Alana’s Magic Lamp

by Sahara Kelly

  As she said the words she knew they were true. These two gorgeous, metaphysically impossible men had worked their magical way into her heart with their loving and touching and above all, their caring.

  A thought flashed through her mind.

  “What am I going to do without you?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, God, how am I going to let you go?”

  Sami cleared his throat awkwardly and Hari looked down at the table, both clearly affected by Alana’s cry.

  “If I just stop coming, will that mean you’ll have to stay longer?” she asked, looking at Hari and then at Sami.

  “It doesn’t work that way, my delight,” answered Sami sadly. “As we sleep, our experiences are…are…I guess the best way to describe it is ’downloaded’ by our Guardian—he monitors our progress with you. That’s how we knew it was time to move on to the next phase.”

  “You mean somebody is watching us?”

  “Not exactly,” said Hari. “He is the Guardian, and it is his assigned duty to keep an eye on his Djinns—for our safety as much as anything else.”

  “Hmmm…sounds like a case of ’Big Djinn’ is watching, to me.” Alana got up from the table and moved to wash her mug in the sink. Her mind was in turmoil, buzzing and worrying and turning this problem over and over. She hadn’t gotten to be a successful small businesswoman without coming up with some innovative ideas. Somehow she had to do something for Hari and Sami. What that something was, she didn’t quite know yet, but she was determined—she had a goal. God help anything or anybody that stood in her way.

  Without thinking, she hit the remote for her stereo—a routine move she’d been doing every morning at her sink for years. Strains of the Bee Gees filled the air.

  Before the brothers Gibb could announce that you could tell they were men from the way they walked, Hari and Sami had the table pushed back and were moving— discoing actually, in her kitchen. Alana’s mouth dropped.

  They were good. No, strike that, they were great. Chippendales could have cleared a fortune off these guys.

  Two sets of strong arms swung to the disco beat and two sets of feet whirled and stomped. Sami twisted and turned—Michael Jackson and Paula Abdul would have eaten their hearts out for some of his moves.

  Like Travolta, he dropped to his knees and bounded back up again, strutting in rhythm like a dude with a bad case of Saturday Night Fever. But if Sami was the showman, Hari was the Lord of the Dance.

  Elegant and austere, his moves were more sensual—his muscles danced as much as his body did—and when they both turned around and waggled their butts at her, it was too much.

  Her mouth watered, and she wanted nothing more than to take a bite out of those wonderful firm cheeks, even though they happened to be clad in pants at that moment.

  The Village People were now lauding the benefits of the Y.M.C.A. What the heck had gotten into her radio station, anyway? Disco nostalgia?

  Alana burst out laughing as both Hari and Sami broke into an amazingly lifelike routine to the belting rhythm of the song. Her feet tapped on the floor and she clapped her hands, giggling as Sami bobbled his eyebrows in time to the beat.

  The sound of Alana’s doorbell froze everyone in their tracks—with the exception of the Village People, of course, who had never frozen for a second since 1969.

  Sami hurriedly turned the volume down.

  “Oh shit—did you shield this place?”

  “No—I thought you did.”

  “I thought you did. Omar’s balls!”

  “Damn.”

  “Sorry, Alana,” said Hari, turning to her. “We usually don’t make so much noise— or at least if we do, we put up a shield so that we don’t disturb anybody else. I guess this time we forgot…”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Oh well—no harm done. I’ll just go soothe whichever of my neighbors is going to complain,” she grinned.

  “Just a moment, Alana,” said Sami, waving his hands.

  Her old sweats disappeared, to be replaced by her silk caftan and cushi bell. She raised an eyebrow.

  Both guys grinned at her encouragingly. “If you’re going to be our most successful Sex Goddess yet, you might as well start dressing like one.”

  “Yeah, right,” she snorted.

  “Remember, Alana—whoever it is cannot see us,” whispered Hari as she went to the door.

  Peeking through her security lens, she saw an unwelcome sight. Sighing, she opened the door.

  “Hello, George.”

  Chapter 9

  She stood quietly in the doorway surveying her unwelcome guest.

  George had become convinced, somewhere along the line, that women adored him. Whoever had given him that impression should either be locked up or shot, thought Alana to herself. She noted the wet-looking, slicked back hair, which still managed to stick out over his ears, the muscle shirt (which could have used a good bleaching), and the jeans—tight, but not fitting they way they should. Not the way Sami’s fit, for example. She sighed, knowing that such a comparison was really unfair.

  “Hiya, sweets—heard the music and figured you must be setting up a going away party for me.”

  He slithered past Alana and into her apartment before she had a chance to protest and made his way into the kitchen. Alana noted the table was back in its usual place and there was no sign of her two visitors—she had no idea if they could turn invisible and were still in the room or what. Shrugging mentally, she turned her attention to George.

  “You’re leaving?” she said, trying to keep the joyful note out of her voice.

  “Yeppers. Moving out this afternoon. Gotta keep up with the market, babes.”

  He leaned against the counter in what he probably believed was a sexy pose. Actually, all it did was thrust a portion of white flesh out through the gap in the top of his jeans—yeah, they were unfastened, sheesh, was it a guy thing? His muscle shirt would have been okay if there had been any muscles within a mile or so of its vicinity. Unfortunately, the muscle fairy had not blessed George, and the shirt kept trying to slide off his narrow shoulders. Probably trying desperately to escape, thought Alana whimsically. What was I thinking when I let this man touch me?

  “You were lonely, Alana. That’s not a crime,” whispered a soft voice in her ear. Jerking slightly, she moved to a chair and sat down, trying to remember George’s last comment.

  “And that market would be…”

  George laughed, trying for a deep chuckle and achieving a mid-range squawk. “Hey, plumbing supplies, honey. Remember I told you about the building boom going on upstate? We opened a branch office up there and I’m being transferred as manager. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows in what he must have imagined was a real sexy turn-on kind of way. It actually resembled two woolly caterpillars doing the tango on his broad forehead, especially with that one extra long brow hair that stuck out…no, best not go there. Alana mentally pushed her breakfast back down, and gave a polite smile.

  “I’m very pleased for your good fortune, George. I’m sure this is a great step up for you. Congratulations.”

  “Now honeycakes, that’s not what I had in mind…” he leered. “See, here’s me about to leave for bigger and better things, and here’s you looking —I gotta say it—looking mighty fine this morning. Oh yes, mighty fine…“ His eyes roved hotly over Alana’s body. She knew that the soft silk was clinging to her nipples and guessed it was pretty obvious to George that she had little or nothing on underneath.

  The front of his jeans swelled. A little.

  His fingers went to his zip. “See, I was thinking more along the lines of you and me getting horizontal, ya know?”

  The sound of the zip going down was paralleled by one of Alana’s eyebrows going up.

  “Really? As I recall, there wasn’t very much ‘horizontal’ about anything, last time I allowed you in here,” she responded acidly.

  “Hey—gotta try new stuff, babes. It was k
inda fun.”

  “Gosh—really? I suppose it must have been. They say time flies when you’re having fun. It seemed like, what, all of about fifteen seconds?”

  “Aw, don’t blame me if you didn’t see stars, sweetcakes. Sometimes girls just don’t make it. Why don’t you let me an’ Junior here have a go at making it better.”

  George gestured to his cock, which was now half-heartedly waving at her. George had apparently forgotten or already packed his underwear. The thought of Hari or Sami without underwear made her mouth water. The thought of George without underwear made her want Alka Seltzer. Fast.

  “This is your love tool, babe. Come and say hi to Junior—you know what he is?”

  Taking the wind out of George’s sails, Alana answered before he could go into his spiel about his cock being the answer to the troubles of every woman within a radius of ten miles.

  “Yes, I think I know what that is, George. It looks like a penis. Only smaller.”

  Junior didn’t like that, and shrank slightly in embarrassment.

  “Hey—no need to get mean, sweets, just because you can’t hit the big O every time, like some of us here…” Junior got an encouraging stroke and perked up a little. “Like I said, it takes practice. So whaddya say you come over here and let me slide my hands under that cute little dress of yours, huh? Come give George a real send-off.”

  Alana sent up a prayer to heaven that, just for a few minutes, murder would be quite legal.

  Drawing a deep breath she swayed across the room, making her cushi bell tinkle and feeling her self-confidence build with each step.

  George’s face betrayed his rising excitement. “Hey—you’re ringing my chimes, sweet lips,” he said, staring at her breasts as they moved gently beneath her gown.

  “Oh yeah, oh yeah…” he said as she reached for his pants and freed him from the fabric.

  “Oh that’s more like it, toots—go for it. Give Junior a big old kiss, why doncha?”

  Alana gritted her teeth. God, she was going to shower for a week after this. She reached lower and found George’s balls, compactly tucked against his body. She eased them free and into the cool air of the kitchen.

  George sighed and widened his stance, eyes closed and waiting for her to go down on him.

  His eyes flew open as Alana slowly tightened her grasp.

  “Hey—whoa—easy, babe—you’ve got the future generations of my family there…”

  “Oh, God, don’t let him tempt me like this,” she murmured.

  “Be cautious, Alana-love, you can inflict great damage without caution,” warned Sami’s soft voice in her ear.

  “I’d be doing womankind a favor,” she responded.

  “Wha—What favor?” stuttered George, trying to keep pace with Alana’s words, while his balls were held in an ever-tightening grip. His hands clenched the counter on either side of him and he froze as her fingers increased their pressure.

  “George, you and I have to have a little dialogue,” she said politely.

  “Oh—er—you mean like talk about stuff before we do it?” said George, hopefully.

  “Not exactly.” Her fingers tightened ever so slightly.

  George blinked.

  “See, George, I think you skipped a couple of classes in sex ed. I think you and Junior here were so busy trying to get someone to do it with you that you missed learning how it should be done.”

  “Hah. I’ve never had any complaints, babe. I think you’re off base there,” he answered, as confidently as he could for a man with his balls in the equivalent of a wringer.

  “Well, for instance, George, a woman has feelings. She has mental feelings and physical feelings.” Alana moved slightly getting herself more comfortable and giving another little twist to the package in her hand.

  Junior scurried into hiding.

  “Her mental feelings require you to make sure she wants to ’do it’ before you actually go ahead and start doing it. That might involve something as simple as asking her if she wants sex, or perhaps even complimenting her body and saying nice things. Are you with me so far, George?”

  Twist.

  “Yessss,” hissed George.

  “Good. Now there are also physical feelings, George. That means that her body would like to be touched in certain places. They’re called, and I’m going to use a very big word here, George, so pay attention, they’re called ’Erogenous Zones.’ Do you think you could remember that?” Twist.

  “Uh huh!” squeaked George.

  “So in the future, you’ll remember to perhaps touch or even kiss a woman’s breasts, George.”

  Junior displayed some interest at the direction of the conversation. Alana had to give him points for single-mindedness.

  “And there are other places she might like to be touched as well. It’s kind of up to you to find out, but a good suggestion is to gently stroke around and see what she likes. And you can tell when she’s ready for you, George. Do you know how?” Squeeze.

  George nodded, swallowing noisily.

  “Good, but I’m going to tell you anyway, in case you’ve got it wrong. After you’ve spent some time touching her, George—and I mean time, not two minutes per breast and three everywhere else, but real quality time—she’s going to start to warm up. That’s start, George, just start. Not ’OK I’m ready, stick it in me, George,’ a woman’s body doesn’t work like that. Are you still with me?” Twist.

  Sweat beaded George’s upper lip.

  “You’ll find she gets wet, George, very wet. And that’s when you know she’s ready for you…not before.”

  George nodded again, biting his lip.

  “I hear you, Alana,” he groaned.

  Alana glanced down to see that Junior was busily trying to hide himself in fact if he hid any more he’d be backing out of George’s ass.

  She released her grip a tiny bit and George sucked in a breath of air.

  “Now, I don’t know where you’re moving to, George, and I don’t want to know. But I’d like to think that I have improved things for the girls you’re gonna be dating in the future, and if you remember what I’ve told you here today, some of them might even enjoy having sex with you and want to do it again. That would probably be a first, wouldn’t it, George?”

  “Well…I…”

  The fingers tightened again.

  “Yes, yes…OK, you’re right. Women don’t go out with me twice, OK?”

  “See? I’m doing you a huge favor here, George. Now, I think this lecture is about over, and it’s time for you and Junior to take your leave. But there is one thing I’d like you to know…”

  She leaned in really close and breathed in George’s ear.

  “If you ever try and stick it to a woman before she’s ready and willing like you did to me that night, I’m going to find you, George. And I’m going to bring along some of my own plumbing supplies. I think a nice length of 2-1/2 inch PVC tubing ought to do the job. And do you know what I’m going to do with that, George?”

  Wisely, he made no comment, just shook his head.

  “I’m going to ram it so far up your ass that it’ll drain your sinuses and you’ll never have to blow your nose again. You clear on that, George? I mean crystal clear?”

  Alana punctuated her question with a definite jerk on his balls and George turned white. Only the fear that he might throw up on her deterred her from inflicting the pain she felt he so richly deserved.

  “It’s time to go, George, just follow me.”

  She left him little choice, as she still held his balls in a grip of iron. George shuffled behind her in abject terror.

  Opening the front door, Alana “encouraged” him to leave by dragging her hand through the door, correctly assuming that where his balls were, George would be right behind.

  Finally, she released her hand, just managing to stop herself from wiping it on her lovely silk caftan. Ugh. Nut cooties.

  “Now look here…” blustered George, feeling righteous macho indignation r
eturning along with the feeling to his scrotum.

  “Sleep, you ignorant pile of camel dung.” A whisper came from behind Alana.

  George’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slithered to the ground.

  “Oh, nice touch, guys. Can you teach me to do that?”

  Hari and Sami emerged, grinning, and tugged him a short way down the hall, leaving him resting in a semi upright position with his fly wide open. Junior was tucked away in terror and the sight of George with his package hanging out was not one to increase his reputation as a stud.

  Alana giggled, and then looked at her hand.

  “Aargh.”

  Hari and Sami closed the door behind them and found Alana in the kitchen, fiercely scrubbing her hands with disinfectant soap.

  “I can’t believe I touched him—he’s bound to have nut cooties—oh, God, I’ll never get this hand clean.”

  Sami quirked a brow. “Nut cooties?”

  “Yeah—nasty little thingies that stay on your hands after you’ve touched someone’s really gross nuts…”

  “Never heard of them,” said Hari. “Do we have them?”

  Alana gasped out a laugh.

  “Dear God, no. Cooties would kill for the privilege of being on your nuts, guys,” she laughed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she’d said.

  “Geez, what’s gotten into me? I’m grabbing people by the balls, and talking about cootie nuts…I’m still hallucinating all this, aren’t I?”

  The two Djinns sat at her table and watched as she finished the decontamination of her hand.

  “Alana, you are not hallucinating. You are simply becoming more confident in yourself as a woman. You are beginning to realize that there is a very sexual person inside you and she’s got to be free to be a part of you.”

  Alana thought about that for a minute.

  “I wonder if you’re right. It did feel fantastic to be able to get that George business out of my system. He really hurt me, and it felt good to tell him why. I really had his attention, didn’t I?” she grinned.

  Both Hari and Sami shifted on their chairs.

  “I would say that was a fairly accurate assessment of the situation, Alana, yes,” answered Hari. “We felt for the poor man, actually. You do know that you were hanging on to one of the most delicate areas of a man’s body, don’t you?”