“You’re so young!” she exclaimed in her high pitched voice. She had greeted me at the door in a white babydoll and matching white stockings. Inside her cozy apartment, we shared a bottle of wine before we retired to her bedroom. I nervously undressed and reclined on the bed. She noticed my nervousness and promptly asked, “Are you religious?”
I told her I was.
She got on the bed and straddled me. “I was raised Catholic,” she said as she put the condom on me.
“Are you married?” she asked. I replied that I wasn’t.
“I’m not married,” she said to alleviate my guilt.
She lowered her body on top of mine.
“Ooooooh…” she moaned.
“Leigh” was the first escort I developed an ongoing relationship with. “Angel in the Attic,” according to her ad. She was a cute brunette in her 40’s who was an art student. She had a very attractive daughter in college. (I saw her photograph.) Inspired by the movie Dangerous Beauty, she had become a “courtesan.” I must have seen her a dozen times. Now that I think about it, she was my de facto sex education instructor, initiating me into the mysteries of sex. She was sweet, if a bit flaky. And it was apparent that she loved sex.
“You’re too conservative!” she complained. Previous encounters had been mostly limited to the missionary position. She stood at the edge of the bed and beckoned me to stand behind her. The she grabbed my cock and slipped it inside her. At this point instinct took over.
“This feels good,” she sighed.
“You’re opening up to me!” she exclaimed. After a few encounters, my reserve was slowly melting away. We had developed a relationship, albeit one of a peculiar sort.
She lay down on the bed and literally opened herself up to me. As I rocked on top of her, I heard her cry out.
“Go for it! Go for it! Go for it!”
Lutheran Guilt 