one
RECLINER
Thirty yearsago
A yard saleat the beginning of winter. Not good for my upholstery.
Oh, what am I talking about? Being stuck in my shifted form isn’t good for my human joints. But I crossed Blossom, and she made me pay the price.
I hate that I heard her name and thought she was some sweet, cute little witch that wouldn’t turn into a fucking badass that didn’t take my shit when I wronged her.
Speaking of Blossom, she walks over, her sharp index finger dragging across my arm rest…my left arm, dammit!
“What about this one?” she asks the man that’s been browsing around for at least an hour. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was here to flirt with Blossom, not for any of the items she has for sale.
She’s a beautiful witch—tall, brown-skinned with thick, curly hair. She wears cute, round glasses that make her appear innocent, but the nose ring in her cute button nose and the piercing in her full bottom lip says she walks a little on thewild side. Those fucking freckles round out her overall beauty, drawing you in.
The man stares at her in openmouthed awe for a few seconds before he shakes himself and looks down at me. My shifted form, rather.
He frowns, his lip curling as if disgusted.
Yeah, I’m not a lot to be desired, but I’ve been in this state for twenty years. Since I don’t have arms, I can’t clean up and look presentable.
“No,” the man says, his frown deepening. “Not that. I’m not sure anyone would buy it. It’s terrible.”
Pain and hopelessness fill me as he moves on.
Blossom sighs and pats my back rest. “Better luck next time. Just find your mate and you’re free of me.”
Yeah, like that’ll happen. Anytime someone looks at me, they turn their noses up, not wanting anything to do with a mustard yellow recliner that’s seen better days. No matter how much I push out my pheromones to try to attract my mate, I get no bites. I get sneers, side-eyes, and glares of disgust. I’m surprised someone hasn’t kicked me yet.
Bright colored furniture was all the rage back in the seventies. Not my fault I got stuck in this form before I could evolve.
Before she leaves to mingle with browsing customers, Blossom sighs and sits down on me. It’s been so long since she or anyone else has and I soak it up. Nothing makes me happier than providing someone comfort, helping them rest and relax after a long day.
Even though I’m not Blossom’s biggest fan, I preen under the attention, practically vibrating as she crosses her legs.
“All this could have been avoided, you know that, right?” she asks in a gentle tone.
Don’t I fucking know it. Note to self: never test a witch just because she looks like a sweet young woman. Especially when the friends that dare you to play a trick on her and her pets leave you high and fucking dry while you get stuck in your shifter form.
Never a-fucking-gain.
I wish I could answer her. I don’t even remember what my voice sounds like. Is it what I’m hearing in my head, or does it sound different? Gods, I wish I knew.
“When you find your mate,” she says, patting my armrest, “come back and visit me. Tell me what you learned from this experience.”
One thing I’ve learned? That my biggest worry is I won’t be able to stand up straight if—when—my mate finally comes for me. Imagine how disappointed they’ll be when I shift to my human form and I’m a decrepit man that can’t please them with either my hands, mouth, cock, or comfort them as a recliner.
But I will tell Blossom. I’ll tell her that her stupid curse cut me off from my life, from existence, from fucking.
Gods, I miss fucking. I miss being partially shifted so my partner can relax against my comfortable cushion while riding my cock. Will I ever have that again? Will I ever feel the tight hole of a man who’s out of his mind with pleasure as I make him come over and over?
She pats the arm of my recliner—my right arm— and goes back to her customers, leaving me alone.
Again.
Twenty years in my shifted form, maybe a lifetime to go.
