fun of her skin color and her religion. Hindus were a bit thin on the ground in Mayfield, Kentucky, population ninety-eight hundred. And a family that not only wasn’t Baptist, but wasn’t even Christian, was looked on with deep suspicion by the denizens of Graves County.

Could be worse though, she admitted. We could be Muslim instead of Hindus. Though then people would probably be trying to get Mom and Dad deported, even if Mom is the best dentist in town.

She leaned against a pillar, her nose wrinkling as Allison poked through the displays of second-hand jewelry. Most of it was awful – tacky, gaudy stuff that a hooker wouldn’t wear on a bet. She closed her eyes as her friend tried on a pair of mismatched bracelets, then held up a tarnished necklace to her tan throat. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s crap,” she said flatly. She stirred the selection with a finger, then gave the whole mess a contemptuous flick. “There isn’t a single thing here that would look good on you. You’re wasting your time.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. As much as she hated the idea of Allison marrying the six foot high pile of crap she was currently engaged to, she owed it to her friend to make her special day as happy as possible. “Listen. We can do better. What are you really looking for? What do you want?”

Allison’s forehead wrinkled adorably, the way it did when she was thinking hard. “A necklace, maybe? I have one or two, but I was thinking, something gold, to set off the dress…” She pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing as she summoned up a picture of her in her wedding dress at the last fitting. “See?”

Shanaya chewed her lip to disguise the pang of desire. Even on the tiny screen of a cell phone, Allison was stunning in her wedding gown. The dress was white lace, with a daringly low neckline, dropping in a deep vee between the rising swells of her friend’s impressive breasts.

“I have some lovely pieces,” she admitted reluctantly. “Old jewelry from my grandmother that came to me when she passed away and me and Mom and Nadia and Zahira divided things up. One…it’s very beautiful, made of gold. Linked discs in rows, connected by tiny chains.” Her fingers described a triangle in the air. “Thirteen in the first row, twelve in the next, all the way down to one in the last row.” Her mouth dried as she thought of the gold lying next to that tawny skin, and the effect it would have with the creamy white lace to set it off.

“Thirteen? That’s bad luck, isn’t it?”

“Maybe for you ridiculous Christians,” she teased. “Thirteen is an important number to Hindus. It’s the number of full moons in every year.”

“Oh? What about twelve?”

“Twelve signs of the zodiac.”

“Eleven?”

“The eleven trunks of mighty Ganesh, the elephant god.”

Allison’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure you’re making that up. Someday I’m going to ask your mom about all the things you say about Hindus, and if you’ve been lying to me all this time, you can find a new best friend.”

“Hah. You’ve been saying that since we were six years old.” She gave the store a disdainful glance. “Ready to get out of here? I’m starving.”

They ate lunch at their favorite Mexican place. Shanaya had chicken tacos, while Allison chose fajitas, all the while moaning about how eating such a big meal with the wedding less than a month away was a terrible idea, because all the food was going to make her swell up like a nickel balloon. Shanaya ignored it, the way she always did. Allison had been pronouncing dire warnings about the death of her figure since she was fourteen, but never gained an ounce she didn’t want to.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, as they walked into the house.

“Hi, honey. Hello, Allison.” Maryam Singh was at the kitchen island, cutting vegetables with a wickedly sharp knife. “What are you guys doing home so early? I thought you’d be shopping all day.”

“We had a better idea. What’s for supper?”

“Rogan josh,” she replied, scraping chopped red chili peppers into a shallow bowl with the edge of her knife. “Will you be eating with us, Allison?”

“Rogan josh?” Allison bounced happily on her toes. She loved the lamb dish. “Sure! I’ll just call my mom and tell her I’ll be eating here, since my other mother loves me so much more than she does.”

Which was a far cry from her reaction the first time she had come over for dinner and a sleepover, Shanaya recalled. Completely unprepared for the hot spices which her mother used in cooking, the little girl had broken down into tears at the unfamiliar burning sensation in her mouth. Only an emergency application of chocolate ice cream as a treatment had rescued the night from complete disaster.

Maryam laughed, tilting her head back. “You’re terrible. You better treat your maan right, or when it’s time for your next turn on the wheel, you’ll be sent back as a stinkbug.”

Allison giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’ll remember.”

“We’re going upstairs,” Shanaya said. “Call us when dinner’s ready, okay Mom?”

“Sure, honey.” She waved the knife at them with the same casual skill she used when pulling a tooth. “No problem.”

“Do you really believe that stuff about coming back as an animal or something?” Allison asked, as they climbed to the second story. “Having life after life until you reach…what do you call it again?”

“Moksa,” she replied absently. “I don’t know. Do you really believe that the Romans nailed a Jewish carpenter to a tree for telling everyone how we should be all nice to each other for a change, rose from the dead, and was carried off bodily into heaven, and that all we have to do to achieve eternal bliss is believe in him? That eternal reward or damnation has nothing to do with how we behave on earth?”

“Well, it’s something to do on Sunday morning,” Allison laughed as they emerged from the stairs into the upstairs hallway.

I can think of much more interesting things to do on Sunday morning, Shanaya thought. And every morning after, too. And never mind most of them involved having her head buried between her best friend’s thighs.

“Here,” she said as they entered her room. She knelt down, opening the bottom drawer of her dresser, pulling out a largish box made of a heavy, dark wood. She set it on the vanity, taking care not to mar the polished surface. She opened a small tray at the bottom. “What do you think of this?”

“Oh, Shannie.” Allison picked up the necklace, the sunlight bouncing off the golden discs. “It’s gorgeous.” She held it up, small movements of her hands making the entire piece ripple like a waterfall at sunset. “Are you sure it’s all right if I wear it?”

“Of course.” She forced a smile to her face. “Maybe I can find something for all the bridesmaids to wear, so it’ll be like we’re a secret club.”

“That would be awesome.” Her friend held it up to her chest. “God, it’s so heavy!”

She nodded. “Real gold, you know. I don’t know how long it’s been in the family, but Mom says she saw her grandmama wearing it when she was a girl.

“Here. Take off your shirt. I want to see how it looks against your skin.”

“You just want to see me with my shirt off, you lesbian pervert.”

“That, too,” she said easily, ignoring the pang her words caused. Coming out as a lesbian had been the hardest thing she had ever done. And it would have been a thousand times worse if she hadn’t had the support of her family and her best friend. Mayfield was deeply conservative, with a church on every street-corner, it seemed, and populated by people who thought a deep heart-to-heart about accepting Christ as your personal savior was something you did in the check-out line at the grocery store. And although the high school paid lip service to buzzwords like ‘inclusivity’ and ‘diversity’ she wasn’t foolish enough to think that her sexual preference wasn’t the cherry on top of the weirdness sundae, as far as many of the teachers and students there were concerned.

Which was why Allison had been the first person she had come out to, even before her own family. If her best friend couldn’t accept her, then she really didn’t have any idea what she was going to do.

But thank all the gods, Allison had. It had been their freshman year of high school. She had sat beside her, in this very room, as a matter of fact, as Shanaya had poured her heart out to her, explaining that she didn’t like men, at least sexually, and that she was attracted to women instead.

“Oh,” she had said, at the end of her impassioned speech. “I thought you might be.”

“You did? Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, it wasn’t any of my business, was it?” Allison said reasonably. “But it wasn’t hard to notice. Every time there were a bunch of us around, talking about what guys at school were cute, or which movie star we thought was the best looking, you wouldn’t say a thing. But when a really hot woman was on television, like Valentina Belmonte or Brie Larson or Emma Watson, you perked right up.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted with her hair, something that drove her mother to distraction. “So…we’re still friends, right?”

Allison blinked at her. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well.” Blood flooded her face as she blushed. “Some people think…you know…gay guys and lesbians are, well, you know…gross.”

Allison tossed her head in her familiar gesture, the way she did whenever she thought someone else was being silly. “Well, I’m not about to go down and lick another girl’s coochie,” she said. “I like guys. And I can’t wait until I find I guy I like enough to let him do the nasty with me, no matter what those wrinkled old men at church say.” She ran her hands down her sides, where her body was already blossoming into a garden of rich curves. Shanaya looked away, knowing her hopeless desire would be as easy to read on her face as a come-to-Jesus highway billboard. “But I’m not going to tell you what you should do, or that you’re going to hell or anything dumb like that. You’re my best friend, Shannie. And you always will be. And no one is going to give you any crap, or they’ll hear about it from me.”

“Thank you,” she had whispered, as tears trickled down her face.

With the absentminded grace which she had been born with, Allison stripped off her plain white t-shirt. She put it aside, then paused, her hands behind her back. “The bra, too?”

“Let’s try to keep the temptations to a minimum,” she joked, though her mouth watered at the prospect of seeing her friend’s bare breasts. Two pathetic attempts to make Allison see her as a potential lover instead of a best friend were enough. The blond girl never seemed to make the connection that since Shanaya was a lesbian and obviously thought she was attractive, she might someday actually try to initiate a physical relationship.

I’m lesbian, she’s not, and that’s that, she sighed regretfully. “Hold your hair up out of the way,” she ordered, and as Allison lifted up the mass of golden curls, she draped the necklace around her neck, the ends meeting in a faint click as the clasp took hold. “There,” she said, drawing her to her feet so they could look in the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

“My God.” Allison fingered the necklace. The golden triangle lay heavy against her skin, the final disc a scant inch above the uppermost curves of her breasts. It seemed to point like an arrow down her body, thick with erotic possibility. “I look like a queen in an old movie. Like Cleopatra or someone. Thank you, Shannie!” Her lovely face clouded. “Are you sure your mom won’t mind? This necklace…it has to be worth hundreds of dollars. Maybe more.”

“Definitely more,” she said. “God, the worth of the gold alone would floor you. But I’m sure. Mom loves you like the daughter she never had. Just as long as we get it back after the honeymoon. And it’s mine, anyway. I can give it to anyone I want.”

Like my heart.

Her friend hugged her, and she savored the small moment of intimacy, over too soon as always. “Awesome! Now let’s find something Jenny and Tara and Wendy can use! And you, too!” She carefully took off the necklace and laid it on the vanity.

“I should clean this,” Shanaya said, leaning down. She looked closely at it. Dust lay heavy within the grooves of the sunburst pattern stamped on the discs, robbing them of some of their sheen. “Mom has a jewelry-cleaning kit, I think. I’ll take care of it over the next couple of days and bring it to the bridal shop when we go in for the last fitting for all of our dresses.”

“Cool.” Allison poked through the box, and held up a copper bracelet. “Look at this! Don’t you think this would go great with Tara’s hair? She’s always complaining that redheads get screwed when it comes to fashion,” she giggled.

Allison did stay for dinner, much to her mother’s delight. Her father was busy with a big project at the office, so it was just the three of them at the dinner table. Her mother asked Allison all sorts of questions about the wedding, now less than a month away, which she was more than happy to answer.

“I’m really glad I can count on Shanaya, Mrs. Singh,” she said at the end of a long, detailed answer about the flower arrangements. “Her and Mom. Brad isn’t interested in that sort of thing at all. He just tells me it’s my job to take of that stuff.” A faint frown marred her lovely features. “You’d think that since it’s his wedding, too, he might get involved.”

“There, there,” her mother said, with a knowing smile. “Most men are all the same. When it comes to weddings, they think their only job is to show up on time and say, ‘I do.’ Is Brad going to have a bachelor party? I know that’s a big thing here in America, but somehow Shanaya’s father seemed to manage without one.”

“Where are they going, Allie?” she asked. “Vegas?”

Her friend shook her head. “Cabo. Apparently Brad and his frat buddies had some pretty good times down there when he was at school over at WKU.”

Shanaya kept her mouth shut, though her mother raised her eyebrows. For the life of her, she couldn’t explain why Allison had chosen to hitch her wagon to a man who had dropped out of college halfway through his sophomore year, and was now working in his father’s restaurant. Brad’s official title was manager, but from what Shanaya could see, he spent most of his free time cadging free drinks and hitting on the waitresses, despite the fact that he was engaged.

Or maybe, she thought bleakly, as her best friend chatted amiably with her mother, she did. Personally, she found Brad about as sexually appealing as a billy goat. But she had seen more than one woman sighing with regret over his impressive physique. Brad was nearly six feet tall, with dark blond hair and eyes that could switch between green and blue, depending on the light and his mood. Three years older than Allison and herself, he had been a football star in high school, and had actually tried out for the football team at WKU as a walk-on, but some undisclosed conflict with the coaching staff had made him leave the team before his freshman season was half-done.

The coaches probably wanted him to cut down on the booze and the dope, she thought spitefully, poking at her salad. Just the thought of Brad pawing at Allison’s exquisite body made her feel low and mean-spirited. I wonder if he’s going to stop chasing everything in a skirt, just because he’s married.

Their children will be pretty, though. She sighed. And I will be ‘Aunt Shannie,’ the old maid who never married, so sad, you would think a girl as smart as her would be able to find a man. “Huh?”

“Don’t grunt, Shanaya,” her mother smiled. “That’s a privilege of adults.”

“I’m twenty-one,” she said. “And in less than a year I’ll be out of college and out of your hair.”

“Glory be,” her mother said, winking at Allison while her friend giggled and Shanaya bristled. “Relax, Porcupine,” she added, patting her hand. “I was asking what you two were doing upstairs all afternoon.”

“We were looking at some jewelry that used to belong to Grandma for the wedding,” she answered. “Is it okay if Allison wears the old necklace? You know. The big gold one with the disks?” Her hands traced the shape in the air.

“That one?” Maryam shrugged. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind the curse that’s on it.”

“Curse?” Allison sat straight up in her chair. “What curse?”

“Oh.” Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “It’s probably nothing to worry about. But it’s a bridal piece, you know.”

“Is it?”

Maryam nodded solemnly. Shanaya sat back, seeing the evil gleam in her mother’s eyes. “Yes. It’s very old. Goes back to before the British took over most of India.” Her voice lowered. “And there’s a curse on it. But I’m sure, good, sweet Christian girl that you are, that you won’t need to worry about it. On the back of each disk, there is a letter stamped into the very gold itself, written in ancient script. If a woman should wear it on her wedding day, and not be pure, in body as well in spirit…” Her voice lowered further, until Allison was leaning forward, her eyes wide. “She’ll be turned into a toad!”

By this time, Shanaya was biting her hand to hold in the muffled snorts of laughter. Allison looked back and forth between them, finally getting the joke. “You big liar! I’m…I’m going to tell Mr. Singh on you!”

“Tell me what?” her father asked, appearing in the doorway as if by magic.

“She…her…” Allison spluttered, while Shanaya and her mother collapsed into hysterical giggles. “They’re telling me the most awful lies about how her mother’s jewelry has a curse on it!”

“Well,” her father said, loosening his collar with a sigh of relief, “knowing my mother-in-law, that’s not completely out of the question.” He kissed Allison’s cheek, then Shanaya’s, pausing for a more thorough kiss from his wife.

She slapped his arm. “Stop it! She was always very nice to you! It was my father who thought that you were a useless dilletante. ‘What sort of man,’” she intoned in a deep, forbidding voice, “‘only has one college degree? Maryam, I forbid you to wed that wastrel!’”

“Just as well you didn’t listen to him then, right?” Dhananjay Singh sat at his place and spooned a healthy portion of food onto his plate. “Allison, when are you going to come and live with us and save me from this henpecking gaggle of women?” His warm brown eyes smiled at her. “I promise to provide you with ten bolts of the finest cotton cloth and a new pair of shoes every year.”

Allison smiled, nodding in every evidence of deep thought. “It is a generous offer, Lord Singh. But I know,” she said, eyes lowered in apparent modestly, “that your first wife will always be foremost in your heart. How can I compete with Maryam? And I swore to my own God that I will be no man’s concubine.”

“You are a menace and I feel pity for your fiancée.”

“That’s all right,” Allison said cheerfully. “I make up for it in other ways.” She stretched and got up. “Supper was wonderful,” she said. “But I have to get home. I have to figure out how to make one hundred seats at the reception hall fit the one hundred and thirty-seven people on the guest list. Call me tomorrow, Shannie, okay?”

She got up, walking her best friend to the door and giving her a hug. “I’ll have the necklace to you in a day or two, all right?”

“That’s fine.” The hug was returned fiercely. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chapter 2: She Dreams of Gene, Eh?

I can’t sleep.

She had grown up in a noisy house, and three years at the University of Louisville, either living with a pack of girls on her dorm floor, or with her three roommates once she moved into an apartment, meant that she had grown used to a certain amount of background noise. But her older sisters were married and out of the house, and now it was just her and her parents. Around her, the house seemed almost eerily silent.

She sat up, fluffed her pillow, turned over, and flopped back down. Through the open window came the sounds of crickets and other nighttime insects. Down the street, Thor, the idiotic boxer that belonged to the Wengers, barked at something invisible. A soft breeze touched her cheek, but it could not cool the frustration in her blood.

He’s wrong for her. Anyone with a lick of sense can see it. She turned over again, seething. A couple of months ago, after Allison had floored them all by accepting Brad’s engagement ring, she and Wendy had very carefully tried to point out to their friend that the older man was not exactly prime husband material. They drew attention to his immaturity, the fact that he already had a DUI arrest on his record, and that Allison had twice come within a whisper of breaking up with him when she found out he was cheating on her. What, they had asked, made her think that he was going to change?

But it hadn’t done any good at all. Allison was like her, the youngest child, and she didn’t have the sense to see that the world was a lot bigger than their own slice of Kentucky. Maybe if she had gone to college, like Shanaya had, her horizons would have expanded a little, and she would know that the first offer wasn’t necessarily the best one. But her grades hadn’t been great and her family wasn’t as well off as Shanaya’s was, so she had settled into a comfortable rut, working as a receptionist for a law firm and living at home.

Oh, to hell with it. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep, and now that school was out for the summer, she had no reason to get up early anyway. She spared a thought towards masturbating to take the edge off, then shook her head with a grimace. All too often these days, any time spent tickling the pink, as her older sister put it, inevitably turned into a fantasy session where her gorgeous blond friend played a starring role. And now that she was engaged to Brad, thinking about Allison just made her angry and frustrated.

Brad suspected her secret obsession with his girlfriend, she was sure. He was just waiting for the best time to make sure everyone knew about it. Brad had too many prejudices against gay people and minorities for her to ever feel at ease in his presence. Oh, he tolerated her for Allison’s sake, but she had seen him, looking at her with a nasty smirk, as if her thoughts were written in great big letters on her face. It would only be a matter of time before he mentioned it to Allison, and when he did he would be certain to make it as cruel and hurtful as possible. He was the sort of person who would put off punching you in the gut now if it meant he would have the opportunity to stab you in the back later.

She threw off her covers and turned on the lamp, squinting against the sudden glare. If she was going to be up, she might as well get something done, she thought, and she padded over on bare feet to her vanity, where the necklace and the cleaning kit were waiting. The gold winked up at her from the black velvet cloth where she had laid it earlier in the evening.

Yawning, she sat down and went to work, carefully scrubbing each disk with the tiny brush that came with the kit, then dabbing some of the cleaner onto an old rag and polishing it. The work was oddly soothing, especially when she could see the change in the necklace as, row by row, it took on an added shine and luster.

She finished the front, then flipped the necklace onto its back, repeating the process. As she cleaned each link, her brows drew down in a frown. Inscribed on the back of every disk was a single sigil. Not in English, of course. But it was also not in the Devanagari script, which she might have expected on a piece of her grandmother’s jewelry, but in what looked like Arabic letters.

But what did it say? Devanagari could be infuriatingly difficult to translate, since there were so many different dialects in Hindi, and even now things like spelling were still not uniform across the vast country. What was legible in one province might be complete gibberish a hundred miles away. But if the letters were in Devanagari, she would probably be able to puzzle it out. But this was Arabic, of which she did not know a single word. And was this supposed to be read from left to right, like a book? Or down each diagonal? Or, as she vaguely recalled, from right to left, since Arabic laughed in the face of western conventions. Or could it be a code of some sort?

Shanaya could never resist a puzzle. As soon as she was done cleaning the necklace, she got out her computer and a pad of paper, writing down notes as she absently chewed on a stray lock of her hair.

Two hours later she closed her laptop, and sat back in her chair, rubbing her grainy eyes. She thought she had the code broken, but what she had found made her shake her head. How in the world had Grandmother Chanda gotten her hands on a necklace that had a spell for summoning a djinn, of all crazy things? And what was more, written in a foreign language, which had caused her no end of headaches? It seemed completely unlike her stumpy, down-to-earth grandmother to own anything that smacked of magic or the uncanny. The old woman had been almost annoyingly unimaginative, curling her lip at movies and television and what she saw as the profligate waste of western culture. How many times had she smacked her granddaughters across the shins with her cane and told them to get their heads out of the clouds and back on the ground where they belonged?

Who knows? Maybe it came to her from an older relative, just like it came to me from her.

Her fingers traced the finely-drawn letters, engraved in the gold with incredible skill. “Ali Allah hamal Jinni,” she whispered, reading the summons. “Muschna al aman Majirr Al-Amari. Closun ontei. En tien Allah clumon.”

There was a faint sound in the bedroom, as if someone had popped a bubble. Shanaya spun around in her chair, her mouth falling open in shock. Kneeling on her bedroom carpet was an incredibly good-looking man. Even she, who never gave a man’s physical appearance any more notice than she had to, would be forced to admit that he was a stunner. His hair was coal-black, his body spectacularly muscled without being too bulky, and his face gorgeous, with high cheekbones, fathomless dark eyes framed by thick lashes, an arrow of a nose, and oddly full, sensuous lips.

And at his groin…she swallowed, looking away. Impressive was one way to put it. She was sure that some of her college friends would have fallen on the man with squeals of rapture. But for her, the sight of this man’s tumescent penis, waving in the air like a obscene dowsing rod, left her feeling more than a little bit ill.

She stared at him. He stared back, his head swiveling wildly from side to side, obviously looking for someone or something which was no longer there.

“Oh,” he snarled, in an oddly high-pitched voice. “You nasty little bitch. You had better not be telling me that you just summoned me!”

He fell back dramatically, his forearm over his eyes. “No one is ever going to believe this!”

“You’re a genie,” she said flatly, fifteen minutes later.

The strange man had just finished a rather comprehensive breakdown, which she had barely been able to keep from becoming a full-scale screaming fit. The gods only knew what her parents might think if, drawn by his shouts, they had burst into her bedroom to find a naked man there. Just the thought made her want to die of potential embarrassment.

He flapped a hand at her. “Guilty.”

“I thought you guys were stuck in lamps, not necklaces.”

The man shook his head. “Oh, gurl, you are so wrong. First of all, those are fire djinn.” He shuddered in mock distaste. “Nasty, unpleasant brutes. No sense of fun at all. I’m a water djinn, and we’re ever so much nicer.”

She could see a fire djinn being trapped in a lamp, but…“Water? From a gold necklace?”

Carefully, as if he were wary of touching the necklace itself, he shifted the cloth it was lying on, light dancing off it like ripples in a stream. “See?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And we’re not trapped in the lamp, or the necklace, or whatever. We’re merely bound to it.”

“Huh?”

“Such eloquence,” he sniped. “Typical. Djinn are not trapped within an object, human child. We are bound to it. Do you think a being such as myself would consent to be stuck in a smelly oil lamp for decades, subject to the whims of a bunch of jumped-up primates? No. I am bound to the necklace you are holding, mortal girl, the same way my other cousins, the ones who could not avoid it, are bound to lamps and candelabra and rings and vases. Once, long ago, a distant ancestress of yourself tricked me and bound me to this necklace. Though she was decent enough to not ask too much of me.”

“How did she do it?” Despite the impossibility of the situation, she found herself fascinated. “My name is Shanaya, by the way.”

“Charmed,” the genie muttered sourly.

“And what’s your name?”

“Hah!” His black eyes snapped at her. “I am bound to the necklace already. Do you think I am going to give you even more power over me? Now, I am your servant. But I have no desire to be your slave.”

She blinked, remembering half-heeded tales told by her father’s parents when her family visited them in India. Of sorcerers and heroes and the unexpected luck of youngest sons. Memory flipped a card over, and she read it. “Names have power.”

A slow clap. “Bravo. And why in the name of the seven netherhells did you summon me now?” His voice took on a petulant tinge. “And just when I was going to finally get my mouth around the most gorgeous cock in the astral plane! I’ve been trying to get in his pants for centuries and you had to go and spoil everything!”

Shanaya nearly choked. “What? You’re gay? A gay genie?”

He scowled at her. “Oh, great. And now I have to deal with a bigot, too?” He waved his fingers mockingly. “Are you scared I’m going to infect you with my horrible gay cooties?”

“No, no, nothing like that!” she protested quickly. “I’m…I’m a lesbian! So I’m actually kind of glad you’re gay. Though I’d be a lot happier if you put some pants on, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re a lesbian? Awesome!” The genie leaped to his feet and bounded towards her. “Gay high-five, girlfriend!”

She lifted a hand and their palms clapped together. With a whirl of color, clothes appeared on the genie’s form. A peach-colored cashmere sweater, faded, tastefully-torn blue jeans, a pair of loafers, and a silky pastel scarf he wore around his neck.

“Now,” he said, leaning against her bookcase. “What can I do for you, o my mistress?”

Right. Genies grant wishes. But…“First of all, I need to get everything straight.” She chewed her lip. “And I can’t go on calling you…you. Especially if you’re not going to tell me what your real name is. Not that I’m asking you to,” she added hastily. “How about…Gene?”

“Gene?” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I suppose I can live with that. Gene. Fine.”

“And how many wishes do I get? Three?”

“Three?” Gene scoffed. “Girlfriend, that was centuries ago. You have to keep up with the times. Haven’t you ever heard of inflation? You get lots more than that. But first, I have to lay out the rules.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Rule one: No wishing for more wishes. That is total bullshit. Also, you don’t get to banish me and then summon me with a fresh set. You start with a finite number, and that’s all you get until you banish me permanently or you die. Got it?”

She nodded.

Gene ticked off a second point on his fingers. “Next rule. No murder, violence, or emotional or psychological torture. We’re kinder, gentler djinn, these days. You want to knock off your older sister so you can marry the sultan’s son instead of her, you better take care of that yourself.”

“Um…how long have you been away from Earth, anyway?”

He ignored her. “Third. I can give advice, if you ask for it. But I’m not going to volunteer information if you’re going to do something spectacularly stupid.” He grinned, sharklike, and she shivered. “Watching humans fuck things up is half the fun.

“Any questions?”

She swallowed. The thought was monstrous, but she couldn’t help asking. “There’s…there’s this girl.”

“Oh?” Gene cocked an eyebrow. “Cute?”

“Gorgeous!”

“And let me guess. She doesn’t even know you exist, right? You’ve been pining your heart out for her for years, wanting one glance from her smoldering eyes, one kiss from her glistening lips?”

“No! We’re best friends!”

“Best friends. Sure. And you want me to change her sexuality so she’ll desire you? Or maybe just a simple love spell?” His look was disgusted, as if he had found a cockroach in his morning cereal, and she hung her head in shame. “Fuck and no. We can’t take away free will. No potions, spells, hypnosis, or any of that crap. You want this girl in bed, you better find a better way to do it.”

Her heart, which had leapt with horrified hope a few seconds ago, crashed back into her belly. But… “What if it was my choice? You wouldn’t be taking away her free will then.”

“Your choice? What are you talking about?”

The thought was so audacious it took her breath away. She swallowed, cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck. “Could you…could you turn me into a man?”

Gene stared at her, the silence in the room stretching out until she was quivering like a string. “That’s more than stupid. It’s insane.”

“And you,” she replied, glad for once of college professors who challenged her wits, “Aren’t answering the question.”

“It’s still insane. You care for her that much? You’d erase your entire identity for her?”

“I love her!” It burst out of her in a flood. “I’ve loved her since I was a little girl! And now…and now she’s going to marry this complete asshole who is going to ruin her life, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it!

“I can see it,” she said, trying to keep her voice down, finally able to tell someone what had been seething in her mind for months. “See it like it’s already happened, like a car skidding on the ice, and there’s nothing the driver can do to keep it out of the ditch. She’ll marry Brad. And he will ruin her life. She’s only twenty-one. But she’s like damn near everyone else in this stupid fucking town. She’s convinced that the only thing a woman should do is get married and start popping out babies.

“So she’ll be pregnant before the honeymoon is over, if Brad can stay sober long enough to get his pecker up.” Her lips curled in a sneer. “And a mother at twenty-two. And then another one, probably, before the first one is out of diapers. So she’ll be chained at home while that shithead is running around on her, screwing anything that will hold still. By the time she actually wakes up and sees the truth about him, it will be too late to do anything but pick up the pieces and try to glue them back together. She’ll divorce him, if she’s got the sense the gods gave a gopher, and be a single mother with only a high-school education.” Her hand chopped at the air. “Can you imagine that, in this freaking town? What kind of job could she get that would give her a decent life?

“So she’ll scrape by, making do on food stamps and charity, everyone shaking their heads and sighing about what a pity it is that lovely little Allison messed up her life so badly. But no one is willing to do something now that would stop it. And eventually the two of us will drift apart, too. She’ll be an angry, bitter woman, hating what her life has turned into, and resenting everyone who managed to get out of this piss-ant town. Like me.

“I’m her only chance at something better. But not now. Not as I am. I have to be different, or she’ll never see me, never notice, and she’ll go along with what everyone thinks she should do until it’s too late. I have to stop it. I have to be a man.”

She halted, her chest heaving as she finished her impassion tirade. Gene blinked, something like compassion crossing his face.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll help. But,” he said, raising his hand, cutting her off. “Not until after I explain a few things. And trust me. Djinn don’t give out unsolicited advice too often. Or for free.” A cruel smile curled those exquisitely chiseled lips. “It’s much more fun to watch mortals fuck things up. Because you people hardly ever think about the consequences of your wishes.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“So here’s the thing, sweetie,” Gene said, falling to the floor gracefully and crossing his legs. “Some things are harder than others, and I’m not just talking about me when I watch the Chippendale’s dancers, if you know what I mean. If all you wanted was a great big pile of gold and silver, with maybe some diamonds and rubies and emeralds thrown in, I could do that, no problem. Hell, you get taught that on the first day. Humans love being rich. And there’s so much precious metal lying around this planet that no one would notice when some of it moves into your basement. Cash money is even easier.” He flicked a hand. “It’s just paper. I could have a pile of Franklins in your bedroom in about thirty seconds, and no one would give them a second look when you spent them.

“So there’s wishes and then there’s wishes, if you get my drift. And some are a lot better than others. One man I served thought he was being clever, and wished for eternal happiness.”

“And?” Shanaya prompted.

“He was stoned to death. Because when you can’t stop grinning and laughing when your wife dies, people start to think that maybe you’re a murderer.” He cocked a brow. “See what I mean about consequences?

“Your wish isn’t as stupid as that. It only affects you. But what you’re talking about is a transformation of living flesh, a rewriting of your entire DNA. That sort of thing is hard. Your body remembers what it is supposed to be like, and it resists changes like that. So does the entire world, really, because you’re changing reality. And reality doesn’t like it when people fuck around with it. It fights back, and it plays dirty. If you don’t have an anchor, it’ll snap back to the way it was, just like a rubber band after you stretch it. You probably won’t take any permanent damage if that happens, but between you and me, it isn’t pleasant. Just ask the guy who wanted to have a pair of tits.” He snorted. “Weirdo.”

“An anchor?” Shanaya seized on the important word. “What kind of an anchor?”

“You have to convince the world that you’re actually a man. That reality was wrong, and that Shanaya Singh never existed.”

“How can I do that? How can I convince the entire universe that the…the male me is the real me?”

A smirk crossed those handsome features. “You don’t have to convince the whole world, I admit. Just a part. And sex is a really good way to do it.”

She blinked as the import of the genie’s words sank in. “So if you turn me into a guy, I have to have sex to stay that way?”

Gene nodded. “It’s not the only way. But it’s a really good way.”

“Who with?”

“Well, that blonde bimbo you’re drooling over would be a good start. How long have you known her? Even a mind as shallow as hers would have a hell of an effect on reality if you laid some metaphysical pipe with her, if you get my drift. Screw her, and she would be convinced you were a man. Because you would be, for her.”

She flushed angrily at his casual slur of her best friend, but she kept her mind on the important things. “How long would I have?”

Gene pursed his lips, looking at the ceiling. “A week. Ten days, tops. The good news is I haven’t done anything like this in a long time. So you’ve got me at the top of my game. I haven’t used up any of my power by creating a solid-gold mansion for you, or anything stupid like that. But ten days is as long as I can keep two realities running in parallel. After that, there will only be one. Either the one where you’re a woman,” he said, holding out one hand. “Or the one where you’re not.” He held out the other. He traced a pattern on the floor in front of him. “If you manage to anchor yourself to Allison, people will quickly forget Shanaya Singh ever existed.” His eyes rose, fixing her in an unblinking gaze. “Even you, eventually. The first twenty-odd years of your life will fade like a dream at waking.

“Are you willing to do that? Because this piece of advice comes free, girlfriend. Even if you change reality, get sweet little Allison into bed, and achieve your heart’s desire, you might find out that what you have is not what you want. True love is rare. Are you willing to risk your very existence for a woman who has never shown the least bit of interest in you as a lover?”

Her chin rose. “She loves me. I love her. I’m just the wrong shape, is all.”

He snorted in disgust, though she thought she caught a hint of envy in his deep-set eyes. “Humans. Free will, the ability to make your own choices, and it still isn’t enough. You have to change your body and your sexual orientation chasing down a pipe dream.

“Fine.” He rose to his feet. “Have it your way. I’ll do it.”

She swallowed. “Now?” she asked, trying to hide the way her voice quavered.

“Of course not now. If I’m going to do this,” Gene said, “I’m going to do it right and give your sorry bitch ass the best chance I can. So I want to meet this girl of yours.” He pursed his lips, humming tunelessly. “The boyfriend, too, I guess. I want to see what he’s like. I might as well turn you into a guy she’ll find attractive.”

“Um. Who should I introduce you as?” she asked. “Won’t they think it’s weird if I show up with you? They both know I’m a lesbian, so I can hardly tell them you’re my date.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll just give them a little mind-cloud. They’ll think I’m some guy who they’ve met before. Trust me, sweetie. They won’t suspect a thing.”

“All right,” she said, then yawned fit to crack her jaw. Outside, the sky was going gray, the first light of dawn reaching out into the eastern sky with tentative fingers. “I’m sorry. But I’ve been up all night. I need to get some sleep.”

“Mortals. I’ll never understand you.”

She paused in the act of turning off the light. “You don’t need to sleep?”

He bowed. “One of the many benefits of being who I am. Go ahead and crawl into bed, little dove. I promise you’re safe from me, and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Chapter 3: A Change Will Do Her Good

Shanaya slept until noon, her body sodden with exhaustion from the events of the night (and morning) before. When she woke, it was to see Gene sitting at her vanity and perusing her cell phone, flicking through the pictures as if he had every right to do so.

“Oh, gurl,” he said, as she levered herself to one elbow, squinting in the bright June sunshine. “Do you ever have it bad.” He waved the phone at her, ignoring her irritated swipe. “Do you know that something like seventy percent of the pics on this thing are of Allison? That’s just embarrassing.”

“Give me that,” she snapped, snatching the phone out of Gene’s hand. “It’s mine. And how did you get past the pass code, anyway?”

He bowed mockingly. “Genie, remember?”

She scowled at him grumpily. “I figured that paintings on the wall of the cave would be more your speed. How do you know how to use this, anyway?”

“Well, aren’t we Little Miss Bitch in the morning.” He raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Do you seriously think that the djinn are ignorant of mortal technology? What are we supposed to do if we are summoned? Plead ignorance and ask for some time to study?” He snorted. “As if.”

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” Her mother swept into the room like a ship under full sail. “Gene, I told you not to wake Shanaya up,” she added, giving him a stern look.

“Sorry, Mrs. Singh,” the genie said, putting on a hangdog look. He smirked as he saw Shanaya’s slack-jawed expression.