The Hunter’s Story

My super soaraway sexy memoir The Hunter’s Story is due out soon.

I am best known as a magnificent constellation in northern winter skies. There are many versions told down the ages of my life and death.

I am the Schrödinger’s Cat of Greek mythology: dead on Earth, immortal in the stars; hero and anti-hero; multiple states, multiple stories.

As a great hunter who lived, loved, and died in Ancient Greece, I was the handsomest man ever born. Very tall, with superhuman strength. A rampant, randy, raunchy hunting man.

My story is one of unrequited love, misadventure and betrayal: a tangled combination of roughness, passion and tenderness. Yes, I wasn’t all macho brute: I fell in love constantly and longed to give my women infinite ecstasy in my strong arms.

I made love to dozens of women. I married my beautiful, lusty Side, who was cast into Hades. I was carried off and kept as a sex slave by the insatiable Eos, Goddess of the Dawn, who discarded me. I fell for and hunted with the fearsome Virgin Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis [SPOILER!] who killed me.

I longed to marry her. I loved her more than any other. Her twin brother Apollo plotted my end.

But this was not the end. The end is not what you think.

But I promise, it will shock you.

The Hunter’s Story: A Memoir coming soon, if you’ll pardon the expression.

Watch this space. See what I did there?

Crete, Ancient Greece: 8th Century B.C.:

Then I saw her.

A young woman, a startling vision standing on a rock, poised to shoot her arrow under the glare of the full moon.

Artemis.

Goddess of the Moon.

Goddess of the Hunt.

Sheer magnificence.

Her lustrous dark hair was pulled back and up into a headdress of stag antlers, making her almost as tall as me. Her olive skin shone in the moon’s light. Her long arm and her hand were tensed, her muscles firm and strong. The quiver on her back was full of silver arrows. Her hunting dogs were gathered, panting, around her.

Her eye was fixed, ruthless, penetrating the dark ahead as she eyed her prey. Holding the bow steady, she pulled the string back all the way. I watched her skill in correcting its angle to account for the direction of the wind.

Her tunic was short, showing long, strong legs planted apart like a warrior. As she fired, her tunic top lowered for a second to show a firm, ample breast. She was oblivious to its wondrous nakedness.

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