The Adventures of Eggy.
BOOK 1, Meet the Egg.
4. TWO AND A HALF HOURS AGO
It was going well. The ingredients were different than the recipe, but close enough. The time was right. There were even enough people in the immediate area to meet the “coven” requirement, though all the gang except for Stella and Rose were out of the basement. Sam, Betty, Carl, Sheila, and surprisingly Gail, Stella’s mostly neglectful mom were in the kitchen, the guys and Gail having a beer while Betty and Sheila favored ice cold G & T’s in the summer heat. Troy, Will, Marc and Aram had just gone out to Troy’s van, parked in the driveway, when they met Andy who was dropping off the keys so Marc could open up the shop the next day. They invited him to join them in the back for a bit of summer smoke that had just come in—something new called Michoacán, from Mexico. Andy didn’t usually imbibe with teenagers, but Marc was cool, and Andy had read a recent High Times article about this stuff and was curious. “I don’t just buy it for the pictures, I like the articles too,” he had joked.
They didn’t see Vicky lurking in the bushes, she didn’t really care what Aram was doing at the moment, it was all guys there. After a couple of months of ignoring her feelings, she’d fallen back into the same jealous funk—what was there about Aram that drove her nuts? And her boyfriend before that, Dudley. And Roger, who fled town and didn’t give her his new address. She knew it was nuts, but couldn’t stop herself when the urge to spy on old lovers hit. Maybe a peek in the basement window would show what is going on.
Annette was up in her room trying on clothes for her date that night—she didn’t know who with yet, she planned to go down to Studio 27, the local disco and make her choice of a companion there. Her hottest dress, fire red and low cut with white frills, still had wine stains on the hem, so she threw it in the hamper with the other laundry and headed downstairs to do some wash. Since moving back in Betty refused to launder her clothes anymore, and Annette was feeling a bit peeved about having to do it herself. But the thought of going out and picking up a guy and fucking his brains into his shoes cheered her up again.
Rose never explained why they were doing the ritual in Will’s basement. It probably would have worked in her own. It may have been the warning at the very start of the writing that all the ingredients had to be right, the minimum number of people in the area as well—she didn’t know about Andy or Vicky, so they were surplus, which is OK—still “Unexpected Results May Occur”—or at least that was the gist of it in the strangely phrased introduction to that chapter of the book. The fact that this warning was in Latin may have something to do with her ignoring it. Her eyes had skipped right over it. I’m not saying it would have turned out differently had she read it, mind you.
Stella and Rose had stripped naked and put on bathrobes—exposing their bodies to the smoke was part of the rite, but with the robes they could cover up if interrupted and claim to be going sunbathing. A round brazier-type incense burner from Andy’s shop was placed in the center of the table, slightly wobbly with one leg missing one rivet and with the leg’s other rivet loose, but the right price, free as a gift from Marc to use to cover other smells in Stella’s bedroom, not that Gail paid much attention, but you never know.
They flicked the locks to the house and to the cellar door to the yard. It wouldn’t stop those with a key, but at least they’d hear anyone coming in and it ‘d slow them down. They only needed a couple of minutes anyway. Locking the door was the way Marc told the Bullman’s he wanted some privacy, and if they found the door closed were to use the Radio-Shack inter-com if they wanted access. But a locked door wouldn’t stop Marc.
Rose sprayed a little lighter fluid pinched from Marc’s zippo refill kit on the items they’d placed in the bowl and lit the contents of the brazier with a match. She set a small kids pail of damp sand on the table next to it for safety and handed Stella a copy written out in her loopy cursive hand of the seven lines they needed to repeat seven times in unison to complete the spell. Taking up positions on either side of the table facing each other they threw off their robes and began to recite.
“Owata Goo Siam. Owata Goo Siam. Owata Goo Siam.”
“What the hell is going on?” Vicky couldn’t quite see into the room to the table from the window, but it sure looked like Stella was naked, her tits swinging as she seemed to be singing something. With a metallic bang the van door closed and the boys stumbled out. Vicky pulled further into the bushes as she watched them heading for the cellar door.
Annette had reached the top of the basement stairs, only to find the inside door locked. “Will and his doofy friends. Smoking dope again,” she thought. Luckily she had her purse with the key in it atop of the basket of laundry balanced on her hip. She was going to give them hell, just because. A mean smile passed her lips.
“That was pretty tasty. Thanks,” Andy told Marc. “Here is the key for morning. Open at 10 OK. Or 10:30 at least, the new pipes should be delivered around then.”
Marc took his key chain out of his pocket to attach the shop key, so it was in his hand as they reached the outside cellar door. Will was leading the way, but found it locked. Marc stumbled past him, key out, not totally in balance, unused to the strong Mexican weed.
Troy said, “Whoa, burned my throat. I’m gonna get some juice, OK, Will?”
“Sure, in the kitchen fridge. Tell my mom that I said OK if she asks, and bring down the container and glasses for us all. I need some too. And Troy, don’t chug from the carton! No backwash! Or it’s ‘Up Your Nose with a Rubber Hose’".
Kotter had been off the air for a couple of years, but Troy’s days of modeling his life after Vinnie Barbarino lived on, something the gang all ribbed him on whenever it occurred to them.
“Yeah I wish I got as much tail as Travolta. Do you think he ever did Olivia Newton-John. I bet he did.”
With that he turned to go to the upstairs kitchen door, passing inches from where Vicky hides.
Marc, still not the most wasted he’d ever been, though close, stumbled down the outside steps, inserts and turns the key on the second try.
“Owata Goo Siam.”
Stoned, crowding the cellar door in the narrow cut that leads five steps downwards from outside, when the door swings open Will, Marc and Aram fall forward over each other down the last two inside steps into the basement. Marc in lead stumbling all the way across the room, hitting his head loudly on the washing machine. Annette, halfway down the stairs sees this, and uncharacteristically concerned drops her basket, spreading clothes across the lower inside steps and across the floor, then rushing down the remaining stairs, putting her hand on Marc’s shoulder and asking, “Are you hurt?” He shakes his head. “Good thing you have a hard head.” None of those goofballs even notice Stella and Rose, and undistracted they chant again.
Andy, with a long history of navigating while a little off balance, steps into the room over Aram who’s getting up from behind the couch when he sees the girls. Andy goes, “Wow. Cool hallucination!”
Will looks at Andy and follows his line of sight.
“I don’t thin’ that’s a hallucination,” Aram replies looking over at the girls, his jaw dropping.
“Owata Goo Siam.”
Peering in from the open door, Vicky hears Aram and storms into the room. “What the hell is going on!”
“Owata Goo Siam.”
While Marc rubs his head feeling a bump emerge and Annette bends down to pick up her red bra off the concrete, Will, Aram, and Andy look on in dumb fascination at the naked pair bent over the table, tits swinging as they chant, while from the pot on the table a thick plume of dark purple smoke rises, alternately caressing each of their womanly charms, curling around them like a tongue of smoke, curling around their rock-hard nipples and down between their slightly-spread legs and around their curvy asses.
Vicky marches over to the table next to Stella and shouts, “I said what the hell is going on?” To punctuate she slams her palms onto the table.
“Only one more to go,” Rose thinks, “Owata Goo...”
The table wobbles with her blow. The shock finally loosens the last rivet in the brazier’s bad leg, now it tips sending the burning contents across the table.
“Siam!,” Stella shouts as she grabs the sand bucket and dowses the small fire now splayed across the table.
“Siam,” Rose whispers a beat later, realizing that they have failed to get all the way through the spell together. Probably won’t do anything anyway. And they had to get it at least 90% correct, that was still an “A”, wasn’t it? Bell curve and all.
While the fire was out, the smoke seemed to be getting thicker, forming new tendrils out of the brazier and off the table, the ashes a soon to be familiar mystic wizardly purple-orange with sparkling stars mixed in, reminding Andy of Dr. Strange’s cloak from those cool comics. One tendril headed directly to cover Stella’s face, another speared into Vicky’s nostrils. Less than a second later Stella had her tongue half way down Vicky’s throat, and Vicky was reciprocating, grabbing Stella’s tits. Rose sees this; a second later a thick new tendril snakes into her pussy and she emits a loud groan, cumming instantly on the spot.
“Whoa. Trippy!” Andy exclaimed, as additional smoke tendrils form and drift slowly towards Aram, Will and himself. Andy is next, inhales one deep, deliberate hit on the smoke being sent his way. Closest to the girls, he walks up behind Vicky, lifts her skirt, pulls down her panties, undoes his jean’s button, unzips himself and plunges deeply in her soaking wet vagina. Impaled, he pulls her back a couple of steps, she disengages from Stella with a wet “Pop”. Andy and her fall back on the couch. “This strange pussy,” he thinks. “Feels pretty fine.” His hands reach around to grope her breasts while undoing her shirt and bra.
Stella looks around for a new partner. Marc can’t be seen on the floor where he’s rolling on the clothes pile with Annette, and Aram has started to plow into Rose, who is bent over the other side of the table.
Will reacted fast, pinching his nose and holding his breath on seeing what was happening to his friends. But a naked and demanding Stella ordering, “Will! Get over here! Fuck me!” is all needed to break his resolve; he opens his mouth wide and gulps a big ball of the smoke. He coughs it out but it flows back in with the next breath. Half-a-moment later Stella is sucking on his dong in ways he’s only dreamed of. The first thought going through his little head is “I bet if I can get her to sit on the table I’ll be able to eat her pussy. Then I’ll fuck her. I’ll fuck her ass. Maybe I should cum in her mouth first. If I do that, she’d gotta let me suck on clit.”
Meanwhile six more tendrils were lazily floating up to the kitchen.