Amorous Goods: The Ring

A Halloween 2020 Story

Warning: There is magic in this Halloween story, which is also an Amorous Goods story.

This is the required Amorous Goods preamble:

A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. These are the stories of some of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.

**

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Rebecca asked me.

“No, not really. It’s a small town around here somewhere, though,” I said.

“What’s it called, at least? There’s a signpost coming up,” Rebecca said.

“Middletown, what else? It’s right, smack, dab in the middle of nowhere,” I said.

“You got that right,” Rebecca replied. “Remind me again why we’re doing this? And Michelle? Please don’t say again it came to you in a dream!”

“I told you: I saw a little squib about an estate sale in Middletown. We haven’t been to an estate sale in months, and I’ll just bet there’s some great antiques there. I know you love antiques. Hell, we both do! Also, it came to me in a dream,” I said. Rebecca was looking at Google Maps on her phone.

“Take your next left,” she said. Then she glared at me.

**

“Boy, this town is small! It’s got like five stores total, and that includes the grocery store and the general store. This place has to be it,” Rebecca said.

“Yep. See the small sign in the corner of the window? It says Estate Sales.” I replied.

“The sign above the door, painted rather poorly I might add, says Amorous Goods. What the bleep does that mean?” Rebecca asked. “At least they spelled Amorous correctly.”

“Let’s go inside and find out,” I said, and I opened the door, causing a small bell to tinkle. A thirties something woman emerged from a back room, sweeping her dirty blonde, longish hair from out of her right eye, and she looked at us squarely.

“Welcome to my store, Amorous Goods. I’m Vikki,” she said.

“I’m Michelle, and this is Rebecca. We thought the store was called Estate Sales R Us. Is this not an estate sales store?” I asked. I was confused, because what was inside the store looked exactly like the estate sales Rebecca and I have enjoyed haunting for the last couple of years, but the store name didn’t fit. The furniture was so pretty, my mouth was watering. My apartment was still seriously under furnished. It’s hard, when all that you want is antiques.

“Oh, yes, definitely, but now I’ve devoted it to just one estate: that of my Great Aunt. She was a collector, you see, and what you see here is only around a tenth of her collection! Her estate will keep me occupied for years, I guess,” Vikki said.

“Why did you rename the store Amorous Goods?” Rebecca asked. “We almost drove right past it.”

“I did it as a warning. My Great Aunt Elizabeth Jackson Howe was an enchantress, you see, and a random subset of her estate is magically charmed. Don’t worry, though, she was a good witch. You have nothing to fear, unless you’re averse to sex and love, and nobody really is, right?” Vikki said.

Vikki said it fast, nervously. Actually, I felt she was a highly nervous person. Her hair was back in her eyes. She nervously brushed it away again. I idly wondered how many times each day she did that?

“Anyway, look around, and I hope you enjoy yourself. I’ll be in the back room in case you need me for questions, okay? Just ring the bell,” Vikki said, gesturing to a chiffereau in the center of the store, which had a cleverly positioned bell in it. The chiffereau was made of bird’s eye maple, and polished to a shine.

We both said thanks, and we began to look around. Clearly Vikki was a little nuts, but the pieces at the estate sale of her Great Aunt Elizabeth were stunning, and looked to be worth a fortune. They were priced accordingly, however, and were way out of my range. Rebecca was rich (inherited money) however, and she looked over things carefully, while I just walked around and drooled.

I was disappointed. The whole point of estate sales (as opposed to antique shops) was to find fabulous bargains, and clearly there were none here to be had. None, that is, until I got to the jewelry counter. There was a ring made of 14 carat solid gold, with diamonds encrusting one small part of it, and the price was $100. It was priced at least ten times too little; many even twenty times, fifty times, or more! It came with a matching bracelet, and necklace. They too were priced absurdly low.

I called Vikki but she must not have heard me, for she did not come. I finally thought to ring the little tinkling bell on a shelf of the chiffereau, as she had said we should do. Immediately she was there, acıbadem escort right behind me, saying, “Yes, Michelle. How can I help you?” I wondered how she had done that so fast, without me seeing her?

“I’d like to try on some of this jewelry, if I may?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. You have a good eye. They’re really beautiful pieces,” Vikki said. Vikki was right!

“If I may ask, is the ring solid gold, and are the diamonds encrusting it real diamonds?”

“Yes, exactly,” Vikki replied.

“Why is it so cheap?” I asked. I didn’t want to take advantage of Vikki. Maybe she had just left off some zeroes or something?

“Oh, yes. Well. You see, a woman already bought the ring, the bracelet, and the necklace, and she paid full price: $16,000 in total, plus tax. It seems, however, that the jewelry she bought is enchanted, and the woman freaked out to such an extent that she returned them. I offered to return her money, but she just fled. So, I priced them to move. I don’t want anyone returning them again, nor do I want to profit from her unhappiness,” Vikki said. “Returning them to me, you see, seems to be the only way to break the charm.”

“The charm?” I asked.

“Oh yes, you remember I told you a random subset of objects on sale here are charmed? Mostly I don’t know which ones are charmed, but from what that woman said, this set of jewelry is most definitely charmed!” Vikki said.

“What happened to make her think that?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t say. She mumbled something about too much sex. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me. She said she almost lost her husband because of it. Primarily, she seemed anxious to put some serious distance between her and the jewelry as fast as possible. Say, you’re not married, right?” Vikki asked.

I laughed. “Far from it. I’m almost a virgin and have no prospects right now,” I said.

“I like the concept of being almost a virgin,” Vikki said, clearly amused by my diction. I had said too much.

“It’s a long, complicated story,” I said, in that tone of voice we all know how to use to end a topic of discussion.

“I’m sure it is. Well, if I may say so, you look stunning in the jewelry. Did you notice how the ring almost glows on your finger?” Vikki asked. “It’s good that you’re not married.”

“You do look gorgeous in it,” Rebecca added.

I looked in the mirror. Wow. If there were a ten-point scale of prettiness, then (let’s say) before the jewelry I had been a five, or maybe on a good day a six. While wearing the jewelry, however, I was a nine! Probably I was a ten, but modesty prevents me from saying that. It was amazing, and amazing in a good way. Vikki was right: The ring appeared to be positively glowing!

“Why is it good I’m not married?” I asked. Vikki looked as if she had regretted saying that. There was a little back and forth, but I insisted she answer.

“Not all husbands are understanding if, for example, you were to kiss another man,” Vikki said.

“Oh, I see!” I said, even if I didn’t, and then the three of us laughed. This whole enchanted jewelry thing was nonsense, but I was getting a true bargain; almost a steal!

**

“I’m glad you got the jewelry,” Rebecca said. “You look stunning in it! You really do. I know you’re wearing only the ring, but it even brightens up your face, somehow!”

“I still can’t get over how cheap it was,” I said.

“It’s probably just paste,” Rebecca said. “The point is, it fits you. You look great with even only just the ring.”

“No, I think it’s real. I worked at my Uncle Jim’s jewelry store summers, and after school, as a kid. I know fake from real. This looked real,” I said. “Back then, I saw women come in wanting us to buy their engagement rings, with diamonds on them the size of Montana. Often, they were just gold plate and the stones were cubic zirconium, and I had to deal with breaking the news to them. It was heartbreaking. The same with their gold band wedding rings.”

“How can you tell solid gold from gold plate, just by looking?” Becca asked.

“Weight. Gold plate weighs significantly more. Trust me, Becca, vee have our vays!” and I said it with a fake Nazi accent.

“Real or fake, it looks great on you, and you look stunning when you wear it. Say, this is going to sound weird, but did your boobs grow recently?” Rebecca asked.

“You mean like today? Like, since I slipped on this ring — which, by the way, fits me perfectly? My bra does suddenly feel kind of tight,” I said. “I’m having my period, so maybe that’s why my boobs are a little bigger. Do they look good bigger?” I had always been flat chested, and spent my adolescence waiting for my boobs to grow, which they never did. Until now, it seemed, after I had become resigned to a flat chested life.

“Well, I’m not a guy, but if I were one, then yeah, they’d be mighty fine. Mighty fine,” Becca said. “What’s going on, Michelle?”

“Damned if I know,” I replied.

“If I may ask, why do you always say you’re almost a virgin?” Rebecca atalar escort asked.

“It’s a long, and complicated story,” I replied using a certain tone of voice that indicates that’s all I wanted to say. It didn’t work.

“It’s a long drive back home; three she hours at least. Spill, Michelle,” Becca said. So, I finally told someone. I had never told anyone any of it before.

“I had sex my freshman year, one time, one night,” I said.

“Everyone did. That’s not a big deal, but it’s reassuring to hear you’re more normal than I thought,” Becca said.

I shot her a look, even though I was driving. “That’s it? That’s the whole story?” she said.

“No. It was at a Halloween party, off campus. At a certain time of the party, my memories stop. I woke up, alone, the next morning, in my own bed, with a sore vagina, and it was matted with cum,” I said.

“Yeah, that sort of thing has happened to me, too. To lots of us girls,” Becca said.

“I have no memory of it. None. I don’t even have a clue who the guy or guys were!” I said. “I had been a virgin, it was my first time, and it’s all a blank.” As I remembered it, I was sort of reliving the horror of it all.

“Guy or guys? More than one?” Becca asked. How did Becca know to ask that particular question?

“My mouth tasted of cum, I felt nauseated, there was cum matted around my pussy and all over my boobs, I was naked, and I had been fucked in the ass, too. Can only one man do all that?” I asked.

“I see what you mean,” Becca said. “Wow, that’s bad. No memory at all?”

“None. If it weren’t for all the cum all over me and how sore I was, I would think it was a delusion or something. But it was real, all right,” I said.

“Jesus,” Becca muttered.

“I know for sure it was real because as it turned out, I was pregnant, as I discovered when I missed my next two periods and had near constant morning sickness,” I said. “I had no idea who the father might have been, or potential fathers if there had been more than one guy in my vagina. The only thing I can remember is the name Cod, and he might not even have been the father!”

“You have a child??!” Becca exclaimed. Becca always noticed the important stuff.

“No, and before you ask, cause I know you want to, I didn’t get an abortion, either. I miscarried,” I said.

“That’s quite a story,” Becca said. “And it was on Halloween seven years ago?”

“Yes,” I said. “I was eighteen, and a freshman at DePauw, in Indiana, and I went up to a big Halloween party at Purdue.”

“Was the sex, uh, you know, without your permission?” Becca nervously asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I do know, however, that I was totally up for sex that night. I was sick and tired of being the only virgin among all of my friends, so probably at least some of it I agreed to. Maybe all of it. Perhaps I even agreed enthusiastically, I just don’t know,” I said.

“Did it scar you? I guess it must have, since you blacked it out of your memory?”

“Yes, and it completely killed any desire for sex on my part. Until now, that is,” I said, “I’m beginning to get horny for the first time in seven years. No idea why, but maybe it’s because Halloween is coming again?”

I didn’t tell Becca at the time, but for some reason I felt that back then it wasn’t just Cod, but Cod and a friend of his. I could not be sure, however, because my actual memory was a blank. What kind of nutty name was Cod, anyway? What a way to lose your virginity!

I put some music on the car stereo, to end my conversation with Becca. I had a lot of thinking to do.

**

That night I went to take my new ring off, and I couldn’t. My finger must have swelled. It was, after all, an unseasonably hot day. I’d try again in the morning. I took my blouse off and looked in the mirror. My boobs were practically bursting out of my bra. I needed a new bra, with a bigger cup size. Funny, I hadn’t noticed it before. I guess I was going from a B cup to a C cup. Twenty-five years old, and I’m finally getting killer boobs. Go figure.

At work the next day, during my lunch hour, I dashed to a lingerie store where there was a woman who was known for fitting women to their proper bra sizes. They also had beautiful lingerie, from France and Italy. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that my cup size was D. I was incredulous.

“How could I go from a B cup to a D cup overnight? Two days ago, I was definitely a B cup!” I exclaimed.

“Honey, I hear that a lot. You’d be amazed how many women are walking around in the wrong bra sizes. Still, I agree with you, a two-cup bra size is a big jump. My guess is you’ve been wearing bras that are too small for quite a while now. Take off your blouse and your bra and take a look at yourself, why don’t you?” the bra lady said.

I did. OMG, suddenly, I was stacked! Flabbergasted, I turned to look at the bra lady, and she was smiling a knowing smile I was sure she reserved for just these occasions. My lack of embarrassment or even shame at her aydınlı escort seeing my naked boobs was also strange.

“That’s the smile we like to see on our customers. My dear, you look stunning,” the bra lady said.

“I feel sexy. I’ve never looked this good before,” I said. Usually I’m a shy person, but with this new bra, and — quite frankly — what seemed to me to be my new boobs, I felt as if I could be flirtatious! Now only were they seriously bigger, but they were “natural.” No implants for this girl! I kind of wanted to show off for the world. I’d never been shy, but I had never before felt I had anything worth showing off.

“You do indeed look sexy. Also, forgive me, but I couldn’t help noticing as you changed your bra, that you have extraordinary nipples,” the bra lady said.

“I know! It’s so embarrassing. I have to wear heavily padded bras to keep them from poking at my blouses and sweaters. I’ve even given up wearing T shirts. At times it’s almost obscene the way they poke,” I said.

“You know, my dear, it’s now stylish to have nipples poke. Women come to me asking for bras that let their nipples poke. They even buy bras which poke at their blouses for them,” the bra lady said.

“You’re kidding?” I replied. I had lived a life of shame, and for naught?

“No, I’m not. These two bras are two of my best sellers. This one here has fake nipples, and this other one is cut open to let a girl’s nipples out, free to poke. It requires, however, a careful fitting. Your nipples have to align just so with the openings,” she said. “Want to try it on?”

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Try it on, honey, just for fun. Then put on this blouse, which will fit you better than your current one, anyway; I mean, it will fit you across your bust,” she said. The one I was wearing had in fact been rather tight around my boobs. All my old tops were, now, it seemed.

“Well…say, the fabric is really soft and supple,” I said, as I touched the blouse she had offered me.

“Yes, it’s Egyptian cotton, and a special weave. Want to give it a try?”

“Well…okay,” I said, as I went to the changing area. I took what I thought of as the nipples bra with me, and I tried on both the bra and the blouse she had suggested. I first put on, with some trepidation, the bra. Then, I added the blouse. The blouse felt so amazing on my skin, I knew I had to get it.

I went to look in the mirror. The bra lady was busy with another couple who had wandered into the store: A woman who came with her boyfriend, or maybe her husband, in tow. I studied myself in the mirror. I looked as hot as a firecracker. My nipples poked at the blouse, big time.

I should explain. I have really long nipples. My nipples embarrassed me throughout my adolescence, and my mother bought me heavily padded bras, just to prevent my nipples from poking. In junior high and high school, having one’s nipples always poking out made a girl look like a slut, and all the boys stared. The girls would shun me, too. Hence the padded bra solution.

Now, was I about to go full circle? No way, no how. As I admired my new slutty look, however, I noticed in the mirror that my ring was positively glowing. WTF? Yes, it was definitely glowing! I’d have to ask Gary, my friend the science nerd, what caused that. In the meantime, however, something came over me, and I bought the two bras, two sets of matching panties, and the blouse, too. My finances were unhappy, but my American Express card seemed delighted to be dusted off and put to such an expensive use. Most men have no idea how expensive fine lingerie can be!

**

I returned to the office wearing the new bra that let my nipples do their thing. My nips had been wanting to poke out and embarrass me since I was thirteen, and now, at the age of 25, they had their chance! The nipples bra also fit me perfectly (the bra lady really knew her stuff) with nice D cups, and for the first time in a long time, well since forever, my boobs looked stunning under my new blouse.

No longer did I fade into the woodwork at work. Suddenly, everyone noticed me, men were finding excuses, often transparent, pathetic ones, just to come up and talk to me. While the men spoke with me, their eyes would drift to my boobs and my nipples and then jerk back up to my eyes. I had legs, too. Quite nice ones, in my opinion, but at work it seemed to be my boobs all the time. Maybe I should invest in some shorter skirts, too?

I had to deal with two conflicting emotions: embarrassment to be showing my boobs and nipples at work, and laughter at the behavior of my male co-workers. Throughout, however, like most women, I knew how to smile a toothy, blaze-of-headlights smile, no matter the situation, and this was no different.

The strange, truly strange thing that happened, took place on the sidewalk, on the way home from work. I work and live in New York City, and usually I take the subway four stops from work to home, but that day it was sunny and nice, and I decided to walk. Every single man who passed by me walking the other way checked me out. It was, after all, kind of thrilling. This must be what pretty, sexy women have to put up with all the time, I thought. Why do they claim to hate it? I kind of loved it. Maybe it was because it had never happened to me before?