Half an hour, a tea and a whisky later, we were all warming ourselves by the fire. Out of an abundance of caution, Grýla was seated on the floor rather than the couch, leaned up against the wall, a short stack of pillows compressing itself into diamond crystal beneath her mighty ass. I was licking my finger approvingly after tasting some julekake.

While it was absolutely true that she had the smell of a troglodyte, what Jo and I had initially taken for a near-dead ensemble of ratty clothes was in fact a heavy coat, and snow-pants with an abundance of patches. Unbound from these, Grýla seemed... maybe not more aesthetic, but certainly more comfortable and friendly, maybe even a bit flirty.

"A Yule monster?" I repeated. "Kind of like Krampus?"

"No," she said testily. "I mean yes, but no. He works with the Christians, though they have a testy relationship. I don't. Also, I hate him. He's a drunken ass, and when he's not terrorizing kids, he's the most useless creature on this Earth... save perhaps my husband, Leppaludi."

As she said this, Josefina emerged from the kitchen with a plate of homemade petit fours—and yes, I am aware how lucky I am to have found a mate who not only tolerates my absurd life, not only treats me like a prince, not only sucks my soul out in the bedroom, she can fucking bake!—and took her place on the couch beside me, after handing a tiny lemon cake to Grýla, who stared at it in bemusement.

It had officially become one of those holiday parties where all the guests bring baked goods and no one brings a main. Fortunately, I always planned to feed an army on Chanukah. If only because it meant leftovers for a week.

"Ah, delicious. Your Josefina is a keeper, you do know that, right?"

I grinned from ear to ear. "Definitely."

The troll smiled absently. "I can see it in your eyes, you truly love each other. Much like my Leppaludi when we first met. Alas, things change... and if all you have is love, it isn't much."

She then turned to my sweetheart and asked, absolutely deadpan, "Tell me, dear, is Herr Sheldon as good to you as you are to him? Does he make himself useful in the kitchen? Does he steke your kotelettene properly in bed?"  

Josefina is a hell of a woman, and we'd been through a lot in the 10 months or so we'd been a couple. But damn if her cheeks didn't flush nearly to the color of a shoggoth's skin, being put on the spot like that. Hell, I blushed a bit myself.

"First of all," I cut in, "if you want to know how well I cook, you can judge for yourself. Just as soon as dinner"—and just then, I heard the beep—"ah, perfect timing."

As the scale of our celebrations had increased over the years, I'd given up some years back on frying latkes fresh on demand for multiple nights. Instead I'd make one giant batch of slightly undercooked pancakes a couple nights before Hanukkah, using as much as 10 pounds of potatoes and half a dozen eggs, and stash them on the hastily emptied bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Thus I was freed from my station in front of the stove. So long as we didn't unexpectedly run out, which we never did, I could take out latkes a dozen at a time, finish them in the convection oven, and throw them on a platter with a big mound of labneh or tofutti.

I continued talking from the kitchen, hoping to keep the giantess occupied: "Not to brag, but you're in for a treat. This is the old Steinmetz family recipe. Do you want some salmon roe, Grýla?"

"Ja."

"Alright, that'll be just another moment here... done."

I returned bearing two plates of six pancakes each, one topped with mounds of red caviar for her, one with just the labneh and scallions for us. As is my custom, I stood by eagerly and watched her bite into one like a complete geek. The satisfying crunch resonated loudly in her big mouth; I winced a bit as her lips smacked and her tongue audibly worked within.

She grunted approvingly, and I felt it vibrating in my chest.

"Deilige! I can only compare it to the raggmunk the Swedes make, but this is a hundred times better."

Josefina and I exchanged relieved glances. We certainly hadn't planned on a houseguest of the monstrous type, but it was going about as swimmingly as anyone could hope.

"Takk," I said, literally the only word of Norwegian I knew. "You should know, two things we Jewish men take very seriously are food... and pleasing our women. And speaking of that, I have a few questions."

It was a messy situation anyway you looked at it, and Grýla's answers weren't exactly to our liking. But we reached a compromise. She and I would spend the night down in the living room, where we piled up two spare mattresses. My pal Misha Betzalel, who was also queerplatonic cuddle buddies with Jo and one of the handful of people who knew our secrets, was fortuitously available. Or he was once he dropped everything. In his words, "This is far too fucked up, I can't in good conscience not come over and involve myself."  

As to the program of activities, Grýla claimed no particular interest in cuddling or anything else extraneous. But she was insistent that I be available to her all through this, the year's longest night, from sundown (~4:15pm, less than two hours from now) to sunrise (~7:15am). And she couldn't make any promises I would be unharmed, yet another thing I could reluctantly accept as a demi-demon.

I accepted a lot because of my particular duties as the primary human representative of Morai-sa, the enclave of extra-dimensional demons who had turned me into what I am. It was an important role that I was glad to be able to serve. But it often felt like an unpaid second job; specifically, prostitution. I say this not to convey lack of honor or dignity or validity. Sex work is real work. I say it because, like actual sex work, being a fuckdemon is difficult and often thankless. It takes focus, skill, compassion, and a certain set of people skills that I've honestly been making up as I go.

At about 3:10pm, I ushered our guest to the barn out back, which had a veterinary room where she could safely and privately wash herself off. Josefina got a fire going. At 3:50, Misha arrived. We three humans went up to the master bedroom. I made sure they'd have everything they needed for the night, and also a way to get through to me if they needed a clear path to the kitchen or exit. At 4:10, I hugged and kissed my girlfriend.

"I pushed your flight out a day like you asked. So, um. Good night, my love. I'm sorry we have to be apart. It isn't fair to you, but..." I just shrugged.

"Don't worry about that now, sweetie," she replied, her eyes scrunched up in a sunny grin. "We have the white noise machine. Just remember: look smart, be kind, and be careful. That witch weighs like four times what I weigh, she could fucking crush you."

Past times, I'd have argued this, and reminded her of how much sketchy shit I'd already survived by the time I ascended to half-demon, or how much abuse a demon body could take and still heal in moments. But I knew that would be specious and unhelpful. So instead, as I dug quickly through the closet for a shirt, I simply said this:

"I promise I'll be very careful, love. And in the morning, I'm going to take a very thorough shower, so that I can get right back to snuggling you."

I took a deep breath, cleared my thoughts, and slowly descended to the living room. Grýla was there, lying on her side, with the oversized yet too-small bathrobe still on. It had fallen away from one side to expose most of her right breast, along with her right leg and a bit of her hip. It all honestly looked not bad for her stocky build and inestimable age.

Seeing her in such a humanizing light, I had to re-evaluate a bit. She was still a wrinkled old woman with a hunchback and a misshapen nose, sure. But also: her lips were ample. Her pose, slightly vulnerable. Those big expressive eyes betrayed a gnawing absence, like the Hunger I knew all too well. And behind them, I sensed a mind that was utterly trained on my person, and on the rare treat of a night spent sober, awake, giving and receiving pleasure. In short, a giantess cougar.

I smiled warmly, gently, almost stupidly.

"Hey," I asked, "do I have a few minutes? I'd like to brew some coffee, so it's there when I need it later. You asked for a full night. So unless we collapse first from exhaustion, that's what you're gonna get."