Voluptuary

I’m attracted to asceticism. Self-abnegation in the quest for spiritual perfection appeals to me. Part of me would welcome the monastic life.

There are certain pleasures, however, that can’t be found behind the walls of a monastery.

Pleasures like “Daniella.”

Visiting from out of town, Daniella is a petite (4’9″) blonde in her early twenties who looks younger. In accordance with my request, she met me in her hotel room in a short plaid schoolgirl skirt. She’s busty for her size; her tight white blouse barely contained her breasts. Her innocent countenance added to her appeal. As we innocuously chatted, I took notice of her mesmerizing green eyes.

Then she started unbuttoning her blouse.

“It’s the complicity of sin. It’s man and woman, finally awake, looking at each other for the first time since the apple fell on somebody’s head. It’s time! This is the gravity of sexual hunger.”

William Anselmi

The ascetic impulse dissipates in sexual frenzy. As my thrusting intensified and grew more urgent, smashing into her buttocks, the voluptuary asserted his preeminence. It was not the time for monkish self-denial. As our communion of the flesh reached its consummation, I experienced that “soft silent rapture and ecstatic bliss.”