A crown of laurel leaves on his head denoted his place among the gods, and a sceptre in his right hand announced him king. He was naked, carved from the finest and most unblemished marble imported from the Italian peninsula. But the most notable of all his features was his penis, which was upright and magnificent, smooth as silk, darkened to a livid flesh colour by some secret means of the artist who fashioned the statue. The circumcised globe was bloated, ready to open any delicate orifice to which it was presented. It gleamed wetly in the glow given by the hundreds of candles burning in the chandelier suspended above him. Behind him was a huge gilt-framed mirror, and its twin was suspended on the opposite wall of the corridor, reflecting the massive and sensual image an infinite number of times. Such was the splendour of Zeus that many ladies, their rustling silk dresses lifted high above their knees, curtsied prettily before him, being sure to prolong the bob so that their dainty heels petted their naked flesh pots as they paid homage to the king of the gods.
