Delilah

Chapter 4

I was at a wedding feast near my home in the Valley of Sorek. The feast had entered the fifth day, and I was tiring of inebriated men making lewd remarks and pawing at my sensually attired form. Although I was young, my feminine artifice was flawless.

For two years now I had plied the trade my dead drunken father had forced on me. I continued to live in the house where I had been raised. 

I had grown into a beautiful young woman. My raven black hair curled into ringlets in the humid air off the Great Sea. My suitors told me I had the beautiful eyes and the graceful carriage of the gazelle. I had learned the art of makeup to enhance my natural charms. My deep-set eyes were enhanced with shadow. My cheeks sported a ruddier blush than nature had endowed. I emphasized my high cheekbones and mysterious recessed eyes, trying to draw attention away from my arched nose and cleft chin, both features I considered flawed. My full lips formed a perpetual pout, and I heightened their color subtly to invite men to fantasize about how a kiss from them might feel and taste.  

My figure had developed curves in all the right places. My ample bosom seemed a magnet for men's eyes. My small waist widened into voluptuous hips. I was told I had a firm, high, rounded buttocks that men seemed delighted to squeeze. 

Even the aristocratic men who had not deigned to acknowledge my drunken father now vied for my favors. I had cut my waist length ringlets, framing my face in shoulder length curls. My short locks advertised my trade, as did my tight bodice. I had become adept at letting my veil slip and my mantle part when spotting a wealthy man with lust in his eye.

Because of my beauty and my ability to satisfy the lascivious desires of the town's elite, no man challenged my right to continue to inhabit the home of my parents. Normally a Philistine woman was stripped of her family's property when the head of the household died without leaving a male heir. Keeping my home was the only beneficial outcome of my childhood abuse.

During the feast, I had already lain with several men and acquired sufficient funds to take some time off. I was about to leave the celebration when the largest, most muscular man I had ever seen entered the room.

He was tall, even among my people, who were known for their height. His tunic stretched tight across a chest that rippled with every movement. His arms bulged, not with fat but with muscle. His nearly black eyes were set in deep sockets and covered by bushy brows. As he surveyed the crowd, I was reminded of a hawk seeking its prey. His crooked, hooked nose heightened the resemblance.

He had more hair than any man I had encountered. His head was covered with luxurious brown locks with auburn highlights that waved their way almost to his buttocks. He wore a full beard that would have been the envy of a wise elder, but no gray marred its length. The backs of his hands were covered with hair, as were the tops of the arms showing below his short-sleeved tunic and sleeveless coat. He wore the short tunic often reserved for warriors, showing off sinewy calves covered in hair. His sandals had sturdy leather thongs winding their way up his calf until they were tied just below the knee.  

In my mind, I imagined a chest where one could bury their hands in hair and even fuzz on his shoulders. As my thoughts wandered to the possibilities elsewhere, his eyes locked with mine, and I felt the blood rise in my neck and face. I knew he could not know of my discomfiture at being caught mentally undressing him, because my skin was dark enough that I did not blush.

As the giant made his way through the crowd, men moved aside to make way, giving him dark looks. Women, however, preened, casting their eyes downward but with that coquettish look that told a man of her interest.

Two men near me talked in what they considered a whisper, but their words carried easily to my ears and those of others in the vicinity. 

"What is he doing here?" one man hissed. "Just because he was once betrothed to a Philistine does not give this Israelite behemoth the right to crash our wedding feast."

His companion wheezed in reply, "And do you propose to take on the legendary Samson and evict him from the celebration? He wouldn't need the jawbone of an ass to best you, the plume of the tail would do."

At these words, my eyes widened and my cynical mind challenged, "This is your chance, Delilah. He is a legend with a weakness for pretty women. If you tame this man, the women who look down on you now can no longer hold you in disdain. You can become a national heroine." 

At the same time, the wistful child in me countered, "He is reputed to be fiercely loyal. If he learns to love you, you could let your hair grow and hold your head up. With Samson by your side, no man would dare to make lewd remarks and no woman chastise you."

I couldn't help but smile at the second sentiment. No man was faithful. I had learned distrust when the man whose job it was to love and protect me, instead beat me and sexually abused me. This brute of a man would be like all the others. He would use me and then abandon me. If I was smart, I would seduce him and use him for my own ends.

As I watched, Samson made his way to the bridegroom. I slowly wandered close enough to hear him congratulate the man on his marriage to a cousin. As he apologized for being unable to come earlier for the wedding itself, Samson cloaked a thinly veiled threat behind a sinister smile that never reached his eyes.

"I am sure you will have no objection to allowing her to freely worship Yahweh, the God of her forefathers," Samson stated. "As my wedding gift I have brought a jewel encrusted phylactery. Inside are the words of the Shema: 'Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.' Even though she did not take her wedding vows with the adornment on a band around her head, I am certain you have no objection to her wearing it as part of her wedding attire," he finished in a voice that left the young bridegroom shaking in fear and ready to agree to anything.

As Samson continued to engage the man in small talk, I made my way to the wedding steward and asked for a glass of wine. When Samson turned from his conversation, I approached him with the goblet. Holding out the drink, I purred, "You look like a thirsty man. The wedding feast is in its last days and so the wine is no longer the best, but it is all I can offer you – here."

Smiling at me, Samson took the drink. His fingers touched mine as he took the goblet. As my blood turned to molten fire, my lips parted in surprise. In my confusion, I could not be certain if he had touched me deliberately or if his fingers were just so large it could not be helped.
Never before had I responded so to the touch of a man. If I allowed myself to feel anything, it was always revulsion. Mostly I had trained my mind to go blank, blocking out all feeling. I could not remember ever having felt pleasure at the touch of a man, much less a heat that threatened to overwhelm my senses.

I tried to lower my eyes like a proper woman. For some reason I did not want this man to think of me as wanton. For just a little while, I wanted him to think of me as something other than a sex object. But Samson's eyes seemed to bore into my soul, and I could not lower my gaze.
As though through a fog I heard him murmur, "What is a comely wench like you doing acting as a serving maid at a wedding feast?"

Dropping my eyes, I stammered, "I am sorry, kind sir. I am being much too brazen, staring like that, but I have never seen such a large man before," I ended backing away, hoping he would not see through the charade.

As he called, "Wait," I whirled and fled across the room and into the courtyard. The fresh night breeze cooled my hot cheeks as I hid in the shadow of a Sycamore tree, watching to see if he would follow.

Soon he hurried through the door, his eyes searching the courtyard just as they had surveyed the crowd earlier when he entered the house. As he scrutinized the assembly, he took the goblet of drink and poured the wine into a plant near the door. I heard him ask several men where the serving wench had gone. In their intoxicated state they laughed and replied, "What serving wench? The only woman we saw come out that door was the local harlot. She'll serve you alright, but what she serves comes at a high price."

I hid behind the tree for what seemed an eternity until finally he went back into the feast, I presumed in search of a tastier drink. Hurrying out the gate, I made my way home, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. I wanted to be respected, and deep down I felt the seduction of Samson could lead to that end. But my senses still reeled from his accidental touch and my body burned with desire at the thought of bedding him. I feared that somehow his ravishment would prove my undoing. Trepidation and excitement mingled, causing my stomach to knot and my heart to pound. I determined I would take tonight to untangle my emotions so that my usual control would reign on the final day of the wedding feast, when I would bewitch the legend and bring the giant under my spell.