From Michael’s earliest memory, he had been attracted to the Gothic, defined as shards of existence possessing a dark allure while avoiding the melodramatic, gaudy, or trite. As a child this manifested as an obsession with bats. Eschewing bat cartoons or toys, he focused on learning all that he could about the creatures, demanding that his parents provide him with books and documentaries. Eight-year-old Michael could tell you that there are well over a thousand members of order Chiroptera, ranging from the tiny bumblebee bat to the giant golden-crowned flying fox.
He was most fond of the three vampire bat species, his favorite being the white-winged vampire bat of South America, Diaemus youngi. This singular species possesses an ample 22 teeth, as well as a brain unusually large for its size. The bat's only drawback, young Michael would say with disappointment, is that it feeds upon birds and livestock, while the hairy-legged vampire bat has been documented feeding on humans — clearly the finest trait a bat can offer.
Michael talked about bats so much that his parents developed an understanding that he would instantly fall silent or change topics if they said admonishingly, “Michael, that’s enough about bats now.”
Bats were merely the beginning: little Michael’s initiation into the dark and strange. By late teenagehood, he had explored all manner of dark matter and esoterics, from Stoker to Crowley. His true sexual awakening, which lead to a far broader epiphany, occurred when he read the following passage in The Satanic Witch:
“Undoubtedly, there are some of you who have already tried this, as it falls into the same category as undressing in front of a window with the shade pulled up but is decidedly safer and much more stimulating. Apply your make-up so you feel as though you look as seductive as possible. Fix your hair in an attractive manner. Take off all your clothes and step into the sexiest pair of high-heels you own. Now you are glamorously decked out at your highest and lowest extremities, head to toe. If you wish to add an extra fillip, put on some of your favorite accessories—hat, gloves, jewelry. Now you’re all set. Get a good look at yourself in a full-length mirror, visualizing what you see as exactly how men will soon be looking at you. Go to your closet and get your coat—only your coat and put it on and button it. Now go out.
Go where there will be people, especially men. If you are driving, stop in a gas station to use the rest room, so the attendants can see you. Go into a newsstand for a pack of cigarettes, where men are playing the pinball machines. Walk around. Go up to street repair men or construction workers and ask directions. At all times consider yourself to be stark naked! Imagine that every man you encounter who looks at you is studying each contour of your luscious, ripe body— savoring the sight of your nipples and scrutinizing the shadow between your legs.
Remember, you need not speak to anyone unless you want to. If you feel daring, go into a bar and have a drink. If it is feasible, when in a place that you’re sure is temporarily deserted, as when you are alone in an elevator, museum or art gallery, hotel or motel corridor, etc., open your coat all the way up and stand in the nude, momentarily caressing yourself if you wish. Walk around until you have almost exhausted the time you have set aside for your ritual, then go home.”
Were Michael more ordinary, he might have taken a moment to enjoy this image of a sexually awakened, invisibly naked woman, and perhaps even mentioned it to his first girlfriend with a lascivious glint in his eye. But as you may have gathered, unlike his dear vampire bats, Michael was not a highly social person. He neither feared nor hated other people; he simply felt absolutely comfortable alone at most times, unbent by the social pressure to experience life in human company.
Thus, Michael’s first thought was not of a woman, but of himself. Electrified, he shot up from his bed and went to his closet to find his longest coat. This attractive black Christmas gift retailed at over $200, and while it was now early autumn, the nights were cool enough that he should be fairly comfortable in it. “But wait,” he said aloud, and dashed to his parents’ bedroom to borrow their full-length mirror. As an afterthought, he also grabbed his mother’s make-up bag.
So armed, he returned to his room to strip. He knelt in front of the mirror, applied concealer to any blemishes with his fingers, and added the faintest hint of mascara to darken his brows. He was not applying these to imitate a woman, but rather, like a male movie star, to enhance his natural features — rather clumsily — as a man.
Having also rinsed, dried, and styled his short hair, he appraised his naked form in front of the mirror. To him it looked pale and gangly, but he determined to find the sensual and appealing, as instructed by LaVey. He caressed his chest, lingering at the sparse hair, then spidered his fingers down to his groin, where he hardened himself while focusing on the sexual static of the ritual. With a confident nod, he pulled on a pair of heavy black boots and donned his coat. He went out.
He had the fortune of living thirty minutes' bus ride from the heart of a metropolis, so having thrown a call at his parents, who were watching TV in the living room, that he was going for a walk, he instead went to the bus stop. The silky, smooth coat lining felt pleasant on his bare skin, though the chill of an early autumn evening found its way up the bottom of the coat. He only had to stand by the stop for a few minutes, and paid the bus fare with a trembling mouth that suppressed a gleeful smile. A nighttime adventure.
The sparsely populated bus allowed him to wait alone with his thoughts. Sitting with his testicles openly resting on the coat fabric, he experienced a creeping sensation that he was engaging in something perverse, even disgusting. Yet the scenario described by LaVey had contained no hint of this. Why should it be, he thought, that pure or divine sexuality is granted only to the female form? I am not here out of aggression or unbridled lust for strangers. I am here for myself, in myself. This body, with all its flesh, bone, cartilage, joints, appendages, this body is a wonder of nature. No — more than that: filled by my mind with this energy, as my heart fills my body with blood, it is e r o t i c.
He reminded himself to imagine that everyone could see his nakedness, that they reveled in this powerful sexual energy. The bus passed over a bridge, and the streetlamps turned on. He watched the bulbs of light whip past. He imagined the sexual charge of his body itself, felt his breath quicken and blood flow downward. This organ was quintessentially masculine, yet ultimately human in its sexuality, surpassing boundaries and rules. Michael felt a swell of freedom. If one could waltz through the busy world secretly nude and yet entirely inoffensive and undetected, what more might be possible? What other dark and delicious mysteries awaited the willing soul?
He disembarked at a point vaguely identified in his mind as "downtown," and stood for a moment in a gust of wind, feeling that the world was spread out before him, that his sexuality was indistinguishable from nature and life. An elevator. I must find an elevator. A hotel seemed the obvious choice, so he walked ten blocks to the most resplendent one he knew.
He could not help locking eyes with people he passed, though he understood that he was looking too deeply, in the way that languid lovers gaze into one another's souls, that he was giving and reading everything beneath the surface. Yet what could he do, knowing that everyone -- that this woman, here, perhaps in her 30's, passing by in beige high heels, was appraising his exposed body? He did not blush, for he knew they enjoyed it and were dreaming salacious dreams.
The hotel was adorned with elaborate accents of Gothic style, though in mock ivory and gold. He walked brazenly through the rotating doors, past reception as though already a guest, and into the elevator. Thankfully, no one climbed in with him. He pressed a button for the highest floor. He swiftly unbuttoned his coat, and overwhelmed with adrenaline, slid his hands down his body, teeth gently indenting his lip. His eyes stared nowhere and everywhere. He had often been advised to love himself, but never before to make love to himself. The world swam in his heartbeat.
All too soon, the elevator began to slow. In a panic, Michael fumbled to button the top, middle, and bottom of his jacket. The elevator dinged, and an elderly couple stepped on as he finished the bottom button. Did they suspect? He rushed off the elevator, this time not making eye contact. But the moment he stood on the carpet of the empty 10th floor hall, he remonstrated himself. Never feel ashamed. He straightened, fixed the remaining buttons, and stared ahead. His eyes blazed with enlightened fire.
When Michael returned home, he did not masturbate. Nor did this event send him on a pornographic journey. Instead, it initiated a deep drive to explore the unending sea of himself and the greatest secrets of masters of humanity, with a Gothic eye.
