by Rae Foxx
“Yes. That. Her.”
“You know, with all her flower vaginas you would think she would have a name like Honey Pot, or Muffy.” Owen stumbled into his shorts, falling back onto the bed as he laughed uncontrollably. “Oh god… Evan! Evan, we could be living above ‘Cummings Honey Pot’.”
“Muffy’s Cummings Cove!” Evan shrieked, jumping right on the bandwagon.
“No!” I protested, hands in the air as I jumped between them and smacked them both on the arms playfully. “Stop it! You know it’s called the… the—” I paused, only able to think of Cummings Honey Pot. “Uhh… Able Vagina… That can't be right... God, this place. I don’t know who named it, but they were some horny buggers.”
"Then we really have come to the right place," Evan mused, smacking my ass as he strutted past me to the white door that creaked as loudly as it had last night. Hell, everything about this place creaked, like the house had heard too many romp-filled nights and was mimicking them.
Like a parrot. The house was a parrot.
“These stairs look like they might give at any second, or just decide to emancipate themselves from the building,” Owen said, reaching out to jerk on the metal that hooked the set of stairs to the bricks. He wasn’t wrong. Still, there was no other way down. “Scar, stay between us.”
That sentence tickled Evan. He turned around with the biggest grin on his face. “Doesn’t she always?” He waggled his eyebrows and I kicked him in the butt.
"You better be careful, or I'll stick you below me next time," I teased and gave him another swift kick as I barged my way down the stairs-from-hell on my own.
Show them that I don't need to be babied.
"Will you please?" Owen quipped. I turned to stick my tongue out at him for that, but instead, my foot slipped, the metal railing gave way, and I slid down five stairs like a baby elephant learning to walk. I smacked into the wall at the turn of the stairs, sending more moaning groans of wood echoing through the ancient structure.
"Ow."
"Yep, should have stayed between us." Evan wasn't even trying to hide his laugh. It rattled over the walls as he set me upright and planted a kiss on the exact part of my forehead that had collided with the wall. It must already be turning red. That was going to look great as a bruise.
"Either that or I could just carry you," I didn't get a chance to protest before Evan picked me up, Owen already holding the door open to the store below. Evan swept me into the store like we were newlyweds, though we were walking into a store named after a vagina.
I cringed, expecting the worst: replicas of pubic hair or ancient wood carvings of sex acts hanging from the ceiling or some shit. Instead, I walked into a cloud of smoke. Skunk, incense, and something that smelled a little too much like a vagina.
The throat-clogging scent reached down my gullet and I coughed a little while my eyes began to burn. It smelled like someone set a pile of leaves on fire, captured the smoke in a bottle and then mixed it with every flower in the world and sprayed the whole fucking place down with it.
It was like I had just walked into a vagina twilight zone.
Which actually was devoid of vaginas.
The words 'Vagile Ajna' were painted on the wall above the door, in flowing pink and brown script that was a little bit too flesh colored. Other than that, the store was nothing like I expected.
No sex toys. No ancient prints. Hell, the leather-bound sex book that I had from Bloodwood featured more risqué and erotic images than this store did. Instead, the walls were covered with the same fabric that my aunt had draped herself in.
Wood and glass shelves lined the brick walls, with small bookcases surrounding bean bags and poofs of stuffing that I guess were supposed to be chairs. Each shelf was full of books, more crystals, and weird little trinkets and metal bowls that I was sure had nothing to do with sex.
“Well, this is unexpected,” I mumbled, eyes flicking from the books to the old-fashioned cash register and the bead curtains that looked like they were right out of the ‘70s. It was from behind those beads that all the smoke happened to be coming from.
“Aunt Nancy… eh… Poetry?” I called toward the curtains as I wiggled my way out of my mates’ arms. The curtains parted with a flourish, two women busting through like they had been caught shoplifting.
Or crying, judging by the redness in their eyes.
“Oh, good morning!” Poetry sang, doing a little twirl as she danced her way over to the counter and the gingham-covered basket that was there. The lady behind her doing the same. Although she stumbled more than she danced.
“Good morning my lovers,” Poetry continued with a bit too much air in her voice and lit a stick of what looked like leaves and twine.
The skunk smell was instantly smothered, although what it was smothered by might be worse. Evan lifted the front of his shirt and covered his nose as Owen began to cough uncontrollably. I was actually starting to think that I was going to pass out.
“This is sage,” Poetry announced, now waving the funky-smelling leaves around. “It will purify your aura and dispel anything negative.”
The boys coughed their way to the other side of the store. Not that Poetry noticed, she was still dancing, even her friend was staring at her now.
“I’m Dawn,” the new girl said in a voice that was choked by air. In fact, she spoke so softly that Poetry’s dancing might have swept it away. “Nice to meet you.”
She stuck out her hand, which I shook a little too fast considering her grip was as airy as her voice. For all I knew she wasn’t even there at all now.
“Dawn is one of my soul mates, we share our mornings and bask in the dawn of possibility each day.” Poetry had stopped dancing now, placing the sage back on its plate, although the aroma was so strong it might as well have been right under my nose.
“Dawn owns the bakery in town and always brings the most delicious goodies for us to share.”
Dawn smiled in that embarrassing way as she whispered thanks and took a clip off her sleeve to knot her wavy silver hair into some kind of knot at the nape of her neck. Without her long hair, the baker looked even smaller, although her beige apron was already drowning her into nothing.
“Nice to meet you, Dawn.” She blushed even more at my greeting and mumbled something about seeing us later before she bolted out the door, although she nearly ran into it first.
“Isn’t she the sweetest?” Aunt Poetry whispered as she watched her go, hand on her chin like an infatuated teenager. “Her aura is all glittery and pale pink notes. It’s so telling.”
“Telling?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but it was too late.
“Yes. Gentle. Committed. Shy. You can tell a lot about a person based on their aura. You for example—”
I put a hand out to stop her, “Nu-uh I don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I figured as much,” Poetry sighed in true disappointment before turning her focus to the twins, who were putting crystals in different bowls and sending wailing musical notes throughout the room.
It took me a second to realize that the stones they were throwing into the bowls were shaped like penises. Okay, so I guess the shop fits its name to some extent.
“No worries, I will read you soon enough. I have dreamed about the beauty in you for so long, I am glad that it is here.” Poetry gave me a smile before she flitted like a wild dancer from Woodstock and poured hot water into two cups that looked like something I made in elementary pottery class. The scent of something floral and earthy reached my nose, and before I could ask, the cup was extended in my direction.
“Here, child. This tea will rejuvenate you after the exhausting night.” I almost shriveled up and died right there. Must everyone on the face of the earth know every time I fuck my mates?
“It will enlighten your mind, your loins, and open you up to possibilities.” It was like I needed a translator for every single thing she said. “It also goes quite well with the treats Dawn has brought.”
She t
hrew the gingham fabric back, revealing a pile of a dozen delicious pastries, all perfectly baked and smelling so wonderful that any memory of the sage was wiped away. Cinnamon rolls, iced buns, some kind of apple tart. I wanted to try a piece of all of them.
“She bakes with all-natural ingredients and never uses sugar. Honey only. Such a blessing on her house.” Okay, that I understood. So did the twins apparently, who beelined to the food like I had pulled them on a string and were grabbing from the pile with unapologetic zeal.
I snatched a cinnamon roll from the basket before it was empty and bit in before it could be taken right out of my hand. Good lord, this was delicious. It was taking true willpower not to eat the whole thing in one bite like my stomach demanded. The dough was light and flaky while the cinnamon and sweet flavors seemed to burst in my mouth.
“Eat, child. Let it refill you from your midnight frolic.” Okay, maybe I wasn’t so hungry anymore. Color drained from my face as I froze, roll halfway to my mouth.
Poetry just grinned, “There is nothing to be ashamed of. You are a rosebud who must open freely for all those bees who flock to your nectar.”
Dear God, kill me now. Unable to finish my roll, I took a sip of the tea and she grinned more.
“Yes, the tea will bring life back to your loins. Perhaps I should give some to your mates.” The boys were eager, chugging down the stuff as they ate roll after roll. I was officially forcing myself to swallow.
How was one supposed to eat or drink around here if everything was going to help my “loins”? Especially when it did actually help my loins. My entire body seemed to go from steel to elastic with just one gulp.
“Damn it,” I said with a sigh. Her words may have been a bunch of woo-woo but this tea was incredible.
“Told you,” she sat back as smug as fuck. I sipped the tea and between that and the honey-high from the cinnamon roll, I felt alive again—somewhat. “Now, let’s talk about what’s worrying your head.” She leaned forward and touched the line above my eyebrows. “Same as your mother. My dear sister shows that same line when she’s overthinking things. If I had to guess it is the worry over the drudgery of life. Of living and judging by the speed at which my baked goods were devoured… Food. You need a job.”
Owen cleared his throat, spraying crumbs over the countertop and the back of the old cash register. “Excuse me, we need to find jobs.”
“Oh, fuss buggies! Didn’t I tell you?” Poetry sang, finger to her temple as she gave a twirl like that helped her think somehow. “I’ve dreamed so long of running this place with you. None of this money foolishness. You will work here with me and we will be partners.”
“What?” I said, almost dropping my pottery class cup. “No, Nan—Poetry. You’ve had this shop so long and I don’t really know anything about...mystical...aura…” Don’t say vaginas. Do not say vaginas. “...candles...this stuff. I can find somewhere else.”
“I won’t hear another word about it, niece of mine. You will work here as my apprentice and learn this…stuff as you call it. In fact, you can start today. There is a package at the post office that needs to be picked up. Why don’t you do that now?”
Oh, fuck me.
Guess I officially had a job at the vagina shack… I guess a job was a job. Especially if said job meant food and money.
“Fine, wanna point me in the direction of the post office?” I asked, standing up and heading to the door.
Poetry put her hands on her hips and laughed. “Now what fun would that be? Go. Explore. Learn. Thrive.”
Shit.
9
“If I were a post office where would I be?” I asked as we left the vagina, that was suspiciously devoid of vaginas. Although given the tiny glass penises the twins had been playing with they were clearly hiding somewhere.
"I think the bigger question is 'what would I be called'?" Owen beamed, already snickering at the bakery across the street. Dawn's Bun Hole.
God, nothing was safe in this town.
"Cummings Mail Stop."
"Cumming Post and Stamp."
And they were at it again, albeit they were not as successful with the post office as they had been last night.
"I don't think you can sex up a post office," I said as I led the way down the street, toward what I hoped would be the center of town.
"Sure you can, you just need to add lots of lube," Evan beamed, throwing his arm over my shoulder as he led me down the street. Owen was on my other side, his fingers twisted around mine. There was something beautiful about being here, about walking down the street with both of my mates at my side, their warm skin against mine.
We may not have pitchforks after us, but it didn't stop the prudes from coming out to give us a good scowl. I was suddenly feeling as though we were more on display than being welcomed. As we walked hand in hand, people in storefronts closed their curtains or bent their blinds in an attempt to not be caught gawking at us. It wasn't working for them at all.
"Think any of these guys would help us find the way to the post office?"
"Cumming Stamp and Ship!" Evan exploded in my ear, cutting me off as he still tried to track down a good naughty name for the mailmen. That one was bad enough it earned him an eye roll from me and a groan from his brother.
“Let’s ask…” Owen pointed at a smoothie shop, Sip at Cummings, as we rounded a corner. But as soon as we stepped across the street and walked in that direction, the white-haired man that had been peering through the window flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’ with a shriek. Jumpy little fucker. We could still see the old man inside pacing, overly large front teeth pulling at his lip.
"Wow. Really welcoming," Evan grumbled, pulling his arm back as though he was practicing throwing something at the window painting of a girl sucking a little too happily on an overly large straw.
“There’s a bar over there," Owen piped up, changing his direction to what was probably the nicest bar I had seen. If it wasn't for the neon lights advertising three different types of beers, I might not have known it was a bar at all.
"Cummings Tie Down," Evan snickered. "Perfect. They can give us directions, and you and I can get a job."
"We were made for that place. I can take the top off a fucking beer,” Owen remarked as the two of them took off toward the building, leaving me to track down the post office on my own.
Figured.
“A dirty joke, a beer, and you're gone," I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel, ready to track this place down. Instead, I came face to face with a man in a white apron that stretched from neck to calves, the entire thing covered with splatters of pink blood. My fox perked up, her ears ticking my hair as they threatened to emerge, my nose growing cold as the hungry animal inside of me tried to bust through.
I could smell it too: blood. The man was covered in blood.
Pig's blood, duck blood, cow... even something that I could have sworn was fish. The aroma was a smorgasbord of deliciousness and I sighed, my mouth instantly salivating even as he stared down at me with red-faced fury.
"Watch where you’re going!" He snapped, not even looking at me as he muscled past me and speed-walked to the other side of the road. The aroma of pig pulled me after him and I might have followed if he wasn't off his rocker.
His grey hair flopped around on top of his head as he mumbled to himself, looking over his shoulder and jumping into a Muppet-flailing wave. His arms were so wide and coiled with muscle it almost made him look like a pageant queen on crack. He jumped and yelped and almost ran into the giant blue mailbox on the street, apologizing to the damned thing and patted it on top like it was an old lady he almost ran over.
The muttering continued as he dodged into the building nestled against "Sip at Cummings". Possibly the one building that didn't have a naughty name.
Kent's Cuts was written in scraggly red letters, complete with a pig in a tutu showcasing her flanks. A butcher. At least the blood on his apron made sense now. He slammed the door and it took him three t
imes to get the sign in the door to stay where it read ‘closed’ to those on the street. He flipped it to open again while smashing his face against the window, looking up and down the street, then flipped it to ‘closed’ again.
"What the hell? Am I made of fucking poison?!" These people were quirky as fuck. That was for sure. I needed to find the post office and get back to the vagina store, which was suddenly feeling very sane.
"Here, post office! Here, boy!" I called it like it was a dog, still scanning faded signs. How do you find…? Wait a minute, post offices have flags and flagpoles. I cupped my hand over my eyebrows and sure enough, there was a flag swishing in the wind, tethered to a pole a few streets over. I turned and made my way, overly aware of the ever-present staring from people darting in and out of sight to get a good look at the new person in town. One dude even ducked into an alley like I was some kind of hitman coming after him.
You would think I was carrying a machete. ‘Grab your torches and pitchforks. There’s a beast in town’. Goodness, these people needed to get over themselves.
Probably had been a while since they’d had new people. Shifters didn’t rebel that often. But when we did, we went hard.
Thankfully the flagpole did, in fact, belong to the post office. Well, post office, police department, Mayor's office, and power and water.
"There you are,” I said aloud and walked right in, forgetting for a second that everyone in this town was scared shitless of strangers.
The eyes of the Postmaster grew large as I walked in. The guy was pale and made of skin and bones. He was so withered that even his hair looked like little more than feathers. He smelled of chicken—maybe duck. My natural food source. My fox was licking her lips inside me. Maybe that’s what the deal was—they didn’t get a lot of predators around here.
There wasn't a line, so I had the great pleasure of watching his eyes bug out of his head with every step I took toward him. The guy was quaking and shimmying papers like I was going to jump the desk and take him out.
"Ca—Can I help you?"