Paradise - Part Two (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) by O.L. Casper Page B

It is illumination and it keeps lifting my soul, like the rising tide. It must be a half-hour to forty-five minutes since the roleplay began, though it feels like seconds only. I know about how much time must have passed because of the changes in the light from dusk to night, the room is lit now only by a few candles that strangely seem to burn violet in color. And yet it seems to be lit by something else that I can’t divine. There is an even glow to the room that seems to come from nowhere at all. A gray, silvery light that is as unnatural as the violet hue to the candelight, like the cinematic effect of bleach bypass processing. It is as though we are viewing the room as it would appear in the astral plane, like we are ghosts. With these thoughts begins the onslaught of dreadful thoughts of her. I’m terrified but I can’t stop what I’m doing. I don’t want to because simultaneously I feel ecstatic. It is an adorable-horrible ecstasy that lifts me to another dimension beyond death and life, or so it seems. Perhaps the ritual is working. Perhaps this is the intended result. Through some strange osmosis I feel that my soul is merging with hers, she and I are one, and experiencing the seminal blessing of this deity thrusting into me together. All thoughts of the disgust with and the terror of death vanish in a vastly liberating shift and I simply enjoy, with her, the heightened state of being—the waves produced by this perfected natural act, the spiritual freedom produced possibly in part by the ritual. I increasingly felt the presence of some very powerful, very intelligent entities in the room surrounding us. They appear to my mind like balls of light. I glance up at the Apollo shafting me now and I see not the man-god I saw before but a strange facsimile, a reptilian creature, with snakelike eyes and lizard arms and legs. But what strikes me with tenfold the force of this physical appearance is the sheer intensity of the energy passing through me from it. The reptilian beast is pure psychosexual electricity, a monster of energy that quickens me like the primordial force that allows me to live. If this sounds complicated, that’s because it is. I try to take a realistic view of things to overcome the fear these images produce, but it’s extremely difficult. No curiosity about my sanity in these moments, clearly I’ve lost it. I reason these must be images that are archetypal and exist in the subconscious of all humans, if not in different species. Stafford must have spiked the wine with LSD, or something like it, and that combined with everything else—recent experiences, chaotic emotions, the death of Isabella Gardner—has led to this. That’s the only way I can rationalize the strangeness of this dreamlike experience, and it’s the last time I try. The world appears to me to be floating on a small movie screen somehow beneath and in front of me and the rest of existence is on a different plane of heavenly bliss. I’ve definitely got to get more involved in the studies and practices of these Egyptian rituals in the future. What an insane, exotic experience. I wish everyone in the world could experience this sort of union—communion. There would be no more war, only everlasting peace.
    The lizard god has transformed back into a likeness of Apollo. For some odd reason he has not yet spent himself as I see the first rays of the rosy fingered dawn scatter across the walls. Finally he withdraws. I don’t think he’s released the silver fluid at all. I ask him about it.
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so though. I don’t see it dribbling out of you.”
    I laugh spontaneously and give him a playful shove. I’m still floating and I feel I could just walk out of this room completely naked, past all the porters and maids, and down to the sea, walking across it before dissolving into thin air. I look at Stafford, and, by the look on his face, I’m sure he feels the same. The sense of being fully energized