tagIncest/TabooThe Heroes' Bar: Oedipus & Perseus

The Heroes' Bar: Oedipus & Perseus

byKethandra©

Author's Note: This story was intended for the Humor and Satire category, but due to certain Oedipal content, it is considered mother-fucking Taboo. Some content may also be offensive to those that honor or worship various gods, goddesses, demi-deities and other exceptional beings. None is meant to be mean-spirited or blasphemous and the author hopes that any immortal gazing down from Olympus, or pausing between joyfully swinging an ax at a comrade's head and quaffing at an oversized tankard in Valhalla, might even get a chuckle. It is entered in the April Fools contest.

If you are completely unfamiliar with the ancient stories of Oedipus and of Perseus, or if you are looking for an Incest tale for the sole purpose of erotic stimulation, this may not be the most satisfying choice.


*

"Heroes. We are gathered here to celebrate the day of foolery, to tell and hear two entirely true tales of trickery, deceit, and revealed surprises. Two of our oldest members are on the slate. One to offer the truth on some old lies we've been told. The other, the long-awaited telling of a surprise revelation, or two. We all know the story, or at least the outline" - the speaker formed the profile of a womanly figure as he emphasized the word - "but we've never heard it from man himself."

Two Heroes stood, moving to the head of the table. Murmurs rose at the sight, as not all present yet knew who tonight's special April Fool's storytellers would be. One was almost too Heroish in proportions and bearing. Broad shouldered, narrow-hipped, leanly yet powerfully thewed, his face bore its burden of noble nose and forehead with quiet pride. If Cupid needed a spare bow, his recurved original perhaps overtaxed by the recent holiday celebrating Love, this Hero's lips offered ready replacement.

His exquisitely chiseled body would have been obvious, even if he wasn't wearing only a broad studded belt and a rather jaunty little cap, with a small winglet protruding from each side above his ears. But Perseus was a Hero of the classic mold. So it was balls-out and six-pack dripping with curves of sensual, opulent indulgence for our first Hero.

The other Hero standing wore a more covering chiton, in a soft, unbleached linen. He was strong of build and handsome of face but a darkness clouded his visage. Tragedy (who was sometimes seen at the Bar, usually playing darts in the back room with Comedy and Police Drama) had left a heavy mark on this one, obvious even before he moved.

His limp was comfortable but pronounced. The practiced movement of life-long deformity. Not the halting, protective lurch of the formerly hale. This itself was unusual among the Heroes: the afterlife had seen them re-bodied near their primes. Even if their deaths -as Heroes' deaths often are - were accompanied by horrific bodily injuries, the Bar found them whole.

In this case, the injury, a mangled foot, defined the Hero, or at least gave him his name. It had happened - purposely inflicted upon him with hammer and spike - while a newborn, when he was left to die. But Heroes left to die as infants, like Batman left unobserved to suffer the cruel fate of an overcomplicated trap, usually disappoint the ones who failed to follow through when they had the chance.

This halting Hero, fortunately, no longer bore the other, more crippling and disfiguring injuries he was to inflict upon himself in his later years. But those are another part of the wild, twisty tale of Oedipus.

A newcomer sat at the table. Near the head, which was unusual for a first time visit, between Hercules and the spot where Perseus now stood. He was solidly built but not Heroic in proportion. When he spoke - and like many first timers, he spoke too much - there was a slight hesitation between the beginning and end of his thoughts...that he found... dramatic...and most others...irritating.

Perseus began.

"Thank you all, for allowing me a chance to right some errors that I have allowed to be told about my adventures. This is quite a crowd, and you obviously are all here for me. But please do be polite and stay to hear my co-speaker. Apparently he will be revealing details of some old, obscure tale you may never have heard."

He rolled his eyes Oedipus' way. The crowd rewarded him with hearty barks of laughter.

"This would be a good time to explain how this place works, in case there are any virgins in the room." Perseus set a strong, bronzed hand on the shoulder at his hip. If a newbie was going to sit up front, he was going to get called on it.

"Two rules: No lies are allowed and no tale leaves the Bar. How does it work? I have no idea. But when you step through that door, you remember nothing of what you learn here. And when you stand where we -" he pointed a thumb at his own bare chest, then at Oedipus next to him, "- stand, only true words can come out. The real stories, the truth behind the legends. And hopefully, a naughty detail or two.

"My story is more famous for the abhorrent qualities of the ladies involved, rather than their beauty. Female, yes, but inhuman creatures with features hideous enough to challenge the powers of ambrosia goggles."

"Ambrosia goggles?" It was the first-timer, twisting to look up at Perseus, and not directly at the Hero's uncut penis hanging at eye level. "What are ambrosia gog...?"

Hercules looked annoyed by his neighbor already. Most of the Heroes present had seen the aftermath of previous Herculean annoyances: things broke in unusual ways. He looked around the table. "Did someone let a mosquito in? I hear a buzzing in my ear."

The Tick's deep voice oozed with impatient contempt. "You know what beer goggles are? This is the Immortals' version. They're magic. And you don't need to be drunk."

Odysseus the Clever leaned forward and took over the explanation. "Any member of any gender or species to which you might possibly be attracted, seen through the goggles, becomes immediately and irresistibly appealing. It does not change their physical being, just their perception to the wearer of the goggles.

"Aphrodite refuses to even try them them on. Some of Bacchus' most Dionysian parties (or was it Dionysus' better Bacchanalia?) have centered around a few pairs of ambrosia goggles passed among the revelers. Their very existence is considered dangerous, so you rarely see them mentioned in extant stories, though an Apulian red-figure oinochoe in a private Bern collection clearly depicts nine cherubic figures in goggles being simultaneously fellated by a Hydra."

Seated next to Odysseus, Samson broke in. "Who is this new Hero with the puffy hair and odd garb? Tell us your name."

The newcomer set his hands on the table, to push himself to his feet. Perseus' large hand on one shoulder and Hercules' larger, heavier one on the other kept him firmly seated. His face shrugged since his shoulders couldn't.

"James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise." Matter of fact, practiced, like a man who has said his own name aloud many times, at least some of them in the shower, alone.

Another magical property of the Bar was this: when new arrivals announced their names, suddenly, Heroes present from all manner of times and places 'remembered' general knowledge of stories, myths, and legends concerning the name spoken. Not necessarily the truth, but at least a glanced-through-Wikipedia smattering of understanding. It helped avoid those awkward introductory "in a place like this" questions.

The brash starship captain continued. "What I...would like to know...is why didn't someone...tell me about these ambrosia goggles...before this? Do you have...any idea...how many alien, out-of-focus women...I had to bed to save our hour-long asses?"

Dramatically, he let his eyes scan the crowd. "If I could have only...slipped a pair of goggles...on them..."

Kirk let his voice trial off. It got some nods, a few looks of confusion joined by scattered laughs, then more. Odysseus quickly whispered an explanation to Samson.

"Oh." Not the quickest stick in the bundle, the strongman judge bobbed his head, shaggy locks of hair bouncing about his massive shoulders. "If she wore them...he'd look pretty to her. Maybe not so chubby."

A perturbation crossed Kirk's brow as Samson drew more laughs than he had. Nervous hands smoothed the snug goldish green surplice-cut top he wore, adjusting the wrap of diagonal cloth that cinched across his ample midsection.

Perseus cleared his throat, dragging the room's attention back to himself, before he continued speaking. "But what if they weren't quite as hideous as the stories might suggest?

"Let's take the Graeae. The Grey Sisters. The horrible guardians of the secret location of the the Gorgon, Medusa.

"Of course I said they were ugly. If I came back and told a story about gorgeous twin immortals who shared one eye and were at the mercy of anyone bold enough to snatch it from them, would they have had a moments rest - or sight - since?

"They were nice girls, and I wouldn't want to wish a bunch of lecherous 'adventurers' their way. I've been back to visit several times since.

"They did have grey hair, that much was true. I suppose they were born with it, since nothing else seemed old. And I didn't correct anyone when the poets began to claim there were three. There were two. Twins. Three would have been scary. They were powerful, in their element in the breaking waves.

"And their hair. I called it grey, but it's more salt and pepper. Salt spray and the color of the abyss - oceanic blues and greens deprived of light until indistinguishable from black. Salt spray like the blinding brightness of noon sun on white-capped waves.

"When did this become a poetryfest? Could we have some action, please?"

Hercules almost growled at Kirk in response, his bearded face close. "Let Perseus tell his tale."

"When I saw them from a distance, cavorting in the waves, they were sleek, feminine, graceful, and sexy nymphs."

"Naked?"

"Yes, naked, Samson. With extra firm goddess-grade titties, not too big, not too small. But there were a couple things missing."

"Eye...wonder what those could be." Laughter rewarded the interrupter, Kirk. Even Perseus chuckled, before patting the smaller man on the head, too hard. The captain's hair rebounded immediately to its previous, puffy height. Inexplicably, Kirk seemed to have manifested with a figure and hair reminiscent of TJ Hooker.

"They had luscious lips, sweet smiles, and talented, tantalizing tongues. Bodies firm and smooth in my hands, with round, strong buttocks." For some reason, many Heroes have a propensity toward hand gestures that mimic hefting an object being described, whether said object is a particularly well-forged blade, or a boob. In this regard the older Greek Heroes were archetypes, Perseus not the least of them.

He molded those firm, athletic but substantial cheeks with both hands squeezing rhythmically, in harmony with the rolling swells just beginning to crest in the neck-deep water. The Heroes could almost see his body sway with each successive wave, the Grey Girl's enticing form moving with him, with the irresistible force of Oceanus.

"As I watched, I noticed they tussled with one another in the waves, as though engaged in a competition that has gone on so long its struggle had become rote habit, both making occasional lunging grabs to secure what seemed to be a small single object from their sibling.

"Aye." Captain Blood couldn't keep the amusement out of his drawn-out interjection, hands proudly cocked on his Peter Pan hips as he stood behind those seated near the foot of the table. "What could that small object be?"

More laughs and a scowl from Perseus. Grizzled Odysseus interrupted with a growl. "Let the man tell it himself. There may be some who don't know the story, so let's all just drop the jocular oculars."

Louder laughing, from fewer Heroes. More than one leaned in to explain the rhyming word play to a neighbor. Odysseus couldn't hold in a self-amused smile as he broke it down for Samson. Few here took as much pride in their own cleverness. If Odysseus ever told a joke that more than half the Heroes understood, he'd berate himself for days.

"You will all, no doubt, be completely surprised when I tell you the small object for which the Grey Girls competed was an eye. A single eye that the sisters shared, allowing one at a time - at most - the luxury of sight.

"But the Grey Hags were old and ugly. Everyone knows..." Kirk actually raised one hand as he spoke, like a school boy.

"I lied."

"But..."

"He lied." Hercules pitched in to help.

"But there were three of them. Three old hags competing for one eye and one tooth, that's the story."

"First timer!" The hoarse holler came from a back booth.

"What you hear here..."

"Here, here!" The anonymous but quick interjection got laughter, as always.

"...is true. But don't worry: once you leave, you won't remember, and you'll have your three beloved old haggies back. For now, we want to hear what happened to two young nymphs playing naked in the waves."

"So still your tongue." The last came from Perseus, accompanied by another too-hard series of pats on Kirk's head. On the third pat, the captain, an expert in Space Judo, dropped. Catching Perseus' descending hand, he rolled onto his own back, pulling the larger Hero down with him.

Kirk's booted feet came up, propelling Perseus up and over Kirk's head as he completed the backward roll. The two went down in a tangle, Perseus attempting to secure a wrestler's hold while Kirk chopped at his neck with the knife's edge of each hand. With admirably Heroic presence of mind, they managed to steer toward the Bar itself while continuing their pummelling grapple.

Oedipus stepped to one side, centering himself in the space he had previously shared, now that the entire speaker's area was his. Even that motion was noticeably off-kilter.

His limp stood out here. Most of the Heroes appeared at the Bar in ridiculous perfection of form. Even if they died horribly, they resurrected Heroically.

With Oedipus, the foot mangled in infancy defined him, gave him his name. It was both caused by and propellant of his destiny. No matter what he accomplished, he was still the cripple, the club-foot.

Until he became the club-foot who outwitted the Sphinx, the club-foot who saved Thebes and, finally, the Club-foot King.

That lasted until he became the Guy that Fucked his Mother. Then his foot became an immediate footnote. Mention 'limp' and Oedipus and most people think of Mom not getting any action, not asymmetrical bipedal locomotion.

The crowd around the table, never orderly, shushed in near-record time. His tale had been told and retold, but never by him, the one who experienced it. Mother fucking Oedipus himself.

"This is a my version of an April Fools story. I know: April hadn't been invented yet, let alone the holiday celebrated on the First. So this is a tale of surprise, and the tragedy that can happen when truths are finally revealed.

"It was another typical Hero day: minding my own business, traveling away from home to avoid fulfilling a prophecy I had just received from Delphi: that I would kill my own father and marry my mother." That got sympathetic nods. Many Heroes visited the Oracle, and they rarely enjoyed the revelations.

"I was raised by the King and Queen of Corinth, the only parents I knew. So I swore to never go near them again. Then some bullies tried to force me off the road. So I took out their leader. Took him out hard, along with his driver." More nods. What else could he have possibly done in that situation?

"Then I find a failed nation-state and a gorgeous woman that both need a strong hand. I raise a good family, great kids, things look golden until...boom! You married your mom.

"Boom! Good news: An only child, you've suddenly got two new sisters and two new brothers.

"Boom! Bad news: they're your own sons and daughters."

At the table, groans and hoots went around. Even if they knew it was coming, the shocking taboo of it never failed to get a reaction.

"But let's back up a bit. Forget that the tall red-haired beauty that welcomed me into the city as the rescuing Hero was my mother. Forget that I had been left on a rock to die as a baby because some seer - a different prophecy, mind you, from the one I fled - had predicted a child would kill his father and do the naughty with his mom. Forget dad was the King who heard the seer.

"Forget if you can the idiocy of a father who believes the word of this seer yet doesn't kill the baby. Quite. Just makes sure the little fella is wounded and then left squalling to die.

"Twenty years later, to top things off, the idiot goes around accosting every twenty year old gimp he meets. To me, that's tempting Fate, like they say."

"Leave me out of it!" The pleasant feminine voice came from under a large hood, at a small side table. Slim fingers idly measured out a length of thread with practiced motions. "Don't make me use my scissors, Oedipus."

The crowd laughed, a little nervously, at the jest. Even the immortal and the dead feared her powers. As much as one can tell from only an open hand looking as though it might be covering a hidden mouth and a hood shaking as though a touch palsied, Fate seemed to laugh silently at her own threat.

"Was Fate involved in my life? I am not the one to ask. But now that you've forgotten those details, I'll tell you my story, as I saw it.

"Jocasta was beautiful. Thick red hair cascading over her shoulders. Shoulders back, a Queen in every way, bravely leading Thebes in the King's absence, under the pall of the Sphinx's oppression. She was tall, showing the blood of her Spartoi ancestors. She was strong. Her eyes shined with a light that confirmed she was only mostly human.

"But everyone was descended from a god or goddess or Titan or something in those days. Remember this goes back to a time before any poet you can name."

Odysseus spoke up, "Tis true. In the golden age of Heroes, we knew his story as ancient lore."

"Even Homer spoke of my future wife, this beautiful red haired perfection walking toward me, silk skirt low on her hips. Hips that flared hard in to a narrow waist; her regal posture displaying her magnificent breasts to maximum advantage."

As he spoke, Oedipus's hands took invisible hips in their grip before they moved upward to an invisible chest. As he gestured, his lecherous sneer turned to a look of blissful joy. His hands continued to kneed and caress the air in front of him. No street mime or amateur charader better sculpted invisible beauty. Perseus was an old school Hero and gestured like one, but few indeed used their hands as evocatively as Oedipus. Perhaps it was his own eyeless experience.

"An advantage of this mixing of blood has been exceptionally soft yet resilient flesh. It varies, but almost all have it. Look around you. Even Heracles still has a nice complexion under that beard and after all those Labors.

"But in Jocasta, the trait was strong. Their were rumors that the missing King had an extreme taste for the smoothest of skins that proceeded his marriage. At least one visiting prince had complained about his penchant. If those rumors were true, his Queen must have been a treasure to him.

"Even before I first touched her, I marveled at her flesh. Like polished marble, it gleamed without glistening. Especially, it seemed, across her chest, between those magnificent breasts, so proudly and openly displayed for the Hero being honored for saving Thebes.

"Remember, this was a time when women did not cover their bosom in shame." He shook his head. A head that could exude painful anguish better than most.

"To be ashamed of one of the god's most wonderful gifts! I wonder at the oratory skills of that man or woman who first not only conceived that breasts should be covered but also managed to convince others this was a good idea.

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byKethandra© 4 comments/ 13707 views/ 14 favorites

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