<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/76b7/x5nx8e3wrte3v7y6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Circe</span></strong></div></div><br/><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/b878/llqs340wr6l12cy6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Circe <br/>Nurse Nasty</span></strong></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br/>Chloe says it’s my turn with the book.  It’s almost as if some magician snapped her fingers.  From there to a clearer ‘here and now’.  My nipples are diamond hard—I still remember that.  Mike’s specialty, quick moment of horniness—no doubt that’s the nipple explanation.  What else?  Umm, someone or something was out of order—I’m thinking boobs on Mike, but does that make sense?  It did, but does it?<br/><br/>Where do things stand?  Oh, yes, that’s right.  My turn with the book.  Were we playing a game?  Truth or dare with the book?  I’m still not sure.  Chloe’s offers an understanding, patient look.  Mike’s looking at me anxiously.  I see the book and take it.  I give it a hug.  I look questioningly and Chloe nods.  Mike still seems apprehensive.<br/></span><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/9b78/keuu5gujcagrzi76g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Kali</span> </strong></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">I extend it in front of me, looking at it.  Does one start at the beginning?  That question is quickly answered.  I think of course start at the beginning,  open the book there.  Trying to turn to the first page, it’s not opening.  Maybe the book isn’t for me.  I try again and again.  Finally, it just opens to somewhere in the middle.  <br/><br/>There’s a picture.  It seems that there are different parts, probably different types of spells.  I touch the picture and it’s portal time.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/></span><div align="center">____________________<br/><br/>(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/3448/3zr546i68o7kejz6g.jpg)<br/><br/>____________________</div><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/17db/l4zwhuc3c6byed66g.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Whoa!  My first question is where am I?  My second question is where are Chloe and Mike?  This place is dank, damp and misty.  Cold too.  No sign of Chloe or Mike.  Let’s see.  “Yoo-hoo!  Chloe?  Mike? . . . <strong>Chloe!!!!!  Mike!!!!!</strong>”  No answer.<br/><br/>There is a voice though.  At least I think it’s a voice.  <em>This way Circe . . . </em>  I’m standing at the pool of water.  The voice?  It’s up the steps.  As I walk hesitantly up the steps, the voice affirms, just whispering, <em>Yes, this way Circe . . .  yes . . . </em>  <br/><br/></span><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/11df/hqbohags3n5t9gd6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Goddess Bia - Violence</span> </strong></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Walking, I see statuary.  I guess goddesses who have had memorials built for them.  Interesting.  I think Chloe and Mike would get a kick out of it.<br/><br/>I keep walking and there’s an animate goddess.  “Hello, I’m Circe.”  She doesn’t tell me her name, but I can sense her being pissed.  I really, really didn’t do anything.  I’m pretty much here involuntarily.  She glares at me, <strong>“Never hesitate.  Strike with a force that becomes a hallmark.  Forget respect, treasure being feared.”</strong>  Maybe it’s like pledging a sorority.  I nod as if I get what she’s saying.  Nodding, trying to look fierce, I walk farther along.<br/><br/><br/><br/></span><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/de5a/eo6p4cqcn0po1906g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Goddess Elentaria <br/>– Queen of Stars -</span> </strong> </div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">I see another a ways away, then as I walk closer, I start to smile.  Oh, and I make sure of my mantra: ‘hooters out’.  She’s got a nice set.  If I had my phone, I’d take a pic—Mike might be interested.  Might?  That’s an understatement.  <br/><br/>She speaks my name “Circe.”  I nod.  “Your mothers . . . ”  Uh-oh, is this heaven?  Has something happened to them?  I hope it’s not hell which I never believed in.  My mothers, my adoptive parents, what about them?  I haven’t visited as regularly as parents would want, but . . . “your mothers are witches, call upon what they’ve taught.”  So they’re okay.  More than a few have said they were bitches, I don’t remember any mention of them being witches.  This one seems nice and it might make sense to umm conduct an interview, except she points along the path I’ve been taking.  I nod, continuing on. <br/>  <br/></span><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/9a48/d78jsbidkk8co4l6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Goddess Egeria <br/>counselor<br/></span> </strong></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Okay, it’s not heaven, not hell.  Sort of sorority row for goddess recruiters is the best I can describe it.  I’m sticking with that.  As I get closer to the next goddess, I’m thinking I favor the one before.  It’s just that I’m boob-biased.  This one is okay that way, but Mike wouldn’t pause a moment looking at any picture of her.  Well maybe he would.  She’s athletic looking.  Cool hair and outfit—sort of exotic.  No, Mike I don’t know how she is in bed.<br/><br/>The snakes suggest she’s someone that might be hard to get close to without permission.<br/><br/><em>”Circe”</em>  I nod.  <em>”Circe, be playful.”</em>  I nod, waiting for more.   <br/><br/>That’s it?<br/><br/></span><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/336f/9f4i27xjik8jzye6g.jpg)<br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Circe</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">● Portal traveler<br/>● Adopted by witches <br/>● sometime nasty nurse<br/> </span></span></div></div></div></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">But that’s not it.  I’m not a nurse.  I see Mike and I see Chloe.  And we’re in Chloe’s place.  They’re looking at me as I have the book now closed, held in both hands.  I guess I got playful.  Playful must mean more than adding a cup size to my boobs, but that’s the result.  I look at the book.  There have to be tons of spells.<br/><br/>“I think I was raised by witches.  The book might insist that we cast spells and we’ve got to be careful.  Playful’s good, but things can get a little off track.” <br/></span>