Pan's Journey Home

Life in Olympus was beginning to get booooo-ring.

I'd had to come here millennia ago, after the mortals stopped believing in the gods. They'd run all my followers off, and while they were loyal, they were too few to keep me around. I couldn't sustain myself on their world anymore. Luckily, Aphrodite offered to shack up...er, I mean, put me up...for a few millennia, until I could get back on my hooves.

That's right, hooves. In case you hadn't guessed, I'm Pan. You know, the god of wine, women, and song, though not necessarily in that order. And men, too.

For the record, ambrosia lets you age REALLY well. I'd tell you to try it, but we have enough immortals crowded in Olympus right now. Seriously, the place is so packed, we're scrunched in like a Picasso painting. Of course, I'm used to more open surroundings, so it's probably the claustrophobia talking.

But, getting back to me. My fur's still as brown and thick as ever. I'm still horned and horny, with a cute little tail and those nibble-able furry ears oh-so-pointy. Oh, yeah, and I play a mean set of Me Pipes.

The atmosphere's finally lightened up enough to where I can go back. I'm taking notes for this official record. See, I'm sort of the liaison for the other gods. If I can make a good home for myself, and attract enough followers, then they all may be able to make a comeback. Well, that, and they hope to use it as evidence in case I do something overly incriminating. They felt, given the current state of (pardon the pun) affairs, I had the best chance of attracting followers. No big deal; I'm used to this kind of disrespect. Jealousy is all too common around here; just ask Hera.

Just before they send me, I double check my supplies. Pan Pipes, check. Never-empty flagon of satyr wine (the perfect aphrodisiac; one drink is guaranteed to loosen tongues, legs, and inhibitions), check. Loincloth (just for show), check. Medallion that'll let me look like a human when I need to, check. Raging hard-on, check.

I have to promise Zeus that I'll only make satyrs out of those willing. Basically, my semen carries some of my life . One hit, they become well-endowed and horny as hell. Two hits, and one feature about them changes to satyr-style or proportion, and they fully commit themselves to my worship (score!). A third, and they turn into a full-on satyr. (Double score!) Hey, I say if they're willing to go down on a god, they're willing to look the part. Oh, and contrary to popular belief, it works the same on men and women. So there.

I promise to behave (hope Ares didn't see me crossing my fingers, the big wuss). Zeus opens the portal to Earth, and offff I-yi-yi-yi-yi ggggggggooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!

Hope I land somewhere with lots of humans as pent-up as I am...