Geovan’s proposition

by Pragmaton   

When a lonely fisherman in ancient Greece attends his childhood friend’s wedding, he is visited by a stranger that presents him with an unexpected destiny, as well as a ton of extra baggage. But that’s a small thing that can be overlooked…right?

Cyrus resided in a small fishing village, several leagues away from Athens and Sparta. It was a time of peace, and even the most contentious political rumblings and disagreements held in the city-states were hardly felt in his simple life near the water.

His childhood friend, Aegeus, was a stocky lad. Throughout their adolescence, Cyrus could not remember a time when Aegeus was not undergoing a growth spurt, as he came from a long line of boatsmiths that were tall, broad and beefy.

Being an adept fisherman himself, Cyrus willfully shared his family’s catch with Aegeus’ mother, knowing full well her cooking would keep the men of her family full to bursting.

At 6’5’’ with a square face and a black mane of locks, Aegeus grew into a big brute of a man. Spheres of muscle dominated his frame, from rounded pecs to bloated traps, dominated by a rounded muscle gut. His looks were deceiving, however. He was still the big, lovable oaf from their childhood, and he would jokingly ask Cyrus to scratch his back where his overmuscled arms couldn’t reach.

Alas, those jovial days were not to last. Aegeus had fallen in love with the local apprentice blacksmith, Alexandra. She was the oldest in her family and intent on taking over the family forge, gender roles be damned. Her spitfire attitude was only matched by her cooking, and one festival night Aegeus had become quite smitten with her.

Over the next several months, Aegeus’ courting of Alexandra became apparent on his ballooning waistline. His muscled gut as well as the rest of his body became covered with a generous layer of fat, making him look even more imposing up close. Cyrus drooled whenever he saw the huge behemoth work shirtless as he lifted heavy stacks of wood, fattened pecs bunching powerfully as that wonderful gut of his shook and expanded bigger with every breath and step he took.

Soon, the fateful day came when Aegeus and Alexandra became married. She held his arm, doting on him as he laughed, drank and ate, looking nearly to be twice the man he was when they first met, every muscle bloated to twice its size and his globular gut notching up bigger with every bite. He would be primed and ready to blow by the time Alexandra and him were set to spend their first night together, though Cyrus suspected that was her plan all along.

After all, Aegeus was just a massive, testosterone-filled beast of a man, who enjoyed eating and would be destined to become even larger with a massive, strong frame. Yet no matter how monstrous he became, Cyrus had no doubt he would keep his gentle heart.

Watching from afar, Cyrus watched them from one of the celebratory tables, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He wiped it away, smiling, knowing that they would be very happy together, plus he respected game, from one feeder to another.

“He’s a big lad, isn’t he?” said a voice.

Cyrus jumped in his seat, not noticing the stranger sitting at the table with him. He thought he was alone, hoping to pick an empty table to drink and brood by himself.

Cyrus turned his head to regard the stranger. The man wore a dark cloak of rich, velvety blue, which was in stark contrast to his long red hair, several silvery streaks woven within. Oddly enough, the man did not look very old, his angular face showing few wrinkles, if any, accented by bright green eyes with hints of crows feet on the edges. Currently, his face showed a mischievous grin, and if Cyrus had to guess, he’d place the man’s age closer to 35 years.

“It’s no secret Aegeus is the biggest eater in the village,” Cyrus replied coolly. “I’m sure they don’t make them as big wherever you come from, stranger.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” the man replied with a gruff chuckle. “My brothers and I came from a big family ourselves. Can’t help but inherit a bit of that size from our progenitors, as much as we try to deny it.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow as he took another look at the man. Sitting down, he seemed to be slightly taller than Cyrus, his leg length looked to be above average as well. Still, he couldn’t have been more than 5’11’’’ which was tall, but not “Aegeus Giant” tall.

Cyrus gave a wry smile, “guess it skips a generation, eh stranger?”

The man’s grin faded somewhat. “You’re a spitfire, aren’t you son? Your tongue is quick. Are you as gifted in all rules of engagement…?”

The man’s eyes flicked toward Cyrus’ groin. Cyrus felt a bit of heat creep up to his cheeks. This was an unexpected boon. The man wasn’t bad looking; his facial features weren’t as sharp and angular as Cyrus originally thought, a bit fuller and healthier-looking. His cloak seemed to frame his body perfectly, a bit burlier and thicker around the middle.

Feeling a little tipsy and less inhibited, Cyrus downed the rest of his drink. “If you want to find out, stranger, I suppose I could show you?”

Not waiting for a reply, Cyrus grabbed the man’s hand and led him away from the party. He had momentary vertigo when the man stood up. Cyrus must have misjudged the stranger’s height because he looked down at Cyrus from at least a head taller than he was.

The stranger seemed mildly surprised by Cyrus’ boldness in taking his hand. Cyrus could feel the rough ridges and calluses of the large mitt, wondering if the man was a fisherman from another village down the coast. He led the cloaked man down the village path toward the residential area, to his humble and modest wooden abode.

After crossing the threshold of the doorway, the man’s hand slipped out of his grasp and Cyrus turned around to see what was the hold up. He blinked several times, trying to process what he saw.

The man turned sideways, ducking his head under the doorway. He suddenly appeared much, much taller, impossibly so. He rivaled Aegeus’ height, possibly even taller. What was more unbelievable, though, was that his cloak was now stretched tightly around a massive tank of a body it wasn’t designed to contain. Cyrus could clearly see the outlines of meaty nipple nubs poking through the fabric, pointing downward on massive pec slabs of beef, which rested on a gravid stomach that rounded out larger than Aegeus’ had.

“Damn disguise…” the man muttered. “Always requires too much focus. My brothers have always been better at it than me. I’m a fighter, not a magician. This always happens when I get too excited…”

The stranger carefully navigated the small doorway, using one of his large mitts to press his belly inward while steadying his other hand at the top of the doorframe. Once he was through, Cyrus gaped as the behemoth rose to his full height.

Gods, he thought. I’m in the presence of something otherworldly. One of the gods, to be exact. Specifically…

The man looked down at Cyrus and shone his mischievous grin again. He shook his red mane of hair, glimmers of green seaweed could be seen shining within, a spray of water flecking across the ceiling and walls.

“I believe…” the man began, “proper introductions are in order. Though by the look on your face, I’d say it is too late for that, eh?”

“King of the Seas, Master of the Tides…” Cyrus whispered to the imposing figure that blocked out nearly his entire vision. “Lord Poseidon.”

The God smiled. “Always an avid worshiper you were, Cyrus. Always kept a strong spirit and faith, you and your family, even in the toughest times. But no, while I am here, you may call me Geovan. It is a moniker I use whilst walking among the mortals.”

The massive man took a thundering step toward Cyrus, causing him to cower slightly, before Cyrus realized he was taking a step past him to look around his small home. Geovan examined some of the large fish trophies Cyrus had caught over the years, keeping their bones on display.

“Er…Lord. I mean, Geovan,” Cyrus corrected. “May I ask, what brings you to the mortal realm?”

“Research,” Geovan answered simply. He turned his head away from the trophy display and regarded Cyrus with his deep-green emerald eyes. “And not research.”

Cyrus mentally squirmed under the oppressive gaze of such large, powerful figure. He had dreamed of the day when Aegeus would have looked at him like that, but this was different. This was a God, whose aura of power could not be calculated or even contained in such a simple humanoid vessel. Looking upon the powerfully built, beefy body of this being was not the same as looking upon Aegeus. Furthermore, was it even appropriate to have such impure thoughts of a higher being, especially one you depended on for your livelihood?

“Research?” Cyrus asked hesitantly.

Geovan sighed. It was a sigh that seemed to have the weight of ages behind it. His heaving stomach began to strain his cloak’s sash even more. Cyrus could hear it creaking slightly.

“Do you know what it is like,” Geovan began, “to be a god in a realm of everlasting peace? My people’s success is my success, of course, and I share in their bounty, as they do mine. But gods are a reflection of the dominions they preside over, and while there was war every several decades, I did my part to ensure Sailors were blessed with the training to wage war at sea, and that fighting spirit and morale remained strong for long voyages.”

To punctuate this, Geovan flexed his bicep. Cyrus’ eyes bulged as he watched the rounded peak expand several sizes until his fist touched the top of the rounded muscle. He then relaxed, as the muscle deflated to a more manageable and flabbier size.

“Now, instead of prayers for fighting spirit, at-sea dominance, or for strength to build impressive war galleys, all I seem to get nowadays are prayers for bountiful harvests, plentiful fish, and even thanks and blessings at seafood feasts. Such as the one tonight for our dear Aegeus.”

Geovan thoughtfully drummed the fingers of one of his hands on his massive gut, while cradling it with the other. “Usually, war would be like the ebbs and flows of the tide, or like the waning and waxing of the moon…”

He suddenly hefted his rounded stomach up, really emphasizing how much it stuck out. “Let’s just say, this moon has been waxing a lot longer than it usually does.” He dropped his belly. It bounced heartily, the walls and house itself shaking slightly as a couple of carved figures rattled and fell from shelves.

He sighed again, and sat himself down on a long, half-log bench in the dining area. Cyrus was mentally relieved that the God had no qualms about his oppressive weight in his current state; none of the other furniture would be able to hold him.

Geovan shrugged, talking to himself. “It’s not too bad, actually. And at least I’m not the only one. My brothers have not been affected as much, but my nephew Aries has been feeling the effects of this long peace as well. Sure, there are still squabbles and mini-wars on smaller, village-to-village levels, so he hasn’t lost much musculature, but the poor lad can barely fit into his fancy armor, though he tries, like an overfed bull that got into the grain stall and still hasn’t realized how much he’s eaten…” he chuckled ruefully.

“But I digress…obviously, my point is that I’m not quite the striking figure with the trident you have at the entrance of your village, correct?”

Cyrus was hesitant to nod. The statue they had of Poseidon showcased a muscled man with cobblestone abs and striated back muscles, flexed in preparation to throw his mighty trident. He didn’t want to tell that to his face though.

“Well? Don’t be shy boy, say it!” Geovan said gruffly, frowning. “Tell me that I’ve let myself go, that I’ve let the prayers of seafood feasts and bountiful seas and decades of ambrosia with no outlet get the better of me!” He slammed his fist on the table behind the bench he sat on, causing plates and Cyrus to jump.

“G-Geovan, m-my Lord…” Cyrus stuttered. “I wanted…I wanted to say something else, but I don’t think it was appropriate, given the help you’ve bestowed on me and my parents over the years. B-but, I never cared for that image of your likeness, truth be told. I respected it, but I’ve always thought the ideal sea warrior would have more meat on his bones, as even some of the most fearsome creatures of your domain must accumulate blubber and mass to remain fearsome and dominating. Your current figure, I think, is quite striking, and isn’t far off from my personal imaginings of you…”

He suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth as his cheeks burned. That was WAY too much information, and way too forward. His personal imaginings? Such thoughts were to be hidden in the depths of one’s mind, not spoken aloud!

Suddenly, Geovan slowly, steadily maneuvered his massive girth as he began to stand up. Up, up, up, he stood, towering over Cyrus. His titanic belly was scant inches from Cyrus’ face, the indent of his navel from behind the cloak was at eye level. Cyrus could detect a sharp, salty, musk, interspersed with the muted tones of beachwood and freshly, sea-sprayed sand.

“You think me striking, boy? Even in my current state?” his voice was a low growl, his eyes became deep, fathomless green oceans as they bore into Cyrus, the only light from his towering, shadowy figure seemed to come from them alone.

Cyrus clammed up, speechless before the display of power, the aura of force being exhibited was mentally suffocating; the air pressure itself felt as if he were being dragged to the bottom of the ocean.

But it was only temporary. Geovan suddenly barked out a booming laugh before wrapping his massive hand around Cyrus’ head, pulling him into his massive midsection that vibrated with each guffaw.

“Of course, I knew this about you already, my boy! What kind of God would I be if I wasn’t aware of the lives of my most ardent followers? You were a special case, I must admit, but anyone with eyes could see you gave ample attention to Aegeus’ ample frame, even going so far as to share your family’s catch with his when you were lads!”

When he was done chuckling, the pressure of his hand against Cyrus’ head lessened somewhat, allowing Cyrus to look up at the grinning giant.

“Which brings me back to my research,” Geovan continued. “Gods are no strangers to the carnal pleasures of man, my brother Zeus can attest to that, much to the chagrin of our pantheon and even his patient wife, Hera! But I myself am new to this…let’s say, overdevelopment of mine?” With his other hand, he rubbed his belly in a wide arc to punctuate this point. “And I was curious about a rising popularity among the mortals of this physique, especially in this time of peace and overindulgence.”

Gently, Geovan moved his hand from the back of Cyrus’ head, tracing his fingers around to the front of his shirt. One single, meaty digit hooked itself on his shirt below his chin, nearly taking up the entire slack with its girth, and began to carefully tug. Cyrus instinctively rose his arms, lest he be picked up as well. The shirt slid off, revealing Cyrus’ lithe and toned swimmer’s body. Though he lacked in size and muscles, he more than made up for in their chiseled and sculpted appearance.

Geovan huffed, as his eyes became unfocused. “You remind me of the days of my youth, lad, days of my prime. Not as small, of course, but the shape, the build, the seafarer’s spirit thrives strongly within you. A lifetime of serving the sea, and your body has been molded by that.”

Cyrus’ heart raced as the strong, weathered hand traced his pecs and abdominals, before teasing the edges of the waistband of his cloth pants. His mind raced with the implications of where this was going.

He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “So, the reason you came here m-my lord…”

“A proposition, my boy, just a proposition,” Geovan said gently. “I’ve lived for a very, very long time… I’ve seen lands erode and reform due to the ocean’s influence, and in that time, I’ve known many lovers of many lifestyles. Although, I’ve never had a thrall or concubine of your predilections. I’m curious what form your affection might take.”

He gestured at his own glorious size and magnitude. “All of this, Cyrus, for you to enjoy, in exchange for a lifetime of servitude to a God. I can make sure your family is taken care of, and you’ll have no wants during your lifetime. I can even ensure your lifespan is extended beyond mortal limits, so I can enjoy your seafarer’s physique, that can make even an old sea god nostalgic, for as long as possible.”

Cyrus found his voice. “B-but, your Wife! Amphitrite, won’t she…”

Geovan blew out an exhausted breath and waved his massive arm impatiently. The sudden movement of so much mass caused his belly to knock into Cyrus’ body, causing him to step back to regain his balance.

“Amphitrite has her own bevy of mortal male concubines to keep her entertained. We still have fun together yes, but I see the look in her eyes when she studies a wayward Sailor with a sculpted Adonis body, praying for a certain sea goddess to guide his lost ship home. We enjoy each other’s company well enough, but there are aspects she misses about my old body during leaner, more war-torn times. She has certain hungers that must stay sated, as do I. We’re gods, boy! We don’t deny ourselves, why even try to deny each other? I’d certainly not want her wrath upon me, and trust me, mortals wouldn’t want that either!” He chuckled.

Though Geovan was in high spirits and seemed good natured in his approach to the offer, Cyrus was still processing it all. Become a concubine to a god? It didn’t seem believable, as if he were dreaming. The several hundred pounds of pulsating male godhood in front of him, however, cramped inside his small house, seemed to deny that possibility.

But he didn’t become the most skilled fisherman in his village by being rash or impulsive. There were countless stories of mortals making deals with gods, some with good endings, and twice as many with bad. He thought upon the sheer bliss on Aegeus and Alexandra’s faces at their wedding feast, both taking pleasure in the mutual, simple enjoyment of keeping one’s husband stuffed and well-fed. Their years on this realm would be limited, yes, but they would be pure and blissful and full of love for one another.

Cyrus took a deep breath and looked up at Geovan. “My Lord, this is a gracious offer, and I must admit, I am indeed quite taken by your obvious aura of power and your significant…presence.” Cyrus exhaled shakily and allowed his eyes to roam over all of Geovan’s physique, soaking up every magnificent curve and grabbable inch to prove his point. “And as tempted as I am to accept, I’m afraid I must regretfully decline. I lead a simple life, my lord, and I know no other way to live. My only path in this realm is to live it to its fullest, as short as it may be. I humbly thank you for your offer, and hope you continue to bless my family and our village, as we continue to pray our thanks to you for all that you do for us.”

He held his breath and waited. Geovan’s jovial smile had faded sometime during Cyrus’ speech, his mouth flattened and his eyebrows knitted into a perturbed frown. A loaded second passed, then two, then a few more after that.

Geovan’s mouth finally moved, his tone not of anger, but one of confusion. “As I said…your family will be provided for, and you’ll want for nothing as long as you are under my aegis. I understand you have siblings. Once you have nieces and nephews, don’t you wish to contribute to their well-being, or to the success of their future generations? With your extended lifespan, you’ll even be able to intervene to guide them in the right direction, privy to realm-wide information on weather and trade developments that no other mortal has! And with your short lifespan, and your attraction to the male sex to prevent you from providing offspring, I don’t understand how any mortal in your position could possibly refuse.”

His cold logic doused Cyrus, causing him to take a moment to recover. Poseidon’s eternal life caused him to see mortal strife and development from a long-haul lens perspective. Progeny and legacy were the only possible things he could see of being of value to mankind. As Cyrus had little to offer in both categories, being unable to reproduce and being a fisherman from a small village that likely no one will remember, Poseidon probably thought he was giving Cyrus a glorious purpose.

To be a sex toy used by a god.

“My Lord Poseidon,” Cyrus began. His voice no longer shook, and had conviction in it. “Once again, I am truly honored you have chosen me for this grand purpose. But after the ceremony earlier today, I realize that I want what Aegeus and Alexandra have. What I saw in their eyes. I may never find it, in this small corner of the world, and my life may be as insignificant as a grain of sand in the oceans of time. But I want to find love as pure as theirs, and I do not see that chance happening while serving you.”

Cyrus held Poseidon’s gaze as he finished talking. The god’s face was frozen in a neutral stare, as if he were working out what Cyrus was trying to tell him. His mouth suddenly twitched, his eyes slowly, imperceptibly, began to narrow, light color darkening to deep-green pools.

Cyrus jumped as the god exhaled violently through his nostrils. He could almost swear he saw steam erupt from them, smelling of boiled seawater. His chest began to rise and fall in a slow rhythmic fashion, picking up steam as the seconds passed.

That ominous creaking from Poseidon’s cloak came back, punctuating the silence. Cyrus’ eyes widened as he looked up at the monstrous figure. With every breath the god’s chest rose, it did not fall back down to its original height. In addition to that worrisome fact, his rapid breathing caused his stomach to push in and out, except each time, the air didn’t seem to exhale all the way. The indent of the god’s navel seemed to inch closer to Cyrus’ face, while simultaneously the god seemed to tower even higher above him.

The sash of the cloak looked frail, thin, and torturously tight against the quickly ballooning midsection. Cyrus took another step back as the creaking took on the foreboding sound of an old hull of a retired war galley, past its prime and straining to keep everything together. Suddenly, the thin piece of fabric frayed for a split second, before snapping apart with a lightning crack that slashed the air just in front of Cyrus’ throat. A mammoth, impossibly gigantic belly exploded outward, jiggling violently as it exposed itself to the fresh air.

The force of hundreds of pounds of belly dropping roughly two feet caused the humble house to jolt savagely, knocking Cyrus off his feet. He fell backward, hitting his head hard against the wall. He instinctively rubbed the back of his head, yet never taking his eyes off of the gigantic, incensed god that began to take up more and more space in his rapidly diminishing household.

“My lord!” Cyrus yelled. “Please, I cannot accept such a grand proposition! I am just a lowly fisherman, I have no desire to lead such a life you describe!”

“Did I say proposition?” Poseidon boomed, shooting up another foot, as gigantic gusts of breath bellowed from his growing lungs.

His elegant blue leggings tore and popped open across barreling thighs and calves of bloated muscle, before being buried instantaneously by layers and layers of adipose, rising like a mass of baked dough. Tatters of shredded cloth fell away, leaving his bottom half completely naked and huge, swollen belly apron covering his entire groin as it inflated irregularly with more mass in uneven spurts. His cloak split across his arms and back, unable to hold against the proportional size increase of his entire upper body. The sleeves peeled open like a hot potato, revealing white, red-furred flesh. Both pectorals were unabashedly on display, pendulous in girth, each one the size of a grown glutton’s belly in their own right. Each light brown, leathery nipple was the size of a small cauldron, stretched tightly against the ever-rising tide and pressure pushing from behind them, stretching them ever larger and thinner. Each breast grew in tandem with the behemoth’s angry breaths, forcing them to swell further outward and upward, pushing against the double chin of the bellowing mouth above.

“Proposition?” he repeated, taking a huge, thundering step toward Cyrus, his navel now just slightly above Cyrus’ nose, though the nonstop growth caused the belly to sink lower as Poseidon soared taller. His navel was quickly becoming a deep, cavernous hole, as his whole body continued to blimp and swell up at a phenomenal and uncontrollable rate.

“FOOLISH MORTAL,” he continued. “WHY HAVE FREE CHOICE WHEN AN OBVIOUS ONE LAY BEFORE YOU? YOU COME TO US FOR GUIDANCE, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US? BY IGNORING THE COUNSEL I GIVE YOU DIRECTLY, HERE AND NOW?”

By now, Poseidon’s head, as well as the rest of his body, were elephantine in size. His head bumped the top of the 11-foot roof, touched it, then began to press against it forcefully, causing him to crane it downward, neck pushing flat against ceiling. Both hands, nearly the size of doors, pressed against the roof as he seethed downward toward Cyrus. With a roar, he pushed upward and apart, tearing several logs holding the triangular roof together away. Cyrus dove away, avoiding debris and looking up at the open hole in the ceiling, completely occupied by several tons of pissed-off godliness.

Torrents of rain and howling wind swept through the cracks that weren’t blocked by ballooning flesh. Cyrus had recognized that sound from years of sailing; it was a monsoon, in the middle of what was supposed to be a calm season. Before he had any time to analyze the situation, the gigantic god began to slowly maneuver his tonnage toward the house’s exit, which was laughable, because he was currently creating his own exit through the roof. Ropes and lines snapped and entire wooden logs cracked against a wall of advancing blubber, as the entire “front” of Cyrus’ house, doorway and all, came crashing down. Afterward, his house would look like half of it was smashed away by a gigantic boulder, except his boulder was 15 feet tall and ponderously walking away.

Cyrus was treated to the sight of two hairy, bulbous asscheeks, wider than his home would have ever been able to fit moments prior, bouncing and jiggling in tandem as Poseidon slowly made his way to shore. Cyrus’ home, conveniently enough, was close to the ocean, which usually offered him sweeping views of the water. Currently, that view was completely occupied by love handles the size of warships, hanging buoyantly beyond even the width of his astronomical asscheeks. Those love handles also hung beneath several rows of backfat rolls, each the size of a lookout tower, rubbing up against each other. Even from behind, Cyrus could make out the colossally round outline of Poseidon’s hanging gut, finally seeming to slow down in size, as his entire body jiggled violently with every earthquaking step.

Cyrus continued to watch apprehensively, savage wind and rain buffeting his eyes, squinting as he saw 20 foot-tall waves radiate outward as thousands upon thousands of gallons of water were suddenly displaced by a cataclysmic being. He continued to watch, even when all he could make out was a brilliant red mane of seaweed-strewn hair, before that too, submerged below the briny depths.

A few days later, “normal” would not be how Cyrus would describe the state of affairs in his village. After seeking shelter in a neighbor’s home after Poseidon’s er…tantrum? Cyrus found out the wedding guests from the ceremony noticed ominous winds and clouds forming up, seemingly in a matter of minutes. Once the rain began its deluge, and the winds started howling, people immediately sought the shelter of their homes.

No one saw Poseidon erupt from Cyrus’ home and begin his determined march into the ocean.

The next day, Aegeus and Alexandra came to inspect the damage that the “monsoon” had wrecked upon his home. Both agreed he was very fortunate to have avoided being there when the winds and rain tore his house asunder. Surely the gods had been smiling on him that day! Aegeus clapped him on the back, almost knocking Cyrus over, and saying that the issue must have been some faulty construction in the lines holding the log roof together. Alexandra agreed and said she could put some orders in for some essential metal fasteners and various metal tools to be forged, and assured him that they would round up some earnest workers to start rebuilding right away.

At the end of the day, they revealed that they were very relieved that the end of their wedding would not portend bad tidings from the gods, starting with the loss of a dear friend. They smiled, then revealed that they were also relieved due to another surprise… Alexandra was pregnant with their first child! Cyrus’ mouth dropped open, before immediately grinning and congratulating both of them. Aegeus proudly beamed down at both of them, eyes watery with emotion.

Alexandra jokingly told Cyrus on the side: “That big lug of mine will need to toughen up! He has a child on the way, for goodness sakes. I thought I was supposed to be the emotional one? If he’s like this now, I wonder who will be putting on more sympathy weight, me or him?”

Cyrus grinned before looking back at his childhood friend. His stomach was still heavy, round and distended from his feasting the night before, like an overfilled sack of oatmeal grain, hanging lazily over his waistband like a suspended waterfall of belly. His tradesman shirt was tight and much too small for him already, though he had just gotten it made a week or two before. His massive paunch dwarfed anyone with the misfortune (or fortune) to accidentally collide into it whenever he turned around too suddenly. The shirt left several inches of overstuffed gut exposed, leaving Cyrus to wonder if there would be enough yarn in their village to craft a shirt big enough to fit him by the time his first, of probably many, children was born.

The happy news and tidings after the disaster soon began to dry up, however. Cyrus stayed away from the water, but news from other fishermen in the village began to worry him. Catches that were in the hundreds only a day prior had dwindled to a mere pittance of fish, barely any meat to them or possibly even sickly. The prevailing theory was that the monsoon had scared entire colonies of fish and crustaceans away, which portended a very unprofitable, and in some cases, very lean fishing season that year.

Cyrus thought about the livelihoods in which Aegeus and Alexandra made a living (nevermind himself), and the baby that would be growing in her womb in the coming months. It was at that moment he made a decision.

Preparing a day’s worth of supplies, Cyrus took his small Kaiki fishing vessel out to sea. He took one last look toward the village he grew up in, before hardening his gaze and setting loose the ship’s sails. The wind carried him at a moderate pace, taking him far from the village. The farther he got, the safer they would be from Him.

After several hours, he was far away enough where all he could see was horizon all around him. There was no land to be seen in any nautical direction, and any adverse weather conditions would hopefully be mitigated by the distance.

“Lord Poseidon…” he said aloud. “Please hear my prayer. It is I, Cyrus.”

Nothing. Only the gentle lapping of quiet water.

“My Lord Poseidon!” he tried again, this time raising his voice. “Please! Hear my prayer! It is I, Cyrus!”

Still, his cries were left unanswered. He was alone, perhaps forevermore. Just him, and the sounds of the ocean.

He thought for a moment, then took a deep breath.

“Geovan,” he whispered.

That did it. Almost immediately, clouds coalesced out of nowhere, thickening and darkening in a matter of moments. The gentle breeze became harsh and oppressive, as Cyrus quickly rushed to take his sails down. He steadied his sea legs as the Kaiki vessel pitched and rolled up and down as the sea became turbulent chaos.

Several leagues in front of his ship’s prow, an immense column of dark clouds spiraled downward into the sea. The column continued to widen as Cyrus and his ship seemed to be pitched in that direction. The plume of dark clouds rotated faster, wind pitching and shrieking ever higher. The sea itself was pulled into the cyclone, creating a column of water that took up Cyrus’ vision. He thought he could detect movement coalescing in that expanse of dark ocean in front of him, as if he were in the heavens and staring down at the sea.

The cyclone of water exploded suddenly, crashing down in great rivers of water. Cyrus hung on to the center mast of his ship, feeling helpless as the sea forcefully pushed him back on a vessel that might as well have been a toy.

Before him, naked in all of his gigantic, Sea God’s glory, was Poseidon, king of the seas, towering into the sky itself. Bigger than a mountain, and a hysterical far cry from the size he had been in Cyrus’ house only days before. Cyrus thought back to the stories of the titans, progenitors of the pantheon of gods, and remembered Poseidon’s quip about coming from a big family and can’t help but inherit some of that size.

Boy, did he ever undershoot that statement.

Bright, sea-green light shone down from Poseidon’s glowing eyes upon Cyrus and his ship. The God slowly and methodically sat down, moving at a snail’s pace, which was possibly a side effect of moving in a titan-sized body. Despite his concerted effort, gigantic waves threatened to flip Cyrus’ ship, causing it ascend dozens of feet in seconds before pitching sharply down again. None of the waves, however, seemed to flip his ship, though several came close. Whether that was by design or luck, he dare not guess.

By the time the waves settled, Cyrus collapsed on wobbly legs. He still clung to the mast, catching his breath. He looked up, noticing Poseidon looking down upon him, cross-legged, already settled and not saying anything.

“Uh…hi.” he said lamely.

The titanic god blinked. His glowing eyes appeared to shine less glaringly, but they still seemed to burn a hole into Cyrus’ soul.

Several long moments passed before the god spoke, deliberately and slowly, each word booming and echoing throughout the sea and burned into Cyrus’ very mind.

“WHEN A MAN ANGERS THE KING OF THE SEAS, HE DOES NOT COME BACK. HE HIDES, DEEP IN THE LANDS AND THE FORESTS OF MY KIN, FAR FROM MY DOMAIN AS POSSIBLE SO THAT MY WRATH HOPEFULLY DOES NOT REACH HIM. HE IS EXILED FROM THE SEAS FOREVERMORE. WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE RETURNING TO MY DOMAIN, FOOLISH BOY?”

Mentally exhausted and drained, Cyrus spoke honestly and truthfully. “My lord…no, Geovan. You are right in calling me a fool, because I truly feel like one. You are truly a mighty and impressive being, that has shaken both me, and my loins, to the core. I was both nervous and afraid when an actual God from Mount Olympus itself would come down to bless one as insignificant as I with the chance of a lifetime…no, a Millenium! I truly did not feel worthy to be of service to a god, so ardent and devout have I been in my worship of you, that the thought of even touching your body was mentally akin to defiling a temple!”

On and on, Cyrus spouted the drivel that he hoped Poseidon would want to hear. As he spoke, the sinister glow of the God’s eyes began to fade, until they were of the regular green shade that Cyrus had seen the night they met.

“And I should have known,” Cyrus continued, “that refusing the offer of a god would have consequences! Already I can see the misfortunes my selfish actions have wrought! My village’s coast is devoid of your dominion’s bounty! My closest friends are about to have their first child, and good people like them do not deserve to suffer through a year of…”

“THAT WAS NOT MY INTENTION,” interjected Poseidon. “IN MY RUSH TO VACATE, MY BODY SCATTERED MILLIONS OF MY DENIZENS ACROSS THE COAST. I WAS NOT IN A RIGHT FRAME OF MIND. I PLANNED ON RETURNING EVERYTHING TO ITS RIGHTFUL PLACE, AFTER A FASHION.”

The booming voice was less intense, and the dark clouds above the titan began to lift. Cyrus stared into that massive face and detected certain notes within. Petulance? Sheepishness? Regret? Shame? Was this harsh god of the seas, who demonstrated his incalculable power so callously in his village, actually expressing remorse for indirectly harming (well, more like inconveniencing) the mortals who worshipped him freely and wholeheartedly?

He was going to put everything back in its place after a fashion? He didn’t mean…

“You waited. You waited to do it, to see what I’d do. To see if I’d come back.”

It was a statement, not an accusation, but after saying it out loud, Cyrus was surprised to see Poseidon’s face twist into a countenance of pain and sorrow. So striking and pure was that face, that Cyrus suddenly felt guilty lying about everything he said earlier.

“I…AM NO BETTER THAN MY BROTHERS WHEN IT COMES TO HOLDING MY TEMPER. I AM USED TO GETTING WHAT I WANT, AND HAVING THE CHARM AND LOOKS TO MAKE IT HAPPEN. WELL…” one colossal hand the size of a village in its own right gestured at a belly the size of a small countryside. “…USED TO ANYWAY. YOU ARE A RARE BREED OF MORTAL, CYRUS. WHEN I SAW THE WAY YOU LOOKED AT AEGEUS, THE WAY YOU IDOLIZED HIS SIZE…NOT A LOOK OF DISGUST, BUT OF ADMIRATION.”

He paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. “…OF SEX APPEAL,” he added, somehow sounding embarassed. “I WANTED TO SEE WHAT THAT FELT LIKE. IT HAS BEEN A CENTURY LIKE THIS, BEING IN THIS FORM. I MISS THE LOOKS OF DESIRE, OF BEING WANTED, OF BEING…”

He trailed off. Cyrus was speechless. He never would have imagined that gods could have feelings of self-inadequacy, same as mere mortals do. Where was their support system? Could they even rely on other gods for their problems?

“I find that difficult to believe Geovan.” Cyrus called out. “To me, you are sex appeal incarnate!”

The titan’s eyes widened, seeming to suddenly focus in on something. Cyrus smiled. At some point during Geovan’s honest speech about his feelings of worth and self doubt, Cyrus had subconsciously sprouted a throbbing erection in his seaman’s trousers. The fact that an otherworldly being of such immense size and world-shattering power could be such a big softie on the inside drove Cyrus crazy. It was one of the main reasons he always had a soft spot for Aegeus, and the same reason he had a hard spot for Geovan this very second.

Geovan’s sight began to unfocus, as he slowly began to huff, balmy bursts of warm wind reaching Cyrus and his boat, despite the giant’s effort to control it. The air pressure of the atmosphere itself seemed to change with every shuddering breath.

Cyrus frowned as he noticed the water beginning to pitch up and down again. He looked back at Geovan and then he felt a weight in the pit of his stomach.

It was nearly impossible to notice at first due to distance and scale, but Geovan’s already horizon-filling belly seemed to be…no, it couldn’t be. Could it? Just like before, each breath seemed to inflate the ballooning titan just a little, just a tiny bit more. What seemed to be a negligible difference in size was thrown off by the fact that due to his scale, Geovan was actually growing by several thousand tons of weight every few seconds. His body slowly advancing, as if crawling toward his boat, was expanding at an astronomical rate, not even comparable to before. In reality, his body was advancing like an avalanche, or in this case, a tsunami.

“Geovan!” Cyrus yelled, hanging on as the waves began to reach a fever pitch again. “I thought you had already shed your disguise! What’s happening?”

“I AM IN THE HEART OF THE SEA, THE SOURCE OF MY DOMAIN. THE FURTHER FROM SHORE, THE GREATER MY POWER AND INFLUENCE GROWS. MY FOCUS CAN ONLY MAINTAIN MY DISGUISE IN PROPORTION TO MY POWER.”

Geovan grimaced, his proportions swelling to even greater distances all around him. The rumbling of billowing mountains of flesh filled the air. “MY SIZE CAN GROW TO BE AS LARGE AS THE OCEAN ITSELF IS DEEP. I LET MYSELF GET TOO EXCITED AGAIN. WE MUST RETREAT TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS REALM, WHERE ONLY GODS CAN RESIDE, AND WHERE I CAN CONTROL MY SIZE MORE FREELY. IF WE DON’T, I FEAR MY CONTINUED PRESENCE MAY CAUSE MASS FLOODING ON A CATASTROPHIC SCALE.”

Cyrus gulped, watching the tidal wave of titan belly racing toward him and his tiny boat, not so far away anymore, gaping maw of Geovan’s navel high above in the sky, like a lightless cave the size of an island. He could not even see the god’s face anymore, so eclipsing was the mass of red-furred blubber, about to demolish the speck of wood with a tiny, insignificant mortal on it.

Before that could happen, however, the sky darkened as a giant building resembling a callused, cupped hand, came down upon him, casting him and his existence into pitch black.

(If you enjoyed this story, check out my Tumblr and Deviantart pages for vignettes and content not currently stored on Metabods.)

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