Samson And Delight Her
From an idea by Carol Thompson - United Kingdom
When Carol wrote with two ideas one of a flea infestation in the tunnels along with the mention of the story of Samson and Delilah and would Vincent lose his strength if his hair was cut and how would he feel about having to rescue Catherine with no strength, I decided to roll the two ideas into one. See here how the story developed.
Samson & Delight Her
It wasn’t unusual for the tunnel community to take in a new child, in fact children seem to be as much a part of the place as the very rocks themselves.
A tunnel child would go above meet a street child, recognize the need of that child and would befriend them. Then when they had established if that child could be trusted they took the details to the council, and once all the facts were presented, the council would invite the newcomer Below.
So Vincent was used to seeing new children often, and was always amazed at how readily children accepted his differences.
The same was true of the latest addition to their ‘family.’
Joel seemed to fall in love with Vincent instantly. Here was someone he felt at ease with, someone strong, able to shield him from life’s horrors. And from the moment Vincent met Joel, Joel became his shadow.
As usual, Vincent ever warm and compassionate took to the child’s constant presence as he always did with quiet resignation and a great deal of satisfaction to have someone accept him so readily as their friend.
Pascal had joked on more than one occasion that Vincent was indeed a real-life pied piper, except that he did not need to play a tune for children to follow him.
Not much was known about Joel.
He was a street child, couldn’t remember his parents, had been shoved from one relative to another, no one really having time for an extra mouth to feed. Joel had learned young that if he was to survive he would have to fend for himself. Yet he was just seven years old when he was brought to the tunnels.
When it came to story time, Joel was one of the first waiting to be read to. He didn’t mind being alone, though the other children were always friendly. Joel just needed that security, that solid presence of Vincent somewhere near to make him feel ‘all right’ with the world.
Catherine smiled at the child with fond acceptance as some of her precious time with the man of her dreams was shadowed by the child’s presence. In the short few years she had become a visitor to the tunnels herself, she had encountered a great deal of children who saw Vincent as their protector, their guardian angel; there were times when she thought that way about him herself.
One evening, Catherine arrived during the middle of story hour and decided to sit within the chamber to listen. She had heard these tales a hundred times or more, but coming from Vincent’s beautiful voice, each tale took on new meaning, as she could almost picture each situation as it unfolded.
This particular evening, Joel had made a request from the night before that the Bible book of Samson and Delilah was to be read.
Vincent was about halfway through it when Catherine entered and took up a seat in the corner so as not to disturb anyone. She smiled as she took in the scene. Joel sitting upon Vincent’s large lap, getting as close as he possibly could, something she wished with all her heart that she could do.
All the other children had eyes glued on Vincent, intent on hearing the whole of the story. It took Catherine back years hearing it again, and once more she was a child sat on her father’s knee listening to this bible story, except it was Vincent’s sure firm voice that caressed that particular memory now.
“Even before Samson was born, God told his mother that her son would be strong. He would save the lives of the Israelites at the hands of the Philistines. Samson killed a lion with his bare hands and hundreds of bad Philistine men. And when the Philistines saw how strong Samson was they grew afraid, and wanted to know the secret of his strength.
In time Samson met a woman and fell in love with her, her name was De-li’lah, but she betrayed Samson when the Philistines offered her one thousand, one hundred pieces of silver if she found out what made Samson so strong. De-li’lah was tempted by so much money, and she sought to find out what made Samson so strong.
At first Samson tricked her, when De-li’lah asked about his strength he told her, ‘ If men should tie me with seven still-moist sinews that have not dried out I must grow weak and become like an ordinary man.’ Delilah believed him, and while she bound him with the seven still-moist sinews, the Philistines lay in ambush, but when Delilah warned Samson that the Philistines were coming, Samson tore the sinews in two.
Delilah was angry that Samson had lied to her, and she asked him again what would make him become weak as an ordinary man, and Samson told her if he was bound with new ropes that had never been used, then this would render him weak. Yet when Delilah bound Samson and called out that the Philistines were coming, Samson proved that he had tricked her again as he tore the ropes in two from off his arms like they were mere thread. Delilah persisted and asked again what would make him grow weak, and Samson told her if she were to weave the seven braids of his head with warp thread he would become as an ordinary man. Once that was done, Delilah called that the Philistines were coming, and once more Samson showed that he had tricked her.
Finally Delilah used her wiles to trick him, saying that if he loved her truly he would not lie to her. And after she pressured Samson often enough, Samson finally relented and told her the truth…
‘A razor has never come upon my head because I am a Naz’ir-ite of God from my mother’s belly. If I did get shaved, my power also would depart from me, and I should indeed become like all other men.’
Well when Delilah heard this, she had Samson fall asleep on her lap. And while he was sleeping she called a man to come and cut off all his hair, and Samson lost his strength. And when the Philistines came to capture him, they put out his eyes and made him their slave.
Then one day the Philistines had a party to worship their god Dagon, and they brought Samson out of prison to make fun of him. By that time Samson’s hair has grown again, and Samson asked the boy that is leading him to let him touch the pillars that are holding the building up. When Samson touched the pillars he prayed to God for strength, and cried, ‘Let me die with the Philistines.’
There were three thousand Philistines at that party, and when Samson pushed against the pillars the building fell down and killed all the bad people.”
Vincent paused, looking up at all the wide-eyed children around him, who had plenty of questions.
“What happened to Samson?” Joel asked.
“I suppose he died; that building would have been very heavy.”
“I used to wonder why he had died, but when I thought about it, he did ask that he lose his life with the Philistines. After all he was blind, so perhaps he didn’t want to live that way,” put in Catherine at this stage. “And you know, Samson killed more people by his death than he had killed during all the years he was alive, so I guess really he had done the work that God had given him to do. Once I realized that fact, I never worried about it anymore.”
“Do people really get their strength from having long hair?” a young boy named Aaron asked.
Catherine smiled, and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, Aaron.”
“But Vincent’s strong and he’s got long hair.” Catherine stole a glance at her beloved; well, there was no arguing that fact.
“But Samson was a judge and blessed by God,” Geoffrey told everyone. “He got his strength from God. It was a miracle.”
Everyone nodded, and the small party of children broke up, some stifling yawns with their hands; still Catherine waited until Vincent had gathered up his storybooks before she rose to walk to his side.
Lifting her hand, Catherine stroked his long hair, making Vincent jump. Her eyes, when they looked into his were filled with mischief and delight. “Imagine,” she told him, “if your strength really did lie in this beautiful hair.”
Vincent couldn’t answer. His breath felt tight in his lungs. Catherine had stroked his hair, and referred to it as beautiful. He was speechless.
Compared to the silky lushness of her own head of hair, Vincent could not believe that anyone would find his wild and savage locks anywhere near beautiful.
Taking pity on his obvious discomfort, Catherine withdrew her hand, and smiling up at him asked, “Have you finished for the day, Vincent?”
Coming back to Earth, finally, Vincent found his voice. “Yes Catherine. I have to see Father, but after that I am all yours.”
Catherine gasped and a smile lit up her eyes, causing Vincent to stutter, “That is, I mean—” Embarrassed, he couldn’t finish.
“That’s all right, Vincent, I understand.” Her mouth creased at the corners, trying to stifle a giggle. “Shall I meet you at your chamber?”
Vincent felt the need for space, and nodded eagerly not trusting himself to speak, yet for long moments neither could tear their gaze away from the other. Finally Vincent seemed to come back to Earth. “I shouldn’t be long, Catherine. You go on ahead while I tidy up here.”
Sensing his need for privacy, Catherine walked out of the chamber quickly, but once out of sight she let the giggles come, unable to hold them back any longer. “Oh, Vincent, you’re priceless,” she told herself, unaware that a few feet behind her inside the chamber Vincent’s own lips were beginning to twitch.
*** *** ***
Joel was scratching. It felt as though his head was crawling. No amount of raking his fingernails through his mop of hair could eradicate the feeling. He knew what it was, he’d had it before, he was lousy. It didn’t help when Geoffrey discovered his secret and burst into song:
There’s something in my hair
I think that it must be a louse
It really must be there
And to that I must swear
It’s not a mouse.
And all that to the tune of the snowman film that he had seen a time or two when up top at Christmas time in an audio store. Joel glared at Geoffrey, who just burst into laughter. “I think you will have to tell Father,” Geoffrey told him, doubling up with laughter again, “or we’ll all get them.”
“It might be already too late for that; he’s been with so many of us these past few days, that’s probably why we are all itching,” Aaron told them, “and I bet you gave them to Vincent yesterday too, when you sat on his lap during story hour.”
Joel’s eyes went wide with horror. “Oh no! You don’t think so, do you?” Aaron nodded.
“We had best go and see Father,” Geoffrey told them. The trio groaned; they didn’t like the sound of that at all, and Aaron decided to stay behind.
*** *** ***
“Vincent! For crying out loud, will you stop scratching!” Father started to itch himself as he watched his son make a move at the chessboard, and then while he waited for Father to take his turn, he scratched his head mercilessly.
“I can’t help it, Father. I itch all over.”
“Hmm, you’d better let me take a look. It’s probably just those stitches healing from the wound you sustained a few weeks ago while helping Catherine, but it’s best to make sure.”
Father rose, putting down the pawn in his hand as he rounded the table to Vincent’s side. Going straight to the spot, Father frowned. “No, it’s healed well; there are no obvious signs of inflammation or loose blood…” Just at that moment, a sound in the entranceway diverted his attention, and a sudden gasp from someone took his words clean away.
Vincent spoke first. “Joel, Geoffrey, is there something wrong?”
Wide-eyed, the two boys stared at Father going through Vincent’s hair, and shuffled uncomfortably as Geoffrey stuttered, “What’s wrong, Father?”
“What’s wrong? What do you mean, what’s wrong?”
“With Vincent’s head?”
Father frowned. “Nothing, Vincent was just scratching. I was looking to see if I could find out why.” An uncomfortable silence surrounded the two boys, and try as he might, Joel’s fingers stole up to the top of his head and he just couldn’t resist scratching like mad. None of this escaped Father, who suddenly put two and two together.
“Let me see your head, Joel.” He left Vincent’s side and hobbled toward the child, untold horrors forming in his mind. An epidemic in the tunnels of fleas would be disastrous.
“It’s all right, Father...” Joel stammered. “I know what it is. I’ve had it before.”
“Oh, you do, do you? And how long have you known?”
“I didn’t know until today. I think I’ve got lice again.”
“LICE!” Father bellowed. “And how many people have you been around since you started scratching?”
Geoffrey tried not to let Father see his lips twitch as he relayed for Joel who he had encountered since Geoffrey had noticed him scratching; unfortunately by the time Geoffrey stopped relating names, he had encountered most of the tunnel community.
“The worst of it is Vincent… You do realize that, don’t you?” Eyes serious now, Father focused on his son’s long hair with disdain. The fact remained that human lice didn’t usually live on animal hair, and Father was loathe to say this to Vincent, yet the fact that Vincent was so obviously rife with them, made him worry that human lotions would have an adverse effect on Vincent’s scalp. There was possibly only one cure for his son...and that was to cut his locks. That way, the more expensive lotion for use on animals would likely kill off all that was left in shorter hair.
Father tried to imagine his son with short hair, then imagined his son while his hair was re-growing…he’d seen that before; it was not a pretty sight, it would stick up everywhere.
“I’ll have Peter send down some supplies, and everyone will have to wash their hair in the lotion Peter will send, but Vincent….” He hesitated, swallowing, unable to go on.
Vincent stared at his parent, shaking his head. “No, Father. No, please not that. You wouldn’t?”
“I’m sorry, Vincent. It is the only way—your hair is too long.”
Joel stared wide-eyed. “No, you can’t cut it! Father, you can’t. It’s what makes Vincent beautiful.”
That was the second time in one day that Vincent had heard his head of hair referred to as beautiful, and that thought alone brought forth another... Whatever would Catherine say if he had his head shorn?
Father was looking apologetic. “It can’t be helped, Vincent, we have to get rid of them. If we don’t, then they will likely cause your hair to fall out eventually. This way at least it could be growing, in the length of time it would take for them to render your hair to such condition. And if you remember, it does grow quickly.”
“He’s had it cut before?” Joel stared in disbelief.
Father nodded. “Yes, but not since he was a boy.”
Joel was horrified and wished he had said something about the little critters when he had first suspected that they were hatching in his head, but said nothing about that to anyone.
“Well, there’s no time like the present; lice breed remarkably quickly. I’ll put out a message on the pipes, and have everyone wait until the supplies arrive, we had best do everyone’s hair; there is no telling where the little blighters have got to. It’s the babies I feel sorry for. Lice suck on the blood, and any babies that have to have this lotion applied will cry when the lotion touches the open wounds.”
“What should we do, Father? Go back to our chambers?”
Father shook his head. “No, wait here. Hopefully Peter will send this stuff down within the hour, or perhaps Catherine can help us. The sooner we eradicate this problem the better, so stay here.”
Father hobbled over to the pipe to send his message. Vincent said nothing. He was encased in misery. His hair was to be cut off, he felt terrible. “I think I will go to my chamber to rest, Father.”
“Yes, okay, Vincent, but don’t lie down; we don’t want the little critters getting into the bedding. Just rest in your chair all right.”
Vincent nodded, his feet felt like lead, and he couldn’t prevent his hands from reaching up to his scalp and claw relentlessly at the itchy flesh there.
“AND NO SCRATCHING!” Father bellowed after him.
Vincent just grunted, and scratched anyway.
*** *** ***
Catherine was in trouble. Her heart pounded alongside his. He felt her fear, yet his feet were made of lead, and he could not seem to run to her. Clawing his way to the bridge above the subway he leapt onto a passing train, but his descent was in slow motion, and he only just made it. Landing at the back end of the last carriage, Vincent scrambled to its roof, hanging there for dear life, feeling his strength ebb away with every passing mile.
There was something different, some other feeling he was not used to. He felt colder. The rushing wind had forced back his hood, yet his hair did not dance and surge around his face as it once did.
Holding on precariously with one hand, Vincent touched his head with the other, and recoiled in horror as the sickening realization dawned. Of course! His hair! Father had shaved it. That was why he felt so weak, that was why he had no strength.
The train came into a station, and Vincent fell from its roof. Winded he remained upon the tracks, until the sound of another train approaching made him crawl away to safety.
Catherine’s fear was now like steel bands around his heart, and Vincent knew he would never reach her in time. Tears squeezed beneath his lashes. He’d failed her. And as her heart slowed and died, Vincent knew grief as he had never known it before. Catherine was gone, his strength had lain in his beautiful long hair, and losing that had lost him the only woman he had ever, would ever love. Vincent couldn’t bear it.
The thundering train came closer and closer, and Vincent crawled back to lie upon the tracks... He couldn’t live without Catherine...he couldn’t live...he couldn’t live...
*** *** ***
Joel bounded into the chamber. “Vincent—“ He stopped dead to find his hero laid with head on arms fast asleep across the table. At least he had been fast asleep, the cry of his name had alerted Vincent, and he now woke groggily from sleep.
Searching around him, Vincent looked wild-eyed and Joel hesitated in the entranceway unsure as to whether he should proceed any closer. He’s heard things about Vincent, things he had never seen, and he grew afraid. One of the golden rules already broken—never wake Vincent from sleep.
Joel was rooted to the spot, even though the last thing he wanted to see was his friend turning into some kind of ferocious animal.
But suddenly Vincent seemed to relax, touching his head with reverence, and smiled. Joel even saw the huge sign expel from his friend, and those blue eyes twinkle in his favor.
“Joel, please come in,” Vincent spoke, his words edged with a slight tremor as he recovered from the nightmare he’d had that had seemed so real. The train had just reached his side, and he had been awaiting the pain, when suddenly he had been brought away from all that whirling up and away from danger and death, back into glorious reality…
Touching his hair once again, and ever conscious of the fact that dreams and especially nightmares were sent to warn us, Vincent shook his head. “Tell Father I’m not coming.”
Joel stared wide-eyed. An adult defying another adult? He couldn’t believe it, and this he must see.
“Father said I was to tell you he’s ready for you. Aren’t you going to go?”
Vincent shook his head. “No, there must be another way—I refuse to have my hair cut.”
Joel stayed a few seconds more pondering, then turned and went to tell Father.
*** *** ***
He knew why he had dreamt it, of course. The story of Samson coming along with the lice problem, and he knew that Samson’s strength was due to a miracle from God. But what if, having his own hair cut set up a mental reaction, what if he did lose his strength if his hair was cut, what if he was unable to save Catherine… What if…
Vincent shuddered, it didn’t bear thinking about…he wouldn’t have his hair cut and that was final. Lice or no lice, he wouldn’t have it cut, there had to be another way…but what, what?
*** *** ***
Peter’s call had worried Catherine, but she had readily complied. The tunnel dwellers needed help, and she had the money to pay for supplies that might take Peter longer to provide, and during an extended weekend also, it might be Tuesday before he could come up with enough lotion to kill the lice.
Getting into her car, Catherine drove from drugstore to drugstore buying up the needed supplies, until she was sure she had more than enough, and then carted the packages below, where she was met to help her with them.
She had been sure that Vincent would meet her, and when Geoffrey and Joel and a few other tunnel children had arrived, she had been disappointed, until they told her why Vincent was staying in his chamber.
“He’s afraid that father will jump him with scissors in hands.” Geoffrey giggled as he explained how costly it would be to cover Vincent’s tresses with the special lotion he’d need. Catherine was concerned. She could well understand how Vincent would feel to lose his hair, though she knew nothing of his dream.
“You take this lot, I’ll be back later. Tell Father not to touch Vincent’s hair. I have another idea.”
The boys nodded, and Catherine climbed back through the opening in the basement and went back to her car.
*** *** ***
It had been a long time since Catherine had been to the zoo, but she had been given free admittance from a colleague that owed her one, whose niece worked at the zoo, and now was the ideal time to take it. Yet she did not spare time for looking at all the animals; instead, she made her way straight to the lion’s den.
There she encountered, as she’d hoped, the lion keeper, and wasted no time in asking her questions.
“Do these lions ever suffer from lice?” She tried not to sound too bothered.
The keeper looked at her searchingly—what was she saying? That these lions were not cared for?
“Just out of interest, that’s all,” Catherine added.
The keeper nodded. “These have never suffered, but some do.”
“They would be the ones that look as if their hide is a weather-beaten carpet?” Catherine smiled.
The keeper responded to her humor. “Yes. Though there is no reason for them to get to that condition.”
“Oh?” Catherine questioned, sounding interested.
“No. Oh, I know the treatment is expensive, but human lotions work just as well.”
“Human lotions? But I thought that could cause the hair to fall out.”
“It can in some cases, extreme cases, but it’s going to fall out anyway if you leave it, at least this way it stops the animal from itching, and ripping itself to shreds scratching. If human lotion is applied and then the hair is washed vigorously in milk, often that eradicates the problem.”
“Yes.” He smiled, recalling an incident. “It can be harder than it sounds. *Goat’s milk is best, and you try to stop the lion from lapping it up as you work, it’s nigh impossible.” Catherine grinned.
“Of course, you need to make sure you get all the milk out afterwards, or they soon start to stink, but in my opinion, it protects the hide in the long run.”
“I heard that you can use vinegar to get rid of lice,” Catherine asked now.
“Yes, you can. But in the main, vinegar is prevention rather than a cure. Funnily enough, it’s clean hair that lice go for, and vinegar smells the pits. I think personally that’s what puts the little critters off,” he laughed. “No need for all that, really, though vinegar is good for mosquito prevention, if ever you go somewhere hot. Remember that—coat yourself in vinegar and it acts as a repellent. I wouldn’t do it if you want to grab yourself a man, though,” he laughed again, “not unless he’s the salt of the earth, at which rate you’d go together.” He laughed again. “No, if ever you happen to be caring for a lion, young lady, and it gets lice, just use the inexpensive human lotion, and plenty of goat’s milk, and remember to rinse well if you don’t want a smelly old lion about the place.”
Catherine stayed long enough to be polite after that, asking a few general questions about the lions at the zoo, and then saying goodbye she hurried out of the zoo, and back to her car. “Next stop, deli,” she told herself, “then Vincent Wells, here I come.”
*** *** ***
(Footnote: * There is no truth as far as I know that washing in goats milk or any other kind of milk will prevent hair loss or fur loss after using lotions to remove headlice).
There was only one problem that she could see. Several of gallons of milk would not only be heavy to carry Below (though if Mouse could carry a grand piano even piecemeal...), but in the bathing pools it would soon be diluted by incoming water. Catherine decided therefore that she would have to get Vincent to come up to her apartment and treat him there. He could then lie in her bath full of milk for at least half an hour, to complete the treatment.
So as she waited for Vincent to arrive on her balcony, Catherine set about reading the applicator instructions for the removal of head-lice, until she heard his gentle tap at her balcony door. She let him in, and Vincent looking around nervously came slowly into the apartment.
Catherine smiled at him. “It’s all right—it’s only me here, I can manage this stuff by myself.”
“And you haven’t any scissors?” His eyes told of his fear.
“I promise, no scissors. But there is something that you have to do that you might not like,” Catherine grinned.
“I’m not sure I want to ask,” Vincent replied, looking uncomfortable.
“You have to bathe in milk afterwards. I’ve filled the bath already so it won’t be so cold to step into later.”
Vincent grinned. “You’ve been reading too many Bible stories. The days for bathing in milk have long gone. There are other ways of becoming beautiful these days, not that any of them would work on me.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Catherine replied seriously. “More like, that you don't need to try.”
They stared at one another defying the other to contradict for some moments, until Vincent shrugged his shoulders and thought it best to say nothing at all.
“Shall I sit here?” He indicated removing his cloak.
“Yes, but before you do, Vincent, you will have to remove more than your outer wear.”
Vincent stared with disbelief; this was becoming worse that the thought of having his hair cut off. Remove his clothing! Bathe in milk in Catherine’s bathroom! He wanted to run and hide!
Ignoring his feelings, but ever aware of them, Catherine busied herself with the preparation of the lotion and picking up some old towels to drape around his shoulders.
“Surely that won’t be necessary, Catherine?” Vincent asked, as he rested his hands on the edges of his shirt unable to pull it over his head.
“That depends.” She refused to look up.
“Depends? On what?”
“On how far your hairline goes back, Vincent.” Looking up at him, Catherine tried not to let her mouth twitch. This was serious. Vincent had never been bared to the chest before her since she had known him. This would be a first and took absolute skill and trust to maintain. “Peter seems to think that the growth of your hair would indicate that...”
Vincent stopped her there as with a sigh he lifted the shirt up and over his head, revealing more clothing beneath, but with shaking hands, he removed these too. Then trying to keep his voice level and his eyes averted, Vincent replied, “Peter is right, my hairline continues into a V down my back.” He turned showing her what he meant and any verbal response Catherine might have made was caught and held in her throat.
He was magnificent!
She had always wondered, of course, but to see him there, beneath the light of the lamps Catherine could hardly breathe. Broad shoulders, well defined muscles tapering to a slim waist, golden fleece covering his skin. Catherine wanted to hold him close and absorb the beauty of him into hersel, and it was all she could do to stay on the spot, and not comment on anything at all, or make her hands behave themselves. She so longed to touch him.
Finding her voice, she bade him, “Come sit here, Vincent. Here, put these towels around your shoulders.” She helped him arrange them in place as he sat and was careful that the towels at least shrouded the glory of him from her hungry eyes, at least for the moment.
“I’m going to work this in through your hair, Vincent. It might take quite a long time—are you warm enough?”
Vincent nodded, his voice had gone now. He wondered what she had thought to his semi-nakedness. She had said nothing, and her eyes had indicated nothing, yet there was a calm acceptance of him flowing through the Bond, and Vincent would have liked to have explored that further. However he sat still, and waited for her ministrations to begin.
It felt glorious. Her hands lifting his hair, massaging the pungent lotion through his scalp and tresses. Though he had to hold a towel over his nose to prevent inhalation of the lotion that caught his breath, Vincent enjoyed every moment of the hour and a half it took to apply every last drop from the bottle.
“What about you?” At some stage Vincent thought to ask.
“Yes, won’t you catch the lice too?”
“I thought of that. I treated my hair earlier. Nothing came away in the rinse, and I will put some vinegar on to prevent any from residing on my head over the next few days, if any linger anywhere, that is.”
“What about bedding? Father seems to think they will get into the blankets.”
“No, they can’t live without blood. They need to feast constantly. Blankets would afford them nothing and they would die. Same too on animals, human lice can’t live on animals...” She said the last word slowly, and as the fact became apparent Vincent caught up on it immediately.
“But I have them,” he told her, turning to look at her, his big blue eyes full of questions.
Catherine used it as an opportunity not to be missed. “Yes, so?” She replied innocently.
“But I’m an anim...” Vincent was unable to continue.
Catherine was shaking her head. “Obviously not, Vincent, or you wouldn’t have human lice, and believe me when I tell you, you have most certainly got human lice...” She laughed. “Hundreds of them in fact.”
“That bad, huh?” The sigh of relief Vincent expelled was noticeable, and Catherine smiled. They had just come a long way in eradicating one of Vincent’s greatest beliefs, that he was more animal than human. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was wholly a man.
At the end of the lotion, Catherine took pleasure in her ministrations; the hairline did in fact run into a V halfway down Vincent’s back, and she took delight in making the most of massaging there. Only the fact of leaving the lotion on longer than was necessary made her pull her hands reluctantly away, knowing that it could be a very long time before they would be allowed such pleasure again. Perhaps she could keep a few live lice on standby for another occasion, she smiled to herself - that a woman in love could be so devious.
“Well, now for the rinse.”
“In the milk?” Vincent asked.
“No, first in the shower. You can do that yourself, can’t you?” Giving him the option, Catherine waited. For long moments, it seemed Vincent was undecided, then he told her softly, “Yes.”
“Once you’ve showered thoroughly, just step into the bath of milk and call to me so I can time you; you need to be in there about half an hour.”
Vincent nodded, and pulling the towels up over his shoulders once more, he rose from the chair, and without looking back he went to shower though he felt her eyes on him as he walked away.
Catherine smiled. He was such a darling and how she ached to run her fingers over his bare skin once more.
Timing him and calling when half an hour was through, Vincent finally emerged from the bathroom in a robe Catherine had left out for him, damp and grinning. “I feel like a wrinkled prune,” he told her coming to sit opposite on one of her dinky sofas.
Catherine laughed and found it impossible to avert her eyes from the wonder of what she now knew to be beneath the robe.
Vincent felt her acceptance through the Bond, and marvelled. “Catherine what you saw...” He hesitated, changing direction. “When you applied the lotion...what you saw...of me...” He faltered, unable to continue for many moments. “Did it, did I...repulse you?” He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
“Repulse me?” Catherine whispered, the sorrow in her tone evident, that he could ever believe anyone would be repulsed by him, then in a tone deepened with emotion, she told him fervently, “Never, Vincent.”
He looked up then meeting her eyes, seeing the sincerity within them, and the love she poured through the Bond and a slight hesitant smile formed on his lips, causing Catherine to retort, “Quite the opposite, in fact.” Her shy smile humored him and it was her turn to avert her eyes.
“Vincent?” Catherine whispered, “what I saw delighted me.” Turning back to look into his eyes, she added, “and what I touched, I long to touch again. And soon.” Vincent snatched a lungfull of air, disbelief warring with logic and acceptance.
“Vincent, don’t you know how much I love you?” Catherine left her sofa to come and sit alongside him on his end; her hands rising to cup each side of his face. “I love you, Vincent Wells and I took absolute delight in everything that I was permitted to see.”
Closing his eyes, Vincent fought the need to run and hide; yet he needed this. The words, the acceptance the...the touch, especially the touch...Catherine’s hands upon him, now gliding from his cheeks to his throat and down to his collar bone, sliding beneath the material of the robe, to mingle with the fine curls of tawny hair she knew to be there.
Vincent stilled, allowing her hands to continue, holding his breath, glorifying in the feeling her hands evoked in him. Leaning back, he closed his eyes tightly, then couldn’t resist opening them again to watch her hands open the robe and glide over his chest, down to the flat of his stomach, and only a short sharp gasp from him had them stilling in further descent.
Eyes of love, adoration and longing met his, as her hands rested there, neither moving this way or that, just rested as if waiting for permission to go on. But Vincent couldn’t give it, even though beneath the robe he was completely naked and the feelings her hand had stirred were firing his blood. He could not believe this. Could not believe it to see her hands upon him, or her eyes begging for his love, and neither could he believe that the two of them could be what Catherine so obviously begged for them to be. Lovers. The word rocketed through his mind followed by deep agonizing breaths. His chest heaved, his limbs lost their strength, all but one. That hardened to steel, painful longing seizing him, watching her fingers trace the area just mere inches away from that part of him that seemed now to guide every thought he had. But he needed to think. Emotions were getting out of hand, and he needed time to contemplate the way ahead. They must have no regrets ever, and Catherine had to know for a certainty what she was agreeing to. What’s more, they had to talk about this, but he couldn’t - just couldn’t talk about it right now.
As if sensing this, Catherine reluctantly drew her hands away, folding the robe back over his chest, and sliding them up and up until they once again cupped his cheeks. “With love, Vincent, everything is possible,” she whispered, with love-filled eyes.
Vincent trembled, but said nothing. He closed his eyes. Thinking back over the events that had led them to this sequence in time.
Catherine watched him with joy singing through her veins. He had let her go so far, surely he would allow this between them now? With hope in her heart, she watched the varied expressions crossing his face, and then when he eventually opened his eyes, Catherine gasped. They were filled with the shining light of acceptance. But he took her hands in his, kissing each finger tip in turn before telling her, “What you have given me this night, Catherine, is a gift, and what you offer is a gift more perfect that any I have ever received. And if you are certain that this would be the way forward for us, then I am willing to let our love be expressed in this way.”
Delight surged through Catherine and her smile lit up her eyes. “Oh, Vincent, that would be wonderful.”
“You’re sure?” He seemed surprised, still.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life… Vincent, will you stay with me tonight?”
He wasn’t totally certain it was the way ahead, but her acceptance silenced those lingering fears. He nodded, as he rose from the couch pulling her up with him. “Yes, my Catherine.”
In many respects, he had the story of Samson to thank for all of this, the story of Samson and Delilah. Vincent grinned as he watched the happy smile light up Catherine’s face. Samson and Delilah? Then Vincent told Catherine about the dream he had had.
The dream concerned her and Catherine understood why Vincent was so dead set against having his hair cut, not that she would have ever allowed it, even if it had been the last resort... Truly his hair was beautiful, and so was the rest of him... A warm ripple of desire ran Catherine’s length and she moulded herself against him, burying herself into the warm folds of his robe, anticipating the moment when their flesh would meet. “Oh Vincent, I love you so much,” she whispered, as he gathered her into his arms and walked towards her bedroom.
Catherine grinned, unable to resist. “Samson and Delilah?”
Vincent nodded, expecting some kind of mischief if the Bond was anything to go by.
He was right. “More like Samson and Delight-Her Vincent!” Catherine burst into laughter, and showered Vincent’s face with kisses as he shouldered open the bedroom door to take her inside. “Mmm, and I bet I know of another way of removing your strength without cutting your hair my love.” Catherine told him mischievously as the door closed behind them.
And Vincent was only able to reply in his heart because at that moment Catherine’s lips finally met his in a passionate kiss that took all words completely from his mind.
The stories found within this website have been written by and for lovers of the American television series Beauty and the Beast and no infringement upon the rights held by Ron Koslow, CBS, Republic Entertainment, Witt-Thomas Productions or any other Copyright holder to Beauty and the Beast is intended.
Furthermore all the stories found on this website belong to Wendy Tunnard de-Veryard, are protected by copyright and none should be copied, added to or subtracted from or altered in any way, without the prior authorisation of the author.