Fall

Alfie lifted Julia out of the Ferrari; she was as light as a feather and giggled a little, slightly tipsy, as he laid her gently on the bed. Slowly and deliberately, he undressed her, carefully draping her clothes over a chair, and sat down beside her. He stroked her face, her cheeks, her forehead, and her long blonde hair. She smiled at him, and he kissed her gently on the lips. Then he lay down beside her and embraced her. They snuggled up together, and Julia fell asleep instantly. Alfie watched her as she slept peacefully, and he thought about the beautiful moments they’d shared together today at the graduation party. Fall had arrived, but the summer heat had no intention of giving way to fog and morning dew. No, certainly not today, nor tomorrow — maybe the day after tomorrow. We’ll see.

Julia stirred in her sleep, and Alfie leaned down toward her. She mumbled something about the banquet, and he nodded, even though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. “Yes, my darling, I noticed too how Heinrich was devouring Johanna with his eyes.” Julia murmured in her sleep, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Johanna usually knows what she’s doing, and if she invites a grad student between her sheets, that’s her goddamn business. Oh, Alfie, forget about Heinrich — he’s insignificant.” A blond-curled angel full of childlike innocence whom Johanna had treated herself to as a pastime with a sly grin, amid all the dry statistics and lists full of numbers and Chancellor Merkel’s decrees. Johanna was surely his first woman, and she certainly had a ton of fun with him.”

Alfie sat in front of her computer, going through his lists, while Julia slept off her buzz. He still had a long list of contacts to work through; he probably wouldn’t finish until Christmas. He’d spoken with the committee and his director; they’d nodded in agreement, since he’d be bringing back significantly more material than he’d had before the fire. Alfie was satisfied, and he was looking forward to the coming weeks, during which he’d continue his work. Fall was a time of change, and Alfie was ready to face the challenges that lay ahead. Secretly, he was glad to be with Julia for three or four more months. She had grown dear to him — no question about it.

They drank an Arabia coffee and talked. The professor had brought up the subject of a vacation and, in doing so, stirred up more than just the question of a vacation. Alfie explained that it had always felt like a vacation to him when he flew to Arizona or Florida with his little tattoo kit. Word of mouth had made him a sought-after tattoo artist with his own unique style; wealthy women or their daughters booked him for a genital tattoo — his specialty. Julia grinned wryly, “...so, did you?” Alfie looked at her kindly. “Only the fear of the deadly virus kept me from eagerly reaching for the fruit. The only thing you might call sex was that the ladies relaxed themselves before and, of course, during the tattooing, because the genitals had to be completely relaxed for the tattooing. So no, there was absolutely no sex, my dear. None, zero, nada.”

Julia looked up at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry! The most delicious figs are dangling from the trees, and you poor thing have to go without — the fruit really was hanging too high. And you tattooed that Texas cow with the swaying udders; your greedy gaze followed her finger as she pleasured herself nonstop, and you waited briefly until she stopped trembling and shaking. You tattooed her with that neutral, aloof gaze — like a Turkish eunuch in the harem, thoroughly cowed by the virus. I’m grateful that you refrained from mounting all those willing, horny cows with the jiggling silicone udders, that you’re alive, that you’re here, that you’re my husband, Alfie.” Alfie smiled. “Yeah, you nailed it, my love. I’ve seen it a thousand times and smiled encouragingly at everyone not to stop — which was certainly a problem for the younger ones at first. But her mom was on my side, supporting me as best she could, until the girl — shy and timid at first — began to go along with it, with sparkling sinful thoughts in her eyes, nonstop until I was done with the artwork.”

Julia gazed out over the tops of the sycamore trees, which towered high into the sky outside her window. The sun shone through the leaves, casting a warm light on her face. “We used to go to the Semmering regularly with Grandma and Grandpa; they had rented a little castle there. But once, when I was about 16, we took a sleeper car to Venice; I lay on the lower berth, snuggled up in Grandpa’s arms, because I didn’t want to climb up to the loft bed — a highly risky climb. Grandpa was quite wealthy, so we stayed at the best hotel in the city, the Danieli. Back then, I didn’t need crutches or a wheelchair — my brittle bone disease hadn’t fully developed yet. I linked arms with Grandma and Grandpa on either side and walked between them through the narrow streets and squares of this wonderful city.

It was shortly after Ferragosto, the August 15 holiday that is sacred to Italians. At that time, there were hardly any tourists in Venice, and we had the city all to ourselves. With wide, round eyes, I marveled at all the wonders. Back then, in Venice, I felt very close to Grandpa, because it was he who had introduced me to the wonders of sexuality in those years, gently guiding my finger toward its destination. I was already 16, for God’s sake, and I was sick and tired of those reserved, virgin-like ecstasies. Grandpa’s face glowed and shone as he lay down with an earthly girl like Zeus, the Father of the Gods, and Grandma, her eyes wide, pressed her fingers to her lips as if she were startled. But it was something completely natural — all three of us knew it. That’s how it happened, and I was overjoyed, Alfie, the happiest girl in the venerable Hotel Danieli. In Grandpa’s arms, I experienced just how sublime and sacred the act could be when celebrated lovingly and without impurity.

The illness now broke out in full force, and Grandpa had to treat me like a raw egg. Grandma was just afraid he might get me pregnant right in front of her. But she quickly lost that fear in the time that followed, because Grandpa never got me pregnant, even though we were always as ravenous as rabbits. The Rabbit Grandpa and the Rabbit Girl. Grandma always smiled bemusedly, because although we had to maneuver carefully like a train pulling into a hangar, we didn’t know how to use the handbrake and couldn’t stop until the train was complete. “My libido was running wild, precisely because I ‘forgot’ how to walk,” she giggled softly. Tears glistened in the corners of Julia’s eyes. “Oh, yes — that was the vacation that made the biggest impression on me, Alfie.”

Julia looked up. “Should I read you Grandpa’s farewell letter? Grandma and he chose to take their own lives about three years ago.” Alfie nodded, “Just read me the parts that are important to you — not anything too personal. No, leave that out.” Julia rummaged through the desk drawers and lay down next to him again. “I have to snuggle right up close to you, Alfie, because I’m going to cry like a baby.” Alfie nodded, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and rested her head on his chest. Julia cleared her throat and began to read:

Julia,

Yesterday was your high school graduation, and Grandma and I are proud of your achievement as the top student in your class. We send you a big hug and are so proud of how hard and well you've worked all these years!

Luzia and I have grown old — old and frail. We’ve decided to take our own lives on our own terms. We’ll take the poison and, clinging tightly to each other, step into the future, wherever it may lead. Hell, but also heaven, are easily transparent constructs invented for humanity, just like the gods of Olympus. We’ll probably wake up on a distant star, perhaps in a Garden of Eden — not a bad idea. But it’s even more likely that we’ll simply never wake up again. Lay us side by side to rest in eternal peace — our bodies, at least.

Luzia and I were happily married for 65 years; there were far more highs than lows, and for that I am very grateful to her. At the beginning of our relationship, Luzia was the one with fire in her ass — she was a highly sought-after girl the whole time. I suffered just a tiny bit from her affairs, but she was worth waiting for until the volcano stopped bubbling. Then came the golden years — decades of happiness as a couple, a time when neither affairs nor flings troubled us, and when we raised Lothar, your dad. He was the apple of our eyes, a wonderful young man. And when he spread his wings, he brought Emily into our family — your mom, Emilia. We, Zeus and Hera, looked upon the little family with pride. And at their wedding, I met Emily’s friends. That’s when the volcano within me awoke. Luzia smiled gently as the sweet girls, one after another, offered themselves to my desire. I swear to you, I used neither the cunning nor the treachery of Zeus, the Father of the Gods, to lie with them. It was a joyful, carefree time, and Luzia’s gentle, smiling consent was my sunshine.

You were 21 months old when the tragedy happened. Luzia and I really had very little time to grieve; we took you in, and after much consideration, we decided not to officially adopt you. You were and are Lothar and Emily’s child, period. Back then, my emotions were still boiling over, but Grandma and I raised you in a safe and nurturing environment — you never lacked for anything.

You were 8 or 9 when I started reading to you from 'Olympus', and you were absolutely hooked. Right from the start, I had to tell you a great deal about human sexuality, because on Olympus, sex was as essential as the air we breathe. You wanted to know why, what, and for what purpose the gods and goddesses were willing to do certain things. You grasped Zeus’s wickedness just as quickly as Hera’s no less wicked nature. They had different strategies and methods, but the goal was to devour one another to the last drop of blood — you realized that quickly. Now I had to reveal all the secrets of sexuality to you, but Luzia wouldn’t go along with it. We argued about what would be right for you, our daughter.

So that’s how we did it behind Luzia’s back. I gently guided your finger and taught you how a girl is supposed to do it. You were thrilled, bursting with lust, and unstoppable! I held your wrist to make sure you took a break so your little heart wouldn’t burst from the exertion. You were desperate to experience the male counterpart as well, so I taught you how to do it to me — I taught you how to bring a cock to climax, how to make it empty. You were so moved, so awestruck, and filled with holy ecstasy that I knew just how right it was for you to have learned all of that back then. I didn’t tell Luzia about it until many weeks later; she grumbled and complained at first, but she calmed down quickly. I didn’t corrupt you — I just educated you very thoroughly.

We sent you to the best schools. You were allowed to invite all your girlfriends over for sleepovers, and neither Luzia nor I ever spied on you to see what you and the girls were secretly up to. We wanted you to explore and understand your sexuality. And when you invited boys over, Luzia had a serious talk with you: everything was allowed, except for actual sexual intercourse. She explained to you why it would be pretty stupid to get pregnant right now — besides, your illness was becoming more and more apparent. I’ll admit here that I didn’t quite believe everything was fine, so I spied on you. But to my relief, you only gave them hand jobs, and Luzia and I were proud of you because you showed self-control.

We’re getting to the sensitive part, because I’ve been against incest from the very beginning — I’ve discussed it with Grandma hundreds of times. Luzia knew my story, after all. When Mom bathed me when I was a teenager, she’d do it at the end. She would look at me intently with her plain peasant’s face and say that it wasn’t incest, that all moms do it to relieve their boys, because that’s what nature intended. I swallowed hard; maybe that was even true, even though Mom certainly had no idea about these things.

I was 15 and spending my vacation with Aunt Thea and Uncle Karl; they had a cabin by the lake. Aunt Thea asked me all sorts of questions, and she laughed heartily when I admitted what Mom was putting me through. Aunt Thea was a fashion model — and also a nude model — and I had to watch for hours as the photographers came for the shoots. And that’s how Thea seduced me — Thea, Mom’s younger sister! Uncle Karl just laughed and slapped his thighs — it probably looked very funny, the tall beauty and the skinny 15-year-old boy. But that’s how Thea became my first.

And Mom clasped her hands over her head and talked on the phone with Thea for hours. Mom changed; the childlike innocence with which she had done things up until then was gone. I’m telling you this because it isn’t written anywhere else, and I want you to know about our family — not just about gods, goddesses, and the seduced girls.

Mom twisted the facts — and quite drastically at that. I didn’t make any moves or give any sign that I wanted to have sex with her — no, never! But now she said, in a tearful tone, how humiliating it was that her son had been seduced by his aunt and was now demanding the same from his mother! From his mother! I cringed and kept my mouth shut; I didn’t understand a thing anymore. Day after day, the wailing went on and on; Mom exposed herself, filled with shame, because her son supposedly demanded it. Yeah, for crying out loud, I sat there silently in the bathwater and didn’t demand a thing!

But Mom stuck her ass out at me, spread her ass cheeks, and whispered that I should just go ahead and look — that this was exactly what I’d been demanding so vehemently. I watched with great interest, but I’d never demanded anything. But Mom got carried away — after all, she was just an uneducated, neglected wife who didn’t have a clue about psychology. Her mimicry of Thea was now complete; she forced me to stand up and penetrate her from behind. May the gods and goddesses forgive me, but my instinct knew what to do.

I did it, and that’s how the incest with Mom began. It went on for years, even after I’d already started having girlfriends from school for sex. Mom insisted on it, even after my wedding night with Luzia. She looked down on me for how clingy I was to Mom, and so on. So one day — about six months into my marriage to Luzia and after having regular sex with both of them — I drew a firm line: Mom was only allowed to visit us if she kept her hands off me. Luzia was a huge help in getting me away from Mom.

I’m telling you this because it was the prelude to our vacation in Venice when you were 16, Julia. Luzia knew exactly that you were as fired up as a loaded gun back then. She also knew full well that you’d choose me to be your first. And she told me to just throw my past with Mom in the trash once and for all, to be man enough for our granddaughter, and not to chicken out like a coward. It was damn hard for me — I’m just not cut out for incest by nature.

But then we did it, and Luzia was just worried that I might accidentally get you pregnant. Yes, Zeus, the father of the gods, would have done exactly that, but not me. Years ago — without Luzia’s knowledge or consent — I’d had a vasectomy, my vas deferens cut, back when I was chasing after Emily’s willing girlfriends. That’s how I took on some of the responsibility. I knew I could never get you pregnant, but I didn’t dare admit it to Luzia — not even to this day.

I loved you as if you were my own daughter. I loved you as if you were my beloved affair. That's all I can say to you.

Please, understand us. I’m 86, Luzia is 82, and we’re both incredibly tired. We’ve lived our lives; we’ve experienced many beautiful and many sad moments. We’ve had a long, good life; we’ve been together for over 65 years, just like Philemon and Baucis. We don’t want to die miserably with sippy cups, diapers, and Alzheimer’s. We want to sleep our eternal sleep side by side — perhaps you can arrange that, or make sure we get two spots next to each other? No, you don’t need to plant an oak or a linden tree, though that would be a lovely gesture.

We loved you like a daughter; we gave you everything you needed or wanted, and the notary will transfer all of our property to you. Our greatest hope is that you’ll either pursue a wonderful course of study or a fulfilling career — something that’s wheelchair-accessible. And that you’ll find a damn prince who’ll discover your glass slipper and love you at least half as much as Luzia and I have, and treat you like a queen, just as we have all our lives.

Engelbert
your grandpa

Julia had bravely held back her tears, but now she rested her face on Alfie’s chest and let the tears flow. Alfie held her gently in his arms and set Engelbert’s letter aside so it wouldn’t get wet. He sat in silence and let Julia cry against his chest; she should think of her grandpa and grandma, because they were like a mom and dad to her. When Julia’s sobbing subsided, he fished out his pack of cigarettes, lit two, and handed one to Julia. She took a tissue and blew her nose. “Of course, I wasn’t allowed to cram two bodies into one coffin, but I arranged for two plots and had them buried in a shared grave, coffin next to coffin — that was permitted. And weeks later, I had an oak and a linden tree planted, because I understood Grandpa.”

She had once shown Alfie a photo of the grave; they had a shared headstone made of dark red marble. Beneath their names and dates of birth, she had the following engraved: “Μαζί στη ζωή, μαζί και στον θάνατο,” which roughly meant “Together in life, together in death.” And below that: “Βίον ανθόσπαρτον” — “A life strewn with flowers” — which was not only a wedding wish but also a testament to the special nature of their marriage. They talked for a long time about her youth with Grandma and Grandpa, about Grandpa’s “private lessons,” and about how events had unfolded and played out in Venice at the Hotel Danieli.

"I always looked away when Grandpa was doing it with Grandma, but he didn't do it very often. Grandma would always laugh and give him a little tap on the head, 'The volcano's boiled over again, huh, old man!?' Grandpa explained to me that they didn’t do it as often anymore because they were too old to have a baby now, but they still tried sometimes. I understood that — Grandpa was a bit like Zeus, that sly old fox.

I had been sitting on Grandpa’s lap while he read melodiously from those thick tomes, and I felt his warm hand slip under my little skirt. Ever since he started reading about that rascal Zeus, he’d been doing that — for months now. Grandma coughed, but she just kept knitting. I made myself all soft so he could slip a finger under the hem. Zeus’s finger. “Grandpa,” I whispered in his ear, “did Zeus really get Metis pregnant?” Grandpa nodded, “Yes, he did, that sly fox!” We both grinned when Grandpa read aloud how Metis took off her veil and lay there completely naked in front of Zeus, luring him to her. Grandpa looked up from the book and described Metis to me in great detail — she had big breasts like Grandma and a tight ass, too. He loved the word “tight” and liked to use it at every opportunity. “If she weren’t firm and stark naked, Zeus wouldn’t have slipped into her bed at all,” Grandpa explained, “That’s true, really!”

"It tickles so nicely," I whispered, and he nodded — after all, the whole thing with Metis wasn't over yet. "Grandpa," I whispered in his ear, "It's going to happen again any minute!" and he nodded. “That’s how it has to be, little one, just don’t squirm too much, or Grandma might notice something!” I nodded and clenched my teeth, because Zeus was just lying on Metis’s belly and making his baby inside her — that’s what Zeus always did, just like Grandpa did with Grandma. Grandpa’s caresses were so exciting, but he just kept reading quietly. “And Metis really liked that,” I whispered, because I’d heard the story a thousand times already, “. . . and then Zeus just took off, and there she is, Metis, with his baby,” I concluded, because that’s how it always went with Zeus — that’s why he was such a sly fox. He’d make a baby with anyone, then just take off and act like it wasn’t him.

"It's twitching, Grandpa," I whispered, because it always twitched before it came. Grandpa nodded, “It always twitches first, then it comes and grabs you ever so gently!” And then it came — the Metis gave birth to a demigod son, and I felt a tremendous twitch, but I bravely clenched my teeth. Grandma didn’t look up and kept knitting, and my little legs were shaking as if I were cold. But my heart was pounding fast, and I felt pretty hot. After a while, he did it again, and again, until the stories were over and the fire in the fireplace had slowly burned down. Grandpa and I — we had a secret that Grandma never found out about. And I — I loved that secret."

The determination on his striking face after the shouting match with Grandma about sex, sex education, and being a child. Grandpa waited until Grandma had left for her coffee party, then he took Julia into the master bedroom, and they undressed, giggling as they got naked. She sat on his lap, and he did it to her a few times with his finger so she’d remember what lust and release felt like. He had taken her finger and guided it into her slit — serious, focused, and infinitely gentle. But she instantly succumbed to her overflowing libido, let her finger race through her slit, and exploded over and over again. She didn’t want to stop at all.

Grandpa had finally stopped her wrist. “Don’t overload your heart with too many explosions,” he said worriedly. She could do it at night, of course, but then she had to stop in time. She had touched Grandpa’s powerfully stiff cock with candor and curiosity and asked him how to go about it with it. He explained the anatomy to her using the object itself and the functions in theory. She then, with a shiver running down her spine, tried to put the theory into practice and didn’t give up until she succeeded. She giggled and grinned from ear to ear. Grandpa said she had learned something important.

And this went on until she was 16. For her birthday, they took a train trip to Venice, because the illness was now advancing unstoppably. She didn’t dare climb up into the loft bed — a daring climb for a frail girl. So she snuggled into Grandpa’s arms in the lower bunk and did it in secret, from Bruck an der Mur to Villach and beyond. Venice, the most beautiful city in the world. And one evening, at the Hotel Danieli, young Helena gave herself to Zeus. She trembled, not because her hymen had broken, but because her union with Grandpa was so sublime and sacred. Grandma sat with her knees drawn up in her cotton nightgown in the far corner of the large bed, her hand to her lips, her eyes wide open. She had agreed, of course, but Zeus was not supposed to get the earthly girl pregnant.

Julia-Helena and her Zeus were just like rabbits. Grandma smiled indulgently because the two of them just couldn’t get enough of each other. They always did it right in front of Grandma; they’d never sneak off behind her back — it was a matter of honor! But her heart belonged to Grandpa, her Zeus. And for Julia, it was heaven on earth. Yes, she’d had a few little flings later on — actually, only four. Brad, the tattoo artist, was number five, Julia said with a bashful look. And after she graduated from high school, Grandma and Grandpa had left; they didn’t want to rot away like old vegetables in their old age. Julia was indescribably sad, but she understood why the two of them had chosen to leave on their own terms. They had fulfilled and completed their parental duties. Julia had to spread her wings.

She told Alfie all of this with great seriousness, because she wanted him to have a good understanding of her youth. Alfie nodded; she really had had a wonderful, exciting, and fulfilling youth.

Alfie smiled at her. “Julia, do you feel like going on vacation? Would you like to go somewhere with me?” But Julia shook her head. “No, Alfie. For me, the best thing is to lie here with you and feel completely like your wife. I try not to think about the fact that the year is already over and that one day you’ll have to leave. I don’t need the wonders of a new setting or city to make me shudder with awe. I feel at home in your embrace — no wonder in the world could be more beautiful. I owe my recovery to you; I can walk tall and proud like any other woman and no longer fear breaking a bone. Well, I still drive my Ferrari — purely out of convenience and nostalgia. I’ve gotten used to the speed, and I love it when the wind blows through my hair. I’m glad you no longer have to treat me like a fragile child, Alfie, but as a fully-fledged woman with healthy bones.”

Alfie was quite happy that neither of them felt much like traveling. He threw himself into his research and work, while Julia took a fresh look at her thesis and was searching for a title for her dissertation. The professor wanted to hear a suggestion, since Julia was no longer a young girl and didn’t need motherly guidance.

Her daily routine hadn’t changed. Every morning, Julia worked for IKEA for about two hours and handled customer correspondence with the help of AI. At noon, she drove her Ferrari down to the pond and fed the birds stale bread and vitamin-rich birdseed. This hour was a steady anchor in her daily routine, when she sat next to Alfie and they could talk about things that had nothing to do with their day-to-day work. Matters of the heart, matters of the soul, and things that got under their skin. Alfie, who as always had worked through the night, slept in Julia’s bed throughout the morning. After lunch, she lay down next to him and then threw herself into her new project: her doctoral dissertation. In the afternoon, Alfie brewed a wonderful cup of Arabia coffee, which provided a brief break. Of course, he never failed to bring along some sweet cookies or pastries to go with the coffee.

Tuesday afternoons were still reserved for her soulmate, Yvonne, whose love life was always like a roller coaster ride. Of course, Alfie lay next to the girls as their lips, gasping with desire and lust, snapped at each other’s lips; he caressed their beautiful bodies sensually and with obvious pleasure. In his entire life, Alfie had never been so closely and directly involved in such an intense female friendship, yet he felt right at home when the girls included him in their girl-on-girl sex without any unnecessary fuss.

Julia’s firm rejection of Yvonne’s relentless advances surprisingly softened because Yvonne drew him in irresistibly, like a magnet. Julia and he never spoke again about her previous refusal of Yvonne; Yvonne’s advances had become the norm. Bacchus kissed both girls passionately, and he was as happy as a child with two waffle cones and two servings of five scoops of ice cream each. He participated enthusiastically in the discussions, for he had spent enough time with Yvonne to find his way through the labyrinth of her soul. Alfie smiled cheerfully, for the two girls truly loved each other with all their hearts, like sisters, like twins. Their personalities might be as different as gold and platinum, but each was a precious metal. Truly.

The two girls woke up and stretched comfortably, like purring kittens. Alfie kissed Yvonne’s lips and asked how she had come to be a man-devouring hetaera. Yvonne smiled, “A man-devouring hetaera!?” She shook her head with a smile, “You’ll be easily disappointed, my darling boy. The short answer is that I’m my mother’s daughter, because she was a true man-devouring hetaera, if you’d like to call it that. For a detailed answer, I’ll need a cigarette to keep my fingers busy.” Alfie lit a cigarette for her and Julia. Julia snuggled into her girlfriend’s lap and looked up at her. “Well, my mom was the very embodiment of what you’d call a man-devouring hetaera. Consequently, one day she disappeared, leaving Dad a meaningless farewell note, never to be seen again. My dad, the unwaveringly loyal police commander Pospischil, crumbled like a sandcastle. He took early retirement, started drinking, and sought out this or that neighbor's shy wife or underage daughter for sex.”

But I, a rebellious 15-year-old, spied on him and found out just how loose and listless these neighbors were — rotten, spoiled apples without a shred of spark, nothing more than willing sluts. So I decided to seduce him, to trap him between my thighs, and to show him what his girl is capable of — far more than those wet, filthy neighbor women. Bearing in mind what I’d picked up from Mom, I snatched the poor guy and forced him to become my first and only. For a short time he blossomed; for about three years he plowed my furrow with enthusiasm and sowed his seed. He loved my breasts and quit drinking from one day to the next. Mom had always stared strangely at the blossoming and sprouting of my young body. Oh, how proud I was of my boobs! I withheld them from Dad until he was willing to give up drinking. It was pure blackmail, nothing else. When I turned 18, he pressed five savings books, stuffed to bursting, into my hands. “All my stashed-away money, Yvonne. Use it wisely and make something of your life — don’t waste it like your mom did!” He walked away and never came back.

I began my studies, worked hard at them, and earned my first doctorate at age 24. I hardly touched Dad’s savings — after all, I was receiving a pension in his name because he was presumed dead. When he left, I felt a void in my soul — a yawning void. I then set my sights on boys — young, unspoiled little flowers — and devoured them greedily to fill the void. There must have been hundreds of little angels with curly heads and untouched bodies, yet they could not fill the void — only toil diligently in the furrow — but that was still very unsatisfying.

My lovers grew older and more numerous, though each one was more stupid than the last. One doctor sleep around? Yeah, they sure could. But they wouldn’t even have been able to spell the word “doctor.” I started studying philosophy, and a petite woman in a wheelchair crossed my path. We weren’t lesbians, but we both loved making love to each other because I could be sensitive to her illness. Both of our libidos are equally exuberant, and that more than makes up for the illness. Finally, a partner who could spell every foreign word. That’s why I’m overjoyed with Julia, and I can, with a clear conscience, let one or another dim-witted guy plow my furrow night after night — because I love plowing very much, too. — That was the long version, Alfie. — And yes, the fact that you’re good at spelling, too, is a real stroke of luck.” Alfie took her in his arms and caressed her large breasts. “Thank you for telling me that; it completes the picture I have of you.”

Alfie didn’t let it get him down or make him lose heart. No, you couldn’t win all the time. Some leads turned out to be fruitless, went unanswered, or were meaningless. Sometimes he did find the source material that had been offered, but either he already had it or it wasn’t suitable for his collection. Then he would gaze grimly at the portraits of his children, Waltraud and Heinrich. “Keep at it, don’t give up. Keep revising and resubmitting your dissertation until it’s accepted.” He had told them this time and again; he was their father, not just some uninvolved janitor. His children’s smiles always lifted his spirits. He tackled the next piece — a Vasco da Gama braving the storms of the Indian Ocean. And the thought of finding peace and sleep in Julia’s bed the next morning was comforting.

Julia, on the other hand, struggled with the subject matter, with the gods of Olympus. “Leda and the Swan” had already been discussed at length and in great detail in her thesis; she neither wanted nor was able to expand on it further. She read the myths and legends over and over again. Hera, the sister and wife of Zeus, the father of the gods, and Zeus himself remained the central thread running through it all.

Julia leaned back, stretching her hunched back to relieve the tension. She wanted to give her dissertation a title: “The Olympic Empire,” “The Empire of Olympus,” or something along those lines. She had scribbled “The Sex-Obsessed Zeus and His No Less Lustful Hera” on a piece of paper and written underneath it: “How the Sex-Obsessed Gods Willfully Destroyed Mount Olympus Itself.” But then the note ended up in the trash bin.

She had gathered material, organized it carefully, and there was quite a lot of it:

Hera watched his escapades jealously, her face contorted, as her husband Zeus undaunted pursued all the young, beautiful goddesses and mingled with mortals to possess and ruin their daughters and wives:

Metis, the Titaness of Wisdom: Zeus's first lover. Because it had been prophesied that her son would overthrow Zeus, he devoured the pregnant Metis. Their daughter, Athena, later sprang directly from Zeus's forehead amid excruciating headaches.
Leto, another Titaness: Zeus impregnated her before or during his marriage to Hera. Hera relentlessly pursued Leto and forbade any solid ground from offering her a place to give birth. On the floating island of Delos, Leto finally gave birth to the twins Apollo and Artemis.
Demeter, the goddess of agriculture: Zeus mated with his sister, according to some later myths, in the form of a snake. From this union came Persephone, who later became the queen of the underworld.
Mnemosyne, the Titaness of Memory: Zeus visited her in the guise of a shepherd. They slept together for nine nights in a row and fathered the nine Muses, the patron goddesses of the arts.

When it came to mortal women, Zeus used his powers of transformation in particularly creative ways to remain unnoticed or to seduce, impregnate, and get them pregnant:

Europe, a Phoenician princess: Zeus transformed himself into a beautiful, gentle white bull. When Europa climbed onto his back, he carried her across the sea to Crete. Our continent bears her name today.
Leda, the Queen of Sparta: Zeus approached her in the form of a majestic swan seeking refuge from an eagle. Leda then gave birth to two eggs, from which, among others, the beautiful Helen (the catalyst for the Trojan War) hatched.
Danaë, a princess of Argos: Her father locked her in an underground bronze tower because an oracle had foretold that her son would kill him. Zeus nevertheless reached her — as golden rain that fell into her womb. She gave birth to the hero Perseus.
Alcmene, the mother of Heracles: Zeus took on the exact form of her husband Amphitryon, who was away at war. He made the night last three times as long as usual so he could savor the time with her. The result of that night was the most famous hero of antiquity: Heracles
Semele, a princess of Thebes: Zeus loved her while in human form. However, the jealous Hera persuaded the pregnant Semele to ask Zeus to reveal himself in his true, divine splendor. Since no mortal could survive this, Semele was consumed by a bolt of lightning. Zeus saved the unborn child, sewed it into his own thigh, and later gave birth to Dionysus, the god of wine.

Zeus's desire knew no bounds when it came to gender. He fell in love with the Trojan prince Ganymede, the most beautiful of all mortals. Taking the form of a giant eagle, Zeus carried the young man off to Mount Olympus, where he served as the cupbearer to the gods and became Zeus's lover.

Julia snuggled up against Alfie's raised knee and continued reading to him from her notes:

Zeus, that lecherous fellow, was far from finished with his escapades between the thighs of gods and mortals,

Eurynome, an Oceanid, a sea goddess: Zeus seduced this daughter of Oceanus. From this union came the three Charites (known in Roman mythology as the Three Graces), who are the embodiment of grace, beauty, and joy in Aphrodite's retinue.
Nemesis, the goddess of righteous wrath: Nemesis was determined to escape Zeus and, while fleeing, transformed herself into a goose. Zeus saw through the ruse, transformed himself into a swan, and overpowered her. Nemesis then laid an egg, which was found by shepherds and given to Leda — and from this egg, the famous Helen hatched.
Asteria, the Titaness of the Stars: To escape Zeus’s relentless pursuit, Asteria transformed herself into a quail and plunged into the sea. There she transformed into a floating island called Asteria, which later became known as Delos — the very place where her sister Leto found refuge to give birth to Apollo and Artemis.
Antiope, another princess of Thebes: Zeus approached her in the bizarre form of a wild, drunken satyr (a lustful mythical creature with goat's feet). Antiope became pregnant and gave birth to the twins Amphion and Zethos, who later built the city walls of Thebes.
Aegina, a river nymph: Zeus abducted her, taking the form of a blazing fire or a mighty eagle, and carried her off to an uninhabited island. Her father, the river god Asopos, pursued Zeus in a rage but was struck down by his lightning bolts. The island was named Aegina after her; their son, Aiakos, became the grandfather of the hero Achilles.
Elara, a mortal princess: Fearing Hera’s merciless revenge, Zeus hid the pregnant Elara deep underground in the darkest caves. There she gave birth to the giant Tityos. Since Tityos grew to such gigantic proportions, he tore open his mother’s womb at birth, which is why he is often considered the son of the Earth (Gaia).
Callisto, a nymph from Artemis’s retinue: Callisto had taken a vow of chastity. To gain her trust, Zeus promptly transformed himself into his own daughter, the goddess Artemis. When Callisto became pregnant, the deception was exposed. An enraged Hera transformed her into a bear. Zeus later saved her from being hunted by placing her in the sky as the constellation Ursa Major.

Julia's voice trembled as she read all of this aloud to her Alfie. She was in the middle of her topic — in the midst of the intrigues, the deceptions, and the sexual escapades of Olympus — because, of course, Zeus wasn't the only one who was getting intimate with the goddesses and mortal women.

It’s just that the other gods were much better at hiding their misdeeds and dirty deeds from the whole world. The storytellers and mythographers took their cue from Zeus and lacked the patience to tell us how these other fellows cornered the goddesses and mortal maidens in a secluded spot and there brazenly reached for the untouchable — their undergarments. The “untouchable” — for if anyone touched it, it was always rape. Quietly, secretly, and unnoticed by all, they followed the Father of the Gods’ example and tore the “untouchable” off the girls. Saliva dripped from the corners of their mouths as they got aroused by the girls’ nakedness, these guys. And so they defiled, had sex with, and ruined the girls, who trembled with shame, disgust, and fear.

Julia defiantly wiped an angry tear from the corner of her eye. How many stories, tales, and legends have never been written down about these schemes!?

Zeus's escapades to get his hands on the undergarments of the most unattainable women often ended badly:
The Beautiful Queen Lamia. Zeus loved her, which provoked Hera’s most extreme wrath. Hera killed all of Lamia’s children and robbed her of sleep. Driven mad by grief, Lamia transformed into a child-devouring monster. Zeus, moved by compassion, at least granted her the ability to pluck out her own eyes so that, free from those terrible visions, she might finally sleep.

Yet Hera, Zeus’s wife, was considered the epitome of marital fidelity and chastity, even though she likely engaged in quite a few secret affairs, without anyone daring to record them in writing. Or perhaps they did? Julia dug out the legends of old Thibault and appended them to the end of her summary about Hera. But now she was going through Hesiod’s records and fragments. Wasn’t there, after all, someone who squeezed his way under Hera’s underwear, who, brazen and frenzied with lust, thrust himself between her divine, oh-so-chaste motherly thighs?

The Secret Lover: Endymion This is probably the strongest evidence of a real affair: According to the writings of the ancient poet Epimenides (and ancient fragments by Hesiod), the beautiful mortal Endymion was a secret lover of Hera — and presumably not the only one. She freely allowed this handsome mortal to slip beneath her undergarments as well as between her snow-white thighs, so that she might be warmed by his passion.
When Zeus discovered the affair, he was beside himself with jealousy. As punishment, Zeus condemned Endymion to an eternal, endless sleep. (In better-known myths, this story is attributed to the moon goddess Selene, but in the oldest accounts, it features a vivid description of Hera’s insatiable, divine lust.)
Conception on one's own: Hephaestus When it comes to infidelity in the broadest sense, one must consider Hera’s pregnancy with the god of smiths, Hephaestus. The Immaculate Conception: Out of anger that Zeus had fathered Athena alone (from his own head), Hera decided to conceive a child entirely without Zeus as well. The Secret Version: In a few very rare, divergent legends, however, it is rumored that Hera did not conceive Hephaestus solely through the power of her will, but rather that she cheerfully mated with the giant Parthenios — one of Zeus’s most vehement opponents — in order to get back at him.
Sought After and Attacked: Ixion and the giants. There were men who loved Hera so passionately that they tried to seduce her in secret and force her to have sex with them.
Ixion, the mortal king was so obsessed with Hera that he tried to secretly approach her during a feast on Mount Olympus. Hera seemed to play along, but placed a cloud (Nephele) in his bed that looked exactly like her. Ixion did not notice — and Zeus banished him to an eternally burning wheel in the underworld for this attempted adultery.
Porphyrion, the king of the Giants, was filled by the gods of love with such a frenzied longing for the secret between Hera’s thighs that, in the midst of the battle (the Gigantomachy), he tore off her clothes, and was just about to mount her when Zeus stopped him with a bolt of lightning.
Before she was incorporated into Greek mythology as the “wife of Zeus,” Hera was a powerful, independent Mother Goddess of Prehistory, not averse to the carnal. In these ancient, local cults (especially in Argos), she likely had her own partners — both mortal and divine — who were later systematically erased from the stories by the priests of Zeus in order to secure the supremacy of the Father of the Gods.

But who were these fearless men who tried to seduce Hera, slip under her undergarments, and cheekily squeeze themselves between her divine thighs?

Ixion, King of the Lapiths: He was a guest on Mount Olympus and attempted to seduce Hera. Zeus saw through his scheme and formed a cloud in Hera’s likeness (the lovely Nephele). Ixion mated with this cloud (giving rise to the centaurs). As punishment for his attempted adultery with the queen of the gods, Zeus had Ixion chained to an eternally burning wheel in the underworld.
Endymion: In a few rare legends, a mortal youth managed to lie with Hera. Zeus then punished him with an eternal, endless sleep.
Io When Zeus seduced Io, Hera caught them in the act. Zeus quickly transformed Io into a white cow to hide her. Her revenge: Hera pretended to be unaware, demanded the cow as a gift, and appointed the hundred-eyed giant Argus as her guardian so that Zeus could no longer approach her. After Hermes killed Argus on Zeus’s orders, Hera sent a giant hornet that stung the cow — Io — relentlessly, driving her mad and chasing her across the entire earth. In memory of Argus, Hera placed his hundred eyes in the feathers of her favorite animal, the peacock.
Semele When the mortal Semele was pregnant with Zeus’s child, Hera transformed herself into an old wet nurse and sowed doubt in Semele’s heart as to whether her lover was truly the father of the gods. She persuaded Semele to demand an irrevocable oath from Zeus: that he reveal himself to her in his true, divine form. Zeus had to obey — and since no mortal can survive the sight of pure lightning and thunder, Semele was instantly consumed by fire.
Leto When the Titaness Leto was pregnant with the twins Apollo and Artemis, Hera imposed a universal ban. She swore that no spot on earth where the sun had ever shone would grant Leto a place to give birth. She also sent the Python snake to hunt Leto. Leto finally found refuge on the floating island of Delos, which was not considered solid ground.
Callisto After the nymph Callisto had been impregnated by Zeus, Hera’s jealousy struck again. She transformed the beautiful girl into a shaggy bear. Years later, Callisto’s own son, the hunter Arcas, came upon the bear and, unaware of her true identity, was about to shoot her. Zeus prevented the tragedy at the last moment and placed both of them in the sky as constellations (the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper). But even then, Hera took her revenge: she forbade the sea goddess Tethys from ever allowing the bears to bathe (sink) in her waters — which is why these constellations remain circumpolar to this day and never touch the horizon.
Heracles Hera’s greatest hatred was directed at the hero Heracles, the son of Alcmene. Even when he was still an infant in his cradle, she sent two poisonous giant snakes to kill him (but little Heracles simply strangled them). Later, she caused him to suffer a temporary bout of madness, which led him to kill his own wife and children — the subsequent famous “12 Labors of Heracles” were his atonement for this act. Hera's hatred of Heracles was so deep that even his name was an irony of fate: Heracles translates to "Glory of Hera." His entire existence and all his heroic deeds were based solely on the fact that Hera's harassment forced him to rise above himself.
Even before he was born, Hera delayed his delivery so that his cousin Eurystheus would be born first and thus claim the right to the throne. When Heracles was a few months old, Hera sent two enormous, venomous snakes into his nursery. While his twin brother Iphicles ran away screaming, the divine child grabbed the reptiles with his bare hands and strangled them, laughing.
There is a bizarre myth about how Heracles came to be immortal. Zeus secretly placed the sleeping infant Heracles at the breast of the sleeping Hera so that he might drink her divine milk. When Hera awoke and noticed the strange child, she pushed him away roughly. The milk that spurted into space as a result formed the Milky Way (a galaxy, derived from the Greek word for milk: gala).
Heracles grew up, married Megara, and had children. Hera, who could not bear his success, struck him with a sudden, violent bout of madness. In this state, he mistook his own family for enemies and killed them. When he came to his senses and realized the tragedy, he went, deeply traumatized, to the Oracle of Delphi. As atonement, he had to enter the service of King Eurystheus — with Hera pulling the strings behind the scenes to dictate the famous 12 impossible labors (such as fighting the Hydra or capturing the hellhound Cerberus). For nearly every task, Hera sent additional monsters or obstacles to ensure his failure.
When Heracles finally died from the poison of the centaur Nessus and his mortal body was cremated, Zeus raised his immortal soul to Olympus. Once there, the impossible happened: Hera made peace with him. His superhuman endurance had earned her respect. To seal the peace, Hera ritually adopted him and gave him her own daughter, Hebe (the goddess of youth), as his wife.
The Plague of Aegina. When Zeus abducted the nymph Aegina to an island and fathered a son, Aiakos, with her, Hera was unable to catch her lover directly. She sent a terrible plague of snakes and insects, as well as a toxic heat wave, to sweep across the entire island of Aegina. The water in the wells turned foul. Almost all the human inhabitants died in agony. In desperation, Aiakos prayed to Zeus, who then transformed the ants of a sacred tree into humans — the so-called Myrmidons, who later became famous as Achilles’ elite warriors in the Trojan War.
Echo The nymph Echo was not actually one of Zeus’s lovers at all, but merely a pawn. Zeus used Echo’s incessant chatter to engage Hera in conversation while he was enjoying himself in the woods with other nymphs. When Hera saw through the deception, she condemned Echo to never be able to speak on her own again. From then on, Echo could only repeat the last words someone else had just spoken — the origin of the word “echo” as we know it today.
Ino and Athamas Ino was the sister of Semele (the mother of Dionysus). After Semele’s death, Ino took in the divine infant Dionysus and secretly raised him disguised as a girl to hide him from Hera. Hera found out. She infected Ino and her husband, King Athamas, with a murderous madness. Athamas mistook his eldest son for a deer and shot him with his bow. Ino, in a state of utter madness, grabbed her other son, threw him into a boiling cauldron, and then jumped off a cliff into the sea with his body.

The Olympic gods’ reaction to Hera’s extreme wrath was a mixture of fear, helplessness, and passive resistance. Since Hera was the most powerful goddess of Olympus and the ruler’s official consort, hardly anyone dared to openly oppose her. When they did, it usually ended in chaos. The gods responded to Hera’s campaigns of vengeance in essentially four different ways:

The Rebellion: At one point, Hera’s tyranny and jealousy toward Zeus got on the other gods’ nerves so much that they banded together against the couple. Hera, Poseidon, Apollo, and Athena instigated a mutiny. They surprised Zeus while he was asleep and bound him to his bed with a hundred knots. They mocked him and sought to redistribute power. The sea nymph Thetis, who was madly in love with Zeus, secretly summoned the hundred-armed giant Briares to her aid, and he freed Zeus in the blink of an eye. The punishment: Zeus was merciless. As punishment, he chained Hera to the sky with golden shackles around her wrists and tied anvils to her feet. She had to hang in agony above the abyss until the other gods swore never to rebel against Zeus again.
Many gods felt deep compassion for the victims of Hera’s wrath, but they helped only in secret so as not to become targets themselves. Zeus often enlisted the help of his son Hermes (the messenger of the gods). It was Hermes who, on Zeus’s orders, lulled Io’s guardian (the hundred-eyed Argus) to sleep and beheaded him. He also rescued the unborn Dionysus from the flames of the dying Semele and brought him to safety.
As Leto, when Hera, while pregnant with Apollo and Artemis, was chased across the entire earth and forbidden to give birth anywhere, the sea gods deliberately looked the other way when the floating island of Delos granted Leto asylum. They helped Leto circumvent the curse without directly confronting Hera.
Hera’s own children had extremely mixed feelings about their mother’s outbursts of rage. After his birth, Hera had cast Hephaestus from Mount Olympus because of his ugliness. In revenge, he later built a magnificent golden throne and gave it to her as a gift. When Hera sat down on it, invisible chains snapped shut around her. No god could free her. It was only when Dionysus got Hephaestus drunk and brought him back to Olympus on a donkey that he relented and agreed to release his mother in exchange for the beautiful Aphrodite as his wife.
Ares, the god of war: He was the only one who often shared Hera’s wrath. During the Trojan War, Hera repeatedly sent Ares into battle to destroy the Trojans — simply out of revenge for the fact that the Trojan prince Paris had chosen Aphrodite over Hera in a beauty contest.
Nymphs, river gods, and lesser deities trembled before Hera. When Zeus seduced a nymph, even her own sisters would often turn their backs on her to avoid falling into Hera’s crosshairs. When the river god Asopos tried to rescue his daughter Aegina, who had been abducted by Zeus, not a single god came to his aid — they all stood by in silence as Zeus struck him back with lightning, because no one wanted to risk Hera’s subsequent vengeance on the entire region.
Hera's position was so unassailable that Mount Olympus was essentially a constant political minefield: Everyone knew about Zeus's affairs, but they all pretended not to see anything so as not to jeopardize the fragile peace among the gods.

Athena and Apollo had extremely different relationships with their stepmother, Hera. Both were illegitimate children of Zeus and thus living proof of his infidelity. But while Athena became Hera’s closest ally, the relationship between Apollo and Hera was marked by deep mistrust and traumatic memories. Here’s how the two prominent divine siblings dealt with the jealous queen of the gods:

Athena, the goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare, was Zeus’s absolute favorite daughter. She sprang directly from his head. Since she had no biological mother in the traditional sense (Zeus had swallowed the pregnant Metis), she posed no direct threat to Hera nor served as a reminder of “another woman.” Like Hera, Athena was a guardian of social order, civilization, and justice. Both abhorred brute force (as embodied by Ares). The Trojan prince Paris had chosen Aphrodite as the most beautiful in the famous contest of beauty. This deeply wounded the pride of both Hera and Athena. During the Trojan War, the two goddesses worked hand in hand to ruthlessly destroy the Trojans. They hatched plans behind the scenes and jointly manipulated the battlefield. Despite her closeness to Zeus, Athena was wise enough to recognize when her father was becoming too tyrannical. She actively participated in Hera’s plot (described above) to bind Zeus. However, Zeus later forgave her for this more readily than he did the others.
The relationship between Apollo, the god of light, music, and prophecy, and Hera had been filled with hatred for him from the very beginning. He had never forgotten Hera’s brutal pursuit of his pregnant mother, Leto. Just four days after his birth on the island of Delos, the newborn Apollo took up a bow and arrow and killed the Python — the monster that Hera had sent to bring death to his mother. Apollo spent his entire life protecting his mother, Leto, from Hera’s relentless harassment.

When Hera incited the giant Tityos to rape the beautiful Leto, Apollo and his twin sister Artemis didn't hesitate for a moment and came to their mother's aid: Together, they struck down the giant with a hail of poisoned arrows.
During the Trojan War, Apollo and Hera were bitter enemies. While Hera supported the Greeks, Apollo protected the Trojans (especially Hector) and even sent a devastating plague to the camp of Hera’s favorite Greek warriors.
On Mount Olympus, an icy, armed truce reigned between the two. Apollo respected Hera's power as queen, but for the most part kept his distance from her. Hera, for her part, knew how powerful and deadly Apollo's arrows were, and avoided provoking him directly.
Athena used her diplomatic wisdom and skill to coexist with Hera as equals and to fight their common enemies. Apollo, on the other hand, remained the loyal son of his mother Leto throughout his life and always treated Hera with cool, aloof wariness.

Alfie had been listening intently to Julia. Now that she looked up at the end of her notes and said that this was perhaps 10% of her material, he pulled a sheet of paper out of his backpack. “Meanwhile, I’ve been doing a little digging and found the following at the University of Thessaloniki: an old, orally transmitted legend. In ancient times, a wanton girl lived in the surrounding countryside — the lustful Kalkidike. She was after the taciturn, well-endowed shepherds of the region and conquered them, one after the other, shamelessly and unstoppably. She gave birth to triplets and insisted with absolute certainty that Zeus, the father of the gods himself, had impregnated her while disguised as a shepherd. No one took her seriously, except for the aging Hera, who knew full well that Zeus had nothing to do with it. She was enraged by the girl’s audacity, so she transformed her into the Chalkidiki Peninsula; her children became the three headlands of Kassandra, Sithonia, and Athos."Alfie smiled. "It would be a good idea to weave the story of wayward Kalkidike into your work, wouldn't it?" Julia picked up the note. "Yes, I could very well include it in the chapter 'Charlatans, Liars, and Fake Stories.' Thanks, Alfie, for finding the time to share these little gems with me on top of your own work.”

Julia's dissertation kept growing and growing; she had to start preparing a fair copy quickly, and soon she had completed the first 750 pages. She had actually pieced together the Olympian Empire based on the divine couple Zeus and Hera and produced a very comprehensive work on the divine couple and their history. Yes, there was still a lot to add, footnotes to compile, and here and there a bit of text to invent so that it read smoothly and coherently.

Alfie read through her final draft again and again, his red pen tirelessly marking purely grammatical errors or mistakes that distorted the meaning. But he was convinced that Julia’s dissertation would be met with great enthusiasm and academic recognition.

Lost in thought, Julia sucked on the end of her ballpoint pen. Everyone was talking about Zeus — the guy was the most prolific seducer and sire in the history of the gods. But no one spoke of Hera. She embodied marital fidelity, the very image of the faithful and steadfast wife who had a glutton for a husband — the poor, unfortunate woman. But it was precisely this politically expedient emphasis on the pillars of marriage — which were supposed to hold social life together — that was the big lie told by the historians. A steadfastly chaste Hera was the anchor for maintaining law and order.

This was where Julia wanted to start. She researched and delved into the depths of ancient Greek mythology to shake Hera’s image of purity. It didn’t sit well with her at all to portray only the unrestrained Father of the Gods, while his wife had the spotless reputation on Mount Olympus. That was unfair, because while Zeus worked with the thunderous clang of his hammer, Hera operated silently with a scalpel. She kept digging until she could peel away a layer of Hera’s image — just a little, but still.

Julia typed away, page after page.

This is the most consistent and psychologically profound interpretation of these secret myths. When viewed in this light, Hera — the supposedly “chaste” queen of the gods — becomes a master of subversive warfare who defeats Zeus with his own weapons. Zeus continually humiliates Hera in public through his countless affairs with mortals, nymphs, and goddesses. Hera, who — as the ruler of Olympus — cannot simply leave him politically, chooses the ultimate, secret betrayal for her revenge: She secretly allows herself to be mated by none other than his existential archenemies — the Titans and cosmic giants. In my research, this dynamic of “sexual retaliation” can be perfectly illustrated by three points:

A blatant provocation against Zeus’s rule! Hera does not choose insignificant demigods for her misdeeds. She turns to the beings whom Zeus fears most — and whom he has vanquished in brutal cosmic wars (the Titanomachy and the Gigantomachy):
Talos / Typhon: The Cretan sun god Talos or primordial cosmic forces represent the old order that Zeus overthrew.
Eurymedon: As a Titan, he embodies the generation of Cronus that was banished to Tartarus by Zeus. By allowing herself to be impregnated by Titans, Hera not only breaks her marriage vows but also commits high treason. She sexually allies herself with the opposition to conceive illegitimate children who have the potential to overthrow Zeus from the throne. Other ancient commentators (“enioi”), however, suggest that it was a secret and romantic love affair in which Hera voluntarily gave herself to the Titan. In either case, by becoming involved with Eurymedon (the ruler of the wild giants) and allowing him to copulate with her lustfully, she conceived a child with the most dangerous anti-Zeus faction in the universe.

The Deceived Deceiver. Zeus’s greatest weakness is his monumental pride (his ego). Hera knows this. However, a public affair on her part would destroy the institution of marriage, which secures her own power base on Earth. So she takes her revenge in secret: she gives Zeus’s enemies what he cherishes most — her untouchable, divine body — and mates with them. She forces Zeus into the humiliation of having to raise cuckolded children in his own home (Mount Olympus) — such as Hephaestus or Prometheus — while he must put on a show of a perfect marriage for the world to see. She gets back at him for his “billions of affairs” by undermining his supposed absolute control over Olympus from within.

This brings my entire investigation full circle: The “fatherless conception” (parthenogenesis) of Hephaestus, celebrated in the official texts (Hesiod), is, from this perspective, the most ingenious cover-up in world literature. Hera presents to Olympus an act of adultery and a bastard child sired by a Titan as an “autonomous, feminist act” without a man. She uses the myth of pure virginity as a shield so that Zeus cannot publicly execute her, while in secret she knows exactly who truly fathered the god of fire.

Julia leaned back. There was a very interesting passage — a fictional dialogue between Hera and Zeus about the attempt to seduce the Ixion, who was absolutely convinced that he had slept with the “Iron Lady.”

In the Satires of Lucian of Samosata (“Dialogues of the Gods” from the 2nd century CE), the biting Syrian-Greek satirist wrote humorous vignettes that ruthlessly mocked the Olympian faith. In the 5th and 6th “Dialogues of the Gods,” Zeus and Hera are sitting at the table in the midst of a marital quarrel: Hera is giving Zeus a brutal dressing-down over his latest lover, the Trojan Ganymede. She accuses him of destroying the dignity of Olympus. The punchline: When Zeus arrogantly shouts back that Ganymed simply “kisses him better than she does,” Hera merely smiles contemptuously in Lucian’s subtext. Why? Because in the very next chapter (Conversation VI), the mortal Ixion appears — a man Hera has so skillfully manipulated in secret that he believes he has actually slept with her. Here, Lucian illustrates the bitter paradox: Zeus loudly boasts about his affairs, while Hera quietly castrates him — both intellectually and sexually — through the deceptions of her admirers (the “cloud adulteries”).
The philosopher Chrysippus of Soloi shocked the ancient world with his analysis of a highly erotic painting — now lost but notorious in antiquity — depicting the obscene Stoic paradox. It depicted Zeus and Hera in an explicit, intimate pose (Hera performing oral sex on Zeus). The satire behind it: Ancient critics used this image to mock the divine couple. Hera’s hidden betrayal: In the philosophical interpretation, however, this image served as proof of Hera’s true tactic. She uses the most intimate act not out of love, but to cloud Zeus’s senses. By seemingly submitting herself completely to him and catering to his desires, she robs him of his mental clarity. It is the visual embodiment of Dios Apate (the deception of Zeus): She silences him in bed so that she can forge her secret alliances with his enemies behind his back (such as her clandestine liaisons with the Titans or Cretan gods, or her support of the Greeks at Troy).
Nowhere do they clash more brutally than in Book 15 of the 'Iliad' — immediately after Hera, using Aphrodite’s magic belt, seduces Zeus on Mount Ida and sends him into a deep sleep. Zeus’s Awakening: Zeus wakes up and sees that the Greeks are turning the tide of the war because Hera has betrayed him. He rages with fury, threatens to beat her, and reminds her of how he once punished her by hanging her from the heavens with anvils attached to her feet. Hera’s Masterstroke: Hera doesn’t even flinch. She swears a (deliberately ambiguous) oath by the River Styx that she did not instigate the sea god Poseidon. She lies coldly to the Father of the Gods, while still reeking of their shared act. She disarms his physical wrath with a wall of clever words and feigned innocence. Zeus is powerless against this combination of sexual attraction and perfect cold-bloodedness.

Julia is considering quoting verbatim the dialogue between Zeus and Hera from Lucian’s *Dialogues of the Gods*:

HERA
Zeus! What do you think of this Ixion?

ZEUS
Oh, my dear, I consider him a very good man and a pleasant companion. If he were unworthy of our company, he wouldn't be here.

HERA
He's unworthy! He's a scoundrel! Send him away!

ZEUS
Huh? What was he up to? I really need to know.

HERA
You absolutely have to know this; although I hardly know how to tell you. That wretch!

ZEUS
Oh, oh; if he's a “wretch,” you absolutely have to tell me everything. I know what “wretch” means, thanks to your sharp tongue. What, did he sleep with you? Did he have sex with you, impregnate you?

HERA
And with me! Of all people, me! It's been going on for a long time. At first, when he kept looking at me, I had no idea… And then he sighed and groaned; and when I handed Ganymed my cup after drinking, he insisted on having it, stopped drinking to kiss it and bring it to his eyes; and then he looked at me again. And of course, that’s when I knew. For a long time, I didn’t want to tell you anything; I thought his fit of madness would pass. But when, during the feast, he actually had the audacity to pounce on me, I left him behind, weeping and crawling, after he was done, and covered my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear his insolences, and came to tell you about it. It’s up to you to decide what you’ll do about this scoundrel.

ZEUS
Phew! I realize I have a rival — and one who’s after my own lawful wife. There’s a scoundrel who’s drunk the nectar for his own purposes. Well, we have no one to blame but ourselves: We make too much of these mortals by letting them sit at our table. When they drink our nectar and behold the beauties of heaven (so different from those of Earth!), is it any wonder that they fall in love and hatch ambitious plans!? Yes, love is all-powerful; and not just toward mortals: even we gods have already fallen victim to it.

HERA
He has made himself my master; there’s no doubt about it. He does whatever he wants with me — he leads my husband around by the nose. — You follow him wherever he wants, and assume any position he commands; you are his property, his plaything. I know how it will be: You’ll let Ixion get away scot-free because you slept with his wife; she is the mother of Pirithous.

ZEUS
You remember my little escapades quite well, don’t you! — Well, my opinion on Ixion is this: It would never be appropriate to punish him or exclude him from our table; that wouldn’t look good. No; because he loves you so much, he’s so deeply hurt — yes, even to the point of tears, as you tell me —

HERA
Zeus! What are you trying to say!?

ZEUS
Don't worry. Let’s create a cloud figure in your likeness, and after dinner, when he’s lying awake (which he will, of course, since he’s in love), let’s place it beside him. It will relieve him of his pain: he’ll imagine that his desire has been satisfied.

HERA
Never! That presumptuous scoundrel!

ZEUS
Yeah, I know. But what harm could it do if Ixion conquers a cloud?

HERA
But he'll think I'm the cloud; he'll take his anger out on me as much as he wants.

ZEUS
Now you're talking nonsense. The cloud isn't Hera, and Hera isn't the cloud. Ixion will be deceived; that's all.

HERA
Yes, but these men are all the same — they have no tact. I suppose when he gets home, he’ll brag to everyone about how much he enjoyed the embraces of Hera, Zeus’s wife! Maybe he’ll even tell them I’m in love with him! And they’ll believe it; they won’t have a clue about the cloud.

ZEUS
If he says something like that, he’ll soon find himself in the underworld, going round and round there for all eternity. That’ll keep him busy! And he’ll get what’s coming to him — not because he fell in love — I don’t see much harm in that — but because he talked so much.

Alfie was less than enthusiastic. The fictional dialogue between the divine couple didn’t fit the overall concept, even though here Hera purports to candidly describe her involuntary encounter with Ixios — which would certainly fit Julia’s image of Hera. But it simply doesn’t fit the concept. Julia remained undecided. Alfie was probably right; the fictional dialogue was and remained an anachronism. And Hera’s debauchery was well documented elsewhere; she really didn’t need the fictional text. Wearily, she moved Lucian’s dialogue into an archive folder. The legends of good old Thibault offered enough material to demonstrate Hera’s licentiousness.

In the preface to her thesis, Julia had noted that she would embellish the examples and legends of the Father of the Gods’ exploits poetically, at her own discretion, to make the stories more readable. Of course, she wouldn’t alter the meaning of the accounts; she would simply avoid having this or that come across as dry as a weather report. Alfie thought this was a good idea — it allowed her to elegantly sidestep the most foolish criticisms. Julia had a knack for making these fictional passages flow smoothly. And, following an idea, she set all her additions in italics so that the reader would know what was original and what was added fiction.

Yvonne, too, had received a USB drive containing the draft manuscript. She read it very carefully and actually uncovered a few inconsistencies that even Alfie hadn’t spotted. Julia breathed a sigh of relief; having two proofreaders who worked so meticulously was invaluable to her work. Sometimes Yvonne would discuss one passage or another during her Tuesday afternoon sessions. She thought it was a bit of a shame that Julia strictly adhered to academic rules and didn’t allow herself any lapses in wording that might have made her writing a bit more risqué. She thought that publishing a book alongside or after her dissertation — one that certainly scored points for its risqué content — would be a real coup. Julia nodded in agreement, but she knew she wouldn’t do it. She was aiming for an assistant professorship at the university, not a career as a porn writer.

They celebrated Christmas on a Tuesday so that Yvonne could join them. Alfie had found a mini Christmas tree and decorated it together with Julia. She said she hadn’t celebrated Christmas since her grandparents took their own lives three years ago. Alfie had bought two little dolls and placed them under the Christmas tree; “These are Grandma and Grandpa,” he announced. Julia’s eyes welled up; now she felt at peace with the universe, since Grandma and Grandpa were celebrating with them. Yvonne had roasted a magnificent Chateaubriand, and they ate the festive meal by candlelight, with soft Christmas music playing from the speakers. Julia sighed — these were wonderful Christmases, surrounded by her family. Yvonne gave her an outrageously expensive Chinese silk scarf, and she gave Yvonne a gold-plated bracelet by the artist Frey. Alfie gave the girls a loving smile and delicate, elegant gold necklaces with a locket in which a photo of the three of them was hidden. Yvonne and Julia had pooled their money and bought him a small wooden box from Tunisia, richly decorated with mother-of-pearl inlays, where he could hide his secrets. Alfie smiled, because he had no secrets. There was no Enigma, no Similacron, and certainly no hocus-pocus surrounding him, he emphasized.

They celebrated New Year’s Eve — or rather, New Year’s Day — as a couple; Yvonne was out on the New Year’s Eve trail in downtown Vienna, armed with a bottle of champagne. Julia was snuggled up against Alfie’s chest on the sofa, and they listened to the “Cologne Concert” with Keith Jarrett — a very moving piece that went perfectly with the aged cognac Alfie had tracked down somewhere in the depths of Vienna. Only the pops of fireworks and the crackling of firecrackers disturbed the beautiful concert. It was their first New Year’s Eve — and perhaps their only one. Julia had tears in her eyes. “Please stay — you’re so beautiful!” she whispered those timeless words. Yes, she would have sold her soul to the devil if that beautiful moment could have lasted. Truly.