A Tale of Flatulus, God in Exile

Gods are, in general, selfish lovers. It is generally considered bad form to comment negatively upon the sexual prowess of a being that can fry you with lightning or turn you into a newt, or both. Because of his incredibly low standing in the pantheon this was not true of Flatulus. Most gods could not find a clitoris with a map, whereas Flatulus may very well have invented it.

He did think what he had just done was in any way remarkable. It was just a normal day with a normal lay.

May felt her legs lie on the side of the bed, every muscle loose and relaxed. Even her toes were splayed out. At some point her socks had come off. She hadn't even noticed.

The big question in front of her, which came from the part of her brain that did taxes on time and always carried exact change, was how she was going to make him cum. The scales were unbalanced. (Flatulus had seen the scales that were the basis for this figure of speech on a vacation he took to Egypt. It took him a hundred years to forget them.)

May forced her legs together, and dragged her feet until the found purchase on the carpeted floor of her bedroom. She sat up, with the slow and languid rise of the truly satisfied. Elmer was standing in front of her, his shirt off, his pants unbuttoned, his face still wet with her excitement. She shook her hair out like she was in a whitesnake video, then dropped to her knees in front of him.

Flatulus, who rarely had people worship him, was intrigued.

She pulled the zipper down. She knew that with a body like that, a tongue like that, and hands that knew every secret, that he must be compensating for something. It was only when the jeans were down and she saw the briefs in front of her that she truly understood what she had, or at least soon have, on her hands. It wasn't fully hard, but it slinked up the side and out. She wrapped her fingers around the band and slowly pulled his underwear down. He was clean shaven, and the first thing she saw was the thickness of his shaft. She leaned forward and kissed it, then slid the underwear down just a little further. And a little further still. But the more she pulled down the underwear the more cock there was in front of her. It was like a magic trick that promised to tickle more than her fancy.

After an interminable time sliding down the underwear she finally got to the head. His cock snapped up, and she instinctively leaned back. It slapped against his stomach, before swooping down, bobbing up and down until it reached an equilibrium at ninety degrees.

May took a deep breath, then looked at it from either side with a critical eye, like a mountain climber planning her ascent. She'd work the whole thing, but she couldn't do it all at once.

She kissed the tip, then ran her tongue along his slit until a bit of precum escaped. May had not sucked many cocks in her life, but even with her limited experience she could not imagine one that tasted better than this. She pushed the head into her mouth, holding her tongue tight to the bottom of the shaft, and then began to rock her head back and forth. She put one hand on his shaft and worked it in concert with her mouth. The other was under his balls, cradling them, gently running her fingers along the curves.

She looked up at him, and he was radiant. His head was back, and his eyes were closed, and his mouth was open just a bit.

She couldn't do what he did. No one could, she thought. But she could do her absolute best to make this man empty himself in her mouth.

She sped up her motions, her head sliding back and forth so fast the wet slaps of her tongue were audible. Her free hand explored his body, finding the contours of his chest, his abdomen, his ass. Everything was a delight.

She didn't want to make this last. She wanted to make him lose control like she had, to steal the strength from his legs and turn him into a quivering pile of goo.

His rhythm matched hers, with every push brushing up against the back of her throat. She had no illusions about being able to take him all, but she wanted to give him something to remember. The pace was quickening, and she could barely get any friction with her hand. It was too wet, too urgent.

He looked down on her. Their eyes met.

"If I may?" he said.

She didn't know what he was asking, but figured at this point she'd say yes to anything.

He bent over and pulled her up, his dick sliding out of her mouth with a slight popping sound. In its absence her jaw felt sore. He was so close. She almost had him.

He lay her on the bed, and lifted her feet until her legs were bent. He leaned over her and she could feel him pressing against her sex. It was painfully warm against her, and it struggled to find purchase in her wetness. He shifted his hips just a bit and May gasped.

"It's bigger than anything I've ever tried before." she said by way of explanation."

"Then we'll go slow." he said.

His hips pushed forward, opening her up just a little. She felt the head pushing against her, stretching her out. She put her hands on her knees and opened herself up as much as she could. She was not going to fail at this.

He pushed a bit harder, and the head popped in. May took deep breaths, staring at him as he moved. She could do it.

He pulled back, teasing her with the head as it stretched her entrance. Then he moved forward, slowly, inexorably. She could feel its journey inside her, touch her in places she didn't know could be touched. His hands were on her hips, holding her steady as he guided himself in, bit by bit, pulling back every couple strokes to let her recover.

His hand traced her thigh from her knee to her sex, then rested itself on her clit. His fingers followed the paths of her pussy like he'd been there a thousand times before. It was too much, this joint assault on the inside and the outside.

She had to make him cum. She couldn't take much more of this.

"Faster!" she said, leaning forward to grab his hips.

He obliged. He continued his partial penetration, but his speed went from languorous to intense. His fingers moved like a master pianist, tickling, teasing, putting together subtle movements with deliberate force. She'd die.

"Deeper!" she said.

And at this he pushed himself as far in as she could handle. Her eyes widened in astonishment. This was what he was keeping from her? Her hips rose in time with his thrusts. He'd come now. He had to. She could feel every inch of him pushing into her.

She tried to think of something else to say to get him off, but it was too much. His hands did their work and she found herself in a world without words, just grunts and moans. She thrashed on his cock, every movement intensifying the pleasure she felt. It was too much.

She went limp, defeated. He'd made her cum twice. She barely made him break a sweat.

"Too much?" he said.

"A little," said May.

He pulled out of her, and she deflated like a balloon. 'How had it fit?' she wondered.

She turned herself around, and lay with her head over the side of the bed.

"Give me one more shot." she said.

Her hands reached out to his hips, pulling him into her mouth. She'd never done this before. It was something she had seen once in a video. It looked even more intimidating from here.

She let him out for a second.

"Cum for me." she said.

Then she went back to work. The gradual rocking of his hips pulled that monster in just a little farther each time, and she did everything she could think of with her tongue, wrapping it around, running it along, getting it out of the way she he could push even further.

And then she felt it. He started shaking, his hips broke rhythm for just a second. She put both hands on his ass and pulled him as far in as she dared.The beast in her mouth thickened and then exploded.

There was no other word for it. She felt cum pouring down her throat, and then spilling out of her lips as he pulled back. It overwhelmed her senses.

Elated and victorious, May climbed back on her bed and lay down. Morpheus hit her like a freight train, stopping only to high five Flatulus on his way out.

Gods, as a general rule, don't call back. This was an unfortunate precedent set by Zeus, who was the archetypal absent father. He, and most of his brothers, had a tendency to fire and forget, then overcompensate with gifts when called on it.

It wasn't that Gods didn't want a relationship. Their desire for connection was profound. Gods come from broken homes. Human teenagers have issues with their parents, but rarely are forced to escape their parents stomachs after being eaten. Gods don't have high quality relationships modeled for them.

This, combined with the tricky problems that falling in love with a mortal presents, leads to a lot of Gods leaving broken hearts in their wake. It is not uncommon for a God to spend a hundred years planning an elaborate revenge. Even the most faithful mortal lover isn't going to make it that far.

Now, a rational person might ask why Gods don't prefer the company of Gods. The answer to this is simple. When a mortal gets married they promise to love someone until death does them part. If Gods marry it is forever. Even the wisest and most patient Gods will be sick of someone's shit after an eon or so.

And so they dip in on mortals, maybe have a kid, maybe smite someone with lightning, and then they're off to the next conquest.

This lesson in divine fidelity is not to excuse what Flatius does, but to hopefully contextualize it. When he doesn't call it's not because he's an asshole. He doesn't call because millenia of experience suggest it is a bad idea.

And so Flatulus pulled on his underwear, his pants, shirt, socks and shoes. He grabbed the jacket he didn't need and he walked out, leaving May in a state of bliss.

This state lasted for a good half hour. When her fingers and toes no longer felt like they were floating in honey and her eyes had uncrossed from the shatteringly good fucking she had she wondered, quite reasonably, where her lover had gone.

Her legs, unsteady as a young colt's, struggled to carry her through her apartment. He was not in the kitchen, getting her water. He was not in the bathroom, washing up. And he was not on the couch, waiting to talk to her.

Her door was closed, and all that remained of him was between her legs. And in her stomach. And, just a bit, on her chest.

May had never been one of those girls. And lately she'd been wondering why. They always seemed to have more fun. And now, in her empty apartment, sheet clutched to her chest, she understood. The highs were high. So very high. But the lows were new and fresh. She'd been alone in her apartment before, but she had never felt quite as alone. It was like learning a new language and not having anyone to talk to.

What she had felt, what they had done, it felt like the start of something. But he left. It was the start and end and it was completely contained.

May went back to bed.

_____________

Flatulus' walk home was unusual. A large part of it was having to remember to make sure his feet hit the ground with each step. What had happened with May was the purest worship possible, and he was a bit more charged than his usual. The non stop prayers that came over chat and text from all of his matches was a good, solid background source of power. But it lacked the focus of May. It was the difference between collecting pennies and someone writing a big old check.

He felt miracles spiral off of him, drifting away until they found a lucky recipient. He'd never felt this good before. Divinity scaled pretty well.

He pulled out his phone, which had died. He willed it to full charge and then checked his messages. The number was just a sideways eight. It pulsed, alternating between red and blue. He was a hit.

If anyone had been observant they might have noticed that Flatulus left no footprints in the snow. But no one was.

______________

When he arrived at what he had come to consider his home all was still. It was something called finals, and all the girls had serious things to attend to. He didn't mind. He appreciated the time to be alone with his thoughts.

He was stronger now. He wasn't, in general god terms, strong. But given his previous stature there was a very good chance that he was powerful enough to have a place back upon Olympus. The challenge that he saw was that, while he now had people worshipping him, they were not doing it for the right reasons. These things mattered. Gods were petty, and very territorial. You generally did not change lanes. Mostly because an eternity of pain and misery could await if you offend the wrong party. Hades was filled with people who got the wrong kind of attention. The gods would sometimes picnic there, just to appreciate their handywork. But Tartarus was another place entirely, and that was where immortals went.

Gods did not picnic there, for the same reason humans don't picnic in coal fires.

So he'd need to innovate. You couldn't take someone else's job, but you could always take on a new one. Olympus was filled with gods that had thirty or forty jobs. They didn't do any of them particularly well, but there was a low hum of background belief that was able to sustain them.

So it would have to be something new. Perhaps when the girls completed their labors they might be able to help him put into words what the new idea of him might be. He'd have to do it in such a way as to not arouse their suspicions. Which, given his lack of facility with the modern world, may be a bit of a challenge.

Allison and Susan found him on the couch when they got back from class, and both could swear he was glowing.

"So, that clearly went pretty well." said Allison.

"Right." said Susan. "So how was the coffee?"

"I did not like it. It was bitter and burned. I had to fix it with sugar."

"I am shocked you eat carbs." said Susan.

"I don't know what that means." said Flatulus, who was reasonably certain he had not eaten a carb.

"Ignore her!" said Allison. "Tell us how the date went, not how your coffee was. Everyone knows coffee is bitter and gross and they all just pretend to like it."

"I do like it." said Susan. "You just have the palette of a four year old."

Allison stuck her tongue out, presumably so that they could inspect her palette. Flatulus, unsure of how to do that, continued to answer the question.

"She was very nice. Her name was May. She asked me many questions. She was a very good accountant. We walked to her house. I made her come. Then I did it a different way. Then I came here."

Both girls stood silent. The looks on her face reminded him of Hades on the day he found out Tantalus escaped. Flautus had accidentally left the gate open on his way to visit. It was a bad time.

Susan found the power of speech first.

"You took her for coffee and then you fucked her?" she said, crossing her arms in a way that would have been familiar to Flatulus had he a present mother.

"We walked in the middle. The coffee shop was too busy to do it there."

Allison chimed in, like a sculptor chipping away at marble to find the truth.

"I think what she's saying is, you had sex with her on the first date. And then you left to come here. And you led with that. Like it is a normal thing to say."

"I am very confused." said Flatulus. Who was, in fact, extremely confused. "I met her as I said I would. She wanted me to go to her house. And we did. She wanted to have sex. And we did."

"Yeah, it's just...I think we were hoping you were going to get to know her, or have stories about the date." said Allison.

"We didn't think you were a douche." said Susan.

"Yeah, that." said Allison.

"So I have a test tomorrow," said Susan. "And I have already spent too much time not preparing for it. Good night. We'll figure out what to do in the morning."

It was now Flatulus turn to stand poleaxed. Allison pulled him over to the couch.

"I'm going to guess you had a sheltered upbring," she said, uncharacteristically solemn.

"It was very safe." said Flatulus.

"Well, if you have sex with a girl and then leave that is a douche thing to do. It has happened to me. It has happened to Susan. And it feels like shit. And we sort of thought you weren't shitty."

"It is not like that where I'm from." said Flatulus.

"That might be what you think. But if you never talk afterwards, how would you know?"

Allison left Flatulus on the couch. He sat for a while, thinking. Introspection was a new and profoundly unpleasant experience for him. But, after working over the idea in his head, he came to a solution.

He picked up his phone and miracled a call.

"Hi Hades." he said.

"No. I'm fine. Doing well, actually." he said.

"I'd love to chat, but I have a quick favor to ask. Can you put Appolonia on the line?" he asked.

"Sure, I can wait. Thanks." he said.

Flatulus paced the room, waiting. After a few minutes he heard a familiar voice from long ago.

"Hello. How's the afterlife treating you?" he said.

"They have racquetball now? That is great. I have a quick question. When you and I got together and then I left, did that bother you?" he asked.

"No. Thank you for your honesty. I am truly sorry. Can you put Phillipa on the line?"

And he repeated this a dozen times. Then a dozen more. Then a dozen dozen.

And the response was always the same. They'd had a lovely time, but then felt used. A few of them had been OK with being used, which was not something he cared to delve into. But he had apparently spent thousands of years giving women the best and worst nights of their lives.

When the morning came Susan and Allison went downstairs to find Flatulus gone.

He'd left a note in a font that made their eyes water. It just said "Going to fix it."

___________

May woke up and put on enough makeup to look like she was trying. She walked into the office leaning over her coffee mug as if about to take a sip. This had the intended effect of making everyone who might want to engage her in conversation to hold off. She was not in a terribly chatty mood.

She got to her office without interaction, and willed herself to turn her computer on and get to work. She felt drained. She'd have called off sick, but she couldn't bear to spend another moment on those sheets. So she opened up excel and started all her load macros, then drank coffee while they ran. She unlocked her phone and navigated to the app.

His profile was still open, his eyes staring through the screen and right at her soul. She scanned through the messages they'd exchanged looking for some hint of who he was. But they all seemed light and empty now.

She flipped to settings and uninstalled the app.

______________

Flatulus was on a mission from God. Well, from himself. A whole night of swipes from the lonely had supercharged him, and he was not thrifty with his newfound power. He willed a bicycle into existence and got on it. A close observer might have noticed that the wheels weren't actually attached to anything, and they turned on their own with nary a pedal to be seen. But as a general rule people ignore cyclists in the winter, on the assumption that anyone that crazy would probably want to tell you about it. And no one has time for that.

He told the bike where to go and it steered itself. His mind was, for him, racing. New thoughts were forming, ideas about fidelity and relationships. A desire to, perhaps, have sex with the same person again. And maybe talking after sex. Or during. It was all vaguely shaped, like a business idea from an art major. But the wheels had started turning and there was no sign of them stopping.

"Women sometimes want to see you again." he said out loud. The few pedestrians on the sidewalk ignored him harder.

But the idea of it, the way to words felt in his mouth. It was all so exciting. A new frontier was opening right before him. No more hunt. No more pursuit. Just being with a person you want to be with.