Geovan’s proposition

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.