Part Three of the Satyr Saga
"What have you done to me?" Owen repeated.
He was walking a knife edge, only moments away from hysteria. Less than a day before, his life had turned comfortably in its old, familiar rut. Work delivering pizza at Mama Juliana's. Home. Sleep. Saving money to finish the last few classes he needed to get his associate's degree and be able to transfer to a four-year university and pursue a real degree, perhaps in engineering, more likely in business. Caring for his mother, worrying about his sister.
And then, in the space of a few hours, everything had turned upside down. A chance encounter in the parking lot of a grocery store had led to the gift of a copper bracelet that somehow made him unnervingly desirable to the opposite sex.
It had started off slowly, the previous evening. Or, rather, very early this morning, as his mother, Isabel, had grown strangely flirtatious with him. Then, this morning at breakfast, she had been even more affectionate, kissing him full on the mouth and speaking so frankly about her sexual relationship with his long-dead father that he feared she had an illness which was taking away her inhibitions.
The strangeness had snowballed throughout the day, to the point that he could no longer deny that something in his life had gone completely off the rails. Crazy-hot sex at the store with his boss and long-time crush, Anaya. A blow job in the back yard of his old high school girlfriend, who he had not seen or even spoken to in over four years. Sex with an older woman in her home office while her husband was passed out, only a few feet away.
And just a few minutes ago, and most chillingly, the warning from a beautiful Russian woman that the hand of a dark god was on him. It was that foretelling which had led Owen to pull to the side of the road, turn on his blinkers, and frantically call the woman who had given him the bracelet less than twenty-four hours before.
"Do to you?" answered Phoebe, her voice amused. "Nothing. Or at least, very little."
"Don't play games with me," said Owen, his hand clenching on the phone. "Tell me what is going on.
"Who are you?"
"Ah," said Phoebe. "That's the right sort of question." She paused and her voice grew clinical. "Will you accept for the purposes of this conversation that there are things going on in your life that are beyond the ordinary?"
"Accept it?" said Owen disbelievingly, his voice rising. "That's the reason I'm calling you! I haven't been laid in nearly a year, and now I have half the freaking population of Iowa throwing themselves at me. Including my own mother, in case you hadn't noticed!"
"Oh, I noticed, all right," Phoebe said, her voice smug. "So did the rest of us. But going back to your question about my identity. Phoebe is not my real name. It is Phobos."
"
What?
"
"Phobos," she repeated, "One of the twin sons of Ares, god of war. I was the personification of fear. I had a moon named after me," she finished, somewhat proudly.
"Phobos," Owen said blankly. "What is the Roman personification of fear doing in Des Moines, Iowa, and what does it have to do with me being irresistible to women?"
"Greek," Phoebe, or Phobos, corrected.
"
Whatever
," Owen snarled. "Why are you here, and why are you fucking around with my life?"
There was silence on the line. Then: "Dad lost a bet," she mumbled.
"Huh?"
"Here's some advice, Owen. Never get drunk and start gambling with Bacchus. Dad was hanging out with him a few weeks back, bitching about how things weren't like they were in the old days. How there's a lot of wars, but he never gets invited anymore. That the only time anyone talks about him is in your stupid video games or in old history books.
"They're always trying to find a way back in, those old gods. Bacchus isn't in much better shape. Oh, every once in a while someone will throw him a drunken salute as they pour themselves a glass of wine, but that isn't real worship. And it is thin gruel for a god to survive on.
"So they both got plastered and started talking about the glory days. And they decided that the best way to get some of their strength back was to send a messenger to the mortal realm and to find someone to act as an avatar for their worship.
"But they only had enough power between them to send one messenger and to choose one avatar.
"They threw dice for it. Dad lost. Because of course he did. Gambling with Bacchus. Moron. As his son, I was given a new form and sent here to search for the right person."
"And you chose
me?"
Owen's voice was disbelieving. "I don't even
like
wine. And what does this have to do with sex?"
Phoebe laughed. "Oh, you poor, modern men. You don't have the benefit of a classical education. Bacchus was also the head of the satyrs."
"The what?"
"The satyrs. Bacchus' companions. Men. Mostly naked, really well-hung, spent most of their time humping like goats. Pretty much irresistible to women."
He could almost
hear
Phoebe smirk over the phone.
"Sex is
so
much better at drawing people in than war, or even alcohol. The porn industry is proof enough of that. You would have thought Dad would have figured it out by now, but he was always slow to learn."
"Bacchus' idea was that if he endowed," a snigger on the phone, "a human with some of his powers, made him his avatar, it might open the door of worship just wide enough for him to squeeze back in. He sent me and asked me to choose a man. And not just any man," she continued, interrupting his strangled exclamations, "but a
good
man. One who would not misuse his gift.
"So far," she said, "it seems that I have chosen well. And you
were
chosen, Owen. Never doubt it. If this gamble of Bacchus' is to succeed, I had to choose someone who was decent and...and
honorable
. Someone who would not abuse his power."
"So," Owen said weakly, "my bigger dick?"
"A gift of the god, to enhance your partner's pleasure."
"The itching?"
"A sign that you are in the presence of one who would welcome your attentions. You might also," she said, her voice low and wicked, "find that your...recovery time...is much reduced. If you continue as you have begun, you will need it."
Owen ignored this. "And the fact that women are losing control around me?"
"They aren't." To Owen's disbelieving silence, she insisted. "They
aren't,
Owen. How many women have you been around today, between the store, your deliveries, and everything?"
"I don't know. Quite a few."
"And how many did you have sex with?"
"Well, three, I guess."
"Right. One was Anaya. All that happened with her was the bracelet gave her the ability to see you as you really are, and gave a little kick to her sex drive. But we did not force her on you, and you certainly didn't force yourself on her.
"Second was Sandy. A sweet, gentle girl who met you in a vulnerable moment and wanted to make up for the way she thought she mistreated you.
"Third, Wendy. She was so pent-up with anger at her husband and frustration at her lack of a sex life that she would have humped a lawn ornament. The bracelet took just enough of her inhibitions away for her to seduce you and to enjoy sex for the first time in years.
"Women may find you desirable. But a woman who is in a loving, committed relationship would no more go to bed with you than she would cut off her own arm.
"We do
not
take away free will. In fact, we enhance it. We let you know which women you meet are willing. By removing some of their inhibitions, we give them the chance to exercise their own desires. If you wish, you can mate with all of them. Or some of them. Or none. No one forced you to fuck Anaya at the store today. Or accept oral sex from Sandy. And you could have easily escaped Wendy if you truly wished."
"And my mother?" Owen asked, his knuckles white on the phone.
"Ah," Phoebe said, her voice wise and slightly mocking. "You're finally coming around to the real reason you called.
"You're terrified of going home to Mama, aren't you, Owen? Terrified of what might be waiting for you there. Will it be the loving mother you have known your entire life, or will it be the sexy woman you have caught glimpses of in the last few hours? And do you act on your desire, which you have hidden, even from yourself, for years? Or do you lock it away and pretend it doesn't exist?"
"I'm not...I don't..."
"You are. And you do. Don't try to lie about fear to Phobos, silly boy. And don't lie about lust to the envoy of Bacchus."
She laughed, voice low with wonder. "Aphrodite's Tits! Just saying her name made you hard for her, didn't it, Owen? It's too bad that I'm not there to help you out. I'd give you a nice ride, just to see what sex is like when you're on the receiving end of the dick. I'm a woman now, after all. And I might as well receive some of the benefits of giving you that bracelet. Want to tell me where you are?"
Owen flushed, and forced his wandering hand away from his cock, which had, indeed, grown hard and full and aching, thinking on the moment earlier this morning when his mother's full breasts had been pressed against his chest, and her soft lips tender on his. Phoebe continued, her voice somewhat gentler than normal, as if she sensed his distress and sought to calm him.
"The best advice I can give to you, young one, is this. The bracelet makes no differentiation between those who are or are not blood kin. Your mother is a lonely woman in the prime of her life who physically desires and emotionally needs a man in her life. It could be you.
"But you can also choose to deny her, and yourself. The effects of the bracelet dull with time and proximity. So if you choose not to pursue Isabel, or if she chooses to act against the desires of her body, in a few days the recent incidents will fade and be forgotten."
Owen nodded, his mouth dry, even though he knew Phoebe couldn't see him. "All right, then. I keep my dick in my pants and eventually this all blows over with Mama. No problem.
"But what about this creepy stuff where I am giving advice to women after we...after we make love? I don't where it is coming from and it scares the hell out of me."
