Semele - excerpt from Lady Macbeth's Tale

Semele, this woman’s name was. A woman swollen up with desire for a god who threatened his manhood was only a fiction.
‘If I ever lose control and let you have the full measure of me, it’ll tear you apart!’ Jove boasted.
Or
‘I’m sorry,’ Jove groaned, turning his back to her on the cold ashes of their illicit bed. ‘But it’s your fault I can’t get it up.’
‘Mine?’ Semele was both anxious and incredulous.
‘You’re cold. A chill that deflates my tumescence.’
‘But I’m hot, hot only for you,’ she protested.
‘Yes, but you’re a woman.’
‘I thought that was part of the attraction,’ Semele smiled trying to relieve the tension.
‘Yes, but I told you, my sweet, you’re really not made to take in god-sized proportions. I don’t want to hurt you,’ Jove offered.
‘Don’t give me that crap!’ Semele was spunky enough to challenge his male excuses. Staring at her lover’s divine face with its eyes cut straight from the endless blue of Athenian skies, she snickered, ‘Or is it that you’re more of a centaur man, needing the thick hide of a hairy rump and ticklish little hooves to get you going?’
The god was stung. ‘I’m all man and more!’ he promised. ‘None of this having to transform myself into swans or bulls. I like it straight. Man to woman. Alpha to Omega. Prick in cunt. And strictly missionary position.’
‘But you’re a god. You can do anything. So take me anyhow and which everyway. Blow up my belly with your godseed. Take me to the top of Mount Parnassus and back again. But for Hades’ sake, do something!’
The lovers sprang apart, panting.
A thunderbolt growled above in the far off heavens. But neither heeded the warning, lying side by side in accusing silence; until at last battle was joined.
Big mistake!
Semele had spoken.
‘What’s that you just said?’ The god thundered. ‘What did you call me, bitch?’ he demanded, dashing down the flask of nectar from which he’d been quaffing.
Semele reached a plump white arm to her lover’s neck, turning his face to hers. The same wayward streak that had first led her to reject the puny advances of men to go god hunting brought her to the brink. Of the abyss.
‘Limp-dick!’ Semele jeered.

Before you could say - stap my vitals! - her lover had shown himself in his true colours. A mushroom cloud of white-hot destruction. Because where men have only guts gods have volcanic eruptions.
In the next moment Semele was molten: a puddle of hot lava blood. Bones like twisted metal. Her lovely golden hair a spume of blown glass that cooled rapidly. In a trice all that was left of the disappointed woman was the bulbous roundel of a pissing vessel.
Now and then, when the mood takes him, the god squeezes his more than manly proportions into her glass neck. But he’s an ageing god and it takes him an epoch to pass water.
Centuries roll on. By the time it gets round to the first millenium Semele is just about filled up to the brim with her hotshit god.