2 comments/ 899 views/ 2 favorites Cupid's Big Break By: Daniellekitten This is meant to be my own idea of humorous fiction. All beings involved are at least 18 years of age. No villagers were hurt in the making of this story. I apologize right now to anyone who finds blasphemous my attempts at humanizing the deity. I hope you enjoy this tale. All comments are welcome, and votes are appreciated. Thanks for reading me. ***** Cupid's Big Break He sat on the curb, swigging from the bottle in the brown bag, and wondering how the fuck all this had happened. Four days ago, he'd been happily on his way, his wings bright and white, his arrows red and ripe with love. His diaper was just the way he liked it, freshly pressed, nicely starched, every fold perfect and precise, and everything had been rosy in his world. Then, he got the message. That dreaded message from the big guy. He was needed. It was urgent and only he, Cupid, could do the job. He hurried up to the top office, trying to brush down the cowlick on the front of his hair with a saliva soaked hand. Standing before the huge double golden doors, he stopped and took a deep breath. Before he could knock, the doors slowly opened, revealing a long office with a ceiling painted by Michelangelo himself, now that he wasn't busy. At the end of the room, seated behind a massive desk of gold and silver, was the big man himself. Cupid approached slowly. He'd never been contacted personally for a job before, normally just winging it from town to town, doing his own thing. This was a big moment in his career, a make or break situation. It seemed to take all eternity to cross the room. Cupid figured that was the point of having an office that big, but he finally reached the front of the desk, standing up on tiptoes to look over the top. He studied the big man, not sure what he'd expected. Of course he'd seen pictures, who hadn't, but they didn't do him justice, not at all. A firm square jaw was the first thing Cupid noticed. Then full but manly lips under a well-trimmed mustache. God's nose was hooked at the end, and maybe a little bigger than necessary, but it was all because of the aesthetics of the idea of perfection that he had made it so. His eyes were blue, and were twinkling, but Cupid knew that when God was pissed, his eyes stormed with steely gray lights that flashed lightning at whatever poor soul had crossed him. His hair was dark brown, short and well cut. After all, being the head man in heaven meant you had connections to the best stylists, such as Delilah. He had an angular face and was well tanned. Tall and broad across the shoulders, with a charismatic presence, God made quite the package. "Cupid! My good friend!" God pushed back from the desk and came around it, grasping Cupid's small hand in his big beefy one and shaking it so hard Cupid's feathers shook and his arrows rattled in their quiver. "Lord," he managed to squeak as he tried to stop his teeth from chattering. "Have a seat, have a seat." He waved the small cherub into one of the huge, deep leather chairs and took the other one instead of going around the desk. "How've you been?" It's serious, Cupid thought. The big man never put on the front of such camaraderie. He was too busy. Even just sitting where he was, Cupid could hear the rattling of about a dozen printers behind the big desk and see ream after ream of cloud paper with heavy font disappearing into slots in the floor. God saw him watching and laughed. "Those are nothing, just prayers that aren't realistic. The little girl in the twenty-fifth floor apartment who prays for a pony, or the man who wants to win the lottery. I wish they'd at least learn to buy a ticket before they start praying. It'd make my job easier. There are some pretty sad ones there too that I just can't answer the way they wish. Instead, they are sent to the Do Gooder's hall. We ship the prayers off to the do gooders of the world and let them handle it." Cupid nodded as if he understood. It felt weird to him, being treated as an equal by the head man himself. He found himself looking around the office, until he noticed the silence. "Oh," he squeaked again, "I'm sorry, Sir." God waved his hand, shooing away the apology. "No, it's perfectly all right. It's not every day you get invited into the... 'inner sanctum.' " He made quotation marks with his fingers a la Austin Powers as Doctor Evil. "Coffee?" Before Cupid could speak, God waved his hand and a small puff of smoke appeared. It disappeared just as quickly, leaving a stunning girl, platinum hair curled around her face, standing there with a tray of coffee. Even Cupid, in his cherubic state, couldn't help but notice the sensual heat that came off this girl in waves, from the tips of her pointed-toe pumps, up the long tanned legs that disappeared under a white dress that seemed very familiar, over curved hips and rounded breasts to a face that would make God himself drool, as a matter of fact, just as he was at that moment "Mr. God," she lisped sexily. "Coffee, tea or me?" She giggled, her shoulders shaking, her breasts jiggling under the halter top. "Just the coffee for now, Marilyn. But keep your schedule open for later." God waited as she set her tray down and then stepped back, winking at Cupid before tugging softly on one earlobe. A burst of air came from the floor and caught the blonde's skirt, pushing it up and exposing long golden thighs and just the hint of dark brown curls between them before being slapped down by the tantalizing tart. With her legs spread and the dress blowing up around her arms, her hair blowing into her eyes, she made quite the picture, one Cupid was sure he'd seen before but he just couldn't place. She laughed, winking at God and breaking into a chorus of "Happy Birthday, Mr. God," in a wispy little voice that reeked of sex. God waved her out of sight once more. "I know it's wrong," he said to Cupid, "but I just can't seem to stop myself. She's just so cute." He reached out and poured the coffee, adding three sugars and two creams for the cherub and handing it to him without asking. He fixed his own and sat back, sipping the rich brew with a small smile upon his face. "Mmm, brewed fresh from the mountains of Peru by Juan Valdez's grandfather, I always knew I did good getting him before old Nick could." He sipped again before he sighed and sat the cup down. "We have a problem, Cupid and you are the only one that I can count on to fix this mess." Cupid wondered if God's problem was with geography, since Juan was from Colombia, and not Peru. God reached over the coffee tray and picked up a long list. Handing it to Cupid, he sat back in his chair and waited, drinking his coffee and making little "mmm" noises every once in a while. Cupid tried to look at the list, but the noises were, well, to be frank, annoying. He tried clearing his throat and rattling the paper a few times, but God seemed in his own world. So he cleared his throat louder. And nothing. Sip, "mmm." Cupid closed his eyes tightly, sighed loudly, and tried once more to concentrate on the paper. He scanned the first few names before God shifted in his chair, crossing his legs with a loud swish of fabric. He blew noisily into the cup to cool the hot brew and then sipped, slurping loudly. A loud sighing "mmm" came from between his lips. "Good God!" Cupid exclaimed before he could stop himself. Then he instantly turned white. "Oh, Lord. Oh, I am heartily sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." His hands shook again and he dropped the list to the floor with a rustle of paper. God hastened to assure the small winged angel. "Oh no, it was me. I just can't seem to sit still. I just wished I'd have thought of having Ritalin invented when I could have used it." He shook his head. Then he turned to Cupid. "Okay, my problem, and it's a big one. It revolves around the inhabitants of Valentine Island." "Valentine Island? I don't believe I've ever heard of that particular place, Lord." "No, Cupid. You wouldn't. Valentine Island is older than you by many millennia. It's the place where Love evolved and now lives." Cupid sat and stared at the big man, confusion making his normal wrinkle free skin look like that of a ninety year old man. God sighed, he hated to have to explain himself, and after a few of the last catastrophes that came about from him getting too involved with his subjects, he'd quit meddling. Look at Noah. Lazing around for forty days on that ark full of animals and his sons' wives. Oh yeah, Noah had been sorry about that one. Big deal, so he got parked on the side of a mountain. He made it down okay. But it had taken weeks to get the stale smell of sex out of the ark. And look at Sodom and Gomorrah. That's what he got for betting on dung beetle races. Number six should have been a shoe-in. How was he to know that the beetle had a thing for number four, and had to make a pass right in the middle of the race? Even the damn beetles in that city were gay. Was it his fault if he got mad when he lost? They should have known by then that he had a temper. He did feel sorry about the pillar of salt thing though, even though Lot had a few good nights with his daughters because of it. Cupid was quietly drumming his fingers on the chair arm, waiting with increasing impatience as the big man seemed lost in thought. It surprised Cupid because you'd think with a place to run the size of heaven and earth, you would be more with it. But then again, who was he to judge. He was just a little wheel in the clockwork of this organization. "So, Cupid," God's voice seemed to boom from everywhere, startling the little angel enough so that he lost three of his wing feathers. "God!" he exclaimed as he jumped and tried to catch the feathers. "Yes?" the head man asked in a silky smooth voice. "I think you were wondering how I ran my organization?" "Oh, no sir, I mean yes sir. I don't know what I mean, Lord." He took a deep breath, stashed the feathers away in his quiver for the feather pillow he was making at home, and tried to calm down. "What do you need me to do, Lord?" "I want you to go out to the island, find out what is going on with the villagers who watch over The Love and fix whatever is wrong. It could be dirty, Cupid. It might even involve dealing with sex. But I know you can do this." "But Lord, I don't know the first thing about sex." "You're kidding me. You never got it on with any of the little honeys that you stick with your arrows?" He stared at Cupid for a second and then slapped himself in the forehead. "You didn't, did you? Ah., hell." Just then an elevator appeared, a door opening and a small man stepped out, holding the doors and looking around the room. Muzak poured from the open doors and Cupid started humming along with the tune, realizing before he could stop himself that it was John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High." Oh, man, he thought, I'm never going to get that out of my head. "Next stop, Hell," the elevator operator said, looking at Cupid with a smile on his face. God waved his hand with a sigh and the elevator disappeared. "Sorry," he said to Cupid. "I just can't get used to the voice command functions. I really miss the red button. It was so much more intimidating, the trap door that opened under them and the long slide into," he looked around and then silently mouthed, "Hell." "No problem, God. I just wish I knew how to help with this Valentine Island business. What happens if we don't get it straightened out?" "Oh, not much. Love flowers on that island, and the pollen floats on the winds and over the seas to the rest of the world. If Love dies, on the island, soon the rest of the world's love will die too. Sex will become strictly for pleasure, children will be allowed to do as they wish, animals will be hurt and killed. Caring and joy will die, followed soon by faith, hope, and respect. Wars that are small will consume the world and then, well, there will be nothing left." Cupid sat, stunned into silence. He stared into God's eyes, seeing the sadness, the emptiness of mankind's future. Finally he sat forward. "There's nothing you can do, God? You are all powerful. You created everything. Can't you fix this with a wave of your hand?" "It's not exactly as easy as convincing an entire generation of female teenagers that Mick Jagger was sexy. I still have a hard time believing I pulled that one off. Love is much more tough, much more intricate. It's more than sex, more than caring. It's not logical or rational. And it can be selfish. Love is more than a feeling, more than words, more than sex between two people." He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. Cupid was startled. He'd never thought he'd see God looking defeated. He had to help. Especially since God was depending upon him so much. He sat straighter, his wings raising, his quiver rattling as he thrust out his tiny chest. "What can I do?" God sat forward in his chair and put his hand on Cupid's. "This is going to be rough, Cupid. I don't want you to think it'll be easy. You need to go to the island and fix Love. And you need to do it before Valentine's Day." He reached over and plucked one of Cupid's arrows out of his quiver. He held it in front of the cherub. "Look at your arrow. As Love dies, your arrow will grow dimmer also. These arrows are dipped in Love, that's what gives them their power and makes them so red. If you fail, your arrows will grow black. If that happens, you need to come back up here, Cupid. You don't want to be caught in the he..." God looked around quickly and sighed, "heck that will be happening down there." "Valentine's Day? But that's less than four days from now." Exasperated, Cupid nodded, taking his arrow back from God. He noticed a smudge on the tip, a fingerprint that had to have come from the big man. He reached out without thinking, grabbed the nearest cloth, and started polishing the grease off the tip. "Excuse me!" The voice boomed from everywhere and almost made Cupid deaf. He glanced up and saw he was polishing his arrow with the hem of God's robe. With a gasp of shock, and a large dose of fear, he let go of the robe and jolted back. God picked up the soiled hem and stared at it in disgust. He dropped it and glared at Cupid, then got up and stormed to the other side of the desk. He picked up some papers and handed a number of them to Cupid. "These are your traveling documents and your ticket. Getting to the island isn't easy. I booked you public transport down to the Triangle. From there..." Cupid jumped up and interrupted, an almost mortal sin in the presence of the Almighty, who always liked to have the last word. "The Bermuda Triangle? I can't go there. You know what's in that Godforsaken place?" "Yeah, Cupe buddy, I do, that's why I forsook it." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You didn't let me finish though. I got you a guide through the Triangle. She's good. She'll get you through okay." "Who?" the tiny cherub asked distrustfully. "Hope." "No." Cupid started shaking his small head, his wings fluttering in outrage. "There's no way in Hell that I'll be trusting Hope with my life." At the sound of John Denver's quavery voice, God flicked his hand at the elevator without looking at it and decided he needed to put his foot down at the next CEO meeting about getting his red button back. Just getting rid of the elevator took up half his day. "Now let's not exaggerate, Cupid. She's not that bad and she's a fantastic guide." "I heard what happened to the Atlanteans, God. I know Hope was supposed to guide them out of there." "She was having a bad day," God said, resting his hands on his desk. "She got them all killed and destroyed their civilization forever," Cupid exclaimed. "Yeah, and it was a bad day. She's done a lot better lately. You'll be fine," God said, trying to sound soothing, not an easy job with a voice that boomed worse than some thumpers street racing on the strip in Las Vegas. Cupid stared at the head man in disbelief. Not only was he being asked to do a job that was outside his purview, but it was in a strange land that he couldn't fly to himself, and he had to go through the Bermuda Triangle, guided by a girl who looked 18 but was actually almost as old as Cupid himself and the biggest klutz in history. "I need you to do this for me, Cupid. Do it for the team, for the angels up here and for the rest of mankind down below. I have faith in you, Cupe. I know you can get this job done." He folded the rest of the travel papers in two and stuck them inside Cupid's quiver. He patted the little angel on the head. "One leaving," he said, seemingly into the air. As Cupid's chair opened under him, God turned and studied the star map stretched out on his desk where Cupid couldn't see it. "This one might work," he mumbled to himself and circled a bright blue and green planet with a sharpie pen. He cleared his throat as he stared down at the name under the planet. "And on the third day, God created the Edsel." His face screwed up and he shook his head. "No, that doesn't sound right at all, and is somehow vaguely familiar. I'll have to do better than that," erasing the name with a flick of his left eyebrow. Still shrieking from when the chair opened under him, and before he could get his little wings in motion, Cupid slid down a long, sleek, silver chute. It twirled him over and around, upside down and sideways, then took him in almost a straight shot down that lasted several miles. Cupid closed his eyes, feeling the wind rushing past him, ruffling his wings and messing up his hair. His diaper gaped at one leg and the he felt the air flowing up and around his butt, the diaper billowing open like a parachute and slowing him down. There was a juncture up ahead, the slide branching off into two directions with signs in big pink neon lights overhead. The side to the left said "Bermuda Triangle." The side to the right, the side the switch was set for, was for the Hawaiian Islands. Cupid breathed a huge sigh. No one was at the switch. He could forget about going through the Bermuda Triangle and he could spend the rest of mankind's reign on earth shooting, what did God call them? Oh yeah, honeys. He could shoot himself some honeys in grass skirts and find out what this sex thing was. He was feeling smug and slightly superior. Even the big man himself makes mistakes. Suddenly, before he could think one more self-congratulatory thought, he was stopped as if he'd run into an invisible wall. His teeth rattled, his bones shook, and if he weren't immortal, he'd have probably broken his neck. He closed his eyes and mentally counted his wing feathers, noticing he now had two more missing. "Hey, Cupid." "Oh no," Cupid thought silently. He opened his eyes to mere slits and peeped at the girl standing in front of him. "Oh, no," he moaned again, this time aloud. "No, no, no. I'm going to Hawaii, I'm going to bask on the beaches with some suntanned honeys. I am not, I repeat, am not going anywhere with you, Hope." "Geesh, I make one mistake, and it wasn't really my own fault, I might add, and now no one lets me forget it." The girl, black hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in full rich curls, her big cerulean blue eyes flashing with anger, sat down on the slide in front of him. "Hope, you wiped out an entire race. How can that not be your fault?" "PMS?" Cupid's snort of disbelief was stopped by a loud rumbling noise behind him. He glanced around and noted a huge Hawaiian woman, her mountainous body swathed in yard after yard of bright red flowery muumuu, barreling her way down the slide, her legs straight out in front of her, a huge scream echoing behind. "Uh, Hope?" "I didn't mean to do it, Cupid. They were just so superior, so smug. They said they didn't need me and that they could do it themselves." Cupid's Big Break "Hope?" Cupid's voice got a little shriller as the woman grew closer. He could see her eyes, the whites shining brightly, and the pupils dilated in terror. Her long hair had escaped the nice bun she'd put it in before she'd died and now streamed along behind her. "There was this one guy. You'd have thought he was God or something, the way he stomped around, lording it over people. He was wearing a dress, a damn dress. How can a guy be that smug and sarcastic when his privates are swinging in the open air? Then he actually had the gall to tell me that a girl, a little girl like me. couldn't lead his people out of the tribulation the Lord was giving them and into the promised land. Like Moses did any better? Maybe if I hadn't gotten stuck in that fucking box of Pandora's for so long I'd have done a better job." "HOPE!" Cupid shouted. He couldn't be killed but getting mashed between these two was going to hurt. He could see the black outlines of huge purple flowers against the red in her muumuu, and he closed his eyes tight. "What?" Hope asked, annoyed. She looked up as she snarled the word, and her eyes grew wide as she saw the speeding red muumuu mountain about to run into them. She smacked a button on the edge of the slide and the track switched. Cupid could swear he felt thick stubby fingers grasp at his wings as she flew by them, but before he had a chance to check, they were speeding down their own slide. He managed to keep his eyes open, and saw people of all races, sizes, and shapes careening down the silver troughs that led to all areas on the earth. He had heard about these slides. but never actually seen them before, and could hardly believe he was seeing them now. They were the Guardian Angel slides, and were the way for the new GA's to get down to their respective charges. The slide they were on changed slowly as they got closer to earth. It became less shiny, more murky, and took on a decided damp feeling. Cupid could feel the wetness seep though the now less then pristine white of his diaper, and wanted to cry. The ramp grew bumpy, and Cupid's teeth shook. He took off his quiver and held it in front of him, his hands carefully guarding his precious arrows. One of his arrows, in the wrong hands, could be a catastrophe. Only he knew who was to be shot, and what the exact right time for love to take hold was. Messing with the path of true love could be disastrous. Look at Caligula, he was a perfect example of love gone bad. The man got hold of a love arrow and just had to stick it to his sisters. Then he stuck something else to his sisters for years after that... And what about Lord Byron? His drunken antics were well known and the downfall of Cupid's predecessor, who, when last seen, had been reduced to delivering Valentine candygrams and as a stand in on New Year's eve. He was the laughing stock of the Arrow League. His musings were suddenly interrupted as the slide dropped out from under him and he was unceremoniously dumped into the middle of the ocean. With his diaper sagging and full of water, his wings soggy masses of clumped feathers, he fought his way to the surface, clutching his quiver and bow. Wiping streamers of salt water out of his eyes, he looked up and saw Hope sitting, nice and dry, on a private transport cloud. Hope couldn't help but giggle. "Oops," she said shrugging. "I'm sorry, Cupid. I pushed the button just a second too soon." She pointed up to where the dull silver of the slide was slowly moving back into place and disappearing from sight. "I'm soaked and all you can say is 'oops?' " He fluttered his wet wings until they dried enough in the breeze to pull him from the water. His diaper sagged, the back falling down enough to show off a touch of Cupid butt crack. Hope burst out laughing again, trying desperately to muffle it as Cupid settled onto the cloud next to her. She quickly shifted her dry, still white robes out of the way of the wet, ruffled and dingy cherub. "Nice plumber's butt you got going there, Cupes," she giggled. If looks could kill, Hope would have been dead before she'd even begun. She pulled on a pair of dark blue glasses, kick-started the cloud, and took off through the Triangle, little eruptions of giggles exploding from her every time she looked at Cupid. He struggled to regain his dignity, a hard thing to do in a soggy diaper and with his quiver full of water and, ugh, a wriggling bluefish. The fish, after scraping a scale against one of Cupid's arrows, jumped out of the quiver, planted a wet, piscine kiss on Cupid's pursed little mouth, and then flipped off the low flying cloud and splashed back into the water. Hope's laughter trailed behind them, intermixed with a string of curses that she'd never have thought a tiny cherubic angel would be capable to. She gunned the engine, zigzagging through the sky as if avoiding some kinds of huge objects. Her movements were quick, eyes flashing back and forth across the sky behind her glasses. Cupid tried to sit up and fell over, his rounded little butt not wide enough to handle the abrupt course changes that Hope was making. "What the hell are you doing, Hope?" "You don't want to know," she said, biting her lip as she dodged to the left, then quickly brought the cloud back around to the right. "Is there something wrong with this cloud transport or are you just incapable of driving it?" He reached out to grab the yoke from her hands, aggravation making him irrational. She slapped at his hands. "No, stop it, you'll make me hit one of them." Cupid searched the empty blue sky and even emptier blue water. He checked the horizons and saw not even the hint of a dark smudge that might indicate land. "What the hell are you talking about, Hope? There isn't anything out here." Hope sighed and gestured with her head down to the floor at his feet, where another set of the dark blue glasses lay. "Put those on. But I'll warn you right now, you won't be happy with what you see." She accelerated suddenly and tanked at the yoke, almost making the small cloud jump sideways. Cupid timed his move to Hope's erratic driving and reached down, picking up the blue glasses just as she started turning the other way. He glanced at the glasses, then opened them, giving them a more thorough going over. They were cat-eye glasses, the kind that teachers and librarians wore in the fifties. The corners were tilted and in the tiny points gleamed miniscule rubies and diamonds all in the shape of hearts. He shrugged his shoulders, putting a hand down on the seat next to him as Hope stepped on the brakes, then accelerated suddenly, whipping him forwards and then backwards. With a quick glance at the busy driver, he pushed the glasses up on his nose and looked in front of them. "Holy shit!!" he screamed as large stalactite-like rocks suddenly shot up from the no longer calm surface of the ocean. The sky seemed to shudder as flashes of lightning insanely traveled from the water up to the sky. The ocean was a swirling gray mass of waves that broke over the edges of the rocks, flowed around them, or were dashed to pieces by them. He screamed again as another rock shot up right in front of them, Hope slamming on the brakes then turning, using the natural propulsion of the small cloud to bounce off the stony surface. He managed to glance behind them as his white knuckled grip on the seat beneath him became even more fierce. The sky was obliterated as the rocklike projections seem to close in, trapping them and keeping them from going back. "Wha... What is all of this?" he shouted, his heart thundering as a bolt of lightning streaked from what seemed like right next to their cloud and shot up to explode in the heavens above. "This is a protection grid. Shit!" Hope said, as she maneuvered around another rock. Her features were strained as she fought the cloud, the rocks and the strange weather. "Without the glasses, you can't see, feel, or hear any of this. It keeps people from getting too close to Valentine Island. You know what would happen if just the tiny bit of love on the tip of one of your arrows was let loose to the public? Imagine what it would be like if the entire island was found." Cupid shuddered to think of it. "People would fall in love with everyone, everything, and even their own reflections. They'd fall in love with animals, with trees. And all their other emotions would be heightened, jealousy especially. People would become jealous over a look. A meeting of eyes could cause murder. It would be unreal, chaotic, like a hell on earth. Even Monica Lewinski would be able to get a date." He quivered at the thought. Even his quiver quivered. "So, God came up with this protection grid. Only a few of us know the safe path through the rocks. But someone has changed it. I shouldn't be having this kind of trouble. Hang on!" Hope tried to swerve and she almost made it. The cloud car's rear end just glanced off the tip of one of the rocks as it shot towards the sky. The car shimmied violently, as a sound ominously like that of a tire blowing reverberated through the air. Cupid felt the car tip and he grabbed hold of the seat with both his little hands. It tilted one way and then the other as Hope fought to keep them upright and out of the path of any more rocks. A thud from the back caused Cupid to spin around in terror to look. One of the rocks had gotten near enough to ram into the rear, sending them rushing forward. Hope corrected their course with a muttered curse, her eyes scanning the skies and the waters as more obstacles sprang up to trap them. "Hang on, Cupid, we might have to ditch. If we do, swim as fast as your little legs can go toward that glow. That's Valentine Island." She fought their way around another rock. A bolt of lightning missed them by inches, sending shock waves of static electricity through Cupid. He could feel the hair on this body standing up on end... He saw Hope's lips moving and realized she was praying. Closing his eyes, he added his own fervent words to hers. With every twist of the car, his body became tighter until he thought he would explode. When Hope's next words reached his ears, it was like a miracle had occurred. "I think we're going to make it, Cupid." He opened his eyes, seeing the rocks parting in front of the car as the wind died and the skies calmed. Behind him the chaos still reigned supreme, looking like a scene from the movie "War of the Worlds", nothing a tiny angel should have to deal with. He sighed, noting the strange red glow that covered the place, as Hope circled the island once to give him a look before coming in for a landing. * * * * "Da plane, da plane. It's da plane, boss." Satan closed his big black eyes and shook his head as he stared down at the short demon next to him. He reached down with one careless hand and smacked him across the back of his head. "Get off your damned knees and stand up. That joke was old the first time you told it." The dark lord's minion stood and jerked down the navy jacket he wore over sharply pressed khaki slacks. He brushed the dark red soil that made up the island from his knees and stood beside Satan, a stupid smile upon his evil face. "Sorry sir, I couldn't help myself." "That's why you were damned in the first place, Jeffrey, you just couldn't help yourself. That and that stupid high protein diet you were on in Milwaukee." Satan rolled his eyes and wondered how he could get himself some better help, then his strange black eyes went back to the cloud car slowly circling his island. Looking at him, you wouldn't think he was Lord of the Underworld, Emperor of the dead and damned. He was pleasant to look upon, with a nice smile and white teeth, an almost perfect patrician nose, and beautifully lashed eyes. His hair was a little on the long side, a preference of his. He liked it to blow around his features when he suddenly appeared. It added to the drama. And Satan was nothing if not dramatic. Even his dress was different from what one would expect. He'd been portrayed as wearing a tuxedo, as carrying a cane, or wearing a hat to hide his horns. Nothing was farther from the truth. He preferred comfortable well made clothing in a more relaxed fashion and of course, jeans for those evenings at home. He didn't have a tail or horns for that matter. A stranger passing him on the street might not notice anything different except maybe for a chill, a thrill of fear that settled into the bones and wouldn't let go. "It's about time God sent someone out here to check this out. This island has to be the most boring place ever." He turned and walked down the beach and into the tree line, Jeffrey following behind him as fast as the broom handle shoved through the beautifully pressed pants and into his ass would allow. They made their way to the village proper. Grass huts, the doors all facing the center of the village, dotted the clearing. Stone-ringed fireplaces were set up outside each hut, a small water-skin hanging next to each door. Hides were stretched out on racks, bowls with different grains sat waiting to be processed. Bowls of beads sat in a semicircle near one empty seat as if just waiting for their owner to sit down and finish her work. In the center of the village was a huge well, covered with a red thatched roof. The huts themselves were covered in living flowers and trailing vines. The plants grew into the thatching and the side walls of the huts, giving them a beautiful appearance and making them strong and durable enough to last long periods of time without repair. The flowers, red and white orchids and lilies, left the air fragrant with their bouquet. It was a beautiful place, a well-tended and cared-for village. And Satan hated it more with every second he stayed. He settled on the chair he'd brought up from his own hellish house below and sipped at a steaming mug that appeared in his hand. It had been a bold move on his part, taking over this island, one that had taken immense planning and careful action to hide deeds from Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes upstairs. But now, now he could bring to fruition the rest of his plot, and finally win the day. He rubbed his hands together greedily, the sparks that shot out starting one of the small huts aflame. "As soon as they land, let them go to that blasted flower and then lead them here. And don't hurt them. I need them." He waved off two more of his henchmen, calling after them, "And have someone put that out, would you?" A gong sounded in the distance, its musical notes depressed and sad in the eerie quiet of the island. Instantly, a buzzing came from a hut which was much larger than the others. A man and a woman, dressed in sarongs, appeared at the entrance. "Please," they called in unison to Satan. "Please let us go. We must feed Love." Satan heaved a huge and weary sigh. He missed his house with its red and black shag carpeting, his water bed with the black satin sheets. He missed the sounds of the damned, screaming for all eternity outside of his window, the smell of burning flesh as those in the pit were turned and the freshly healed flesh burned slowly away. He missed the screaming pleas for mercy as he walked out on his deck to enjoy the sultry, fetid air. Oh, that was the life. Not this place full of green growing things and, ugh, happy sounds of singing and laughing. He shuddered as he remembered his first days here, the way the villagers had waited on him, smiling and giving him flowers to wear around his neck and in his hair. He'd had a hard time telling them apart. After so many millennia, there probably wasn't much of a choice in who to fuck around here. There must be some massive inbreeding going on. They all looked alike. The women were all tall and stacked, with platinum curls that touched their lower backs. The men were taller, well-muscled, and liked short little sarongs that exposed as much of their flesh as possible. He'd already had to send two of his minions back to hell for touching the merchandise. He'd known that bastard De Sade swung that way, but had warned him before he'd picked him for this little adventure to keep it in his pants until he got back to Hell. But who would have guessed Hitler liked the big boys. Maybe it was the blonde hair. After all, he always did have a preference for it. "Please," the couple in the hut called again. "Please, Love needs us. We must go to it. Please." He motioned to one of his minions. "Bring those two here. I want God's errand boy to see them." * * * * Meanwhile, back in the jungle, albeit a different part, Cupid and Hope were fighting their way to Love, hacking through thick vines which sprang up behind them as soon as they were cut down. Finding the true Love was always a battle, an uphill struggle, but the rewards were many and joyous, and paradise now, to justify the strife. Cupid glared at the vines in frustration. "Couldn't I just fly over this mess? It would sure as hell be easier." "No," Hope said quickly. "This is the path to the true Love. You could get turned around or loose sight of it from up above, and you'd never find Love." She slashed through another thick vine and quickly stepped through the small hole, holding it for Cupid to wing his way through. "Didn't God tell you about the false Loves, the fake ones that only seem like Love, but after a while, you know it was a mistake, that Love had done you wrong." Cupid sighed and slid through the next hole Hope made. He watched as the hard manual work made sweat darken her white robes. It ran from her face and dampened her hair. "Hope? Why are you sweating?" "Huh?" She pushed her hair back and paused in the space they were in. "Wow, that's weird." She stood for a second and looked at the dampness that coated her palm. Cupid squirmed next to her, a creepy crawly feeling running up his small legs and tugging at the leg opening of his now gray diaper. He tried to bat at whatever was moving on him, but it didn't work. He tried to inch away, but something held him tightly down, not allowing him to move. The creepy feeling crawled up the inside of his leg and around his tiny cock and even smaller set of balls. It skimmed across the wrinkled shaft and Cupid felt a strange tingle in his groin. When the eerie sensation circled his cock, he quit trying to dance away, and instead started to pull on Hope's arm. "Hope?" "This is really weird, Cupid. I've never perspired before. I don't think I even have sweat glands to sweat with." She wiped a drizzle of dampness off her face and continued to study the moisture gathered on her hands. Cupid was more concerned with what was happening to him, as it felt like a finger and thumb were encircling his cock, causing it to do the strangest of things. It grew hard, as that wonderful whatever slowly stroked up and down along the lengthening shaft. It grew even more sensitive until Cupid was breathless with the sublime tingles that worked through him. The thing branched out, more "fingers" moving back and across his balls, feathering across them with the lightest of touches. "Hope!" "I wonder if this might have to do with the Love. I mean, this is the closest I've ever been to it before. Maybe, since love makes people more human, that's what it's doing to us too." She pushed her hair back again. "But it is hot." Cupid looked down to the front of the dingy gray diaper. He could see it tented out, the fabric moving as whatever it was was jacking him off. His breathing grew ragged, and the tingles seem to gather, going to the base of his spine and then into his balls, tightening up his tiny sac until he could barely breathe and his knees started to tremble. "Hope!" he screamed as his first ever orgasm shot through him. His hips jerked against the "fingers" moving over him as tiny jets of pearly white cum coated the inside of his diaper. His knees gave out and he grabbed Hope's arm to hold himself up. Cupid's Big Break She turned and saw the small blue vine that trailed along the short stubby length of Cupid's leg. "Dammit, I forgot to warn you about those." She pulled it gently away, as the viney feeler released Cupid's cock and slithered back out the leg opening. When it was completely out, she gave it a small nudge with her sandal-clad foot and it disappeared back into the red soil. "What was that thing?" Cupid asked, letting his knees completely give and sinking towards the ground. Hope caught him before he could hit. "NO! Those feed the Love. It lives off pure human pleasure, which is why the Islanders here don't have problems staying." She pointed to the dozens of blue shoots of the plants that just peeped from the ground. "I've seen the Island men go into the jungle and come back days later, totally drained, sometimes almost dead, but always smiling. Those things are used to their much greater capacity for pleasure, Cupid. They'd kill you." Cupid glanced down at the plants, patiently waiting for their next chance to feed off of his pleasure. "Yeah, but what a way to go." She pulled her outer robe off, draping it over a bunch of vines, and leaving her clad in only the shimmery under robe. It clung to the curves of Hope's angelic body, the sweat-dampened material almost sheer in places. Cupid couldn't help but stare at the sheath of silk which left nothing to his imagination. He could even see the ripe red tips of her breasts and the dusky shadow between her thighs. Hope didn't seem to notice her lack of attire or his attention to the clingy material. "Come on, let's go." She pushed through the vines ahead. Behind her, the blue vines came from the ground, searching hungrily for the source of the pheromones that were filling the air. They caught the edge of the robes in their tiny blue vice-like feelers and pulled it to the ground, swarming over it in a hungry and animalistic manner so different from their normal gentle urges. Soon the robe was ripped into nothing more than sweaty shreds, and the blue vines receded back into the ground. Another fifty yards, and the vines started to become more sparse as a vast clearing appeared in the middle of the jungle. In the very center was a huge red flower, its petals wilted and black at the edges. It lay upon the ground, its center open to the bright afternoon sun. In the center of the flower were two huge balls, attached to the stamen. Hope gasped at seeing the condition of the plant. Horror had tears streaking down her dirty face. "Oh, my, Love. Look at your balls." "What?" Cupid asked, looking down at his diaper. "They actually feel better than they have in years." He glanced at her face, then followed her gaze to the plant. "Oh, yeah, those do look sore. What's wrong, root rot?" "No, those are Love's pollen containers. The women of the village have to stimulate those balls and then they let loose the pollen into the air. That pollen is what spreads Love. If the women aren't stimulating them then the Love can't empty its balls." She scratched her head for a moment, thinking. "But, just not stimulating the balls wouldn't cause the wilting to the outer leaves. They also must have stopped feeding Love." She took a cautious step forward and one of the heavily engorged feelers fell over with a thump. Love let out a moan that sounded so pain-filled Cupid could feel it deep inside himself. "We need to do something for it," he said. "Can't we gather some of the pollen, give Love some relief?" "You can't," Hope said, pushing her hair behind her shoulders with a quick flip of her wrists. "But I can. Men can't touch Love's pollen. It has disastrous effects on their hormonal balances." After removing her sandals, she carefully made her way through the quivering folds of petals, feeling their silken dampness under her bare feet. The petals felt fleshy, almost heavy, against her skin, and had a fine layer of what looked and felt like hair the closer she got to the center. Reaching one of the feelers, she crouched down, the petals rising slowly around her to touch the skin of her legs with their softness. She touched the long silky shaft above the round bulge, using both of her hands to caress it's length. "I feel like I'm wanking some guy off," she said sarcastically as her hands moved back and forth along the feeler, working up a sweet friction that sent a fine trembling through the petals that now caressed her hips. A low groan, long and sighing, swept through the huge plant, and a tiny puff of pink erupted from the tip of the anther. "Wanking?" Cupid called, watching as the lovely girl captured in her hands, and used as a lubricant, some of the pink dust and the clear liquid that ran from Love. "What's wanking?" he asked, even as he felt that same strange tingle in his diaper. He looked down and saw a tented bulge in the front and felt a strange longing to strip off his grimy covering and let Hope do to him what she was doing to Love. "You don't know about wanking? How can the god of love know nothing of wanking?" She sighed and worked the feeler harder, feeling Love moving against her faster. She just hoped she was doing this right. "So what is it?" Cupid felt his breathing get faster as he watched Hope. Her robe grew almost transparent in the heat of the day and with the sweat of her exertions. Her hair grew damp and she pushed it back from her face, leaving a stray streak of pink to weave its way through the black curls. Her eyes grew heavy from her own excitement, the petals of Love slowly working their way between her legs and up her body. "Wanking, you know, beating off?" At his look of confusion, she tried again. "Slammin' the salami, doodling your noodle? Decongesting the weasel? Masturbation?" He shook his head at her, getting mad that she wouldn't explain it to him. "God! Cupid, how can you expect to deal with love and marriage and know absolutely nothing about sex. Self-gratification, you know, bringing yourself to an orgasm." "What do sex and orgasms have to do with marriage?" Cupid asked, still confused. Hope was saved from answering by Love shaking under her as if it were dying. She knew what was coming and turned her head, feeling the long thin stamen-like feeler grow ever tenser in her stroking hands. Suddenly, it let out a bellow and a huge cloud of pink dust spewed from its opening followed quickly by a geyser of clear liquid. It covered Hope from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet in its silky thickness. Cupid couldn't believe the sight. Love's petals were convulsing tremulously around Hope as she continued to stroke the feeler. Her hands had changed though, no longer caressing, but almost as if she were milking Love of the last of its fluids. The dust settled over Hope, sticking to the thick liquid that covered her and giving her a pink sheen. "What was that?" Cupid asked, awe struck. "That spew would be what you do-gooders call love." Cupid spun, seeing two men standing behind him. He'd been so enthralled watching Hope, he hadn't heard their approach. "Well lookee here," said the taller of the two men, both of whom were dressed in something you'd see out of a forties gangster movie, complete with spats on their shoes. He took a few steps forward as he looked over the two heaven sent ones. "I think the little freak in the diaper is sporting a woody." Cupid glanced down and felt himself blush, cursing his naturally fair skin that would show every red inch. Hope moved from the center of Love and went to stand next to Cupid, glancing down herself before she could help it. "Who are you two?" the flustered cherub said, his wings beating frantically in his anger. "We've come to give you a special invitation from a very important personage. I don't think you'll be able to resist." The short man, who stood only a few inches taller than Hope, clicked his heels together as he spoke and shoved his hand between the buttons of his spotless white shirt. "You must come with us," he said importantly. "and right now, or you shall meet your Waterloo." "I need to get to the ocean," Hope hissed at Cupid. "I need to wash this off in the salt water so that it can flow out to the people." Cupid held his tiny bow in his hand and concentrated. Instantly a small red tipped arrow appeared, already notched against the bow string. He held it to the side, carefully keeping the arrow from rattling as his little hands shook. He was a lover, not a fighter. How could God expect this of him? "I'm going to shoot the small one. You run, okay?" Hope stared down at the brave little cherub. Her eyes were deep set and beautiful, surrounded by lashes liberally coated in pink. A tear threatened. "They'll hurt you, Cupid." He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the two men who seem to grow bigger and more threatening by the second. "Love is all there is, Hope. It has to go on." She clasped her hands under her bosom in the classic pose of impressed maiden, grimacing just a little as they stuck in the muck covering her. "You're my hero," she whispered fervently. "Ready," he hissed out of the side of his mouth. "GO!" he yelled, whipping up the small bow and pulling the string in one fast move. He saw Hope out of the corner of her eye as she zipped around the side of the man who had been heading her way, dodging past his outstretched arm with a grace he didn't know she possessed. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to turn and watch her as he sighted carefully on his own target. The string of the bow barely kissed his lips before he released it, sending the arrow flying towards the smaller man. It hit him in the side, puncturing deeply as Cupid's arrows were supposed to do. Love bites deep, digs in, and takes hold. It was the only way for true love to flourish. He watched the man howl in rage and pain, drop to the ground and saw, with horror, how his arrow, that was now sticking out of the man, turned a deep black and then burst into flames. He lay there, writhing, and screaming words Cupid had never heard coming from his mouth. "Tu es fou!? You shot me! Fils de pute!!" Cupid tried to concentrate enough to gather another arrow to shoot at the man who was now chasing Hope, but his nerves were fading fast. He searched the ground for a rock and then turned, hearing Napoleon screaming again. His eyes widened in horror as he watched the blue vines pulling at the small man's clothes. " Enculeur de porcs," he shrieked. "Get them off, get them off!" Two of the vines slipped under and started their dance against his flesh. He groaned and moaned, his body arching and convulsing against both the effects of the arrow that was now sending pure love through his veins and the vines which were stimulating the little soldier of the Little Corporal. Cupid turned again at a shriek, this time feminine. He watched in horror as Hope, struggling in the arms of her captor, slipped. Her slick body was thrown from his arms and she stumbled, screaming, as she fell off the edge of the cliff. Cupid's heart, if he'd had one, would have stopped beating as he hurried toward the edge of the cliff. He thought he saw a hint of white shimmer, and then a wave swept up and over it, crashing against the rocks, and it was gone. Hope, the girl he'd just started to respect and care about, was gone. He turned murderous eyes upon the man still on his feet, seeing him trying to fling the Love pollen off of his hands with a disgusted grimace. "Eww," he said, his face screwed up. "This shit won't come off." He wiped it against a tree branch, the rough wood catching some of the viscous liquid in its nooks and crannies. As soon as he walked away, the tree absorbed the thick substance and small green shoots pushed through the bark. Tiny heart shaped flowers formed, spreading around the girth of the tree. Cupid felt himself grabbed, the hand rough and grasping on his tiny wing, crushing the feathers that had already seen better days. "Hey," he yelled. "Easy on the merchandise, buddy. These things aren't cheap, you know." He was hauled, kicking and screaming, to where the tiny man lay on the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. Weird half keening cries came from between his open lips and his breath stuttered noisily. The front of his pants bulged and twisted, moving as if there were a den of snakes inside the dark gray material. The man holding Cupid nudged the man on the ground with his foot. "Get up, Boney. Come on, get off your arse." "Non, non, un moment," he begged, his voice high pitched as his hips began to jerk. Cupid saw the movements increase, the base of the plants start shaking, and watched in amazement as it seemed as if they were drinking the fluids coming from the downed man's body. But only for an instant before the man holding him knocked them aside and hauled Boney from the ground. He fought for a second, his breathing erratic. "Non, that was... c'est fantastique, c'est magnifique, c'etait incroyable." He stood, shaking, and looking down as the blue vines curled back into the red soil. "Stop your babbling, speak English. You know I don't understand any of that frog crap. And behave, dammit. I'll tell the boss and he'll cut off your supply of snails." Napoleon stood proudly and dusted the dirt from his back and legs. He jerked down the jacket of his suit with an impatient gesture and glared up at the man who stood so much taller than he did. "C'est escargot, vous l'idiot." "Whatever." He reached out and touched the hole in the side of Napoleon's jacket, a small hole with charred edges. "Better not let the boss see that either, or he's gonna know you got stuck by Pampers over here." Napoleon took off the jacket, shook it out twice, and then slid it back on. The hole was gone except for a vague outline in the gray that was just a hint off of the original color. Cupid squinted at it for a minute and then smiled inside when he saw the outline of a valentine heart in the fabric. His arrow would work on the man. Because of his evilness, it would just take some time. They headed through the jungle on a path clear of vines, but along the edges, Cupid could see many of the twisting blue creepers trying to reach out to them. The closer to the village they got, the older and sicker the vines began to look. "I recognize him," Cupid said to the man still holding his wing. "But who are you? And why are you here?" The man hung his head for a moment and then sighed. "My name is Colin Murdoch. I am... or I was an inventor. I thought I was doing the world a good turn. Instead I became responsible for thousands of people losing their minds, getting sick or sicker, getting road rage." Cupid was astonished. "What did you invent, a bomb, some kind of poison, a new chemical agent?" "No," the inventor sighed. "I invented the child-proof bottle. I was poisoned by an old friend. He had a young girlfriend who left him." "Why is that your fault?" Cupid asked. "He couldn't get into his bottle of Viagra." He sighed. "Last year alone, I was responsible for over for 123,762 divorces when husbands couldn't get their bottles of Viagra open and their wives started having affairs with everyone from the postal carrier to the Culligan man." "Oh my." Cupid looked at the nice man with the slightly hard to understand New Zealand accent. "And for that, you were poisoned. Does that mean you were damned?" "Ye got that right." Napoleon grabbed Colin's arm suddenly and hugged it. "Je t'aime," he said, rubbing up against it. "Get off of me, you sick ass frog!" Colin brushed his arm off, pushing the little emperor back on the path a ways. "M'excuser," Napoleon said, standing up right and brushing off his jacket. "I don't know what came over me." He bowed stiffly from the waist, clicking his heels together in a manner that almost belied the apology by its pompousness. Colin rolled his eyes. "Just keep your hands to yourself." He hurried down the path, anxious now to get to the clearing and away from the pretentious frog that made his life a living... well, hell. Cupid kept glancing behind him at Napoleon, noting the look in his eyes, the way he started watching Colin, his walk, most particularly his ass. The love-besotted emperor drew closer, only stepping back at threatening looks from the New Zealander. Once in a while, he'd let his hand rise until it almost touched the material of Colin's jacket. Cupid was laughing inside. The village was incredible, the buildings laid out in rounds that circled the big well in the middle. In front of the well, and leaning negligently against its stone wall, a man stood near a dais. Next to him were two beautiful people, a man and a woman, both dressed in skirts made of the same blue as the vines in the jungle. The woman wore a heavy beaded necklace that covered the tops and nipples of her breasts but left the sides and heavy rounded bottoms bare. Both had white- blonde hair, almost the same color as Cupid's wispy strands. The woman's locks were long and straight, the man's shoulder length and tied back. Both wore red and blue tribal makeup, a triple slash of color across their cheeks, eyes heavily outlined in blue. They held hands as they stood nervously staring off into the jungle from the way Cupid's party had come. These must be the islanders responsible for Love. And they were being held captive. He studied the leader and after only a few seconds, recognition hit him. This was Satan himself. "Oh," he hissed quietly as he hurried forward. "God, what have you gotten me into?" "What?" Colin asked. "Nothing, pretty place, huh?" "If you like pretty," Colin grumped. "I miss the screams and the flames myself." He flicked a flower as he went by, knocking it off the vine. Cupid turned just in time to see Napoleon pick up the flower, brush dirt off the bright petals and, after sniffing it, stash it inside his jacket pocket, all the while staring with love struck eyes at his fellow henchman. "Cupid, so lovely to meet you." The lord of the underworld was all smiles and gladness as he came forward and shook the small cherub's hand. His white teeth glistened and were absolutely perfect. Cupid was wary, knowing the devil's fondness for tricks and treachery. "Why are you here, Satan?" Colin stepped forward, his hand raised as if to strike him. "You will address him as My Lord." Satan stopped him with nothing more than a look. "Thank you so much, Colin, but Cupid is a special visitor and an emissary from my esteemed colleague. He is to be treated with more respect." He gave him another of those too perfect smiles and Cupid felt his nerves go from on alert to almost over the edge. There was something about those teeth... "Shall we go for a walk, Cupid?" Satan held his hand out, directing him towards the other side of the village, an area that was deserted except for a small table with two chairs. A lovely patio umbrella in muted greens and blues shaded the table from the afternoon sun. A pitcher of icy tea sat there, moisture dewed on its side from condensation. Cupid strolled along, his attitude one of nonchalance in the face of the greatest of all evils himself. Inside though, he was as scared as an angel could be. He worked hard at controlling the fear, repeating over and over that a son of Venus had nothing to fear of sin. Love was the greatest of all goods. Satan held out one of the comfortable chairs and Cupid flew lightly into it, leaning back as if he had not a care in the world. He glanced around at the village, trying to get a detailed idea of what was going on before he talked to king imp. "I know you want to know why I am here, and why I am slowly killing Love." Satan poured two glasses of the tea, setting his aside. "Well, you're evil." Cupid shrugged his shoulders as if to say that was reason enough. He stared at the glass, distrust in his eyes.