I swallowed. My voice cracked as I told him my wishes. "A long, healthy life."
The Devil nodded. "That's good one. The second?"
"Sexual stamina," I said, my cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "I want to be able to...uh...perform as many times as I want."
The Devil nodded. There was understanding in his eyes. Not judgement. Feeling more confident, I told him my third wish. "I want people to do whatever I tell them to do in a friendly and helpful manner."
The Devil grinned, a predatory, hungry smile. With a flash of scarlet light and yellow smoke, a contract appeared in his hand. The smoke smell acrid and foul, like rotten eggs. "Look it over," he said as he handed me the contract.
I did. The contract seemed straightforward. Three wishes for my soul. Seemed cheap. What was my soul really worth? What had I done with my life. Nothing. Just a cheap, one bedroom apartment, a shitty car, and a terrible job trying to sell vacuum cleaners to stuck up rich bitches. I nodded and with a flourish, the Devil produced an old fashioned, black fountain pen. He pricked my thumb with the pen and I signed the contract in my own blood. Then the Devil signed in his.
"Well, I'll be going. Unless you have any more questions, Mark?"
The Devil mistook my silence for acceptance and simply smiled before melting into the darkness. Reality crashed over me: I had just sold my soul. My legs gave way and I collapsed against the trunk of my battered Ford Taurus, its suspension groaning beneath me. I lay there, dazed, staring up at the first stars fading in the pre-dawn sky.
As the night's chill bled away, my mind raced with possibilities. Retribution. Wealth. Pleasure—oh, the pleasure. Fantasies whirled until exhaustion claimed me, and I dozed off as the sun's pink light crept over the horizon.
By sunrise, I felt utterly transformed—as though my old self had been disassembled beneath those stars and rebuilt into someone stronger and bolder. No longer the awkward virgin, I was reborn. Smiling for the first time in years, I climbed into the driver's seat, fired up the engine, and tore away from that crossroads in search of my new destiny.
I drove back into civilization, passing shopping centers on the Spanaway border. I was a mix of excitement and exhaustion. I felt like I could sleep the day away, but I was far too excited to sleep. Seeing one of the many Starbucks that seemed to be on every street corner in Washington, I realized I could kill two birds with one stone. Get some desperately needed caffeine and test out my powers. I pulled into the parking lot and walked inside.
I was nervous as I entered. Doubt wracked my mind. All the confidence and certainty I felt watching the sun rise had evaporated. This wasn't going to work. Last night was a dream. A hallucination. Some horribly elaborate prank at my expense. Possibly with hidden cameras and some Ryan Seacrest look-a-like about to ambush me and broadcast my humiliation to the world as part of some terrible reality TV show.
The Starbucks was crowded with people heading off to work. Three baristas worked the shop. A nerdy looking guy and two, attractive women, all dressed in the baggy polo shirts, black tucked into black pants, and black hats. All wore the green aprons with the Starbuck's mermaid embroidered in white. One of the barista's, who's name tag read "Cynthia", was a tall women, mid twenties, with black hair cut short in a vaguely punkish style. Her nose was pieced and a second piercing was in her right eyebrow. Her dark eyes, hair cut, and piercings gave her face a certain predatory wildness. The second female barista, Mary according to her name tag, was a little short than Cynthia. She had long, auburn hair pulled back into pony tail, and her heart-shaped face was dotted with freckles. She was maybe nineteen or twenty and had the most beautiful smile, complete with cute dimples.
I got in line behind a cute twenty-year old. Curly, brunette hair fell about her purple hoodie covered shoulders. My eyes traveled down her back to stare at perky ass covered by a jean skirt. Long, tan legs, well-toned, peaked out the frayed edges of the skirt. Staring at the bubbly ass, I wanted to reach out and squeeze it. My was cock hardening.
Gathering my courage my courage, I croaked out, "Hi."
The brunette turned, eyes me up and politely smiled, before turning back.
I can do this, I told myself. You're a new man. Reborn. I cleared my throat. "Hi, I'm Mark. What's your name?"
This time the brunette's smile was far friendlier. "Vivian Anders," she said. Her voice had a smokey, sultry quality about it.
This was going to work. "What color are your panties?"
Vivian blinked, clearly taken-aback. "White, with pink polka dots." Her tan face flushed. "Why did I say that," she whispered, mortified.
"It's all right," I told her. I grinned. It worked. "You want to please me, don't you. Nothing makes you happier than to please me."
She nodded, embarrassment fading, smile growing. "What else can I do for you, Mark?"
"Can I have everyone's attention!" I yelled. The entire shop full of people turned to face me. "The coffee-shop is closed now. Everyone except the staff and Vivian, here, need to leave. Staff, lock up the store and close the blinds."
There was some grumbling, and a few clearly seemed confused as they walked out the shop, wondering why they were listening to some random guy. The staff seemed even more confused as they started to lock up and close the store blinds. "Who are you?" asked the male barista, who's name tag read "Ethan."