MoonGoddess

Bernie, who was now the god Cupcaecius, turned over on his back, looking very much like Cary Grant in the morning light. He smiled up at the very ‘fit’ moon goddess Artemis’ from the pier planks. She stood heroically astride him. He blinked. “New knickers, darling?” he asked.

“Good morning, moon pie,” Artemis said, ignoring his comment. She always gave a generous berth to infinite male stupidity. She stepped to the side so that she could keep her captive’s feeble attention. He was happy to see her wearing the white star-studded tunic that he’d seen her wearing the first time they’d met. The familiar long braid swung around her bare white shoulder. She turned to him. Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief and ‘hithering.’ “Listen to me, Cake. Now that you’re immortal, you cannot afford to forget that another god can still kill you.”

“Hmmmm.” Oh, my. Look at her. He hadn’t heard a single word that she said.

“I’m sorry that I made love to you to death,” she said suddenly.

Cupcaecius / Bernie was thinking, How would Cary Grant say it? He sat up rail straight and spoke. “The nerve, darling. You’ve made a laughing stock out of me in front of all of my close friends and associates. I’ll never be able to show my face at The Polo Lounge again. Do you seriously think that a mere apology can heal my damaged soul? Having relations with someone—to death—is serious, young lady!”

“I said I was sorry. I brought you back as a god, didn’t I.”

“Yes! But only so that Dauna could ‘be intimate’ with me—to death—again! Look at me, darling. I’m damaged!”

“Awwwwwwwww. You ungrateful φαλλός,” said Artemis. “By the way, nice slacks.”

“Thanks. Is my shirt still presentable? Never mind. Don’t either of you ladies feel any remorse? Well, Miss High-and-Mighty, Artemis, I’d like to see you try to RMTD (romance me to death) now that I have become, Cupcaecius! I dare you to MWWMTD (make whoopie with me to death). Let’s see who can MWTD (mate who to death) now!”

Bomba growled at the spoiled, handsome bastard who still managed to complain like a brat.

“The slaughter of your nemesis, Edwin MacHeath, was my wedding gift to you and Miss Sloppy Seconds”

“Sloppy Who?”

“Your waif of a wife. I had my way with you first,” said the proud and competitive Olympian, “So, I won. And, you turned out all right didn’t you?”

“I love that super-hero goddess stance, dear. What’s wrong?”

“You married her!” Artemis had backed up into the carved pirate statue near the cafe entrance and knocked it over. She whispered, “Shhhh. Your waif is coming! I wouldn’t want to see the mother hen-pecker get her panties all in a—too late.”

“Panties? I don’t have the time,” said Dauna smoking in the doorway. “Well, well, well look what the three slutty fate sisters blew in.”