Eros, or a Whimsical Look at the God of Love
If you want a weird family, you need not look any further than mine: we’ve had thousands of books written about us, most of them wrong, so I thought I’d put a few things straight.
To begin with, I’ve got a ‘brother’ who can’t decide if he’s a boy or girl, Hermaphroditus he’s called; another brother called Priapus who seems to have a permanent erection, and Dionysus who just loves to party. I’ve a cousin who was turned into a flower because he loved himself too much – that’s Narcissus. And there’s Mother, Aphrodite, who loves, and has been loved, by almost everyone. That’s not to mention cousin Lesbos (I said don’t mention her – she’s a queer one!), ‘Uncle’ Hermes whose badge of office is a giant prick found at all the best gymnasia or wherever else naked young men gather, and Grandad Zeus who has a beautiful young boy called Ganymede for a so-called cup bearer: we all know what sort of cups he holds! Stuck up little prick.
Me? I’m Eros, friend of everyone. Some people call me Cupid, Baal or Kama, or a hundred other names, but at the end it’s all the same to me. Actually, I don’t really exist, not in a human-like body anyway. I’m more like a wraith, a ghost, a half-formed idea at the back of your mind. I steal around the world exploring people’s minds, giving them a bit of help now and again, whether they want it or not. Forget the little winged cherub who fires arrows from a toy bow; forget also the angelic teenager who gives away love philtres and such. No one ever sees me or knows I’m even there until its too late – unless I want them to.
I’m supposed to flit around the world making sure that the right man falls in love with the right woman at the right time. OK, I still do that, but you try doing it day in day out for thousands of years and see how you like it. Once in a while I get bored and want a bit of fun. Well, why not?
One of my early bits of fun was with two cities not far from the Dead Sea. I was bored and thought that the dreary lives of the citizens wanted brightening up so I let them have all the sexual freedom they craved for (but didn’t know!). It worked well. The men soon discovered that they preferred the company of other men rather than that of their wives and girlfriends: not only was the sex better, but no unwanted little problems arrived nine months later. Something went wrong however, as when I paid a visit to Sodom and Gomorrah a couple of hundred years later, all that remained was a stinky, smelly, burnt-out mess.
Not one to give up easily, I tried again but using a different tactic. The Thebans were at war again, fighting and scrapping with anyone who got in their way. I was pissed off with them forever beating the crap out of everyone. I’d already had one go, persuading them that it was perfectly OK for grown men to love boys, at least until the boys got some hair anyway, but this wasn’t enough for them: still they went on the warpath. And there I had a problem. No women went to fight, neither did the little boys, and so my options were limited. For a lark, I visited exactly half the army and fixed it so they fell in love with the other half. It worked a treat to begin with; only half the men went out to fight, leaving their lovers behind so they wouldn’t get hurt. Unfortunately they fought so well to protect their lovers that they won every scrap they had, which wasn’t a good idea. I put a stop to that though, by making another army just love killing and fighting for its own sake, and they massacred the Thebans.
I learned my lesson from that and didn’t try it again. Instead I was more subtle. Like the time I persuaded the selfish cardinals and dukes in Italy that boylove was alright provided that it was kept secret – more or less. It worked well too. We got some perfect paintings and sculptures out of that one. Oh, and some good boy singers too, but when I found out how they got them to keep their beautiful voices, I thought ‘nuts to that’ and put a stop to it.
Victorian London worked well too. Despite their superficial high moral tones (which pissed me off no end), there was nothing more they liked than ‘a bit of the other’ on the side. In fact, at one time there were more brothels and ‘houses of ill-repute’ in the capital than the rest of the country put together! They liked their boys too, I made sure of that. Post boys, telegraph boys, chimney sweeps and the like – all of them could make a lot of money if they wanted – and a lot did. Many a staid Victorian mutton-chopped old man liked a bit of boy on the side, especially if he was a dirty ragamuffin who was grateful for whatever he got, including a sore arse and a few shillings in his pocket. They even put up a statue of me in Piccadilly Circus, right next to where all the theatres and brothels are and boys could be hired by the hour or day.
Today in the 21st century? Bit different these days, but I still manage to relieve the boredom. Want to come out with me for a night to see what happens? Good. Hold tight then and here we go…
First stop, a car park. Hidden away in the darkness a parked car with a teenage couple inside. He’s got a hard-on like there’s no tomorrow and is desperate to use it. She’s a virgin and wants to stay that way until her wedding night. I convince her otherwise and the boy thinks it’s Christmas. He’s convinced her (with a bit of help) that nothing can happen the first time. She’ll know better in a few months, long after he’s gone.
Aaaah! Now then, over there in that nice little house, six-year-old Terry’s tiny prick is hard and he doesn’t know why or what he can do to make it go away. I show him how to rub it on his teddy bear between his legs. Soon he is fast asleep, hardness gone and a smile on his face. It won’t be long before his mother wonders why the teddy has lost all the hair on its front.
Two doors down and 12-year-old Michael is soundly asleep, dreaming of the girl next door. I give him his first wet dream and leave the rest to him.
Across town, 40-year-old David is struggling to hide his fraud and balance the company’s accounts, without much success. I suggest he has a lovely glass of whisky to help. No more problems, and no more company in twelve months time.
A few streets away, Alan and Terry and having their first sleep-over together in their 13-year-old lives. They should be asleep by now, but aren’t. They’re talking soccer. Boring. I pay them a visit, and before long they are climbing into bed together, cocks erect and with different sorts of balls on their minds. Much more interesting.
The old couple who haven’t got on for years. She alone in her bed, he alone in his in the next room. Both miserable and lonely. A quick thought and then old man limps into his wife’s bed and hugs her. He can’t get it up, and she’s not interested in that anyway, but they are in love again, bringing happiness to the last few months of their lives. They fall asleep dreaming of their honeymoon a lifetime ago.
Round the corner from them, flitting from shadow to shadow in the street is Eric. He’s delivering a stash of high grade coke to a friend. One little snort before he gets there won’t hurt and they’ll never miss it. He never made that delivery, or any other. Another one who realised too late that love comes in many forms.
And now to check on a visit I made last week. On top of the hill is a boarding school. Boys, naturally. The fourth form dormitory is already a hive of activity. Two boys in one bed, the next empty, two boys in the next, and so on all round the room, except for one.
James is alone, listening enviously to the grunts, groans and moans surrounding him. He’s new, hasn’t made any friends yet, and is homesick. He gets up to go to the bathroom. Standing at the urinal, waiting for his bladder to open, the boy turns as the Duty Master walks in on his nightly rounds.
James’ cock comes to attention as he looks at his teacher. Mr Ambrose takes him by the hand and leads him back to his flat. Mr Ambrose drops his trousers. James kneels down as if he is going to pray, and so he is in a way. As James swallows the warm, salty liquid, Mr Ambrose completes his undressing and shows James where his bedroom is. James won’t be lonely tonight or ever again if he plays his cards right.
Lastly, there is Reece. He is nearly twenty years old and has never had sex with either a boy or a girl. He isn’t sure which he likes the most, and as a result hasn’t tried either. I wait until his confused dreams are in full swing and he has a giant erection before I zap him. When he wakes up tomorrow, he’ll feel the need so much that he won’t mind who it is, all he’ll want is sex. Whenever, however and whoever ….
You’re curious why I’ve told you all this aren’t you? Fancy a job as my assistant? Good. The job’s yours. You can start now. Got any good ideas? I’m feeling naughty, let’s see what we can find …
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