Hera and The Flowers

PREFACE

Long ago and far beyond the galaxies...

*

HERA AND THE FLOWERS

Hera was pissed.

About just about everything.

She shrieked until a pasty-faced nymph showed up, bowing and scraping.

“Yes, mistress most divine?”

“Where in Hades is everyone?”

The nymph quaked. “Not in Hades, your celestial greatness. Most are at the games.”

“Games?” her voice rose the way Dame Edith Evans’ would one day. “What games?”

“The ones near the mountain down there,” she pointed a trembling finger through a hole in the clouds down at Olympus, “where pretty naked youths, well oiled, are running around and tossing things and lifting other things and wrestling each other and otherwise strutting their…stuff.”

In one breath. This twat could talk the arms off a statue of Aphrodite.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Oh heavenly harlot, I am called Echo.”

You-know-who thought better than to risk inquiry into that. She tucked away the name for some future curse. Calmly, she asked, “Are there no creatures about?”

Echo’s thoughts ricocheted in her seldom-used cranium. “I saw two chimeras loitering by the cesspool.”

“They’ll do. Fetch them at once.”

“If they ask why…?”

“WHY? Whyis because I require their service. And they’d damn well better grovel if they make me wait.” She flung her arm imperiously, “Now hie thee thither!”

Has she a lisp? Echo worried as she dashed.

Hera scratched (the myth says not where) and fretted. I meant hither, as in yon.

Rumbly noises and a foul-smelling miasma signaled the beasts’ eventual arrival. The hideous things made clumsy obeisances. Their snake tails hissed, their goats’ heads fought over a tin can, and their lion’s heads roared, spat a few flames.

“Cut that out!” Hera said sharply. Her snapping fingers sounded like a snare drum to come.

The chimeras settled down uneasily. One snake stuck half a tongue out at the other, thinking, I’ll fork you later. A half-chewed tin can clanked to marble marquetry that only a big-time goddess could have in front of her throne. The lions, on best behavior, purred.

Okay. Time to reckon with our stupid decorator. Chloris may have fooled my husband with her cloud-to-cloud carpets of posies and their riots of colors – Miss Goody Two-Sandals! Flora by any other name’s just a stand-in for another hot pussy wanting Big Z to dork her. If he hasn’t already. Must have…

“I have an assignment you’ll enjoy.”

Six heads faced up.

Sitting erect, boobs proudly thrust in their general direction, Hera made an imposing sight.

She decided to show interest by asking their names.

The more distant serpent said, “I’m Ssslink. He’s Ssslither.”

She glanced at the goats.

“I’m Nanko. She’s Nanny,” the male bleated.

“And you two?”

“Simba”

“Kimba.”

What do they do for sex? Or how? Oh well…

“I take it you know who I am?”

“Yes, Empress of All, they do.” It was the distant voice of Echo, who had found her capitalizations. Timorous, she was hiding behind a column no one knew was up in the sky. Whitest marble enrobed by pure-white clouds billowing about and around.

Hard to see. Heads twisted in every direction.

“Ahem!” Hera cleared her throat to focus attention. “I want you to rip up the botanicals all over this realm. Nanko and Nanny, your horns can do a lot and you can nibble all you want. Simba and Kimba, it’s your sharp claws I’m counting on – and that fire-breathing act you do so well. Wilt everything frilly-dilly fern and flowering branch you can’t shred.”

“What about usss?”

Hera, who had thought of everything, smiled, “Any creature that gets in the way of this decreed project, you sink your fangs into and thoroughly envenom them.”

“Whee!”

“Wait!” she commanded. Hadn’t thought of everything. “Skip the orange and apple trees and my fig bushes. Their fruit’s good.” Again on the verge of dismissing the bobbingly ready-to-rip chimeras, it occurred to Hera to add, “For a good job, there’ll be a reward.”

Six heads turned, their twelve nostrils wide.

“There’ll be permanent employment waiting for you. You know where Hades’ palace is at the juncture of the Lethe and Styx rivers?”

Lots of nods. Curious glances

“My former crush Hades has set up an underworld resort on the opposite bank – and – he wants you to work there with your brothers, Cerberus and Hydra. Plus, Medusa’s the greeter. You’ll have a gay, old-time-and-for-all-time, reunion.”

“Medussssa - Yesss and yessssss!”

Bleat! Bleat!

Roar! Roar!

“Stop slobbering and don’t scratch my marquetry! Now” – she flung her imperious arm – “go!”

***

Wasn’t long before a howling, screeching, hair-pulling, tragedy-fraught Chloris, periwinkle seeds scattering, barged into Big Z’s private quarters where, on a golden couch, he was dallying with a uselessly protesting athlete recently plucked from the Olympics.

Ringlets, dimples, a muscular torso, an appropriately tiny packet, and a butt to die for.

Head of All He Surveyed, Big Z was using his butchest bass voice, “Yours is the cutest tush to grace my sight in centuries.”

A squealing little boy ran naked through the room, chased by a slightly more mature, equally naked youth waving a set of beautiful amethyst anal beads and calling out, “You have to get started!”

“Who in heaven are they?” the athlete asked, pushing nervously at something poking him in the rear.

“My new ’Mede and the out-going one, who’s headed for manhood, so no longer useful. Now, be still, and you won’t feel a thing. Well, maybe not too much. I’ll adjust. Mine is the most divine lube.”

Chloris wailed with the force of a whole chorus.

The athlete sighed, “Unnnnhhh, you have a point.” Relaxed, he let the god have his way. I’m a good Greek athlete. I can take it.

Without missing a beat, Big Z eyed Chloris balefully. “Beg all you want. I’m not going to fuck you again. My wife was furious.”

“It’s your wife!” she said, making an awful face.

“Hera wants to fuck you? Not like her, but…”

“No, she tore out all my lush plantings. Why Botticelli’ll have nothing to inspire his…his Springtime thing with Zephyrus and Mercury – I mean, Hermes – and the Graces and me and…and what about his Aphrodite on the Half Shell with Zephyrus and me and…and?” She ran out of names to bandy.

“Zephyrus blows all of ’em,” the god grumbled, doing his level best not to break rhythm with the athlete, whose name, Pheidippides, he hadn’t bothered to ask.

“Yes, but he’s marrying ME!”

Much annoyed by now, Big Z was callous, “You want eternal blow jobs? You don’t even have a dick!”

A deafening brouhaha broke their impasse. Other divine beings rushed in in hysterics, jostling poor, weepy Chloris to one side.

According to later scribal hands, such caterwauling had never broken the celestial peace the way this did.

Strong limbed Artemis, arrows quivering, got there first. “Your wife tore up my carnations!”

Hermes, he of overall gorgeousness, waved his caduceus threateningly, “She trashed my crocuses!”

All of heaven grew brighter with Apollo’s arrival in a chariot pulled by no less a mount than Pegasus. Angry but polite enough to greet Artemis, “Hi, sis,” before turning the sunshine of his best smile toward the couch, he said respectfully, “Hello, pops. Sorry to arrive before Hermes had his chance to herald me and while you’re occupied – say, he’s adorable! – but your wife destroyed my beloved hyacinths. And, I understand, even Ajax’s larkspurs.”

“Yoo-hoo,” came from behind a far-distant column.

“Hark,” said Hermes, whose hearing was particularly good. “The voice of gentle Echo.”

From behind her distant column, she sobbed in the soprano range, “And my narcissuses!”

“That does it!” Big Z thundered.

He retracted from the panting athlete, patted him on the behind, and said, “Look, I’m sorry to have to abandon our exercise but I’ve a bitch that needs attending to. You go with my son, the Sun, Apollo, over there. He’ll finish what I started and, if you take him well, he’ll doubtless make you a special gift of something like super heroism and give you a ride back downstairs. Say, to Marathon?”

Without the loss of a second, Apollo reached for goofily-grinning, starry-eyed Pheidippides, drew him into an embrace of promising…uh…warmth, flicked Pegasus’ reins, and off they started, fleecy clouds roiling in the chariot’s wake.

Chloris accepted Artemis’ consolation – and they went off together. “I have a wilderness where you can plant all the flowers you want – and I’ll make sure Botticelli knows where to find them when his time comes.”

With nobody left in the vicinity, Hermes felt sorry for himself when, out of the azure arrived Eros, who was looking really good.

“Hiya, Hermes. Looking for a good time?”

“Oh Eros, yes. I haven’t been in the sack in ages, not since poor Crocus…”

“Shhh. Don’t worry. Love will bloom with you right there on Big Z’s couch. Don’t mind the splotches.”

As a wise someone said, “Boys will be boys.”

And they were.

***

Echo, who wasn’t about to desert her hiding place, peeked toward the humongous black cloud settling over Hera’s place. Serves her right, all those lightning bolts! Maybe he’ll really zap her.

The whole universe heard, “COW-FACED, VENGEFUL SKANK, SHOW YOURSELF! YOUR HUSBAND, KING, AND GOD COMMANDS OBEDIENCE!”

The whole universe listened.

Heard no response.

Hera, some hastily applied makeup on her cheeks, checked her tits, and donned a fresh chiton. On her way to the door, she cued her lyre-player who, for ambience, began plucking away at the Fourth Delphic Hymn.

She found Zeus standing, arms folded, back to her. Where there had been the most gloriously arrayed flowers of every sort, ferns galore, ivy, and moss, there now were some bare boulders, a few tall cacti, and a lot of raked sand.

“Who is responsible for this?” Steam practically came out of his ears. He fumed.

Hera decided to play dumb, with caution. “Some little, bustling Jomon workers. They said gardens of this sort would become popular one day and known by a catchy word, Zen. Isn’t that nice? ” She added a serious note, “The aesthetic principle, or Tao, is ‘Less is more.’” Coyly, she went too far: “History will record that I was a pioneer of an important artistic style in garden design and execution.”

Execution – there’s an idea. You-know-who thought that.

Forming himself into a vicious whirlwind, Big Z whisked Hera dizzyingly to her long-deserted bed, crammed the Fear of God into her, waited for her to catch a few breaths, and then made terrifying eye contact. “You want this?”

“Yes, husband dearest.” She was all googly-eyed. “It’s been a millennium.”

“Two conditions: Next time I’m here, I’d better see some narcissuses, larkspurs, hyacinths, crocuses, and carnations; and, while I don’t care who or what you dally with, I will be the master of such flirtations, amours, intrigues, pickups, and toy-boys as befits my station…without…any…sign…ever…again…of jealousy…on your part.”

“Yes, Belovèd of the Ages. Now…”

Big Z banged and juiced ol’ Hera till she cooed and mewled – by dead reckoning, about a month.

***

To celebrate the first anniversary of the Most Heavenly Couple’s pact, a picnic was held on Hera’s grounds. Hades and Persephone were first to arrive, bearing barbecued ribs. Thanked by Hera herself (who did not want to know whose ribs they were), the Underworld rulers were pointed to a trail “to see all my lovely flowers. Start with the crocuses…”

Artemis and Chloris (Zephyrus had to work) showed up with several salads (a particularly tasty one had fresh venison in it). One of the Nereids, acting as a handmaiden of Hera’s, thanked them and urged that they catch up with Hades and Persephone, “To see the mistress’ flowers. Crocuses and hyacinths…”

Hephaestus (cleaned up after working at his forge) and Aphrodite (elegantly clean, she always received whistles) contributed a basket of chips – marble chips from one of his statues which Big Z delightedly turned into potato-thins, slightly accented by dashes of salt brought by Poseidon and Amphitrite along with plenty of dried fish. He detailed his newest ’Mede to show the quartet his wife’s “flower trail.” Darling little thing happily did so, a pearl dropping from his chubby behind now and then. He piped, “See the larkspurs and bloody-red carnations!”

Dionysus and Ariadne willingly had agreed to furnish barrels of wine and mead (They always had plenty). “What an entrance!” Hera declared, when she saw they had His Mightiness the Minotaur pulling their cart.

While unloading was underway, she whispered to the Minotaur where to find the other monsters. “They’re living it up, that way, past the Elysian Fields, all expenses paid, at the Stygian Resort down in Hades. You trot off and have a good time, y’hear?”

A whinny later, he galloped away.

Other deities major and minor supplied napery, blankets, cushions, and pillows.

After sundown when Selene and her moon took over the sky, Apollo rode in with Hermes and Eros, nude and excited. The three gaily tossed spicy sweetmeats to one and all before retiring to a distant copse to dance lubricious largos and fuck like rabbits.

Through it all, Echo traipsed from group to group distributing Hera’s home-grown apples, oranges, and figs which she endorsed as “simply delicious.”

Right after Echo there followed another of the Nereids handing out small vials of “olive oil for the orgy.” Every time she said it was “extra-virgin,” she giggled, thinking, There’s a virgin in this gang?

*

Thus peace, beauty, and deeply penetrative sex brought calm to the Universe’s everlasting concentric, crystalline spheres.

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