Dionysus, God of Love, by Jay Alden

“Hey cutie! What say you to us blowing this popsicle stand and heading over to my place?”

Jason firmly grasped his third rum and Coke.  All it would take was one more sip to permanently affix a stupid grin to his face.  He took two.  His eyes scanned the whole of Kiwi’s like a lion on the prowl.  Slim pickings tonight.

“Hey Jason, how’s Garrett?” the bartender, Dennis, asked. Jason spun around.  His head didn’t stop.

“Huh?  Say what now?” he belched, holding on to the bar to keep from toppling over.

“How’s Garrett?” Dennis repeated.

“Huh?” Jason squinted. “Oh!  No.  We’re done.  He’s out like trout.  Or I am anyway.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well…apparently it’s really hard to compete with a Greek bodybuilder these days.”

“Greek you say?” Dennis smiled.

“Straight off the boat.  So naturally you know why I’m here tonight,” Jason said.

“Rebound loving?”

“Of course!  Exactly!  See, now this is why you have this job.  You know things about things, and about people.  You, my friend, are a god.  So what do you say?  You wanna blow this popsicle stand and mosey on back to my place?”

“Do I have to cut you off?”

“No, no, no!  Sorry!  But may I go on the record?  Can I?” Dennis nodded.

“Thanks.  I want to go on the record as saying that you, my sir, are very hot, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else of your caliber floating around here tonight.”

“Thank you truly, but I don’t go home with drunk guys.”

“Why not?” Jason whined. “I’ll be good.  I promise!”

“It’s the booze talking, that’s why,” Dennis said.

“No it’s not, and I’ll prove it to you,” Jason slurred. “Just listen.  Are you listening?  Dennis the bartender, comma, I love you.  You are sexy and should come home with me.  See?  That was all me, baby.  No booze involved.”

“You want a refill?”

“Ooh!  Yes please!” Jason chirped, holding out an empty glass.

“Wedge of lemon?”


Dennis produced another rum and Coke.

“Enjoy,” he said.

“Thanks.  But just to let you know, when I ask a guy over it’s because I really want him.  It’s not the rum talking.  I’m not some kind of rum puppet,” Jason yawned as he gulped his drink.

“I don’t do that.”

At that moment a homely-looking fat man walked up to the bar.

“A bottle of Corona,” he asked gruffly.

As Dennis went to work Jason shifted his gaze towards the ugly stranger, his Cheshire grin as bold as ever, and said, “Hey cutie!  What say you to us blowing this popsicle stand and heading over to my place?”


This story was originally published under the penname Polar McCoy.