“Kristi” was a classmate I hooked up with. Recently graduated from college, she was a fellow Lutheran who had an interest in art therapy. Her liberal beliefs were quite different than mine. That didn’t matter. Her long red hair and nice baby-making hips meant more to me.
We met up at an off-campus party. We were reading Lossky’s The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church for class, and I asked her for her thoughts on it. (She wasn’t too impressed by it.) Like most of the others, she had too much to drink. At that moment I intuited that she might be one of those elusive “Yes Girls.”
I had heard about these creatures, but part of me assumed they were mythical, like the Easter Bunny. I heard whispered rumors about “Yes Girls” in college. Unlike the self-professedly “virtuous” girls at my school, “Yes Girls” were coeds at the nearby public university who would pretty much say “Yes” to any sexual proposition. (It turned out that this “virtue” was a facade for many of the girls at my college. They were merely more selective in their sluttiness.)
Was Kristi a “Yes Girl”?
There was only one way to find out.
My roommate was gone for the weekend. I invited her to my place.
“Okay.”
We excused ourselves from the party and got into my car. We said nary a word during the drive. When we arrived at my place, we went straight to my bedroom. She peeled off her jeans right away, then fumbled with my belt. My pants soon came off. Kristi went straight to work sucking my cock. It was obvious she had done this before. Then she lay on her back and spread her legs open. I slipped on a condom and dove in. As I slowly thrust, I bent my head down and licked her puffy nipples. I increased my pace. She met my thrusts. My bed started to squeak. The sweet smell of her shampooed hair mixed with the stench of cheap beer. We weren’t making love. You don’t make love to a “Yes Girl.” Sooner than I wanted, my body shuddered in pleasure.
Without much being said, Kristi fetched her clothes and dressed. It was clear she didn’t want to spend the night. I drove her home. We didn’t even kiss each other goodnight.
We didn’t talk about it afterwards.
Lutheran Guilt 