Magic Michael’s Business Blunder

On the corner of Carnal and Congress sat a small, unassuming shop known for having an eclectic array of gadgets, outfits, oils and more for when it was time to do the dirty between the sheets. The indescribable levels of pleasure these items brought to their customers were rumored to come from dark magic. Arguably the sexiest type of magic. 

A middle-aged woman named Denise walked up to the shop and paused to look up at the sign. “Magic Michael’s Sex Shoppe” was spelled out in purple cursive with a phony cartoon of a magician’s hat and wand. Denise pursed her lips. She was intrigued by the possibilities but knew these shops were often basic and predictable. It’s not like she was looking for anything hardcore, but it felt like all the places she tried never had anything that met her needs. She sighed and opened the door, determined to remain positive and optimistic. 

“Whore!” The shrill voice hit Denise square in the face. She stopped short and looked around with searching eyes. The shop was small enough to see everything in one glance, but she couldn’t see anyone. She could still feel the presence of the person though, and it felt angry. 

Denise stayed in the doorframe, half-expecting someone to pop out of the corner like a Halloween decoration and rain down more insults. Was this store some sort of trap set up by an extremist organization? Do they lure in perverts with their wicked desires and then teach them that Jesus can save their tortured souls?

Denise was about to reverse out of the store when the Michael of Magic Michael’s himself stepped briskly from behind the front counter toward her. His bulging jaw muscles were clenched so hard that he was about an ounce of pressure away from breaking all of his teeth. As he approached, Denise could see that a good amount of sweat was beading on his forehead. 

“Ma’am please forgive us, we’re having a few difficulties with our products this afternoon.” He said while wringing his hands. 

“Oh uh, that’s okay. Wait, who?”

“Well-“

“Look at this, a proud harlot!”

Denise whipped around to catch the person that kept shouting but was instead met head-to-head with a 12-inch black dildo. Was it her imagination or was it eyeing her judgmentally?

Michael quickly slid in front of Denise’s line of view, a sheepish smile on his face. “Yes well, you may have heard rumors that we use magic to make our items the most pleasurable in the world…” he started in a nervous sing-songy voice. 

“Satan’s mistress!” Spat the black dildo.

“….and the rumors are true.” Michael finished with a deflated sigh. 

“The fuck”. Denise thought to herself. Then she said it outloud. She peered around Michael’s shoulder to get a better look at the dildonic assailant when someone from across the room shouted “Hey lady, that’s a wide load!”.

Denise whirled around and landed her eyes on a set of cherry flavored edible underwear. She stared at it in disbelief. It burped at her. 

Michael rubbed his tired eyes, his gemstone rings glistening in the shop lights. 

“I thought it would be a revolutionary idea to give our adult toys the ability to talk. You know, dirty talk, to get people in the mood. I thought it would go over particularly well for the lonely soloists that frequent our establishment. While I was reciting the spell last night throughout the store, I had on an episode of “Extreme Truckers of Amish Country” in the background.”

Michael paused and pointed at the TV. 

Denise blinked. 

“Rumspringa Edition”. He said in a hushed tone. 

After an awkward moment of silence with their eyes met, Michael realized Denise wasn’t going to give him the reaction he was looking for, so he shrugged his shoulders and added, “Anyway somewhere the wires got crossed.” 

A dry cough came from the vibrator section “Yeah got a 10-4 on those mommy milkers”. 

Denise walked a few bewildered steps further into the shop, amazed at what she just heard. Why would anyone willingly watch “Extreme Truckers of Amish Country”?  

A woman’s voice came from an impossibly tiny cockcage, it was in the middle of a gentle scolding, blaming Denise for not knowing how to sand wood properly. It almost sounded like flirting, admittedly it was hard to tell if it was an innuendo or not. 

The small shop had transformed into a twisted Beauty and the Beast, except instead of candlesticks and teacups cleaning and singing, it was maid’s outfits catcalling bottles of lube that were feigning being offended. Denise looked at the chaos around her and eventually settled her eyes on the shop owner. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble here, Mike.”

Michael grabbed a fistful of his hair and groaned, “I don’t know how to reverse the spell, I tried watching an episode of “Little House on the Prairie” but it just made everyone mad. They told me I was ruining the mood...” 

Denise wondered if Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman would have been more appropriate. 

“..And look, I’ve had this place for 30 years, and I’ve met a lot of freaks. Truly, there are people that are into anything and everything. Pumpkins, step-grandparents, Arbor Day, you name it. But I can tell you, for certain, I have never met anyone with a puritan amish trucker fetish. I’m ruined!”

Denise, since she walked in the door, had a warm feeling crawling up her body. It started in her toes and was now making her head feel like a lava lamp. She had never felt this way before and wasn’t sure where it was coming from. She walked over to a butt plug and tapped it gently in thought. It responded with a hushed “Breaker, breaker”. 

Why…why did she feel so at peace? Like everything was right for the first time in her adult life? And why did she suddenly want to know what time “Extreme Truckers of Amish Country” was on tonight?

Denise flashed a wicked smile as realization set in. A fire ignited in her eyes as she gathered as many of the talking items into her arms at once. All these wasted years on rose toys and rabbits ears and nipple clamps! All the confusion on why nothing ever met her needs, solved in an instant. 

“You’ve met one now. Michael, ring me up!”