This delicious little tale was written by our good buddy, Tumperkin. If you’re a reader of this site, you’ll recognize Tumperkin’s name because she regularly enters our monthly writing contests and provides us with dark, sexy, funny stories featuring people that seem all too real. She’s so brilliant she’s officially banned from entering the contests (along with that delectable Sharpe girl, who will also provide us a freebie serial of her own… watch out for it!), but guess what? You can read her stories HERE! On this here site! Lucky you! That is, until one of them New Yawk pub houses snaps her up (why wouldn’t they) and we never ever hear from her again… *sniff*

In the meantime, I bring to you, our readers… The Ring

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Although Charlie was perfect husband material, I soon discovered that everything he said and everything he did irritated me. So you can imagine my chagrin when I was just about to dump him and he laid this one on me:

“Will you marry me, Clare?”

Will you marry me? I mean, how can two people be so completely not on the same page?

It was literally on the tip of my tongue to say No, sorry, when I saw the ring. I know that sounds just awful, but truthfully, that ring just mesmerised me and the words got stuck in my throat. Charlie was offering it to me on his outstretched palm and as soon as I picked it up, I knew that I had to have it. Even if it meant marrying Charlie.

I studied it: it didn’t look like an engagement ring. It was big and heavy, antique gold twisting around two huge rubies in a figure of eight. The rubies were a deep dark crimson and when I looked at them close-up it seemed that black mists swirled within them. Without looking at Charlie, I slid it onto my ring finger. It looked huge on my small hand. Masculine. Totally unsuitable. Even as I gloated over it, a small, sane part of my brain whispered, What was Charlie thinking buying this?

“Well?” Charlie prompted, half-laughing.

“Um - yes. I’ll marry you.”

Charlie smiled smugly and kissed me. And after that, he ordered champagne.

The evening couldn’t go quickly enough for me. I just wanted to go home so I could stare at my ring on my own. As it was, I kept sneaking looks at it and missing what Charlie was saying about wedding themes and venues.

Thankfully Charlie had an early flight the next morning to the States so he dropped me off at my flat and said he’d call me when he got back. After a few of his standard-issue too-wet kisses (I should have called him on his kissing technique on day one) I jumped out of the car and ran up the steps to my little flat. Charlie was forgotten right then.

I scrabbled in my bag for my keys, cursing as I fumbled with the lock. When I finally slammed the front door behind me, I swear I actually looked at the ring and thought Alone at last. But then I teased myself a little longer by getting into my PJs before I sat on my bed and let myself properly examine it again.

I must have taken it off and put it on again a hundred times. I squinted at it and held it up to the light; I traced every line of it with my fingertips; I tried it on all my fingers and some of my toes. Finally, I lifted it to my lips and kissed the two rubies rapturously. And in that instant, He appeared. I had conjured him up with a kiss.

You don’t realise that you’ve got an idea in your head of what a genie looks like until one suddenly appears and looks all wrong. My version of a genie was a silent muscle-bound giant with a stern, humourless expression. The real thing looked nothing like that. He was as beautiful as a girl but unmistakably male. Not huge (five ten?). Lean. Nice golden-brown skin. Really nice hair: the darkest brown ever and straight and silky. Big dark brown eyes too, all soulful with lovely long eyelashes. Basically gorgeous. And nicely hung (did I mention he was naked?)

“Who are you?” I asked. I was being polite really, because it was pretty obvious he was a genie. I mean, I kissed the ring and - bam! - there he was. Plus real people aren’t that beautiful.

“I am your slave,” he said softly. Well, that made me throb a bit.

“You’re a genie?” I asked, somewhat redundantly.

“I am a djinn, mistress,” he corrected, frowning. “The djinn of the ring.”

“Sorry. Djinn,” I repeated dutifully. He was a nice sight, I must say. I feasted my eyes for a few moments, waiting for him to make some announcement but none was forthcoming.

“So what’s the deal?” I asked eventually. “Do I get three wishes?”

“Two wishes.”

“Two wishes? That’s weird!”

“What’s weird about it?” he asked defensively.

“It’s always three in stories. Three is a significant number. Two isn’t. I mean, one would have made more sense than two.”

He digested this in silence.

“Well, you get two,” he finally muttered, lamely.

“And after the wishes - what happens then?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled. “Nothing happens then. You get your wishes and I go back in the ring till the next time someone with powerful enough desires kisses the rubies.”

“Really?” I have powerful desires? Cool! “Um - how long exactly has it been since your last gig?”

“Two hundred and sixty - no wait - two hundred and seventy years” the djinn replied briskly. I couldn’t help but wince at that. He noticed and gave me a sort of fierce, proud look as though he didn’t appreciate my sympathy.

“You’d better get on with it,” he said testily. “You’ve got to make your wishes before sunrise.”

“Ok. But sit down while I give it some thought. You’re making me nervous.”

He shrugged at that and sat down next to me, cross-legged.

Of course, being someone with powerful desires, I knew straight away what I wanted. Nevertheless, I made myself consider some other options. I knew I should ask for something unselfish and important. You know, an end to hunger or world peace. But I kept coming back to the same thing and ultimately, I couldn’t resist.

I cleared my throat, nervously. “Ok,” I said. “For my first wish, I want you to give me the best orgasm of my life.”

He stared at me incredulously, and I hastily added, “And I mean proper sex. You and me. Together. Having sex. In a bed.” Before he could respond to that, a new, awful thought occurred to me and I added, “If that’s physically possible for you?”

His expression was priceless. Astonished isn’t the word.

“Oh, it’s possible,” he said eventually. There was another silence then while he chewed his lip, and stared at me. After a minute he said “Really? That’s what you want?” I could tell he was having difficulty with this concept. When I nodded, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously and muttered, “I’m very - surprised by this.”

“Why?”

“Well, people usually ask for gold and riches and power. You do realise that you can buy pretty much whatever you want if you’re rich and powerful enough?”

“I can’t buy you,” I pointed out. He was silent again. Thoughtful.

“No. Not me,” he finally agreed. “And it’s me you want?”

I nodded again.

He grinned at that, an irrepressible, foolish grin that made him look - mortal, I suppose.

“Alrighty,” he said. (I resolved to ask him about his surprisingly modern idiom later, if I had time).

…to be continued

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And that’s it! Watch out for the next installment on Friday… It’ll be worth it, I promise. I’ve got the rest of it on my desktop and boy, it is sizzlin’! But you guys have to wait for it. Mwahaha. *evil cackle* But first, here’s more Tumperkin goodness:

In real life, I’m a lawyer, a litigator to be precise. However, I’m on maternity leave right now till after Christmas.

I am - needless to say - a lifelong aspiring author but have only started seriously writing in the last 18 months.

Time is my enemy. If I am lucky, I manage a couple of hours a day of writing (having completely given up watching TV) but I spend far too much time checking out my favourite websites and reading my enormous TBR pile.

Writing-wise, I abandoned an initial attempt at a contemporary romance and am now halfway through a historical which I am much happier with. However, I am easily distracted and have notebooks dotted all over the place with other stuff in them. I desperately need to be more focussed and disciplined and just get my main WIP finished.

Well, get that WIP finished, girl!

PIMPAGE: Speaking of sassy heroines, don’t forget to drop by at Jaci’s blog tomorrow where Annie Dean, Bonnie Dee, and I will be talking about the fearless, fun women of our anthology, Boundless. Yes, there will be prizes. And good times.

Oh, and check out this delicious review of Boundless by my favorite bear, Teddy Pig. Lurve him to pieces.

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