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Being 2020, my Christmas wish to Santa had to be less frivolous than my normal request for a night with Mila Kunis. This year I would wish for the ability to avenge my most tragic loss. Many years ago my two siblings were captured and killed by a most-wicked witch. A very Grimm story. This year I would wish for the ability to destroy her. I realize I’m too old to be writing letters to Santa. But, I’m also too old to eat corn dogs and tater tots alone which I do every night. Always hopeful, despite a lifetime of disappointment, I jumped from bed Christmas morning and dashed to my appropriately artificial Christmas tree. Luckily I avoided a substantial pile of mouse droppings which proved those little bastards had been stirring all night.Dangling from a scrawny Charley Brown-esque branch was an amulet with a Post-it note attached. The medallion was the silhouette of a witch riding a broom with a thick red line through it. The note provided the details: “Suzi per your wish this amulet will provide what you seek. You have but twenty-four hours to accomplish your quest or it will turn into a pumpkin. PS, would it kill you to wish for a cookbook? Your cookies suck!!! and you left low-fat milk. LOW-FAT!! How fuckin’ rude.”Excitedly, I packed the amulet into my suitcase prepared to return to my hometown with bloodlust on my mind like Uma Thurman in ‘Kill Bill.’ To my relief upon landing at the tiny airport I had six-hours of holiday magic left. My first stop was the small town’s lone watering-hole, the VFW.I saw her before she saw me, maintaining my element of surprise. The object of my surveillance was Mulva DeVille; my highschool drama teacher until I graduated three-year ago and left the shire for LA in search of acting fame and fortune. She was a doll. Unfortunately, the doll was Chuckie. What she lacked in beauty she made up for in unpleasantness.The surly bitch was never encouraging. She told me as I boarded a westbound Greyhound that the only role I’d ever find in Hollywood was of the cinnamon variety. Even with her nastiness, I was excited to see her. Despite her teaching rage I found her classes inspiring and even found her oddly bahis siteleri appealing while others considered her cold and sterile. The nerds even had a nickname for her: the Ice Planet Hoth.I heard rumors of her bisexual proclivities but neither of us pursued it after she filed a pesky restraining order, effectively cunt-blocking me. Even in dim light, her red hair glowed like a space heater. Her skin was albino-pale but I had my methods of putting color in her cheeks. Both sets. I strutted past her at the VFW’s jukebox. She began singing along with the Eagles cover of ‘Please Come Home For Christmas’ in an unnecessary ploy to catch my attention. Slowing down I flashed my most seductive smile. Twirling her ginger locks teasingly she asked, “How’s Hollyweird treating you, Suzi dear?” “I’ve been very busy, thank you.”Oozing condescension she continued, “Yes I can imagine. Those flapjacks don’t serve themselves at IHOP.”Quick with my reply, “For your information, I’m not at IHOP. I’m a server at Blinkie’s Donut Emporium but I’m acting as well. You must have missed my cameo as ‘crack whore number-two’ on Sesame Street.””I shall always consider that my loss,” she dryly answered. However, I noticed she had taken my hand and was tenderly caressing. Mistletoe dangled from her belt buckle.My pulse quickened. I didn’t want to appear overly eager so I changed the subject and my panties. “How have you been, Ms. DeVille?””Oh please, dear! Call me Mulva. Or Mommy if you prefer.””Let’s go with Mulva.””Dang! Now, what shall I do with all those adult diapers I bought Black Friday? But, to answer your question this pandemic has forced the cancellation of all my drama curriculum so my liquid assets are drying up like a spinster’s nether region.” She always did project the prim-and-proper image. I don’t recall ever hearing her utter a vulgarity although I had spent many hours pleasuring myself in a girls’ restroom stall imagining Mulva on her knees describing my wet “cunt” in Dickensian detail. Still holding hands as the flirtation barometer soared, I moved closer and whispered, “You’re a semi-sexy woman. Have you considered selling your canlı bahis siteleri body? Or at least leasing it?”With the slightest of blushes, she whispered, “How much would you pay to rent me, Suzi?””That depends. Do you have change for a five?” She giggled and playfully slapped my forearm. Then in a false stern tone, “I should paddle your bum until you can’t sit for a week.””Oh! You didn’t mention a paddle…do you have change for a fifty?” After more suggestive banter we agreed to adjourn to her home. Calling an Uber she gave the driver her address on the corner of Toil and Trouble Streets.Sitting in the back seat of the sputtering Corolla, Mulva and I sat close making tedious small talk. With her leg pressing against mine she asked, “Did you ever sell that marvelous play you wrote senior year?””Oh, you mean the play you said had more holes than a junkie’s arm?” Again she slapped my arm and stage-whispered, “I was always so naughty with you. Perhaps you should paddle ME.” The driver immediately lost control and plowed over four Salvation Army volunteers. In the distance ‘Taps’ played. Normally I am very tentative during Phase One of seduction but surprisingly I felt less pressure than a Motel Six showerhead with her. I leaned in for a series of tender kisses. Electrical sparks shot down my spine like I had showered with Pikachu. Gazing out the streaked window I noticed a sign welcoming us to the sleepy town of Bedford Falls. I returned my gaze to my bewitching companion and realized it’s a wonderful life as I thought about springing my trap. I even paused to wave at old man Potter. My nefarious plan was advancing nicely. You see, I know what Miss DeVille doesn’t know I know: that she is the witch responsible for the death of my two siblings. I had exhausted my tips from donuts, coffee, and blowjobs hiring investigators to confirm my conclusion. Now the denouement was near. Pulling in front of her adorable gingerbread cottage, Mulva and I strolled hand-in-hand up her walkway. “What a delicious home you have. The neighborhood kids must love it.”She smiled wickedly before answering, “If these walls could talk!””If these walls canlı bahis start talking I’m bursting through them like the Kool-Aid man.” She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze as we stopped at the door. “Suzi, I feel we have something special here so honesty is vital.””It is? I mean yes it is.”She began fidgeting like Trump awaiting an eviction notice. “The truth is… I’m in actuality a witch.” I feigned shock. “Like ‘Bewitched?”She seemed irked by the question and ranted, “Bewitched was a terrible sit-com. I live in reality, a true witch who practices the black arts!””I’ve always wondered about the differences between black and white magic.”She promptly explained, “Black magic is recommended for athletics and dancing. White magic is designed for the rhythmically-challenged and Nascar fans.”She wasn’t finished. “I can even use spells to help your acting career as I did for Clint Howard. You didn’t think he succeeded purely on his rugged good looks, did you?” She was certainly making it difficult to kill her.Opening her door, strains of ‘Witchy Woman’ greeted us along with a bubbling iron cauldron sitting in the middle of a very active room. Present were two flamboyant young men, whom Mulva introduced as, “Werner and Herzog visiting from the old country.” They were dressed only in matching mesh banana hammocks and grinding against brooms suggestively. In the corner sat a decaying pirate who was Bogarting a joint of skunk diesel. His left hand was missing, replaced by a steel hook which he was using as a roach clip.The parrot on his shoulder was flapping its wings wildly amid a chronic contact high while squawking, “Polly wants a cracker… make that a Twinkie.” The last remaining member of this motley crew entered from the kitchen; a lovely, diminutive brunette dressed in a maid uni and carrying steaming mugs of witch’s brew. A fat black cat purred while rubbing against the witch’s legs. “That’s my familiar,” she informed. “The cat not the girl. The girl is my acolyte, Zelda.”I chimed in, “Zelda, you say. Her legend precedes her.”Annoyed, Mulva replied subtlely sarcastically, “Yes, I’m sure she’s never heard that idiotic Nintendo reference before.”I cornered the petite young woman and immediately hit on her like a slow-pitch softball. “You are such a dainty creature. I want to serenade you with the perfect song. Perhaps ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John?”
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