An earlier version of this story appeared at microhorror.com in January 2010
Irresistible
Martin Clarke re-read the email, wondering how it had bypassed the spam filter. “Donate to Heart’s Desire Retirement Facility, and as a thank-you we’ll make your wish come true! Please be generous.” Well, it was different. Most places sent you a free pen or a set of adhesive address labels.
Who lived at this facility? Ageing lampless genies? Retired fairy godmothers? Did they really think he’d part with his hard-earned cash so some old biddies could laze around all day? He had all he could wish for, anyway, thanks very much; a million in the bank, luxury mansion, cars, and friends. Everything, except…
He typed inside the “wish” box: “To be irresistible to women”, and made his donation. No harm in having a go. Oh, girls threw themselves at him, of course, but he could tell from their glazed looks in the bedroom that they craved his fortune, not his body. A twenty-something stunner wouldn’t normally look twice at a bloated fifty-something with a receding hairline.
The front door slammed.
He rushed into the hall. Three scantily-clad beauties stood there, and before he knew what was happening, they’d pushed him gently but firmly through an archway into the antique-strewn sitting room. “Steady on, ladies. We haven’t been introduced.” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. “How did you all get past the security gate?” They were a gang of girl thieves; that was it. It couldn’t be that stupid wish thing; he didn’t really believe in that stuff.
“We’ve been sent by Heart’s Desire,” purred the tallest one, as she pushed him down onto a sofa and began unbuttoning his shirt. She leaned into him, so that her long dark hair tickled his chest. She smelled of vanilla and musk.
“You wished us here,” said another, stroking his thighs. Martin’s body started to respond. He’d remember this night forever. He was the luckiest man alive.
The third girl pressed Martin’s hand against her left breast and began licking his ear. “You really are irresistible,” she whispered.
He groaned softly, and tipped his head back in pleasure. As he did, he caught a glimpse of the girl’s unusual dentition. “What the...?” Vanilla Girl lunged, and the sharp pain in his neck answered that question. He really should have donated more than one lousy dollar.
© Bec Zugor 2010
