Making Your Own Magic

Alexis came over to see Maya, who couldn't wait to show off some dusty spellbook she dragged down from the attic. They cracked it open on the bed and started flipping pages, giggling like idiots. Maya wanted her ass to bounce more. Alexis wanted bigger tits. The only way to check fast, they figured, was to strip. Tops off, bottoms off. Neither meant to stare, but eyes wandered anyway. Maya hit Alexis with the first spell. They got close, poked, cupped, pressed together. Then Alexis spoke the words over Maya's butt. Fingertips dug in. Skeptical laughs turned into curious sighs. That's when Maya's stepmom, Reagan, walked in. Naked girls, open mouths, hands on each other's skin. Reagan clocked the book on the floor and knew the game at once. She'd messed with the same spells back in college. She told them to keep going if they wanted. No shame. Then she added that they already looked perfect the way they were. The spells wouldn't do shit anyway. Still, the trying counted. The closeness, the rituals, they gave space to admit things you couldn't say straight out. The girls got quiet, then came clean. They'd wanted to cast love spells next. Reagan smirked, lit a cigarette she never lit, said they already did the hard part. Want without saying it out loud. Real magic's the friction of skin against skin, breath catching, promises made with mouths busy elsewhere. She stepped in, corrected grips, showed angles, joined when the heat jumped the rails. Three bodies on rumpled sheets doing the kind of magic no dusty page ever caught.