Its yours to gallop or sip

Monday 19 December 2016

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian




Episode II
The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story centres on a mysterious sect of young women between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The ACC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story are real.
We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Hymn No. 69
Who Will Plough My Vulva by the goddess Inanna.
My vulva, the horn
The Boat of Heaven,
Is full of eagerness like the young moon.
My untilled land lies fallow.
As for me, Inanna,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will plow my high field?
Who will plow my wet ground?’

Stop!
Stop it!
In the name of The Mother, stop!

Miss Juan yelled. She felt the absence of the soul of the hymn. She pushed her gaze into the yellow morning sun which pussyfoot its grandeur through the concrete windows ahead of her. She quickly remembered how this particular hymn made men use their tongues to search for divinity in the vulva of glorified prostitutes in the temple and how the men blurt out feeling purified, holy and relieved of their sins in the early days. She had read about the Atonement of Sins through the art of licking the vulva too as a chapter in Linda Londart Longman’s book ‘Blue Ritual of the Sex Cult’, and wanted to return traditions and ancient usages to their rightful places in the ACC during her sovereignty as Most Perfect Chiliad.

“Our purpose here would be fruitless as it has been in the past two or so decades if we continue this languorous approach towards our sacred art.” Miss Juan cried out loud, her voice shook terribly when it hit the four walls of the sexy temple. She descended the ancient pedestal which since time immemorial stood in the east of the large hall. She directed the attention of the qadeshes assembled to certain characters impressed into the front surface of the pedestal, SIVDSPHIV.

“It’s an abbreviation. Who knows the meaning?”
Still pointing to the letters, Miss Juan asked the qadeshes while she scanned her wild eyes through the assemblage for an answer.
There were whisperings among the naked ladies, their bare breast stood horizontally upright and succulent as a result of the oil of Ishtar which they had daubed into their skins. It was a tradition among the ACC members to insert the middle finger into a lithic vagina full of oil and smear over the body concentrating on the breast’s pap before entry into the temple for any ceremony. In the old days, cow milk was used instead of the oil. The milk was a symbol of fertility. But this and many other traditions of the ACC had been relaxed either to the generational gap or the laziness of the qadeshes as Miss Juan would like to think.

After few minutes of speaking softly without the vibration of vocal cord, Louiselle knelt on her left knee, erected the right in the form a square and gave a court bow – a submissive request for permission to speak to the Most Perfect Chiliad. Louiselle was barely six months old in the cult but had shown intellectual penetration into the mysteries and secret arts of sex. She was Miss Juan’s best friend in the sisterhood. Sometimes she asked too many odd questions that narks Miss Juan; Three months after Louiselle’s initiation, she was set for her sanctification ceremony whereby the rituals required her to seduce ten men and engage five in a divine sexual intercourse. On that day, Louiselle almost lost her life after the fourth man among the five selected for sex was done with her, but the ceremony thus far would have been considered invalid if she gave up. Miss Juan was the Most Wise Lady as at the time, and the ritual allowed the Most Wise to aid a candidate in a ceremony.
Miss Juan, on that day, moved in calculated erotic steps to the centre of the circle of fire where the fifth man stood over Louiselle’s body ready to insert his rod. Miss Juan positioned her head against the black and hairy chest of the Nigerian man. The man was from a rich royal Yoruba family. It was a popular rumour among the qadeshes that Yoruba men especially their Princes had the biggest of penises and stayed in sex much longer than any man on earth. Miss Juan picked a fibril of hair on the man’s chest with her teeth; she pulled it slowly till it extirpated. She whispered softly into the man’s ears “pains begat pleasure” and knelt down before him, still fixed her gaze deep into the man’s eyes and she swallowed the 13 inches long dick in her mouth and gently held the head in between her teeth, delightfully hurting the man. “Slap me” she instructed Louiselle. “Why?” Angrily Miss Juan retorted “just slap me, I am not here for your stupid questions. Slap me very hard on the face and butts”. And when Louiselle did, Miss Juan finished the Yoruba man in five minutes in an aggressive doggie style, while Louiselle caressed Miss Juan’s G-spot with her tongue. The heavy black man groaned like a lost ghost behind the butts of Miss Juan. He carefully withdrew his dick from her juicy vagina and sprayed his semen all over the butts of Miss Juan who was passionately transferred the thermal energy of her body to Louiselle in a titillating tongue-to-tongue kiss.

“Si Invenerit Vir Dei Secreta Pubentes Herbae In Vaginam”
“And what is its English translation?” Miss Juan asked Louiselle, climbed the footstall again and sat majestically in the east from whence she presided over all meetings of the cult. On her wooden pedestal was a book which contained sacred writings, a stony miniature of an opened vagina receiving penetration from an erected penis (logo of the ACC) and an ancient gold plated metallic staff which was presented as a gift to Hamamat (the first Most Perfect Chiliad) by an Egyptian King after his apotheosis. It was well known among mystics that most men with solomonic lineage visited the temple of Ishtar to be transformed into gods the better to enable them rule their people with a degree of supernatural superiority.

Louiselle drew back her lips and revealed her teeth in a totally innocent grimace. She had a faint idea about what the Latin words meant in English, but she knew they had something to do with the paragon of men to gods.
“errm! I pray you to forgive my ignorance, Most Perfect Chiliad,” 

“Si Invenerit Vir Dei Secreta Pubentes Herbae In Vaginam
Man shall be God if he found the secrets in a juicy vagina” Miss Juan said aloud, her voice sounded harsh like an insult to the ignorance of the qadeshes.

“Yes, I knew it had something to do with apotheosis”

“Will you shut it?” Louiselle reflexively covered her mouth with her palm and felt sheepish. But she was not too much affected emotionally because it was not the first time Miss Juan had been abrasive with her.

Miss Juan explicated further “The vagina possesses the natural ability to create man in the image of God via sex” She paused and swallowed saliva to lubricate his dry throat and continued “It necessarily follows that we, women, are makers of gods. Thus superior to a God by virtue of the vagina we possess. We are complex heavenly entities descended on earth to multiply gods to cover the face of earth like the sands of the shores” There was cute silence in the hall. Miss Juan raised the gold plated staff, the symbol of her authority, in the air and slammed it against the flat surface of her pedestal three sequential times to forcibly attract the attention of the gathering.

“Louiselle has proposed a special candidate for initiation into our sacred cult. The girl carries the name of the Great Mother, Hamamat and strangely, she hails from the same town our Mother derived her birth and infant nature-Bolgatanga in a west African country called Ghana” she addressed the qadeshes and later warned them “It could be the Great Mother reincarnated so I want her ceremonies of invitation and initiation perfectly conducted in spirit. And to achieve this, every one of you must start seeing herself as a superior entity to a god. Tonight is the invitation ceremony.”

 

Saturday 17 December 2016

THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN.




The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story centres on a mysterious sect of young women between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The ACC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story are real.

We hope you enjoy this episode as much as the episodes to come.

Episode I.

Remembering how timid she was on the first day she came into the temple of Ishtar for her initiation, Miss Juan Onifat smiled and held the very tip of the giant penis which welcomed her and every visitor to the extremely dangerous, yet ineluctably romantic designs of the interior. She heaved a heavy relief, and it echoed in the somewhat sempiternal gallery of the temple of sex and she looked down at her shadow which was telecasted on the walls by the sun, the sun was at its meridian. She couldn't believe she was the Grand Architect of the Qadeshes and by virtue of the recent ceremony she was the sacred custodian of the recherché temple and all its traditions. It had happened too fast, she thought. She was a little above three years in the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The ACC), and just in the morning of that day, she had been installed the Most Perfect Chiliad, an enviable position which took other ladies, between the ages of seventeen and thirty, ten or more years of hard labour in sexual affairs with hundred strange men from all the seven selected corners of the world.

"Congratulations, Most Perfect Chiliad, Grand Architect of the Qadeshes, The Sacred Custodian of the temple of Ishtar and all its traditions" a half dressed blond lady went down on her left knee and perfectly erected her right leg to form a square with the left, and gave a court bow in salutation to Miss Juan. In response to the cordial felicitation, Miss Juan smiled and carefully lifted her right hand off the statue of penis and placed it on her well shaved vagina, she in-fixed the middle finger into her organ for a short while and removed it, and placed the hand on the left shoulder of the lady who upon rising to her full length, took a short pace with her left foot towards her superior, bringing the right heel to the hollow of the left to form a square, she then lapped the wet middle finger of Miss Juan. The blond lady licked the finger like it was the best thing that had ever entered her mouth; a sacred licking with saliva leaking off the lips, very passionate.

The Qadeshes (members of the cult) have a religious belief in amorously passing their tongue about the always wet organ of their Most Perfect Chiliad and sucking the sweet scented liquid off her middle finger. It was a hallowed mean of communication between them and God. And She who did it passionately saw the face of God, or so it was bruited.

Stories were told of a sexy black qadesh who once visited the Heavens and had an idyllic sexual encounter with a celestial body believed by the qadeshes to be God. The rumours had it that the black lady, Hamamat, when she was only a girl of twelve years, was visited in her dream on a certain mid-night while she slept on a small mat, in a muddy hut at a cute arenaceous village of Bolgatanga, Ghana. She saw in her dream a middle finger of a white lady. Hamamat could not appreciate the face of her guest but she clearly recounted the sacred element; a 7.44 inches long middle finger which had the image of an opened vagina receiving penetration from a perfectly erected penis tattooed across the length of the finger, starting from the proximal to the distal phalanxes. It was recorded in the chapter 16 of the book Blue Rituals of The Sex Cult by Linda Londart Longman, a Most Perfect Chiliad of the order who reigned from 1656 to 1701 that, the white lady rudely ordered Hamamat to lick her tattooed middle finger like how a sexually hungry woman suck the hell out of a lustful penis, which Hamamat did after what seemed to be a struggle in the dream. And when she did, Linda Longman in her book described the process as nonesuch, which in modern theological philosophy is synonymous with apotheosis- the process of transforming a man into a god. Linda said in the Blue Rituals of the Sex Cult that, Hamamat after many hours of massaging the finger with her tongue, the mysterious entity who appeared in her dream vanished into nothingness for out of nothingness she had appeared, but Hamamat woke up the next day in the ancient city of Cyprus, precisely in the temple of Ishtar with no cloths to shield her nakedness from the full sight of hundred men who had their hard members aimed at her sorry self. Such, Longman wrote in her book, was the orphic means by which we (qadeshes) are all invited to a participation of the ancient mysteries and sacred secrets of sex.

“Cyprian Louiselle, may God strengthen thy waist to fuck your way to eternal glory”

“So Mote It Be” the blond lady whispered into air. It was the sect's peculiar response to a prayer.

Miss Juan blessed the blond lady, Louiselle. Louiselle made for the south side gate of the temple and just at the threshold of the exit, Miss Juan called her name aloud, prompting her to keep the traditional form of exiting; sitting on an erected penis carved out of batholiths rock and positioned at each of the four exits of the temple.

“Ah Huh! Before you leave, please remind me of the name of the African girl you mentioned to me this morning”

“Hamamat, Most Perfect Chiliad”

“Hamamat!” Miss Juan exclaimed out of surprise. She read the Blue Ritual when she was the Most Wise Lady of the cult. The Blue Ritual was only accessible by the Most Wise Lady. The duty of the Most Wise Lady in the ACC was to write the proceedings of the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult in a chronological records so the history of the cult doesn’t get lost in antiquity like many sects of the then known world. During her office as Most Wise Lady, Miss Juan seized the opportunity to read extensively on their ancient art, the mysteries and history of having sex with strange men in the temple and the one that caught her interest the most was the mysterious invitation.

“Where precisely is she from?” Her eyes were widely opened and staring at Louiselle at the far end of the gallery.

“West Africa, Ghana. In a small sandy city called Bolgatanga.”

There was earsplitting silence for quite a while in the space between them.

“Are you okay, Most Perfect Chiliad?”


“Get me her picture, I will prepare for her invitation”

Watch this space for episode II on Monday, 19-12-2016.

WE ATE ALL THE WORDS IN IBADAN.


A Report on WRR Literary Festival by Oppong Clifford Benjamin

Introduction.
The first time I saw writing unite men was on the evening of 2nd December, 2016. I quietly watched a group of committed young men from all over Nigeria cook their words for the ensuing morning. It was a night of rehearsals for the biggest literary festival in the ancient city of Ibadan- The WRR Annual Literary Festival. As if the organizers knew there would be some ravenous vampires in attendance, they rightfully nicknamed the event ‘Feast of Words’ and strategically themed it ‘Words in a Season of Change’. The theme sought to open the minds of writers and poets about the power of their words and their importance in our busy and dynamic world.
After what seemed like a long night in slow motion, we were gradually ushered into 3rd December by the hour hand. The morning came with the aroma of the feast. Kukogho Iruesiri Samson, the CEO of Words Rhymes and Rhythm, who single handedly built Africa’s largest hub of contemporary poets, was all over to make sure the venue was ready and befitting a feast. Actually, I must praise the decorators of the event grounds-the institute of African Studies, University of Ibadan- for job well done. Some selected books from the WRR publishing house were neatly arranged on shelves at the entrance which prepared the mind of anybody entering the venue for a daylong celebration of the finest of African literature.
Attendance.
The attendance was beyond the expectations of the organizers. The overflow was twice the number of people who were seated in the hall. It was a crowd of poets, writers, lovers of words and the media. There were also in attendance cameramen who squatted, prostrated just to capture every passing moment and freeze every memory in a picture.



Open Mic Session.
The event started with a freestyle session which was so professionally hosted by Bliss Oyindhamolher Akinyemi. Poets made us laugh, cry and provoke our thoughts with the charms in their words. My favourite was a poem on the national story on MMM in recent Nigeria. The poet was really funny yet stayed focused on his message.
The Main Event.
The main feast actually began with a motivational speech by Mr. Kukogho himself. He inspired everyone with the story of how WRR came to be the largest poetry sharing platform on the African continent and also how it grew from a mere Facebook page to a big publishing house and a college. He gave us more to believe in the saying 'never give up'.
His inspiring speech was followed by a few others before a male MC called me to deliver the lecture of the day. I was tasked to prepare a lecture around the theme. My paper was titled WRITERS AND NOETIC SCIENCES- the power of the writer's intentions. The only magic I did with my lecture was creating a lasting impression on their minds; actually making them realize that by words alone writers can influence the pattern of thought of their readership and by sciences, collective intentions generate a force that really have effect on the physical world. So as writers they possessed more than a pen or a keypad. I made them understand that they were demons and angels at the same time, if not God himself.
Sadly for me, I had to leave Ibadan right after my session for a meeting in Lagos. I wished I stayed for the evening session which I was well informed it was a smiling night of dance and more words to feast on, a night of African cultural setting as they went from being under the roof to sitting on mats under the sky, a dark night of colourful traditional dance.


Conclusion
In all, it was worth travelling from Accra to Ibadan. Thank you WRR family for having me, thank you Sir Kukogho Iruesiri Samson, thank you, James Ademuyiwa and you all gallant soldiers. I salute!

A Cup of Future

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