“I’ve read ancient Persian legends that say one should never trust a Genie, so really, what was I thinking?”
I’d happened upon the lamp in some street vender’s cart in Morocco. And while it was seriously tarnished and caked with filth, it also appeared to be an authentic seventh century brass oil lamp. And did I mention, as a black market antiquities dealer, with a little cleaning up, utterly priceless. Better still, I managed to barter down the clueless street vendor and paid a mere twenty Dirham for it, which works out to be about four and a half Euro. Not bad for something I can easily sell in my London shop for at least twenty thousand Euros. Dropping it into my satchel I continued to stroll through the market.
Arriving back in London, I cleared customs and dropped off my newly acquired acquisitions at the workshop behind my shop before going home for the night. I’m not completely sure why but I decided to put that old lamp in the ultrasonic cleaner before leaving, as it turns out that wasn’t one of my better decisions.
Late the next afternoon I was back at the shop, and after a strong glass of tea, carefully removing the now spotlessly gleaming authentic seventh century oil lamp from the tank of ultrasonic cleaning fluid. Draining the last of the cleaning fluid from the lamp I rinsed it out and was just setting it in the rack to dry when it happened.
One moment everything was normal, the next a billowing cloud of smoke exploded from the lamp and he appeared. Ironically the moment I saw him I wanted to giggle. Well, I also felt a level of sexual arousal I’d never before experienced. But still, even as handsome as he was, with all those rippling muscles and that massive erection easily visible though his thin and utterly soaked pants, that nasty stench of the ultrasonic cleaning fluid was a major turn off. I mean, don’t blame me, I stole the ultrasonic cleaning fluid recipe from the British Museum of Antiquities, and yes, that shit works amazingly well but it still smells totally nasty.
Glancing toward me, a look of pure evil in his eyes, “I am the eternal Genie of the Lamb. What is the meaning of this foulness that I came to find myself immersed in?”
Pausing as I realized this sexy hulk was actually speaking English, “I’m terribly sorry, I was cleaning the lamp, and I never imagined someone dwelled within it.”
He paused as a sudden sensation of overwhelming erotic warmth coursed thought me at the thought of him undressing me as the ultrasonic cleaning fluid instantly evaporated from his body, “No matter, you have released me from the lamp and as such I’m bound to grant you three wishes.”
Although his pants were now magically dry his breathtaking erection was still easily visible as I asked, “Would fucking me senseless count as a wish or just something to delightfully occupy our time together until I finally decide on my three wishes?”
A sudden dark simile appeared on his face, “Foolish mortal, if that had actually been your first wish I can assure you that you wouldn’t have survived to make another. Now, stop wasting my time and make your three wishes so that I may depart this revolting mortal plane.”
“Fine, I wish to be wealthy. Please add an appropriate amount to my existing bank accounts.”
The Genie smiled, “As you wish.”
Nothing seemed to change. Picking up my smart phone I accessed my bank account summery page, “So really, your antiquated definition of wealthy is to take my eighty thousand Euro bank account and increase its balance to eight million Euros? That’s your definition of wealthy? I personally think you’ve been stuck in that lamp for a few to many centuries.”
Frowning, the Genie paused for a moment, “Perhaps you should check your balance again.”
Pressing refresh I almost dropped my phone in shock, my bank balance had increased to eight hundred million Euros, “Well, I must say this certainly meets my definition of wealthy.”
A knowing smile on his handsome face, the Genie asked, “For your second wish?”
Switching off my phone I was setting it down on my workbench when caught my reflection in the priceless antique dressing room mirror that had once adorned the wall of Empress Josephine’s dressing room and my second wish suddenly occurred to me, “I wish to be young and beautiful, to be twenty two again but this time I want to be beautiful and not just beautiful but utterly gorgeous, something between a Hollywood starlet and a Victoria’s Secret lingerie model.”
The Genie paused for a moment, “As you wish.”
Suddenly my reflection in the mirror shimmered and seemed to go out of focus. Then as the image came back into focus I stared in delightful disbelief at the woman smiling back at me from the mirror. Gone was the short, middle aged, 20 pounds overweight woman with frizzled graying hair whose reflection I was accustomed to seeing in mirror. Instead an incredibly beautiful young woman stared back at me, long dark hair, dressed in a provocatively revealing evening gown.
Smiling at the look on my face the Genie casually stated, “Sorry for the delay, I was unfamiliar with the terms starlet and lingerie model.”
Turning back toward the Genie I smiled seductively, slowly arching my back to make my suddenly prominent cleavage even more so, “So, now that I’m younger and smoking hot, care to reconsider that whole fucking me senseless proposition?”
Ignoring my seductively erotic suggestion the Genie replied dryly, “And for your third wish?”
Suddenly the whole enormity of the moment seemed overwhelming. Really, what remained that I could truly wish for? I was young, I was outrageously beautiful and now I was so wealthy I doubted that I could even manage to spend the interest. So what remained to wish for? Turning to the Genie I asked, “So any guidelines about what I can wish for?”
A serious look appeared on the Genie’s face, “Well, you can’t ask for more wishes, or eternal life, or anything that would directly affect anyone else’s life. So, what is your third wish?”
Staring at my reflection I struggled to come up with something to fulfill my third and final wish. There was nothing material worth asking for, so what to ask for?
Then, sudden inspiration struck me, “I want my 15 minutes of fame, I want to be the center of attention, the one person no one can take their eyes away from. I don’t care where it is, the red carpet at a blockbuster movie premier in Hollywood or at a posh nightclub in New York or Paris, it only matters that for just this once I’m the center of attention.”
I saw a surprisingly ominous look of evil satisfaction on the Genie’s face as he stated, “Final wish granted.” Suddenly I felt an overwhelming sensation of dizziness and everything went dark.
Awareness slowly returned as I realized to my dismay that I was completely nude and apparently chained tightly with my back against a rough wooden post. I was also outdoors, the damp feel of cool night air cold against my bare skin. I could also hear what sounded like chanting but as much as I struggled too, I couldn’t make out the words. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the darkness only to have my slowly recovering night vision ruined by a man, dressed in a medieval executioner’s hood, appear carrying a torch and start walking towards me. As I watched the light of his torch gradually revealed a crowd of hundreds filling what appeared to be a medieval village square.
And ominously, as he grew closer, that I was actually standing atop of large pile of bundled firewood and brush. Suddenly the confusing chanting made sense. Behind me, monks were chanting prayers in Latin, while the crowd of peasants before me was chanting something quite different. They might have had an unfamiliar medieval French accent but I was pretty sure they were chanting, “Burn Witch Burn.” That Genie had graciously granted my final wish, that I have my 15 minutes of fame. What he’d failed to mention was that those 15 minutes were going to be spent in early twelfth century France being burned alive at the stake.
Moments later I helplessly watched in horror as the hooded executioner finally reached the impressive pile of firewood and brush that I was standing upon, and without as much as a single word, shoved the torch into the pile of wood directly beneath my feet.
In those final moments before the searing heat of the flames finally overwhelmed my senses, one thought kept repeating in my terrified mind, “Never trust a Genie...”