Saturday, February 1, 2014

Inspiration... Is it a surprise that we get the word "musical" from the word "Muse"?

Erato, my Muse of choice, does a fairly good job with keeping me inspired. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but always there in the background throwing new ideas at me.

Recently, while watching Mamma Mia! (the best musical, by far, no doubt), I swear Erato struck me over the head with one of her best ideas in a while. Here's the result...


“My dear boy, you know I wasn’t jealous much before we met.”
I nodded my acceptance of his claim, though, internally I debated its fact. His romantic conquests were legendary, not just here in Troy, but all across the Mediterranean. The sailors at the taverns were always eager to share the most lurid of the tales after a few cups of undiluted wine. I, myself, had shared a few with the guys.
“Every woman I see look at you makes me want to swoop down and snatch you up. I’ve never been so possessive.”
“Eros had it easy, I was an easy mark. A little small talk, a little touch, and I was stuck. I really don’t know what you’ve done to me. Women never fall this easily.” He laughed, a deep-throated rumble like the sound an approaching storm makes as it gathers force in the open waters. I loved it!
“I feel a kind of fear when you aren’t right here near me.” His grip tightened on my arm, pulling me closer to his chest. His dark, only slightly greying, chest hair tickled my own hairless ribcage. Smiling, I rolled over to my side to rest my soft cheek over his pounding heart and drap my leg over his much larger, more muscular one.
I lifted my leg a bit, sliding my thigh up higher along his, just barely nudging his already hardening cock. My voice lowered seductively, “Everything is new…”
“I beg you, Ganymede, don’t waste any emotion or share your devotion on another. Give me all your love!” His volume rose, a true godly command, as he turned my face up so our eyes could meet. The deep brown of his pupils, clouded still with lust, met my own paler brown eyes – like a woman’s, my father once told me, though not as a compliment. He waited for my acquiescence, a slight gesture of understanding. I was his.
            “I’ve had my share of love affairs, boy. Short, meaningless flings. Sensible enough for my wife to accept. Which makes this…” he waved his hand, heavy and etched with years of labor, rough with so many callouses at the air above us, entertwined as we were. “This is so unfathomable. Hera is not going to be pleased with you.”

So, can you guess what the idea was? Come on, it's not too hard...

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