I've Poetry in my Throat

by Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

I drank a calabash of dreams
with the aroma of sand
that mingled freely with the air
when the first drops of rain fell
from a bleeding sky to thirsty earth.

Seated at the windows I was.
Of the view was humid silence
of homeless birds who moaned
the ruin of their nests on a tree
and the wind they cursed to grave.

Temporary everything in time;
earth was gone with its perfume
in the ghostly wind that ripped
nature of its mystical content-
the nest and my dreams.

I imagined tomorrow today
from yesterday’s labour
and tears eroded my cheeks
as I measured my future
in the recent funeral on the tree.

I've a poem in my throat

which tastes like a life coiled
around cloudy fears
and I want to do nothing

than swallow the ruins of rains
and re-frame my pains into gains
but I see the drains of reigns in plains.

Have I also not built my nest
on a praying palm tree?

Is a rhetorical question for God.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. Episode VIII

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 VIII

Miss Juan gnashed her teeth in both jaws in deep regret such that the flickering of her eyelids brought out easily tears on the cold floor of her office: where the morning sunshine that crept inside through the spiralling openings of the window found her. She spent the previous night on the floor of her office in coma after she realized her uninvited guest was the ghost of a woman she killed only months ago.

To assist her rising from the concrete floor, Miss Juan caught hold of one leg of the only wooden table in her office and helped herself up. Thoughts from the previous night reoccurred to her and she closed her eyes softly for a short while. Upon opening her eyes and looking around, she discovered a foreign yellow paper cling firmly around a peg behind the door. On the paper were instructions enciphered in a family of unfamiliar letters which were peculiar to Most Perfect Chiliads only. Instructions of high importance or top secrets of the AAC were communicated in codes.

P  J  K Q  Z 

Z  I  V  G L

C  U  W  O  S

T  F  H  I  B

Miss Juan hastened to her seat and looked in her drawer for a plain paper. She stretched her right hand to reach for the quill pen which was inserted in a small black metallic container which was half full of ink and was placed at the extreme right corner on her table. She gave an effortful regard to the alphabets one more time and smiled. Oh! I got. Easy! Miss Juan thought.  She began decrypting the message in those letters. Her facial expressions went through various stages, from confusion to depression as she fished out the message in the codes. 

“WHAT?” Her lower lips sagged down in shock. How can this be? Miss Juan asked herself in a whisper while she stared on the sheet of paper before her tired eyes on the table. She didn’t know what to say. But she had more to say in expostulation to the instructions, actually. 

Make Louiselle Most Perfect Chiliad immediately. Louiselle will conduct the ceremony of apotheosis for Prince Aziz, 132^nd Son of  Baba Binlawa; the Great King of Bolgatanga and spirit  husband of Hamamat, the Great Mother. You see why we need a clean Most Perfect Chiliad?

She soliloquized “But my term of office hasn’t elapsed. Moreover, Louiselle is not even a Most Wise Lady. How can the traditions be broken?” Miss Juan reclined in her seat, threw her head backwards such that her eyes looked directly at the sexually designed ceiling over her head.
For a second, she had thoughts to disobey the communication she had received. But she was interrupted in her thinking by the voice of the woman she killed months ago – Fatima Aziz. She was Miss Juan’s predecessor. 

Miss Juan, in a rumour, had learned of Fatima’s unwillingness to install her (Juan) into the throne of the AAC after her (Fatima) thirtieth birthday. It was a popular gossip among the qadeshes that Fatima was a black racist; she wanted to go around Miss Juan for Miss Asabea who was the only black African in the hierarchy.
But on the night of Miss Fatima’s thirtieth birthday - according to the established customs of the AAC a Chiliad’s thirtieth birthday must be celebrated in a grand feast of alcohol and lot of sexual activities because it also marked the end of her reign - Miss Juan poisoned her Chiliad. In the morning succeeding her birthday, Miss Fatima was found dead and her body indecently interred at the back of the temple of Ishtar with a sprig of acacia tauntingly stuck into the hill of earth that covered parts of her remains.
Louiselle who had first discovered the dreadful scene, exclaimed Horrenda visu! Maledictionem super auctor est.  Horrible scene! Curse is onto the perpetrator.



“Just do it. Else you will watch the manner of your death” Miss Fatima’s voice came through a stale air. But Miss Juan was the least frightened by the cold voice of a ghost, worse horrible things had happened to her in the past day. 

“I will. But I thought Qadesh Asabea would be your choice”
 
“You counsel yourself with rumours. You are not wise, Juan” 

Miss Juan attempted an explanation but ……..

“…..shut up! You fool. You read books and memorize their contents by heart but your sharp retentive memory didn’t make you any wise. You read more but know very little. And now you will lose what you desire the most.”

Realizing she had been foolish, Miss Juan slammed a fist of the right hand into the palm of the left and motioned her recent gesture closer to her lips as if kissing her clasped hands. She remained in this positioned for quite some time and then took a deep breath in and exhaled. She repeated the exercise for three consecutive times before she exited her office.

Her feet carried her in reluctant steps down the winding stairway into the main hall beneath her office, where the qadeshes had assembled to partake in the usual morning service: an amorous touching of their naked selves by the Chiliad and the passionate licking of the Chiliad’s wet middle finger after she had inserted it into her vagina. 

It was after the service Miss Juan made the announcement that surprised everyone including the blond lady- Miss Louiselle.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. Episode VII

DISCLAIMER: Please note that the group AAC and the histories herein written are all fiction, strictly from the writer's imagination. Thank you.

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 VII

She glanced at her contiguous presence and at her right fingers, and wondered if biting her finger nails could bring the relief she so badly needed or if death would be a much better option, Miss Juan was in no peace with herself neither with God nor the Great Mother. She had only learned from the recent encounter with the Great Mother that her hellish acts were known by the Mother.

“Hamamat Montia
Loiuselle”

She whispered the names to herself and cursed the first time she heard those names in her life. Miss Juan climbed up the wooden winding staircase which led to the middle chamber of the temple. The middle chamber housed the office of the Most Perfect Chiliad and the sanctuary which the Chiliad entered but once a year to make propitiation for the sins of the Qadeshes. She paused at the third step and leaned her slim and tender body against the gold plated metallic support of the stairway, and threw her head backwards in utmost despair and allowed her long black hair to droop down in the space. When finally she gained the summit of the winding staircase, she again tilted forward on the door of her office, which to her extreme surprise opened wide because it was ajar. She gained sudden consciousness of her easy entrance into her office because she remembered she had banged the door closed behind her in the morning before she descended the stairway into the main hall for Hamamat’s ceremony of invitation.

Miss Juan’s eyes gapped wide. She veered to look curiously at the far right corner of the immediate environment, finding nothing interesting she slewed to the left and then looked back at the steps she had used. She became frightened of her shadow and wondered who had been her unwanted and unexpected guest.

“Come in, please” The voice was a woman’s - slim and smooth and soft.
Panic-stricken Miss Juan moved her left hand reluctantly and caught hold of the door frame, which aided her body to sleuth inside the office without entering. Her reddened eyes were too tired of crying; she had cried in strident voice through the greater part of day, but they could see clearly when she skimmed through her office.

NOTHING

She emitted heavy breaths through her nostrils, her thoracic cavity almost touched her chin when she inhaled.

“I said come in” The voice sounded louder and authoritative, it ordered Miss Juan into her own office.

But Miss Juan found the command very eldritch, so she ran to the acme of the stairway to stretch her neck so long that she could gain sight of the hall beneath her current location. She saw that the assemblage had broken and all the qadeshes except Louiselle who stood beside Hamamat Montia in the middle of the pentagram drawn on the floor had vacated the hall to their personal comforts in their respective private cubicles in the Cathedral.

There were only two superb and stately edifices in the ice on the meridian of Mountain Troodos in Cyprus- the temple of Ishtar and its twin sister the cathedral. Both of which were designed and constructed to hold sacred and religious activities; the former to host the sacred ladies who performed the apotheosis (the elevation of man to God) of the ancient Egyptian Kings, and the later to practise Catholicism therein.

But history informs us the Catholicism practices were in dissonance with men seeing themselves as Gods by just going through some sort of ceremony and being thereafter worshipped as such. And the members of the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult then known as the Sex Cult argued that they also used the same scripture as the Catholics but it was rather unfortunate that Christians in general want to proudly believe the Bible but shamefully ignore those portions of scripture which required the effort of their mental faculties or inconvenience them. The qadeshes saw the Catholics as clamorous and faux believers of the words of God.

Among the many portions of scripture the qadeshes quoted against the Catholics were some which even a High Priest in the Cathedral agreed to.

In Genesis it was said that we (Humans) were created in the image of God. Meaning men are neither inferior nor superior to God. And also in Luke 17: 20-21 says the kingdom of God cometh without observation but it is in every one of human beings. 

Relying on these selected portions of scripture, again, history communicates to us the Qadeshes finally won the argument and the Catholics moved southwards mount Troodos in order to preserve the old peace of their faith. And the Cathedral after many years of vacancy was lost in ice and in the woods.

It was during the sovereignty of Linda Londart Longman, the forty third Most Perfect Chiliad of the AAC, who reigned from 1656 to 1701 that the Cathedral was mined out of the ice and used to house the Qadeshes and their invited men. Before this era, the Qadeshes lived with other humans in the cities of Cyprus close to Mount Troodos but kept their membership secret from the everyday Cyprians.

Miss Juan quietly observed the gestures of Hamamat and Louiselle and wondered if they also heard the unseen female voice. But their actions said the contrary.
“Maybe it is me. Maybe the thing haunting me is only in my mind. Shake! Shake it off Juan” Miss Juan shook her head vigorously. And as if she was packing all the air in the temple into her lungs, she inhaled and exhaled heavily and assured herself that it was a psychological trauma.
“Come in now before I strike you death too”.  It was real. The voice of the woman was real, Miss Juan thought.

From nowhere a heavy wind carried her and threw her body on the table inside her office, and the papers were all scattered on the floor. Her conscience was not there with her body, it left her to somewhere unknown but only for a brief time. Upon regaining consciousness, she looked around her own office like a stranger. She saw the papers and books dispersed on the floor and then lifted her eyes and right beside the closed door, Miss Juan saw the owner of the voice with the Mystic yoke of the AAC (a yellowish piece of cloth) wrapped about the waist of the old lady. And she emitted a long cry of the old lady's name. And conked.

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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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