SRU: "With this ring . . ." 
By P.J. Wright

Mike stood staring up at the letters over the door to the little shop tucked back 
into one of the less-traveled corners of the mall.

	"Spells R Us"

	Once again, Mike hesitated.  This was such a hopeless, last-ditch 
possibility, but that was what he'd had been reduced to.  Squaring his 
shoulders, Mike strode into the shop.

	"Tacky" was his first impression.  In some ways it was kind of like 
one of those trendy import/export shops he sometimes frequented.  But much 
more low budget.  The shelves were lined with a haphazard hodge-podge of 
bric-a-brac and frankly . . . junk.

	Mike cast one guilty glance back out the door making sure that none 
of his friends had seen him come in here.  Folks of Mike's status, with 
parents as wealthy and powerful as his, they just didn't do business in little 
holes-in- the-wall like this place.

	Someone clearing his throat drew Mike's attention back into the shop 
in which he stood.

	"Mike Launders.  I've been expecting you."

	The speaker was an old, nondescript man in some kind of dark gray . 
. . well, more than anything else it looked like a monk's habit.  He was 
standing behind a counter at the rear of the shop, an open magazine spread 
out before him.

	Mike took a few tentative steps in that direction.  "How do you know 
who I am?"

	The old man raised an eyebrow.  "I'm a magician. Esoteric 
knowledge is my stock in trade."  Then he held up the People magazine he 
was browsing. "Besides, I recognize you from that article they did on your 
father two months ago."

	Mike just stared at the old man who stared back.  Finally the codger 
broke the silence.  "So . . . what can I do for you today?"

	Now it was Mike's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You mean you don't 
already know? Some 'insight' you got!"

	The old man waved a hand in dismissal.  "Of course I know what you 
want. It's just a formality that you have to tell me."

	The disgust in Mike's voice was apparent.  "Spare me the mumbo-
jumbo, okay? I don't believe in all that crap."

	"Then what are you doing here, if you don't believe in magic?"

	"I . . ." Mike's mouth finally closed with a snap while the old man 
just smiled.  

	After a moment, and seeing that no further help was coming from the 
old man, Mike took a deep breath and plowed ahead.  "Okay.  Here's the 
deal.  My college roommate has stolen my girl and I want to get her back.  
You got anything that would help?"

	Another raised eyebrow from the old man.  " 'Stolen'?  That kind of 
presupposes a prior possession, doesn't it?  Correct me if I'm wrong, but 
wasn't Kris always Jim's girl?  At least for as long as you've been aware of 
her?"

	Mike felt the flush rising up his neck.  "Look.  First off, if there were 
any justice in the world, Kris would be my girl.  We're alike.  We come from 
the right families.  She's got money.  I've got money. It's just the match that 
should be.  Second, Jim is a nice guy and all, don't get me wrong.  But he's 
got like two nickels to rub together and that's it.  He's as much as said; if 
Kris didn't have the bucks, she and he . . . well . . . you know."

	The old man nodded, a sardonic curl to his lip.  "Oh, I get it.  This is 
pure altruism on your part.  You just want to make sure that Kris winds up 
with the 'right' guy and Jim gets his due for trying to play the gigolo."

	Mike almost shouted.  "No!  That's not it at all.  I mean . . . Kris . . 
."

	Unbidden, the memory that formed the 'last straw' rose in his mind. 
He'd come back to the dorm after Professor Klienwell's  'Comp and Rhetoric 
101" had let out early.  As usual, the door wasn't locked so he'd strode right 
in.  

	And there was Kris, her arms hugged tight around Jim's neck, her 
short, expensive denim skirt up around her hips as Jim fondled the firm little 
ass beneath her light blue panties.

	Startled at Mike's intrusion, Jim and Kris had broken their clench, 
Kris quickly tugging her skirt back down where it belonged.   Then both of 
them had grinned at Mike, Jim's expression one of goofy satisfaction, Kris' 
one of embarrassed but playful mirth.  She managed to giggle, "Whoops . . . 
Hi Mike. We weren't expecting you back so soon."

	Mike managed to mutter "So I gather."

	Jim, still with that dumb smile plastered across his puss, jerked a 
thumb over his shoulder at his desk.  Sitting there was a brand new and very 
expensive looking laptop computer.  "I was just  . . . er . . . thanking Kris 
for my new present."

	Mike could feel his teeth starting to grind together.  "That's some 
present all right."

	Kris' renewed giggling added another knot to Mike's stomach and her 
hands on Jim's shoulders were something Mike just didn't want to see.  
"Well . . . Jim's some kind of boyfriend."   Then they were starting to hug 
again and Jim's grin was growing wider by the second and Mike just 
couldn't take it anymore.  "Jim . . . don't you have a class in just a few 
minutes?"

	In unison both Jim and Kris looked at their watches. (His; a $10 
Timex, hers; a very stylish and expensive Swiss import.)   She quickly 
disengaged herself from Jim's embrace.  "Oh gee . . . and I've got that yucky 
Bio class."  She stood on tiptoe and gave Jim a quick kiss that Mike would 
have killed for. "Why don't you bring your new laptop over to my room 
tonight and we can use it to do our Accounting assignment together?"

	Jim gave Kris' butt another quick squeeze and she chirped a protest 
and batted at his arm.  He just grinned.  "I'll be there."

	Hand's folded behind that firm, round little ass, Kris gave Jim a 
fetching shake of her shoulders and a very meaningful smile.  Then, raising 
one hand and wiggling her fingers in an absolutely charming little-girl wave, 
she turned to Mike and melted his heart with a perky "Buh-bye Mike.  See 
you around."

	Then she was gone and Mike's resolve was sealed.

	The old man leaned on the counter, his chin in his hand, staring at 
Mike with an expression that made Mike wonder if he hadn't just shared that 
memory with this mysterious old coot.

	Mike broke the dreamy expression on the old man's face with a 
brusque, "So, you got something to help or not?"

	The old man seemed to snap back to the present and then nodded.  
"As it so happens, I have just the thing you need."  With that, he bent beneath 
the counter he was leaning on and brought out a small cardboard box with the 
faded logo of a soup maker still visible on its battered surface.  Rummaging 
in the box for a moment, the old man appeared to be looking for a particular 
ring from among the several hundred inside.   All the while he was muttering; 
"Jane, no . . . Julie, hardly . . . Hmm . . . Sarah, no . . . I know it's in here . 
. ." Then he seemed to find what he was looking for because he brought out a 
ring and dropped it on the counter in front of Mike.

	The ring was a large, very plain and ugly thing.  It was more chrome 
than silver.  Somebody had obviously used a hand-engraver to quickly 
scrawl the name "Anne" onto the inner surface of the cheap metal band.

	The old man rested both hands on the counter, palms down and 
announced, "And I can let you have it for the one-time price of $750.  No 
dickering."

	Mike was incredulous.  "$750!  For that?!  I wouldn't bend down to 
pick that up if I saw it lying on the street!  If that piece of junk is worth $5, 
I'll eat it!"

	The old man was nonplused.  "You're not paying for the ring itself, 
genius. You're paying for what the ring can do."

	"Okay.  Just what can this ring do, that it's worth $750?"

	The old man gazed into his eyes and in a perfectly straight voice 
proclaimed, "It can create around you an illusion of Jim's ideal woman.  A 
woman he simply won't be able to resist.  One that he'll happily forget all 
about Kris for."

	The silence in the shop was punctuated by the ticking of a large, dusty 
grandfather clock.   The clock got quite a few ticks in before Mike finally 
found enough voice to squawk.  "You're out of you freaking mind!!!"

	The old man shrugged.  "You're not the first one to say so.  Do you 
want it or not?"

	Mike had to splutter to finally get the words out.  "Of all the . . . Why 
in the world would I want it?  What kind of hare-brained . . .?  I was looking 
for . . . I don't know . . . an anti-love potion or something.  Not some kind 
of mystical drag act!"

	The old geezer had shut his eyes and was shaking his head muttering 
" 'Love potions' . . . why does it always have to be love potions?"  Opening 
his eyes he glared at Mike.  "Look.  Here's the deal.  The metaphysical world 
works according to established rules, just like what we ignorantly call 'the 
real world'.  Within this set of rules there is a whole scheme of 'checks and 
balances.'  I could try to explain it to you but I have neither the inclination nor 
the time.   And frankly, I doubt that you've got the smarts to understand.  So, 
the bottom line is; if you want a magical method for trying to break up Jim 
and Kris, this is it.  Take it or leave it."

	Mike considered the ugly ring lying on the counter.  This was not at 
all what he'd had in mind.  But he'd long ago run out of any other ideas . . . 
besides appeal to some magical remedy that is.  Let's face it; he was 
desperate.

	But was he this desperate?

	"I don't know.  I mean . . . it's just some trick right?  How do I 
know that Jim . . ."

	There was a growing note of anger in the old man's voice.  "I do 
NOT sell 'tricks'!  'Tricks' are what you find at the five-and-dime novelty 
shop over by the Sears.  I sell magic.  And you can bet, Jim will 'fall' for this 
magic. In fact, I'll do you one better.  You pay for this by check.  The 
check'll take two days to clear.  If, in that time, Jim isn't absolutely 'gah-gah' 
over you, return the ring, I'll give you your money back and we'll just forget 
the whole thing."

	Mike poked the heavy metal band with a tentative finger.  "Okay . . . 
but what about side-effects? Hmm?  I keep remembering all those stories 
about dealing with genies and crap.  I'm not going to get stuck in a woman's 
body, or loose my memories or something like that, am I?"

	The old man made a disgusted little "tsk" sound and glanced toward 
heaven for aid.  "Look.  I'm a businessman, right?  I run this shop with the 
idea of turning a profit, right?  What kind of a business would it be if all the 
time I was dodging lawsuits and dissatisfied customers?  There's no trick to 
the ring itself.  You put it on, you become the absolutely believable . . . and 
completely 'functional' I might add . . . image of a drop-dead sexy woman, 
though it'll still be you 'inside' the illusion.  Anytime you want, you just take 
the ring off your finger and 'presto' . . . I hate that word . . . you're back to 
being plain old Mike.  No dangerous side-effects, no hidden 'gotcha's'.  
Period."

	But Mike had heard something in that little speech and with a crafty 
smile he pounced.  "AH!  But wait a second.  You said; '. . . no trick to the 
ring itself. . .'  There IS some trick, isn't there?  You're just not telling me 
what it is."

	The old man gave one last, long-suffering sigh.  "The only 'trick' to 
any of this is the complications that might arise from what you're trying to 
do. Look, it's not my place to be saying stuff like this, but when you tinker 
around with relationships, you're playing with fire.  The fact that you're 
using magic to do it . . . well . . . it doesn't lessen the complications, that 
much I can promise.  But that's the only 'trick' to any of this."

	It took a while, Mike continued to hesitate, but finally, just a little 
before closing time, he walked out of the shop with a small paper bag 
containing a bulky chrome ring bearing the name "Anne".

*****

 	 Jim glanced up from his morning's notes and his half-eaten 'mystery 
meat casserole' at the girl who'd appeared beside his table.

	"Um . . . hi.  Is this seat taken?"

	Jesus!  What a stone-babe!   She was tall, slender, curved in all the 
right places . . . She had long, curly, dark-red hair and ice blue eyes.   And 
tits! God, what tits!  The kind that you had to forcefully remind yourself you 
weren't supposed to reach out and touch.

	He had to swallow (and it wasn't mystery meat that was catching in 
his throat) before he could stammer.  "No . . . no.  Please . . ."

	Smiling, she set her tray down then gracefully lowered herself into 
the seat across the table from him.  There was an awkward silence for a 
moment then Jim managed to recall his manners.  "Oh, I'm Jim by the way.  
Jim Deagari.  M.B.A. program."   Now the smile was definitely for him.  
"Hi, Jim.  I'm Anne . . . uh . . . Anne Brown. Umm . . . Theatre Arts."

	He tried to stifle what he sorely suspected was the goofy grin Mike 
was always teasing him for.  "Hi Anne.  Pleased to meet you."

	More awkward silence.

	Jim fumbled for something to say.  "I . . . uh . . . I don't think I've 
seen you before."

	Anne shook her head.  "No.  I'm a mid-semester transfer.  Daddy just 
got relocated here from . . . Kuwait.  He's a big oil executive.  It's always 
such a pain; globe-trotting from one school to another.  If Daddy didn't make 
as much money as he does . . . I swear."   She gave him what he thought 
was a rather "knowing" smile, but he nodded.  

	"Oh sure.  I understand.  So, your father's in oil?"  He was so busy 
trying to appraise the value of her expensive looking cashmere blazer that he 
didn't even realize how stupid that question sounded.

	Neither did she apparently because she just nodded.  "Yeah.  Lots of 
money. And Daddy's so good about spending it on me.  To make up for all 
the relocations I suppose."  Then her expression became an engaging little 
pout. "I just wish we didn't have to move so much.  It's so hard to make new 
friends.  You know?"

	Jim nodded and grinned.  "Well Anne . . . cheer up.  You've just 
made a new one."

	Her polite smile bloomed and Jim hoped the calculating glint he 
thought he saw in her eyes wasn't just his imagination.  "Oh Jim . . . I'm so 
pleased!" 

*****

	Jim was late and Kris was getting worried.  He should have been in 
her room over an hour ago to help her cram for the Economics quiz 
tomorrow.  She turned the knob of Jim and Mike's door without knocking.  
This early in the evening there was little chance she'd catch either of them 
with their pants down.

	Or so she'd thought.

	As she stepped through the door there was a sudden flurry of activity 
from Jim's side of the room.

	For a moment, Kris couldn't believe her eyes.  There, in his bed, was 
Jim and some girl Kris had never seen before.    Some NAKED girl!  Some 
naked girl just now remembering enough modesty to pull the sheet up over a 
great big bouncing pair of boobs as Jim scrambled to climb off of her!!!

	Kris' voice was an enraged shriek.  "JAMES DEAGARI . . . what do 
you think you're doing?!"

	He fumbled and stuttered and Kris didn't hear a word of it.  All she 
could see was that little red-headed bitch's grin of triumph.

	Turning on her heel she stormed out of the room, slamming the door 
behind her.

*****

 	 It had taken Jim half a dozen minutes to scramble into his clothes and 
take off in pursuit of Kris. 

	Finally alone in the room, the Anne-illusion chuckled deep in her 
throat and then removed a slim, unobtrusive silver ring from the third finger 
of her right hand.  A slender silver band that suddenly morphed into a heavy, 
cheap looking chrome-silver ring.  

	There was a moment's dizziness that the old man hadn't thought to 
mention to Mike, but other than that, the ring had done just exactly as the old 
man had promised.  Now it was Mike's baritone that chuckled.  "Sorry 
roomie.  You can chase her all you want, but I think you're fucked."   Now 
laughing at the appropriateness of that metaphor, Mike climbed out of bed 
and began to figure out what he was going to wear.  He'd give Jim a while to 
try to patch things up with Kris, an attempt that Mike was fairly certain was 
doomed from the start.  He'd give Kris a few minutes for a good sob or two.  
Then he'd be knocking on her door with a little comfort and a nice, 
understanding shoulder to cry on some more.  Before the night was over, 
he'd be "in" and Jim would be yesterday's news.

	He tossed the little trinket and caught it in his hand.   And all because 
of this wonderful, beautiful ring!  

Man, wasn't magic marvelous?

*****

The door to Kris' room slams shut in Jim's face.  He pounds and pleads for a 
while and Kris just ignores him.  Finally, dejected, he goes away.  

A dainty foot sends the wastepaper basket flying.

	"Shit!"

	It had all been going so well.

	After a few minutes of frustrated wrestling, the bulky, clunky 
sweatshirt she was wearing sails against the wall and then lands in a tangled 
heap on the floor.

	"Shit!"

	Jim had been in the palm of her hand.

	Her beige shorts hit the wall in more or less the same place the 
sweatshirt did and land atop it in the growing pile.

	"Shit!"

	Then this Anne-bitch had come out of nowhere!  And Jim had fallen 
for her!

	The demure pink bra and matching panties . . .the ones with print 
roses and just enough lace on the hems . . . the ones she had intended to use 
tonight to reinforce the image of child-like innocence and vulnerability . . . 
add to the heap. 

	"Shit . . . Shit . . . SHIT!"

	Now what?  The plan was to have Jim thinking with his dick, but 
only thinking about HER!

	Naked, Kris plops down on the foot of her bed and glares at the far 
wall. Now what?  The question keeps circling in her head.   Daddy had made 
it pretty clear; come home this semester with at least a 3.0 grade point average 
in the business classes . . . or that was the end of the generous allowance . . . 
the end of the trust fund . . . pretty much the end of the good life.  Screw up 
the grades this semester, and it was go look for a job if you want spending 
money.

	Damn it!  Last semester had been an unqualified disaster.  A female 
roommate just wasn't that manipulate-able.  At least none of the female 
business majors had been.  At least Sharon hadn't been . . . that stuck-up 
bitch.   

	So that part of the plan had gone into the garbage can.

	But Jim . . . Damn it!  It had all been going so well.  Alone in the 
room, the lights down low enough to be romantic and still providing enough 
light to see the text books.  A frightened, anguished expression, huge 
beseeching eyes and a plaintive "Jim, I just don't get this assignment at all.  
Please . . . help me."   By the end of the second week, she'd trained him to 
the point where he just naturally did all the work for both of them.  All she 
had to do was rub his neck occasionally . . . or press a pair of boobs against 
his back . . . buy him a few "toys" to keep him happy (and not really put a 
dent in her 'petty cash' in the process, money well spent) . . . and he was 
happy as a clam.

	And then that Anne-whore showed up.   Ooo!  What did she have that 
Kris didn't?

	Slipping the slender silver ring off his finger, Chris waited for the 
wave of dizziness to pass.  

	Glaring at the cheap, chrome trinket in his fingers, he was about to 
toss it against the wall as well . . . when the voice of cool reason finally 
asserted itself.

	Wait a second.

	Okay . . . Jim had fallen for Anne.  But that didn't mean he couldn't 
be made to fall back where he belonged.  It just might take a little more work, 
that was all.   Maybe some tears . . . maybe some recriminations.   Maybe a 
really nice new "toy" to catch Jim's attention.  Yeah, that was the plan!

	And if Jim wouldn't dump Anne . . . well . . . even that might not 
necessarily be the end of the game.

	There were such things as "threesomes".  Besides, that Anne, whore-
bitch that she was, she was a foxy little whore-bitch.   Hmm . . . that might 
not be so bad.  That might not be so bad at all.  I wonder if she's the kind of 
girl who likes to let another girl play with her tits?

	Chris slipped the ring back on his finger and waited for the 
disorientation to subside.   Gazing at Kris' face grinning back at him from the 
mirror, Chris reassured himself; I'm not out of the game yet. 

	Not so long as I've got this ring!