Procreation Myth

Zeus wasn’t the first to notice the mortal spending half of her fortune on the construction of an elaborate swan costume. The King of Olympus lets the good stuff filter through. That’s his prerogative. But word got to him about this one, and soon he and Hermes  observed the Athenian woman, Aglaia, strut around in costume: each feather fluttering perfectly, the beak convincing, the wings bending and flapping with stunning verisimilitude. The only signs that this was not a giant swan clomping around the garden were when Aglaia said “Zeus” in between squawks, and the opening on the underside that revealed her human vulva. 

“It’s well-kept, dad,” Hermes said, laying invisible beneath Aglaia. “She put the work in ahead of time. Gotta give her that.”

“Do you think this is about the Leda business?” Zeus said, seated on a nearby boulder. “If she’s trying to prove some kind of point I don’t want to get involved.” 

“What’s she gonna say? ‘I dressed up like a big dumb swan and yelled for Zeus and then he stuck it to me’?” 

“I’m not worried about my reputation, Hermes. I just want to know if she’s worth my trouble.” Zeus peeked into the costume. Aglaia was sweating as she stomped and operated the levers for the wings and head. The shine on her naked flesh, the salty droplet journeying from her neck, down between her breasts and around the light paunch of her stomach, appealed to Zeus. He got enough of elegance on Olympus. Perfection after perfection wandered the clouds. Only humanity could offer filth. 

“I’m waiting for you, Zeus,” Aglaia said. “I am ready to be yours.”

“That clears things up,” Hermes said. “You gonna go for it? Want me to get out of here?” 

“Not necessarily.”

“Hey alright, I can stay and watch. Don’t need to twist my arm.” Hermes licked his lips and leered at Aglaia. “Kinda wondering if she’s gonna keep making swan noises when you’re giving it to her.”

Whether or not Zeus gave permission, Hermes would’ve stuck around to watch anyway. But that wasn’t what concerned Zeus. “I’m not doing it. Feel free to get under her again if you want. Tell her you are Zeus if you so choose and have your fun. But I’m not getting involved.” 

“No way. You know me, I’m in, I’m out. You want someone to cum a rocket across the room with two seconds warning, I’m your guy. But fucking like I’m Zeus? Out of my skill set.” 

With that, Zeus returned to Olympus. Hermes later informed him that Aglaia had marched around the garden for another six hours, wet the entire time. Not that Zeus had asked. The next day, he inquired with Athena about her, who told him only a few facts: she was a wealthy woman from Athens, her husband died while swimming drunk, and she had taught herself to waggle her hips while urinating so her stream spelled Zeus. Athena delivered all three pieces of information with the same level of disinterest in her voice, though an eyebrow perked up at the last one. 

“How’s her penmanship?”

“Terrible.” Athena rose from her chair, affect still flat. “Let me show you.” She squatted and waggled her hips, spraying piss everywhere. “Do you see how this makes the momentum difficult to control?”

“I do. You’re making a mess of it.”

“It’s completely illegible.” Athena widened her stance and straightened her back. “What she should do is use her core muscles more, to put some power behind the stream.” A jet of piss shot out of Athena and carved a line in the floor. As she talked, she used her legs and hips to deliberately adjust her angles. “The rest is just taking it slowly and seriously. I hope you’re not considering having sex with someone who devotes so little attention to her tasks.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. Precision is one of the most important sexual skills, one which mortals often lack.” Athena stood from her squat, revealing that she had carved a drawing of Zeus sucking his own dick into the floor. “I encourage you to pay her no further attention, father.”

That was Zeus’s intention. But he peeked in on her one night, and found her carving a statue of him. Not that she was particularly skilled. The greatest sculptors in all of Greece had attempted to render his form, and none had captured his glory, so Aglaia had no hope of achieving the feat. Yet all the care she devoted as she chiseled out the muscles in his shoulders and how she sweated as she carved his beard kept him coming back. Months passed and exhaustion weighed Aglaia down, but she finished the statue. A rudimentary likeness, with chunky angles and none of the grace of divinity. If Zeus hadn’t been around to see the creation, he would’ve taken it as a clever insult from a sculptor. But he knew what Aglaia meant by it. The large, erect penis jutting perpendicular from the statue left little room for misinterpretation.

After a week of rest, Aglaia brought a bowl of oil out to the statue. She slathered it on the statue’s penis, then removed her clothes. When the statue entered her, Zeus felt as though he had done so. She gyrated her hips and shouted to the heavens. “Zeus! Please come and grasp me in your arms. I am yours to do with as you will.” If only she knew Zeus was right next to her, examining closely the way her breasts bounced, how the fat on her hips rippled every time she took the statue deeper into her, the way her natural odor intermingled with the smell of the oil. It would be as simple as reaching out a hand and taking her. 

But Zeus left.

On the coast, he dipped his feet into the cool water and let waves wash in up to his waist. After a particularly large swell, Poseidon sat next to him. “Brother, what’s the trouble?”

“There’s a mortal.”

“Ah yes, I’ve heard. Hermes went to great lengths describing her vagina to me.” Poseidon stroked his beard, which shimmered like the ocean.

“It’s a vulva.”

“I’m sorry brother. I’ve been fucking fish and eels for a thousand years. Human anatomy is not well-practiced knowledge.”

“Any squid?”

Poseidon raised his eyebrows and half-concealed an excited smile.

Zeus said, “Say no more. I’ve found myself dwelling on her. I could make her mine in an instant. And yet I can’t.”

The two of them reclined in the surf. The waves carried sand and deposited it in the gaps between Zeus’s fingers. As the sunset glowed red on the horizon, a hand rubbed Zeus’s shoulder. Poseidon leaned in, lips pursed and expression slack, but Zeus shoved him away. Poseidon grasped his hand tight.

“Please, brother! All of the ocean’s creatures are such selfish lovers.” 

Annoyed, Zeus returned to Olympus. He observed Aglaia once again. She had drilled a hole into the statue’s penis, and connected it to a leather pouch where the scrotum would go. When she squeezed it, some type of cream burst out and covered her face. Zeus looked away, just in time to see Hera approach. 

“What’s this about some mortal?”


“Another nothing, Zeus? I have heard of her from Athena, who said only that I should unthreatened by such a sloppy pisser. How am I supposed to interpret that?” Hera clutched two handfuls of her garment and her knuckles turned white with effort. “I will find her, Zeus. And I will scatter her destroyed body across the earth.”

“I assure you, I have no interest in this strange woman. Now please, leave me be.”


“Leave!” Zeus added some thunder and lightning in the background, to emphasize his shout, and Hera stormed away. He laughed to himself. This funk he’d been in about Aglaia now seemed so simple. Though her actions were strange, she had drawn his attention. As King of the Gods, he could grasp the object of his attention with the least bit of effort. And so he would, no matter what Hera threatened.

One morning, while Aglaia brushed a tender hand on the chest of the statue, a living one burst from within the stone and grabbed her. With rubble crumbling off of him, Zeus emerged with a mad grin on his face. This was the feeling he’d been missing. The rush of being in charge. He lunged his other hand forward to grasp her hair as she fled, but only found air. She hadn’t run. Instead, she pressed her entire body against his chest, which still only half-emerged from the ruined statue.

“Oh Lord Zeus. I knew you’d come. Even in the darkest moments, when I nearly gave into despair, I knew.” Her grateful tears poured down his chest and ribs, and in between his perfectly sculpted abs. 

“Um. Yes. I know I’ve kept you waiting for much too long. But I am very busy. King of the Gods, you know.” He wondered if he should put a hand on her shoulder, or her head, or how to engage with her. As she covered his chest in tender kisses, Zeus heard a faint slapping noise from the sun above. Helios was jacking off in his chariot again. But it was more likely that he was using the gentle curve of the Earth as his inspiration, rather than Zeus’s current situation. No need to be self-conscious. Zeus nudged Aglaia to the side, and shook the rest of the statue off of his legs. “Do not be afraid of a godly cock.”

But Aglaia did not flinch or cringe away from him. Within an instant, she dropped to her knees. So it was Zeus’s turn to flinch, pulling his dick just out of Aglaia’s grasp. “What’s wrong, my lord? Have I approached your divinity incorrectly?” She bowed. Behind her, Hermes and Athena emerged from the foliage. Hermes had his hand on his chin, his body leaning forward as if it was drawn magnetically toward Zeus and Aglaia. Athena leaned back on the heels of her feet, spine perfectly straight as always. Of all the times for her to decide to try to learn from her father’s technique!

If they wanted a show, Zeus would give it to them. He seized Aglaia by the shoulders and lifted her into the air. He said, “You are mine, to do with as I see fit. Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, of course. Use my body for whatever purposes you imagine.” Aglaia blushed and moaned as Zeus’s grip on her shoulders tightened. 

“Whatever purposes. Is there nothing I could do that would make you object?”

“Nothing at all. Enter me, use me, eviscerate me. As long as it is by your hand, there is no fate I would reject.” Aglaia’s yearning eyes made contact with his, and she tangled her fingers in his beard. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be yours. Now that you’re here, there is nothing in the world that I would refuse you.”

Zeus tossed her to the ground and shouted a clap of thunder. Lightning bolts flashed and destroyed every treetop within the garden. Another flash and he was gone. 

“Zeus! My love! Where did you go? What have I done wrong?”

The clouds parted and Aglaia heard Zeus, even though she couldn’t see him. “You have been so dedicated, and deserve my love. But I cannot give you what you want.” From within the beam of sunlight, a golden rain spattered down on Aglaia. “This is the form my affection has taken. You will have a child, blessed and powerful as my children always are. This is the reward for your devotion.”

Aglaia sobbed. “A child? I didn’t want a child. I wanted to get fucked. Lord Zeus, how could you do this to me?” But the sky darkened without another word. Zeus was gone. As Aglaia pounded her fist against the ground, Hermes and Athena appeared to her, walking out from behind her.

Hermes said, “Girl, have you considered getting that vag painted onto an urn? You oughta commemorate that thing before childbirth turns it into a battlefield.”

“Though once it does, perhaps you’d have luck seducing Ares.” Athena chuckled to herself, and the two gods vanished.

Zeus only checked in on Aglaia once more, months later. She reclined nude in her garden, pregnant belly large on her body and legs open, beneath a sign which read “HERA COME EAT MY PUSSY.” He looked away, unable to bear the notion of Hera succeeding where he had failed. Aglaia’s lifespan would end in the blink of an eye, and once she was gone, Zeus would only need to contend with his children’s infinite memories, and their endless amusement at his humiliation. To get a break from their mockery, one day he joined Helios in his chariot. Dick in hand, Helios instructed him. “Look at its gentleness, its sensuality as the horizon dips. No greater beauty exists.” Minutes later, Helios came, lighting up the aurora borealis. As Zeus tried to focus and experience the same delight as Helios, he spotted Hera and Aglaia intertwined, the latter in the thrall of ecstasy. His already flagging erection failed, and for all his efforts could only squeeze out a single drop of cum, which fell radiant from the heavens to the earth.

On that spot grew a tree, adorned with white flowers and reeking of the cum which created it. While it fruited, each pear was too insignificant to amount to anything, so infused was this tree with the frustration Zeus felt at that moment. Today, those trees have spread to many regions of the world, and every spring bloom to remind us of the pitiful failure of Zeus.