QSFer Arthur Griffin has a new fantasy book out:
The myth of Theseus and the Minotaur has never been quite this steamy!
Handsome Theseus journeys to Athens to claim his birthright as heir to the throne, and along the way he meets the roguish Pirithous, who teaches him all about matters of the heart—and body. When they reach the city, Theseus is shocked to discover that his father, the king, has a tradition of sacrificing youths to the Minotaur, the monster that inhabits the island nation of Crete.
Theseus and Pirithous set out to slay the Minotaur. After learning Crete is ruled by a mad tyrant with a fetish for orgies, Theseus puts his skills to the test by fighting, flirting, and fornicating through the ranks, working his way past soldiers, satyrs, and gods alike as he attempts to accomplish his goal and save his city.
The day was hot, and so Theseus threw his traveling cloak back over his shoulders, letting the sun pour down on his otherwise nude body. If he spied any women coming down the path, he would be sure to lower his wool covering—it was unlawful for a woman to behold a naked man in public. But for now he was alone, and so he marched along, cloak back and cock forward, carrying his sandals so he could feel the well-trodden grass between his toes.
Theseus looked down at his compact torso, at his genitals bouncing happily as he walked, and at the strong legs below. His body was hard and chiseled from a life of rigorous farmwork, and pleasingly brown from the sun. He smiled, knowing he made an impressive figure.
And impressive was exactly what he needed to be, considering he was about to claim future ownership of the throne of Athens.
He heard a great rumbling in the distance. Up ahead, the path curved around a hill, so his view was blocked. The sound grew louder, and before his astonished eyes a herd of cattle rounded the bend heading straight for him! Behind them, a lad of an age with Theseus was riding a magnificent white stallion, yelling at the cattle and cracking a whip. When he saw Theseus, he ceased his yelling, and as one, the cattle slowed to a lumbering walk.
The young man was clad in a vibrant red chiton tunic that draped from his right shoulder to his waist, leaving half his chest exposed. His body was all ropy muscle, lean and sinewy, and his chest was tanned and glorious, the one exposed nipple soft and brown. There was a mischievous glint to his eyes, which were greenish blue and remarkably pretty. His hair, a light sandy brown, fell to his shoulders, and a day-old beard dusted his chin.
“Hello, there, handsome stranger,” the youth said. “A fine day to you.”
“And to you,” Theseus said, mimicking his pleasantries. The youth had an Athenian accent, crisp and polished. Theseus suddenly felt ashamed of his rough countryside dialect.
The boy looked him up and down, his eyes feasting hungrily on the muscles in Theseus’s abdomen before lowering to rest on Theseus’s cock. He licked his lips. “I am Pirithous of Athens,” he said. “And who might you be? From the markings on your cloak, you are no Athenian. Where do you hail from?”
“Troezen,” Theseus said. “But Athens is my destination.”
“You’re a long way from home,” Pirithous said.
“Not exactly. Athens is to be my new home.”
“Is that so? Well, bully for you. I’m leaving Athens, as it happens.”
“Athens is the center of the world. Why would you leave?”
“The center of the world? Oh, but you are from the provinces, aren’t you?”
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Arthur Griffin fell in love with mythology as a six-year-old when his mother, not able to find a sitter, took him with her to her art history class. They were studying Renaissance paintings of Greek and Roman legends, and he learned two very important things that day.
One, that there was a whole new world of thrilling stories and myths for him to explore and be enchanted by.
And two, dude! A lot of people were naked back then!
Since then, he’s always enjoyed the steamier side of stories of the ancient world, and is thrilled to be exploring them in his writing. Sometimes his stories are set in a fictional version of the past, or sometimes the gods of old come knockin’ (boots) in the present, but almost always there’s some element of mythology visible in his work.
Arthur lives in Los Angeles with his boyfriend, and works as a ghostwriter and screenwriter. When he’s not writing fantastical tales of two (or more) dudes doing the bone dance, he enjoys hiking, karaoke, superhero comics, getting drinks in West Hollywood, going to the beach, going to the gym, going to the movies, and writing non-smutty screenplays. (But for the record, smut is WAY more fun.)
Email: [email protected]