Aphrodite's Grimoire: Chapter 10: Denouement

There are sexy, seductive vixens and then there are invisible, timid wall-flowers that never get noticed. The latter one used to describe me perfectly. There are witches and then there are Witches. I used to be the former. There are also women that you just need to fuck and those that you?ll do anything to or for just to be able to keep on fucking. Now that I have the grimoire, I am both of those.It?s a long story involving me being the invisible ugly duckling that grew into an ugly duck instead of a beautiful swan, my favorite aunt, Grace, her mystical grimoire, and the Witches? Cypher. Seeing how I got from there to here is a long journey, but I?ll need to start someplace.Do you remember that one girl that you just can?t quite recall? Of course you don?t. That was me; always plain and pastel, never vibrant and colorful. Ignored, invisible, and always overlooked?even my next-door neighbor, Jeff, never recognized me after seeing me almost every day for two years?I was the one that you never noticed, never remembered, and forgot about as soon as I was out of sight.??Even with pale, freckled skin, flaming red hair that turns orange in the sun, and decent body parts hung onto my gangly-limbed frame, I was not notable. I was hardly there. I was too timid, shy, introverted, and mousy to be acknowledged. If you knew me and tried to describe me to your friends, you?d say, ?You know, good old ?what?s-her-name?. The kind of cute one?who is she??Aunt Grace was not only my favorite relative, but she was also a Wiccan, a Witch, an Occultist, and a Ceremonial Magician. She lived and breathed the occult and led an exciting and colorful life of affluence and adventure. She also never seemed to age.Rumors in the family were that she sold her soul to some dark power in exchange for eternal youth and wealth. To everyone else, she was the black sheep and mostly shunned; to me, she was my favorite aunt with whom I spent most of my childhood summers because my parents couldn?t be bothered with their sixteen-year-old daughter, or was she seventeen? They neither knew nor cared.Aunt Grace and I shared countless adventures together and she, alone, believed in me and told me that I was destined for greatness. She was also wealthy, somehow. Nobody knew where her fortune came from, but she never lacked for money. She inspired my love of great mysteries, fantasy, the occult, and taught me the Witches? Cypher.The Witches? Cypher is a series of one hundred and seven symbols that represent a phoneme in the English language, a commonly-used word, or a numeral. The last symbol represents either side-notes or nothing; anything book-ended by a pair of the final symbol is just nonsense or a notation, depending on the context. The symbols are arbitrary and can be assigned any meaning; it is the order of the phonemes, words, and numerals that one must know. Once you know what symbol represents which phoneme, you can decipher the text.While the ways of the witch and the workings of magic held mystery, romance, and appeal to me, the actual practice of such things didn?t take, except for living my life in a constantly repeating ritual. My adult life was an existence of mundane, boring ritual. It consisted of being ignored, reading, and masturbating. I?d wake up and masturbate, shower and masturbate, go to work at the bookstore I was employed at to be ignored by my coworkers and customers, come home and strip nude, masturbate more. Afterwards, I?d stay nude and either read romance or Bostancı Escort fantasy novels and masturbate while pretending I?m the heroine, or I?d watch television and masturbate while wishing I could lead a life like that. My invisible and mundane existence was the polar opposite of aunt Grace?s high hopes for me.The only reprieve from my predictable, lonesome existence was Jeff?s girlfriends. He had two of them. I had occasionally seen them in the hallway but I knew them by the sounds of their voices. A couple of weeknights each week, the ?Giggler? would stay at Jeff?s apartment next to mine. She would laugh and giggle quite a lot. I could hear them have sex, but she was quiet.About every other weekend or so, the ?Screamer? would stay over. I liked listening to her. She talked loud, cursed and swore prolifically, and was a foul-mouthed, dirty talker during sex. Our apartments were supposed to be soundproofed, but I could hear them plainly. When the ?Screamer? was over, my nightly ritual changed from me reading and masturbating, wishing I was the heroine, to me finger-fucking myself with my ear pressed against the wall, wishing that somebody made me feel like that.Where the ?Giggler? was wholesome and cute, the ?Screamer? was a veritable sex kitten, a true lust vixen. She was blond, outgoing, and always dressed for sex. She was also nice to me when we encountered each other. She never remembered me but she was nice. I found her to be incredibly sexy. When I masturbated to her high-volume sexual sessions, it was she that caused the wetness between my legs. The ?Giggler? was hot but the ?Screamer? was every man?s fantasy.Life continued like that; lamentable. Aunt Grace was my only solace. As we played in my childhood, conversed in my youth, and I later joined her in rituals and learning spells in my teens, she would say things such as, ?until I simply fade into the shadows,? and, ?someday I?ll just disappear and never be heard from again. Won?t that please your parents?? The frequency of those comments bordered on an obsession with her.But she and she alone noticed me, loved me, and felt that I would blossom into a Goddess on Earth. She inspired me to dream, to imagine what could be. She also instilled a desire to be special. I longed to be seen, to be noticed. My strongest, most burning desire was to be desired. Yes, I?d had sex before and I had an active and exciting sex life. The only problem was that I had nobody to share it with.Over the years, Grace?s life of adventure led her farther and farther away; our communications suffered. Part of that was my own fault. I was so ashamed of my existence that I seldom contacted my favorite aunt. I didn?t want to lie to her and it seemed better to become mostly invisible to her than to disappoint the only person that ever believed in me. Our last communication was over Email a little more than a year ago. She had told me that she was headed to the Far East to seek knowledge and adventure.It was a short communication. ?There is one more tidbit of knowledge I need before I move beyond the veil. I?m heading to the Orient to find the final pieces. I won?t be reachable at the temples and may not return, only fade into the ether. Keep the faith and remember that you are powerful.?It had been over a year when I received the news of her death. This is where my journey begins. My adult life of being ignored and masturbating was forever altered when aunt Grace finally went Bostancı Escort Bayan beyond the veil.Word of her demise came in the form of a mysterious, sealed, large cardboard box and a letter. There were no return addresses but I recognized her handwriting. I had to sign a document on an important-sounding legal firm?s letterhead to acknowledge that I had received my inheritance. That was how I received word of my favorite relative?s and only friend?s death.I interrupted my life-ritual that evening to cast a spell of remembrance; I was not a practicing witch but aunt Grace had taught me many such things. Afterwards I drowned my sorrows with one of her favorite wines, a Pinot Noir, and opened the letter. It read: Krys; If you are reading this I am either missing or dead; I knew this day would come. I have instructed my lawyers to deliver my most prized possessions to you in the event that I do not check in with them for more than one year and seven days. Of all my prior students, friends, and relatives, you, and you alone, possess the knowledge and power to achieve true happiness. You are also my favorite person on this Mother Earth. You may not believe it right now, but all of the games we played and the adventures we took in your youth were in preparation for this moment. I used to be exactly like you; my desire to live the fantasy life drove me to unravel the mysteries of magick and the universe. Sealed in the box are the secrets to my youth, my wealth, and my power. All things imaginable are possible if you have the key. You must simply decipher the secrets in my grimoires and lay yourself open to change with perfect faith and perfect acceptance. You know how. I shall see you beyond the veil Grace.It was days before I could bring myself to open the box. If I didn?t open it, it wouldn?t be real; she?d still be alive, somewhere. A week later, though, I had resumed my typical pattern of stripping nude as soon as I got home and playing with myself while I yearned for a better life. After an amazing orgasm, spurred to even greater heights by the ?Screamer? narrating her sexual endeavors from the apartment next door, I gave into temptation and opened the box.The box contained lots of bric-a-brac such as ceremonial and ritual tools, a chalice and an Athame, and lots of books on magic, magick, and the occult. These were not the books found at the local New-Age Shoppe; they were serious books for serious practitioners.Several of them were copies of hand-written notes from ceremonial magicians or practitioners of Thelema and other sorts of ritual-magic-oriented disciplines. There were books on demonology and the occult. There were books on Astral projection and lucid dreaming, as well as one on how to incorporate meditating on your desires into real magick rituals.There were also many spell books, all geared towards using magick to harness your desires. They weren?t the standard fare for young Wiccans; they were real spells. They described the rituals, the energies, as well as the price. They included dark magic that would send H.P. Lovecraft into therapy as well as harmless and ?white? magick. I also found two handwritten notebooks on how to dress and do one?s makeup to look sexy and witchy. I set those aside because I could use any help I could get to be noticed.There were also various photos in a smaller box that she and I had decorated together in my childhood. The photos were all of her Escort Bostancı and me. I mused in reverie as I scanned through them all. I saw myself grow up in pictures but she remained almost exactly the same. Her style of dress, while always seductive and witchy, changed over the years. Her hair color and style changed along with her fashion, but her youthful appearance remained constant.Another small box contained a sampling of aunt Grace?s prized Halloween and monster Pez dispensers. There were several witches, pumpkin heads, ghosts, and even a Count Dracula and Frankenstein dispenser. I smiled when I saw those. I loved them as a child and aunt Grace always had a supply of Pez candy on her person. Wrapped in clear plastic was my favorite one, the one I carried everywhere when I summered with her. It was an old astronaut dispenser. She had told me, ?Krystal, this one is yours, forever, a reminder that you can and will reach the stars.?At the very bottom of the box, wrapped in a simple purple linen altar cloth, I found what had to be her grimoires. They were hand-written in pen within simple, canvas-covered, unlined journal books. Her grimoires had no leather or skin covers, no mystic or magical symbols, almost no adornments at all. On the very bottom of each of the bindings was a symbol. The top book had a circle, the middle one a circle and a crescent moon pointed outward, and the final grimoire was decorated with two crescents and the circle, completing the triple-moon Goddess symbol. They were all in the Witches? Cypher.I scanned them intently, barely noting that as my mind focused decoding the mystery before me that my hand was idly stroking my pussy. I perused them all and was clueless to her key. Without the key I would have no way of knowing which symbol represented what sound or word. I set them aside and browsed the scores of other books.I neither believed nor disbelieved in aunt Grace?s obsession with magick and the occult. I did, however, love the enticement of unraveling the mystery. It became my new, constant obsession. Rather than come home, strip nude, read or watch movies, and masturbate, I would come home, strip nude, try to decode Grace?s grimoires, and masturbate. I poured over the tomes, read the other books over and over, and fingered myself into countless orgasms. Nude and soaked between my legs, I?d fantasize over unlocking her secrets and attaining the life of my desires. I wanted to be wanted, appreciated, and lusted after, just like my aunt. I also wanted that carefree joy and seemingly infinite wealth of hers.It was ultimately by accident that I stumbled upon the solution. The ?Screamer? was spending the night at Jeff?s apartment and I had been dividing my time between stroking my clit while I studied the tomes and stroking my clit while I listened to her curse and beg and shout out sexual instructions and encouragement.I had even pulled up a chair to the wall so I could hear better and had one of the other books laid out on a folding tray in front of me. My neighbor must have been doing something extra-pleasurable to her because she was louder and more passionate than usual. I was plunging my fingers inside of myself, imagining that I was the lucky recipient of his lusty attentions, and I timed my orgasm to match hers. I had propped one foot on the flimsy TV tray to allow access with both of my hands. The throes of my own orgasm caused the top of the tray to unlatch, and my leg, the tray top, and the book on intentional ritual plummeted down to the floor. I tried to maintain balance, but my body betrayed me and I flopped onto the floor with a loud crash, an odd mixture of contorted pain and exquisite pleasure. My neighbor and his banshee-wailing girlfriend didn?t notice or simply ignored me if they had.