As I picked up the rosebud, I pricked my finger on a thorn and a drop of blood fell into the center of the rose in full bloom. An empty bleakness filled my soul, and one tear followed the drop of blood into the heart of the rose. Carefully picking up the second flower, I placed the two into the pitcher of water I had brought for Samson. Setting the pitcher on the floor by the bed, I climbed onto the sleeping couch and pulled up the discarded cover, burying my face in its folds and breathing in the fragrance of the departed man.

I knew the roses were a message for me. Samson and I had spent time walking in the wooded area and fields behind my home. He had told me that the rosebud reminded him of the delicate Delilah. The flower was as yet unformed but had great promise. Thorns guarded the delicate bud just as I guarded the fragile Delilah, hiding her in the recesses of my heart.

The open bloom, however, represented the flirtatious Delilah. It flaunted beauty and intoxicating fragrance, drawing one to breathe in its heady perfume and tempting one to forget the thorns below. The thorns on this bloom were more offensive than defensive, gouging anyone taken in by its loveliness.

Samson had left my house while I slept, but he had left me a missive in the form of two flowers. Our relationship was haunted by a dichotomous personality. He knew the budding Delilah and the voluptuous temptress. The petals of the rose in full bloom scattered carelessly represented his attempts to peel away years of carefully built up defenses to find the cowering child inside. He was telling me he was leaving me to continue the quest to find myself, to decide whether I wanted to free the child within and remake the hardened woman in a new image.

I recognized the dare, but I was too afraid to accept the challenge. For me the drop of blood falling into the open bloom was an omen. The delicate Delilah would not survive; she would be swallowed up by the schemer.

As I breathed in the masculine smell of Samson, I vowed I would complete his seduction and gain security for my future. I knew my beauty and sex appeal would fade just as the petals of the rose would fade. I determined to bury the wishes of the childish Delilah. Hardening my heart I plotted the downfall of the mighty Israelite warrior. I would use my feminine wiles to ensnare him and deliver him into the hands of the Philistine Lords. I would quit playing this dangerous game that had almost lulled me into complacency and convinced me to risk my future for love. I knew Samson would return. If he had not planned to do so, he would not have left the roses as a goad to further self-exploration. What he hoped would lead to love frightened me into cementing my course. I could vacillate no longer.

I told my contact that Samson had gone but would return. I cautioned him to keep men away from my door as he had in the past few weeks. I feared Samson might be using this as a test to see if I would immediately return to my wanton ways. I assured the merchant that the seduction of Samson was nearing completion. When he returned, I was sure he would be glad to reveal the source of his strength as proof of his love for me. 

I had marked 12 days on a stick when Samson returned. Once again he came after dark and knocked on my front gate. My joyous greeting upon seeing him was not feigned. As soon as the gate was closed, I pulled him into my arms and raised my lips for a kiss. As the intoxicating warmth flooded my being, I shrugged out of my robe, pressing my thinly clad form against his hard body. Leaving his pack in the courtyard, I led him to my personal chamber. I removed his sandals and washed his feet just as I had on the night of our first encounter. This time neither of us tried to deny the desire we felt. That night our bodies merged and became one.

Our physical union was supposed to represent our shared love and respect for one another. Our unvoiced promise was that we would not mate simply to satisfy lust. Our understanding had been that we would consummate our relationship only when we were prepared to love one another. I knew Samson believed I would take him to my bed only if I had learned to love him. But Samson's abrupt departure had scared me. I was afraid he would one day abandon me and leave me once again at the mercies of the men of the valley. So, I was prepared to counterfeit love in order to get Samson to reveal his inner most secret.

I was awakened by the feel of coarse fingers lightly caressing my cheek, traveling down my exposed neck, continuing down my bare arm and entwining themselves with my tiny fingers. As I lay half-awake, Samson's muscular arm tightened around me, pulling my petite form up against his massive, hairy chest. When I stirred in his protective grasp, his hold tightened as he said, "Ah, my little rosebud. Your love certainly bloomed in my absence. I didn't expect such an impassioned welcome upon my return."

Letting go of my hand, he allowed me to turn in his embrace while he reached out his hand and gently touched the dried roses I had attached to the headboard of my bed. The slight disturbance released a burst of fragrance from the dehydrated blooms as Samson leaned downed and kissed me deeply. Then looking into my eyes, he asked, "Did you learn the lesson of the rose, little one?" 

Smiling languidly at the behemoth in my bed, while running my fingers over his chest and up his neck to tickle his ear, I countered, "What do you think, my love? Did I learn the lesson of the rose?"

Searching my eyes, Samson said, "Your body tells me you have, but your eyes make me wonder. They seem veiled today, Delilah, masking your soul. You look like a rose, but there is something missing. I'm just not sure what."

Pushing down the fear that surfaced at his words, I forced my voice to sound both coquettish and peeved. Pushing at Samson's shoulder, I forced him onto his back and sat on his chest, looking through a mass of hair into his questioning eyes. Placing a hand on each side of his head, I leaned down so that my locks made a tent around our faces and then I quietly breathed out the words, "You have peeled away the petals of my resistance, O mighty one. You have penetrated my thorny defenses. If my eyes still seem to hide what is in my heart, it is from habit, Samson. It took years of abuse to teach me to hide my true feelings. It may take years to erase those scars. Believe the message of my body. Let me speak to you in the language I know best. Some day you will look into my eyes and find the curtain that guards my soul has been torn asunder. On that day, you will know it was your love that restored my ability to trust and allowed me to leave myself unguarded. In the meantime, think of me like those dried roses that remind me daily of your message. While I may not look like a rose, I still smell like one, Samson. Drink in the fragrance of love."

With honeyed tones and beguiling speech, I ensnared Samson. He wanted so to believe that he had taught me to love. The blinders would stay on even as I begged, cajoled and nagged in an effort to discover the source of his strength.

That morning of Samson's return, we did not bother to clothe ourselves. We ate fruit and drank milk in the inner courtyard and then made love under the olive tree. The oppressive heat of the day was masked by the fire of our desire. I created a seductive dance for Samson, my naked body glistening with moisture. He told me my ebony body shone like a lovingly oiled precious carving. We appeared intoxicated, our senses heightened without need for fermented drink. In the afternoon as we lay exhausted in the bit of shade afforded by trees in my courtyard, I rubbed my hands through the mass of hair on Samson's chest and asked, "So, my gentle giant, have I sapped your great strength so easily with mere lovemaking?"

With a laugh, Samson raised the arm that had lain carelessly across my waist and flexed his muscle, saying, "Nay, entrancing beauty. I may have been weakened by desire, but even in this state, I could best a dozen warriors."

Reaching out my hand to feel of his masculine strength, I purred, "I'm sure you could, at that. So with what could I bind you so that you could be afflicted, if not with the bonds of love?"

Tilting my chin and looking deep into my eyes, Samson asked, "Are not the bonds of love enough, sweetness? What would it profit for you to know how to physically constrain me when you have enslaved me with the chains of love?"

Pulling Samson's head down, I pressed my lips to his and then slowly opened his lips with my tongue, filling him with my passion. Finally releasing his lips, I said, "You have always held something of yourself back from other women, Samson. You peeled the petals away to reveal the bud inside of me. I have laid my soul bare to you. Can you not do the same? Tell me the source of your strength. Then I will know without a doubt that you are not like other men, that you can truly love a woman enough to make yourself vulnerable, just as I am vulnerable. Your brute strength gives you power over me that you choose not to use. Knowing how to bind you would give me the same kind of power over you, a power I would voluntarily choose to guard in my heart, just as I have guarded the child Delilah all of these years."

As I looked at Samson, his smile gradually spread from one side of his face to the other, eventually reaching his eyes. Yet as I looked into the bottomless orbs, I did not see the banked coals in his eyes ignite into a blazing flame. Even as he formed the words to answer my question, I suspected that Samson was withholding something from me. If he were truly under my spell, the smile would have lightened his eyes like the midday sun. Instead a small flame flickered as though a small oil lamp were burning, shielded by a protective hand from a full blast of air.

With a sigh, Samson said, "I see that you have not fully learned the lessons of love, my delicate flower. Very well, I will share my secret with you. The number seven is sacred to my people. The number represents Yahweh and perfection. Therefore, if you bind me with seven fresh bowstrings, not yet dried, then I shall become weak, and be like other men."

"So, seven is the magical number?" I breathed. "Then perhaps we should make love seven more times before the sun sets to make certain our union is perfected now that you have told me your secret."

For the rest of that day and the next, I bided my time. I catered to Samson's every whim, dancing, making love, walking in the fields and talking of the past, and then making false promises concerning the future. Thus I lulled Samson into a false sense of security, leading him to believe his secret was safe with me. On the third day, I told Samson that while I was enjoying our solitude, I had not been prepared for his return and furnished the pantry. I would need to go to the market and the well to restock the larder. He readily agreed, saying he too had pressing business.

I watched Samson stride off toward the city gates before I set off for the market place. Once there, I told the merchant that I would need seven fresh bowstrings with which to bind Samson. I told him to wait for some time after I tied the yellow cloth to the door to enter and listen from the small, dark, wine room. I did my shopping and returned to the merchant who had the bowstrings waiting. After going to the well and filling my jar, I continued home. When I arrived, Samson was still gone.

I hid the bowstrings in what I dubbed my lust chamber, which had a door leading directly into the winery. The winery was positioned between the bedroom my parents had once used, which was now my bedchamber, and the room my father had used to serve guests when he chose to have feasts. That room later became the place where he invited his friends for orgies and forced me to perform sexual favors for pay. After my father's death, I redecorated the room. The lust chamber was now a room filled with gaudy opulence. Its center was dominated by a large square platform covered with a soft down mattress and silk linens. Incense burned there when I was plying my trade, while light from dozens of candles sitting on shallow ledges on three walls filled the room with a muted glow. A large mirror made from polished metal that was given me by a traveling merchant hung on the wall facing the bed, allowing my lovers to be voyeurs to their own pleasure, if they so desired. This was an expensive and unusual adornment for the home of a village courtesan. Only royalty or the mistresses of nobility usually had mirrors, and one of a large size was extremely rare.

I had never taken Samson into that room because to do so would have tainted our relationship and put it on par with other liaisons I had with paying customers. Tonight I would entertain Samson there. I knew that I could not betray him in the room where we had consummated our love. That room belonged to the delicate Delilah. She retreated there when sickened by the acts of the flirtatious temptress. The timid Delilah would have to be banished so I could bind Samson and deliver him into the hands of the Philistine Lords.

After Samson returned and we had eaten, I took him into the lust chamber. I told him I wanted to banish the ghosts from my past that haunted me. Taking him into that room, I informed him, would replace repulsive scenes with new memories, allowing me to be freed from the bondage of my past.

We lay together on the soft bed and talked for a time before we gave in to our physical desire. Eventually Samson fell asleep with his arms around me. Gently disentangling myself from his grasp, I quietly tiptoed into the wine room and hung the sash on the door. Then I took the seven fresh bowstrings and tied Samson securely. Although I had not heard a sound when the men entered the adjacent room, I assumed they were there. Sliding back under the silk cover, I lay next to Samson for a moment and then sat up abruptly, exclaiming, "The Philistines are upon you, Samson!"

Immediately Samson jumped up alertly, snapping the tied strings as though he were bound by sewing thread. Even as he said, "Where, Delilah, where are they?" reality dawned in his eyes as he looked at the useless bindings hanging from his arms and legs.

Seeing the disbelief and hurt of betrayal in his eyes, I said quickly, "I was only bluffing, Samson. You need not fear. Do not imagine that I betrayed you by tying you in the manner you described. I needed to know if you really had bared your heart to me, Samson. I needed the assurance that you loved me enough to truly make yourself vulnerable, just as I am vulnerable." Beginning to weep quietly, I concluded, "I guess that we have not come so far as I thought. You mock me with your lies."