De-Witcher Part 2

Standing at Trey’s door, about to knock, all I could smell was old man.

Mothballs and antiseptic. Gauze--no, diapers. Stale urine. Acrid sweat. Some of it I smelled with my nose; the rest I sensed. There was residual energy from an active curse on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” groaned a weak voice after I called through the door.

“Trey?” I said. “It’s Blaze. Can you open up please?”

I knew what to expect, but still, what I saw peeking through as the door opened up a couple of inches shocked me. This man was six inches shorter than Trey was and withered, only a few wispy hairs on his head, one of his eyes completely blinded completely white while he squinted through the other. His spine curved over into an uncomfortable hunch. His bones looked brittle, like a heavy cough would shatter him from the inside. It hurt my heart to see such a virile man reduced to this.

“I don’t… I don’t know any Blaze…” he said in his whispery voice. “I think you’ve got the wrong home…”

“You’re Trey, right?” I said. He stared back at me, confused, but nodded. “You invited me over,” I lied. “Don’t you remember? We just talked on the phone.”

He looked around, disturbed that this could have happened without his memory. Then he put his hand on his forehead and shook his head wildly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ve been so forgetful lately.” He slid the chain aside and opened the door.

Inside, Trey’s apartment was identical to what it had been the last time I was there. Trey’s leather jacket, slung over the sofa, would have been far too big to fit the shriveled old geezer that stood there now. The keys to his motorcycle were in a bowl next to the door. An open bottle of IPA sat on the kitchen counter. I saw pictures on the wall, of Trey and his boyfriend Seth. (Last I heard they were “on a break” although Trey hadn’t mentioned Seth in awhile.) There was one of me, framed and sitting on the TV. My heart leapt at that.

But the old man there was clearly Trey. I could sense his essence, strangulated within a throbbing purple orb of mystical energy. Whoever did this to Trey could have warped reality to make this the new Trey, erasing any evidence of him before. That would have taken a lot of power--clearly beyond whoever had worked this curse up--but would have been the perfect way to torture Trey if he had been the only one to remember the way things should have been.

But Trey clearly didn’t remember anything. He was so old I wondered how much of his mind was really left. He wore one of Trey’s t-shirts although it hung on him like a night-shirt now. Did he have any idea why he lived in the apartment of a much younger man? Or did her recognize these things as his own, confused as to why nothing fit anymore?

Simply aging a living thing was easy, although it would have left a much different trace. It would require either draining life force from a thing (usually done by a parasitic being like a lich or a succubus) or with a temporally shift, accelerating the victim’s flow of time so they aged fifty years in a matter of moments.

But the spell on Trey was transformation-based. This wasn’t, “Trey in his elderly state,” but a specifically designed elderly form Trey was turned into for some reason. Had Trey been himself, he would have suggested taking fingerprints. A transmogrified man’s prints wouldn’t match the man he had been before. I didn’t need to. I could see the architecture of the spell, still actively keeping Trey in this form.

“Why did you… say you were here?” Trey coughed.

I smiled. “I just needed to give you your medicine,” I said. From my pocket I produced the doll I’d created back when Trey and I had been sleeping together. I’d woven together chest hairs he’d left on my bed with fabric from a shirt he left behind. After it looked like a little stick-figure I rubbed into it a few drops of his semen.

Sure, judge me for being weird, but any wizard I know would see spilled cum as an opportunity for spellcraft, not just a reason to do laundry.

I had imbued the doll with a spark of Trey’s essence for exactly this reason. I chanted so quietly, the Trey’s ancient ears couldn’t even hear me. I held the doll forth, trying to merge its energy with its host. I dispell these profane energies with the purity of what this man once was!

Everything went black.

I don’t mean I lost consciousness, or that the lights went out. I mean that where everything was, suddenly there was nothing. The black was endless, smothering me. I conjured a small flame to light the way. I saw Trey’s face before me. Not his body, just his face.

“No! Blaze! You shouldn’t have come!” he said, panicked. “He planned for this! He wanted this!”

I tried to respond, but no sound came out. A moment later Trey’s face jerked away, dragged into the darkness. The sound of his screaming faded to nothing.

Ammonia hit me like a punch in the face and I gasped for breath, eyes watering and sinuses on fire. I gulped in huge breaths before I even processed what I was looking at: a ceiling. Old man smell replacing the ammonia. Also, faintly, Trey’s cologne.

The elderly man Trey had become held smelling salts in his hand. His breathing was deep and rough, but he patted me gently with his hand. Callouses grated against my face.

“Are you okay? I was trying to call 911,” he wheezed, “but I couldn’t find the damned phone…”

I hopped to my feet. My head was swimming.

“I’m so sorry,” Trey croaked. “I just… I can’t remember so well anymore and I just don’t remember… your name…”

My heartbeat drummed in my ears. Lightning framed my vision. I looked around the apartment, spotting the picture of Trey and I on the TV.

“I’m your… grandson…” I tried to slow my breathing but I still felt like I had a bad flu. My body felt weak and sore. My lungs ached and my mouth was dry. What the fuck had happened?

Trey thought for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, I remember now! You’re my… grandson…” He hobbled to the TV and touched the photo of us. “You look just like my… friend… from years ago. God, I can’t even remember his name.” He turned back to me, noticing me struggling to stand. “Goodness, are you okay?”

“Just feeling… faint…” My senses felt wrapped in gauze--light wasn’t as bright, sound wasn’t as clear. The doll I had made was on the ground, smoldering. The curse on Trey was boobytrapped.

Whoever did this wasn’t wielding a sloppy curse. He wasn’t inexperienced or underpowered. He was luring me in. This wasn’t an attack on Trey, it was an attack on me.

When I tried to de-witch Trey, I unleashed a hidden curse. I didn’t want to admit it as I walked unsteadily toward the door, but my powers had been bound.

“Let me get you something to drink,” Trey said. He shuffled toward the kitchen. I followed, noticing that the open beer in the kitchen was sitting on a black folder. Was it what Trey had been working on just before the spell had changed him? Trey fumbled with a half-full Brita. His hand shook violently as he tried to pour the water into a tumbler. I quickly snatched the folder and slid it under my shirt.

A few sips of water did nothing to ease my pain. A mage with bound powers was like a mortal man whose ears and nose were clogged. (It’s not a perfect metaphor, of course, but the best way to convey how it felt.)

I checked to make sure Trey had food to eat before I left. He seemed constantly lost. I didn’t want to leave him alone. “I’ll be back to check on you soon, grandpa…”

He smiled, then looked lost again. It broke my heart to leave him there like that.

When I got back to my car, I forgot that I’d left someone in the passenger seat: a massively built man in a red robe sat there quietly, staring off into the distance. Earlier that day, that man had been a living dildo before I undid the curse and restored him to his full size. His brain was slower to shift back to normal.

When I started the car, the giant man in tow coughed and gasped as if he’d just come up for air.

“What the… fuck?” he said. He swung out with his powerful limbs. I caught a punch in the side of the face. This really wasn’t my day.

“Calm down!” I said. I muttered a chant uselessly, forgetting that for the moment I was powerless. He calmed down anyway. He blinked and took in his surroundings.

“Where the fuck am I?” he asked.

“You’re in my car,” I said. “Until earlier today you were trapped as a living dildo in a shoebox.”

He didn’t seem as shocked by the news as I thought he would be. He ran a hand through his short blonde hair. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I undid the curse that had you trapped as a dildo. Your brain just took a little longer to… un-dildo…”

The bodybuilder nodded. “That actually… all… kinda makes sense. I feel like I’ve been having the most fucked up dreams…” He shuddered.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Corey,” he said. “Where’d this robe come from?”

“It’s your posing trunks. I magicked them into a robe when we left the house. I figured covering you up would attract less attention. It’s a temporary shift, though. It’ll snap back to posing trunks soon.”

Corey took it all surprisingly well. “Can you… take me home?” he asked.

“Sure thing,” I said. He gave me his address and we headed out.

“So, what was it like being a dildo?” I asked. I rarely got to interview the men I de-witched.

“It was…” He stroked his pecs and legs through the robe. “...I hate to say it, but kind of hot. Like every touch was… amazing… but frustrating. I couldn’t move, or…”

“Cum?” I finished. He nodded. “Every touch got you closer and closer to an orgasm you’d never reach. That must have been maddening.”

He gave me a half-smile. “Yeah, but also… kinda cool. Still need to cum pretty bad though.”

I wondered if that was an invitation.

“Did anybody use you?” I asked. “That you know of. I know your senses were a little muffled while you were stuck in that form… But if you knew who used you, we could probably figure out who did this to you?”

Corey just shook his head. “I know who did this to me,” he said. “I kind of did it to myself. Not on purpose.”

At his apartment, he stared at me quietly. I wondered if I should lean in to kiss him--but before I could decide, he spoke: “Do you want to see? How it happened?” he asked.

I fingered the black folder under my shirt and thought of Trey alone in his apartment. Then again, was there a chance that Corey’s dildoification was related to Trey’s curse? I loathed this detective shit--that wasn’t my forte--but any new information couldn’t hurt, I thought.

I followed Corey inside his apartment, which was just as meatheady as I expected. The whole place stunk of testosterone and sweat. He had shelves of bodybuilding trophies, protein shakers on the counter, dumbbells on the ground, containers full of powders and pills littering his cabinets and counters. He disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a little bronze trophy of a muscular man hoisting an old-timey barbell (spheres on each side) above his head. He handed it to me.

“I rubbed this thing,” he said. “I won it at my competition. But when I polished it, this… guy came out. Like a bigger version of the guy in the trophy. And he asked me what I wished for.”

I looked at the trophy in wonder. Could this thing house a djinn? I didn’t sense anything mystical, but without my powers I wouldn’t have been able to sense anything anyway.

“Did you really?” I said.

Suddenly there was a loud pop. The spell I had cast to make Corey’s robe ended. The robe snapped back to posing trunks tightly hugging his junk and his big, muscular ass. The sudden expanse of tanned, masculine muscle was appreciated after the kind of day I had.

“Fuck,” he said as he looked down on himself. “Fuck, man, this shit is… tight on my cock.” He readjusted his trunks over his swelling bulge.

“What did you wish?” I asked, hypnotized by the flexing muscles as he rearranged his cock and balls.

“I wished…” He moaned and closed his eyes. “I wished to be the perfect sex object. Which is stupid, now that I think about it, but…” He ran his hands over his pecs, flexing them, and then flexed his arms. “Jesus, my body’s still so sensitive…”

“You must be dying for release,” I said. At that he leapt forward, grabbing me in his powerful arms and kissing me deeply.

“Fuck, I need to fuck so bad,” he said, grinding his cum-spurting boner against me.

“Want me to use you like a dildo?” I said as I grabbed his shaft. He groaned and shook as I twisted my fist up and down his steel pipe.

“No,” he said, “no, I’m a bottom. I want you to fuck me… fuck me, please…”

Of course, I thought. A djinn tried to torment its wisher with every detail it could manipulate. Corey made it easy with his poor phrasing, but what would be more maddening than to be turned from a huge, muscular bottom, desperate for cock, into a perpetual penetrator?

Corey was down on all fours a moment later, his posing trunks yanked aside as he fingered himself and begged me to fuck him.

I knew I had other things to work on, but I had to oblige.