FAN FICTION EPISODE 172 "The Wishing Machine"

== FAN FICTION EPISODE 172 "THE WISHING MACHINE" ==
== THE LOST CHAPTER: A SPECIAL WISH ==
The fireplace illuminated the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves
lining a man named Frank’s den; it was furnished practically. A chaise lounge was
the main focal point and faced the French Doors overlooking his massive estate.
Frank pompously walked in; his fancy shoes echoed against
the marble. He quickly removed his tailored-made jacket, gold cuffs and tie
from his strong body. After placing them on his walnut credenza, he poured
himself a snifter of brandy and grabbed a sweet tango apple.
Frank draped himself on the chaise lounge and scrolled
through Bumble. In frustration he threw his phone down on his mahogany accent
table beside his brandy and the apple.
“Such vapid females, they bore me," he muttered in
disgust. “Maybe Vanessa is right, I just need to wait for love to come to me."
Frank closed his eyes in exhaustion; the grandfather clock
boomed its announcement of 7 o’clock. The final gong sounded abnormal and
startled Frank. He cautiously looked around the room; it gleamed in moonlight.
"The sun can't set that fast".
A peculiar black box – that was not there before – now sat
on the accent table.
"What the hell," he said timidly while grabbing
the box.
As if it had been there for years, the box was covered in
dust. Removing the lid created an artificial cloud. As the cloud dissipated,
Frank's eyes widened.
The box held a wooden instrument with a bunch of knobs and a
rubbing plate; the wishing machine. Frank began twisting the knobs. Then, he
remembered that the knobs needed to be sticky to work. So, he licked his left
hand to twist and used his right to rub the plate. All the knobs became sticky
at the same time and a blinding flash burst from the machine.
Frank dropped the device. The den began to fill-up with a
strong yellow fog. The latch on the French Doors unhooked itself. The doors
flung open. Frank saw a silhouette floating elegantly towards him.
"Oh-my-beauty…"
Frank’s ideal woman landed in front of him in a short black
dress. She leaned forward to kiss him softly. Her fingers caressed his burly
beard and traveled down his shirt undoing each button revealing his humongous
pectoral muscles covered in thick manly hair. Frank's hands easily traversed
her dress.
“Undress me,” she whispered.
“Who are you,” he asked while nervously wiggled her clothing off. Her tongue gently traced his ear in appreciation. She
unbuckled his pants. Frank’s thick member was released into the autumn
twilight at full attention.
“Call me Stephanie,” she said mounting him.
Frank’s heart sunk, he realized his sweet tango apple had
disappeared from the mahogany table. He realized that some of her animosity was
defiantly apple-shape.
Frank jerked awake. He was alone. It was still 7 o’clock and
the last chime rang normally.
“Just a dream,” he said seeing the apple on the table.
Frank stretched in an attempt to relax. His foot felt
something soft. Frank peered below the chaise and found the wishing machine covered in a strange substance.
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