Thanks to John Freer for most of the nifty ideas for this story; the un-nifty ones are mine. Appalling gaps in Homer's classical education <g> heroically filled by Felix Lance Falkon and Allison George's Encarta encyclopedia. Artie pitched in with some proofing of an early version, but is not responsible for remaining errors.

Also, I have gotten some comments from readers put off by some of the obcure references and the "menageire" of Greek gods. Therefore I have some eplanatory notes at the end.

A frown darkened the clean face of Apollo*as he strode purposefully toward the Throne Room. He had serious business to discuss, but the excited snorts coming from the private chambers of the Father of Gods and Men and the ecstatic squeal of a female coming to beat the lyre made his timing look inauspicious. Still, Zeus*was never one for long romantic interludes. Apollo sat down on a marble bench and waited, reviewing the parchments he carried.

He was right. Ten minutes later a disheveled Naiad stumbled giggling from behind a curtain, a large, silly grin on her face and a larger dollop of gooey celestial semen running down her leg. Apollo uhummed, pushed aside the curtain, and walked in.

"Come right in. Been expecting you, my boy," the elder god boomed jovially, still adjusting the sash around his waist. "Now tell me, what are these tidings that are so Goddamned important?"

"All Powerful, I have bad news," the youthful-looking god replied. "I have the latest surveys. We've got a Y2K problem -- the number of our worshippers is down for the 1999th year in a row."

"Quite impossible, Ap. Why the Delphic Oracle*told me just the other day..."

"Blast the *Delphic*Oracle! I got these numbers from the Redwood Shores Oracle. Those silly priestesses of mine at Delphi have been sniffing gas for so long, it's amazing they have a synapse left among them. According to these projections, by January 1, 2000, we will have no worshipers at all. As it is, the few we have are mostly lunatics, no offense to Selene."

"And what's so bad about with that?" Zeus grinned. "Do *you*enjoy sitting around hearing petitions from farmers wanting rain, sailors needing wind, and maidens pleading to get laid more often? Bloody nuisances all, I say. And those sacrifices! Ye gads! I don't know how Demeter and some of the others do it; they get away with gifts of oil or grain or wine. Me? I have to put up with slaughtered cows, for Chrissake! Have you seen what they've done to my temple at Corinth? It's a damned abattoir, sinks to high heaven! No worshipers? Good riddance! Personally, I've got better things to do." A divine glance toward a draped-off alcove and a soft feminine titter made Apollo want to roll his eyes, but he forced himself to remain clam.

"Zeus, this is serious. Do you know that more people believe in the divinity of Celeste*, that two-bit reviewer of internet erotica, than believe in *you*?"

For the first time Zeus began to look concerned. Seeing he was at last making an impression, Apollo pressed his advantage, "Have you ever heard of Woden?"*

"Wooden?" Wouldn't know," Zeus chuckled.

Apollo grimaced at the older god's pathetic attempt at humor. "Case closed," Apollo snapped. "Wodin was the head honcho of the Norse pantheon. Had dozens of gods and goddesses working for him up there. Everybody in Ultima Thule loved him for fighting off the Frost Giants. They even named Wednesday after him -- for all the good it did him. Of course the Northern League never got any world class poets like Homer, Ovid and Virgil to write for them so when their worshipers deserted for other religions, the whole mythology just evaporated - zippo, nada! Same thing could happen to us."

"By Jove, this is serious" the bearded figure exclaimed. "I've always known mortals were Mercurial, but this calls for action. It will be a Herculean task, but we'll Martial our forces..."

"Now you're talking, Great One. You'd better stop fucking around long enough to do something or we'll all be fucking memories," Apollo said, making a note to ask Celeste if he had just used a participle or a gerund.

If any mortals had been looking up at the top of Mt. Olympus the next morning, they would have seen the clouds especially thick and dark. Hermes had scurried all the previous afternoon and night to deliver Zeus's summons that all the gods appear for an emergency meeting of the Council. "Why the hell can't the get e-mail like everybody else!" thought the tired fleet-footed Messenger of the Gods as he straggled back from the Underworld, having narrowly escaped being mauled by Cerberus - going AND coming.

"Please turn down your auras so we can all see better," Zeus requested as he gaveled the meeting to order. He watched as Apollo ran through a particularly effective Power Point presentation of the consultants' report, "Pagan Worship Longitudinal Survey - Diagnosis and Action Plan."

"As I understand it the consultants recommend a combination of a media campaign and grass-roots organizing. You all have the report. "I'd like to open the floor to discussion," the Earth Shaker said

"'Media campaign and grass-roots organizing, ' my ass!" Mars shouted angrily. "What we need to do is knock head together. I've been saying for centuries that our great 'father figure' is a wimp. Thunderbolt the damned unbelievers back to the stone age!"

"Please excuse my excitable nephew, but violence clearly is not the answer," Poseidon spoke up. "We want people to love and revere us. My elder brother was wise to sign the ATL (Anti-Thunderbolt Launcher) treaty with the other pantheons. On the other hand, I have grave reservations abut the efficacy of the proposed strategy. Having people to go door to door handing out pamphlets as 'Jove's Witnesses' is ludicrous."

"I'm afraid I can't see TV and radio spots having much effect, either," Athena added.

"A clothing line called 'Zeus suits' is the silliest idea I've ever heard," chirped Persephone.

"But what *can*we do? If we don't get some new souls soon, my realm will be overgrown with underbrush!" exclaimed Pluto. "Why not one Parisian couple in a thousand who have sex every year on the Champs Elysees knows what they're named for!"

"If everyone is finished whining and beating his breast... " Every eye turned to the gorgeous Aphrodite and few were the gods or goddesses that didn't gape at the celestial figure whose divine mammaries inspired anything but beating. When she was sure everyone was paying attention, the Goddess of Love stepped forward. "These are the lamest (no offense, Hephaestus, darling) ideas I have heard in a long time. 'Media blitz, ' 'grass roots campaign?' Give me a break! Stunts like that may get us on the cover of Time and on talk radio for a week, but in two years, we'll be right back where we are now. Worshipers learn to worship from their mothers. What we need is for pagan mothers have to start having more pagan babies."

"But where will these pagan mothers come from, if almost no pagans are left?" asked Athena, as always, trying to be the soul of reason.

"Have you all forgotten? There is one place on Earth where the Olympians are still worshiped -- Paradise Island," Aphrodite replied.

"But the Amazons are all virgin warriors who have nothing to do with men," said Mars proudly.

"So far," Aphrodite replied with a glint in her eye. "Maybe they've just lacked motivation. Look at how hot that Wonder Woman always is. Why, that bitch is so horny she comes like a freight train every time some villain ties her up and diddles her a little. I say, get those Amazons in the mood and they'll be makin' pagans for us out the kazoo!"

Although several of the gods and goddesses took umbrage at the condescending attitude of Aphrodite toward her future worshipers, no one could come up with a better plan. Taking the sense of the meeting, Zeus decided to send Hermes to reason with the Amazons.

"Now these are very prickly females, Herm," Zeus advised later in his chambers. "Those girls have made not submitting to a man a point of honor for over three millennia now. It may not be easy to convince them.

"Don't worry, Zeus, baby. I'll just use the Caduceus on them. When I wave this wand and speak, they'll do anything I say. I'll have them opening their legs faster than you can say Andromedea."

Shortly, the Winged Messenger of the Gods was flitting low over Paradise Island, looking for the Royal Palace. "I'll find Queen Hypolyte and put her under my spell first," he chuckled to himself. "The rest should fall easily enough,"

<Thwump>

Suddenly the god felt himself entangled in something and falling to earth. "Gaia, help!" he managed to plead as he fell and was glad that the Earth goddess at least found a soft spongy patch for him to fall on.

"Nice shot," Cybe. No one's better with the bola that you."

"Thanks, Noore. I guess the Queen didn't put me in charge of air defense for nothing. Let's get the intruder tied up and take him to court," replied the other young Amazon.

A short frog march later the Messenger of the Gods was standing ignominiously gagged and bound hand and foot before Queen Hypolyte and her court.

"Who are you and why have you come to Paradise Island? No mortal can find this place and the Immortals know that no male is permitted here."

The helpless god struggled, trying to get them to remove the gag. Even without his Caduceus he hoped to be able to enthrall them.

"Let him speak," ordered the Queen, "But fill his mouth with pebbles first. I have hard that such visitors may seek to entrance us with soft words. If it was not too good for Demosthenes, it's not too good for him," the Queen smirked.

"Qoonn Hypoloto," Hermes began awkwardly. "Tho Fothor of tho Gods Hos sont mo to groot yoo ond to thonk yoo for tho sorvosos thot yo ond yoor moghto ond volyont Omozons hov olwos rondord to both gods ond mon. Yoor fom, yoor cooroj, yoor byooto or known..."

"Hermes, you stinker, I night have known it was you. Knock off the speechmaking and cut to the chase," the Queen replied angrily.

"Voro woll, Mo Qooon. Zoos hos sont mo to osk o fovor of yoo, o fovor thot..." he swallowed as well as he could given the pebbles in his mouth, chastened by Hypolyte's icy glare. "Tho Fothor of Gods ond Mon noods, oll wo gods nood, mor worshopors. Yoo Omozons or proctocollo tho onlo boloovors wo Olompyons hov loft."

"And whose fault is that?" the Queen shot back. "What do you expect when your Fearless Leader goes around playing shenanigans like changing himself into a bull or a swan or Lord know what just to seduce some airhead maiden. If he had tended to the business of hurling thunderbolts and answering prayers, you guys wouldn't be in this fix."

"Yoor Mojosto os no doobt roght, bot ot's too lot for o longtho doognosos of tho problom. Wo nood mor worshopors soon or wo'll oll jost go 'poof.'"

"So you need more worshipers? And just what do you want me and my Amazons to do about it?"

"Wo wont to stort ovor. Wo'll bo good gods, ottontov to tho noods of oor boloovors, strovong to ophold tho hoghost morol ond othocol stondords, bot only wo nood now boloovors. Wo wont yoo ond tho othor Omozons to boor ond roor o now gonoroshoon of pogons!"

"Bite your tongue, bird foot!" the Queen exclaimed, not realizing how difficult Hermes might find the exercise. "An Amazon bear a child? Unthinkable! That would mean to allow a male..." the Queen exclaimed, shocked by the implications of what she had almost said.

"I don't understand. What would it mean?" inquired Drucilla, who had been giving Hermes the eye. Even tied up, he was kind of cute. Nice buns, she thought.

"Woold tho yoong lodo lok mo to domonstrot?" Hermes grinned. Hypolyte slapped him for his impudence.

"Hey, Hypolyte, let him explain," shouted another.

Glaring at the bound god, Hypolyte nodded her ascent.

"Thonk yoo grocooos Qooon. Lodoos, Zoos offors yoo tho opportonoto to bocom mothors, to know tho joy of holdong on onfont, to fool ots tony lops on yoor broost, to gov tho goft of lof otsolf. Bot ovon moro wondorfol os tho woo on whoch yoo woll consoov thos proshos goft," Hermes began.

"Ot os oosy ond vory ploosont. Yoor portnor woll tok yoo to o soclodod spot ond toll yoo how byotofol yoo or. how moch ho lovs yoor bodo. Ho woll koss hos fovorot ports, yoor nock, yoor lops, yoor oos. Os ho tolks ond kossos yoo, ho woll froo yoor boobs from thor holtor ond bogon to fondl thom ontol thoo or hord. O gorontoo yoo'll lok thot. Whon ho bogons kossong ond sockong yoor tottoos, yoo'll fond yoor noppols gottong hord ond yoo'll bo sorro yoo hovon't don thos bofor. Yoo'll bo onjoyong hos mooth on yoor booboos so woll, yoo proboblo won't ovon notos whon ho polls yoor toghts off, bot yoo'll sor notos whon ho slops o coopl of fongors onto yoor droppong possy.

The nervous god could see Hypolyte's anger building, but most of the Amazons were rapt and the younger ones were fidgeting in their seats. "Yoo'll lov whot ho con do down thor, osposholly whon hos thomb fonds yoor clot. Tho plorol of 'clot, ' BTW os 'clotorodos, ' on cos ony of yoo or locko enoogh to hov two," the god added parenthetically, recalling a recent thread in ASSD.

"Oftor ho gots yoo off sovorol toms, frost worth hos fongors ond thon woth hos tong, yoo morlly roost on yoor bock - woll thor or lots of positions, bot moshonoro os bost for bogonnors - ond ollow yoor lovor to foll yoor snotch woth hos prock. Somotoms, ons os onoogh to knock you op, bot yoo'll proboblo wont hom to spond sovorol wooks ropotong tho prososs sovorol toms o doo, jost to bo on tho sof s..."

<SMMMAACK>

Hermes's speech was interrupted by a slap far harder than Hypolyte's deliver by a large Amazon distinctively clad in red bustier and blue spangled tights. "Lying, foul-mouthed male!" Wonder Woman screamed.

"It's not like that, at all, my sisters. I've been into the World of Men and I've seen how it really is. Your 'partner' will likely be drunk, have a three day's growth of beard and a big belly from swilling wine. His idea of foreplay will be to tell you you've got great hooters and make a grab. As you try to fight the slob off, he'll rip your tights. If you're smart you'll knee him in the balls and send him slinking back to his cave. If not, he'll poke you with his prick, thrust it in a couple of times until her comes, and immediately go to sleep."

"Oh, and our 'divine messenger' left out a few other things, too. Between the 'poke and shoot' and the 'little lips suckling at your breast' - yikes� come nine months of weight gain, nausea, waddling like a duck, tit's so big you get back strain, and giving birth itself, which is no picnic."

A commotion ensued in which the younger Amazons, thought they'd like to accept the god's offer, or at least sample the demonstration, but the Queen and the older warriors, led by Wonder Woman prevailed. Consequently it was black and blue divine messenger that arrived back on Mt. Olympus to admit defeat.

"I could have told you it would be hopeless trying to reason with those frigid bitches," Aphrodite smirked. There's only one thing that can make those sorry excuses for females spread those over-muscled legs: lust! Let me care of this."

A few hours later Aphrodite was peering intently at a green monitor. The image was being relayed from Cupid's AAACP (Amorous Air Attack Communications Package) as the little god hovered a safe distance off the coast of Paradise Island. She smiled as the image from the laser-guided cruise arrow grew, showing first the island, then a rocky cleft and finally a spring of water gushing from the hillside, before the screen blanked on impact. "Bull's eye!" Aphrodite exclaimed. "When they start drinking from this spring, the fun will begin."

If Queen Hypolyte thought things would get back to normal after she sent that obscene messenger of the gods packing, she was wrong. She was quite upset at how close the younger Amazons had come to falling for Hermes's pitch. Too much youthful energy, she decided and the ordered monthly combat training sessions increased to three times a week. Of course she did not know about the proximity of a certain spring to the training grounds.

Things went from bad to worse. At first, the drill sergeants merely reporting that every time their backs were turned, their changes had there fingers in their cunts. And back in barracks, no matter how hard they tried, their officers could not prevent the girls going down on each other every night. The Queen ordered even more intense drills and harder work and was pleased she heard several weeks later that the troops were going out on maneuvers every day. Deciding to ride out to see this improvement for herself, she was shocked to find the training grounds empty but the nearly groves filled with rutting females, with each sergeant having at least two recruits between her legs.