The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Impulse Control

by Pizzahead

Two — Trial Run

The day after acquiring the spells, I had countless fantasies of how I might use my new magic, many of them falling into the territory of juvenile mindsterbation. I pictured going out to Hollywood and getting my head up the skirt of a favorite actress, and it was the same when I looked at the porn goddesses that were my faves. Because if I could find them, wouldn’t it be as simple as casting the attraction spell on their Fiji water or chai tea, and hanging out for the fun to begin?

But I kept going back to what the old magician had said in my not-dream, that I’d need to be skilled in the art of seduction. That implied rookie mistakes, not seeing the field clearly. The impulse magic, he’d implied, was especially potent, so I figured it would be foolish to just start casting spells all over the place, without testing the waters first.

With the exception of Blizzard, the house was empty, my parents both at work and Lila out with old school friends. So I spent an hour at a Starbucks, and learned plenty about people tamping down impulses for various reasons. That fitness babe ordering the skim latte had an impulse to tack on a chocolate chip cookie, but she kept her mouth shut, probably thinking of her diet. I pushed, and she ordered two cookies, and exited the store devouring one. That guy in the wool sweater had an impulse to jump out of line to go pee; who knows why he resisted the urge, but I pushed and he made a beeline for the restroom like his bladder was on fire.

Continuing to experiment, I caused a minor human traffic jam at the entrance—a really wide guy was leaving just as three girls tried to come in, and he wanted to step to the side, only I grabbed hold of that and didn’t let him. His body made weird not-quite jerking motions; it was like some of his muscles knew they should be moving, while others were on involuntary vacation. The girls were all skinny and they figured out ways to shimmy past him, and he got called a jerk a couple of times before I released my grip and let him move on.

And it was funny—creating a problem like that got me brainstorming ways where the impulse magic might allow me to help people. Like an acquaintance at school, Kelly Armstrong—she was anorexic, and everybody said she needed to eat a whole bunch of cheeseburgers or she might blow away in a strong storm. I knew her condition had complex psychological factors that I’d be a fool to mess with, but once back at school, couldn’t I try to see if she ever had the impulse to eat more, and then get her to do it? I thought about professions that had never been on my radar before—how good could I be now at therapy, or diplomacy, or contract law? And I thought of my friend Rock, and his fight to overcome stuttering, or dysfluency as his speech therapist called it. He wasn’t a total mess with it—there were stretches where you could believe he’d almost completely overcome the affliction, but put him in a room with a pretty girl he liked and his beginning consonants became c-c-c-consonants.

Just too curious, I dropped in on Rock and found it pretty easy to sense the impulse in him to stutter, and I could tamp it down. I didn’t get much practice, but it was quietly amazing how I could tune-in and play those impulses like they were a musical instrument. I had to concentrate, but not in a way that had me scrunching my face, giving anything away. For him, there was no magic, because it was completely invisible. For me, It was like a sixth sense, one I knew I could get better at by using it with more repetition.

And there just had to be a way to use this magic on my girlfriend to get more adventurous sex out of her. Back at home I daydreamed a few scenarios of how it might go, and what I might try to make her do, but when she pulled up beside the mailbox to pick me up—punctual to the minute, as always—I could see in an instant that I hadn’t sufficiently factored in her lingering fury over my having stressed her out so much the night before.

“I am still so pissed at you!” Nancy said through the window of her Outback, hands and arms locked tight to the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you were such an asshole to let us worry like that!”

Normally I’d lean in for a kiss before getting in the other side, but tonight she didn’t even meet my eyes, directing me to get in with a sideways nod of her head. And Nancy was not one to use swear words casually; she was very precise in her use of language and her temperament was even-keel, perhaps to a fault, so hearing that she was “pissed” and that I’d been an “asshole” meant that I was in very deep doo-doo.

I tried to start something like a normal conversation a couple of times and she’d nod, or maybe say “Hunh”, and the few times she glanced over at me the blue of her eyes looked colder than the icicles hanging from phone lines and trees. A couple of days before I wouldn’t have thought there’d be any need to use an attraction spell on my girlfriend; now, from the looks of things, she was an ideal test-subject of the other spell.

“Just how pissed are you?” I finally asked, right before she pulled the car over at one of the undisturbed off-road spots we knew about, killing the engine. Then she proceeded to do everything in her power to kill our relationship, too.

“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, John, and it’s not working for me. Last night when you didn’t show up I swear… I was worried, of course, and I know I yelled at you, but I really was relieved that you’re safe. If your story is true then maybe you’re something of a hero, too—”

“You don’t believe there was an old man in the lake? You think I’m just making that up?”

“No, I… Look, this really isn’t even about what did or didn’t happen yesterday. I wasn’t like Lila; I actually believed you’d fallen through the ice and I worried that I’d never see you again. That was awful to even think about, and it hurt, but… But the sadness was more about the tragedy for you and your family. I knew I’d be distressed if something terrible happened to you, but I could also see that I’d get over it in time, and be okay in the end. I’d move on.”

“Wait. You thought I’d possibly drowned and, just like that, you were already thinking of getting over me?”

“Don’t make it sound so heartless. I don’t want to open any wounds here, but what about your real mother? She left your family when you weren’t even in grade school, moved to the other side of the world and you’ve seen her what, three times since then?”

Actually, I’d only been to New Zealand twice to visit my mother, but I didn’t correct her.

“You sure don’t talk about her very often. I mean, how often do you even think about her? And that’s my point—it’s natural to move on, even with people we really care about. Life circumstances change, long distances intervene and the next thing you know you’re barely even thinking of that person because they’re no longer a part of your life’s fabric.”

I thought I could see where this was going. “What you’re trying to say—“

“Is that we both know I’m going to be moving away this summer. I believe Harvard will take me, but if they don’t then another good school will, and nothing is going to stop me from pursuing my dreams. We’re already living, or dating, on borrowed time, John. We both know that.”

“You’re breaking up with me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way. I would say instead that we need some space. Sensible space. I think I’ve been letting the excitement we share—“

“The sex.”

“Yes, the sex. You’ve got a great thing—”

“Cock.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, okay? I won’t pretend that I won’t miss you in a physical sense—this is a chapter of our lives we’ll remember fondly and laugh about some day, having sex in a car when it’s so cold we can see our breath. I’ve loved every minute, truly, but the reality is that sexual intimacy is not the same as love; I’m sure I don’t need to explain why. And…”

And there was a whole lot else she said, and why write it down when I wasn’t even listening anymore? The timing was horrible—Nancy was pulling away right when I could try things with her that would have been unimaginable the day before, and the fact that she was familiar ground gave me the opportunity to measure the differences. I knew what she would and wouldn’t do, and her enthusiasm level, and the sounds she made when she came, and how soon she could go again and how soon I could go again, and probably fifty other ways to compare sex then to sex now.

“…how you have such a wandering eye.”

“A what?” I asked, having lost track. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“Oh, don’t even pretend you don’t look at other girls like if you stared hard enough you might be able to undress them.”

Oh, that. I guess I did that all the time, but I hadn’t known it was so obvious. “Like when?” I asked, feeling defensive even though she was right.

She had this way of dipping her head and looking at me above her glasses when she went into lawyer mode. It was Nancy at her most strident, which should probably be a turn-off, yet I sometimes goaded her into exhibiting those mannerisms because for some reason I thought she looked sexy as hell when she went in for the kill. “Like every time Stacy Putnam is at her locker, hello?” she said, staring at me above the horizon of her glasses. “Are you seriously going to deny it?”

I liked the look; it made my cock twitch, even though she was trying to dominate the discussion. And I might have argued that not ogle-undressing Stacy Putnam would mean I was gay, but why enter into an argument I would lose when I could upend all the rules by casting one of my new spells?

I had noticed a two-thirds full plastic bottle of sparkling water nestled into the cup holder between our seats, and as Nancy speechified all the reasons why we should stop seeing each other, my lips moved, just barely as the spell demanded, and magic perhaps more ancient than Michigan bedrock wafted into the contents of that bottle, fortifying it with a pop more potent than any carbon-dioxide molecule could ever aspire to.

I suppose the next several minutes were a kind of front seat rope-a-dope, as Nancy tried to pin me into conceding that everything she was saying was right and logical. She was a star on the school’s debate team and I knew there was no counter-argument I could muster that would keep my girlfriend from driving away into the sunset. Only I didn’t need to argue to win; I just needed her to be thirsty.

It was a kind of fight we had there, with me struggling to keep her arguing and chastising and anything else, all with the purpose of waiting for the fateful moment when she finally remembered her drink sitting there. It was a good five minutes before I realized what a fool I was, because I could cast the second spell and perhaps make her take a drink, one good spell aiding another. Other sounds, which if she had even noticed them would not have registered as words, exited my lips with no more force than a soft sigh, and a handful of seconds later I stared meaningfully at her bottle of water.

“Go ahead and drink some if that’s what really matters to you right now,” she said, and I knew I had her, because in thinking about me being thirsty the impulse bloomed inside her to take a sip or two herself.

It’s hard to describe what it’s like to be able to sense and then grab hold of a spark of an action which isn’t even a complete thought, more like a spontaneous twitch of instinct that often times is never acted upon. This one was more in her body than her thoughts, like her cells had decided they wanted water and they were letting her thinking brain know that, which tensed the muscles of her arm and hand. An impulse towards gratification, just as I’d read about, this one as simple as the desire for hydrating the body. With the spell doing its work, giving me a window into all of that, it was an easy thing to take hold of that tiny impulse of action and blow it up to Godzilla size in an instant.

Not at all smooth, that first go at wielding the impulse magic with my wannabe ex-girlfriend. Nancy made a sound that was similar to a gasp, only louder, and I could barely even see her hands move, she had the cap unscrewed and the neck of the bottle up to her lips so fast. With her head tilted back and her throat undulating like a sea creature, she gusto-guzzled the remaining contents of the bottle without ever coming up for air, and once done exhaled one hell of an unladylike belch.

“God!” she said, wiping at her mouth with her jacket sleeve, the blue eyes behind her glasses stunned. “What on earth was that?”

“You were thirsty?” I shrugged, trying to look similarly confused. “And I see you didn’t save any for me,” I added, a joke that was probably more like an asshole comment under the circumstances.

“I’m sorry, I… I…”

I’d always loved to watch Nancy’s emotions play out on the muscles of her face—with her glasses framing the intelligent eyes and providing a baseline for the precisely arching eyebrows, she could assume these looks that spoke volumes about the emotions under the surface. There in her car with a nearby streetlight providing warm illumination, I watched the familiar features roil with the interior restructuring taking place inside. Some part of her mind was still operating on the default setting—that she had decided we were a thing of the past—but there were other feelings bubbling up that saw me in an entirely different light.

What bubbled up in me during those same seconds was my cock, going from interested to flame-on in an instant. It was a power thing, I guess, my power thing, seeing for the first time how my new magic could slip inside Nancy and reorient her emotional state. She glanced down at my crotch, noticing my erection, and her lips opened, and then she looked away, out her side window towards the red smears of post-sunset clouds on an indigo sky.

I waited, barely breathing, for what she might say or do next. It was getting cold in the car, no heat with the engine off, and Nancy’s breath came out as visible steam as she exhaled while striking the top of the steering wheel with a clenched fist. She said, “Shit!” under her breath, and I flinched, because I couldn’t think of a time she’d ever uttered that word. She followed that by sighing, loudly, the windshield on her side of the car fogging opaque. A sudden pivot of her ass had her turned towards me, staring intently into my eyes. She intended—I could sense that as an impulse, and could have manipulated it if I’d wanted—to say something, then stopped herself.

The glasses came off, and she knew how much prettier she was without them. There was a subtle change in her posture; it’s hard to say exactly how she managed to convey this, but her entire physical presence softened, going more seductive. There was time to wonder, before Nancy spoke again, if Nell would have this same kind of reaction to the spell, or whether it was the fact that Nancy and I had already been lovers for months.

“Jesus, John, why can’t you be… I mean it’s not like I want us to break up!”

Multiple impulses flared inside her at essentially the same time—to argue whatever point she wanted to argue now; to lean over and kiss me; to just grab my cock; to zip off her jacket and strip off her top and bra to expose her tits to me. I could have grabbed onto any one of them and forced that action, but I was too intrigued by how the desire spell was working to interfere.

Her lower lip trembled and she uttered a soft cry before choking out: “I’m not sure I can go through with it! I thought I wanted to… But now that I’m with you again…”

Her right hand reached towards the bulge in my pants, then hesitated, and I decided to help her out, not with further magic but with words that might give her a context for wanting to fuck me without either of us being straightjacketed within a relationship based on monogamy. She had wanted out? She could have it at any time, after we’d had a go at each other’s bodies with magic here in the car with us.

“Let’s meet halfway, okay Nancy? We technically won’t be in a relationship—I totally understand how you have misgivings about that. But we can still pleasure each other, right? That’s always been good. We can be… I dunno, free spirited, taking one romantic encounter at a time.”

“Yes, that sounds… But wait, what about… God, why am I so… Christ, John, it’s freezing! Get over here and warm me up!”

Warm me up—that was wintertime Nancy-speak for fucking, and boy did I warm her, starting in the front of the car but eventually tumbling into the folded-down back seat area for more maneuvering room. As with any couple, there were default rhythms that Nancy and I fell into when making love, which is not necessarily a bad thing because the patterns reflected certain erogenous zones discovered, like kissing the side of Nancy’s neck or lightly stroking her nipples while I breathed into her ear. None of that happened this time because this was essentially a different Nancy, or the same one but with her afterburners already blazing so that foreplay was forgotten. Her panties were soaked at the crotch when I got there, and she pulled me in hard and deep and it was like plunging into membrane as wet as all five Great Lakes, and as hot as Yellowstone. I felt different, too, like the composition of my cock had gone from hard as wood to stronger than steel, and just the first few strokes had Nancy emitting sounds she’d never even come close to making before, unbridled grunts and animalistic panting and then, astoundingly, dirty talk: “Oh fuck, John, fuck yes, fuck this cunt, fuck it harder, fuck it harder!”

I loved Nancy on magic. She had strong legs—she was the captain of the girls’ soccer team—and her favorite position was squatting above me, in charge of the rate at which my cock impaled her pussy. She did that now only with her arms making a V down her front, squeezing her tits together to make them thrust out beautifully. She increased the pace, impaling her pussy with my cock fucking her like I’d become a piston engine, and it was insane because even with those exertions I could read the impulses inside her.

I never would have known without the magic but Nancy had an urge to finger her clit—it almost shocked me into pausing mid-thrust, because she had never before touched herself when we’d fucked. My girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend who magically want to continue fucking me, had always been somewhat contained or lady-like during sex, and here she wanted to add masturbation into the mix. I pounced on that impulse and wrenched it to the surface, loving the way she cried out like a wild beast as she furiously self-stimulated while I auto-reamed her.

And when it came, or when she came, that was the moment I realized that the human orgasm is also a kind of impulse, a physical one I could affect through magical means. It called to me, kind of like asking to be manipulated, and I latched on, and when all the signals that create the physical and emotional bliss of an orgasm came together, I drew them out and didn’t let go, turning Nancy’s normal shiver of a climax into a gasping cascade of thigh and abdomen-quakes, with so much wetness soaking my dick that it was almost like I’d gotten peed on inside her. Drenched, thrilled, I lost my load just a few seconds later, and Nancy came again, like an immediate aftershock. Her thigh muscles couldn’t take it and she fell forward onto me, hot breath in my face and the two of us bonded by sweat, our haunches molded together in a bath of heat and shuddering tension, and then the relaxation of happy release.

Nancy made faint cuddly animal sounds before sighing for the longest time. She finally managed to whisper: “Jesus John, I didn’t even know… That was the best sex of my life, like… Jesus!”

It was a warm feeling, hearing those words. And to think of how I’d feel when hearing words like that coming from Nell’s lips.

But I wasn’t done with my trial run yet. I was softening inside Nancy, but this night of break-up and sex-conciliation would not be over until I’d gotten what I’d wanted from her for months, a hot and sloppy blow-job. Just thinking that thought made me stiffen again; one second my cock was a spineless fraction of its former self about to slip out of my girlfriend’s pussy, and then, boing, I was fully erect inside her.

“Whoa!” she cried out, hips lifting in surprise. “John, you’re… How…“

“That was the best sex of my life, too,” I said, truthfully. “We’re in a new place, Nancy, a more romantic place, an exciting place. And if there were ever a night to do me the way I’ve been wanting…” I didn’t say the rest of the words, just put my index finger in her mouth, making my point.

All I needed was one tiny glimmer of an impulse in her to do it, and it was there, probably thanks to the attraction spell. I don’t need to give a blow-by-blow, ha, description of how I turned that glimmer into a firm desire, and eventually into a raging need. I’ve got a really thick one and when I finally had the visual I’d been dreaming of, Nancy’s mouth and cheeks distorted with my rod partway disappearing in there, she hesitated with some fright showing in her eyes, not knowing if she’d be able to move me around without gagging. The gag reflex—wasn’t that an impulse, too? Yes, a physical one, and I watched for signs of it as I placed my hands at the back of Nancy’s head and guided her into swallowing more and more of my meat. It flared—she would have gagged for sure—but I doused it, keeping those muscles tranquil, and a few seconds later I could tell she was gaining confidence.

After that I poured it on, inflaming every impulse towards experimentation, turning them into an overarching compulsion to suck me for all she was worth. I would not say that Nancy’s first stab at giving head was graceful in any way; I was too much of a puppeteer and she too much the puppet, which made for a scattershot knob-polishing without any choreography, just willy-nilly sucking. And I’d like to say she sucked me dry but that was not the case—it had to be the old man’s first spell that gave me such an epic load even after having cum inside her only minutes before, and Nancy couldn’t swallow fast enough, so she had to pull away and plenty got on her nose and forehead and in her hair.

The sloppiness of it did not dampen her spirits. I didn’t do a single thing to make her grin the way she did when she looked at me, and the laughter when she lifted a nose-goob of cum with an index finger was all hers. There might have been a slight bit of hysteria at the bottom of those laughs, like after someone skydives for the first time and realized they’re back on earth, unharmed. With her laughter she scooped and licked my cum and even sticking a covered fingertip in my mouth, giving me a taste.

“I never even dreamed I’d be doing this tonight,” she whispered, snuggling into me.

“Giving your first blowjob?” I asked, stroking her hair.

“Don’t call it that. Oral sex; I just engaged in oral sex. For you.”

Did she want a medal?

“But what I mean is… I never dreamed of any of this. I thought I had a plan but… And what if I’d never known? That would have been… I don’t know, tragic, and I wouldn’t even have been aware of the tragedy.”

I could have asked exactly what she meant—tragic in not knowing how long and ferociously she could orgasm, or not knowing how much of a cock she could stuff in her mouth without gagging, or the taste of cum, or… But it wasn’t necessary to dissect what had just occurred. I could feel from her warmth and the way she kept exhaling soft sighs that she was permeated by the attraction spell—she had pleased the guy she wanted to please with spectacular results, and she was in that glow.

We drove around for a little while, essentially just to warm the car up again, and then parked in the same place and I ate her pussy, evening things out. I was intimately familiar with the territory and had never seen Nancy so visibly swollen with need; it was like her folds had water retention or had been stung by bees, and this was especially true of her clitoris. I paid special attention to her enlarged nubbin; it took some real concentration at first but with every passing second I could feel how this part of Nancy’s sexual anatomy was like an impulse factory. I grabbed hold of those impulses, juicing them. She went crazy, her legs jerking involuntarily, a heel smacking so hard against a window one time that it’s amazing the glass didn’t crack.

Her pathway towards orgasm became like something dropped from a plane, no parachute, inexorably hurdling towards impact. This time I was prepared to apply my magic at the critical moment, and just when I could sense she would climax, I took hold of that body-impulse and plugged her release for a few seconds, like a beaver insta-damming a waterfall. Her entire body quivered, all the exposed flesh flushing red, and when I let her cumming resume she was an entirely different Nancy than she’d ever been, limbs jerking all electric-chair with her eyes rolling back in her head so only the whites showed.

That had to be the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life, except for a wiggling green-flame version of Nell Brockton in a similar state of rapturous orgasm. And though I hadn’t really thought I would, I reamed Nancy’s pussy one last time, again seeing the all-white of her eyes, looking like the exquisiteness of her pleasure had wiped blank even the windows to her soul for a time.

At the end of it all I realized I had more or less fucked my girlfriend unconscious. She wasn’t lights-out like someone in deep sleep, but voluntary movement was miles away and when I sat her up in the front passenger seat, her head lolled like she’d been stripped of her neck muscles. This created logistical issues; we were in her car and I didn’t think I could trust her to drive even the half-mile from my house to hers. Nancy never allowed me to drive her car—her legal braincells thinking about the fine print in insurance policies—but this time I took charge, driving a good distance out of our way to get her a cup of coffee, plus a packet of Wet Ones to clean herself up a little so her parents wouldn’t freak out. Her dad was a psychologist and it just didn’t seem like a smart thing, to have his daughter walk through the front door all cum-smeared and fuck-drunk.

I figured she was good to go inside her house when she was coherent enough to speak, and the first thing she said was: “Well, this night certainly didn’t go as planned.” Which was followed by: “Call me tomorrow?” Followed by: “I have never had an orgasm so… It was…” And then a silence, and her whole body shivering, and not from the cold. Which was followed by: “John? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but… Fuck, I think I might have finally fallen in love with you.”

And then she kissed me good-night, deeply and passionately with her tongue, and I didn’t even make her do that. I guess I didn’t have to, with the attraction spell doing all the work.

She had a noticeable limp going up the sidewalk of her house, either from friction-raw thighs or from when her foot had impacted the glass so hard. I was the opposite with a spring in my step as I walked home with winter stars for company, because I could affect orgasms. Worth repeating—I could affect fucking orgasms! Not only that—the impulse magic essentially made me a clit-whisperer! The most sensitive part of a woman’s sexual anatomy was made of impulses, and it was fuckin’ mine!

I thought about something my father had said recently—it had probably been something like an endorsement of Nancy, and the time were were spending together—that the most magical moment in his life had been when Meghan, the bombshell secretary at the auto dealership he worked at back then, asked him to go out on a dinner date. He was a divorcee with a young son, me, and she was a drop-dead former homecoming queen, also with a child, just beginning to compete in, and win, fitness competitions. “Being loved by a beautiful and vital young woman, and making a life together… There’s nothing better in life.”

There was something better, maybe not in kind but in degree, and that was not having to hope that a beautiful and vital young woman would be attracted to you, but having the ability to make it happen. And, once she was smitten, having the added ability to make her say, “I have never had an orgasm like that before.”

I could just cheer and thank the stars, but I needed to assess what had gone smoothly, and where there was room for improvement. I thought that if I were to grade this magical night objectively, I would give the spells themselves an A+, but my use of them only a B. I felt like I could have been more artful on several fronts—it had been clumsy the way I’d caused Nancy to guzzle her water, and I wondered whether I should have hidden, somehow, how quickly my dick could undergo resurrection so soon after cumming. But no problems at all with the power of the magic—the attraction spell had U-turned Nancy’s entire agenda where I was concerned, and that thing at the end where she said she’d fallen in love with me? She herself had commented earlier that sex and love are not the same thing, so it appeared that the attraction spell had overridden that opinion.

I thought about my end-game—Nell, naked with her gazongas all over me, head thrown back in an attitude of transformative ecstasy, and I wondered if my magic could be made to seem more organic, like a semi-logical turn of events. Nancy and I had already been lovers, so she might wonder how she’d become so weak-willed about breaking up with me, but the ensuing sex wouldn’t be questioned. Well, maybe the intensity of the ensuing sex, and it would be interesting to see how she saw that later, when she was all there. But as to the collapse of her plans, I think it was something like this: She had assumed she could keep her resolve about breaking things off and had discovered differently, no big deal, as self-surprises of that nature happened all the time.

Nell would be trickier; I couldn’t know how, precisely, she’d respond to the attraction spell and I worried, a little, that it wouldn’t look right if a girl that hot suddenly went ga-ga over me. Not that such a risk would stop me from trying.

With her and others? Nancy’s comment that I had a wandering eye came to mind, and, wicked me, my imagination flew beyond Nell until I was thinking of other girls to slip a bit of attraction liquid. What about the redhead with the superb ass and cocky grin at Pete’s Java Brew? Or wow, Stacy Putnam, whom Nancy had seen I had an eye for. With Nell and Lila no longer in school Stacy was The Babe by far, and I’d had a lust-crush on her for a quite a while. She was dating Mountain Mike Maggos and I had no appetite for being beaten to a pulp… But then I thought of how I’d used the impulse-control spell tonight to prevent something from happening for a time, namely Nancy’s orgasm. If Mountain Mike Maggos decided he wanted to crush my head, but he also had the tiniest impulse towards peace, or running some errand, or even taking a crap…

Back to Nell in my mind, and that green fire vision of her experiencing orgasmic rapture. I didn’t believe I’d given Nancy everything that could be given, and I won’t pretend that the possibilities that swam through my head were anything Ghandi would have approved of. I was no saint before pulling a stranger out of an ice hole, and I’ll make no claims that I acted nobly once given the ability to sway certain events through invisible means.

But I do plead not-guilty to much of what happened so soon afterwards, because not once did I entertain thoughts of using the magic on Lila and my stepmother in that way. I want to believe that the mess I found myself in was all purely accidental, but recently, feeling the things I’ve been feeling, specifically about the book…

I don’t quite believe it was all so accidental now. I believe it more likely that I was meant to be the magic-wielding perv I’ve become, and that every deviant step was planned out to some degree, without me having a clue.