Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father

by Laveen, Tiana

  Applause broke out as he explained this in simplistic terms. He began to sway his hips again, this time popping them harder and harder, causing laughter and what appeared to be many beet red, blushing faces in the crowd.

  “You can vary your thrusts, the depth and speed, but your hips should be rotating with each one of them. This allows you to hit more of your partner’s nerve endings as well as stimulate her G-spot. This is another reason why some women are eager to put their legs around a man’s waist or shoulders during intercourse. This helps mimic those sensations, even when he isn’t doing it because it forces the man to go in at more of an angle. He continued to rotate back and forth as he spoke.

  The crowd looked around, their eyes open and seemingly appreciative of the rare gem of information.

  “These are hip and core exercises,” Saint clarified. “Okay, now the fast and furious but first, let me say thank you to my assistant, Lance.” Saint shook his hand and the crowd clapped as he returned to his seat. “When you are going fast and hard during intercourse, you are doing several things at once. First, you are leaving no option for yourself but to ejaculate faster rather than later, and that is why it is important to only do this in the last ten or so minutes of intercourse, and only in the last two or three if you have problems controlling your orgasm. The deep, fast penetration can be very exciting, especially if you are able to look into each other’s eyes. It is a powerful position for the man; he is forcing himself completely inside of his partner, or at least as far as he can go without hurting her. If you angle yourself just right, you can make your partner have an incredible orgasm this way. That in and out motion while going fast and hard does absolutely nothing, so avoid it. If you are going to pound her, do it with her needs in mind.”

  “Finally, the slow and hard thrusts are also effective at certain intervals. What I mean by slow and hard is what I call ‘the stick and move and stick pause’, technique. It is not something you do right out the gate. She needs to be very wet and aroused or it could be uncomfortable for your partner, but when she is highly aroused, and you want to,” he ran his finger slowly along his chin, brandishing a mischievous grin, “shall I say, drive your point home, you…”—he extended his arm outward in front of him, as if he were punching the air and left it there —“…are pushing in, and hitting contact. It could be on either side of her walls, preferably upward, where her G-spot is, and you just hang out.” He threw his hands in the air and smiled, walking the stage to and fro. “You just sit there, and you look at her.” He put his finger up to his lips as if to silence the crowd. “And you say…absolutely nothing. You embrace the moment, having pushed deeply within her, and you don’t fucking move…not one damn muscle. You only breathe. You watch her as she takes in the fact that you are fully inside of her body, that you are hitting a sweet spot, that you are looking down at her, and you two are forced the connect! The longer you stare at one another, the stronger the connection becomes.” Saint moved on to his closing statements.

  “Remember this. It’s important. We train ourselves. Our recurrent behaviors are tapes, and we perform them like rituals. To be the best in all that you do, whether it is your career of choice or making love, you must feel the emotions and sensations. All the senses must be in on the experience. We must be present in order to fully breathe. Sexual intimacy with our mate is a core connection that transcends the right here and now.

  “It has been a thrill spending time with you all this evening.” He pointed out into the audience. “Whether you want to or not, you are going to change someone’s life, give them back their self-esteem, make them smile a bit more with the promise of hope. There is no sexual problem on this planet that cannot be addressed and improved as long professionals like you, are around. When dealing with sexual dysfunction and healing, we must remember this basic concept as it pertains to the patient, this one thing,” he held his index finger up, “and that is, that man or woman on your chair, paying you two hundred dollars an hour, is a human being, a person, just like you. They’ve come for help, and that is the hardest step of the process. They trust you to help them and if you can’t, they are trusting and believing you know someone who can! I wish you all well, helping to heal one mind, one wayward, obstructing emotion, and one body at a time! May you all be successful in your endeavors and thank you for having me!”

  Saint returned to his seat and sat facing the crowd. Every single person was standing, rocking the place with hearty applause, feverish energy and whistling in his honor…

  ~***~

  “Next week? If you’d let me come tonight, Dad, I would,” Saint said as he nodded to his chief officer of finance and made his way down the long hallway to Jagger’s office.

  “I know, but this gives me time to get some things in order. This is serious, Saint.”

  “What do you mean get some things in order?”

  Saint knew damn well what he meant, but in his typical fashion, he wanted his father to not entertain such foolishness.

  “My will, Saint. My obligations, all of it.”

  “You won’t need an updated will.”

  “Look.” His father sighed. “I know you are confident, but I’ve seen these performed before. You’ve never healed an illness, only injuries. It’s different, son.”

  Saint deliberated over his father’s words as he stood outside Jagger’s closed door. He threw on a fake smile spared a wave for a few passersby. “Well,” he slid his hand in his pocket, trying to appear as calm and collected as possible, trying to convince himself he felt the way he was trying to come across, “I understand all of that, but I have to stay positive. I can’t entertain any of that right now. I’ll book my flight today.”

  “Alright, see you later, Saint.”

  “…Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright? To check up on you.”

  “That’s fine, talk to you soon.”

  They both disconnected the call.

  He watched one of the Rainbeaus, Pierre, get onto the elevator and disappear before rapping on the door in front of him.

  “Come in,” Jagger—Saint’s main man for strategic defense and stratagem answered.

  When he opened the door, he walked past the familiar large framed world maps, a bullet shrapnel art piece, a collage of war tattoos with special significance to the man, and two large plants on either side of his vast, black desk that seemed to play the part of some sort of shrubbery camouflage. Initially, Saint was tickled by the sight, but over the last few months, he’d grown accustomed to Jagger’s unique sense of style of and décor.

  Saint stood there a moment, not sure what to do with his body. He suddenly felt awkward so he paced a bit, glancing occasionally out the window behind Jagger which showcased part of the highway and a large billboard for discount contact lenses.

  “Have a seat.” Jagger closed his laptop. “I was just reviewing that case out of Peoria, Illinois. I’ll fly there eventually to interview the boy.”

  Saint nodded in understanding as he took his seat, his feeling rather stiff.

  “You seem uptight. What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to come to New York with me next week, man.” He felt like a bowl of melted ice-cream—warm, unwanted and unsightly. He couldn’t believe he had to bring Jagger along simply to control his ass. He knew it was necessary, and he’d promised his father, but Saint’s pride started to gnaw at him and make him feel like a damn fool. “My…father is sick.”

  Jagger pierced him with a light blue gaze. Curiosity glimmered within.

  “Why are you blocking, suddenly? What’s going on, man?” Jagger leaned over the desk, clasping his hands together, his perfectly ironed and starched white shirt clean as a whistle.

  “Jagger, this is kind of embarrassing. I didn’t mean to block, I did it subconsciously I suppose but I’m going there to try to heal him and I need…I need…” He couldn’t even get the words to come out of his mouth. They were too emasculating, too insulting to his own ears.

  “…Someone to
intervene in case things get all crazy.”

  He looked at Jagger and felt the heat simmer behind his irises. He wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but he was pretty sure the bastard was smirking.

  Jagger, not right now, please. I will dust this floor with your ass if you say one off- putting comment.

  Saint recoiled in the seat, looking away, forcing his glowing orange eyes to return to their original light honey color.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Aknaten is sick. What seems to be the problem?” Genuine concern marked Jagger’s tone.

  “Ulcers, bad ones.” Saint lowered his head and looked down at his shiny, dark brown shoes. “He now has a hole in his stomach, and it is causing some problems. They want to do surgery. I have bad feelings about that, man. I want a try at him first. I want to take a crack at this, see if I can get it straight.”

  “He actually gave you permission?” Jagger looked at Saint in disbelief.

  Saint shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “That’s the thing. Yes, he gave me permission under the condition that I bring you along. You don’t have to get into it with me, he already told me all the shit that can happen if I’m not careful.” He leaned far to the right and slumped, running a palm over his face as he closed his eyes, disappearing within himself.

  “Saint, I’m here for you. I’ll be there. My job is to help defend the organization strategically, as well as help defend and protect you. You don’t have a bodyguard any more, and you need one now more than ever. I’m that guy when it suits you. And since you do like to go it alone so often, you needed your own skills pumped up. That was the whole reason for the fight training but more importantly, I’m your friend… If you’re hurting and upset, so am I. But, you can count on me.”

  Saint kept his eyes closed and his hand on his face, but smiled at Jagger’s words.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Great meeting yesterday, by the way,” Jagger commented as Saint lowered his arm and watched him organize items on his desk. “I think a special task force in Florida is perfect. There has obviously been a spike in racial crimes there according to their news reports.” Jagger shook his head in disgust.

  “Yup,” Saint said wearily. “They need some serious help. The police aren’t addressing things as they should.”

  “Like the whole Trayvon Martin case. It still boggles my mind people are saying that was justifiable homicide. I don’t understand this world we live in sometimes.” Jagger’s tone shook with anger.

  “I know, but think about all the people that were killed in a similar fashion, and no one said anything? Think about how it didn’t even make the news…just another black kid dead because someone found them suspicious. It’s sickening man, and Xenia brought up a good point when we were discussing this a while back. She said if people reacted this upset when a black person killed another black person, the homicide rate would drop in half in an instant. We as human beings have to be upset about it all! Not just when someone from the outside steps in and does wrong.” Saint rose to his feet. “Well, I have to take care of a few things so I’ll leave now but I’m heading for New York next Sunday. I took a look at the flights before I spoke to my father, and I’m going to book the 1:15 p.m. See if you can get on the same one; if not, come right behind me.”

  “Not on your life. If I can’t get that one, I’ll try to get an earlier flight, meet you there. You may try to get started without me,” Jagger joked, but both men knew the twisted, sneaky thought had crossed Saint’s mind.

  “JFK airport or LaGuardia?”

  “JFK.” Saint yawned. “I’ll send you all the details. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. It could be a couple of days; it could be a couple of weeks. It just depends.”

  Jagger nodded. “That’s how healings are. You never know how much time it will take, and what recovery time you’ll need.”

  Saint nodded and turned toward the door.

  “Hey, Saint!”

  He stopped in his tracks, his hand on the cool, silver knob. “Yeah?”

  “Look.” Jagger exhaled loudly. “I tried to tell Traci…I tried to tell her on my own the other night and chickened out again. I might need your help.”

  Saint turned toward him.

  “And I told you I’d be there. I meant that. Now what do I need to do to help you make this happen?”

  “Nothing, I guess I just needed the reassurance. So, I will do it soon, I promise, and I will call you and ask you, maybe even Xenia like we discussed, to meet me somewhere or come over.”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell her when you know she is comfortable and relaxed. Also, in your case it is really important you apologize to her for not telling her sooner. She will need to hear that, Jagger. You are going to have to open up emotionally. Tell her the reasons you didn’t let her know, and then proceed. If you need some assistance on opening up a bit, I can help you with that. Your aim is to be honest with your girlfriend, and to keep the relationship strong and growing. It’s important you don’t appear boastful or foster resentment because you had to disclose the truth. She will need to see your vulnerability, man, because trust me, there is a strong possibility she will be in shock and pissed at first.”

  Jagger nodded. “I get it. I understand. I’m listening.”

  “Good, we will discuss it more later but you’ve got me. Xenia knows about it too now, and she is on board. You just tell us when, and it’s done.”

  Saint opened the door and walked out of the office toward the elevators. He needed a drink from the juice bar, something with protein and a little kick. He could feel his body becoming more and more sluggish. It was early resistance, and he hated it that feeling of pulling dead weight, his own weight, with each step. Things were not going the way he’d envisioned, but like Jagger, he had to humble himself. The situation manifested and a part of him blamed himself for his father’s condition now. Had his lack of communication with the man at various intervals created more stress? He pressed the down button; it glowed bright orange as the doors closed behind him. He felt the slight stomach tug as the elevator descended to the third floor.

  He’d tried to have a relationship with his father for years, practically begged the man, but shame remained for all the harsh words said over time, the ones his wife warned him about. She didn’t have a father either, not one that had a positive, long-lasting impact on her life. They both suffered from a sense of paternal absenteeism and despite that, they embraced the importance of being good parents to their children, of not repeating history and perpetuating…the sins of the father.

  He walked off the elevator and made his way to the small line of businessmen chatting amongst themselves. Standing at the end of the Rainbeau crowd, he lowered his head as he waited until someone from the front of the line, holding a strawberry banana smoothie with a mint garnish, pointed to him.

  “Dr. Aknaten! Come on up here, you don’t have to wait in the back of the line. This is your company.” The cheery faced blond with rosy cheeks motioned him forward.

  Saint smiled and shook his head. “If I were in a hurry, I may have taken you up on that, but it’s okay. Thanks for offering…and I will pay for all of your drinks for being so courteous.” That prompted a soft applause and a couple of whistles, while. Saint drifted back into his thoughts.

  They treat me like a king, like royalty…like a leader. It makes the ego feel good, especially now that I feel so crushed, so defeated. If I can’t make this right, can’t help my father, I won’t feel like much at all…like a nobody. I know he wasn’t the best father, I know he was actually harmful to me, due to emotional neglect and verbal abuse, but he loves me…and he…needs me. What is a king if he can’t pay back one of the people that brought them into the world? He gave me life…and I now need to save his…

  ~***~

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Henry, it’s no problem, really. I’m just glad you could make it,” he lied. It was a necessary untrut
h, a deliberate case of dishonesty for a cause, and he had to play the role. He’d been trying to avoid the man, and then, like a burst of hot air, the old guy maneuvered toward him and shook his hand. He couldn’t back out. He told Xenia’s father that he wanted to talk to him, and shit, that was what they were going to do.

  “Look Henry, I’m going to be honest. I’m glad you’re here, for Xenia’s sake that is, but I don’t trust you quite yet. That’s going to take some time. Regardless of all of that, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, give you a fair shake.”

  “I appreciate that Saint, and I understand it. I plan to earn my trust with Xenia again, and I believe once you see that, you will understand I’m sincere.”

  “I hope so. Though she may appear aloof, I know deep down Xenia wants you in her life, so please respect that. This might be your last chance and I really do hope it works out.” He gave the man a light hug, then made his way back over to the smoking grill. After a few moments, he was caught up in a rapture of laughter.

  Dakarai raced up to him, out of breath, pulling on his shorts.

  “What’s up, little man?” Saint grinned down at him.

  “How old is Mommy, Daddy?”

  Saint’s brow rose. “Why are you asking me that? You already asked her and she didn’t answer, right?” Saint smirked.

  Dakarai grinned and nodded.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be right for me to tell you if she refused to answer. So, I tell you what, why don’t you tell me why you want to know?”

  “Is Mommy older than you, Daddy?”

  Saint looked at him in confusion. “No, I’m older than Mommy.”