Chapter 1

Producing the resurrection elixir is simple. Any Deity, male or female, refrains from any sexual activity for 69 days, then masturbates the single drop into a container. Godlings like myself can produce it, but it takes us 69 months of abstinence, more than five years.

In the three millennia since I was a teenager, I haven’t gone 69 hours without sex, much less months. Some of the celibate types give me their elixir, in exchange for me using my flood control power to help their followers.

Last month I spared a village in Thailand from a typhoon, and a friend gave me a drop. Even after knowing him 400 years, I still can’t spell or pronounce his name correctly. Sorry, Thai dude! You know who you are.

It’s a shame the stuff only works at multiples of the true age of human maturity, 17 and a quarter years. I could save a person who was 34 and a half, 51 and three-quarters, 69, 86 and a quarter, and so-on.

I felt a dying woman a few blocks away who wished she could have sex one last time. I knew almost nothing about her, other than she had turned 69 that morning and had been a prostitute in her early years. That was enough for me to make my decision. I didn’t know if she were white or black, tall or short, thin or fat, but that didn’t matter.

When I got to the hospice building, I could tell her name was Enid and she was almost gone. I hurried to her room and saw she was breathing heavily. Even with the oxygen tube under her nose, she was struggling with all the strength she had, just to inhale the small bit her body needed to survive.

I looked deeply into her eyes, into her very soul. I asked her the last question the body in front of me would ever answer. “Enid, if I give you another 69 years, will you love me for ten of them?”

With nearly her dying breath, she gave the answer I expected. “Please!”

I took a small vial from my pocket and put a precious drop on my finger. I lifted the sheet and touched the drop to her clitoral hood. I rubbed it on her inner labia, then pressed her clit firmly with my finger. It only took the duration of a single breath for the elixir to drive her to a fatally powerful orgasm. Her body seized violently from both the overwhelming euphoria and dying. Instead of waiting ten seconds and giving cancer another victim, I had actually, literally, fingered her to death.

All the women I returned to life were secrets, every one of them. One of the last famous resurrections was a 17-year-old man named Lazarus, killed and returned to life by the same precious liquid. I’ll let you imagine how Jesus used it that day, and how somebody did the same for him later when he was about 34.

As the spirit left Enid’s body, it moved next to me at the side of the bed, assuming the new physical form I had chosen for her. She was now a blonde girl with blue eyes, the size and appearance of a fourteen-year-old who had just begun puberty.

I gently stroked her hair, saying, “Enid is such an old-fashioned name. How about Mirella?”

“EEEEEEK!”

Her shriek of surprise had several causes. She was alive and could breathe easily. She still had her 69 years of memories, clearer now than they had been for a decade. She felt a new and intense love for me, in every sense of the word. She was also naked.

I handed her a blanket from the bed, and she hurriedly wrapped herself in it before anyone could walk in. The nurse was confused when she arrived a moment later. “Who’s the girl? Where’s Enid?” She looked around the room.

Unfortunately, my mental ability only lasts a few minutes and taxes my endurance greatly. I also need to limit my commands to about a dozen words that the subject can accept. I was glad the nurse was fervently Catholic. I touched her forehead, saying, “The kid doesn’t matter. You saw an angel take Enid away.”

She smiled and hugged herself, believing me. “It was so beautiful! It’s a miracle! I need to call the Bishop in the morning!” The nurse never would have believed I was a son of Bacchus, or that Jesus was a distant cousin of mine. Or that when I met him in the year 9 AD, Jesus was a bratty little kid.

She stood there wondering in amazement until I had left the hospice carrying the night’s real miracle to a taxi. As I sat Mirella on my bed at home, I was nearing exhaustion. I yawned. “I’m so tired! I need to...” As I fell backwards toward the bed, I was unconscious before I touched the sheets.

I was born in the year 1190 BC, soon after the fall of the great city of Troy. The legends say the siege lasted ten years. It actually took ten weeks, but that was still a long time to feed and maintain an army across the sea back then.

My mother was much luckier than most of Troy’s women, who were raped when the city was conquered. The day before the Greeks arrived to attack, my mother was seduced by a man she thought was a wine merchant, my father Bacchus. She gave birth to me in a stick and mud hut on a hill, within sight of the ruins.

When I was fourteen years old my mother died, and luckily I was found by a gay soldier. Until I was eighteen and could fend for myself, I was a servant for a small unit in the Mycenean army. I was such a good servant that I served a dozen soldiers a dose of my tasty semen every night, and was happy to drink theirs. Lucky kids have one decent parent these days. I had twelve of them, and any of mine would have risked their lives for me.

When I woke I felt a small hand on the front of my pants, squeezing me. Mirella asked, “I haven’t had sex in over ten years! Please?”

I sleepily asked, “You want to fuck me?”

She pleaded again, “Please! Please?”

I undressed and reminded her of the obvious. “Look at the size of your body and mine.”

She looked a moment and paused in amazement. My penis is four times the length and nearly twice as wide as an average mortal’s. When her old self was thirty and had fornicated with several hundred men, she might have handled half of it. In her current state, even an ordinary one would hurt her.

She had a flash of inspiration. “But you can finger or lick me?”

“After a bath and breakfast.” I kissed her lips, took her smooth little hand in mine, and led her to the bathroom.

She sat in my lap in the warm soapy water, humming a happy tune. I enjoyed washing her hair and little body. She reached between her legs, squeezing and stroking me. I tickled her little nipples as my member swelled in her grasp. When I was half erect, the head protruded from the water between her thighs. I finished washing her hair and dripped a small blob of shampoo on my shaft. The head of my dick slowly rose to touch one of her little breast bumps at full rigidity.

All she had to do was tilt her head down to take the tip between her lips. That was the main reason I chose to return her to life at her current size, she could suck me off while sitting in my lap. She licked and stroked me slowly at first, gaining speed as her excitement grew.

Her little hands slid up and down my staff smoothly, lubricated by the shampoo. I reached between her thighs and rested my index finger on her little slit, slowly moving it up and down with only slight pressure.

She began to squeeze me tight after every few strokes, rotating the skin a bit, as she changed from licking the head to sucking, then licked as she sucked. Thousands of males had sucked my cock, and hundreds of thousands of females, even a few Goddesses. I usually enjoy breasts and the look of female faces better, but at least in my early days, a mouth was a mouth and an ass was an ass.

After receiving oral sex almost daily for over three thousand years, I was truly an expert blowjob critic. Only the head would fit in her mouth, but on the very first day of her extended life, the cute little teen in my lap was one of the best. I was sure she was in the top hundred. You’re probably wondering who the best fellatrix I’d ever found was. It should be obvious, my aunt Venus. I used the full strength of my magic to stop the tsunami flood from the eruption which buried Pompeii, then spent a week in agony, nearly impotent.

The blowjob and sex she gave me afterward were still beyond worth it. It was worth it to Venus too, because the huge wave would have wiped out two of her temples and a dozen brothels. A deepthroat blowjob lasting a whole day and night, given by the most attractive female in the world, was far better than any drug! Venus looked a little disappointed when she finished sucking me. “Only 60 climaxes? And only five times as much spunk as a mortal? I expected more from a fertility God.”

“I’m only a Godling, I’m half mortal. You were incredible! Thank you so much! If there’s ever a way I can help you again...”

“I’ll summon you if I have water problems. And don’t worry about not cumming that much. A few Gods have given me more, but yours tastes the best, by far!” She licked her lips, then mine. “How about some sex too?”

In all the history of the world, only two men and three Gods have been able to resist her advances. I definitely wasn’t one of them.

For over ten hours, her pelvic thrusts matched the rhythm of mine exactly. I must have deposited at least another 30 doses into her wonderful lovehole during our half day of fucking, but my mind was so saturated with happiness I have no real idea. Nothing else could ever come close! If auntie ever wants a favor again, I’m there! To this day, I still regret not asking to try her ass.

Since we were both supernatural beings with worshipers demanding constant attention, she gave our son to a noble Roman family. They named him Trajanus Hadrianus. He’s more commonly known as Emperor Hadrian. Of my many thousands of offspring, he and legendary porn star Johnny Wadd were the most successful in my eyes. They were my pride and joy. Hadrian brought writing, law, and civilization to millions; and Johnny inspired millions of orgasms with his wonderful movies.