From December 20, 2004:
Moira Briscoe was intelligent, pleasant, and significantly pretty. She was also a volunteer life guard at her high school's pool, which made the sight of her in soggy spandex a readily available and (for those who cared about such things) welcome sight. During her sophomore year two rumors started to circulate, with the result that by June, every male member of the school's population, from students through the faculty to the administration, regarded her with a combination of awe and fear.
The first rumor, proved by simply asking Moira, was that she was a practicing Wiccan.
The second rumor, proved by a large number of informal experiments, was that it was IMPOSSIBLE to use Moira as fodder for a masturbatory fantasy. The story that circulated was that if you retreated to a quiet and private place where you were wont to practice such things, grabbed your johnson, and thought of Moira, and you would lose consciousness.
Over a period of several months, every straight male member of the school population ended up with first hand evidence that magic WORKED, that Moira was capable of it, and that they, individually and collectively, were totally outclassed.
As I said, a combination of awe and fear.
The second is almost a complete story, from January 17, 2005:
Drawing the Shades
“You wanted to see me, Mrs. Clark?”
“Come in and close the door, Moira. Have a seat. Do you know why I asked you to come by?”
“I could guess. I would prefer not to.”
Mrs. Clark sighed. “There is a rumor going around that you have cast a spell on the entire male population of the school.”
“It’s not true.”
Mrs. Clark struggled with her words; after 15 years as a High School teacher and administrator, this particular issue was still far outside her experience. “There would seem to be a great deal of anecdotal evidence to the contrary.” A great deal meaning in this case that as far as she knew every male member of the student body, the faculty, and the administration had found it necessary to test the rumor at least once.
“Yes, I cast a spell. But I cast in on myself, and under the circumstances, I don’t think I owe anyone any apologies.”
“You cast a spell on yourself? The effects seem to manifest elsewhere…”
“They would have to, wouldn’t they? Suppose some boy wants you use his mental image of me for a sex toy; he thinks about me long enough, and with enough concentration, that it triggers the spell. So I, or at least the spell, am aware of him and what he is doing, and I want to stop him, as is very much my prerogative. Right?”
“I would think so.”
“But what can I do? Erasing myself from his memory, or even erasing that bit of planning, is difficult and dangerous; breaking his concentration takes a LOT of energy. So I put him to sleep. End of issue. My privacy is intact, and he isn’t really any worse for the wear.”
Mrs. Clark stared at Moira for several seconds, and sighed. “This was supposed to be an ‘informal disciplinary meeting’; I had my doubts, and now that I have talked to you I am convinced that you haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Haven’t done anything wrong? What about THEM?” Moira glared at Mrs. Clark and took several deep breaths. “That amount of energy and concentration is a summoning spell, Mrs. Clark. Most boys don’t have the talent to really accomplish something, and most girls aren’t sensitive enough to notice… But I DO notice. The bastards invade my dreams. It isn’t quite rape, because THEY don’t see it that way, but… Imagine trying to shower in a glass booth in front of the entire student body. THAT’S what it feels like.”
Mrs. Clark’s eyes went wide. “I’m surprised you didn’t react more… strongly.”
“I have a very strict teacher.”
“And… she? …Taught you this spell?”
“She helped me develop it; my mother is a pretty strong psychic, but I am out of her league. She never NEEDED anything like this, nor has anyone else we’ve ever heard of.”
“And why are you so different?”
Moira smiled. “I was conceived in a sacred circle on Beltane, and born in a sacred circle on Imbolc. It gives me a bit of an edge.”
“I can see that. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions on how I should report on this meeting?”
Moira grinned. “Tell them that if they weren’t a bunch of perverts they would never have known about any spell, and if they don’t learn to behave, I’ll rewrite it and make the damned things fall off.”
“Tell them what you knew you were going to have to say all along: that I claimed no knowledge or involvement with any such thing. After all, which is harder to deal with in the long run: a thousand hysterical teenage boys, or one scientifically verifiable witch?”
“That will be all, Moira. Close the door on the way out.”