Rachel's Love Potion

"I'm afraid I don't know," I replied. Come on, Rachel, tell me you want to blow me. Say it. Get the words out.

"You don't think you'd want to... you know, spend more time, and stuff, with someone like me?" She sounded so hopeful. C'mon. Bend the knee, girl. Tell me I own you.

"I guess I hadn't given it much thought."

Rachel took a step toward me and placed a delicate hand on my arm, gripping it like she didn't mean to let go.. "It's just... look, I think you're an awesome guy. I knew all the rumors had to be bullshit, and I really want to hang out with you, get to be friends. Like, best friends. Like, I just... I just, like,need to be your friend. If that makes sense."

There! If that didn't mean it had worked, what would? I couldn't wait to learn more about how this delectable morsel defined friendship. "I'm not sure it does. What kind of 'friends' did you have in mind? Like you and that Jim guy?"

And then, she laughed outright, withdrawing her hand from my arm to cover her mouth. "Oh gosh no! No, Jim is myboyfriend. Whereas I see you more like..." She tapped her lip, probing for the right word. "A brother? Yeah, like a really close big brother."

What?!

I blinked. This couldn't be happening. Months of planning and a small fortune dumped into this scheme -- and she was literally labeling me as something worse off than what I was before! At least pre-potion I'd been a friendly neighbor of more-or-less dateable age! Brother?! A mysterious stranger had a shot; a "brother" was the lowest rung on the dating ladder!

"I'm sorry, I just don't see you that way. If you wanted something more, then maybe we could give it a shot, but.. Bffs? We're neither of us 9 years old any more." I grit my teeth. This was the diarrhea icing on the shit cake.

She put her hand back on my arm, though I could sense now that there was nothing intimate in the contact. Like I really was her brother. "Oh come on, how can you say that until you get to know me?"

"I--"

"Hush. What are you up to tonight?"

Brewing an elixir of life to resurrect the rat bastard who invented love potions so I can kill him again myself. "Nothing, I guess."

"So come on, let's hang out! Come on over to my place. I'll make dinner, and we can catch a movie, or hit the mall or something."

"Catch... hit..." I was stunned by how uninteresting the suggestion was. "Sorry no."

"No isn't an option," she said with a grin, confidence returning. I bet she didn't have a lot of guys tell her they weren't interested in spending time with her. "So quit being a Negative Nelly and tell me you're coming over at 5."

To be so close to my dream, and yet so far away... it was shattering my normally ironclad self-defenses. In my desperation, I finally said what I'd wanted to say to her for three days now. No, for over a year. Since the moment I'd laid eyes on her. "I want you to suck my dick, Rachel."

There. Either the potion would push her over the edge, or it wouldn't. I'd rather she think I was a total creep than her goddamn brother.

Instead, she giggled. "I'll bet you do, Knox. So c'mon, my place at 5?"

Great. No reaction at all. "No. Thank you."

"Puh-leeeeease?" she whined, clasping her hands in front of her. Precisely the thing I wanted her to say and the manner in which I wanted her to say it -- just for the wrong damn favor.

"I already have a sister," I said, easing the door closed.

"Wow, really? You seem like such a dude's dude and all that I figured you for an only chi--" and the door shut. "Don't think you won, buddy! I'm not giving up on you!" she called. Like I was playing a game. A moment later, Rachel was skipping back down the block; when she caught me peering at her between the blinds, her perfect little butt rocking that romper, she turned and waved before continuing on her way.

This couldn't be happening. Not only had the potion failed to make her fall in love with me, but it had succeeded in making her fall... inlike with me?! I thought it over, then poured over some of my books and notes on the subject. The lunar caustis was a major catalyst in the lust-inducement power of the potion, given the moon's rightful association with wildness and sexuality. And genius that I was, I'd underdone it by half.

Everything else had gone exactly right. I'd made an ultra-powered, durably permanent, irrevocably binding potion of platonic love. Rachel Levine would live out her days utterly convinced that I was the best buddy she could ever have. Someone to confide secrets in, explore hobbies with, come to with hardships... and never, ever fuck.

I wish I could say I handled it with a little more class, but when she came back at 5:15 to tell me dinner was ready and waiting, I said I wasn't hungry and shut the door in her face. When she returned the next afternoon to see if I wanted to hit the gym with her, I rolled my eyes and shut her out without even a word. Even if I didn't have a recipe for a tincture that dissolved fat, I sure as hell didn't want to work up a sweat with Rachel unless both of us were naked and my cock was somewhere wet and warm.

Before the day was out she'd added me and/or followed me on every conceivable social media platform and began texting me at intervals, each one an update on her dreadfully mundane activities and an invitation to partake. When she told me she'd have to cancel our plans the following evening -- plans which I had vociferously not agreed to -- to have a date night with Jim, I told her that if she really wanted to be my friend, she'd dump him to hang out with me. See if I could at least afford my misery a little company.

jim said your welcome to come to dinner with us.. "a friend of yours is a friend of mine lol though I think he's jealous... not like he has reason 2 be I keep telling him!

Not only could I not get her to fuck me, I couldn't even get her tostopfucking Jim.

Tell Jim he can shove his dinner up his ass, I replied.

lol don't be grumpy! jimz out of town this weekend so you and i can hang nonstop!!! i was thinking we could go apple picking at the orchard? sound fun?? :D

It did not.

So it went for the next several weeks. Rachel made constant overtures at friendship, and I made constant refutations. Every time my resolve faded and I began to think maybe I could try to befriend her, then see if I could bridge it into something more, I had to slap myself back to sensibility. This was a love potion. More or less. It hard-wired the way she felt about me; I couldn't make her feel other than intense amicability any more than I could make someone under a traditional love potion hate my guts.

I'd read a lurid description once of a particularly unscrupulous alchemist who had given a woman a love potion like the one I had meant to. His had worked fantastically, and he'd sadistically reveled in having her betray her every other relative, friend and acquaintance until he was the only one in her life. She slept in a basket at the foot of his bed, like a dog, and developed an entirely servile personality as she realized that was what pleased him best.

In time, the man grew bored of his plaything -- yet try as he might, nothing he did could dissuade her. She threw herself at him, begged and pleaded, starved herself on his doorstep, and quite nearly took her life before he relented. For years, he devised means of ridding himself of her, and for years, she persisted in blind adoration.

Lucky me. I'd have the same problem, except instead of Rachel's unshakable in the belief that the sun rises and sets in my pants, she'd always think I gave the best relationship advice.

Worse, I was increasingly haunted by the fact that even outside our circumstances, I wouldn't want to be her friend. Rachel was gorgeous, yes, and friendly in a what-a-nice-girl-my-granddaughter-is kind of way. We simply had nothing in common. She exercised like a fiend, was a die-hard fan of reality dating shows, spent an hour or more a day browsing sites featuring animals of different species who are best friends, and her opinions on politics ranged from "oh, that sounds bad" to "guess we gotta hope for the best."

Day by day I grew more and more blunt in my rejections.

She asked if I wanted to see the new Johnny Depp movie ("He wears the funniest costume!"); I told her not unless she'd be wearing her birthday suit.

She texted me at 1am to ask if I'd come kill a big spider in her bedroom (Jim was all the way across town at his place); I wrote back that if I came over to her bedroom at that hour, I'd be staying the night.

One morning she showed up with a pitcher of fresh-squeezed OJ; I marched right out to the street and poured it down the gutter.

("You could've dumped it on the porch," she said with a laugh, undeterred.

I sneered "Do you want ants? Because that's how you get ants.")

And so on. She was relentless in seeking me out, and the way she talked to me, it was like we really were old and dear friends. No matter that I never gave her the time of day. She'd ask if I wanted to go shopping with her, then when I refused, she'd swing by wearing her latest purchase to ask if it made her ass look big, or if I thought Jim would find it sexy.

Speaking of Jim, it was one month to the day after I'd fed Rachel the potion when she came into my house, unbidden as always, tears streaming down her sun-kissed cheeks. Before I knew what was happening, she wrapped her arms around my neck and started weeping into my shoulder. It was all fairly incomprehensible for a while there, but I soon pieced together from the monosyllables she managed between sobs that she and Jim were no more.

Lucky bastard. He had the option to be done with her -- without even having to change his phone number and address. I'd already been looking at real estate on the west coast.

She told me all about it as I held her, smoothing out her hair and for once getting to enjoy the feeling of her apple breasts pressed against my chest. Evidently, ol' Jimbo had gotten sick and tired of all the attention his girlfriend was paying to her oddball neighbor, and told her it was going to be him or me. And obviously she wasn't going to part ways with her best friend for some guy she'd only been dating a couple months.

It would have been flattering if it wasn't so inconvenient.

"Oh, Rachel," I said, patting her back softly. "I don't suppose this means you're ready to start fucking other men now." I was well beyond pretending sympathy. I'd victimized myself more so than I had her. She at least enjoyed my company, even when I made no effort towards being warm.

"Only in your dreams, buddy," she said, laughing in spite of herself. She always found my "jokes" hysterical.

With a sigh of irritation, I decided I wasn't really in the mood to help her through this. Let one of her real friends take on that burden. So without really thinking, on impulse, I did something sure to drive any grieving woman out of my presence.

I squeezed her ass.

It was even more incredible than I'd dreamed. Pert, and incredibly firm, and fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I could make out her panty line laterally across the butt cheek, and envied that garment its ease of access.

Rachel didn't even react. Good grief, the girl couldn't take a hint! I let go and said, "C'mon Rachel, I have work to do. You're going to be fine. Call your mom or your sister or your former BFF and have them deal with this."

"Yeah, you're right, I'd put enough of this on you. Time to tough up, right? I'll get out of your hair. Thanks for listening, Knox," she said, sniffling, giving me another firm hug, another feel of chest to chest so I could be jealous of the bra as well.

"I didn't," I said, ushering her out the door and shutting it tightly behind her.

It was 3:11am when I sat bolt upright in bed realizing what had happened.

I was so excited that I didn't even dress, merely slipped on my bathrobe (the one with all the stars and moons I'd gotten as a graduation present) over my boxers, put on my sandals and was out the door. The neighborhood was quiet as could be; even old Rick Blanchard's terminally barksome dog Bowser was quiet in his back yard kennel. Rachel lived only three streets away, but it felt like a journey of a thousand miles -- especially having to keep my cock from stabbing out through the front slit of my boxers.

Her house was dark, as I expected. I let myself in using the key she'd left for me ("ya know, in case I ever need a trusted friend to house sit or whatever!") and shut the door quietly behind me.

I'd never actually been in her house before. I'd been on the front steps a few times in my efforts at ingratiating myself to the community, but other than a scant glimpse as she opened the front door, I didn't know what to expect. It wasn't much, honestly. It was the quintessential 20-something girl house, decorated with inspirational words stenciled on blocks of wood, stuffed animals from childhood, and anything pink she could find.

I hadn't even known Rachel owned a cat until I almost tripped over the thing on my way up the stairs. I nudged it away with a foot and it scampered off with a sullen yowl.

I found the bathroom and the guest bedroom before the master bedroom, but at last there was my quarry sleeping in the wan glow of the hall night light. Rachel Levine, bundled up in layers and layers of blankets, dozens of tissues air-drying her post-breakup tears scattered around the floor. Breathless with anticipation, I wasted no time in peeling back the layers of coverage. There was only one left when she finally sensed my presence in the room, sitting up with a shriek.

"It's OK, Rachel. It's me, Knox," I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone. Not that I much cared.

It took her a moment to recover from her confusion and process this, but soon her breathing slowed and she flipped on the lamp on the nightstand. She was sleeping in a tank top and boxers -- not the sexiest, but no matter. It didn't have to be.

"Um? Like, what's wrong? What're you doing here?" she asked at last, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and switching the nightstand lamp onto its lowest setting.

"Nothing's wrong. I just... wanted to hang out," I said. It was around then that she saw my boxer problem, and her eyes widened.

"Knox! Looks like you're 'hanging out' already!" Still, she made no move to cover herself, no sign of self-consciousness or anxiety about having me in her bedroom, unannounced, in the middle of the night. In fact, she gave a little giggle at her pun.

"I've been thinking about our friendship," I said.

That brought a smile to her face. "Are you finally over your butthead phase? I've really missed hanging out with you. You never come over, never have time for me when I stop by... it's been really hard without my best bud."

I sat down on the bed beside her. "I know it has. And I think I've been stubborn because of the kinds of things you've been wanting to do together. Can I give you a little tough love, Rach?"

She nodded. "Hit me with it."

"We have very different interests, you and I," I said, catching a copy of a fashion magazine on her nightstand and shuddering. "And I think we need to incorporate more of the things that I like to do into our time together."

"Oh. Yeah, I get that. You never tell me what you want to do, so like, I keep coming up with suggestions, and..."

"Right, right. So maybe tonight, we can do one of the things I like doing. Sound fair?"

"Tonight? Um, it's the middle of the night, and I have work in the morning..."

"You can call in sick. Don't be a spoilsport."

After a moment, she relented. "Well... all right, I guess. We'll see how tired I am come morning. So what'd you have in mind?"

Moment of truth. "This."

In one deft maneuver I grabbed the bottom of her tank top and lifted it right up to her armpits. There they were in front of me, Rachel Levine's perfect little tits, bare and beautiful. They were a little bigger than I'd anticipated, but small enough that gravity did nothing to them. Free from their minimal constraints, they bounced slightly, nipples hardening in the cool night air of the bedroom.

With an effort, I looked up to Rachel's face. Would she be horrified? Furious? Humiliated?

She was arching an eyebrow. "Um, Knox? My boobs are out." Still, she didn't pull her shirt back down.

"I know. They're fucking amazing."

"Thanks," she said, leaning back to rest on her palms. "Jim freakinglovedthem. Some guys complain they're too small though."

"They're perfect, Rach, fucking perfect. Do you mind if I...?" I asked, already reaching out to cop a feel.

"Um, ya I mind," she said. I didn't hear it, though. My hands were already grasping those magnificent little orbs. They felt amazing. Why had I ever thought little tits wouldn't be as good? Madness. I could squeeze these things all night. All year. In fact, I told her so.

"Maybe we settle on the night," she said with a little laugh. "I can play hooky today, but I don't think I can come up with enough excuses to last a year."

She sat there, letting me amuse myself, and every passing minute I grew bolder. I gave them a light slap from the side to see how long they'd jiggle. (Not long. I confirmed this several times.) I tried to see how much of them I could suck into my mouth at once. I asked her how much experience she had at giving titty fucks, at which she blushed and mumbled "um, like, none...?" I grabbed at her cute little bee sting nipples and gave them each a good twist, each bud popping out like a pencil eraser from my stimulus.

"Are you turned on right now, Rachel? You can tell me."

For a moment her jaw dropped at my forwardness, as if it was somehow more invasive than my tit-handling. "Knox! Not that it's any of your business," she said with an exasperated giggle, "but having a guy go to town on her boobs will generally turn a girl on. So yes."

I slipped a hand down to her slender, golden thigh. "Show me."

Another giggle. (She really did it a lot when she was self-conscious, I was learning.) "Um, ya, I think you've seen plenty already, bucko."

I slid my hand higher until my index finger was right up against her slit. There was some heat there, but I couldn't detect any dampness as yet. "You don't feel turned on to me."

"Well you'll have to take my word for it," she said, leaving her legs just as open to my hand.

"Sorry, I need proof," I said, taking to my feet. "C'mon. Stand up."

"Seriously?"

I made a stern face. With another roll of her eyes and another giggle, Rachel squirmed out of her plush bed and to her feet. She still didn't pull her shirt down over her tits. "All right, I'm standing, ya goof."

"Now hold still." With that, I pulled Rachel's tank top over her head and threw it over my shoulder. We both laughed at the sound of a surprised meow and retreating footsteps darting away down the hall. Then I knelt before her and tugged down her boxer shorts over slender hips.

"You wear two pairs of underwear to bed?" I asked, confounded by the presence of a pair of little pink panties under her boxers.

"Boxers aren't underwear. Besides, I feel better with a little support. Sue me."

"No wonder I couldn't tell if you were turned on or not -- you're keeping secrets from me, Rachel."

"You're the only friend I've ever had who could have me standing in front of him in nothing but my panties and say I was hiding too much."

"Sorry -- I've had my heart set on this sweet little cunt of yours for too long to appreciate even one extra obstacle," I said, peeling down the panties, reveling in my first feel of my hands on her bare ass. She had a neatly groomed little landing strip in front; Jim's influence, probably.

Rachel made a face. "Why do guys always use that word. I hate that word."