Cupidity

Valentine's Day. Pssh.

It's nothing but a commercial holiday that corporate shills push upon couples in order to sell chocolates and diamonds, while simultaneously making the single feel even worse about being without their "Mr. or Miss Right." If I see another "He got it from [enter whatever store wants your money]" commercial, I'm liable to go mental on someone's ass. If you think I'm cynical, go to a minute-dating night at any local bar.

Corporate America has royally fucked me over when it comes to romance. How can I convince two people they're in love when they don't believe in love in the first place? Or, even worse, that love comes with an expensive price tag?

If things were the same as back in my day, divorce rates wouldn't be so high. Of course the rate of murdered or missing spouses would probably be astronomical, but you have to take the good with the bad, right?

Why do I care? Well, it's kind of my job.

Sigh. I can see by the confusion in your pretty eyes, you don't understand. I hate this. I always have to start from the beginning.

Whatever they've told you about me, don't believe it. Sure, I carry a bow and a quiver of arrows, but that's where the resemblance ends. I'm not a diapered baby, I don't have wings, and I'm not a man.

Yup, that's right. I'm a chick with a bow and I know how to use it.

You see, Aphrodite really did have a son named Eros, who eventually became the God of Love. However, he was a lazy asshole who hated doing anything more than scratching his balls and mesmerizing women into doing his work.

I was said "woman mesmerized into doing his work." "Woman" being a loose term since I'm actually a dryad, but that's neither here nor there.

What? Why do I have to...ok, well I was trying to give you the short version, but since you asked.

I was lounging around in my tree as was my nature back then when I was rudely surprised by Eros slamming head first into my branches. Apparently he'd accidentally loosed an arrow on the wrong target and made a donkey fall in love with Zeus instead of the lovely princess the kingly god long admired.

As a result, Zeus was gunning for him with his lightning bolts. I think Eros stole Hermes' sandals that day, 'cause man, was he booking it. Since he was too busy looking over his shoulder, he never noticed my lovely tree right in front of him.

The impact shook some fruit off, so I made myself corporeal in order to ascertain there was no permanent damage.

That was my fatal mistake.

You see, Eros really hated being the God of Love. He wasn't a big believer in "happily ever after," so it galled him to be the bringer of said happy endings. Given who his mother was, it's not really surprising he had issues with love (seriously, just Google Aphrodite and you understand why men like Norman Bates exist).

He looked up from his sprawl and I looked down into his lovely face. It was kismet, the stars aligned, the heavens above and the underworld below moved: the fucker pricked my foot with an arrow.

Since he didn't use a true love arrow on me--which is strictly prohibited since it can only work on two beings who are truly meant to be together--I was struck with an all-consuming lust that caused me to rip his toga from his body and lower myself onto his stiff prick. I can say a lot of bad about him, but "pencil dick" is definitely not one of them!

The combination of a lust arrow and God cum rendered me temporarily insane. I agreed to whatever my hunny bunny wanted which included taking the badges of his station, the quiver of arrows and the golden bow, to alleviate his bad back.

He received the bow and arrows as a christening gift from Apollo the Sun Bearer. Since Eros was a baby at the time, Apollo made sure anyone who took hold of the bow or quiver would be magically-bound to guard both wisely. Dumb horny silly me walked right into that trap. I could not leave either one anywhere without it zapping back into my hands. The only person who can take them from me is Eros himself. The guy who magically poofed and hasn't been seen since.

Bastard.

Now, don't worry about my track record; sure, I was the one who thought Paris and Helen would make a cute couple. Or liked Lancelot better than Arthur. And Isolde thanked me for hooking her up with Tristan (despite what those silly French poets said, Isolde the Fair and her knight Tristan really were in love, otherwise my magical arrow wouldn't have worked. Arrow, mind you, not some stupid potion).

But Monica Lewinsky was not my fault. I was aiming at Hillary, not Bill, but she ducked at the last second. I thought she needed to loosen up a bit; her outfits were so ugly it practically screamed "I haven't had hot monkey lovin' since my wild and crazy college days!"

Yes, I'm as real as the chair you're tied to and no I'm not insane. I'm the dryad now known as Cupid and every February Fourteenth I must find one couple to unite their souls in true love. My bow is like a hound with a scent and led me directly to you.

If you would just stop fussing with the ropes, I'll show you your perfect mate. Fortunately your telescope happens to be pointed towards her bedroom window, so it'll be really easy to see her once she gets home.

Just close your eyes and imagine it: soft candle light, the arousing aromas of a home-cooked meal, and your own true love bristling with my arrows.

What could possibly go wrong?