Dr. Krumbunculus looked up at the tall, austere tower that housed the witches’ guild of middle-poor Caldonia. It looked slanted off to one side, and grim, and dark, and like ravens might spill out of it at any moment. He cracked in non-artheritic knuckles with a sigh and rapped on the door thrice.

Nothing. Dr. Krumbunculus looked around, trying to see if he could see anyone walking towards the door in the windows. He could not. Surely, they were cursed windows. Hamned witches and their curses.

He knocked on the door but thrice again. Nothing. Dr. Krumbunculus wondered to himself if witches had ever heard of automated door enchantment spells, which could make it so that knocking would create a sort of ringing sensation sometimes referred to as a ‘door-bell.’ Then again, these were witches=, he reminded himself. Not everyone who used magic could be a wizard. Not everyone could use magic to build.

Suddenly, an ethereal skeleton holding a large cauldron apparated from a window somewhere on the second floor of the building and dumped the cauldron’s contents all over him.

SPPPLUSHHHH

“Cock hamnit! What the cluck?!”

The front door creeked open.

“Eee-heee-heee-heee-hee! Hello there, dearie!” replied a witch. She was tall, slender, and pale as the moon. Her eyelids, well, were unobservable, for they were covered in the thiccest mascara in Caldonia, oft described as ‘fantasy raccoon style.’ She wore fishnets with little woven fish in them, and stilettos that only exaggerated her height. Also, a weird little cape that only went down to her midsection, but really it was hard to notice that under everything else.

Dr. Krumbunculus could not help but find himself horribly attracted to this witch. Sure, he wasn’t used to straining his neck to look into a lady’s eyes. Then again, she was making it twerk. And, of course, she was a little on the young side. But she couldn’t be a day under fourty two. A hood fourty two at that. A magically enchanted fourty two.

“Sorry to get you all dripping wet,” she giggled, looking at Dr. Krumbunculus’ absurdly lean, muscly form under his sopping clothes, “If you want, you can come inside.”

“Wh-whatnow?” Dr. Krumbunculus almost choaked on his saliva.

“I said, if you want, you can come inside and I’ll bring you some new clothes.”

“Oh. Oh. Okay,” Dr. Krumbunculus took ginger steps forward, the door slowly closing behind him.

“Oh, yes, I just love it when men come inside,” the witch continued with a sigh, “Why, if I had it my way, men would come inside all the time, over and over and over again.”

“Um,” Dr. Krumbunculus cleared his throat, “What are we talking about, again?”

“Common men, of course! Usually only witches come around this part! Common men, you know, they’re all too scared that we’re going to curse them to come inside. I wish they knew that, as far as witches are concerned at least, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with coming inside!”

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KR SSSK TT

Dr. Krumbunculus jumped as the witch cracked a whip at the ground.

“Sorry, there was a rat. Now then, follow me. Let’s get you some fresh clothes.”

Dr. Krumbunculus gingerly stepped through the cobblestone halls of the witches’ guild, glancing around at the copious oil paintings of chesty women in tightly-fitted lingerie, most of them weilding weapons or burning candles or maybe even with blood all over their hands and faces. He was unsure whether to be allured or disturbed, indeed, he was experiencing a little of both. Maybe more than a little. He stuffed his hands in his pants in order to obscure any physical reactions from his hidden biology.

“So,” the witch started as she slowly clacked her heels down the hall, sticking her toned butt in the air brilliantly, “What exactly brings you to the witches’ guild, sirrah?”

“I, well, I, um,” Dr. Krumbunculus was finding it awfully hard to focus on his words, indeed his tongue felt to be flapping around in his mouth like some sort of strange eel instead of a part of his body he had conscious control of. The same could be said for his eyes, which were constantly looking at anything and everything that they were not supposed to be looking at.

“What is it, dearie?”

“Well, I, I um, you see I, well, erm—”

“Nevermind. Here we are, the dressing chamber.”

Dr. Krumbunculus’ eyes went wide and his jaw fell open as the witch pulled a lever and two enormous oak doors swung open to reveal a large room full of witchy looking lockers. Steam was rising to the high, ornate ceiling. And, of course, a bunch of lady witches were there, all either wearing white towels or nothing at all, and many of them giggling in a giddy fashion.

“Um, I uh, I, uh, I, uhhhmm…I, well, I—”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, dearie, come on in, it’s a coed dressing room,” the leading witch explained.

“B-but—”

“Yes, I know, it’s intimidating, but don’t worry, this is completely normal, especially considering there aren’t many men in here now. It’s just that the ladies only witches’ volleyball team just finished practice, so they’re all in here. Don’t feel self conscious, okay?”

Dr. Krumbunculus wasn’t neccessarily self conscious as he was close to unconsciousness, that is, to passing out from sheer shock. He could hardly believe that he was here, and could hardly believe how absurd of a turn his day had taken. After all, it was not every day that he quit his job, got evicted, got cursed with youth, and then walked into a locker room full of volleyball playing witches. Maybe his luck was finally turning around, after all. He felt like some sort of cartoon skunk floating around to the various odors flowng through the room, lulled into a sort of hypnotic trance. Suddenly, he was staring a naked volleyball witch in the face.

“Hey there, dearie,” she giggled.

“H-h-hi,” Krumbunculus jabbered, barely able to keep drool from running down his lower lip, “H-h-how’s it going?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” she shrugged, beginning to braid her thicc brown hair.

“D-d-do, um, d-d-do you have plans, t-today?” Dr. Krumbunculus wanted to slap himself. ‘Do you have plans,’ he thought in mocking disgust. What kind of a question was that?

“Oh, no, dearie, I don’t have plans,” she sighed, “Other than to sit around in my standardly skimpy witch lingerie and nipple tassels and practice my incantations. Which of course involve a lot of physically demanding yoga poses. Do you like practicing fantasy yoga?”

“O-o-oh, I l-love f-f-fantasy yoga, fantasy y-y-yoga is m-muh-m-my favorite,” Dr. Krumbunculus slurred, as if he was wildly intoxicated. He actually hated fantasy yoga, found it infuriating, and would rather do anything else. Unless, of course, it was with this lady. With her, he’d gladly to all the fantasy yoga in the fantasy world.

“Ooh, what’s your favorite pose? I like the bent upward sex narwhal,” and with that, she dropped on all fours, shook her rump, stood up on her hands, transferred from her hands to the top of her head, bent her torso backward and spread her legs. She held the pose for a hood bit. In fact, she held it for quite a long time. Longer than was necessary, Dr. Krumbunculus thought, even though he was quite tickled all the same. Yes, she continued to hold the pose. He nodded slowly.

Eventually, she continued to hold the pose. It was starting to make Dr. Krumbunculus uncomfortable, and he almost wasn’t as attracted to her the longer she held it. Almost. Krumbunculus knew in his fart of farts that nothing could ever make him lose attraction to this tantalizing lady.

“H-h-hey, I have a q-q-question.”

“What?” she suddenly deconstructed her yoga pose in reverse and was standing before him again.

“D-d-do you wa-wanna g-g-go get some f-f-food or s-something?”

“Sure, as a friend.”

He did a double take.

“A-a-a-as a wh-hat now?”