Cupid’s 
Delight
by Jamieson Wolf
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents 
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously 
and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, 
locales, organizations, or 
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cupid’s Delight
Copyright© 2009 Jamieson Wolf

ISBN: 978-1-926771-06-9

Cover Artist: Justyn Perry
Editor: Justyn Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced 
electronically or in print without written permission, except 
in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com

This one is for Robert
Thank you for filling my life with joy.

Cynthia Nixon opened her eyes and screamed. 
There was a man sitting on the edge of her bed. He was perhaps four feet tall, 
with broad muscular shoulders, curling red hair and skin that was dotted 
with freckles. He also had a quiver full of arrows strapped to his back and 
a large bow. Hence the scream. 
“Easy lady, easy,” the man said. “What are you trying to do? Wake the dead?”
“What are you doing in my apartment?”
“You call this an apartment? More like a dive, ain’t it?”
Cynthia moved to a sitting position, causing the small man to readjust himself. 
“Easy, lady, easy. You want me to fall off this bed and hurt myself? 
I could charge you for workers comp, you know.”
It was then that she noticed the wings. “Who the hell are you?”
The man winked at her and ruffled his wings. “I’m anybody you want me 
to be, baby.”
Cynthia made a sound of disgust and pulled the blanket out from under him. 
“No, I mean what are you? What’s with the get up?” She held up a fist to 
the little man. “And you better start talking, cus I’m in the mood to scream.”
“Okay, okay.” The man huffed. He folded his wings around himself. 
“Jeez, lady, you really know how to mark up a guy’s manhood, you know? 
I never asked for this job, you know.”
“What is it exactly that you do?” Cynthia asked. 
He puffed out his chest. “I’m Cupid.” 
Cynthia snorted. “Yeah, and I’m Little Bo Peep.” 
Cupid wiggled his eyebrows. “Did you want to be? I’ve got a great 
Sheppard’s outfit and I’m sure I could find you a Bo Peep dress.”
Cynthia’s mouth frowned in disgust. “In your dreams...”
Cupid leered at her. “It’s happened,” he said. “Most women find me very 
charming.” “Why, because you shoot them with arrows?”
“Nope, the arrows are for the men. Most men are too stupid to know when 
a woman fancies them. The arrow just gives them a gentle nudge.”
Cynthia rubbed her eyes. She was not having this conversation. 
She was not talking to a four foot tall man with three day old stubble, 
wings and bad fashion sense. “I thought Cupid was all cute and cuddly,” 
she said in resignation. “Aren’t you supposed to be like, 
a cherub, or something?”
Cupid scowled at her. “Lady, don’t make me gag. That’s just an urban myth,” 
he narrowed his eyes at her. “I suppose you expect me to be wearing a 
diaper, or something too, right? Some sort of loin cloth?”
“Well, what about the hearts, the rosy cheeks, the floating on clouds?” 
“Lady, what have you been reading? Do you really believe all the 
Hallmark crap? Look, I’m Cupid. I got the job from the last guy, 
who by the way was arrested for looking in at women while they 
were undressing.”
“The last Cupid was a peeping tom?” Cynthia could not believe she 
was having this conversation. 
“Yep, got into real trouble too; a woman went to take a bath and found 
more than a bar of soap floating in her bathwater.”
Cynthia shuddered. “What are you doing here?” she asked. 
“You’re taking this rather well,” Cupid said, nonchalantly. 
“Most woman who wake up and find a guy in their apartment need a 
little convincing.” “This isn’t the first strange thing that’s 
happened to me,” Cynthia said. “I attract a lot of freaks.”
“Something weirder than a four foot guy with wings?”
“Yeah, my ex who liked to wear my underwear, lip synch to Abba and 
enjoyed bathing in chocolate sauce.”
Cupid said nothing for a while. Cynthia could tell he was picturing her 
ex dressed like Dr. Frank-n-Furter, singing Dancing Queen while spraying 
chocolate sauce around her bathroom. 
Smiling, he pursed his lips and moved in to kiss her. 
“Are you sure you don’t need convincing of my prowess?”
Cynthia growled and smacked him on the side of the head. 
“You come any closer and I’ll rip your lips off your face and shove 
them somewhere that should only be reserved for filth.”
Cupid wore a pained look as he rubbed at his right cheek. 
“Man, lady, try to do a girl a favor. No wonder you can’t find a man.”
“I can find a man just fine, thank you.”
“Oh, no you can’t. That’s why I’m here.” At this, Cupid began to flap 
his wings and rose slightly above her. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. 
I’m here to find you a man.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Look, lady, it’s not like I want to be here, alright?” he scoffed and 
settled on her bedpost. “The upshot is this: if I don’t help you 
find a man, I don’t get paid. If I don’t get paid, I don’t get laid. 
Kapeesh?”
“That’s too much information,” Cynthia said. 
“Look lady—”
“My name is Cynthia.”
Cupid sighed. “Fine. Cynthia. I’m here to help you find a man, that’s 
all there is to it. Is there anyone you’re attracted to?”
“Brad Pitt?”
“Gay.”
“Johnny Depp.”
Cupid rolled his eyes. “Way out of your league.”
“Harrison Ford?”
“Eeeewww!” Cupid made a face. “He’s old enough to be your father! 
Do you have a thing for Daddies?”
Cynthia scowled. “Tom Cruise?”
“Do you read the tabloids or what?” Cupid spat. “He’s taken. 
Married a way younger girl to get back his manhood. 
You’ve got to think realistically, Cyn. I can make dreams come true 
but I ain’t no miracle worker.”
“Well…” Cynthia blushed. “There is this one guy. 
His names Taylor Wood. He works down at The Black Beetle, a bar down 
on Second and Fourth.” Cynthia blushed. “He’s a bartender.”
“A bar?” Cupid smiled. “Perfect. I could use a drink. 
Get dressed, we’re going out.”
“Where?”
Cupid sighed. “Do I have to spell out everything for you?” 
He started flying again. “We’re going to the bar to get you a man. 
A little zap with an arrow and Taylor will be naked and 
wanting you in minutes.”
“But I’d rather he find me attractive without your help,” Cynthia said. 
“Spoken like a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in months. Now hurry up. 
After you’re done showering, I gotta take a piss.” 
“But it’s not even twelve o’clock!”
Cupid shrugged. “Meh, its beer o’clock somewhere in the world.” 
***
The Black Beetle was in full swing when they walked through the doors. 
The barstools were occupied by the less fortunate and there was a 
band playing what passed for music on the stage. Cupid had folded 
his wings and had put a black leather jacket over top of them. 
“What’s with the jacket?” Cynthia asked. “Aren’t you like, 
invisible or something?”
Cupid rolled his eyes. “Honey, this ain’t A Christmas Carol. 
I’m not invisible and people can see me, alright? Folks tend to get a 
little freaked out by a man with wings, as nice as they are.”
“Too bad they’re compensating for something,” Cynthia said absently. 
It took a minute for the jab to sink in but when it did, Cupid gave 
Cynthia a withering look. “Let me assure you, Cynthia, 
that I am all man. It’s like a freakin’ third leg, kapeesh?”
Cynthia smiled, happy that she had ruffled his feathers, so to speak. 
“Whatever you say,” she said. 
Cupid grumbled something under his breath and started walking towards 
the bar. “I need a beer,” he said. “Let’s meet this guy quick so I can 
stab him and go home.” 
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Cynthia said. She took out her compact and 
gave her make up a final inspection. Satisfied, she pulled down her shirt 
so that more cleavage was showing and pulled up her black skirt a bit so 
that more leg was visible. 
“Why are you doing that?” Cupid asked. 
“What?” 
“Making yourself look cheap?”
Cynthia felt rage boiling inside her at the insult. “Thanks, thanks a lot. 
I’m just trying to look attractive for Taylor.”
“No, what you’re doing is trying to look cheap.” 
He gestured to her cleavage, which was pretty easy considering her 
breasts cast a shadow over him. “You’re a gorgeous woman. Why do you 
have to show more cleavage than Dolly Parton?”
“Because it makes men want me more?” 
Cynthia wasn’t sure where this was going. 
“No, it makes you look cheap. You can attract a man fine just the way 
you are; and I’ve seen you when you wake up. You’re pretty with your 
hair ruffled.  You don’t have to flash your Changa’s to get laid.” 
Cupid said. “Changa’s?” “Hooters?” “Hooters?” Cynthia looked at him blankly. 
“Bazoombas? Hoho’s? Dirty pillows?” Cupid threw up his hands in frustration. 
“Geez! What is it with you? Boobs! I’m talking about your boobs!” he huffed. 
“God, try to pay somebody a compliment! C’mon, I need a beer.” 
They strolled up to the bar where Cynthia had to help Cupid up onto one of 
the stools. Cynthia felt her stomach start to flutter when she saw Taylor Wood 
working behind the bar. He was well over six feet with a shaved head and 
an ear ring in one ear. Cynthia sighed. 
“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you find him attractive,” 
Cupid said. 
“What’s it to you?” Cynthia retorted.
“Well, he’s bald. Wouldn’t you be interested in dating someone who has hair?”
“I like the bald head thing.”
“Yeah, but he looks like Daddy Warbucks,” Cupid chuckled. 
“Oh, that’s right, you have a Daddy thing.” 
“I do not have a Daddy thing!” Cynthia huffed. 
“I don’t know…” Cupid said “Harrison Ford is pretty old. 
I wonder if he’s gotten any work done. You should date someone more….”
“More what?” Cynthia prompted when Cupid fell silent. 
“More like….me,” Cupid finished softly. He looked down at his lap but 
Cynthia could see a red blush starting from the collar of his shirt and 
working its way up to his cheeks. Cynthia felt her heart flutter unexpectedly. 
I couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, could I? She thought. 
He was crass, rude, ignorant, a pervert and he had wings, for God’s sake! 
But he was also honest, straight forward and had the most gorgeous blue eyes. 
He had also paid her the highest compliment she had ever received. 
He told her that she looked pretty right out of sleep; that she was 
a gorgeous woman and that she was fine just the way she was. 
Cynthia couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t had to change 
something for a man. One boyfriend didn’t like her hair; another 
said her crooked eyetooth was an imperfection. Another didn’t like the mole 
on her left shoulder. 
Cupid liked her just as she was. 
Her heart went out to him but before she could respond, 
Taylor Wood was in front of them, wiping heavy mugs with a cloth. 
“What can I get for you?” he asked. His voice was dark and smoky and 
Cynthia knew she wasn’t the first woman to fall under his spell. 
“I’d like a Mai Tai, no, make that a Long Island Iced Tea,” she said. 
“And he’ll have a beer.”
“I don’t serve girly drinks,” Taylor said. 
“I’m sorry?” 
“We serve beer here, or wine or hard liquor. We don’t serve girly drinks.”
“You could mix up a Long Island Iced Tea out of the liquor,” Cupid said. 
“It’s just vodka, rum, triple sec and gin, right? With a splash of coke 
for flavour? Even you shouldn’t have a problem with that.” 
Cupid looked behind Taylor. “You have all those sitting there on your shelf.”
“So?” Taylor said. 
“So you could mix the lady a drink.” 
“I don’t make girly drinks,” he repeated. His voice was firm. 
“And I don’t serve minors.” 
“I’m not a minor,” Cupid said. “I’m just short.”
“You’re a freaking minor and I won’t serve you.”
“Then at least make the lady a drink.” 
Taylor looked Cynthia up and down and then smiled slowly. 
“I don’t see a lady here,” he said. “All I see is your cheap date. 
How much did you pay her?”
“Excuse me?” Cynthia said. “Did you just imply that I’m a hooker?’
Taylor laughed. “Ain’t no implying about it,” he said. 
“You look like a hooker, smell like a hooker and only a prostitute 
would be caught dead with a guy like that,” he jerked a thumb in 
Cupid’s direction. “How much is he paying you? I bet I could double it 
and give you a real good time.” 
Cupid slapped a hand on the bar top. “You apologize to the lady.” 
“Like I said,” Taylor retorted, “I don’t see any ladies here. 
Except maybe you.” “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Cupid shot back. 
“Do you shave your head so your wig stays on straight?”
Taylor leaned down so he was looking right into Cupid’s face. 
“What did you say to me, short stuff?” There was meanness in that 
voice and everyone in the bar was looking in their direction. 
A live show was always better than television. 
“I want you to apologize to her,” Cupid said. 
“And if I don’t?” 
“You can deal with me,”