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By Jack Greene


In the classical myth, Zeus, the king of gods, kidnaps the beautiful youth, Ganymede, to live with him on Mount Olympus.

In this modern retelling, Zeus is from the stars and lusts after rock star Ganymede. In any setting, their love is legendary.



The wind blew through the open sliding doors, bringing the tang of the sea and a very fine mist. It was well after midnight with the full moon high in the sky, reflecting off the Pacific between swells. Ganymede slumped in a deck chair, staring blankly out into the darkness. He knew he should be sleeping. He had interviews tomorrow, and a photo shoot to hype his new tour. He needed to be on his toes, but he couldn’t sleep. Insomnia had plagued him as long as he could remember. His mother always told him he had a restless soul, and someday he’d find what it was seeking. Usually when he couldn’t sleep he worked out, or went for a run, but tonight he didn’t have the energy for that.

There was nothing worse than lying in bed, obsessing about the minutes of sleep that slipped away. He’d long since gotten into the habit of getting up when sleep eluded him. He wrote his best songs in the middle of the night.

Tonight there was no creativity, no energy. The moon mocked him, floating serenely above the sea, cold yet warm at the same time. He stood, walking to the edge of the deck and leaning on the railing, staring at the moon then down at the ocean. It looked so inviting. Maybe if he took a quick dip in the water, he’d sleep better. He could swim in his own lap pool, but he preferred the feel and smell of the ocean.

Decision made, he walked down the wooden stairs to the beach. It wasn’t a private beach—California law prohibited even celebrities from blocking public access to the shore. But, at this hour, there was absolutely no one around.

Which was a good thing, as Ganymede was completely naked. He never wore clothes to bed, and saw no reason to wear them around the house when he was alone. He worked hard on his body, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. The human body was a work of art to him, though he personally preferred the male form. He couldn’t be open about that, however, because a great part of his fan base was young and female, and his manager insisted they would stop buying his CDs if they knew he liked cock.

So his liaisons were few and far between. It had been too long.

He walked slowly into the bracing water. He felt alive. As the waves lapped at him, drenching his naked form completely, he raised his hands up in the air and let the sea envelop him. He could feel the stress leaving his body, seemingly washed away by each succeeding wave.

He looked up at the moon—it beckoned him, cold light to match the cold ocean. It was fitting.

After about ten minutes, he knew he had to go back to shore. The water temperature was low enough that he could get hypothermia if he stayed in too long, though it didn’t seem cold. Though he was all alone, he felt safe. Almost protected. He shook his head, grinning. He was likely losing his mind, but if this was what insanity felt like, he’d embrace it with impunity.