The Origins of Goatboy

                                                                   by R J Dent

I never knew my father and mother.

          When I was young, I heard that my father was Pan and my mother was Pandora, but I never gave these rumours much credence. Shepherd’s gossip – that’s all it was.

          Anyway, I grew up in a beautiful place called Arcadia, in a grotto used by virgins to offer flowers and sacrifices to the gods. All I had to do was look after the grotto, which was simply a cave, a small expanse of grass, a few olive trees and a couple of statues – one of that old bastard, Zeus and the other of Aphrodite.

          In my teens I used to masturbate over the statue of Aphrodite, especially during the winter when the virgins stayed away from Arcadia. In the summer, it was different, for the place was always crowded with naked maidens. I had a great time. Some of the virgins actually thought that by giving themselves to me they’d have a chance to communicate directly with the gods. I’ve tried to tell them that the only gods that exist are the ones they’ve created themselves, but they never get it. Or rather, they don’t want to, for that would mean a re-evaluation of their whole lives – and that’s very difficult for some people. We know that it’s simple – you just look at what’s not true and get rid of it, but not everyone can do that apparently.

          Anyway, enough of waxing rhetorical – in the summer I sunbathe, dance, sing, chase nymphs, fuck, thread flowers in my hair, and play the pipes. I invented the pipes myself. I call the instrument the syrinx. It’s just six reeds of different thickness and length tied together. You blow into them and different notes come out of the other end. Any combination of notes works. I’ve composed a few pieces of music, none of which will last because I can’t be bothered to write any of it down. There’s a jaunty, happy tune, a sad, melancholy one, a sinuous, sexy one and a spaced-out looking at the stars one. I play when I can. Music is good.