Glasses from the Gods
My name is Mark Smith. I am sort of a friend of the guy you know as ‘Puffin’. I don’t know if you believe the story I am going to tell you, but it is all true.
I went to my local optician, oh about six months back, in order to get my prescription changed: I hadn’t been for a year or more, and I could tell I needed new glasses. I’m around minus twelve in each eye, bad but not that bad, if you know what I mean. When I went in, this is kinda strange but I knew something was amiss. The receptionist at the counter was a beautiful, statuesque high myope in a white blouse, dark blue knee length skirt and high heels, really not the sort of person I’d expected to see working there. She wore a name badge; her name was Angela. She smiled at me, patted her glasses onto her nose, then asked with careful politeness, ‘how can I help you?’ I replied, ‘oh, I’ve come to have my eyes tested. Sorry, I forgot to make an appointment.’ ‘That’s fine. Mr Goddard is free at the moment.’ ‘Where’s Mr Jones, my regular optician?’ ‘Oh, he’s on holiday. Mr Goddard is standing in for him. He’s an excellent optician.’ I shrugged, and said ‘OK, he’ll do.’ She smiled at me, gestured at a chair in the waiting area and said slightly airily, ’take a seat, and he’ll come and fetch you in a minute.’ I did as she asked, sitting there trying not to stare too long or hard at her. Then a door opened, and a man in his fifties at least, with white hair and a generous, kindly look to his face walked up to me and introduced himself ‘I’m Mr Goddard. Follow me, please.’
He led me into his - or Mr Jones’s room. He gave me a standard enough eyesight test, whereupon it was discovered that my eyesight had got a little worse since I last came here. I asked him to help me select some new frames, because he seemed a kindly enough old guy, really. He showed me a pair of frames I really liked, just the sort of type I liked: metal frames, sort of squarish. He then made what I now know to be a telling comment as they were being made up to my prescription, ’these come with a free gift.' ‘What sort of free gift?’ ‘I’m not sure, just the usual sort of promotional gimmickry, I imagine.’ I got the distinct impression he knew very well what sort of free gift it was, although I didn’t press him further on the matter. I sat waiting for my glasses; when they were ready, he fitted them for me. They didn’t seem any different from any other pair of glasses I’d seen before: I could see clearly again, so I was happy.
I went home and got on with life, quickly forgetting all about the aforementioned “free gift”, but it soon reminded me of itself. A few days later I sat cleaning my new glasses in my bedroom, just before dinner, and I don’t know, but I think I remember wishing that dinner was ready right now and not whenever it was actually going to be ready. It seemed only an instant later that Mum called upstairs that dinner was ready. I put my glasses on and thought little more about it. Life went on as normal, until I had to tidy my room one day. I vacuumed around the floor, which kicked up some dust. (If you’ve been in my room, you’ll know what dirt is!) It got on my lenses, so I took them off to clean them, and I remember saying to myself, with a sigh ‘I wish this was all done.’
There was a flash of light, and then it was gone. I quickly put my specs back on, and could not believe what I now saw: every piece of clutter, junk and miscellaneous stuff was tidied away. Not one speck of dust could I see. It was really, really incredible. I began to wonder, and then realised why this had happened: it was these glasses. It seemed that when I cleaned them, and wished for something to happen, I got it. Immediately I put my theory to the test. Within minutes I had a KFC, which I ate, and then a brand new car sitting outside: I was getting bolder. I decided to get rid of the car. An instant later, I had, which was seriously weird. But I could tell this had some interesting benefits…
I‘d always had trouble finding women, certainly the right ones, but it now seemed that I had a means to order exactly what I wanted. I sat down, drew breath, then took my glasses off and cleaned them, and then wished quietly ‘I want a woman.’ An instant later there was a bright flash of light in the room, which didn’t fade completely as before. I put my glasses back on, and saw that the receptionist from the optician was standing in my room. She was dressed as she was before, but now had an aura of white light around her. She spoke to me, ‘hello Mark. I can get you a woman, any woman you like, but please be more specific.’ I could not believe my eyes! I got up and went to the shelf where I kept my magazines: I picked up a dating magazine, opened it and looked for one of the girls I liked. She was called Cheryl, about twenty, average build, with pretty thick glasses, more than mine I thought. This I showed to Angela; she looked at it, then at me, and asked, ‘do you want her, or just someone exactly the same?’ I shrugged, and replied, ‘all the same to me.’ Angela gave a slightly pained look, as if I did not realise what difficulties I was giving her. But then an instant later, there was a flash of light; Angela was gone, and Cheryl was in her place.
Cheryl took in her surroundings with predicable surprise. She took one look at me, and asked, ‘where am I? And who are you?’ ‘I am Mark. Please sit down.’ ‘No, I’m going. I don’t know who you are and how I got here, but I was at home and now I’m here.’ I reached out to her, trying to comfort her. She shrank back from me, saying in alarm, ‘don’t you touch me!’ My heart sank. I realised my mistake: I’d forgotten to mention that I wanted her to actually want me too!
I let her out of my bedroom; thankfully she wasn’t noticed as she left the house. Two weeks went by before I dared call Angela again: by then I had another edition of the magazine which I’d seen Cheryl in. This had a girl called Anna, who I really liked the look of: she was nineteen, a student from a town far away, slim, around five-eight and in glasses that really had good power rings in them. Taking my glasses off, I cleaned them and said ‘Angela, if you can hear me, come and visit me.’ Instantly, Angela was standing before me, surrounded by her soft white aura. She asked, ‘hello Mark. What happened? Why didn’t you use me again?’ ‘I was a bit - scared.’ ‘Don’t be scared. What is to be scared of? I can give you exactly what you want.’ ‘That’s the problem. I can’t always think of exactly what I want. Especially when I apparently have all the choice in the world!’ ‘That’s a common problem. Don’t worry. You can soon put things right if things go wrong.’
She changed the subject, picking up the magazine and asking, ‘you would like this one?’ She stood musing over her photo. I replied, ‘Er - yes.’ She fixed me with her bespectacled gaze, and asked me more firmly, ‘shall I make her want you this time?’ ‘Of course. But this time, can you bring her and not let her know what’s going on until I say so?’ ‘Ahh, I see. Good idea. Keep her in suspension.’ An instant later Anna appeared beside her: she was exactly as she appeared in the magazine, but frozen. ‘Tell me how you would like her to act.’ ‘Crazy for me!’ Angela nodded, and then asked, ‘anything else?’ ‘No, but can you stay around sort of invisible, so I can call you if I need you?’ ‘I am always with you.’ Angela smiled, then vanished.
At that moment, Anna came to life. She cried out, ‘oh, darling!’ She was all over me, kissing me, and wanting sex instantly. This was, in hindsight, a bit of a shock. I was used to women loving me, but not like this: very odd. Anyway, AFTER having sex with her, we sat talking. She held my gaze constantly, as if there were nothing else in the whole universe. I asked her, ‘what’s your prescription?’ She looked a little fazed by that, but as she was crazy for me, she replied, ‘oh, minus seventeen in this eye,’ putting a gentle finger on her front of her left lens, and then pausing to do the same with the same finger on her right lens, ‘minus sixteen in this eye.’ She paused, and then asked, ‘do you like a girl in glasses?’ ‘Erm… Yes. Yes, of course.’ ‘I knew you would. I can’t wear contacts, they make my eyes itch. I’m stuck with these.’ She paused, then said ‘I’m glad someone likes me in them.’ Now THAT is a sentiment I can relate to!
I had many exciting and wonderful nights with the lovely Anna over the next few weeks. Explaining her sudden appearance, and her absence from home was easy to fix when you have a means to ask for exactly what you want! I wiped my parents’ memories most nights, and left a copy of Anna at her home.
But then I started to yearn for something that I now know I should never dared to wish for: I suppose it was my desires and greed getting the better of me. One Saturday afternoon I furiously cleaned my glasses and wished for Angela to appear; in an instant she stood by the door in her aura of white, pure light. She smiled in her usual, gentle manner, and said, ‘hello Mark. What can I do for you now?’ ‘Er. I would like to have you.’ Her eyes widened in surprise - and then a look of concern came over her face as it sunk in. She said anxiously, ‘you don’t know what you’re asking for. This body isn’t what it appears.’ ‘Please.’ She didn’t reply for a long moment, her thoughts seemingly at war with each other. Then she said, pointing up ‘I shall ask upstairs.’ With that, she vanished.
It was past nine in the evening when she returned: she actually looked quite stressed, and said unhappily, ‘you wouldn’t believe the arguments up there. But they have decided to let you do this, even though it really shouldn’t happen. It’s highly irregular.’ ‘Who says so? Who’s “upstairs”?’ ‘Who do you think? The Gods themselves.’
She started removing her clothes: I saw that she was perfect, apart from the myopia, which to me is perfection anyway, so of no account. Jokingly she said, ‘aren’t you going to get undressed? Or are you going to use the power of your glasses to do it?’ That night was the most amazing night I had ever had, before or since. We did it more times than I ever remember doing it with any woman. Angela was absolutely tireless, and her energy was infectious. When I woke the next morning, she was gone. That afternoon I went for a walk in the park. There were some people playing a ball game in the park, and I suppose I can blame the Gods for what happened next. Or perhaps myself for asking for something I shouldn’t have.
As I walked by, the ball hit me in the face and badly cracked my left lens. The people were apologetic, but I thought I could use the power of the glasses to mend them. I got home, whereupon I cleaned and wished frantically. But the lens remained cracked: whatever power there was in them, it was broken. I was badly shaken by this: I’d intended to summon Anna that evening, but I knew it was off for tonight. Monday morning came and I went to my optician to see if I could get them repaired. When I went in, there was no sign of Angela: instead there was the regular girl I saw the last time I was here over a year ago. I asked to see Mr Goddard. She replied, puzzled, ’there is no Mr Goddard. You can see Mr Jones if you wish.’ ‘No Mr Goddard?’ I couldn’t believe it: was all that which had occurred just a dream? No, dreams don’t last as long as that. They agreed to fix the lens there and then, and I sat hoping that all would be as it was. When I got them back, I sat frantically cleaning them and silently wishing Angela would appear. But, of course, she didn’t. Nor did she when I tried it at home, or anywhere else in the next few weeks. I realised that my “free gift” was gone for good. But what a gift! I’d had sex with a myopic angel!