“Harder!”

I first met “Rhonda” in an ethics class. She was a petite lady in her early 40’s with short dirty blonde hair and a distinct Jersey accent. Quiet and smart, she was a psychotherapist. I became acquainted with her when we were assigned as partners on a class project (something about religious humanism). The first time we got together in the seminary library, she was a bit shy. Our conversation was limited to our coursework. When we met again, she invited me to join her for coffee after we wrapped up our work. At the cafe, Rhonda opened up about herself. She was a single mom with a young son. She was a vegan, animal rights activist and UFO enthusiast. She did tarot readings. Her compassion and empathy impressed me. She enrolled in divinity school in order to integrate spirituality into her work as a therapist. Here beliefs were a weird amalgam of liberal Protestantism, Eastern religion and New Age Spirituality.

As I surreptitiously peeked at the tiny bit of cleavage that peeked out of the top of her shirt, I sensed that Rhonda possessed an intense sexual energy. She wasn’t sexy in a conventional sense — she wouldn’t draw many stares on the street with her pageboy hairstyle and long skirts — but I was definitely sexually attracted to her.

As I would later discover, Rhonda was very intuitive. I’m sure she sensed what I was thinking.

“I haven’t had much luck in dating recently,” she confessed. “It’s tough being a single mom.” She confessed to having a series of dysfunctional relationships. She took off her black-rimmed glasses and leaned forward. “My king size bed gets awfully empty.”

I got the sense that Rhonda desperately needed a man inside her.

“You know, my son is with his father this weekend. Care to join me for some wine at my apartment?”

I followed her home, hoping throughout the 45 minute drive that I what I thought would happen would happen.

Once at her place, she poured me a glass of wine. After a few sips, she leaned her body against mine.

“Are you okay with this?” she asked.

I eagerly assured her that I was.

She smiled. “I’m glad,” she said. She reached up, draped her arms around me, leaned up and hungrily thrust her tongue in my mouth and gave me the wettest French kiss, crushing our lips together.

I tugged at her black dress. She lifted her arms up, allowing me to pull it off her. She reached around her back and unhooked her bra. I caressed her lovely breasts, then planted a wet kiss on her mouth.

“Shall we go to my bedroom?” she asked invitingly.

Rhonda led me by the hand to her bedroom. She pulled down her black leggings and her panties. I rapidly undressed. She hopped on her bed and beckoned me to join her. We embraced and passionately kissed. I rolled her over onto her back.

She grinned. “I like missionary. I love watching facial expressions.”

I eased my body down onto hers and kissed her again. After what seemed like an eternity, she guided my manhood inside her. She moaned as my cock slowly penetrated her. She was so wet. She raised her hips to meet mine. I began to suck on her nipples. She was squealing, moaning, grinding her clit against me. She grabbed my ass and pulled me as if to bring me yet deeper inside her. Pressed against her, I felt the grip of her pussy tighten around me. Her lust seemed unquenchable. “Harder!” she cried amidst her wails and moans. I could hold out no longer. A few frenzied thrusts later, I exploded into her depths.

We held each other tenderly afterwards and talked, her lovely fragrance wafting into my nostrils. Our collaboration now went beyond the academic.