by: Rick Johnson 
PO Box 40451
Tucson, Az.
85717
RikJohnson@juno.com
CONTENTS-
Return to Part 14-17
Story XVIII
Story XVIII
Story XVIII
Story XVIII
Go on to Parts 18-?
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XIV
My student and I were traveling across country to visit some friends at one of the
local Pan-Pagan Festivals when our Rental car broke down. Rather than wait for the
three days it would take to fix, and as in that small town there was no replacement
vehicle, my student talked me into hitchhiking.
I had never hitched a ride in my life, though my wife and I met while she was
hitching across America, so I was a bit ... apprehensive about getting in a car with a
stranger. But she insisted that all would be fine and that as long as she wore a short skirt
and open blouse, we'd have plenty of rides. And for the most part, it worked. As a social
scientist it was fascinating to watch the interaction of an attractive woman who KNEW
that she was sexy and a large number of, for want of a better term, 'dirty old/young men'.
She would stand on the road, smile and very soon a car would stop. My student would
lean over, smile and ask for a ride. The men would stare, drool and stammer yes. We
would get in, her next to the driver and me by the window making certain that my boot
knife was handy -just in case. Then we would be dropped off and the driver would
continue on, his life enriched by the flirtations of a beautiful young woman.
I asked her if she minded being treated like a sex-object but she laughed and said,
"If you are so worried about my using my looks like that, next time, you get us a ride."
Since I didn't know how, she took me into the bushes and told me the ins and outs of
hitching a ride.
It appears that initial looks are vital. No one wants to stop for a person in prison
clothes. So first I had to get their interest. Ok, but my legs aren't that good, I had rickets
as a child and am too lazy to exercise so I'm built like an avocado. "No sweat," she
replied,"We locate your assets and push that."
So she made me wear my tightest jeans. I brought them along because I had
gained too much weight to wear them normally so had planned to use them at Slide Rock
where they would be worn away in honor. She then had me stand facing almost away
from traffic so that the drivers could see my ... rear. In those pants it looked tighter than
it really was.
No matter that I couldn't bend or breathe, it was looks that were important and,
she assured me, women liked looking at a 'cute ass' just as men did.
Within a minute a truck stopped and this guy leaned out the window and offered
us a ride. "See," she said, "Just use what you have and go for the gutter."
Well, a good theory but slightly misplaced as the truck was driven by two men
who, it turned out, were gay. Que cera, cera. With me next to the driver, the other guy
next to me and my student sitting next to the window trying not to laugh, the drive was,
different.
She made matters worse by dropping subtle hints for me to flirt with the guys.
Advice I chose not to take. I have a hard enough time with women, gay men are out of
my league, so she ended up taking over the conversation.
After an hour, the driver giggled and said, "I feel the need to pass gas, excuse me."
and proceeded to do so with a soft sound. My student and the other guy laughed then she
said, "I, too, feel the need to pass some flatulence." and also let go with a quiet, but
forceful atmosphere. The windows were opened, we all laughed and the second man
then stated his need also, "Well, hell, I think I'll fart!" and he did with equally quiet and
noxious results.
Then they all began to look at me, the men giggling and my student encouraging
me to add in. Unfortunately, I've never been one for team sports and I hate working
under pressure. I guess that is the real reason I never attended an orgy, I was always
afraid that I'd let my partner(s) down while everyone was watching. But regardless, they
all did expect me to contribute to the general pollution of the atmosphere and she did say,
"when in Rome", or was it "Flirt your little tail off if you want to get to the festival?" So I
tried and finally passed a noisy pssst.
The two homosexuals looked at each other, then at my student, then they all
looked at me, and in unison cried, "We know who the virgin is"'
Return to the Contents
XV
My student and I were discussing magick, as usual, when we were accosted by
one of her friends. I suppose that this is why I don't like to talk in bars. The friend
listened to us for awhile with some raptness even though he couldn't understand much of
the technical terminology that we used. Eventually, after a second pitcher which was
about two pitchers past my limit, the friend broke down and began to cry. Aside from the
embarrassment of this absolutely huge man acting like a baby, I was simply too drunk to
care. After all, I am a cheap drunk but one who gets ... friendly with the women when I
exceed my limit and I didn't like this fool ruining what I thought was my charm and
terribly attractive sexuality.
My student slapped my hand away and said, "Stop it, I don't want you throwing up
in my bed tonight and you're not nearly as attractive drunk as you think. Besides, this
man is in need of help."
Well, obviously, this person had poisoned her against me so I determined to turn
him into a toad so that she would realize just how much she wanted me. Let's see now...
e=m c squared... 220 lbs of bone and muscle converted to a 2 lb toad leaving about ...
ah... oh... 218 lbs of matter to get rid of. Good, simply siphon off a few thousand ergs for
the change and convert the rest to free energy ... how many ergs to a gram? Well, it will
be a good sized explosion... something to see. Why did you slap me again.
The next morning I awoke to her shoving some ice cubes down my pajamas. I, of
course, screamed and struck out at her but she easily pushed me aside, and then hit me
with a cold washcloth.
"Get dressed, we have a job to do."
I generally remember what happens when I get drunk so I remembered
embarrassing myself in front of her, the Goddess and the world. I also remembered
sleeping alone, as was usual, but I didn't remember taking a contract. "What job?" I
asked while I tried to keep my head from exploding.
Eventually, after a glass of egg nog laced with some obnoxious herbal mixture she
added, I began to feel good enough to listen. It appeared that this man had recently lost
his job and was in danger of being tossed out of his home with his family. Also medical
bills were building up and he needed a lot of money in a hurry.
Now, normally I dislike doing money magick. I'm very good in healing and
fertility, but my success with money is limited to blackjack and roulette in Vegas. And
even then I only win enough for my expenses simply because I am not greedy. Or, as my
student states, I have little ambition to be filthy rich.
Regardless, I agreed to do this job as he was desperate and a friend of my student
so we sat down to develop a spell that would solve his problems. Finally we decided that
he needed to win the lottery. Not the big one, but only about $100,000 that would pay off
his home, pay his medical bills and feed the family until he found another job.
So we worked and worked and for weeks we did magick, each time raising the
power, binding the energy to the goal and each time receiving from the man the same
answer, "I didn't win yet."
Finally in desperation, I decided to do Goetics.
Now, normally I avoid this as calling up some non-material entity that has been
classified as a demon is not what I was trained to do. I'm a Witch, not a magickian. That
means that I do simple spells for comfort and entertainment like getting someone
pregnant and healing illness and making plants grow. Goetics are big time.
So we made plans, located the best time, set up the Triangle, researched
correspondences, found a focus, did our purifications and finally the night arrived. I was
nervous, though many years of training allowed me to accept and reject those fears. We
even had the client in the Circle as an object link.
After two hours of setting up and invoking we had a manifestation. Now, I was
expecting a change in the incense smoke that my student would have to interpret since
most of these spells deal with an appearance on a more subtle manner. In other words,
you get a hallucination that you think is a demon and so you make up what you think it
says. But this was an actual creature. Claws, teeth, scales, stink (I'm glad I have no sense
of smell) the whole bit.
I was speechless, the client almost ran, a big mistake as the thing would have been
on him in an instant, so he contained himself enough to void his bowels. Memo: make
him return tomorrow to mop the floor. And my student was too new to the Craft to be
scared. She was happy and I felt like shaking her teeth loose.
Control!
Ok, we had something that most people only dream of and we had a job to do so I
told the demon the problem and commanded that it solve the problem.
The demon looked at me, looked at my student, licked its ears and looked at the
client, growled then said, "Perhaps the spell would work if the client actually bought a
lottery ticket once in a while."
Return to the Contents
XVI
My student and I were ... specialists in the Air Force. That means that we go
wherever they send us and do whatever they tell us to. Since I am a NCO and she a
civilian consultant, we often go together. Sometimes we luck out and go to Hawaii to do
some construction work at the hotel the military owns on Waikiki Beach and sometimes
we loose and go to Camp Ripley, 80 miles from nowhere eating army food. This was
halfway between. In other words, we were sent to some outpost in Turkey with a fundie
who spent the 12 hour flight preaching to us.
Fortunately, the plane was a C-130 and was too noisy to hear most of his garbage.
When we landed and were driven to the outpost we discovered that the base had
only 20 men, two trucks that were not allowed off base and a camel. The nearest town
was twenty klicks away and my student was the only woman within that range. Thus she
was very popular. Especially since some of these men had been there for six months.
I won't bore you with our job but when I asked the First Sergeant what the camel was
for, he replied, "The only women are in town twenty kilometers away, so since we can't
take the trucks off base, we use the camel." I understood completely as I had traveled a
lot and had been in the military for 15 years and my student was a pervert anyway but the
fundie was shocked at that idea, and even said so often enough for the locals to consider
human sacrifice.
Fortunately for us, my student and I found some Roman Ruins nearby so when she
wasn't partying with the local airmen, we were crawling over the temples, burning
incense to Venus and trying to figure our how to smuggle an entire temple to Demeter
out of the country.
After about three weeks of this, we were getting tired of the country and our job
was only half-finished. The fundie was getting more and more cranky because of lack of
female companionship but my student and I had each other and the locals had the camel
so we didn't suffer at all.
The fundie finally got drunk one night when my student was dancing on the bar
and confided to me, which showed how much he had already drunk, that he was, to put it
mildly, horny. I was tempted to tease him but felt sorry and called my student over.
He perked up when she arrived and explained to her the problem but fell again
when she flat out refused to touch him. I never made the suggestion, he did and was
soundly decked by her for it.
She did, however, suggest that he make use of the camel like all the other men.
The fundie was shocked, upset and whatever else he could do while too drunk to
stand but finally agreed that if it was the only way he could get relief, he would do it. So
we took him to the stable and watched as he dropped his pants and relieved himself on a
bored camel. Camels, incidentally, are hung like horses so it was unlikely that the animal
noticed the ... activity at his nether end.
When he was done, we were laughing on the ground and others had arrived to
watch and laugh.
"What's the matter," the fundie yelled. "Isn't that how you all do it?"
"Not quite," my student replied. I finished for her, "Generally they ride the camel
into town."
Return to the Contents
XVII
It was hunting season and for the 20th time my father, a native Arizonan whose
grandparents were the first white men born in this part of the state, began to pressure me
to go with him.
Now I have an intense disgust for hunting. True, I enjoy Martial Arts and am in
the military but I find no sport or honor in sitting on a hill with a high powered rifle and
murdering a deer a mile away that doesn't even know that you are around. But my father
came down to get his sights adjusted at the local gun shop and while there I introduced
him to my student.
She, on the other hand, was a full blooded Cherokee who left the reservation on
Oklahoma to enlist and while we served together, she came home to Wicca and we
became friends. When she met my father, they became very close. Even closer that my
father and I were despite the fact that my ancestors spent a lot of effort killing her
ancestors.
They immediately began to make plans to go hunting together. They also began
to pressure for me to go and get myself blooded as it were, despite my assurance that I
get enough sport hunting a steak in the local supermarket.
"For someone who serves the Horned God of Hunting," responded she, "You are
woefully ignorant of that aspect of Him."
We argued and fought and argued and finally I consented to go with them on the
condition that I could carry a camera instead of a gun and not have to eat the poor victim
of my family's bloodlust.
So I borrowed some binoculars with a telescopic camera mounted under and got
together my hiking stuff and even located some BRIGHT ORANGE clothing. I figured
that with so many hunters around, I wanted them to be certain that I was a person and not
prey.
My father, a hunter from long back, wore orange cammies, as did my student as
both of them knew that deer are color-blind and see movement and patterns and not
colors so can't tell the difference between orange and green.
The night before my student and I even did some hunting magick. Normally modern
Wicca doesn't have much in this area so we had to combine some Cherokee magick with
what we thought our ancestors may have done.
The day arrived and they dragged me out of bed at 3:00 a.m. I tried to fight them
off. Really I did, but my student slapped me when I reached for something more
interesting than my clothes. And eventually, with a pot of hot chocolate inside me, we
were in my fathers truck bouncing along a road fit only for a dirt bike.
I hate people who can wake up cheerful. Especially after a long night of doing
hunting magick. Three hours sleep after an exhausting spell doesn't cut it. I also let them
know that I wasn't happy being there and that...... "Will you SHUT UP before I shoot you
instead of the Deer!" they screamed.
We set up camp, relaxed and began to stalk the prey. My father was an excellent
woodsman and my student was trained by her tribe and I was a Campfire leader so we
had little difficulty locating a deer.
While they were examining spoor (read: that stuff that I flush down a toilet), I saw
a deer off to the side. Let's see now... Deer can only see movement well and only when
they are looking directly at it. They also feed in a pattern so ... I waited until it began to
eat and quietly walked toward it. A few steps later I froze and the deer looked up, stared
at me and resumed its eating.
The pattern was simple. It ate for a few seconds, looked up, chewed, then went
back to brousing. Once I had it's time set, I simply walked towards it when it began to
eat and froze a second or two before it looked up. After ten minutes, I was so close that I
could touch it. I set the camera on auto, waited for the last bite and moved closer to pet
the deer just as the camera went off.
The sound startled the deer almost as much as my touching it but I had a good
picture that proved that I had more skill than a redneck hunter.
"Are you finished playing around?" my student called from the bushes. "We need
a buck, not that doe." Craft Law, as well as hunting rules forbid killing females.
Eventually we saw another hunter, in cammie greens, walk into our sights. I took
a photo and we waited for him to leave our field, when there was an explosion and the
hunter was flung backwards. We began to rush forward when another hunter jumped out
of a bush and began to scream, "I got one! Did you see that? I got an 8-point elk with my
first shot!"
My father grabbed his weapon, decked the stupid fool and began to berate the
idiot. My student did first aid and we told the 'hunter' to watch over him while we went
to get help.
We ran and stumbled and finally got to the forest station where they had an
ambulance ready for just such an emergency.
By the time we got back to the scene of the accident, the rangers were loading the
victim into the ambulance. So we went over and asked, "How's he doing?"
The ranger paused, then said, "He'd be doing a lot better if your friend hadn't
gutted and cleaned him first."
Return to the Contents
Return to Part 14-17
Go on to Part 18-?
To contact me or to request topics to be covered, send to RikJohnson@juno.com
by: Rick Johnson
PO Box 40451
Tucson, Az.
85717
Return to the Home Page.
Return to the Humor page.
