Three Wishes Ch. 01

After jacking off for the third time tonight, I figured it was probably time to close the incognito tab on my PC. I threw the cum-drenched tissue into the garbage bin, and leaned back in my gaming chair with a heavy sigh. If it wasn't already painfully obvious, I desperately needed to get laid.

I had already tried all the dating apps--Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, you name it--and none of them had worked for me. The very few matches I'd gotten always ended up with the girl ghosting me.

I couldn't blame them, though. I rarely ever went out, especially since covid, and didn't do much aside from playing video games in my apartment. I guess I was pretty good at that, but that hardly made for good boyfriend material.

And God forbid trying to flirt with someone IRL, out in the wild, in the real world. Blame it on my anxiety or whatever, but I couldn't carry a conversation even if my life depended on it. And anyways, this wasn't the 1900s anymore. I was pretty damn sure the whole meet-cute thing was a lie fabricated by Hollywood, and no one ever actually met their partners by picking them up at a bar, or by talking to them next to the coffee machine at the office.

Admittedly, there was someone at work I'd had a crush on for a while: Jenn, the lead project manager. Technically, she was my boss, and she was obviously way out of my league, but I was pretty sure that she didn't have a boyfriend.

Not that I had stalked every single one of her social media profiles to get that information, of course.

Regardless, there was one thing I knew for certain: she was a total smoke show. A walking busty wet dream of a woman, and the object of more than one of my fantasies.

But alas, she was out of reach. I don't even think I'd spoken a single word to her in the three years that I'd been working at the company, despite seeing her every single day--not to mention whenever I closed my eyes, too.

"Ugh," I groaned. If only a genie could pop out of my computer screen to grant me three wishes.

Wouldn't that be nice?

I temporarily filed away the inappropriate thoughts about my coworker and went on Reddit, when a post caught my eye.

"How I got the girl of my dreams by using dark magic," I muttered to myself, reading the title. "Heh. As if."

The post was obviously fake, but I was still curious to see if anyone had fallen for it. It dated back to twelve years ago, and OP's account seemed to have been deleted since. It went on and on about different kinds of demons and rituals and incantations--classic Dungeons & Dragons kind of things, really.

I was honestly surprised at how many downvotes the post had received--69 to be exact (nice)--since it was a pretty entertaining read, all things considered.

I went down to the comments. As expected, most of them were just angry redditors complaining that the whole thing was a scam, and that no one should waste their time with it. And then, of course, there were the few internet trolls who 'swore on their mother's lives' that it was real.

Typical.

Just for fun, I scrolled back up the post and saw that there was a link to some sort of product page. I was already too far down the rabbit hole to stop now, so I clicked on it.

I was immediately assaulted by pop ups and flashing animations. The website was one of those old HTML pages that looked very distinctly Y2K, and it made me nostalgic for the good ol' Flash games era.

There was a pixelated image of some sort of genie--or a demon, or an elemental spirit, it was hard to tell--wearing a very racially-charged headpiece. Kind of like that Akinator guy who could guess whatever you were thinking of. There was a cartoon speech bubble coming out of his head that read 'Sign up now to receive three free* wishes!'

So of course, I clicked on the big 3D button labelled 'CLICK HERE', like any respectable guy who didn't fear viruses and malware would.

The lights in my living room suddenly flickered and my monitor shut off.

"For real?" I complained.

Thunder roiled in the distance, and the screen turned on again. Except I wasn't on the prehistoric webpage anymore. Instead, words started rapidly appearing in screen, cascading down faster than I could read them.

"What the--"

Two options appeared at the bottom: 'I understand', and 'I don't really understand, but what the hell'.

That seemed very legitimate and legally binding.

I hesitated for a moment, and then I remembered that I had never read any terms and conditions in my life.

Why start now?

I clicked 'I understand', even though I obviously did not.

The screen flashed red, and new words appeared in all caps, as if screaming at me.

'LIAR, LMAO.'

I pressed my lips into a thin line, unimpressed. I guess I had fallen for it as well.

"That's enough of that for tonight," I sighed, bending under my desk to shut my PC off. I got up and was about to head to bed, but then I noticed the monitor was still on.

When I turned around, the words on the screen had changed.

'WAIT, DON'T GO. I CAN HELP YOU.'

I rubbed my eyes, then squinted at the screen again. Still there.

'NO, YOU'RE NOT DREAMING.'

Woah. Okay. That's creepy.

'I CAN GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT.'

I stared incredulously at the monitor. I sat back down and tried to close out of the page, but it wouldn't let me. I looked under my desk to make sure I had properly turned the computer off.

I did. And yet...

God damnit. How fucking embarrassing. I worked in software development, and I'd fallen for a fucking cyber-attack. I'd have to wipe the hard-drive first thing in the morn--

'I'M NOT A VIRUS YOU @%×€¿☆ MORON.'

I blinked. Was it reading my mind or something?

'NOT MUCH HAPPENING IN THERE, I CAN TELL YOU THAT FOR FREE.'

I scoffed, outraged at the comment, refusing to believe this thing was actually in my head right now.

'AND YET, HERE WE ARE. YOU GOTTA ADMIT THAT WAS A SICK BURN THOUGH.'

Oh fuck off. Fine, what am I thinking about now?

'TITS. EASY.'

Touché.

'LISTEN, BUDDY. LET'S MAKE THIS QUICK, ALRIGHT? I NEED YOU TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME.'

Was this some Mr. Robot type shit?

'NOT QUITE. FOCUS. I NEED YOU TO LEAN REAAAAAL CLOSE TO THE MONITOR. CAN YOU DO THAT FOR ME?'

"Fuck off," I said out loud. "This isn't happening. I'm going to bed."

A robotic voice came from the screen and stopped me dead in my tracks.

'DO YOU WANT TO GET THE GIRL, OR NOT?' it said.

I stared back at the screen for a long moment, unblinking.

"This isn't happening," I repeated under my breath.

'ARE WE GONNA HAVE TO GO THROUGH THE 5 STAGES OF DENIAL, OR ARE WE DOING THIS THING?' it beeped angrily at me.

The screen flickered and changed to one of those black and white hypnotic spiral thingies. There was a single red arrow pointing toward the center of it, with the words 'YOUR FACE HERE' written next to it.

I was fairly confident I was dreaming at that point, and I figured the only way to be done with it would be to do as it said. So, I sat back down in my chair, and peered into the spinning pattern.

"Here goes nothing," I said, and I leaned my head toward the monitor. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but then I felt myself getting sucked in. I braced myself against my desk, pulling back as hard as I could, but it was futile. I crashed face-first into my monitor.

And I blacked out.

~

I woke up to the biggest headache I'd felt in years, as if I had chugged two gallons of tequila and got hit by a golf cart going full speed.

"Fuu--" I groaned, like an old man trying to sit up straight.

I rubbed my temples and took a deep, steadying breath, before forcing my eyes open. The lights were all turned off in my living room, except for the glitched out PC monitor buzzing in the background.

I had a really hard time focusing on anything, until movements caught my attention in the kitchen.

There was someone--or something--sneaking about in the shadows.

My pulse quickened, like a prey on high alert. I stood as silently as I could and reached for the nearest object to defend myself with--which unfortunately happened to be a pillow.

Great.

I tiptoed ever so slowly toward the kitchen with my makeshift shield in hand. If this was the day I died, at least I wouldn't go down without a fight.

I hugged the wall, as I had learned from more than one spy movie, and prepared myself to jump at the intruder.

I counted down in my head.

3, 2, 1...

"ARGH!" I shouted, lunging into the kitchen with the pillow above my head.

For some reason, I immediately deflated when I saw the little man rummaging through my fridge.

When he noticed me, he poked his head out, holding a jar of pickles with one of them already in his mouth.

"Ah, you're awake," he said casually. For some reason he had a stereotypical New York accent. "Let me tell ya, kid. You gotta work on that battlecry. You're not gonna scare any robbers if you yip at 'em like a shih tzu."

I just blinked at the guy, not really sure if I should feel threatened or call the police or if I was having the worst bad trip of my life.

I was so stunned by the sight of this stranger casually munching on my pickles that my brain hadn't even processed what he was.

The little man was no more than four feet tall, and his blue-ish skin glowed faintly in the darkness. His eyes were yellow and thin-slitted, and two little stubs poked out of his forehead--like a demon's horns.

"What are you?" I asked, even though I had a feeling I already knew the answer to that question.

"That's kinda inappropriate of you to ask, don't you think?"

I cringed, but before I could think of how to rephrase my question, the little man burst out laughing.

"I'm just fucking with you, kid. Snowflakes, am I right? Can't even ask a guy where he's from anymore!"

I got whiplash from that.

"Name's Norman," he said, shaking my hand against my will. "Norm for short. I'm the guy from that website."

"Who?"

"Would it help if I put the hat on?" He snapped his fingers and a white turban appeared on his head. It had a big sapphire with a large peacock feather coming out of it.

"You're a genie?" I asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

"A djinn, actually, thank you very much," Norman corrected. "Why don't people recognize us without the stupid hat? It's kind of fallen out of fashion in the underworld, if you ask me, and yet we gotta keep wearin' it."

He snapped again and the hat disappeared in a puff of smoke. He tossed the jar back in the fridge and slammed the door shut. He clapped his hands together, and every light in the apartment magically turned on.

"I don't get it," I muttered. "How is this even possible?"

Norman tapped me on the arm and started walking--no, he started floating, I realized--out of the kitchen. "It's simple," he explained. "You signed the contract, so here I am. You clicked on the big button that said 'I understand', remember?"

"I didn't sign any contract," I said, following him into the living room.

"Oh, you sweet summer child," he tsked at me, shaking his head. "You shoulda read the fine print! Always read the fine print."

"So what, you're after my soul or something?"

"What? No!" Norman gasped. "You signed up for the three wishes package, so that's what you get. The whole 'selling your soul' thing is a different department."

This was a lot to process. I sat down on the couch, and realized I was still gripping onto that pillow.

"And you're not a dream?" I asked, trying to wrap my head around the implications of everything that was happening. "I'm not on drugs, or hallucinating... or dead?"

"If that's your wish, I can get some drugs. I know a guy. If not, I can pinch your arm if you still think you're dreaming."

Without thinking, I tossed the pillow at him. And it passed right through his glowing body.

"What'd you do that for, kid?" he asked, glaring at me like I'd just broken his trust. "What'd you think would happen?"

"I don't know..." I said. "I just thought--I don't know."

He came to sit down next to me like a disappointed parent who was about to give me an earful.

"Look kid, there's only so many ways I can say this," he started. "This is happenin', whether you wanna believe it or not. You signed the contract, and now I'm bound to you until my purpose has been fulfilled, and then I'll be set free."

"So that means..."

"That means," he explained, "you get three wishes."

"So, what are the rules, then?" I asked. "Can I ask for a million dollars?"

"Woah, slow down there cowboy," he said, waving his hands. "Careful with your phrasing, or I might interpret it as a wish."

"Shit, sorry."

"I'll give you a pass this time," he said, pointing at me with a crooked finger. "But yeah. Basically, you can wish for pretty much whatever you want. This ain't Aladdin, after all."

"Holy shit," I muttered, my mind already firing at a million miles per hour.

So many possibilities.

"You got that right," he said, as if he'd read my mind again. "So what's it gonna be, huh?"

What did I want most in life? A big ass mansion? A fast car? I'd never asked myself the question before. Surely, being rich would make me happy, wouldn't it? I wouldn't have to work anymore, I could afford all the video games I wanted...

But what was the point in any of this if I was all alone? If I couldn't enjoy all these things with someone else?

And then it hit me. Of course.

"I wish Jenn was madly in love with me!" I declared confidently. I closed my eyes and braced myself for something to happen. Anything.

Nothing.

I opened them up, and found Norman shaking his head at me again.

"What?" I asked. "Is that not allowed?"

"No, no. It's allowed alright," Norman said, sounding exasperated. "It's just--Jesus fucking Christ, kid. Have you not seen the 2026 movie Obsession, directed by Curry Baker?"

...

"I haven't"

"Well, you should do some research at the very least," he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Wishing for someone to fall 'madly in love' with you never ends well. That's like make-a-wish 101."

"How so?"

"I gotta say, you're dumber than you look, man," Norman sighed. "Just think about it. That kind of wish completely changes that person's life. Heck, would they still be themselves if you had me rewrite how their hypothalamus was wired?"

"Oh..."

"Yeah, 'oh' is right," he said.

Norman closed his eyes and took a breath. He snapped his fingers and a cigarette appeared in his mouth. He took a long drag, then exhaled a thick cloud of magical smoke.

That seemed to calm him down.

"Listen, I'm no psychiatrist," he said finally. "I won't tell you what you should and shouldn't wish for. All I'm sayin' is think about it. I don't want this to be another horror story where your wishes don't turn out the way you wanted. Believe me, I've seen that too many times."

The djinn was right. I clearly hadn't thought this through. Who was I to make that choice for someone else?

I felt stupid.

"Help me, then," I suggested.

Norman cocked an eyebrow at me. "How so?"

"Help me figure out what to wish for," I said. "Clearly, I don't know what I want. Or rather, I think I know what I want, I just don't know how to properly wish for it."

"Hmm..." the djinn rubbed his chin, seriously considering my proposition. "You know, any other sleazy djinn would have taken that as your final wish and be done with you. That's not a good look, bud."

I didn't know how to answer that. So I said nothing.

He took another long drag of his smoke, then said "What's in it for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Listen, you're basically wishin' for more wishes here, which is kind of illegal," he explained. "But I'm still willin' to help you out."

His expression shifted and his voice dropped. "For a price."

I shivered, then thought about it for a second.

"Honestly, I don't got much to give you," I said, looking around my apartment. "I'm not exactly rich or anything, so--"

"You do have three wishes," he said flatly.

Oh. Right.

"Here's the deal. I help you figure out what you want and how to wish for it. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. Everyone's happy. But then, you have to use your third and final wish on me."

"Couldn't you just, you know, use your own magic on yourself or something?" I asked, genuinely confused at the rules and mechanics of the whole thing.

"Unfortunately, doesn't work like that," he said. "I can only grant wishes for someone else."

"I see..."

He rubbed his hands together and they started shining brighter. "So, you in? Or you out?"

I did some mental math--which admittedly wasn't my strong suit--and considered my options. I could either get three wishes which may or may not bite me in the ass later. Or, I could get two carefully crafted ones that would--I could only hope--be much better for me, at the price relinquishing my final wish. Surely, Norman wouldn't use my wish to fuck me over, would he? He seemed a bit rough around the edges, but he sounded genuine enough in wanting to help me.

Shit. What do I do?

"Fuck it," I eventually decided, before my brain would explode. "I'll do it. I'll give you my third wish."

Norman's smile slowly curled up to his pointed ears, turning into a diabolical, toothy grin. "Hehehe," he cackled. Then louder, more maniacally. "MUAH HA HA!"

Oh fuck. What have I done? I tried backing away from him, but he kept drifting closer and closer. His body turned purple, then crimson red, heat radiating off him.

And then he stopped. "Just kiddin'," he said, his voice back to normal.

"What the fuck was that!" I screamed, throwing another pillow at him. It passed right through him yet again.

"Oh, chill out. It's called a joke. Look it up," he teased.

I wasn't laughing.

"Come on, no harm done," he said, as if I hadn't just nearly shat my pants. "Put 'er there!" And he put his hand out. It smelled a lot like one of those legally-and-mortally-binding-blood-pact kinds of handshake.

I didn't like it. But what other choice did I have? I'd already clicked the fucking 'I understand' button once. How much worse could a second contract with the devil truly be?

I gingerly reached for his clawed hand and shook it.

Our hands caught fire for just a brief moment, before the green hellflames vanished as quickly as they had appeared. "Ah!" I yelped. It stung a bit, but it surprised me more than it hurt.

"Great!" he cheered. "Now that that's settled, let's get to business."

"So, what should I do?" I asked, rubbing at the phantom pain in my hand.

"Well, let's see," he said. He snapped his fingers and a pair of reading glasses appeared at the tip of his nose, then a piece of parchment paper materialized in his hands. "It says here that, and I quote, you 'can't get any bitches'. Is that right?"

"Ha ha," I scoffed. "Very funny."

He squinted his eyes at me behind the glasses that surely belonged to a librarian, pretending to have a hard time seeing me. "Well, am I wrong?"

...

"No."

"Mhmm," he hummed, as if reflecting deeply upon my answer. "The first thing your foolish monkey brain decided to wish for was for that colleague there--Jenn--to fall in love with you."

"How did you know she was my colleague?" I asked stupidly.

"I'm in your head, remember?"

"So, if you can read my mind," I said, "couldn't you just tell me what my deepest desire is? What would make me truly happy?"

"I really wish it was that simple," he sighed. "But I think we can both agree on one thing, which is that you are lonely. That you long for companionship."

Oof. Putting it like that really made me sound like a loser. But I guess it was true.

"So if I can't make someone fall in love with me, how do I do that?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked!" Norman said, taking his glasses off and making the parchment disappear. "There are different things you could do. There's the classic 'himbofication', for example."

I blinked at him. "The what now?"

"You know, you could change how you look to match your crush's tastes," he explained. "Maybe grow some hair on your chest, chisel that stomach into a six-pack, make yourself--or your cock--a few inches bigger..."

"My dick is perfectly fine as it is, thank you very much," I said, immediately defending my honour.

"I like the confidence," he nodded. "Keep tellin' yourself that, big guy."

"Anyways, I feel like if I just wished for a million dollars, I could achieve the same result with plastic surgery and then still have money to spare, no?"

"Okay, first of all," Norman said, raising a finger, "a million dollars is not that much money. You sound like Dr. Evil."

He paused.

"... But yeah, I guess."

"So, what else you got?"

"Let's see..." The djinn furrowed his brow and seriously thought about it for a solid minute. "I could give you what kids nowadays call 'rizz' or 'aura'. It would probably drastically change your personality, but it would give you 'un certain je ne sais quoi', an energy, a presence that would make you irresistible."

"Not bad," I said. "I guess that's not something money could buy. But I'd still have to talk to people to find a match?"

Norman deflated. "Fine. What about a custom girlfriend, perfectly tailored to your questionable, perverted taste in women?"

That one piqued my curiosity. "Go on."

His grin widened. "Unlike your coworker, she'd be a completely new person, created just for you. You could choose how she looks, her personality, her favourite food, what colour of panties she likes to wear, everything."

"What about--"

"Yes, Dylan," he interrupted. "You could even give her huge tits."

Awesome.

"Let's do it," I decided.

"Great!" Poof. Norman snapped his fingers and a tablet appeared in his hands. "There she is," he said, tossing the legally distinct iPad onto my lap.

The tablet beeped to life. Sliders and buttons and a 3D model of a blank slate of a woman appeared on screen.

"Should be pretty self explanatory," he said. "You pick and choose how you want her to be, and when you're ready, you just wish for her to come to life. Any questions?"

I was already so deep into the menus that I didn't even hear him. This thing was incredible. I could customize every little aspect of my future girlfriend, from the length of her toe nails to her darkest, most intimate fantasies.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to it. Call me if you need me." And with that, Norman disappeared in a puff of smoke.

This would take a while.