Of course

Mark sat at his desk, while Joe and a Joe lay down on Joe’s bed. Chit chat. Mark noticed the genie had disappeared.

He also noticed Jo had dimples when she smiled. An athletic, self-contained freshman, Jo had light brown hair that was cut fairly short. She and Joe returned to their previous activity: sharing ear buds and listening to hipster music. Their heads nearly touched.

Joe was entertainment editor of the university’s newspaper, which gave him an excuse to attend a lot of concerts and hang out with aspiring singer songwriters, like Jo.

Knowing they were listening to music, Mark whispered, “I wish to know if Jo is wearing a bra.”

“Are you sure?”

”Yes,” Mark answered. He continued to whisper, but the genie’s voice sounded clearly, inside his head. The voice may have also sounded a little skeptical, as if questioning whether—amongst all of the possibilities available to him—this query was most compelling. Mark shrugged off that concern; genies, he thought, don’t get to be skeptical.

“Yes, she is wearing a bra,” said the old man’s voice.

Mark mulled over his situation. Anything? Hmmm. Mark looked at Jo, sitting comfortably cross legged on his roommate’s twin bed. He looked at her mouth, which had sung a couple of sweet Joni Mitchell songs at the campus bar’s “Evening of 1968.” She had a clear-eyed, earnest, never-had-an-alcoholic-beverage kind of hotness. She’d never been at all flirtatious with him, but she wasn’t particularly stuck up or bitchy. With solid justification, she appeared to have quickly concluded that Mark was just another guy, full of hormones and not full of depth.

Mark could think of no reason that he should use his new powers on someone who wouldn’t like to be used, and who’d done nothing wrong.

But, he thought, there she is.

He whispered, “Genie, I wish to freeze Joe and Jo. I’d like them to stay frozen until I say they can wake up.”

The internal voice asked, “are you sure?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Mark looked, and, sure enough, they were frozen, and their eyes were shut. He walked over to Joe’s bed. He waved his hand, no response. He bent in close to Jo and could hear the shallowest of breathing. He reached down and felt her left breast. “Awesome,” he thought.

He felt the other breast. Also awesome, though he became aware that it was difficult to differentiate shirt, bra, and boob. Mark started to pull of Jo’s shirt. Her body was not entirely rigid, but it also wasn’t helping. With some effort, he was able to get one of her arms free.

He pulled off Jo’s shirt. Gorgeous.

While worrying with the clasp on Jo’s bra, it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked how he’d come to warrant a genie. He’d found no lamp. Done no deed, good or evil. Signed no contract. Been the victim of no experiment gone wrong. And he was certainly not some quirky genius in biology, neurology, chemistry, computers, or whatever. No, Mark was a 30th percentile sort of scientist and adventurer. To get his genie, he hadn’t even left his room.

Thrilled by his newfound access to the swell of tit inside bra, Mark had gotten stymied by the mysteries of the bra clasp. Suddenly, he noticed that the genie had returned to physical form and was standing near the doorway. Mark could tell he was old and wearing some sort of suit, but the details were indistinct. It occurred to Mark he wouldn’t be able to pick the guy out of a lineup.

Only slightly embarrassed by having the old guy watch him flail with the bra, Mark had new instructions: ”Genie! Glad you’re back. I wish you to get rid of Jo’s bra and transport her to my bed. Oh, and while you’re at it, just make her naked.” Remembering the clothes debacle, he added, “I’m talking about Jo, that’s J-O not J-O-E. Oh, and I wish for her to not remember anything from the period in which she’s frozen.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Instantly, he saw that Jo was face-up was in his bed, sheets to her neck. Jo looked peacefully asleep. Awesome.

Mark noticed a coffee stain on the pillowcase. How many weeks since he’d washed them? Jo wouldn’t like stained sheets.

”Genie, I wish for my sheets to be clean.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

No more coffee stain. Mark smiled. I’ll never do laundry again in my life! This is great!

He kneeled next to Jo. Her nostrils flared the slightest bit as she breathed in slowly, out slowly. I wonder how this whole freezing thing works? Gotta get more details from the genie. He touched her cheek. Warm. She had some slight freckles on her cheeks that he hadn’t noticed. He’d never been so close before. She also had a zit on her nose.

“Genie, I wish for Jo’s zit to disappear and for her to get no zits ever again. No, wait, no need to get freaky. I wish her to get only 10% of the zits she’d have otherwise gotten.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Mark watched the zit seem to melt. He touched her nose. Amazing. He considered putting her clothes back on and sending her back to Joe’s bed. She was only a freshman, and she was sweet, and Joe seemed to think he was her first boyfriend. Asleep, or frozen, or whatever state this was, she looked young and defenseless. And he wasn’t so clear on how this whole thing worked. Surely he could find someone more appropriate.

On the other hand, his dick was really, really hard. Plus, she wouldn't remember anything.

Mostly, Mark was deciding that this was the greatest single sexual opportunity of his lifetime, and he saw no downside. He’d never had a serious girlfriend, and here was someone completely willing and eager. Well, “willing” seemed a stretch, as was “eager.” Hmmm, “cooperative,” maybe, but, as she lay there in some sort of sleep/trance, he was fine with her simply not objecting.

Mark had gone on dates and gone to parties and had lucked into the occasional blow job and fuck, but those gropings had always been rushed and furtive. The girls had seemed **** or intoxicated, or both. His focus had been on exciting them enough for them to put out, and he knew that some had expressed regret afterwards. But he’d never doped anybody, or physically overpowered anybody. He’d never schemed or targeted. His sexual interludes had hardly been pure, but they’d mostly been random, rushed, and opportunistic. Porn was much the same. Sure, he knew that the women of porn fell into just a few camps. There were the sexually trafficked. There were the humiliated ex-girlfriends and celebrities. There were the victims of voyeurism. But he liked to think that many got a kick out of having people look at them, either naked or having sex. And he knew his brain well enough that he could compartmentalize. He could separate out body parts: nice tits, nice pussy. He hadn’t really thought about it, but objectification was okay by him, and in the heat of that moment, he wasn’t really thinking about the inner psychological workings of himself, much less the young woman lying in his bed.

Instead, his thoughts had reached the sort of zen-like simplicity yearned for by mystics the world over. In his case, Mark’s circuitry could be summarized: I’m hard as a rock. She’s beautiful and available. Nothing can go wrong. I’m hard as a rock. She’s beautiful....

While still mulling over this win/win situation, Mark pulled down the sheets, as if he’d find more of life’s answers by looking more closely at Jo’s neck. He watched her carotid artery as it slowly pulsed. Her skin seems almost translucent, and—thanks to Mark’s recent generosity—without blemish. Two small moles above her clavicle. More faint freckles on her shoulders. He pulled the sheet down further and held his breath past the swell of her chest. He pulled the sheets down past her pale pink nipples, which were puffy and soft. He pulled the sheet down to her belly button, which sported a clean gold hoop. She seemed relaxed and calm. Oh my God, she has like a perfect body.

Jo’s only movements remained the tantalizingly slow rise and fall of her magnificent chest and the sturdy throb of the carotid artery.

Mark remembered the the genie. He turned and made eye contact. “Quit looking at me. You make me nervous. Can I ask you to disappear?”