ADADZEWA, MY INSTAGRAM GIRL.

She danced in the streets
the music reminded her of life.

She paid no mind to the boys
who lurked around traffic lights

She had a fat ego
which she ate not
and went hungry.

She wrote, relaxed and drew
a shadow of her death
on a half broken mirror
and sighed. And wept.

She stepped into a fire,
fixed her gaze on the smoke
and saw nothing else 
aside her departing soul.

Destiny was ready
but she wanted more from life
she has more for the boys
she had snobbed
and particularly to swallow her ego.

After her closing hours on earth,
did she realize the world
spoke one common language.

The language of love;
of sex, of smile and of laughter.

She cursed her grave
and wondered why she
was too big to speak
the language.


There're lives and there're lives
But this one was a life
at least, Adadzewa lived.




By Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. Episode VI

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 focuses on a mysterious sect of young ladies between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The AAC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story maybe real.

We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Episode VI

Frozen atmosphere, still air – no motions, everything was dead or so it seemed.

“You need to manifest in human form”
“Louiselle will do it for you as Most Perfect Chiliad”
“Hamamat! You know exactly what that means?”
“Yes…that means patience. Patience is always late but always worth the wait. Wait for Louiselle, she is the chosen qadesh. And I have no doubt she is better than Juan”

The qadeshes assembled in the hall elongated their necks and stole glances of the tiny blond lady who couldn’t smile nor frown because she had just been compared to a woman she had great admiration for. Miss Juan gazed Loiuselle with cold eyes from the north, where she knelt awaiting her punishment.

“But why would you detain your lover?”

The voices without owners were loud in the rectangular stone hall which Desi Falcon, the grand architect of the temple, designed in the early 1200s with every detail of his passion, fears and aspiration because it was his last work before he retired from building cathedrals and temples across the early world to settle in his forest home at Bargau Valley (5miles northeast from Bistrita) in northern Romania. It was rumoured that a careful and closer examination of the slabs, particularly on the floor where pentagrams were drawn during the established rites and ceremonies of the order, showed that his image appeared in very dim red and blue lights and disappeared concurrently, one could hardly notice, it was so faint.
Louiselle had said in one of the many times she disturbed Miss Juan with her curiosity “I think I saw something strange on the floor” and Miss Juan knew what followed that sentence so she smiled and Loiuselle felt unsure of her question but she asked anyway “Who is that spirit man?” 
History informs us that it took forty and two thousand men to construct the temple of Ishtar and within the number was a small elite lodge of three thousand four hundred and sixty men skilled in architecture and stonemasonry completed the design and building of the rectangular hall in which the qadeshes and the men stood terrified and listened to the dialogue between an invisible woman and  man.

The black snakes finally reached the north gate of the large hall and coiled and positioned their poisonous black heads in the air at a short distance from Miss Juan. Sensing danger, Miss Juan got up abruptly from her kneeling posture to her full height and took two frightful steps backwards and her right hand supported her retreat with a sure grip of the gold plated metallic gates behind her. The snakes sibilated and advanced towards Miss Juan.

”Back off! Step back! I command thee serpents to retire as your Most Perfect Chiliad.” Miss Juan cried aloud, her voice was thick in fears yet full of authority. But like stubborn kids, the snakes whooshed further forward, brought out their slim clappers briefly as if teasing Miss Juan.

“Your pride is shaking, your soul as feeble as the air around you, a man is as good as his fate.”

The female voice came out loud again and this time it clearly came out of one of the snakes
“Juan, no matter what a man does, he can’t save himself from his destiny. There’s no permanent hideaway, so forget about the roof shielding you. The only weakness of mother time is her patience, but it is also her greatest strength. Eventually, it comes to crack open the heads of wicked men and make naked their past, present and future atrocities”

There were many seconds of silence in the hall. The atmosphere was tension packed. And everyone looked pale and flimsy.
Miss Juan spoke through her fears and teary eyes to break the awkward silence.
”What! “ Her voice shook terribly bad “What have I done wrong?” She questioned the spirit of the Great Mother Hamamat who had just spoken to her through the snake. The tears of Miss Juan fell like raindrops onto the floor.

“Pick up your tears from the holy base, you Murderer!”

“I murdered no one. She just died. The little Hamamat di…….” 

Miss Juan’s sentence was interrupted by weak coughs from the just resurrecting Hamamat Montia. She struggled to breath. Maybe there was no air to breath in the hall. Miss Asabea and Louiselle hastened to help Hamamat return to life safely. But only half way the length of the space between Hamamat and Loiuselle, did Miss Asabea yell at Louiselle “Where do you think you going to?” her eyes oozed clots of jealousy at Louiselle. Withdrawing her steps in obedience to her Most Wise lady, Louiselle recognized Miss Juan’s face held a clue of a smile when Miss Asabea screamed at her. Louiselle knew that face, and she knew it was the beginning of her unpleasant journey in the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult.

“AH! See! You see! I’m not a mur…..” Miss Juan’s hands froze in the gestures she made to mean she had been vindicated when she was again cut off, this time very harshly.

“Oh! Shut it! You are a murderer and you know exactly what I am talking about. Like I said, time is patient. But mother time has your end carefully designed like the wonders Desi Falcon did with this hall. And it is something I wish not for any mortal being. Horrible, the least description”

Miss Juan wore a guilty face. She feared the one most secretive of her secrets was not only known to her alone but the revered mother. And for the first time, she looked up and saw that the stone roof above her was transparent, and that the Great Mother saw through it.
OMNIPRESENT MOTHER!

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BEFORE SMOKE AND WORDS.

The day is a wild animal
in this chaos world,
and I don't want to die aloud
at least, not again.

So while the vapour from my white ceramic cup rises
to the innocent wind passing across
the length of my soul and beneath my troubled mind
I flip the pages of an old ritual book
With the hope of understanding happiness.

And of course, I would finally become a vapour too.
But I won't be living in a small cup.
I will from earth to the heavens.
I will stop briefly to mingle with the clouds.
And have the pleasure of telling
them about how humans made smoke
and continue my journey to the celestial,
Sit at the right hand side of Him who created this day.
From thence, I will learn to be a smoke and a word,
a flower and its butterfly
a shadow without owner
I will gently learn to be nothing.

By Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

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13 Nights of Sex before WE GO TO HELL

 

 

Day 1.

 

Do you believe in life after sex?

When we can't watch each others' face

and stare sheepishly at our phones' screens.

Do you believe I was the perfume in the air?

that which choked you. I laughed as you died.

Do you mind if I shrink to the shape of a ship

and sail you from this fire to hell?

 

Close your eyes and kiss my soul

Pull me out of my body, out of muscles

and never think the sky is grey or blue

nor ever the wind carefree. We all prisoners in this room.

If you did see a singer and a song in us

then it was because you were once an orchestra

until I changed the whites for the blacks on the piano

I don't love you, you don't love me. Didn't we see it?

 

Let me just push the world a little farther

to make room for you to improve on your ego

Or stab me in the back and taste me waste away-

it is called soccer: you pass to who you know.

Because no one celebrates narrow misses

So by all means score.

 

Oppong Clifford Benjamin

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. EPISODE V.

Episode V

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 AAC). 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.

When Miss Juan was certain the little girl, Hamamat Montia, was dead in a ceremony meant to awaken her (Hamamat) soul to a new life, she exclaimed aloud “Curse! Curse!!”, her voice vibrated the air and caused a sudden terror across the assemblage. The echoes of her voice were long and horrifying. And she cast her two hands helplessly in the immediate atmosphere and soggily dropped those by her side in three rummy sequences emitting a long cry “I’m doomed. Oh! Great Mother, Mercy I pray thee.”

The humid air carried her cry before her while she ran through the long corridors of the temple with the hope that she would make the south exit. But like she had expected, the metallic doors were slammed against her face denying her exit. She veered to watch the north and west gates close with same violence as that of the south. Knowing what was next to happen, she broke into dreadful tears.
Loiuselle also wept. Among the frightened qadeshes and the innocently terrified men gathered therein, she was the only one who knew Miss Juan was in so much trouble. As if she foresaw the calamity a week earlier, she had asked Miss Juan the consequences of the rare incidence of having a candidate die in a ceremony, and for the first time, Louiselle heard the baneful side of the cult. She managed to convince herself into believing Miss Juan told lies to scare her away. But when she saw her agitated in the darkness and cursing the space in tears, Loiuselle knew Miss Juan’s words a week ago were just true.

Finding all escape cut off, Miss Juan went down on her two knees, lifted her two hands high above her head, threw her head backwards such that the sexually explicit contrived roof looked down at her face and she gently closed her eyes, without much pressure on the palpebra. And whispered into the ambience “It is finished; swallow me, grand spirit of Ishtar. I am a complete failure worthy of thy punishment.” 

From nowhere, a swift wind surrounded Miss Juan only. However, she neither opened her eyes nor blinked. She seemed to be fully aware of the happenings around her and she was the least bothered. The wind harshly removed the tiny yellow cincture which wrapped around the waist of every Most Perfect Chiliad. It was called the mystic yoke of the AAC.  It was first worn by Hamamat Haruna Hamza- the first Most Perfect Chiliad and it was transferred to generations unpolluted. During the installation of a new Most Perfect Chiliad, the mystic yoke is passed on to the incoming Chiliad in a magical traditional drama; the outgoing one suspends in the air horizontally above the incoming Most Perfect Chiliad and a strong whirlwind takes the yellow cloth off the waist of the outgoing and wraps it perfectly around that of the incoming one. And the body of the outgoing Most Perfect Chiliad disappears with the wind and reappears in her hometown, exactly where she had been first invited to the Ancient Aphrodisiac cult. And thereafter becomes either a top religious or political leader in her country of birth.
But this wasn’t the case of Miss Juan; her sovereignty as the Most Perfect Chiliad had come to an unsuccessful completion. It had rather come to an opprobrious halt, curtailed by a disastrous misfortune.

A dead body in the temple was at the first place considered unclean, and secondly, a dead candidate in a ceremony was an unacceptable mistake punishable by a harsh death of the Most  Perfect Chiliad, a death so cold and yet so gradual.

As Miss Juan knelt in the north of the hall awaiting her fate, the two black cobras formicated out of Hamamat’s lifeless vagina onto the cold floor and meandered in the direction of Miss Juan. Abruptly, the wind vanished in the same way it had appeared, leaving the yellow piece of cloth to fall under gravity from a height above the head of Louiselle.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. EPISODE IV.

Episode IV

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.

Episode IV.

A bleeding skull
crossed bones
a chalk drawing of two five point stars interwoven into each other- pentagram
a very cold floor
two black snakes
five chalices of oil of Ishtar
a bowl of vanilla flavoured yoghurt

“Gathered are the elements for the ceremony of invitation ready for your inspection, Most Perfect Chiliad.” A half nude lady genuflected and said to Miss Juan, and waited on Miss Juan's consent anxiously. The brownish lady had only a tiny piece of cloth wrapped about her waist to cover her genitals. But even that was not enough to hide her entire private space, her pubic hair sneaked out of the cloth like how bad boys sit on walls idly. The lady was the current Most Wise of the ACC. She had written quite a number of literatures on the sex cult. Popular among those was her paper titled TANTRISM, sex with the universe. She had delivered the paper to an assemblage of the sisterhood, and also it had been published in eight languages by Mark & Fin books based in the UK. This little world-wide fame earned her some reputation in the cult and her name was always in the atmosphere whenever the ceremony of invitation was to be conducted. She recited the ritual words like a poem and moved her body in a trance to the delight of everyone gathered including the air and walls. Her name was Miss Asabea Moro. She was the second Ghanaian to have ever been invited to this prestigious sect. The first was Hamamat, nick named the GREAT MOTHER.

In her all famous intriguing paper, she clearly described the tantric steps that constituted the invitation ceremony. Actually, the invitation ceremony had more than taking in a lady to a participation of the ancient secrets of sex. It was also a divine way of freeing the spirit of a young woman from this busy indoctrinated world to a more advanced and free cosmos where a person may finally come into contact with herself. It was using the sensitivity, respect and soul of the human skin in a communication with a much deeper self. Human bodies are largely covered by large intuitive space called skins, Miss Asabea wrote in her paper, this when carefully massaged or chafed repeatedly against another skin cause sudden friction, an energy so refreshing yet powerfully dangerous thing. She further called the feeling that emanate from the tantric process  LIBERATION.
“You have a jealous wisdom in your head about the ceremony. I can’t doubt your intelligence qadesh Asabea. Be blessed and Rise” Miss Juan carried a smile in her mouth while she gave her rather generous response. She had much respect for Miss Asabea for her scholarly projections in the ACC. Miss Asabea stood up from her kowtow posture feeling a little pampered though she had had many of such appraisals ever since she wrote that paper.

The body of Hamamat was summoned to the temple by the traditional invitation drama. She had arrived from Bolga in the same fashion the first Most Perfect Chiliad of the ACC had. Her unconscious body was arranged face down to fit in the pentagram drawn on the cold floor – her head positioned at the north point of the five points star, her two hands dispersed widely apart, with the right towards the east and left west and her long thin legs spread southwards to fill the two remaining points.

At the north-east of her body placement was the bleeding skull and crossed bones, above it was the famous black book of the ACC. None but the Most Wise could read the words in the black book; the pages therein appeared blank to any other qadesh, unless she has gone through the sacred rite of a Most Wise.

“Ab  dar Most Wise Lady.”
“Ab dar Most Wise Lady.”

The totally naked ladies of the ACC chanted after their Most Perfect Chiliad, and Miss Asabea calmly tiptoed from the south of the gathering to the centre where the almost lifeless body of Hamamat was placed in a pentagram. The orchestral began singing a very solemn song from somewhere in the darkness as Miss Asabea perambulated to the rhythm slowly. She stopped at the east to pick a box which rested on Miss Juan’s pedestal; she carefully opened the box and brought out it content-two black cobras.

There was a sudden long cry in the hall like the cry of an owl . Though the cry was strange to the seven selected men from the seven corners of the world who were specially invited by the Miss Juan to grace the occasion with their waist, the men realized their female companions were too familiar with the sound.

“Scary” one of the men said to the air.

Miss Asabea placed the five chalices of the oil of Ishtar at each point of the pentagram and she gently put the cobras in between Hamamat’s opened legs.
“Desicon nimbrados arikifara” The sound of her voice was deafening and it hit the walls and echoed back as the voice of a giant beast in a wilderness. It was the magical instruction to the snakes. The cobras crept into the opened vagina of Hamamat.

Miss Asabea read aloud from the black book “Darkness is long over silence, and silence has befell us here and now.” And the rest of the qadeshes including Miss Juan repeated the words after her. “Let she who lays before thee rise to the lust of life, Oh! Clement! Oh! Great Mother” Miss Asabea dipped her index finger in each of the five chalices and gently massaged the oil into the skin of Hamamat focusing much on her hair. She combed through Hamamat’s hair several times releasing her spirit from thence. She placed much emphasis on her vagina as well. She robbed the oil into the puffy labia and massaged the clitoris too, and she inserted her middle finger in the vagina and kneaded the internal walls of the vulva.
She then put scoops of the vanilla yoghurt on Hamamat’s fore head, her left and right palms, and legs and some in the lateral line at her back. She ate the yoghurt slowly with her tongue licking the cold off Hamamat’s skin.

“Daughter of earth, rise and multiple these seven gods of the seven worlds” Miss Asabea held the sex charm over the head and commanded the soul of Hamamat to come to live. But the soul seemed very far from the temple, maybe far from Cyprus. She repeated the ritual but the body of Hamamat remained completely lifeless.

“She is dead.” Miss Asabea after many attempts finally declared.
There was an awkward silence. Everything in the hall froze. The air suddenly became heavy on the faces of the qadeshes and even much heavier on the men. It was the first time someone had died in a ceremony.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. EPISODE III

Episode III

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.

Despite its vastness, the temple of Ishtar was widely known for its detailed designs of the interiors and the ancient sexually inclined activities that occurred therein. Faulckman Johan, a celebrated historian, in his popular documentary on Ancient Sex among early Babylonians that earned him a world-wide recognition described the temple as ‘a dainty piece of architecture, starting from earth and thrusting the eyes of God in the heavens.’ He, however, had a lot more to say about the two columns which were placed at the entrance; ‘most substantial pillars holding in highest esteem the glory of the temple.’ According to the history of the ACC as recorded in the early chapters of Longman’s Blue Ritual of the Sex Cult, the left pillar was named after Hamamat in the 1400s. The honour was done Her after she had served as a medium through which many Egyptian kings of the time were elevated from men to gods. Put differently, the powers in the ancient mysteries were conferred on them. And that on the right was after Baba Binlawa, Hamamat’s husband, who was never seen because he always visited his wife at odd hours and he was not in any physical form. Rumours. Some books said he was the mysterious smoke that rose from the hollow inside of the right pillar to the high skies when Hamamat danced and others of a more informed guess said he was the heavy air that had the exclusive seductive power to make Hamamat reach orgasm.

Faulckman used ten minutes of the thirty five minutes video documentary to talk about the sexual discovery of Baba Binlawa. In a morning’s winter, Faulckman narrated, Hamamat stood naked at the porchway, around the right pillar and moved her hips slowly in circles, her hands thrown in the sky like a helpless prostitute, her tender breasts scored the giant pillar, she stroke her tongue about the white clay surface of the pillar. It was as if she was dancing to an erotic silent music. Linda Longman wrote that a heavy cold wind circulated Hamamat. The howl of the wind could be heard from a far, it sounded like a huge man groaning under intense pleasure.
And calmly, she would lie in the open, on the bleak concrete floor beneath the pillar, her long black legs widely spread towards the right pillar and the head towards the left, and she tucked her middle finger of her left hand in her moist vagina while the right was employed to engage her breasts in a hot self romance. In between short time intervals, she carefully removed the finger and licked it. She deliberately allowed the saliva to leak about her finger onto her flat tummy and down to her nave. She would gently restore the finger in its previous position in the vagina. And when she was at her the climax of orgasm, she moaned a strange name, ‘Baba Binlawa’ Faulckman’s said in his documentary.

"Use the mat,you may be able to sleep."
 Hamamat stretched his left hand to reach for the mat which stood folded in the corner over her head. She rolled it on the bare floor but sleep was not on the floor too. She just couldn't close her eyes. She knew those scenes in her dreams,  they have been living with her since the beginning of dark that day.

Scene 1. the tattooed middle finger of  Miss Juan’s right hand floating in the warm air.
Scene 2. A tiny sleek voice luring Hamamat to lick the finger starting from the proximal to the distal.

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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.”

 

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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.

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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!

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