I'm God

Jack had a rough day and the only thing on his mind was to get home, kick his shoes off, pour a whiskey and relax. When he got to his apartment, he sensed something might be amiss as the door was slightly ajar. Some of his friends had keys so he wondered if one of them had stopped by, but this wasn't like them to go in without him knowing about it.

"Anyone here?" he called out as he threw his keys on the hall table.

"Just me," came the response, a somewhat deep male voice that he did not recognize.

As he came into the living room, he saw who had spoke, sprawled on his easy chair, drinking what appeared to be his whiskey.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Jack demanded.

"I'm God," came the response.

"Yeah, right, and I'm Jesus Christ."

"No, you are definitely not Jesus."

"I'm calling the police," Jack said as he pulled out his phone.

"No, you're not. Sit down and let me pour you a whiskey."

Jack felt possessed by something as he shut his phone off and slid it back into his pants pocket. Then he sat down on the couch as the man leaned forward and poured him a shot.

"How did you do that?" Jack asked, a bit of fear in his voice.

"Jesus Christ, I'm God already, here, drink this."

Jack took the glass and drank the amber liquid in one gulp.

"Slow down, boy, that's not healthy."

"Wait a minute," Jack said, looking at the glass and then his bottle of Jack on the table. "This isn't my stuff!"

"No, it isn't. I took the liberty of replacing it with some Pappy. Jack Daniels is just rot-gut, when he got to heaven I told him to go to Hell."

"Pappy Van Winkle?" Jack coughed, regretting how quickly he had downed the shot.

"35 year, none better."

"Wait a minute," Jack said, "the oldest Pappy is 25 year!"

"Boy, I knew Pappy personally, I'm God. Here, have another shot and calm down." God poured Jack another shot and this time Jack had the sense to sip. He had to admit it was the best whiskey he had ever tasted.

Then God leaned back and started puffing on a cigar. Jack wasn't quite sure where the cigar had come from, it just seemed to 'be there'. It had the unmistakable aroma of a Cuban and he thought God would probably say Castro had rolled it for him.

"So what about one of those?" Jack said derisively, holding his empty hand out.

God laughed, "Oh, yeah, these are really bad for you, that's YOU boy. For me, not so much. I think I want to see a bit more respect out of you, I can be wrathful you know."

"Okaaay...your worship, could I have a cigar?"

"No, and don't ever call me that again. Sir will suffice."

God took a good draw and puffed a huge cloud of smoke at Jack. "Here's some you can have."

Jack coughed, his eyes watering as he took a moment to assess the man he was starting to believe might truly be God, as crazy as it sounded.

He certainly wasn't the old, bearded man wearing flowing robes that Michelangelo painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. This God, as far as Jack could tell, looked to be in his sixties, maybe even seventy. He was gray and bearded, but his hair was cut short and so was his beard.

He wore a T-shirt that clung to his torso as if it had been painted on, accentuating every contour of his physique. His arms, though not massive, were well-defined and impressive for a man his age. His stomach was a series of rippling muscles, highlighted by the narrow waistband of his jeans that was secured by a wide, black leather belt. The denim fabric hugged his legs before cascading down to cover a pair of rugged and well-worn lineman boots.

"Well," said Jack, wiping each eye with the back of his hand, now that we have the formalities out of the way, "Why am I being visited by God?"

Then he quickly added, "And please, sir, don't say 'Go to Hell'."

God started laughing, then leaned towards Jack and said, "No, boy, I'm not here for that, it's a more pressing issue that I decided to take a personal interest in."

Jack sighed in relief, but then feeling a bit of bravado, he asked God why he was dressed like an old biker.

God chuckled. "You see me looking like an old biker and you're surprised? Did you expect me to show up wearing a chasuble? I'm not just omniscient, you know," God said with a wink, "I'm omnifashionable, but that is a bit much."

Jack smirked in spite of himself. "I've never read that verse in the Bible before."

"Didn't think you had, boy." God leaned back and took another deep draw on his cigar, filling the room with thick, fragrant smoke.

"Why are you really here? What's the pressing issue?" Jack asked, "No bullshit...sir."

God chuckled at his chutzpah and said, "You're having a crisis of identity and some of the angels thought I should try straightening you out this way."

Jack nearly dropped his glass. "You're serious."

"Have you ever known me to not be serious?"

"I didn't know you at all until you broke into my apartment and drank my whiskey."

God poured himself another shot and smiled. "I didn't break in, you left the door open. Oh, and it's my whiskey."

"Bullshit," Jack said, and then quickly added "sir" as a respectful afterthought.

"Not bullshit. You have been going through the motions for the past few years, feeling sorry for yourself. I thought you might need a little nudge in the right direction."

"Why would God care what happens to some guy? There's six billion people, right? Seems like you have more important things to deal with."

"Let me give you a lesson in omniscience, everything is important to me, boy. Every. Little. Thing."

"Even me?"

"Even you." God poured Jack another shot and then one for himself. "Especially you, or I wouldn't have stopped by."

Jack took a deep breath, trying to process everything. "Okay. So what am I supposed to do?"

"First things first," God said, leaning forward towards Jack, "Your attitude towards LGBT folks is medieval and the way you treat women is more misogynistic than the men's locker room at Liberty University."

Jack struggled to keep from spitting out his whiskey, coughing once before finally managing to swallow.

"That's not fair, sir!" he protested.

"Fair? Fair? That's a laugh." God's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Was it fair when you dumped Sarah right after she told you she thought she was pregnant?"

Jack flushed. "That was months ago," he said defensively. "She wasn't even sure it might be mine."

"She was sure, you just convinced her to say it wasn't. Lucky for you it was a false positive."

"Did you come all this way to make me feel guilty? Because I don't need that. I don't need a cosmic guilt trip."

"No, you certainly don't need it, you could write the book on guilt. I came to give you an opportunity few people get. I came to give you a chance to change and I am going to make it happen personally."

Jack was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I guess you are going to snap your fingers and re-write my brain."

"I can't do that," God explained, "It contradicts the whole free will thing that I set up when I evolved your species. No, you have to go willingly."

Jack looked perplexed as God continued, "I am going to do it the old fashioned way. The psychiatrists call it Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, CBT for short," then he laughed, "It may even involve some of that other CBT at some point."

He stubbed out the cigar in the ashtray on the table, stood up, and turned towards Jack.

"Let's get started," he said as the glass Jack was holding disappeared.

"That's the last of those you're going to be having for quite some time. Stand at attention, NOW!"

Jack stood up so quickly that he felt lightheaded for a moment.

"Oh my God," he said quietly, and then realized that he was, in fact, in the presence of God.

God smiled at the irony, then said, "Good boy. Lessons start now. Lesson number one, you only speak when spoken to and your response is either 'Yes, Sir!' or 'No, Sir!'. Do you understand?"

Jack was getting frightened, but he didn't want to show weakness in front of God, so he squeaked out a weak "Yes,...,yes sir."

"Louder boy!"

"Yes, SIR!" Jacked yelled like a recruit at Parris Island.

"Lesson number two is that there is no lesson number two. You just do what I tell you and as quickly as you can or there will be consequences. Is that understood?"

"Yes, SIR!" Jacked yelled again.

"Now take off your clothes."

Jack hesitated a moment, first wondering why God just didn't snap his fingers or something, and then wondering why God wanted him naked.

"Now, boy!" God said menacingly, "Don't make me wait again."

Jack's hands shook as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Yes, sir," he mumbled as he began undressing.

"Louder!" God ordered.

"Yes, SIR!" Jack shouted as he pulled his shirt off and started on his pants.

Once he was naked, God looked him up and down. Jack felt exposed and vulnerable like he had never felt before.

"Not bad," God said. "Could use some improvement, but we'll get to that. Now try this on." God tossed him something that seemed to appear out of thin air.

Jack caught it. It was an ACE jockstrap, just like the ones he had noticed neatly folded in his father's dresser when he was young, featuring a bright red rectangle with the letters A-C-E stitched on the waistband.

"Put it on and move it, boy!" God barked.

Jack fumbled to step into the jock, pulling it up and feeling humiliated. It was tight, snug against his skin.

"Do you understand what's happening?" God asked.

"Yes, SIR!" Jack replied. Then added, "You're trying to make me a better person...sir."

"Exactly," God said with a smile. "You are going to be my special project, now let's go," God said, walking out the door.

Jack was shocked but grabbed his slacks and started pulling them on as God turned back into the apartment.

"What the FUCK are you doing boy?!!"

"Putting on my pants, sir," Jack stammered, frozen in the act of threading his left foot through a pant leg.

"That's what I thought. Did I tell you to put on those on?"

"No, sir...but I can't go out in public like this. People will see me," Jack said, almost pleadingly.

"I want people to see you," God retorted. "You need some humility, boy, and this is a good start. Now move it!"

Jack hesitated for only a moment before he slipped his pants off again. He realized that arguing with God was a losing battle and that he'd better get used to that idea--fast. He took one last look at the pile of his clothes and followed God out the door.

"Yes, sir," he replied, attempting to mask his embarrassment as he stepped out of his apartment door and found himself unexpectedly in what appeared to be a bar, not the hallway of his building.

It was as though he had traversed some sort of portal, leaving the familiar behind. The dimly lit room buzzed with the low hum of conversation, and the warm glow of overhead lights cast a golden sheen on the polished wooden bar. The faint scent of aged whiskey and polished leather filled the air, and clinking glasses resonated softly in the background. Despite the surreal transformation of his surroundings, God was nowhere to be seen.

The only occupants of the dimly lit room were men, their shadows flickering against the walls. Jack suddenly realized, with a jolt of embarrassment, that he was standing nearly naked in the center of the room and it was a leather bar. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, cigar smoke, and testosterone creating a locker room atmosphere. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice him until a man who had been leaning up against the wall near the door stepped in front of him.

"Well, what's a cute young pup like you doing out and about all alone?" he asked.

Jack stopped in his tracks, the man was the quintessential leather top. Storm trooper officer's hat, weathered face with a trim, black beard, a skin-tight brown leather shirt with a harness that framed his upper chest, the shirt tucked tightly into work jeans with calf length polished boots.

"Sir," Jack said respectfully, "I'm with a friend."

The man moved closer, grabbing Jack by both biceps. "You ARE a perfect boy, why don't you come with me instead?"

Suddenly the man dropped his hands away and stepped back with a frightened look.

"Because he's MY BOY. Back off before I hurt you" Jack heard God's booming voice behind him.

The top backed away, clearly unnerved. "But...but he's not wearing a collar!" the man bleated.

"Yes, he is fool. Take a second look."

The leather man glanced at the heavy leather collar on Jack's neck that he had somehow missed and said, "Oh, fuck, he is! Sorry, didn't mean anything by it. I didn't know." Then he took a cautious step backwards, raising his hands in a placating gesture before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Jack reached up and gingerly felt the heavy leather collar that was now around his neck. He could feel the thick metal leash ring in the front and the rivets fastening it to the collar.

"You going to stand there all night boy, or are you going to get me a drink?" God's booming voice asked.

"Yes, SIR!" Jack responded and, snapping out of his reverie, sprinted towards the bar.

The bartender was another muscular type, dressed in a black vest. A silver chain hung around his neck, resting on his pecs, and when he leaned forward to take Jack's order, his biceps were as big as Jack's thighs.

"What'll it be?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

"Uh, a whiskey sir...two," Jack stammered, suddenly realizing that he was again addressing another man as sir. It seemed like he was getting into his new role a little too quickly.

The bartender set out two glasses and filled one with whiskey and then asked, "First time here?"

Jack wasn't sure if the bartender was asking if it was his first time at this particular bar, or if it was his first time at any bar like this. "Yes, sir!" Jack said, figuring that was the safest answer.

The bartender smiled as if he knew something Jack didn't.

"You know, boys and pups aren't allowed liquor in here. If you want to steer clear of a session on a horse later, I suggest you get a beer for yourself."

Jack paled when he heard 'session on a horse', somehow realizing that the ride would involve a paddle or a strap.

"Sorry, sir," he said, his voice full of contrition. "One of each, please."

"That's what I thought," the bartender said, handing him a long neck. "On the house this once, you're a cute little pup and I like your collar."

Jack took the bottle, blushing as he turned away, relieved that no money was involved, and made his way to God. He caught a few guys looking at him, and even more startling, he caught himself enjoying the attention.

He felt a little more comfortable now, understanding that God wasn't going to let anything too bad happen to him, but he was still on edge enough to draw some looks.

"Here you go, sir," he said, trying not to spill as he handed God the whiskey.

"What's that you got, boy?" God asked.

"Beer, sir. The bartender told me...."

God cut him off. "Good choice, that's definitely better for you than whiskey. Now stand here next to me and don't move unless you are told to. Is that understood?"

"Yes, SIR!" Jack replied.

"One other thing, boy, I am no longer controlling you--you are free to go at any time," God told Jack, almost nonchalantly.

"But I don't want to leave, sir!" Jack replied, surprising himself with what he said.

God nodded, smiled knowingly, and then took a sip of his whiskey. He turned to the man he had been talking to. "Sorry for the interruption, my boy is new and sometimes gets confused."

The man laughed and said, "I can tell. But he is cute as hell!" He was older, with a shaved head, a white mustache, and was wearing a leather harness on his upper torso. "Well, I need to get moving, catch you later," he said as he got up and left. Jack thought about asking if he could sit, but thought better of it, but he did wonder about something else.

"What is it boy?" God asked, seeing a look on Jack's face that told him his new cub wanted to ask a question.

"Well Sir," Jack stammered, almost afraid to ask, "I was just wondering if there was going to be some sort of show or event."

Suddenly God roared with laughter, causing many of the men standing about to look over towards them. Immediately Jack regretted asking his question.

"You ARE the show, Jack," God laughed, using his name, then adding, "we're also waiting on someone."

Jack took a cautious sip of his beer and wondered what that was going to be like. He didn't have to wait long.

"Yahweh, you sorry bastard!" he heard a voice boom from near the entrance to the bar. God stood up and Jack looked to see who it was.

"I'm not the one who fell from grace!" God boomed back as Jack looked at who he was talking to--a huge mountain of a black man, easily the same height as God, but rippling with far more muscle, if that was possible. He was wearing short leather pants and what looked to be long-laced leather wrestling boots. He also sported a complex harness that looped and twisted around his bulging brawn, but his most unique feature was the leather skullcap he wore that sprouted a pair of horns.

He angrily rushed towards God and God did the same towards him. As they came thundering together they...kissed. A deep, growly kind of kiss like Jack had never seen. There was a cheer from the crowd in the bar and Jack could have sworn he heard thunder in the distance.

Finally, the huge celestial bears ended their kiss, slapping each other and trading punches, then the ursine black bellowed, "Where's my goddamn drink?"

"Hey," laughed God, "Watch your mouth Satan."

Jack almost keeled over from fright and God laughed again as he grabbed a bicep to steady him.

Then one of the bartenders came running over with what looked like a fancy wine glass, or even chalice, with a deep green liquid in it.

"Here you are, Sir, fresh made with cane sugar."

Satan grabbed the glass from him, looked at it closely, and then took a sip.

"It will do."

"You and your green fairy shit," God chided.

Then Jack realized what it was. Absinthe! He would never have guessed, especially since this was the devil himself.

Satan placed his glass on the bar and turned to Jack. "So this is your cub?" he said as he grabbed Jack by the shoulders, looking him over.

"Yep," God said, sipping his third whiskey of the evening, Jack had been counting.

"Pull that pouch off boy and let me have a look at what you've got," Satan ordered.

Jack glanced at God, who nodded assent, and then pulled the waistband of his jock down, freeing his cock and exposing his balls.

The Prince of Darkness reached forward with his free hand, taking another sip of his absinthe, and fondled Jack's cods.

"Not bad, impressive set of balls on this boy. Is he ballsy?"

God roared with laughter, "I've seen him wanking so many times it isn't funny."

Jacks's face grew flush with humiliation, but he stood still while Satan continued to knead his junk, his cock growing with the stimulation in spite of his embarrassment.

"These balls feel pretty heavy boy, I'll bet you'd like to empty 'em," Satan said casually.

"Yes, Sir! I really would." Jack squeaked, again surprised at what he said.

"OK then, get up on the bar!" he ordered as he pulled the jock off of Jack.

Jack climbed up onto the bar. The rest of the crowd had grown silent, every eye in the place on the show about to unfold. Jack was now on all fours in the space the bartender had quickly cleared to make room for him.

"All right boy, head up, back straight!" Satan commanded. Jack did as he was told and now his cock was as rigid as a pole.

Then Satan pointed his finger at the bartender, who promptly took it in his mouth. Once it was wet Satan pushed it up into Jack's ass as Jack moaned and pushed his butt back towards the finger, which was huge, like a dildo, and not warm, but hot.