I was living with Jack, the Son of the Son of God.
The Slack Lodge used to be a weekend getaway resort on the edge of a nature preserve, but now it was our house.
The place was fantastic. From outside, it looked like a giant log cabin built into the side of a hill. Inside there was a Great Hall that stretched four stories from floor to ceiling, with a giant stone hearth and a wall of windows looking out over a remnant of midwestern prairie. Even in the middle of winter, there was a desolate beauty to the view.
The Great Hall was filled with couches, tables and chairs made of oak, leather and suede. In one corner was a gorgeous wooden staircase connecting all four levels, with an elevator nearby for going up. In the other corner was a tall fake fir tree pre-lit with programmable lights. Shortly after the start of the new year, the groundskeeper offered to take the tree down, but we told him to just remove the holiday decorations and switch it to lava lamp mode.
The bottom floor also had an indoor heated pool, a whirlpool, a sauna, an industrial kitchen and a cozy dining area. The middle two floors had private guest rooms that let out onto open corridors overlooking the Great Hall. Some of those rooms were full suites with jacuzzis and fireplaces of their own.
The upper level had the entrance and front desk, as well as two large bunkrooms filled with twin-sized beds. Each bunkroom had its own bathroom and group showers, which contained the only walls not made of hardwood in the entire place.
In Jack's opinion, though, the crown jewel was the television opposite the fireplace in the Great Hall. It was at least a dozen feet across and connected to every gaming system a guy could ever want.
And all this came with its own trust fund! The fund covered housekeeping, utilities and maintenance, and Jack had a bank card with a lavish allowance on it. I never asked him how much he was given, but I wanted for nothing. We were a ten minute walk from the quaintest little town square I'd ever seen, including a courthouse and a park with a gazebo and a war memorial. Jack and I would walk down there every few days. He'd buy me anything I asked for, and we'd stop at the local weed shop on the way home.
I don't want to make it sound like I was a mooch. Jack and I had agreed to be roommates when we were still poor dudes trying to decide between living in a shitty apartment or squatting in an abandoned factory. Jack's Dad just happened to gift him with the Slack Lodge shortly thereafter, and it made Jack happy to share the windfall with me. There was never any tension between us about it.
I did quit my job, though.
You'd do the same.
We had to throw a housewarming party, of course. The list of invitees was a star-studded cast of the most famous reborn currently in the globe, featuring Bob Hope, Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra, Joan Rivers, Marcus Tullius Cicero, Gypsy Rose Lee, Humphrey Bogart, Truman Capote, Leif Erikson, Carol Channing, Anne Frank, Ed Wynn, Kit Marlowe, Gene Kelly, Kublai Khan, Paul Lynde and many more! Eve and Jean-Paul would also be there, of course, as well as several Tommys.
I asked Jack if we could invite Robert Anton Wilson, but apparently he had reincarnated as a dolphin this time around, and our pool was chlorinated. I realized I would need to set aside a month for conversation if I ever met the guy, anyway, and I didn't want to spend this party out on the porch getting high with just one dude.
Hercules would be leading a contingent of Greeks. Narcissus insisted on bringing a large fountain of ambrosia, the liqueur of the gods. I think he was trying to show up our own offerings, and Miss Manners would have called it rude—but we weren't complaining, and Miss Manners wasn't invited, anyway.
There were several daemons and even a few idols on the list. Oberon and Jareth would both be there, fae and goblins in tow. Paul Bunyan and Pecos Bill were coming as a couple, as were Baron Munchausen and Cylon Number Six.
And holy shit, we got fucking Trent Reznor to be the musical act! I didn't think we could get him, because I didn't think he was reborn, but it turned out he'd been around since the seventeenth century and his first instrument was a harpsichord.
GOD IS DEAD!
AND NO ONE CARES!
IF THERE IS A HELL
I'LL SEE YOU THERE!
The party was on, and everybody showed up. Jack and I bopped our heads along to Trent's tormented howls as we soaked up the vibes and sipped ambrosia. Jack had to keep pushing his long hair out of his face.
"Even after all this time, I'm still surprised you like Nine Inch Nails," I yelled over the song.
"Consider who I spent my teenage years rebelling against," Jack laughed. "Besides, I don't even really listen to the lyrics, I'm in it for the music!"
Trent played through his greatest hits and then switched to cover songs, letting the party take on a less anguished vibe. Now, you had to be filthy rich to get Trent Reznor to play at your party. But you had to be fucking divine to get him to sing "Unchained Melody" while he was there.
OHHHHHHHHH! MY LOOOOOOOOVE! MY DAAAAAARLING! I HUUUUUNGER FOOOOOOR YOUR TOUCH!
Trent wailed like he was dying in a vat of hydrochloric acid. It was so romantic.
Jack and I were on a couch, watching everyone have a good time. Achilles was hitting on Hephaestion. Bast was slow-dancing with the anthropomorphic personification of Destruction. Hercules and Charles Atlas were "wrestling" as delighted onlookers egged them on. Several make-out sessions had broken out on various couches. I thought about heading upstairs to check on how things were going in the group showers.
Then I noticed that Jack's hair had fallen over his face again. I reached over and pushed it back up behind his ears. He gave a small moan of pleasure and leaned back his head, so I ran my fingers fully through his hair.
"You sure you're cool with this?" I asked.
"I'm not turned on by it," Jack said, shutting his eyes, "but it still feels good!"
It felt good for me, too, so I kept doing it.
There was a man in a tuxedo standing over by the ambrosia fountain. He had a pasty, red-splotched face that was fat in all the wrong places, greasy thinning slicked-back blond hair, and a little pedo mustache clinging to his upper lip.
"Hey, isn't that that actor?" I asked Jack. "The one who got drummed out of Hollywood for touching kids or something?"
"Aw, how the fuck did he get past André?" Jack groaned. "That's Damien."
"Who's Damien?" I asked.
"Y'know. Satan's kid."
Jack dragged himself off the couch and lumbered over to the interloper. I followed Jack. Or rather, I followed Jack's hair.
"What are you doing here, Damien?" Jack asked.
Damien fell down on one knee and bowed his head.
"My Lord," Damien said.
Wait, why was Satan's kid bowing to Jack?
"Stand the fuck up, and don't call me that," Jack scolded. "You're going to give people the wrong idea."
"Ok, duuude," Damien said, standing. "I just want it to be known that we of the Morningstar Clan respect the pecking order around here."
He winked at me. I shuddered.
"Don't try my patience, hellspawn," Jack said. "Why the fuck are you here?"
I couldn't help it, I went back to playing with Jack's hair. Much to my surprise, Jack put his arm protectively around my waist.
"I'm waiting," Damien said.
"Waiting for WHAT, Damien?"
"Waiting for the molly I put in the ambrosia to kick in."
Jack and I both looked around. What was happening in the Great Hall had moved well beyond make-out sessions. The crowd writhed as hands moved across the first body they could find. Voices moaned with pleasure.
"Profanus Satanas!" Damien said cheerfully, raising a glass of ambrosia before downing it in one gulp.
Trent Reznor's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he began chanting.
Profanus Satanas!
Profanus Satanas!
"You little fucker!" Jack yelled.
"This is literally the minimum amount of debauchery needed to summon my dark father," Damien explained, as if he deserved commendation. "I could've gone with PCP. Would've been a lot more fun. But unfortunately, dad just wants to talk. So enjoy the ride. Hear what he has to say. You can thank me later."
Damien waved goodbye and headed toward the exit.
Trent levitated into the air, now screaming the invocation.
PROFANUS SATANAS!
PROFANUS SATANAS!
There was a whorl of fire in the hearth, and Satan appeared.
Most tv shows and movies I'd ever seen always portrayed Lucifer as beautiful, first of God's angels. Morningstar, right? But the beast that appeared was anything but.
Satan was a grotesque mockery of beauty. He had enormous bulging muscles, but his body was covered in peeling burns and bruising. He had an upside-down pentacle carved into his chest, dripping blood. Asymmetrical horns twisted out of his head, one of them curving back into his neck, continually cutting into an unhealed wound. Bits of skull showed underneath the charred flesh and hair of his head, and over his face stretched the flayed-off face of a human, stapled into place. He had fingernails of rusting iron, bulbous, tumor-covered hands and cloven hooves. Worst of all was the obscene semi-engorged phallus flopping down between his legs and to the floor, purple veins bulging, covered in scabs, leaving a trail of yellow-green discharge as he dragged it along behind him. The smell of sulfur and putrescence filled the room.
I was nauseated, but my skin still tingled with pleasure. Jack kept his arm around me. I kept playing with Jack's hair. Trent fell to the floor unconscious. The groans and wails of painful lust were now the only sounds filling the hall.
"Cousin," Satan sneered, bowing. His voice sounded like a motorcycle engine mixed with ten thousand whispers.
"Don't you start with that, too," Jack said.
"I am here to make accusation, in accordance with the Treaty of Pandemonium," Satan growled. "You cannot deny me."
"Shouldn't you be taking this up with St. Peter?" Jack asked.
"It is Peter the Pebble I accuse!"
"Oh good Grandpa," Jack groaned. "Dude, you smell like shit! Just say what you need to say and get out of here."
Jack moved his hand up and down my side reassuringly. I leaned my head on his shoulder.
"Peter came to me seeking to purchase souls of the damned," Satan snarled, "for which I have made him pay dearly. I sent my devils to follow him, to see what purpose commands such a price. He experiments on the souls. He casts them into the Lake of Fire."
"That sounds like something Peter would do," Jack muttered. "Dare I ask what he paid you?"
Satan just spread his loathsome grin and chuckled. His laugh sounded like the screams of the tortured.
"Ok, fine, whatever," Jack sighed. "Why do you think I care what the fuck Peter is doing?"
"One of the lost souls was your MOTHER!" Satan squealed with delight. Flames licked up through the floor around him, as if to emphasize the joy he took in revealing this.
"So?" Jack asked flatly.
Satan seemed sincerely surprised by this response.
"Cold," Satan laughed, licking his decaying lips with a forked tongue.
"Are you done?" Jack asked. "You're really ruining the vibe I had going here..."
"He will abandon you," Satan's voice whispered in my mind. I knew he was speaking to me, but I didn't know if he was actually speaking at all. The words blurred together, as if he was trying to get it all in quickly.
"Hewillabandonyouinyourtimeofgreatestweaknesshewillleaveyoualonefortherestofyourlifeyouwilldiealonewithouthimyouwilltoilinshitwithouthimhewillripyoufromheavenandthenhewillabandonyou—"
"GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!"
Jack became Light. A pure white light shone like the sun from his eyes and his mouth, and the rest of him blazed like an overexposed photograph.
When I could see again, Satan was gone. The disgusting smell in the air vanished. The moans of our guests became less desperate and more pleasurable.
Trent stood up and returned to the microphone, as if mid-concert Satanic possession was old hat for him. A simple line of music repeated on the piano as he sang.
I still recall the taste of your tears...
"Are you alright?" Jack asked, looking me in the eyes and caressing my cheek.
"Yeah, I—"
Jack kissed me.
It wasn't an erotic kiss. It was a mushy kiss, a falling-into-my-face intoxicated kiss. But it was a real kiss.
I kissed him back.
We fell onto the couch together.
You always were the one to show me how...
I breathed in the smell of his neck.
Back then I couldn't do the things that I can do now...
He began to unbutton my shirt.
You make this all go away...
I ran my fingers across his furry chest.
He had the perfect amount of dad bod.
I just want something...
We explored one another that night. We kept it all above the belt. I didn't think the drugs were suddenly making Jack discover sexual desire or anything. I'd have been pushing rope had I tried. But we felt skin and hair and breath with lips and tongues and hands, and then we fell asleep in each other's arms.
I just want something I can never have...
I awoke in the morning sore from sleeping on the couch. The party had largely dispersed. Housekeeping shuffled around the Great Hall, picking up trash. I felt bad for them. Normally Jack and I tried to at least get garbage to the bins and laundry to the hamper ourselves. But I supposed it had been an unexpectedly wild party.
Jack was upstairs saying goodbye to the last stragglers to leave. As I shuffled to the kitchen to make myself some coffee, I slowly pieced together my memories from the previous night.
What had I done?
We had gone way further than I ever intended. It was beautiful, yes. Pleasurable. Ecstasy, even. But it was drug-induced. He would probably feel weird about it. I felt weird about it. I could feel my dick start to stir just thinking about it—but that's not what it had been about. Whatever it had been about, it wasn't that. And I didn't think I could do it again. I didn't want to do it again. It had unlocked something inside me, feelings I had for Jack that had to stay locked away. I knew I had feelings for him. I was glad I had feelings for him. But they couldn't be those feelings. And I couldn't do that without getting those feelings. So we couldn't do that again.
Jack joined me in the kitchen after everyone else had left.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said.
We stood quietly.
"About last night..." he said.
"Look, it's cool," I said. "It was the drugs. And molly, or whatever that was, isn't usually our drug. Neither of us were planning to take it, and neither of us will probably ever take it again. We've had great boundaries so far, and I know you're not into guys that way, and I'm completely fine with that. You're my best friend, and I don't want to risk that. So we can just forget it ever happened, and we don't have to talk about it..."
I looked up at him, but he didn't say anything.
Does he want to talk about it? I thought.
"Cool," Jack said, nodding. "Good. That's...cool."
He walked out of the kitchen.
I felt a little bit better. Communication between guys could often be difficult, but I had managed to be direct and to-the-point, and we hadn't had to go unpacking every little twitch of our hearts. Friendship saved.
Great talk!
Next: Slacking with Jesus' Son