Okana Brews a Love Potion

It was late, and Okana was alone, gazing at herself in a full-length mirror. She admired the fullness of her face, her creamy black skin and high cheekbones, and the full pout of her lips. She blew herself a flirty kiss and turned to the side, throwing her shoulders back so her breasts plumped up to their full size. She ran her hands over her own tiny waist and shook her head gently, so the hundreds of carefully woven braids cascading just below its hourglass curve shimmied and shook against her buttocks. Okana was gorgeous, and she knew it.

She turned away from the mirror, looking over her shoulder to see her backside before walking away; and she paced through her home, a mansion by anyone's standards. Her parents had done well during their brief life together, and had died while Okana was still young, but they had provided well for her, and she wanted for nothing.

Nothing, that is, except love.

For while Okana was a pretty woman, and a rich woman, she was a lonely woman; she had no man with whom to pass her days. Desperately, she craved love.

Okana sighed deeply as she paced; it was a troubled breath that lifted and dropped her ample breasts in sorrow. “If only I wasn't alone,” she thought. A gentle breeze wafted through an open window and caressed her skin gently, as if to soothe her.

She barely noticed. There was no soothing her troubled mind.

Okana walked into her kitchen and looked around at shelf upon shelf of herbs, a virtual apothecary of remedies to cure all ailments, physical or spiritual. She was well-stocked with both the baneful and the beneficial, for Okana was a witch. Her mother had been a witch, as had her mother before her, and as everyone in her village knew, “A witch always gives birth to a witch.”

That is why she was lonely; that is why she could not find a man. No one wanted to love a witch.

That moment, she decided to use her witchcraft to find love.

As midnight came and the moon set over the horizon, Okana was alone in her kitchen, experimenting with her herbs. She peeled, pounded, mashed, and mixed every ashé she had that dealt with love and matters of the heart. Little else mattered to her beyond her work; for just as those in love cannot see clearly, those who crave love can see little beyond their desires. Strange scents and fumes wafted through her home and were carried into the world with the night-winds that blew.

The air was alive with magic.

Finally, after hours of work, Okana created a philter that was love liquescent: it embodied all the sweetness of love, the desires of love, and the dangers of love. Its scent was intoxicating; one drop and her skin glistened with a preternatural glow, a sheen that hinted of sexual ecstasy and exotic delights. “Surely,” she thought to herself, “no man can resist me now!”

At her opened window, she lit a coal in a brazier, and put a single drop of her oil on the red-hot ember. Fumes like fog rolled into the night. “Bring me love,” she whispered as they rolled into the darkness.

Her spell was potent. It did not take long.

The next night, she found herself in the arms of a strong, black man whose loins burned her own like fire. The magic of her potion ensnared them both, and she abandoned herself to the waves of pleasure that erupted in her body. So intense was the spell that neither man nor woman knew where one body began, or the next ended; and they were joined so deeply that they did not care. Spent, both collapsed into the other's arms, and still ensnared by her spell, Okana thought, “I know what love is!”

The scent of magic died as they slept, and when she awoke the next morning, she felt empty. He awoke with a strange, feverish glow in his eyes; he dressed silently, kissing her on her forehead, and promised to return that night.

Okana didn't care. Nor did she want to care. She only wanted to try her potion again on another man.

Early evening found Okana wandering through the streets of town, alone. She was freshly bathed and dressed in a robe showing more skin than it hid; and as she had been the night before, she was liberally oiled with her own magic philter. Like a lioness in heat she walked, seductively, through the streets, laughing as women grabbed their children and hid in shadows from the witch. She heard their whispers, but didn't care.

Then, she saw him—a man younger and stronger than last night's love. His skin was rich and supple, stretched tight over muscles toned from hard labor. He walked with the grace of a leopard. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the vial of potion and anointed herself freshly, giving in to the dosed vapors that rose from her skin. Boldly, she introduced herself, and watched as her magic ensnared the young man with desire.

That night, she knew ecstasy greater than the first. And while they slept, as it had the night before, the spell evaporated with the first morning light.

Okana awoke, once more feeling empty inside. She looked down at the strange lover as he slept beside her; he didn't seem as handsome anymore. There was a strange rattle in his chest as he snored, and his skin was covered in slick sweat. The sheets around him were damp. He was feverish.

With the young man still sleeping in her bed, Okana walked outside, wrapped only in a white sheet, to breathe in the morning air. It invigorated her, and chased the sleep from her head.

Then she saw him, her first lover, sleeping by the door. He awoke and rubbed his eyes. “I knocked last night. You did not hear?”

Okana took in a sharp breath. She thought of the young man still sleeping in her bed, and not knowing what the first man might have heard as he camped outside her home, she said, “No, I didn't hear. I woke up too early yesterday, and was exhausted come night. I slept fitfully. I might have made noise in my own sleep. But I did not hear you.”

He stood close to her, taking her shoulders into his hands, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. His own lips were hot and feverish. “I will come back tonight for you,” he said, almost a threat. This close, she could see the delirium in his eyes, and felt his breath hot on her face as he whispered, “I think I love you.”

He left her standing, alone and shaking. “He is crazed,” she whispered to the wind before going back inside to the arms of her newest lover. They spent all day in bed.

That evening, Okana returned to town, leaving her newest lover at home, sleeping. He was exhausted from a night and a day of love, and even her roughest shakes could not wake him. She did not care; she might need him when she returned home.

She sat in a little chair outside her favorite merchant's shop drinking a glass of palm wine, as she thought about the spell she wove. “This was my most powerful magic!” Okana congratulated herself with a little hug. She inhaled deeply; the scent of love rose off her skin like steam. Before leaving home, she rubbed the oil all over, finding its smell as intoxicating as the most powerful drink, and wanting to see if she could find a love even stronger than the first two. “I will simply go to the next man's house,” she thought, “And when I am done with him, I will return to the other in my bed.”

After many drinks, Okana's mind was clouded; she forgot about the man she had at home and simply searched for someone new. And then, she saw him. Walking toward her was an eye-filling man. His skin was deep, rich, dark ebony with a subtle sheen; it seemed to glow preternaturally. He walked forcefully, like a lion, each step purposeful, with his own loins swaying seductively from his hips. His arms were huge, powerful; they seemed strong enough to hold the sun, and his chest was chiseled like a marble statue's. So huge were the muscles in his thighs that his legs bowed out slightly. Okana felt fever burning in her secret place, like a fire.

Driven by her desires, Okana stood in front of him in the street, blocking his body with her own; and with a boldness that surprised even her, she kissed him before he could protest. Powerful magic was made in that moment; he was ensnared, the lion by the trap, and he kissed her back. People in the streets shuddered and gasped in surprise. Some watched, whispering “witch,” while others tried to hide their eyes, but couldn't; and there in the street, Okana and her prey groped and rubbed and squeezed as the sun set over the town.

Okana knew nothing except desire, and wanted that man in her bed. Desperately. She forgot there was someone already wrapped up in her sheets.

Like a lioness in heat, she led him to her lair; and he followed, not questioning. Okana was confused when she saw the first man standing outside her door, trembling and covered in sweat. “I don't know what is wrong with me!” he called out, his voice louder than it needed to be. He was shaking as if chilled; and even in the evening twilight, she could see that sores covered his face and arms.

“Pox!” she gasped. She looked at her own arms, worried that the contagion might erupt on her own delicate skin.

“You did this to me,” he cried. “You are a witch!”

His words stung; anger consumed her, melting her fear. “I did this?” she cried. “You are the one covered in sores. My skin is clean!”

Strong hands grasped her shoulders from behind. “We must go. We should not be so close,” a deep voice warned. In her drunken haze, Okana had forgotten that her newest love-conquest stood behind her.

Slowly, they backed away from the man as the front door to her home opened, and lover number two came stumbling out. He was naked, almost delirious, and covered with the same sores as the first man, though not as deeply. “What have you done to me?” he moaned.

It was then that the third man realized, “These men, you have slept with them?”

She turned quickly and wailed, “No!”

It was there that Okana's witchcraft was broken, and he backed away from her in disgust. The other two mindlessly wandered into the streets and walked their separate ways.

That very night, word was spread through town that not only was Okana a powerful witch, but also she was a promiscuous woman who spread disease with her touch. And while her own charms and potions kept the pox at bay so she never got sick, her reputation spread, and nothing she tried would quell it.

From that moment on, not a man in town would lay with her. For many years, Okana remained a lonely, loveless creature.