No way, I'm doing her myself.

“No offence, big guy,” you say, “but you should leave. Two guys on one girl just seems half gay to me.”

All the emotion leaves Vulcan’s face and he becomes very still. Venus winces and pats you sympathetically on the shoulder, “Ooo. Not the smartest thing to say, mortal.”

Vulcan fixes his gaze on you and speaks very slowly, “You would deny me the right to lay with my own wife?”

You gulp. “Uh, well…not as such, no…I mean, I just don’t want you to uh, lay with her while I’m…laying…with her?” You trail off and start to back away from the scarred God.

Vulcan balls his fingers up into fists and closes his eyes, as though he is trying very hard to maintain his temper. “You want me to leave so you can have your way with my wife in peace?”

You reply, “Um yeah, if it’s not to much trouble. I have a certain style, you know? You’d just get in the way.”

Venus shakes her head. A tasteful toga replaces her bikini and she kisses you on the cheek. “It was nice meeting you mortal. You may not be the brightest of your kind, but you were kind of cute.”

You turn toward Venus, “What do you mean ‘were’?”

The next thing you remember is waking up in the hospital. The doctors all agree that it was a miracle that someone as badly injured as you could have survived. As one put it, “You must have someone upstairs looking out for you.”

The plastic nose you got to replace your old one does a good job, although the metal bolts that hold your skull together do make going through airports a hassle. Still, you seem to attract an unusual number of ladies, epically hot nurses, who are sympathetic to you. You spend the rest of your life getting pity and mercy fucks and wondering if your meeting with a certain Goddess was just a fantasy concocted by an injury rattled brain.