In medieval grimoires the full moon is a day for consulting with demons. That's never been my thing, but sometimes the universe has other plans.
Tonight the full moon is in Scorpio - astrology nerds, you'll know when that is - and finally I'm sharing with the public what happened to me about a year ago. The full moon was in Scorpio then, too. I didn't plan it that was, but I went back to check my journal and I've realized it was the case. It makes sense - I was born under that same moon, and the vision I had that day... well, it was very Scorpio.
In the morning before work, if I wake up early enough, I like to do my morning prayers and a Tarot card draw. This morning I reached into my drawer and before I could grab my usual deck, I noticed that my hand was drawn to the Rider Waite deck instead. I don't use that one too much, but I trusted my intuition and grabbed it instead. "What will be the most important event this day?" I asked Apollo, god of prophecy, but also sort of asked my future self, the me that would eventually know the answer to this question.
Smearing the cards all over the floor, I hovered my hand over them and let a sense of gravity guide my hand. I felt drawn toward a certain clump of cards. I pushed all the other cards out of the way and spread the clump out, then let my hand circle over them. That sense of gravity, of my hand wanting to settle down on top of a particular one, took over and I grabbed the card.
The Devil. Fuck.
I know that the Devil and Death cards aren't literal, but doesn't everyone have that little moment of horror when they show up?
My intuition instantly told me one thing about the card: this is why I was drawn to use this deck. I usually use a Pagan deck, where the Devil card is replaced by the Horned God and made into a much more positive symbol. But here on the more traditional card, an evil horned Devil squats above two captive demons, wrapped in loose chains that they could easily get out of. Bondage; enslavement to matter and desire. For some reason I needed to see this image, not the kindly Horned God.
When I grabbed it the card had been perfectly sideways, not right-side up or upside-down. Upright meant bondage; reversed meant liberation. No other insights revealed themselves. I pondered it as I got into the shower and got ready for the day.
Today I had to go in to work. I didn't put on any podcasts for the drive so I could ruminate about the card, but I wound up being too distracted and it soon slipped into the background of my thoughts. There was just a feeling of impending something that stuck with me the whole drive.
I pulled in to work and dove into emails and meetings. I'm the owner and creative director of a small art studio and needed to check in with everyone. Our small web team was working on a pro-bono website for a yearly Pagan festival. One of the members of that team was also spending time making a logo for a new recycling initiative but said she'd have some samples to me by the afternoon, and then could get back to helping the web team.
After lunch several of us spitballed ideas for a live event, a book release party. This was a first for us and we had some tough calls. Did we want to bring the book to life, decorate the studio, and dress up as characters from the book, or would that look like a nerd convention? Did the author want to go titillating with it, maybe serve sushi on models' bodies (which actually would be appropriate for the book) and if so, what were the health and decency codes? And how much could the author afford? We could submit a few different options to the author but we wouldn't easily unmake whatever first impression that our proposals created.
I don't spend full days in the office too often anymore. I went home to take a "meditation break" and then work on the computer and make phone calls the rest of the afternoon. My meditation breaks often enough turn into naps, which is one of the perils of meditating on a recliner. That and being a night owl.
The window behind the recliner faces south so tons of light poured in over me. Usually that keeps me from falling totally asleep and ruining my sleep later at night. The break not only helps me to recharge and avoid the afternoon slump, but like Neville Goddard taught I also love to meditate in that hazy, sorta loopy zone on the edge of sleep and waking, and that's pretty easy to achieve a few hours after lunch.
I blew right past that zone and found myself dreaming of climbing through some kind of industrial building, a contraption of metal ducts intersecting at odd angles. Of course this seemed perfectly sensible to my dreaming mind and I climbed for a long time. Finally I broke free and stood under the open sky, the full moon so close I thought I could touch it. I stood in some kind of town that was also an industrial park, and a cliff or crater enclosed the entire area. Feeling anxious for reasons I couldn't explain, I had to get out of this crater. I grabbed onto scrub grass and began to clamber my way up.
Dreams use montages, just like movies do, to make the illusion of much time passing. So after a few moments, which was also an hour or more, I reached the top of the ridge. A man lounged at the edge of the crater, completely nonchalant and completely naked, regarding the town below.
I looked back into the crater and suddenly it was vast, far vaster than I realized when I was in it. That was the entire world down there, maybe even the entire universe. But compared to my height it also seemed like maybe a mile across, black but for the dots of light in windows far below.
"It positively glitters," the man said. "Gold in the dark."
Somehow those words woke me up to the fact that I was dreaming.
I turned to the man. As I became lucid, the hazy dream sharpened into focus. He was beautiful, maybe 6'2" with blonde hair down to his shoulders. He had a masculine face with sharp, blocky cheekbones but it was also graceful; definitely a pretty boy. He lay on his back, propped up by muscular arms. Long and lanky but with large pecs and biceps, overall more toned and sculpted than really big.
I wasn't quite out of the crater, but standing on a ledge so that my head was out, my head was about level with him.
"Who are you?" I asked him. I couldn't let myself get too turned on or I'd wake up. An even keel was key in lucid dreams.
"I am the devil."
I froze, remembering the Tarot card earlier. That's probably why I was dreaming about this, I figured, but somehow that explanation felt flat. Something more was going on and his presence terrified me.
"Are you my devil, or the devil?" I dared to ask. I wanted to know if this was an aspect of myself like in a normal dream, an archetype of the devil in my own psyche, or an actual spirit visitation. Not that I really believed in a devil.
His eyes met mine, a dark but piercing blue. Full red lips smirked before he stated, without any emphasis to acknowledge the point of my question, "I am the devil. I will permit you to worship me."
"Worship...?"
I'm a witch, yes, but not a devil worshipper. Like I said, I don't even really believe in him.
As I stood frozen, considering climbing right back down the crater, he extended one foot toward me. I didn't move at all and just let him lay his foot on my face. Oh, worship. That kind of worship?
I had two feelings simultaneously. If I did what he asked, I was on the edge of a knife: one way I would fall into Darkness and the other way I'd ascend into Light. If I didn't accept the offer at all I'd continue my life as usual, trudging along. I got the sense that the being in front of me didn't much care what I chose. And the other feeling was complete lust.
I'm sharing my story because I didn't choose life as usual. I took a chance and chose lust.
I kissed the sole of the foot that he'd rested on my face. It smelled faintly of matchsticks.
Once I'd kissed it he didn't remove it, so I kissed it again. Then again. Then licked it in one big swath, from the heel to the toes. His huge foot practically covered my entire face and then some. He finally withdrew it and looked me in the eyes once more.
I had no idea what to expect. Sex? Murder? Rejection? But his eyes looked intrigued, glimmering from the lights far below. I didn't notice the full moon anymore, or any stars in the sky. A nothingness dwelled outside the crater, nothing but for he and me. "Dzim-dzum," he whispered, gesturing over the crater, and suddenly I realized many things.
Aleister Crowley's words came to my mind. I am alone. There is no God where I am.
"Do you really expect me to worship you?" I asked, finally feeling my spine.
He smirked again and slowly spread his legs. An enormous boner pointed at the sky. It had to be 10" and almost as thick as my wrist. Beautiful and more than a little scary. I leaned in toward his loins and he grabbed my hair, guiding me in until my face was pressed against his hard shaft. I inhaled deeply. Just a subtle hint of man, and an even more subtle smell of matchsticks. I licked him, balls to tip, and that length of him went all the way to his belly button. I pulled my head back slightly and reached for him with my hand, but before I grabbed it he flexed and his cock lifted to my lips on its own.
I kissed the engorged head and fit it into my mouth. Barely. I had to strain to fit it in, and let it rest there while I swirled my tongue around it. I looked at him to see if he liked it, but he just looked at me with that faintly amused smirk. I got the feeling that he didn't care about what was going on in any specific way. He was just curious, maybe.
I caressed his big, hairless balls in one hand and stroked his thick shaft with the other. Bobbing up and down, gagging, I worshipped the devil.
Pulling away from his dick and gasping for breath, I licked from his trimmed pubes up the lightly haired path to his belly button.
I didn't get it. I've had sex in dreams before and it feels just as real as this, but excitement wakes you up right away. And here my heart was racing but the vision continued.
The devil slid his hand into my hair and grabbed a handful right at the scalp. He pushed my face into his abs and then dragged me, licking, up his flesh. We stopped at his nipple which I licked, nibbled, and kissed and then he lifted an arm and pulled my face up under it. I got a faceful of slightly damp blond hair that smelled of man with just the slightest whiff of matchsticks again.
"Do you like it?" he asked me, arching an eyebrow as he turned my face to look at him, as if daring me to lie.
"Yes," I breathed.
He pushed my face back in, and I took one long lick of his sweat, nipple to bicep, and then he pulled me by the hair until I was face-to-face with him. My lips brushed his. His breath smelled of parsley and brimstone. His whole body had that whisper of sulfur about it.
I licked at his lip, but just as my tongue grazed his lip, before I could kiss him, he yanked my head back. Smiling cruelly, he pulled me off of him and pushed me back. Me on my knees, him crouched on his feet before me, his face still so close to mine.
"Fuck me," I begged him.
Let me just tell you right now that I am NOT a bottom. But let me also tell you how incredibly hot the devil is.
He leaned into me and hovered over me, so tall, his gorgeous cock pulsing and tapping against mine, tip against tip. A glistening string of precum connected us together. His precum or mine, or both, I didn't know. Then he drew back, looking (possibly literally) straight into my soul.
"You have a choice to make," he told me, flatly.
Then he turned around, arching his back and leaning forward. His large, muscular butt spread open.
I knew what he was offering and it wasn't for me to fuck him.
The kiss of infamy, it was called. The witches of the Middle Ages were said to perform the kiss to seal their allegiance to the devil, or else repeated it as a sign during their Sabbaths. In the woodcuts it looked disgusting, a hairy goat-man whose butt you literally had to kiss. A pact with the devil, sealed with a kiss.
But I wasn't a medieval witch.
That feeling of being on the edge of a knife came to a head. It was almost a cramp in my guts. Get in or get out, it seemed to tell me.
His cheeks were perfectly smooth, and just the lightest dusting of golden blond hairs lined his crack. I grabbed his meaty butt and spread it farther.
Fucking perfect hole. It was the same color as his skin, not pink or brown, except that in the folds of the striations shone gold. Actually shiny, metallic gold as though it'd been gilded.
I pulled my face in close, feeling his cheeks on my cheeks.
"I won't give you my soul," I said, breathing into his opening.
"I didn't ask for it," he said.
"I won't forsake my gods," I told him. "I'm willing to believe in another god, an addition to the pantheon I suppose. But I won't give up my soul, I won't choose evil, I won't choose hurting others..."
"You will worship me as you choose," he said, shrugging.
I kissed him. Right on his lovely, possibly gilded pucker. He half-moaned, half-chuckled. I spread his hole open with my thumbs until I saw dark pink and stuck my tongue in as far as I could. I lapped at his hole until that feeling in my guts went away. I'd chosen, and so far at least, it felt right.
I pulled back to admire the view again. His wet hole, his taint, the underside of his delicious cock still glistening with precum and spit. I rubbed my thumb over his full balls and licked a large bead of precum off the head of his dick.
He turned around then and put his hand on my chest. For just a second it was a caress, my heart beating against his palm, and then he began to push me backward. His other hand found the small of my back and he lowered me onto the ground.
I lay on my back, naked. Had I had on clothes before? I couldn't remember.
He didn't lift my legs. He just tapped me on the thigh and expected that I'd do what he wanted. I lifted them obediently.
You don't need lube in dreams because no sooner had I lifted my legs than he rammed that enormous, gorgeous dick into me. Despite myself I let out a ragged gasp. It felt terrible, like a club stirring up my guts. Getting into plank position over me, he wasted no time in starting to thrust in and out.
My whole body clenched. I held onto his shoulder blades as he drove in and out of me. Not savagely, not to hurt me, but not gently either. His blue eyes didn't leave mine. That curious expression still, scanning me, amused.
Ten fat fucking inches. I couldn't take the pain and bit into his shoulder, tugging on his back with my hands. I couldn't budge him but I managed to pull myself up, bringing us chest to chest. I stayed that way a long time, whimpering, biting into his hot skin until finally my body got used to him.
I panted into his neck. Then I kissed his neck and kissed my way up the side of his jaw, his ear, into his hairline. His long blond hair fell all over my face, tickling my shoulders and chest. That hair, his skin, everything was golden. Not just golden tanned - it seemed as though little pinpricks and clouds of golden light had begun to move beneath his skin.
It started to feel good now. My dick ached. I was so horny and he hadn't even touched it, hadn't even acknowledged it. It pulsed with my heartbeat. I grabbed it and rubbed it against him, leaving a streak of my precum in an arch below his belly button.
My ass was starting to feel so good.
His pace slowed, becoming rough and off-kilter, and I knew he was close. He put his face against mine but still didn't kiss me. I strained toward those lips but then he said, "Take me."
His body shuddered and I felt warmth flood into me. Wave after wave poured in until it felt like I had a heat lamp up my butt. Powerful vibrations rolled through me - if you've ever ridden a motorcycle, you know what I mean - waves of power flowing through my whole being.
Everything went black. I could just see his finger tracing a symbol in the air in molten gold light. Boiling in the air, the brilliant symbol hung in darkness before me as I heard his voice echoing through the void, speaking his name. A name by which to summon him. A private name, just for me.
I won't repeat that name here.
I woke, sweating and panting, and bolted to write the symbol in my book.