not having a good time of it tonight, and it broke my heart. To see this most beautiful being brought so low, to see him so close to ultimate despair, to see the rage that seethed beneath the despair, and to feel the pain that lurked even beneath the rage, and fueled it, was more than I could bear. And to know further, that I could not help him, but could only see it and do no good, was my own personal torture…

Vulcan and I both knew the cause of Loki’s torment. He had committed the cardinal sin of the gods – he had fallen in love, not in heat or in lust, but really truly in love, and to that not with a mere mortal, whom the gods could use or abuse – or cast aside – at will. Oh, no, not my Loki – he would have the audacity, the stupidity, to fall in love with another god, and suffer accordingly. That’s my boy…

Loki had fallen in love with the only other one of the gods who could rival him for sheer beauty – Apollo himself.

They made up a god-like Brat Pack – Loki, Apollo, Mercury, and the boy Cupid. Together with their friends and disciples, (referred to at times under the breath as the Seven Dwarves) - the sort-of-mortal Perseus, Hercules, Siegfried, Osiris, Kokopelli, Tannhauser, and Gautama, they cut a swath through the centuries that the Mere Mortals had no real concept of. The Tales of The Bards, the folklore of many cultures, all spoke and sang of these sexual heroes, but all the Old Tales still were merely the tip of the iceberg, small glimpses of the exploits of these Olympians of the boudoir. After all the sucking, fucking, stroking, and shooting loads was done, however, there remained Loki’s abiding affection, for Apollo – and it was this, the capacity for abiding affection, for real love, that made Loki different from all the other gods. He had it; they didn’t – and he was now suffering for it.

I watched Loki as he downed his latest cup of Ambrosia, and he turned to the other customers at the bar and said, “Who wants me? Come ‘n get it!!!” And he dropped his leather shorts to reveal his impressive organ, at full alert.

His organ is indeed impressive – Loki is about 6’ tall, with a mane of brown, wavy hair in which his characteristic laurel leaves are woven. His body is that of an Olympic Gymnast – all lean, versatile, flexible muscle, with a pleasing (but not pretty) face set above a body with just enough hair to remind you that he is male, but not so much as to be furry. His most impressive asset is his organ – at least 12” long, and as thick at the base as one of the goblets that Vulcan serves his beer in, and capable of staying at full alert for days and weeks at a time (how I know this to be true is another story, for another time…) Loki, true to his own dictum (pardon the pun), takes his pleasure with anyone and everyone, with gods (male and female), Mere Mortals (male and female), and whatever else presents a ready-and-willing orifice – and few, on seeing him, are not ready-and-willing…

Loki stood at the bar of The Pantheon, and displayed himself shamelessly before the assembled clientele, not caring if they were