The rest of the day

The rest of that first day was a blur of lazy omnipotence. The immediate, frantic high of the encounter with his mother settled into something far more profound: the quiet, bone-deep certainty of absolute control. The world was no longer something that happened to Trey Ellis; it was a program waiting for his input.

He didn't leave his room for hours. He lay on his bed, the newly acquired stack of cash resting on his chest, and just wished. Little things at first. A test flight for his godhood.

He was thirsty. He didn't want to get up and go to the kitchen. I wish I had a cold can of Coke in my hand. A cool can of coke just materialized into his hand. It wasn't there, and then it was, his fingers already wrapped around it. No pop, no flash, just seamless creation. He took a long, satisfying sip.

He got bored. He snapped himself into the living room. The TV in his living room was an old clunker. I wish I had a brand new 75-inch OLED TV mounted on the wall and a PS5 connected to it. The wall flickered for less than a microsecond, a blink-and-you-miss-it distortion, and there it was. A new expensive looking TV. The PlayStation 5 sat beneath it, glowing with a soft blue light, and a controller in his hand. The old TV was just gone. Vanished from reality.

He'd changed the TV, the game console, even the very chair he was sitting in. The thought came to his mind: Why not change himself? He could do it in an instant. Give himself a sharp jawline, abs ripped from a magazine cover, a face that made women fall for him before he even had to make a wish. He pictured it, imagined walking down the street and feeling the pull of female attention. But as the fantasy formed, he hesitated. The idea felt hollow. Too easy. For him, the real thrill, the intoxicating turn-on, wasn't in being the guy every woman already wanted. It was in being him. Average, forgettable Trey Ellis. It was the contrast of a nobody like him getting his way with any and every woman he wants no matter how out of his league, no matter how ugly or attractive they thought he looked, that turned him on. To know that a woman suddenly, willingly wants a man she wouldn't have looked at twice in a normal world, that was the ultimate fuck. He would keep his face. He would keep his unremarkable body. The contrast is too hot to get rid of.

He spent the next few hours in a gamer's paradise. He wished for every new release, every game he'd ever wanted, to be downloaded and ready to play. As he sat there, sinking into the plush new gaming chair he'd conjured, he heard Keisha vacuuming downstairs. The noise was distracting.

He didn't even turn his head. I wish Mom would come here, stop what she's doing, and suck me off while I play.

A minute later, the vacuum cleaner noise cut out. As he looked to the living room entrance, Keisha stood there, a soft, pleasant smile on her face, completely devoid of the usual frustration she had when he gamed.

"Getting hungry, sweetie?" she asked, her eyes already drifting down to his lap.

"Just a little horny," Trey said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Let me help you with that."

She sat next to him on the couch, leaning towards his crotch as Trey leaned back, her movements fluid and natural. She unzipped his jeans with the practiced ease of a devoted wife and took him into her mouth, her head beginning to bob in a steady rhythm. Trey grunted, one hand on his controller, the other resting almost absently in her hair. This wasn't the frantic, shocking taboo of their first encounter. This was a service. A convenience. It felt as normal and as right as the cold Coke in his hand or the perfectly calibrated surround sound filling the room.

This went on the whole day, making fun little wishes, fucking Keisha here and there, just doing what he wants.

The sound of his father's car pulling into the driveway was what finally broke the bubble. Trey was lying on the living room couch, a new, ridiculously comfortable leather sectional he'd wished into existence, scrolling through his phone. Keisha was in the kitchen, humming as she prepared a dinner that, with a simple, unspoken wish from Trey, was now a perfect medium-rare steak instead of whatever healthy casserole she'd planned.

He heard his dad's keys jingle in the lock. For a fleeting moment, a ghost of his old self surfaced, a flicker of anxiety, of being caught. But it vanished as quickly as it came. Caught doing what? Living? The house looked normal. His mom looked happy. They just had some new furniture. A quick “I wish dad would think the house looks normal” would fix that.

His dad walked in, looking tired from work, completely oblivious that the very atoms of his home had been rearranged a dozen times that day. He gave Keisha a peck on the cheek and nodded to Trey. "How was your day?"

"It was okay," Trey mumbled, the biggest understatement in human history. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, not physical, but mental. Wielding omnipotence, even lazily, was draining. He decided to call it a night, leaving his parents to their mundane, unaltered reality. He slept the dreamless, peaceful sleep he hadn’t had in ages.