Cupid's Performance Review

(Note to readers: All characters in sex acts are 18 years or older, as well as mythical. Some Roman references have been borrowed backwards into Greek. Also, the central relationship and the characters' origins are complete inventions, unlike those in the traditional stories--but myths are myths, and mine are merely more recent. The depicted sex is FMF threesome with oral, plus anal fingering. There is also observation of male-male contact that could be foreplay. There are references to naughty stuff in Greek mythology, and to practices which are not depicted. Also, beware of a torrent of jokes, anachronisms, puns, and worse.)

***

Cupid snatched half the scrolls on his desk into a fistful, and threw them at the far wall. As they clattered off the stone and into an unrolling heap on the floor, he growled, "Love? They call this love?"

From behind a tapestried pillar, Psyche leaned around and looked at him. "What is it, Dear?" she asked, although she already knew.

He grabbed one of the scrolls still before him and brandished it. "This is the closest thing to a valid request in this batch! A mortal man pleading to court a widow in his village. I'd have to expend a Potential Infertility Exemption for it, because she might be past breeding age. Everything else...I swear, My Beloved, some of them make my flesh creep!"

Psyche stifled a smile at the thought of her own flesh creeping, which she enjoyed very much while they coupled. Despite his belly growing large and round as he aged, Cupid was still a fine lover, within his narrow definition of love.

"Are there men desiring men?" she asked, leaning against the pillar, and folding her arms under breasts covered by cloth-of-gold.

He stoppered what he knew to be an ill-advised retort, remembering that his life-partner had an assignment that was valued on Olympus, as much as his own. While he was in charge of forming close attachments of lovers, so that they would increase the mortal population, Psyche's role was to broaden and magnify the capabilities of the mortal mind. She'd had mixed results. Through her, philosophy and arts flourished, but so did deviant behavior.

"I accept," said Cupid carefully, "that warriors encamped together form, ah, attachments. You have correctly shown that this is beneficial, as they enter combat together. As to whether this feeling should be, um, expressed physically, I routinely forward such requests to Ares. It's out of my jurisdiction."

"Ares tells them to gird their loins and do more fighting," said Psyche, "and soon one or the other dies in battle. Do you see that as Problem Solved? And then there are men who are not warriors."

"My Dear," he said, yearning to bring forth his own special arrow and send it flying to her, "They too are irrelevant to my work. Very soon, I will have a performance review. I need to show Zeus that mortals are extending their realm, and thus the realm of Olympus. Population statistics are not enough, I must show happiness and enjoyment, for the young men giving their seed, and the young women receiving it."

She said, "There can be greater happiness without pregnancy. Remember, childbirth can kill both mother and offspring. A lose-lose situation. A woman might seek other options."

Now he could no longer contain his ire. "Do not praise to me that so-called poetess on Lesbos! Women entwining with women? What a dreadful waste!"

She merely smiled. "I take full responsibility for Sappho, and her wondrous works. Never forget, My Darling, that I have the full support of Athena, and all of the muses."

As she knew it would, this made his eyes widen. One of those muses, Terpsichore, was a frequent visitor to Psyche's temple, adjacent to the home Cupid shared with Psyche. Almost as frequently, Psyche detected Cupid's attempts to hide behind tapestries and observe the special dance the women performed. Is our dance truly such a waste, she thought, if it inspires a man to spill his seed?

Not for the first time, Cupid regretted setting up his home office. Spending more time near his true love came at a cost. So many distractions! Actually, he corrected himself, the same distraction, over and over. "Zeus will surely demand to know what I have done this year to overcome such folly as what Sappho inspires."

She muttered, "Zeus engages in a great deal of folly himself."

Cupid waved that away. "Fake myths. Some mortal drunkard concocts a wild story, and it spreads from village to village, as though it were part of our canon."

"We shall see," said Psyche. "Leda has submitted feathers for genetic testing."

"Even if true, she consented." He exhaled in fatigue. "Whither my youth? Did I exhaust too much energy challenging Eros?"

"That was your first moment of glory," said Psyche, seeing Cupid even now as the man who won her heart. "Recently, a mortal bard told the tale very well."

She waved a hand, to conjure a thick cloud in the air between them. At its center, the cloud parted to show a mortal male seated on a stool before a wall, in a circle of light. He addressed groups of people in semi-darkness, seated at small tables.

"So, here's the deal. Sex used to be run by Eros. His idea for mortal propagation was, penises should blast relentlessly into vaginas. Even 'Thank you Ma'am' was seen as a waste of time.

"Now, Cupid is this shmuck hanging around Olympus, looking for a gig. He gives archery lessons, and he's barely getting by. Thing is, he's got a whole different take on whoopee. He desires women, in keeping with Eros's edict, but he goes beyond that. He likes women. He thinks they should get a fair shake. So he scribbles out a scroll and puts it in the suggestion box at the border between Lower Olympus and the Gods-Only part.

"Next thing he knows, he's summoned to Zeus's throne room. There are lots of other gods hanging out, expecting fireworks. I mean, really, Hephaestus is setting up launchers.

"Cupid's more than scared, he's hyped. Eros is glowering, like he's ready to castrate Cupid. That'd be pretty easy, because this was the first time Cupid was in the presence of Aphrodite, and something pushed out past his jerkin, without him even jerkin'!"

From somewhere there was the sound of a drum thump and a crash.

"Heyyy, how 'bout that band? Anyway, we're talkin' horizontal boner halfway across the room.

"Somehow Cupid manages to repeat to Zeus his plan, for mortals to use their minds to influence their groins. All mortals, women as well as men. They'd have a chance to think if they want to do the nasty with this person. They'd even have, at least, a tendency to give up and move on, eventually, if the other person says no.

"And Zeus is all thunderbolting back at him. Like, mortals gotta propagate, they gotta get past all the disease and famine and war. We need them to worship us, and the more there are of them, the more sacrifices and offerings we'll get, and the more warriors we'll have if that punk Mithra escalates to more worshippers. How will we get them, sez Zeus, from everybody making nice, instead of just banging away?"

"Then this chick Psyche, who's a temp handmaid for some of the Muses and Graces, suggests that this hobby of hers, the mortal mind, could fit in here. Zeus could pick some remote village, and tell Eros to lay off there for a while. Then Cupid could take what Psyche has figured out, and put it in his arrows, and shoot them in that village. That'd make some of the people fall in love, if that seems right for them. See, Psyche was looking for a better gig, just like Cupid.

"So, a few things happen right then. First, Cupid looks at Psyche, and gets interested in her, mostly because of what she's saying. She's also really easy on the eyes, but nowhere near the knockout that Aphrodite is, or most of the other goddesses in the room. But Cupid now looks only at Psyche.

"Second, Zeus is thinking that this might be okay for mortals, and it could be a rush if he did one of his walkabouts away from Olympus, and a chick actually wanted him to do her.

"Third, Psyche is checking out Cupid, and digs him for having balls about walking into what might have been certain death, with his cockamamie idea about women and men liking each other before gettin' it on. Also, back then Cupid's this hot young dude. Psyche likes his actual balls, and the column going all Doric out from them, because if she had the chance to choose a guy, he could be a candidate.

"Fourth, Zeus can tell from looking at Hera and Athena and Aphrodite that they're all on board--See, if Athena has a feeling, it radiates back to Zeus's forehead, whence she sprang fully formed--and Ares and Poseidon couldn't care less, and Hermes is all 'whatevs,' because he knows the chicks all want his messenger, if you get my drift.

"So Zeus approves the test village thing. And Cupid and Psyche go there and work together. Sorry to go all rom-com on your asses, but they fall in love with each other. They also get data showing that while the village had less total insemination, the lasting love made everyone happier, and a little healthier. The love even carried over to the kids that resulted from the whoopee, so a higher percentage of them got to adulthood.

"Cupid and Psyche go back to Olympus, and their scrolls full of data become points of power. Zeus buys into the whole thing, and gives them new gigs. They get processed in as demigods, with Cupid getting wings and Psyche able to get visions, and do some other cool stuff. But what really throws everybody for a loop is, Eros, a full-fledged god, loses his portfolio, and is relegated to overseeing mortal orgasm. Being a guy, Eros is mostly hyped about one side's orgasms, am I right people? Yeah, she knows what I'm talkin' about. Buddy, you better really work at it tonight.

"So that's why you're sitting here now, with some of you figuring out if you really like him or her enough to do what he or she is hoping for. You can thank Cupid and Psyche for how that goes. Or blame them. Heyyy, that's my time! G'night everybody!"

As laughter and applause swelled, the cloud thickened to blur this vision. Then the cloud faded to nothingness.

"Very well done," said Cupid, smiling at Psyche. "I will tip the waitress."

"I hope this recitation spreads, and endures," said Psyche. "I know of scrolls, now in circulation, that get it all wrong. They treat you and Eros as one and the same, and claim that you were not as mortal as I, and propose wild, wrong notions about our love." Anger spiked her voice. "Fake myths, indeed! They're total bullfinch!"

Psyche rarely used foul language, but when she did, it aroused Cupid. "We can only hope that our love and glory survive in the canon," he said, "But, recall, we are mere demigods."

"There's nothing mere about you, My Love," she cooed, knowing that he was almost overcome with desire. "And I know that your heroic masculinity would be equal to any new task I set for you."

Cupid knew that Psyche wanted him to perform some strange new act that she'd learned from the Muses and Graces. Yet his wings fluttered in excitement, nearly lifting him from the chair. How has so much changed? he wondered. There was a great outcry against my mission statement, which urged lovers to face each other as they joined their genitals, rather than allow the man to tower over a woman as he took her from behind, treating her like a tamed animal.

Yet once they tried the mission, mortals cheered, seeing their lovers as people, speaking to them, finding agape together, as well as the practice started by Eros. And, well, if a woman seeks to perch atop the man, I have no objection, for they still face each other. Oh! My eyes have enjoyed no finer sight than Psyche's upper half and belly, freed from garments, writhing and undulating upon my spire! I am not cowed by a girl in this configuration.

But all of these further innovations are bewildering! When Psyche enchanted herself to make her ass golden, I complied with her appeal to style our coupling to that of dogs. Can that not be enough? Mortals return from faraway lands with trade goods depicting lovers in fantastical contortions. Are these merely jests, to lure the credulous to injuries?

And how can love extend reasonably to more than two? He picked up a scroll and re-read its appeal from three men and two women, to bond in a fashion that their neighbors would surely deplore. Cupid was, in a way, sympathetic, and in another way, excited. Yet he flipped this scroll to the pile on the floor. Do they think I have an infinite supply of arrows?

Suddenly he was blinded. He reached to his head, and pulled away a cloth-of-gold garment with a familiar, cherished aroma. What he then saw was the dash behind the pillar of his nude beloved, her golden ass agleam in the sunlight. He launched himself after her laughter, wings buzzing, erect phallus knocking over his desk.

***

Cupid thought that labeling Minos of Crete a timeserver didn't go far enough. The ancient king had served more time than anyone on Olympus. He was great-great-grandfathered into the pantheon as a sop to the culture's origins, hundreds of years before, on the island south of the Aegean Sea. He was given make-work as the greater gods' appointment secretary. His three minions (which he pronounced 'minoans') used clay tablets to fill out the schedules. Cupid, a lifelong scroll-user, made sure not to show mirth.

Almost no request for an audience, from the demigod level or lower, got through to the greater gods. Really good offerings might get attention briefly, and maybe the requested boon, but rarely a real-time vision of the actual god. If, however, a god wanted a subordinate, or some hapless mortal, called on the carpet (or more likely on bare stone), Minos always hopped to it.

"Aaahhh, Cupid," drawled Minos from his creaky old throne. "Have I ever told you how I dealt with the Excess Virgin Problem?"

"The Minotaur remains a formidable legend, Your Majesty."

"A labyrinth, a bull, and on to the next. None of your weakling arrows of consent."

"Indeed." Cupid chafed at all the waste on Olympus. Minos wasn't the only timeserver, there were Myceneans sprinkled here and there in the bureaucracy, even a few Thracians, doing little or nothing. Yet their sloth, at least, does little harm, thought Cupid. It seemed that every few days, a decrepit early Hellene, Theseus, gave ringing speeches in favor of seeking glory in hopeless battles, and Ares would respond along the lines of "Shut up, you senile idiot!"

Yet Cupid had little choice but to go through channels. "Your Majesty," he said to Minos, "I'm sure Zeus is extremely busy, and I would be more than happy to free up his time by having my performance review undertaken by someone else. Hera, perhaps?" Cupid stayed focused. This was not the time to sift through long-standing rumors that Theseus had killed the Minotaur, or that he then snubbed Minos's daughter Ariadne, who devised the plan for him to escape the labyrinth, or that she had then taken up with Dionysos, and as a result had to enter the twelve-labors program started by the wine-hobbled Hercules.

"Hera? Hmm." Minos leaned at a 'minoan' who reclined on a divan, nibbling a fig, with her tablet and stylus nowhere in sight. "Phaedra, where is Hera's schedule?"

"Still in the kiln, drying, Fath--um, Your Majesty."

Beyond Minos, Cupid could see the opening of the kiln. He saw no flames, nor even the dimmest red glow of heat. Nor were there any objects within.

"Your pardon, O noble demigod," said Minos with a not-very-straight face. "I am unable to consult Hera's schedule. Perhaps you could request again after the next Fool's Moon."

***

Apollo was the most relaxed and approachable of the greater gods. He even socialized with demigods, and always had a sunny disposition. Cupid found him enjoying his favorite prank, yanking the reins of the horses to make his chariot reverse course briefly, and mess with the world's sundials.

"Anybody who looks close at the planets," he told Cupid, "sees them go into retrograde. Why shouldn't I do that too? Maybe somebody will eventually figure out what the real center of the heavens is." He winked at Cupid, then turned the chariot back the proper way.

"Phoebus," said Cupid, relishing the status that allowed him to use Apollo's nickname, "I have a problem. Zeus has become so depraved that he may insist that I direct my arrows to anyone who claims to desire anyone, or anything. I hear that Hera is so weary of him that she's lost interest in physical pleasure. I think that if she reviewed my performance, she'd wax-seal it without even looking, and I could keep doing what I've done all along." Cupid continued to fly at the same speed as the chariot, but, boy, were his wings tired. "Could you put in a word with her for me?" Then Cupid had a better idea. "Or could you conduct the review, my friend?"

"No can do, Kewpie," said Apollo, using a nickname Cupid despised. "Your line on the organization chart doesn't get to me. As for Hera, you're right, but she might want to put a stop to all love. Probably not what you have in mind."

Cupid shivered at the thought. A return to loveless procreation? And, more greatly affecting him, Eros resuming control of all sex, and Cupid turfed out? Would Eros even try to claim Psyche?

"Many thanks, Phoebus," said Cupid, realizing that facing Zeus might be the least of the evils.

"You and Psyche should go with whatever works," said Apollo, his long golden hair a dazzling corona. "Love is great, for what Diana and I do. She wears shades when we get it on, but when she complains about the brightness, I just point out that without me, who'd see her? Like, how many offerings does she get when she's all new? Just a few from mortals scared that she won't come back. All of our god-and-goddess banter, it's lots of fun. Plus, as cold as she is, she's still hot, you know what I'm sayin'? Ain't nothin' better than an eclipse!"

A distant voice called from below: "Haiiill, Apollllooo!"

Apollo looked over the side of the chariot. "Icarus," he said, "Don't you ever learn?"

***

Cupid was glum while dining with Psyche, even though the offerings were quite good that evening, with an especially tangy ambrosia. "If this is being provided also to Aphrodite," said Psyche, "this supplicant must be very ardent!"

"Yes My Love," muttered Cupid, barely attending her. "Tomorrow I must try to deflect Zeus's excesses. Yet, what power have I to succeed?"

"Perhaps you can give way slightly," she suggested. "Choose some extensions of love that please and benefit those who pursue them. If Zeus is aroused enough by these, perhaps he will not demand practices based on overwhelming force, or unfair advantage."

Cupid eyed Psyche with suspicion. "In this attempt to help me," he said, "Are you also seeking to help yourself?"

"Our joint venture continues," she said with a playful smile, "as does our venturing to join. Our minds are not so different from those of mortals. From this knowledge, I see that some desires, other than those of young fertile singles, can be loving and lasting."

"So you think that if I stand my ground, Zeus will command me to enact whatever folly is stirring his loins?"

"If you continue to define love as you always have," she replied, no longer smiling, "I fear for the centaurs of this world. And for you, if Zeus dictates where you must shoot your arrows, and what the arrows cause."

Cupid took in her somber expression, rare for her. Only the greater gods were exempt from the appearance of aging, but to Cupid's eyes, Psyche had thus far escaped the ravages. Her form was still trim, her face fair. Yet in her current mood, she showed hints of slackness and wrinkling.