A Halloween party leads to a not-so-religious experience.
Entry for "The LGBT Writing Contest"
Word Count: 2,038
Prompt: It's the local Halloween celebrations. Where is your character and what do they get into?
It was the day before Halloween, and college students everywhere were on the hunt for the best Halloween parties. It just so happens that my roommates knew of one, and I just happened to be there to tag along.
Me and my best friend Brianne had not found official Halloween costumes yet, so we decided to don our male roomates' finest dress and go as men. I sported a Fedora and trench coat, while Brianne put on a fine blazer and tie. With some charcoal, we added a mustache and some 5 o'clock shadow, and we were ready to go.
We walked down the street, laughing and talking, until finally we came to the house where the party was taking place. As I walked into the strangers' house, random costumed people drunkenly said hello. The living room was packed with students, most of them dressed in slutty outfits, flirting and cavorting amongst themselves. The kitchen table was covered in all sorts of empty bottles - Gin, Tequila, Rum, Whiskey, and many assorted chasers, to name a few. We found a bottle of Smirnoff, and, suppressing a gag, glugged down our first shot of the evening. I found a little bit of Coke, made myself a disgusting mixed drink, and proceeded to mingle.
I said hello to a few people, quietly making small talk and slowly loosening up as the first shot began to take effect. Soon I was giggling and laughing at the silliest of things, and it no longer mattered who I was talking to, as long as the conversation was lively.
However, there was one person I did care to talk to - and that person was Jesus Christ.
Not the actual Jesus, of course, but a man dressed as Jesus - and man, was he pulling it off! He had long, luxurious brown hair that went past his shoulders, and just the right amount of beard. He was dressed in a white robe, crowned with thorns, and clad in sandals. As the night went on, I kept glimpsing him out of the corner of my eye. Finally, I was drunk enough to walk over and say hello.
"My Savior! Blessed be thy name!" I exclaimed.
"And you, my child!" he replied, a cheeky grin on his face. Immediately, I could tell I was going to have fun with this character.
"Maybe you can help me... you see, all that was left on the table was Smirnoff. I thought maybe you could work a miracle and turn this nasty swill into wine? I'd love some wine."
He played along. "I'm sorry, I cannot perform miracles on demand. But I tell you what - you keep drinking that, and I promise you'll like it more and more as the night goes on!"
"I guess so," I said. "It's already tasting better. But my Lord... where is your Holy Grail?!? Surely you cannot have wine without your Holy Cup!"
He laughed and said, "I'll have to remember to acquire one for next year's party."
"Definitely. It would complete the costume."
And then I spent the rest of the night hanging out with Jesus Christ, making terrible Jesus puns and watching as the party grew more and more unruly. Eventually, someone started doing shots of of a slutty angel's belly button, and I just couldn't resist.
"Jesus, you must partake of this holy water from the belly of an angel!" And, laughing, he gave in, and we both took shots, sipping it straight from the holy navel itself. And indeed, the Smirnoff no longer burned so badly. In fact, I could hardly feel my face. Laughter was bubbling up from inside me, and I couldn't stop smiling, dizzy though I was. I silently told myself to stop drinking and poured the remainder of my drink down the sink.
As I came back into the living room, someone put on some music, and the next thing I know, I was dancing with Jesus Christ. He swirled me around, his robe swishing about, laughing as he started to jig.
I danced for as long as the music lasted, but eventually the neighbors threatened and the music was turned off. After that, the party started dying down, and my roommates were leaving for the night. Not wanting to get stuck there by myself, I said my very reluctant goodbyes to Jesus Christ and left.
Over the next few weeks, I would spend my days on campus keeping an eye out for the lustrous brown hair. Jesus had said he lived on campus, so I was constantly on the lookout. It was a while before I finally found him - and indeed, when I did, he still looked mighty holy.
"Hey there!" He turned. I wasn't sure if he would recognize me, so I added, "Jesus!"
A glimmer of recognition lit his face. "Oh hey! How are you?"
"Great! So you live here, huh?"
"Yeah," he said. "When I'm not out performing miracles."
"Well, hey, I'm on my way to class - but maybe we can hang out sometime?"
"Yeah, sure! That'd be great."
"See you around!"
I turned and ran off to class, late but happy. Only then did I realize that I still didn't know his real name. Nor had I gotten his number.
As it turns out, I wouldn't see him again until an entire year later...
I was at my friend Kathryn's house, and she was making homemade mac and cheese. The kind of mac and cheese where you actually take different blocks of cheese, grate them up, and throw them in a pot. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I met Kathryn at an LGBT dance, the Queer Ball. It was the biggest and best dance of the year. Every year. And, being an avid dancer, I couldn't miss it. I didn't have anyone to go with, but it didn't matter - I didn't need a partner to dance.
So there I was, on my own, dancing in the very back, where I had more room to maneuver. I danced for hours. I danced so hard that I was sweating, and so intensely that one of the campus staff actually thought I might be drunk. But I wasn't. I was just dancing. As the last song played, I found myself dancing next to two women, both short and a bit mousy, but just as unashamed as I was. We danced the finale, then clapped and cheered as the night finally came to an end. As the room emptied, we introduced ourselves, and Kathryn had suggested we exchange numbers, as we were all looking for friends.
A week later, we were in a French Bakery, talking for hours, and already the best of friends.
As Spring came to an end, Kathryn decided to throw a dinner party for her roommate, Sylvia, who was moving out soon. And as we sat there making delicious homemade mac and cheese, Kathryn told me a secret: "I love her."
As it turns out, Kathryn had developed a very large crush on her roommate, and she was devastated that she would be moving away. The dinner party was a last goodbye, a way to show her that she cared. She had invited a couple good friends, but the real reason for the party was Sylvia.
I was touched and a bit saddened, but I knew that her situation was hopeless, so I decided to make that night as fun as possible. And so it was. We cooked and talked for hours until finally it was dinner time and Kathryn's friends arrived.
One of her friends was extremely familiar, but I couldn't place him. The dinner, however, was excellent, and full of good friends. There was much banter and exchange of puns. As it happens, I got along very well with all of Kathryn's friends. Finally, the dinner ended, and Kathryn gave Sylvia a present that was maybe a bit too personal. As her friends started to leave, I decided I would go as well and wait for the bus.
When the bus arrived, I got on it only to find Karthyn's friend there. I smiled and said hello, taking the seat next to him. And finally, it came to me.
"Hey - you know what? I think we met before," I said.
"Really? Where? You do look familiar," he said.
"Were you Jesus for Halloween last year? I think I met you at a Halloween party."
"...Oh yeah!" he exclaimed, clearly not remembering me.
I finally just went for it: "Well, you know what - can I have your number? We can hang out sometime. Maybe get some ice cream or something."
"Yeah, I'd love that! My name's Linus, by the way."
"I'm Dee - nice to meet you again!"
Just as he went to give me his number, the bus stopped.
"Oh... this is my stop..." he said.
"That's okay, I can get off here. I'm the next one, so I don't mind walking a little," I said.
I got his number, and then we parted ways. It was a fine night. But little did I know what I was getting myself into...
The next weekend, I invited him to get some ice cream, as I'd promised. And, to my delight, he accepted. So we went out on a fine day, got some ice cream downtown, and walked the shops, exploring book stores, and finally ending up at my apartment for a movie. It had been the perfect day.
Then he mentioned that he was in a massage class. So of course, I volunteered to be practice, not expecting him to take me up on it. But he whipped out some professional massage oil, put the mattress on the floor and laid down a sheet. And then I got the best massage I've ever received. By the time he finished, I was a noodle, drooling on my pillow. He turned away while I put my shirt back on, a perfect gentleman.
Then he sat next to me on the mattress, and kissed me.
By that point, I was ready for anything. So of course, anything was what I got. And when we were done doing "anything," I smiled, thinking I'd bagged myself the best boyfriend ever.
Alas, it was not so.
For even though I called him "Jesus," in reality he was not at all as pure as Christ. In fact, just the opposite.
He smiled at me while I pet his long, luxurious Jesus hair, then said, "So... just to be perfectly clear... this is just friends with benefits, right?"
My heart plummeted. "Actually... I thought this was a date."
And then I started crying.
But that wasn't the end of it. Somehow, I convinced myself that friends with benefits would be just fine. It would be fun. I'd have someone to snuggle with and hang out with. It was harmless...
I was miserable being used for fun. Sure, I enjoyed it... but I would have enjoyed it much more as a girlfriend. And I definitely wasn't okay with him seeing other girls - "having fun while looking for something serious" as he explained it. If I couldn't be that someone serious, I didn't want it at all.
But it was extremely hard to resist. Especially when I was offered free massages.
I'd tell myself it was just a massage. But massages were always a precursor for something else. As a dating strategy, it was pro - the perfect thing to get a girl in the mood without being too forward. And that touch of professionalism always made it that much more attractive - the fact that he always held up a sheet while I put my clothes back on, even though we both knew we would just be taking them off again minutes later. The fact that he never pushed it made it that much more desirable.
In the end, Jesus was someone I had to let go. My heart wanted to believe in him. But my mind eventually won out. Jesus just wasn't good for me, in the end.
So I left him and became a lesbian.