So  Much For Love Potion #8

So Much For Love Potion #8

A Story by Montilee Stormer
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Commissioned in 2006 for the Sinister Bedfellows Anthology

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Look At Me.

I catch your eye, my own coyly downcast with the flirt of a lash.

Look Me Over.

My curves, my smile, my dress so flirty and short. My legs which climb to darken depths so mysterious you can’t help but wonder how warm the darkness must be.

Follow Me Boys and I can show you delights no other woman can. I am the girl your mothers warned you about, the gal spoken of in low excited tones in damp locker rooms by men who’ll never have a chance with someone like me unless I was passed out in a corner with fewer wits about me than clothes.

Kiss Me Now, because you can’t help but be drawn to me like a helpless lodestone to magnetic sand. Hot and wet, senseless but with desperate purpose, with hands everywhere and soon shirts and stockings and belts in a forgotten pile on the floor.

Cleo May, Betty might, but I will. I can and I can’t be stopped.

And I want to be.

God help me, I so want this to be over.

I followed everything to the letter. So lonely, so pathetic. They don’t talk about this in your stupid 101 books. They speak of lovers who might not leave, or suitors who can’t take no for an answer. Let the spell run its course and eventually the handsomes will wander off in search of their forgotten lives. What the books don’t mention is the off-chance that you might become the beacon all the desperate Lothario fix their courses to. They don’t tell you how to turn it off, how to stop the ears from coming.

They don’t tell you not to combine them into one powerful hex. There should be warnings on this crap.

Before, I had nothing. I had a small apartment and a cat and second-hand furniture. I worked mindless jobs where I didn’t have to be seen by anyone, storerooms and docks, messy hair and no makeup. So easy to blend in to not be noticed, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like; to walk down the street and not be seen, to not have to stop and watch myself being noticed, to not indulge that baser instinct, to not open a package of ears.

I took the bath, I tossed the water, I wrote my name and my intentions nine times IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS –

LOOK AT ME

NOTICE ME

WANT ME

I lit the candles. I killed the coon. I have his bone. I fed the stone.

I fed it. I think I overfed it, and like the goldfish that became a shark …

I did it all. Every night for nine nights.

I wanted it to work.

It did.

In spades.

The stone fed on my plainness, and made me pretty. See my hair, so long they begged to be tied into it. Feel my skin, so soft I was always covered in hands. This is my body, once random lumps of misplaced flesh, now everything in the right place and firm - wow. Men bought me things. Have a dress, have some earrings. Would you like a car? Yes please. Red like my lips, fast like my hips, hot like my – yeah – that hot.

I quit my jobs and just lived off the men, they didn’t care about each other or where I was so long as I could squeeze them in, shower them with my attention, and I didn’t care because I was pretty. Hello pretty girl in the mirror, where to tonight?

Then …

Then …

They wouldn’t stop coming. They wouldn’t stop looking. They can’t stop looking. There was the fighting, the guns, the bodies. I should have specified in big block letters – No Crazies, but it’s too late now. The dead man in Pensacola, the decapitation in Duluth, and d****t, why won’t this one stop sending me ears.

I move a lot and I think this time it will be different. I cut my hair, and wash my face and dig out the frumpy clothes no one looks twice at – but it’s the spell. Here comes the hair, first hacked to the ears, now silky to the a*s. Here are the eyes, scrubbed so hard as to be puffy and red, now smoky and seductive. And d****t the clothes – they can’t hide the breasts and the hips and the legs.

And here come the men. Flowers, invitations, ears – how does he find me?

And now here I come, all pretty and firm – Look At Me, Look Me Over, Follow Me Boys, Kiss Me Now, Cleo May – and she will because she can’t stop.

But she will. I will. I can’t do this anymore.

Look At Me, I have a gun.

Look Me Over, it shines like my eyes.

Follow Me Boys, to the end where there will be rest.

Kiss Me Now, won’t that be sweet.

Cleo May, now I can slee-


© 2008 Montilee Stormer



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Featured Review

You know you have the fastest most efficient and yet most emotionally descriptive way of writing you cut straight to the leanest meat of a thing and say just those words. I sereously am impressed. Literally :) in one sentence you go from informative to story telling to ironic to scary to sad to funny and then you are blunt. Why am I the first to comment here? Awesome as always. Wish I could critique

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

You are a amazing writer. The story was so good. You brought me into the story with this fantastic woman. Told a powerful and interesting tale. In my lifetime woman who are strong and confident make a man wish for more. A outstanding short story. Thank you.
Coyote

Posted 7 Years Ago


When I saw the title I just had to read: Excellent excellent excellent.

Not to mention the opening. Your use of seduction here is almost as brilliant as the desire to be again undesirable a few paragraphs later.

And the goldfish line: brilliant! I'll have to remind myself not to read your writing at work - because I laughed like crazy.

Oh, ouch. Ending.

This was so good it is beyond words. The thing I found most interesting is the fact that your writing almost had a "pulse" through this piece. It probably comes through the repeated use of "look at me, look me over, follow me boys, kiss me now, etc. etc." It came alive for me. That is all I can say. I wouldn't consider asking you to change a thing.

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This story reminded me of my Aunt Linda--she was the pretty one out of five sisters. When she came to visit, she was all eye, lipstick, and sultry pouting. When she would leave, my mother would talk on the phone to the other sisters about 'Linda'. She ended up in a mental instution, and then as a poet living with Charles Bukowski. I lived in that house in Silverlake for awhile. So much like this character--even her story followed the pattern. She is still alive today, still writing and painting, and still stirring up contorversy in our family. Now as an adult, I've learned to love her life as such an adventure--I guess you could say I've followed a male version of her same path.

As you can probably see, I review writing on how it affects me. (its all about me) Like a great of good painting, I'm assessing whether I'm still standing there wondering why I'm standing there. I enjoyed reading your story--the images conjured up the aforementioned paragraph in me--I stood here staring at its memory--what ever you did, it haunted me--made me feel alive. I like it when stories or poems make the past feel present for me--good writing and well worth the read.

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I don't visit your profile to review much. Mostly just to read. I enjoyed this one. The short sentences, the breaks. This story could easily have gone to seed if it didn't have superb pacing. I'm green with envy.
I guess it doesn't matter at this point, but it's a little overkill to cut off the last word (slee --). Maybe someone told you you needed to make it more obvious that she was killing herself, but that's not giving us enough credit.
Good story, MS.

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Great story. I like how you put in the different spell names: Look At Me, Look Me Over, Follow Me Boys, Kiss Me Now, Cleo May; and then you used them to move the story. The ending was great and the spell integration was awesome. This story seemed to have a sing-song rhythm to it and a very fast pace. You imagery was just as powerful as all your other works, and the darkness was still there. I like how you put a twist on the standard Love Potion theme. One thing I noticed about halfway through was how the longer paragraphs seemed to slow the pace. I thought this paragraph, "I followed everything to the letter. So lonely, so pathetic. They don’t talk about this in your stupid 101 books..." slowed me down a little bit. It's not a big deal since I was already hooked but compared to the pace throughout the rest of the story it seemed slow.Just noticing this now, you do have a built in rhythm--three short sentences, three paragraphs, three short, three paragraphs--Was this intentional?Anyway I'm getting off point. This story is one of my favorites and the pace and rhythm make it so. Great work. Superb writing.

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Great story. Short and to the point

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Freakin' A I love you...

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Cool out

Thanks

Gar

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I'm speechless....(ok I'm better now) there isn't one part of this one I could single out as a favourite. Very complete for such a short story which is part of the magic of it. Again your similies/descriptives are used perfectly.
You're an inspiration Montilee...Now how about some more of the 'Caretaker' ??
As usual I loved it!


Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Wow. I loved it. Flow is perfect, transitions are perfect. This piece is pretty much flawless. Lovely job. Just...wow.

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on April 25, 2008

Author

Montilee Stormer
Montilee Stormer

Royal Oak, MI



About
Short Version: MontiLee Stormer is a troublemaker, writing acts of mayhem and despair for her own selfish pleasure. Her interests wander from abnormal psychology and serial killers, to lost loves and.. more..

Writing

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