She glowed. “Lindsay” had just come back from a run. Perspiration glistened off her body. Her sports bra and shorts were soaked in sweat. She undid her ponytail, then gave me a come-hither look. “I know you want to fuck me,” she said with a smile. She lay on top of me. I felt the slickness of her body. She let out a laugh as I grabbed her round ass. In an uncharacteristic act of assertiveness, I flipped her over and pinned her to the bed. Staring into her deep blue eyes, I kissed her deeply, wrapping my tongue around hers. I felt her hand reach into my shorts and slowly start to stroke me. I gently nibbled her ear, then kissed her neck, tasting her sweat. She raised her hands as I lifted her bra off her. I immersed my face in her full breasts. Her nipples were hard. Her left nipple was the most sensitive, so my mouth went there. Then down her chest, her flat but soft stomach, down to her shorts. I yanked off her shorts and panties, putting my mouth on her bare pubic mound. (She had impulsively shaved her hair off the night before.) Then I tasted her, inserting my tongue deep inside her before I flicked it over her clit.
(She didn’t always climax through penetrative sex, so she needed to have attention paid to her in other ways. As Lindsay taught me, dicks may go limp, but fingers and tongues don’t.)
“I’m so close!”
My mouth continued to work on her. She sounded like she was going to cry. Then she screamed.
She lay still for a minute. “How do you want me?” Lindsay sighed.
She got on her hands and knees. She tantalizingly waved her ass, her thick pussy lips inviting me.
“Mount me.”
Then came the incredibly satisfying moment when my cock entered her soaking wet pussy. I grabbed her hips. She grabbed onto the headboard. I fucked her hard.
“I want to be your whore…” she moaned.
Lindsay was a grad student in linguistics. She was doing a project on language and religion and asked the divinity school for assistance. I agreed to help, and, when we first met at the library, was mesmerized by a pretty girl with pale skin and brown hair. The second time we got together, she confessed, “I have the biggest crush on you!” Not accustomed to prompting such reactions from women, I blushed. She found it endearing. We had sex at her place that night. So started a short but intense relationship.
She was smart, athletic and sensitive. She liked music and superhero movies and playing word games after sex. The product of a Jewish father and a Catholic mother, her spirituality was vague and undefined. (She enjoyed “Chrismakkah” gifts, though.) Her girl next door appeal was married to a high sex drive. Raised in a strict military family, she confessed to blowing boyfriends in their pickup trucks when she was a teenager. She said she was attracted to shy guys, which accounts to why she drawn to me.
Sitting side by side in the library, Lindsay’s fingers ran up and down my thighs before caressing the bulge between my legs. She discretely unzipped my pants and slid her hand down to my stiff cock. She bent down beneath the table; suddenly her head was in my crotch. She took me into her mouth. I stifled a moan of pleasure….
I was very attracted to Lindsay and cared about her. She was born, in her words, “with a broken heart” (she had a heart condition), and that lent her, despite her athleticism, a certain fragility. I liked her a lot. But I couldn’t entirely open my heart to her. “I’m going to crack that shell!” she promised early on, but she wasn’t prepared for how hard that would be. She ended up frustrated by my inability to share myself with her. Just before we broke up, she broke down and cried, “I don’t know why you won’t open up to me.” The sexual intensity of our relationship couldn’t overcome my emotional distance.
Lutheran Guilt 