Max's Curse

Max walked into work at a South Florida Department Store feeling sluggish in the summer heat. Right by the door, he saw Allison. He had known many Allisons, and the name had always intrigued him. He had never been able to seduce any of them. He was a clown, and he was only good at making people laugh, mostly unintentionally. He had worked with this Allison for 6 months since she transferred from another branch.

"Hey Max, so I hear you're at checkout now. Do you like it?"

Max thought it was okay. He used to work customer service with Allison, and he greatly enjoyed spending time with her, but they were at work. And apparently she had a boyfriend, though Max never saw him.

In addition, Max hadn't felt the same since the witch Caroline bumped into him. She was in a hurry and really in a rage. After she bumped into him, she looked at him with wide open eyes. So much anger was in them that it scarred his soul. He couldn't even get up the courage to ask out a girl outside of work. He needed to find his mojo.

While sitting at the checkout counter, with the store mostly empty, Max had a lot of time to think. He couldn't be a scoundrel at work anymore, so he thought about his ideal home. A nice condo by the water. Stucco siding on buildings, illuminated by red and green lights that shone up from the palm trees. It must've been from a childhood spent being raised by grandparents, who taught him things that were useless in the 21st century. But despite the uselessness, there was something useful about the techniques. Something adaptable. He wondered how he could adapt his style into something interesting and desirable.

"So Allison, how's the family?" he said one day back on the customer service floor, trying to make chit chat.

"Oh, they're good. I wish I could spend more time with them."

She was so inscrutable.

Max got home and figured that he might as well pull up some good old fashioned porn sites. Not the B.S. fetish shit anymore, just good old fucking. He had forgotten how to fuck after not getting laid for 3 years. It was embarrassing to admit to himself, but he had to start getting real if he wanted to get back in the game. He tried pulling up various websites that he remembered from High School, stuff with lesbians, Asians, anal, vaginal. He suddenly felt energy coursing through his arms, and his dick was soon to follow. He remembered how it felt to thrust because you couldn't think of doing anything else. The lack of control you experience in desire. He tried not to think about the feelings too much since he was a guy. Everyone has fetishes, but they tend to keep them private, or with their partner. When you're with someone in the heat of the moment, you have to let the feelings wash over you like waves. Once it gets you, there's nothing you can do.

He felt too think-y again. People have sex, and people know that other people have sex. Max wondered why he was so ashamed of certain thoughts. Some would say it's the conservative mindset of the country. Whatever.

He wasn't going to edge either. It was some stupid thing he read online in High School that was supposed to make your erections stronger, but it really just made you kinkier.

He settled on a German one with a guy who starts kissing and touching a pale, voluptuous blonde on a couch. She wears white pearls and a black dress. When she pulls down his pants, she smirks at how huge his erection is. The dubbing and music is comically cheesy. He takes her from the back and puts his arm around her thigh. As he changes position, Max finishes. 5 minutes, a new record!

He plays it again but this time he gets all the way to the point where he turns her on to her stomach. They're now on their knees and feet instead of their sides, and there's a new kind of interest that bubbles up in Max's brain. In the moment, he realizes how fucking simple it is to get pleasure out of life. Unfortunately, he still feels like a swig or two of vodka. He'd lick that alcohol problem after the fetish problem was taken care of. Plus, he really only drank when he was alone at night or with close friends. Public drinking doesn't count because it's usually social.

Feeling tired, he lies back and listens to the T.V., thinking about the possibilities of the new day.