In days long past, Brandon brews a potion

First thing's first: my name is Brandon Shaw, and I'm a loser. Always have been, always will be.

It's not that I'm way too ugly, too fat, or too skinny. I'm not some kind of huge asshole, and I don't smell bad. I'm more your run-of-the-mill loser: shy, lacking in confidence, and a bit socially awkward... Especially around the ladies.

Speaking of "ladies," did I mention I'm a pervert? Now, I know what you're thinking: "what 20-year-old boy isn't a pervert?" But on a scale from "good Christian boy who averts his eyes from ankles" to "loser who thinks about his mom, sister, and next-door neighbor whenever he jerks off," I'm... Well, the second one.

To be fair, it's not entirely my fault. All three of them are total bombshells.

Let's start with my mother, Lily. She's no spring chicken, but that's never stopped me from fantasizing about her. Pretty face (with a few wrinkles), curvy body (if a little too curvy in places), and D-cup tits (so what if they sag a little). Basically, your average 7/10 brunette MILF. 6.5, maybe, if you like 'em fit.

Then there's my sister Ella, who's more traditionally hot--Or "cute," maybe--As long as you're into the e-girl look. Not that she could ever be one for real... I'm not the only shy, insecure introvert in the family. But if she ever built up the confidence, she'd make bank: lithe, long-limbed girl with a bubble butt? Pink hair in a pixie cut? Nothing but short-shorts in her closet? Walks around barefoot all the time?

Okay, that last one may not be for everyone, but it sure gets me hard... Ugh. Like I said, I'm a pervert...

...And nobody gets me perving harder than the girl next door. Claire. The girl I've been perving on since I was old enough to perv. There was a time she was a petite, nerdy girl, not so different from my sister... But she grew into a bonafide blonde bombshell. Seriously, she's the total package: tits and ass the size of my mom's, but with an hourglass shape and all the, uh, firmness of my sister.

Wow, damn, when I lay it all out like that... The way I thought about these women (all of whom were close to my heart) on a daily basis, usually with one hand doing the dirty deed... Maybe I deserved what happened next.

It all started with some banner ads. You know, the kind they have on porn sites... "Eat this one fruit for a huge dick!" "Become irresistible to women in 5 steps!" I knew they were bullshit, of course, but they got me thinking: if there really were secrets like that floating around on the internet, they wouldn't be advertised on shitty porn sites. So I started doing my research, digging deeper... Then deeper still... Then a little too deep.

That's how I ended up browsing the dark web one Saturday afternoon, with the curtains drawn and my door locked. Mom was gardening and Dad was at the office (like always), but you can't be too careful.

Do you know how people go online and convince themselves that even the most ridiculous conspiracy theories are true? It's a series of baby steps. First you believe one thing, then the next... And when you're absorbing content from these little closed-off communities, the bubble helps make it all seem more reasonable.

My journey through the dark web was a lot like that. It started out with researching seduction techniques, then special colognes and shit, then pseudoscience about pheromones, then... Well, next thing you know I'm frantically scribbling down an occult, vaguely-satanic recipe for a magic masculinity-boosting potion. The person who posted it said it kept getting scrubbed from the internet, so I had to hurry!

I know, I know. Even as I was doing it, I knew it was insane. How could I not, when the process of gathering ingredients had me doing shit like drawing pentagrams around saplings before picking them, and going to the fancy uptown supermarket for actual frogs' legs?

But when Monday rolled around, I had my potion. It was grey, chunky, and smelled a little like rotting eggs, but as far as I could tell it was an exact recreation of the "ancient Mesopotamian recipe, lost for millennia." Despite all the weirdness, I was feeling quite proud of myself as I lifted it to my lips...

...Only to gag the moment it touched my tongue. I couldn't bear to swallow the lukewarm goo as-is, so I decided to head down to the kitchen and put some ice in it. Everything's better chilled, right?

Still, even as I watched the ice cubes sink slowly into the oily, tar-like, pit-of-despair-in-a-cup, I couldn't work up the courage to drink it. Leaving the cup on the counter, I ran back up to my room, reached under the bed, and grabbed my lucky totem. My Artifact of +1 Wisdom. My Chalice of Chill.

You know: my bong.

After a couple hits and a few minutes of psyching myself up, I went back to the kitchen to get that shit done.

Unfortunately, during my record-breaking journey from "sober" to "stoned," I had failed to hear Mom coming in from the garden. There she was, standing in the kitchen with her hand on her hip, and the other one--

--The other one emptying the last of my potion into her mouth.

"Hi Brandon," she said, licking her lips. "Wow, that was... Mmm."

"Buh--Wuh--I--"

"What was it? New smoothie?"

"Um... Y-yeah," I stammered. She LIKED it? I couldn't even swallow it!

"Well, you'll have to give me the recipe sometime--"

Eyes wide, I turned on my heel. "Sorrymomgottagoleftthetaprunning!"

"Um... Okay," she replied with a shrug, licking a glob of grey potion off the rim of the glass before heading back outside. "Bye, sweetie!"

As I sat on my bed, shaking with adrenaline and terror, I knew I was fucked... I just didn't realize quite how fucked.