Old Bag Lady is a Recycling Witch


"Hi Carol. I'm Ralph. Pleased to meet you," I said shaking her hand.

Not knowing who she was, figuring she was the neighborhood Avon lady, I figured she was soliciting something. Maybe she was running for office and needed signatures. Maybe she was a real estate agent wanting to know if I wanted to sell my house. For sure, she wasn't at my door selling Girl Scout cookies. If she was, I'd buy them all.

"Here," she said handing me a green, plastic, trash bag. "My mother wanted you to have this."

"Your mother?" I looked at her, while accepting ownership of the bag. "Who's your mother?"

"Gladys, the homeless bag lady you've been kind to and befriended."

"What is this?" I held up the big bag. Weighing, at least, twenty pounds, it was heavy.

"Open it," she said.

When I opened it, the bag was filled with one dollar bills.

"What's all this?"

"My Mom died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Carol."

"Thank you for your kindness to her," she said smiling at me during an uncomfortable pause. "I used to check on her, whenever I could. She never let me in her apartment but met me outside. I had no idea she was pretending to be a homeless woman, until I went inside her apartment and saw her tattered clothes and the way she lived. She had bags and bags of money everywhere. Each bag had a person's name and address on it and each bag contained ten thousand dollars."

"I don't understand. Why are you giving this to me? Why not keep it for yourself?"

"I can't."

"Why not? Please take it," I said handing it back to her. "It was your mother's money. I'm uncomfortable accepting the money."

"There's a curse attached to the money, not for you but for me," she said looking at me. I could sense she wanted to explain, but was reticent to trust me. Then, she gave me an engaging smile that made me trust her. "Just as there is a Heaven and a Hell, just as there are good and bad, just as there are demons and fairies, there are good witches and bad witches."

"Good witches and bad witches? Okay? So, what are you saying? Are you saying that your Mom was a good witch?"

"Yes, as am I, but I'm still learning. She was my teacher and my mentor. She left me all her books and writings."

"Wow," I said. "You're freaking me out a little. When I saw your Mom, I just saw her as a homeless woman. Now to find out that not only are there witches good and bad, but that she was the former and you are, too, is a bit overwhelming. Forgive me if I find this a bit difficult to digest," I said staring at her, but she was so beautiful that I couldn't stop myself from staring. "Please, I'm being so rude. Won't you come inside?"

After she told me she was a witch, albeit a good witch, I didn't want to piss her off for fear that she'd turn me into a toad or a lizard. She followed me inside my house. Upset that Gladys was dead and excited by her daughter's visit, forgetting that it was a bag full of money, I left the bag of money on my inside front porch, where I leave my recyclables for Gladys to take. It was safe there. I live in a good neighborhood. Moreover, I felt uncomfortable accepting the money, anyway and maybe I figured that if I brought the bag inside my house, I'd be taking ownership of it.

I suddenly pictured Gladys redeeming all her collected cans and bottles for money and stuffing the money in green, plastic trash bags. For sure, she must have collected tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of bottles and cans, millions, even, to save that much money, bags of money, each containing ten thousand dollars. It must have taken her years. Amazing.

"Please have a seat," I said walking her into my living room. "Can I get you something to drink?" I wondered what a good witch drank figuring that they all drank what the wicked witch of the west in the Wizard of Oz drank, menstrual blood mixed with Kool Aid. When I discovered that, I never drank Kool Aid again. "I have coffee, tea, diet soda, water or--"

"A cup of coffee sounds good."

"How do you take it?"

"Black with one sugar."

I was looking for something out of the ordinary, but other than her good looks and her smoking hot body, she was ordinary. If I saw her on the street, I'd never think she was a witch, good or bad, just hot. I'd never think she was a practitioner of the occult, black magic, and a follower of the dark side. Okay, I've been watching way too much spooky television.

Other than believing her at her word, there was nothing to tell me that she was a good witch. I knew what made for a bad witch but I wondered what made for a good witch. Maybe a good witch goes around doing good deeds, such as she just did, by delivering people bags of money. I wondered if I had to declare that to the IRS. Nah. They'd never believe me anyway.

I could see my tax form now. Other income? Ten thousand dollars in one dollar bills. Source of income? From the good witch.

"When I first met your Mom, I wondered how she came to be homeless and when--"

"My Mom was very wealthy and so aren't I," she said. "Heat of fire, warm him with desire."


"I said my Mom was very wealthy and so aren't I," she said smiling. "Love and passion can't interfere with clothes of fashion."

Every time she said something, she mumbled something else under her breath, immediately after, as if repeating a line of poetry. I don't know if I was more stunned, when she told me that Gladys was dead, Gladys was wealthy, when she said those unnerving rhyming words, or when she flashed me her black panties, when crossing her shapely legs. To be honest, I think it was her black panties that got my attention.

Now, I couldn't help but wonder if this good witch was putting me under a spell. Surely, I was already mesmerized by her good looks and fabulous body. She looked a bit like a young and better looking Cher, but without all the sequins, sparkles, and tattoos.

"Carol," I said, as if suddenly charmed by her name when saying it, "is it hot in here or is it just me?"

Honestly, what the Hell kind of name for a witch good or bad witch, for that matter, is Carol anyway? I figure it would have been Isadora, Gwendolyn, Selena, Elvira, Sabrina, Samantha, Endora, or Tabitha. She stared at me with cat like eyes and suddenly I was hot, burning up, as if I had a fever, but not from sickness, but from love, lust, and desire. Just by looking at her beautiful face, voluptuous body, abundant breasts, big, green eyes, and full lips, I was beginning to perspire. From the erection that suddenly made my pants tighter, I was actually getting sexually aroused.

Very odd and terribly peculiar, I don't remember doing it, until it was off and there beside me on the sofa, but I removed my shirt and then my pants. A woman I had just met, I was sitting across from Carol in just my underwear. What the Hell was that about? As if an out of body experience, when I looked down I had an erection, the biggest erection I ever had. I put my hand over it to cover it, while suddenly feeling so very embarrassed.

"It is a little bit warm," she said unbuttoning a button of her long, black dress that, when unbuttoned, allowed me to see her abundant cleavage.

She wore a dress that buttoned all the way down and, as if in slow motion, I watched her unbutton all her buttons, before she removed her dress. Just as I was sitting there in my briefs, she was sitting there in her black bra, black barely there panty, black garter, and black stockings. Wow. She was hot, but I was feeling even hotter.

Yet, I couldn't help but think that if she was, indeed, a good witch, shouldn't she be wearing a pastel dress, instead of a black one, holding a magic wand, wearing a tiara, and sprinkling me with fairy dust or do I have my movie characters confused? Staring at her in her black lingerie was a bit disconcerting, albeit quite arousing. Suddenly, as if she was a bad Nun and I was the male lead in a porn video, I had sexual thoughts of having sex with a good witch.

What if she's not a good witch but a bad witch? What if she's not a witch at all? What if she's not even Gladys' daughter? What if she's a door-to-door hypnotist that takes advantage of attractive men? What if I think I'm attractive but am not so very attractive? Who cares? She's beautiful, has a body to match her face, and she's sitting across from me in her underwear. I want her. Boy oh boy, I'm gonna get lucky today.

"When my Dad died on Earth Day a few years ago, my Mom lost her senses. Yet, somehow Earth Day was the catalyst for her to do something to give back. She abandoned her house to live on the street and started collecting bottles and cans to support herself, while ridding the streets of all the litter."

"Wow, I always said that every homeless person has a unique story to tell and so didn't your Mom."

"Living on the street was her way of meeting people, people of quality. She even wrote a book about it. 'Living Life on the Street.' Here," she said reaching in her handbag and handing me a copy of the book. "You're in there, too. She even autographed it for you. She doesn't mention you by name, of course, just by description. After all that I read about you, I just had to meet you. Thank you for being so kind to my mother. Friend of mother, kind man stand, take my hand, and be my lover."

As if I was hypnotized, I felt compelled to stand and remove my underwear. I was naked. Standing there in front of a stranger, a good witch, a beautiful woman, I just exposed my cock to her. I watched her reach around behind her and remove her bra. Oh, my God. Wow, she had great tits. Then, she stood, too, and removed her panty.

Her jet black pubic hair was fashioned in the shape of a miniature witches hat. She also had a tattoo of a black cat over her left breast. She looked down at my cock and rolled her eyes and suddenly I was embarrassed that I only had an average sized cock. Only, this time, when she said her rhyming words, she didn't even try to mask them by saying something else.

"Hickory, Dickory dock, add three inches to his cock and make him as hard as a brickyard."

"Wow, I feel so macho," I said looking down at my new appendage. "Are you kidding me? This is so awesome."

I couldn't help but feel a bit like an X-rated Pinocchio. My cock was sticking so far out that I could poke a hole in a wall with my cock, it was so hard.

This was all so surreal. Was I dreaming or imagining this?

"You're welcome," she said with a satisfied smile.

"Carol, I--"

"Don't talk, Ralph, just kiss me."

I kissed her and immediately, she parted my lips with her tongue. Never have I felt such passion for someone, as I was feeling now for her. I carried her into the bedroom and we had inspired, magical, and possessed sex. Never have I made love to a woman in the way that I was making love to her now. I couldn't believe it. Instantly, I was in love.

"Carol, I can't believe this, I--"

"Ralph, shut up and kiss me," she said. "Make him linger with bigger fingers," she said.

When I looked at my fingers, they appeared longer, thicker, and were bulbous at the fingertips. My fingers were frog like only bigger and longer.

"Wow, what happened to my fingers?"

"Spring has sprung, so give him a bigger tongue," she said.

"Holy shet," I said instead of holy shit.

Suddenly, I could barely talk, as my tongue was so much wider and longer. I felt as if I had a tongue bigger than my dog's tongue.

With giant fingers, a bigger tongue, and a man sized cock, I gave Carol an orgasm with my fingers and my tongue, before giving her another one with my huge cock. Did she do that? How could she do that? Maybe it's just my imagination. Not so crazy about the bigger fingers and tongue, but definitely, if she can really add three inches to my cock and make it as hard as a rock, then she really is a good witch in my book, a very good witch, indeed.

When our lovemaking was over and she was getting dressed to leave, the green, plastic bag that I thought was filled with one dollar bills was filled with my bottles and cans that I had been saving for Gladys. Suddenly, Gladys reached down and took the bag with her. Carol is really Gladys. Oh, my God. Eww. Did I just have sex with Gladys? Gross. What happened to Carol? My fingers and tongue returned back to normal. I could talk again without a speech impediment. Then, when I looked down at my cock and it was the same size as it was before.

"Well, that sucks."

Did I dream all of this? Was I hypnotized? Then, I remembered that I still had her mother's book as proof that I didn't dream this or was hypnotized, 'Living Life on the Street,' still sitting on the coffee table. Only, when I picked it off the table, it was just a pad of blank paper. I could have sworn it was a book. Suddenly, the song, The Hotel California, by the Eagles started playing on my radio.

"Welcome to the Hotel California...You can check out any time you'd like, but you can never leave."

Now, every week, unable to resist her, Gladys returns as Carol but leaves as Gladys. I give her what she wants, my recyclable cans, bottles, and a bag lunch, and she gives me what I need, hot sex, along with a temporarily bigger cock, albeit bigger fingers and tongue, too. My neighbors saw me, when I was standing on my front porch naked and now no one talks to me because I give to the homeless, an understatement. Go figure.

Happy Earth Day.

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