Mick Jagger has slept with 4,000 women over the course of his life, and in retrospect, I think

that might be kind of a low figure. I suspect this is because he may have been having intimate relations with men as well.-Huffington Post When it first came to my attention that I was to be appointed the position of interviewing Jack Malange, the legendary lothario, harvester of hearts, the man who shot to rock-stardom like a human meteorite over two scores ago with his band Picnic! At the Day-Glo and from there proceeded to bed a gala of gals, including but not limited to a whole galaxy of starlets from the pop, rock and movie variety, so many in fact that on any given night his percales can appear more star-spangled than the famous banner of American acclaim, well, suffice it to say that I was surprisingly reluctant. On the one hand this was a rare opportunity, and my nascent career could use a juicy coup such as this to lift it off its wobbly newborn legs and get it up and running. There was just one problem. Minor and meaningless as it was, I cursed myself for even considering it impossible to ignore. He had an extensive track record of womanizing, that was not the problem. I was quite astonished to hear of his primitive prowl-and-pounce prowess. He started out as a young swain with a lecherous vision and a twinkle in his eye, then matured to the titular title of coxcomb after a few exploits, then after fully realizing his abilities he graduated as the leading coxswain of all the other dreamboats in his class. His resume of bedmates unspools like a parade of pulchritude, including such diverse types of the double-X chromosome as scissor-legged sylphs, MILFs with considerable callipygian, boozy nubile floozies, princesses, a threesome with two first ladies, docile-eyed doxes, wily-eyed foxes and actresses and musicians by the dozen. He was no stranger to marriage, either. Though not much for faithfulness, he did ring more southern belles than the tintinnabulation of a Texan Baptist cathedral. Of all the throngs of thongs and stockings that Jack had stockpiled in his history of nicking knickers, purloining ladies loins and causing their proverbial pussycats to happily purr, could there perhaps be some mens briefs included in there as well? As much as I dont mind bisexuality, I am most definitely and defiantly not a participant. From the accounts that Id been given in my investigative research, no men had actually spoke of a tryst ever occurring between them and Malange, but they did recount gushingly of his irresistible androgynous charm. When Malange and I first met we struck up a manly camaraderie by flirting with all of the women in our midst, kissing hands, reciting potential lyrics to gauge their affect on the opposite sex, plus he had some stage moves that he would perform amongst little crowds, all that jazz, said Kiefer Ribbons, lead singer of

Sage Against the Regime, a contemporary yet less successful rock band. I knew off the bat that I was out of my league, as well as my mind, if I thought that I was going to be able to keep up with him in the kip, but it soon became apparent that the old cad had a libido that was dominant to everyone elses. When he was around, all of the women saw me as nothing but an obstacle to be surmounted, or sometimes actually mounted, in order to get to their intended target, which was Malange. Every time, they unfailingly wound up jockeying and gesturing for his attention like they were marionettes whose strings were being controlled by Malange, the puppet master himself. One day, I had had enough of being the vicarious suitor and flat-out told him, if he didnt provide me with just a tiny, keyhole-sized glimpse into his suave undercover operatives, then I was going to accredit it to either supernaturalism or conclude that he had in fact sold his soul to the demon-in-charge downstairs. After all, from my perspective, it did come off as kind of magical. So without missing a beat he immediately agreed to school me. He began by choosing a nearby supermodel as his assistant, which I thought was in good taste, and began to work his moves on her proper. He started cooing something into her ear, and by her facial expression it looked like he had torn asunder the fortified defenses of her ego, scaled the walls that she subconsciously put up as bulwarks for her self-esteem, cracked the safe that long served as a sentry to her safety-instincts, entered the well-guarded temple of her personal desires and read back to her the cryptic writing on the wall that she thought nobody would ever know of or be able to understand, all the while giving her an aural orgasm of sorts. It was then that I fell in love with him a little too, couldnt help it, because I realized that he was attraction incarnate. In that moment, he was like cupid; angelic in his presentation but masking a mischievous motive. Only instead of playing matchmaker to the lovelorn he was more like patron saint of the playboys. I dont care if youre a guy-girl, guy-guy, girl-guy or girl-girl, when he begins to cast his spell, youll develop eyes for ol Jack. Music critic and former bassist of grunge outfit The Dirty Urines Erick Larrick told of a much different tale, but in similar vein. He and Malange found themselves both vying for the same woman. Larrick wanted to settle down and console his lonely soul by eventually giving her his last name. Malange just wanted to have her over for dinner, and then maybe they could dine-out together afterward if either of them had the leftover energy. There was a girl that we both were attempting to court at the time, so like a gentleman, Malange proposed that we resolve our issue with a coin-toss. I saw no harm in this, as it left everything up to fate, which I knew increased my odds far more favorably than if we went about the competition head-to-head. I

accepted, so Jack pulled out a quarter, curled his thumb and index finger into a makeshift launchpad and sent it somersaulting upwards. Heads! I barked. Once it met the ground and decided on a side, there looking back at me was the copper mug of one George Washington. It became clear as the waters of Hawaii that lady luck had conveniently smiled down on me. A-Ha! I exclaimed, Alas, heads it is, nevermind you Malange, the lassie is mine! But I was only speaking to passersby who inhabited a world of indifference. In the time it took for gravity to take effect, it seemed that Malange had run away with my prize, presumably to give her the time of her life. Later that day, he came to me, wreaking of her scent, and apologized for his unsportsmanlike conduct. His apology was so heartfelt, and his eyes flickered like such an iridescent lightshow whilst doing so, well, I couldnt help but faint. When I awoke there was a letter that was equally as swooning resting atop my perfectly fluffed pillow, telling me that he had to depart by way of open window but promising that we would meet again soon. After I finished reading the letter the most unusual feeling overcame me, I actually found myself craving his embrace and yearning for his return. Err, in the most platonic way possible of course. *Sigh* Anyways, shortly after I gave him a rave review in my column, and his band hadnt even released an album that year. I was weary of finding out the source of his mystical appeal, but unfortunately I lacked the leverage required in order to be choosy. I needed the exposure and the bundle of money that came with it, so that alone trumped any chance for malingering on my end. On the day of the interview I made certain to dress my most tasteless and slovenly so as to not project any false notions of flattery. The sights of Mr. Melanges estate were so extravagant that they could have been extracted straight out of a storybook. The house was meant to architecturally mimic a medieval castle mixed with an opulent mosque. I began my journey to the front door by crossing a creaky drawbridge where snapping alligators occupied the moat underfoot. Mighty rows of battlements overlooked the premises, presumably less for protections sake and more for decorum. Either that or they served as back-up harems in case Melange ever felt the urge to corral his legions of adoring fans and quarantine them accordingly. Upon entry, a squadron of trained exotic butterflies removed my coat and hung it up for me. Two Bengali tigers loomed overhead in separate suspended cages; and intertwining serpentine staircases split the middle, wrapping down and around like a double-helix. Barefooted butlers were scuttling around and as I made my way in, three dazed dames came scampering out. That was amazing, my boyfriend is such a huge fan, he has to hear about this!

said a buxom blonde. Confusing phrasing to say the least, but nothing about the ensuing experience seemed to make sense. I dont know about you ladies but Ill never look at another man again! He climbed me like one of his songs on the Billboard Top 40, confessed the second girl. Indeed, his bands plethora of platinum records had pervaded so much of the place that for a second I thought platinum was the color of the wallpaper. I knew I shouldnt have worn my nice dress, because it somehow got stuck up on the chandelier. I know what you mean. Im normally coy during coitus, but something about the way he palmed my nape was hotter and more explosive than napalm, chimed a bombshell brunette. As they came closer I felt compelled to say something. Umm, hi there ladies. Any of you femmes seen Jack around? Hell be out shortly, said the brunette. Youre very lucky getting allowed this interview, he must really like you. Jack is notorious for his allergy to the press. We werent even welcome. We just got to come on account of were sweepstakes winners. We hit the annual fundraising Jackpot. Quite a marvelous thing hes doing, sacrificing his free time of shagging beautiful women to have it off with rich women, all for the benefit of Haitis education system. A man after my own heart. He is a beaming beacon of compassion in these overcast times, I added. Just then, as if the sense of anticipation was so overbearing that it commanded his timely presence, there mysteriously materialized before me was the funky frontman himself, springing into being out of thin air. Hey Joe, what a pleasure it is to meet you. I see the butterflies checked your coat already, did you take your shoes off at the door as well? You should have. Look! This carpet was a gift from Marie Antoinettes great-great-great granddaughter and now theres a great big ugly swoosh imprinted on it. Oh, I cant stay mad at you, not with those innocent blue eyes, all is forgiven. You know, before we begin, I just want you to know that its perfectly fine with me that you prefer the Blue Cold Chilly Salts to my music. Not even a smidgen of offense is being taken. How on Earth do you know my favorite band? I said, impressed, but trying hard

to disguise it. Why, I always do extremely thorough background checks on my interviewers. Im highly selective you know, but you aced inspection. Thats how I know that youre 22 years old and your membership to your local chapters Cheese of the Month club is five. Might I suggest Gorau Glas? Its on the far side of cheap, but it accentuates a glass of red wine like nobodys business. I could barely believe my ears. Here was one of rock and rolls greatest strutting studs serenading me as if I was a subject of endless interest. Na Im just having some fun with you mate, I pickpocketed you on the way in. Saw that you attended a concert of theirs recently and ran with it. Seriously though, youre that crazy about cheese? Anyways, looks like your cash supply is thinning, eh? Yea a little bit, Ill admit. This is supposed to be my big breakthrough. For being 69, he was still a sexagenarian sexpot. There was a palpable sleaze to his precious essence that magnified his wonderfully ironic age. As far as physique goes, the years of hard-partying had yet to catch up with him. He was lean, lithe, sinew, slender, lissome, and then some. The whole taut lot. He had a slightly balding bowling ball of a head that was boldly bolstered by two bulging shoulders. For dedicating the bulk of his life to being a lead singer, he sure had a bolt-on neck like a guitar and was built tight as a drum. His unique brand of energy was sensual panache personified, like a flesh sketch of Christian Grey mixed with Dorien Gray. I dont wish to sound uncouth, but youve retained your youth and remained in excellent shape throughout the years. How do you do it? Jacks face then lit up like a him-o-lantern, eyes full of puckish implication and a menacing wise-guy grin plastered across his lips. I just do it, mate. I knew exactly what that insinuated. What are some of your latest projects? Well, a chum of mine from Boston-based rock band Arrows Myth started his

own clothing line a few years back and its made out pretty well. I figured if he can do it, so can I; so Ive been trying to talk to a couple of corporate heads about establishing a label too. It would be designed for overtly scandalous yet dignified older men like myself. Stick to what ya know, right? I want to call it Satyrs Fashion. Ive been wanting to do this for a while now, but it still hasnt developed past the idea stage. Sometimes its like, I just dont know Joe. I cant get no Satyrs Fashion, but I try, and I try, oh I try. Youll get there, youre Jack Melange! I reassured. I knew that a better time to propose some closure on the category of sexual preferences would not come; so I attempted to summon enough courage to ask but choked. What have you got bouncing around that conscious-laden head of yours? Jack queried. Whatever it is, youre wearing it on your face. You look like youre swishing a mouthful of acid, spit it out boy. Go ahead. Ive got a thick hide. Trust me, I can take it. Okay, well, there have been reports for years that you possess bisexual tendencies. Do you care to comment on your disposition and either confirm or deny? I expected Melange to morph into a volcano of vitriol and scorn me with lava in the form of an inflammatory outburst; but instead he just erupted in guffaws. All that discomfort over a silly little sex question? I get that one lots mate! To tell the truth, its not all conjecture and slanderous invention, he said, slyly slipping a wink my way. I fancy myself as a kind of transcender of gender, not to be confused with a transgender. Im all what youd expect down there, anatomically speaking. What about the rumors of your alleged affair with saucy Aussie rocker David Cave? Oh, David? Him and I go back to the prehistoric ages. We look out for each other. As for my relationship with Cave, lets just say that I went spelunking once and have remained a wholehearted troglodyte ever since. Im not sure I knew what that insinuated. Here, follow me. I want to show you something, said Melange.

He then guided me through an increasingly intricate maze of rooms within rooms, revolving bookcases and swinging doors before finally arriving at a closet that looked like it had been lived in for over half of a century. Peculiarly, in the corner was a securely fastened-down sewer cap. Melange cracked it open and began descending the manhole. Come on down, I dont bite. I shimmied down the ladder and was stunned to find enough whips, chains and leathers to make most people faint. Personally, I just stood agape and agog and googly-eyed at all the sexual gewgaws, enthralled by the sheer naughtiness of it. At first glance, Melange was nowhere to be found, and on the westernmost wall was a painting with eerily lifelike eyes that seemed to wander and follow wherever I went. He then reappeared, seemingly out of thin air again, only this time donning a black cape, one that gave him a foreboding ambience. I think I had seen it before in an old music video. I felt that uneasiness of having my every move being clocked by a voyeuristic set of eyes and decided that a swift exit was probably in my best interest. Well thank you for a lovely evening Mr. Melange, I believe Ive got all I need. I must be going now. But wait, are you sure you dont want to test out any of the amenities? Im sure. Dont get me wrong, Im impressed, youve certainly proven your reputation; but this whole exhibitionist thing has made me a little uncomfortable. I didnt elect to be a denizen of this den of sin, so if you dont mind Im going to show myself the door. Actually Joe, I do mind, he said as he blocked my path. You see I didnt actually bring you down here to see the den, and if you leave now, youll miss the big surprise. What surprise might that be? I want to know, I replied. I did not want to know, but when Jack Melange says there is a big surprise in store, one does not simply shrug him off. The big surprise is this. He unhinged his jaw and his mouth grew twice in size. His incisors elongated and sharpened. His tongue unfurled and forked at the tip. His pupils turned into burning red nailheads set against a slate of pure black.

It cant be. You- youre a.. Ive been a rock star for over forty years without dying, and you never once suspected that I could be immortal. What did you think I was, the fountain of youth? What exactly is happening here? Have you ever seen the film Interview With a Vampire? asked Jack as he let out a sinister laugh. It has nothing to do with whats happening here; but its just a really underrated movie. Anyways, Im not a vampire, let me explain. When I was just a young chap who didnt know any better, I sold my soul to the demon-in-charge downstairs. I was an irregular wallflower, ugly and shy and yearning desperately for the affection of others. One day, I heard a bustle in a nearby hedgerow, and out popped a djinn who made me an offer. He said that he could help fulfill all of my innermost desires. He would grant me fame, fortune and above all, affection, and in return I would become his forever. It was like the song Stairway to Heaven, except the stairway was a highway, and replace heaven with hell. Come to think of it, Im surprised I never wrote a song like that about it. I was so eager to jeopardize my soul for a piece of the sweet life. Instead of just focusing on the core value of loving yourself, I opted to spend life hobnobbing with nabobs and bon vivants, knocking boots with wanton voluptuaries and growing blase of the glamorous blasphemy going on around me. I never really filled that self-vacancy. I have been around the world, exhausted every possibility; and yet the color that my life narration evokes is fifty shades of regret. I couldnt believe it. I had found out the source of his appeal, solved the grand puzzle, and yet its origin only made the appeal all the more powerful. I found myself developing a soft spot for Jack. Not the iconic superstar, but for the little boy wishing to have done things differently. He may be a spawn of the devil, but I sure have sympathy for him. On second thought I suppose I could stick around a little while longer, tell me more about that day Jack, I said. Ive got two eager ears and theyre all yours.