Naked Aunty Unpacking Her Bags After Coming To Hotel

THIS IS MY MAGIC SHOP. PLEASE DO NOT ASK HOW I KNOW SIMPLE THINGS LIKE YOUR NAME, ETC. FOR MIND READING IS AS SIMPLE AS WALKING THROUGH THAT DOOR. Shawn didn't quite understand at first. Then it dawned on him that the wizard had addressed him when he entered the shop. Forgetting the sign, Shawn asked anyway, "How DID you know my name?" The old man wrinkled his face and turned a pale shade of red. "Oh Shawn," he said, "I thought I was going to like you. Like the sign says, I am a wizard. Mind reading is a simple task." Even if Shawn didn't believe him, the old man certainly looked the part. He only looked to be in his sixties, but somehow Shawn knew he was much older. He was clad in an old blue robe adorned with stars and moons and such, and even a tall pointed hat to match the ensemble. Regardless of how the old man looked, his shop definitely did not look the part. It had everything imaginable cluttered around inside from costumes hanging on the walls to records and movies neatly. The Bookstore.The clerk sat behind the counter; a prisoner of time and circumstances. She had no place to go. The clerk sat behind the counter and dreamed of many things."Miss, can you help me? I can't reach this book."Her dreams ended and now to work."Let me pull the ladder over and I'll get it for you."She climbed and wished she'd worn a longer skirt. She wished she'd worn pants and most of all she wished the woman wasn't at the foot of the ladder looking up at her exposure. She couldn't bring herself to speak."Is this the book you want?" Yes, yes. Bring it down for me."How did it happen? The woman tried to help her down the ladder. Somehow her hands touched her legs and then they moved higher. Somehow she found herself on the ground with the woman's hands on her hips, her skirt pushed up around her waist. She blushed and her mouth wouldn't open."Oh excuse me, dear. I tried to help and don't know how that happened."Somehow she got her skirt back in place. Somehow she didn't die of.
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