10600
The Seduction And The Initiation Of An Emergent Rose
Embassy Hotel And Suites
St. Louis, Missouri
Later That Evening
Aristotle and I entered the Embassy Hotel and Suites.
“Would you join me for a drink in my suite?”
I bit down on my bottom lip.
Aristotle leaned over.
“I have those answers you wanted to ask of me earlier.”
“Sure, why not.”
Aristotle palmed my hand. We strolled to the elevators.
I looked at his side profile.
Damn the brotha was so handsome. Maybe I should write about this encounter for my next novel, The Philosopher and the…
The rose somehow pulsated in my hand. I looked down.
The Philosopher and the Rose, nice title I thought to myself.
The elevator doors slid open.
Aristotle lightly grabbed onto my elbow and ushered me onto the elevator. He pushed the number ten button.
The elevator doors slid close.
Why am I so nervous? I glanced over at Aristotle’s side profile once again.
“Thank you for this evening. I had a very nice time.”
“Glad, I could make my star smile.”
I blushed; I looked up at the flashing number eight.
Maybe, I should just call it a night.
The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.
We both looked at one another.
Aristotle lightly took ahold of my hand.
We both walked off the elevator.
The elevators doors slid close behind our exit.
“There’s an excellent view of the full moon from the window in my suite.”
“I would love to see this full moon.”
I flashed him with a smile, out of sheer nervousness.
Aristotle must have sensed my distress. He stopped us in the middle of the corridor. He pulled me into his arms and tilted my chin.
My questionable eyes sought his.
“You are a part of me, more than you could ever imagine. I asked you earlier to search your heart. In the end, you will find I am there.”
He leaned his face down and tenderly kissed me.
My unfounded emotions swayed in conjunction to hoping there is sagacity of this; my mind and my heart, feeling misplaced emotions for a handsome stranger, who, I feel more allied in this moment, than to any man in my everyday life.
Aristotle kissed me on the side of my neck. His tongue wandered to my earlobe, ticking it with the tip of his wet tongue.
My body quivered in a natural response.
He whispered in my ear, “I have romanced these lips a thousand times in my mind. Made love to your mind from the stars above, baptized my mind with a single request; to be blessed to kiss the nectar of your skin and return to a single rose, you gave unto me.” He kissed my lips and then inched his head back. “Search with your heart, in this lifetime, and feel the emotions, really feel them of me in your next lifetime.
Aristotle cupped the sides of my face in his palms and rested my forehead against his chin.
“Aristotle, I don’t understand any of this. This is just not normal.”
“This universe is a vast of never ending galaxies. Never condition your mind in believing there is only black and white. The most important aspects in this universe are the shades of gray you or I could never mentally grasp in one lifetime.”
I leaned my head back and found his eyes.
“Aristotle, this concept you are asking me to believe in, is on a subconscious level, I do not think I will ever come to understand. I am a woman from Philadelphia, a nurse, and yes even a runner, that’s as complicated as my life gets.”
“These adjectives you place on your life, has already been written by the constellation of the stars.” Aristotle’s eyes looked up at the ceiling, and then back at me. “Once you accept the revelation, you can move in body and in spirit. The body of the universe and its possibilities will be endlessly placed at your feet.”
At the sound of the elevator doors, opening; I realized we were still standing in the corridor
“Maybe I should just call it a night.”
“Kelilah, this is the only night under a full moon you and I will ever get to interweave our souls. Time for you and I have been granted, by my body in this lifetime, and in spirit of the mind in the next lifetime.
“Why are you so sure of this, us, you and me, moons, stars? In as much, why do I feel you are in my heart, but a curtain of emptiness only fills the mental void?”
“Come here.”
Aristotle reached down for my hand. He rushed me down the corridor. We both stopped in front of the door to his suite. He lifted the keycard from out the back pocket of his pants. He slipped it into the door, unlocked it, and then lifted the keycard back out. He opened the door and stepped back.
I hesitated with the progress of my feet.
“My mind is a living allegory, constantly thinking and imagining beyond the stratosphere. Hmmm, a philosopher who is in awe with the connection and aura of stars. The mind being a supernova of serene thoughts. Feeling Earth’s axis and rotation through the measurements of the stars. As if the stars connect with you and tell a story. Earth’s precession was historically called the precession of the equinoxes, because the equinoxes moved westward along the ecliptic relative to the fixed stars, opposite to the yearly motion of the Sun along the ecliptic. So, it’s as if the stars had a mind of their own, unlike the moon, or Earth, or the Sun, or any other planet revolving around a certain galactic routine or standard. The stars are free, they follow their own unique path, not to mention how bright and beautiful they are in the night sky. Thus, making my collective thoughts sidereal.”
I retreated a step.
“This…this can’t be.”
“Let your mind escape to those shades of gray.”
“This…, this right here...is”
“Is a Quantum Leap of fate, ordained from a billion light years away, manifested in the physical state of our minds?”
I looked around the silent corridor, just to make sure, I’m still in the year 2018.
I turned my attention back to Aristotle. I inched forward.
Out of a sense of blind recognition. I felt over his facial features, traced over thick eyebrows, down his nose, onto his fleshly lips. I rubbed my palms down his arms, exploring clothed mountains of triceps and biceps, his massive chest wall. I looked down. I was afraid to venture my hand any farther, in fear of some parts evident under my observation.
“Are you considered human?”
Aristotle leaned forward and kissed my lips; he tenderly bit the upper lip and then kissed over it.
I glanced down.
“I mean all the parts?”
He lifted my hand and placed it over his groin.
I squeezed the hard knot of his family jewels.
“Now if you do not want to give security a full peep show of our intimacy. I say we continue this conversation, among other things in my suite.”
I dropped my hand from his groin and looked up into Aristotle’s eyes.
My philosopher will never believe this; meeting the physical aspect of himself. Hopefully, all those beautiful narratives, analogies, hungering for the physical senses, only to interrelate with the mental aspect, will be introduced to me.
“Not to worry, they will.”
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to voice my thought.”
“You didn’t, I made the mistake of interpreting your facial expression. Now beautiful woman, could I interest you in a drink.”
And then your bed I thought.
“Yes, you may.”
I peeped my head inside Aristotle’s suite, expecting to see the set-up of a Amba Peristil, a temple for voodoo initiations and spiritual giving ceremonies and my great-great-grandmother, holding an calabash rattle, and that damn clochette in her hand, who, unfortunately was spirited as a Haitian voodoo High Priestess, a Mambo, and her spouse, a Haitian voodoo High Priest, known to the villagers in Pétion?Ville, Haiti as a Houngan, greet me from the spiritual side.
Something I never revealed to any normal person who would listen, let alone doubt me.
With all the talk of fate, destiny, karma, and reincarnation, I now wonder, is my ancestral rite of passage descending on me to face the world of the unknown. I hope this is not the calling of my great-great grandmother’s influence. By some means, I feel it deep in the core of my soul it may be; I guess it has something to do with my family pre-ordaining me to a world of healing, as three generations, from the villages of Haiti, to the bayous of Louisiana, to the brotherly love streets of Philadelphia, which the hands to heal have placed solid foundations and ancestral roots in society.
My stilettoes traveled deeper inside Aristotle’s hotel suite. I placed my purse and my rose down on the Victorian couch. My body felt groundless, my heart felt displaced in time. I felt in conjunction like a baby, knowing I could walk, but frightened to take the first step of progress.
God, please reassure me, my great-great-grandmother’s interference within my life, once again, has not subpoenaed her presence from her resting place, according to her philosophy; the other side of the moon; the pivotal of the stars grants the universe several properties within the dominion of life’s circle.
The music from the CD player snapped me from out my spiritually reflective state. I felt strong arms coiling around my waist from behind. I pillowed the back of my head against Aristotle chest wall.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear.
“Are you still here with me? You have been silent, since you entered, and I know the spirit within you is known to be expressive with thoughts, as to express them with words.
“I am so confused on so many levels. Hold me.”
Aristotle turned me around in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck.
I was content for the chance to finally encounter the human form of a person, who I have projected so many times in my mind.
The extra “i” right? It’s a connection between two entities or beings, one in the form of flesh and bone, and the other being celestial; connecting the human mind and soul with the endless galaxies, where the stars guide you no matter where your thoughts lie. So, the two “i” are in unison. Harmonizing together, creating melodies within the whispers of the night sky, a voce spike to me from a distance time
I pivoted to look out the window and then back at Aristotle.
“Wow, the moon is so bright tonight.”
“Yes, especially for the spiritual initiation of a rose, who must later be reborn into another lifetime, but still remain connected to me in this lifetime.”
“I could just read several of your narratives.”
I felt giddy to finally place a face to a name I thought of on so many nights.
“Keliah, fate and destiny are not that simple. Sacrifices must be adhered too.”
I stepped back.
Aristotle pulled me back into his arms.
“To make this journey through a portal of time. I had to sacrifice something, as well as you have.”
“I am here at a Nurse convention, and you, as you stated, an Astronomy convention.”
“The vessel of necessity to propel this meeting in time. This meeting will take place in another lifetime, under the pen of another.”
“I am a novelist.”
“Then you were chosen to bring the darkness from the earth from which you emerged to decipher your truth into the light, our light.”
“Are you saying we will meet again somewhere in time.”
“Yes, an accidental meeting in another lifetime, however, penned by another about us.”
“This is getting uncanny.”
“No, it is once again that shades of gray, the human mind cannot articulate. The stars will always guide, and the moon over quiet waters will return you back to me, in and out of time.”
“After today, what happens to me, us?”
“Tonight, I will make love to you, as I have in and out of time, with the physical being of my soul, tomorrow, with my mind.”
“Is that why I connect with you on so many levels.”
“With whom?”
“The man who spells his name with two ‘I’s.”
Aristotle leaned down and kissed me on my lips. He leaned his face back.
“Yes.”
Aristotle kissed my shoulder blade.
“You are so beautiful, the man who makes love to your mind in the physical absence of me, should feel lucky.”
“I think he knows that.”
Aristotle’s eyes drifted over my shoulder.
The moon captured his attention. He looked back down into my eyes.
He swung me up in his arms.
“Know that I will always, love you, and for us to be together, I hope you will understand. The answers will not be clear in this lifetime, but this person, who is the spiritual side of my physical being, will explain everything to you. Listen to him, it is the connection of that second ‘I’, which will always, keep my rose, and star among the universe vibrant, and blossoming, and to keep you returning to me.”
Aristotle uprooted my presence. I stood in his presence as he wrapped one hand around my waist and pulled me into his embrace. His other hand went behind my back. He captured the tassel to my dress and tugged it down. I was paralyzed to move. The trace of his eyes pinned my reality.
“Know what I do, will be done out of love.” He pulled by dress down.
The circulating air within his hotel suite coveted my breast nipples as my dress dropped to my ankles.
Aristotle leaned his head down and teased one of my breast nipples with his tongue. His tongue snaked over to the other breast. My head dropped back, giving him the driving seat, to steer my emotions in any way he saw fit.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered out against my skin.
His hand dropped down to my thong. His finger moved it aside, the length of his finger, snaking inside.
“Mmm.”
“I see you are just as tight as the last time I laid you on a bed of rose petals.”
Aristotle’s finger swam deeper.
“Oh.”
Aristotle dropped down to his knees, his finger remained embedded inside of me. He kissed over the Fairy tattoo on my upper thigh. He paid extra attention to the rose; planting tiny kisses to the redden petals.
I looked down.
And my dreads are a form of spirituality as well. I love my hair, just like I love myself.
“Your dreads.”
Aristotle looked up.
“Some sacrifices must be surrendered to survive a voyage though the portal of time, however, once this night has been initiated. They will return as if a strand has never been touched.”
Aristotle withdrew his finger. He kissed the lips sandwiching my clitoris and stood. He removed his clothes. I held my breath, in fear of a restless discovery. I stepped closer.
I rubbed my palms over a darkened inscription of the phrase, Forgive, faintly blending onto the pigmentation of his skin. An Ankh worn around his neck glistened against the moonlight.
I leaned forward and kissed over each letter.
Aristotle cupped the back of my neck and tilted my head upward. His lips hungrily covered mine. I reached my hand down and felt the circumference of his manhood. I tenderly caressed the length within my palm.
“Sss,” escaped through Aristotle’s lips.
“Make love to me, Aristotle.”
“In this lifetime, you do not ever have to ask twice.”
Aristotle stepped back; he leaned down and removed his shoes, followed by his socks.
I stepped out of my stilettoes.
My thumbs went to the elastic band of my thong.
“Allow me that pleasure.”
He pulled my body against him and leaned down: his lips arrested mine. He held me tighter and backed me up against the king size sleigh bed. His lips slowly lifted from mine. He stole a quick kiss.
“Before, we continue, I must council you, in order for us to evolve, you must disengage from me in the present sense of the word.”
“But we are…together, physically.”
“Yes, however, once the physical being of the soul falls into alignment with that moon in the sky. Someone else will write this story between you and me.”
“But not me.”
“You will always be the Rose, imprisoned within the garden of my mind.”
I’ve felt so many emotions and so engaged while reading this. It’s so accurate that it feels real. Like, I can really feel your spirit, your vibe, your connections. It’s so unreal that my star has possibly found and connected a being with me. To share my art, my passion, my mind, my emotions with.
“You’re breaking my heart piece by piece. I’ve encountered your presence, in the physical sense of the word, only to be left between the fine lines of the spiritual word, and the physical world, then I somehow find and connect with you by my mind and heart, and now. I must leave that element behind as well, that’s not fair. You still owe me a poem.”
“Which will always be written in the starts for us, the one who finds that connection, cannot hold on to it, it only denies us the pleasure of meeting in another lifetime.”
Aristotle kissed the fallen tears streaming down my face.
“What do I tell the man who makes love to my mind?”
“Tell him our story has been written among the stars; I have made love to your body in this lifetime and then lured you in on a moon above quiet waters into the next.”
“That is a beautiful line inscribed in one of my novels.”
Your mind and creative thoughts decipher beautifully into your work. If my words mean anything, all I said was completely from the heart. I will be following
I am a new fan, and hopefully partner in writing in the future
“The words you uttered to me when I first encountered your presence, but this cannot be.”
“A moon over still waters; the Aquarian side of my cosmos nature.”
Darn it.
“In the meantime, my beautiful, beautiful rose, our time has come for us to join the allegiance of our souls.”
Aristotle lifted me and gently laid me on a bed of roses.
“You remember.”
“Yes, you asked of me to make love to you on a bed of roses. Here I am, and the petals you rest upon, will be the roses I fill your heart with.”
The moon cast in the hotel suite was even brighter than before.
The still quietness of the night welcomed two kindred souls.
What do I tell “S” , do I tell him I’m so sorry, no, tell him…oh...yes, feelings got misplaced, just don’t tell him something like this, I don’t even believe this, and I know an educated philosopher will not either. Just don’t tell him anything. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.
Aristotle leaned his face downward and kissed my lips. He joined me in the bed.
Why do I feel imminent of something? The human mind will never understand.
My back crushed the delicate rose petals beneath me.
Aristotle pulled the thong down my legs. He tossed them at the bottom of the bed. He positioned his sinewy physique between my thighs. He reached over for something.
My eyes followed my questions.
“Knife.”
He flipped it open. He lifted my hand and sliced into the crease of my palm with the tip of the blade.
“Ouch, what are you doing to me?”
I tried to wriggle freely.
For some unknown reason, bands of steel contained my presence to the bed.
Aristotle seized my other palm and did the same. I held my palms up and looked down at the thin pencil lacerations, which began to sting, and then bleed.
Aristotle took his palm and sliced it. He repeated the course of action with the other. He speared the knife across the room, the tip parted the wall calendar, making a beeline for the letter, S, in the month of September.
Aristotle positioned my buttocks under his body. He caged my wrists and stationed them above my head.
“No, please don’t. This does not make any sense.”
Aristotle swiftly inserted his elongated girth inside the pinkish halo of my moisten paradise; he began thrusting in and out the cove of my saturated lover’s grip, plummeting deeper and deeper inside of me.
My silken folds sandwiching his hardened penetration.
“You will now become flesh of Aristotle’s flesh, and blood of Aristotle’s blood in this lifetime. There will be no one after Aristotle. I grant the spirit of your Haitian Loa to accept Aristotle’s bride and Aristotle as united as one.”
Aristotle withdrew his erection and reentered my womanhood again.
I heard thunder in the distance background, but how could that be? The full moon was set high in the sky, right?
Aristotle’s hotel suite became darken; I heard the sounds of loud drums beating in my subconscious.
My great-great-grandmother’s calabash rattle, and that the deafening sound of her clochette rang in my ears.
“Let me up.”
I rapidly twisted my head from side-to-side; I tried to raise my head from off the pillow. It felt too heavy.
“Don’t fight it, kiss Aristotle.”
“No, no I will not. Please get up, please.”
Aristotle mingled his bloody palms against my bloody palms he squeezed them together.
My entire skin began to tingle.
“What is..., what is happening to me?”
My body felt like hot pokers were being branded into my skin. My body moved against the painful feeling.
“Please, make it stop, please.”
Tears began to well in the pit of my eyes.
“Kiss me, Kelilah.”
Aristotle bent his head down; he slowly kissed my lips. He kissed the fallen tears away.
“Our destiny has now been bound by time. To my beautiful Rose, the star who has pleased my body in this lifetime and will elevate my mind in the next.”
Multiple skin prickling sensations coursed through my body
“No…, I don’t want this, please make it stop.”
I heard my great-great grandmother’s Haitian creole dialect washing over me, cleansing my inner sanctum, preparing me for the aftermath, and the rebirth and emergent of a Rose, only cultivated in the mind of someone else’s orchard in the next life.
My head began to swim. Dizziness was my only comfort. I moved against Aristotle’s body.
Everything suspended in slow motion around me; the silence was so unbearable I heard my own heart beating.
Aristotle released my hands.
I realized I was not in control of coordinating the fluency of my body movements. I linked my arms around Aristotle’s neck. My weightless body began to gyrate to the erotic rhythm of the drums beating inside my head.
“Oh Aristotle, this..., it...”
I became lightheaded. My vision sunk into a spinning vortex of blackness. I swear I saw mirages of great African Queens with spears grasp in their hands. All were galloping on white horses chanting in some form of Haitian Creole dialect toward a full moon. I saw Aristotle’s face flashing in the space of time. I saw us making love on top of a crescent moon.
“What..., what have you done to me? My…my head.”
Rolls of sweat pockets covered my face. My tongue felt plastered to the roof of my mouth.
“You will serve only Aristotle, the rose of this heart in this lifetime. Our hearts and our minds will beat as one in the next.”
Aristotle continued to ram the throbbing sensation of his arousal inside me.
My climax at the throne of ecstasy ready to be crowned at any given moment.
“Kiss me, blend our souls, in and out; in and out of time.”
I enclosed the sides of Aristotle’s face and pulled his face down to mine; I tenderly kissed him and wrapped my arms around his lower back.
Aristotle leaned down and suckled on one of my breast nipples. He smeared his blood in the center of my forehead.
I braced my palms against Aristotle’s chest.
His Ankh layered the top of one of my hands.
He lifted one of my bloody fingers, stuck it inside his mouth, and then stuck one of his bloody fingers inside my mouth; he kissed my forehead, threw his head back, and then ejaculated.
Mwen renmen ou Kelilah a, ki moun ki nan lavi nan pwochen te pran fòm lan nan yon flè bèl.
The sound of thunder rumpled inside my ears, the earth shattering sound vibrated the bed.
Darkness comforted my surroundings.
“I can’t see..., oh help me…please. I couldn’t breathe.”
“Release yourself unto Aristotle in this lifetime.”
I held tightly onto Aristotle’s body, arched my back, and climaxed.
“Oh my, oh my God it burns,” I half moaned, and half hollered against Aristotle’s chest.
“Your Loa has now granted Aristotle dominion over your body.”
He kissed my lips and then stuck his tongue inside my mouth. He bit into my tongue.
I tasted my own blood inside my mouth.
Aristotle sucked on my tongue and swallowed.
“You..., you now belong to Aristotle eternally.”
He suctioned his manhood against my pelvis and ejaculated inside me again.
Another thunderous sound ripped the hotel suite as Aristotle’s release tore from him.
“Oh Aristotle.”
Kelilah’s body arched, her climax not merely of flesh, but of soul, an echo of Aristotle’s pearl of life, the sacred truth that binds essence to form. As her spine met the mattress, her breath surrendered. Her eyes rolled back, arms fell limp, and consciousness slipped into the veil between worlds.
Aristotle, philosopher and lover, leaned over his Rose. He smoothed her dampened hair, wiped the sheen from her brow, and whispered against her cheek, “By earth and eternity, you are mine, Aristotle’s Rose.”
He rose, purposefully. In the ritual’s aftermath, he moved with reverence. Two white towels retrieved, one soaked in cool water. He returned, cleansing her face, chest, and blood-marked palms his attention lingering on her hands, the conduits of her lineage. He kissed a single finger, then placed her arms gently at her sides.
The knife, once hidden in the wooden panel, now served its final purpose. He shredded the towel into sacred bindings, wrapping each palm with care. Two more strips for his own hands, an act of union, not concealment.
He kissed her lips, sealing the vow. She would rest, but upon waking, she would rise as bride of this lifetime, and sovereign of the next.
Aristotle lifted his gaze to the Heavens, offering silence, thanks to the Haitian Loa, summoned by her great-great-grandmother, guardian of this sacred rite. He smiled, draped his robe over his shoulders, and returned to the bathroom, the ritual complete.
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