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.
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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."
