Assignment - A Tale from Aphrodite's Point of View

Hephaestus, Ares, and Aphrodite

Aphrodite Speaks

https://www.art-prints-on-demand.com/a/balen-hendrik-van-the-eld/hephaestus-and-aphrodite.html

Oh, how handsome he looks, cheeks flushed with desire, breath passing through reddened lips. His eyes portray his lust, sparkling in the warm light. The whisper of his breath caresses my cheek as he murmurs gentle words. Tonight, he wishes to woo me. I watch him for a moment, words dancing upon the tip of my tongue, but I remain silent. Compared to Hephaestus, well, it would be a lie to allude at any existing comparisons between the two. Where my husband is lame and repulsive, Ares is young, beautiful, and romantic. His hands are soft, yet tough, unlike Hephaestus' fingers that are only horribly calloused from his labors.

The words that soon reach my ears pull me away from my thoughts and my lips quirk as I breathe in Ares' scent. "Sweetheart, off we go to snuggle down in the blankets," he murmurs, "Your husband? By now, he must be in Lemnos, amusing himself with the Sintian women, with voices like crows." I laugh and shake my head as my fingers brush against his offered hand. The women in Lemnos will find not one redeeming quality in my husband and even if one lady somehow finds him attractive, not much will happen. It is a shame Hephaestus is so enthralled with me. He does not understand love as I do.

http://www.arthistory.sbc.edu/imageswomen/papers/wiggintonaphrodite/aphrodite.html

Ares leads me to my bed, his fingers clenching my palm in possession. He need not worry, for tonight, I am his until my husband returns from his travels. I dearly hope that the man will find belonging in Lemnos and refuse to return for many more nights, but I know of his dedication to me. If only Ares were as passionate and found me before I was betrothed to the lame god. I would not mind being committed to him. He is a fierce warrior and a worthy lover. Yes, if only Hephaestus found a woman in Lemnos to take his hand…

Ares releases me, climbs into bed, lays on his back, and holds an arm out to beckon me forward. A romp with him would be amusing if the look on his face is any indication. Smiling, I take his hand and drift forward, bringing my body close to his. He relinquishes my hand to rake his fingers through my long, golden hair. Already, his fingers are affecting me in a way any part of Hephaestus' body never could. I close my eyes and snuggle with him, one of my legs draping over his groin. My lips find his chest and press a kiss upon his hard muscles. All is perfect until I hear a sound.

I try to throw my head back, but cannot move. Frantically, I glance around the room, trying to comprehend my immobility. It takes a moment, but during one optical sweep of the room, I see threads as fine as a spider's web ensnaring my lover and myself, but I cannot be positive. No, I must not have imagined it. A trap! Who would dare to take me prisoner within my own bed? Ares stiffens so I attempt to look into his eyes, but cannot move my head enough to see his face. He is angry. Or upset. Curse this wretched net! This is Hephaestus' handiwork!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Vulcan_Coustou_Louvre_MR1814.jpg

As if summoned by my thought alone, I hear the voice of the person I least wish to see and clench my teeth behind my closed lips. He planned this. He knew. He knew! If he questioned my motives, he should have held voiced his thoughts to me alone. It would not have done him any good, but speaking is more acceptable than this insult. And he wonders why I have chosen Ares over him. The God of war and battle would never do something so underhanded and infuriating. Hephaestus is lame and will never be anything ore than an embarrassment with a funny gait.

Murmurs fill the room. Of course. Hephaestus would not shout of his victory if he were alone (though, he is rather peculiar). My cheeks grow heated with embarrassment and anger. What is it that this insolent man seeks? Approval? Retribution? Time in bed with me? I will not grant him anything of the sort.

http://thanasis.com/mfeb99.htm

I can decipher some of the voices. Only the masculine gods are present. It makes sense. Gawking at a nude woman in the midst of a romantic interlude would be below the women. So this is what Hephaestus yearns for--pity or other nonsense. I wrinkle my nose and listen, wary of the outcome. Both Hermes and Apollo seem to approve of my affair and speak of Ares' position in jest. Hermes seems to wish that he were as lucky as Ares is and I cannot help but feel a swell of pride at the words. Given the way my lover still has not yet unclenched his muscles of yet spoken, it is evident he does not feel the same. My initial flash of pride is chased away by a flare of anger. How dare he? How dare Hephaestus interfere?

My emotions race, anger, embarrassment, and sorrow each competing for dominance. Finally, we are released from the trap after interference from Poseidon. Ares diverts his gaze and pushed me away as I sit. Neither of us speak as we move in silence. He leaves after that, fleeing from this scene, I would assume. I stand up straight, hold my head high, and exit the room. My shrine in Cyprian Paphos beckons me. There, I may relax and cleanse myself with ambrosial oil while I attempt to forget that unworthy husband of mine.