Magick Underwear
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The ad read “Magick Underwear.” And I was expecting some sort of erotic fetish cosplay sort of lingerie. Instead, it came with the promise of individualized spells and a money back guarantee. I emailed the seller to find out if I got to pick my spells. I did not. I asked how they were individualized and what sort of information I would have to turn over to ensure they were personalized for me and me alone. The seller didn’t want to reveal trade secrets, but said that I didn’t need to turn over any personal information. Part of the spell was woven into the fabric, so when it first touched skin, it would bind itself to the wearer and the individualization would occur then.
I wondered if I had to wear them or if touching was enough. And
what if I bought them but someone else touched them first? Would the spell know
who the true owner was supposed to be? I was under the assumption that the
whole thing was fake to begin with, so I wasn’t too concerned with all those sorts
of details.
I had been under the assumption that magic with a “k” usually
indicated some sort of sex cult type thing, but maybe I had just seen too many
movies. I was assured this was more like the Aleister Crowley magic with a “k”
and was focused on will power and willing change into existence. I still
thought that having magic being cast from my nether region was somewhat sexual.
I wondered if the only things to be willed into existence would be either a
very good time or a very lonely time.
They had plenty of underwear specifically designed for erotic
enjoyment. I politely declined. I wanted to change my life, change the world,
or something with equal grandeur. If I was paying for a spell, I wanted it to
count.
I bought twenty pairs. Why not? Twenty chances to change my life. Almost
a month. Enough. Close enough. Day one and a new me and all that.
While they promised a money back guarantee, they wanted to be very
clear that I wasn’t going to get to become king or have super powers or
anything like that. These would be twenty spells of improvement and wonder, but
they wanted to make sure I wasn’t setting my hopes to high.
I said I wouldn’t blame them if nothing happened. I wouldn’t sue
or anything like that. But still, I was starting to get into the idea of
something fantastical happening. Maybe not all twenty times, but at least once
or twice.
And so, I stand naked, looking the mirror. Wondering which pair I
should put on first. Will it begin with first touch? Will the first be the best
or will it be a letdown? And perhaps I don’t want to find out. Perhaps the
anticipation is enough. And so, I wait. And so, the anticipation grows.
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