While most of my colleagues watched the Super Bowl last night, I had an edifying dinner with “Julia,” a philosophy student at the university. “I’ve never had a serious discussion with a theologian before,” she said when we first met. She said she was raised without any religious background, although her extended family was Roman Catholic. That, along with her training in academic philosophy, gave her a distance from religious experience. She’s a 34-year old student earning an advanced degree in Continental ethical and political philosophy. The thinkers she most interacts with are Arendt, Derrida, Deleuze, Heidegger, Foucault, Lyotard, Althusser, Nietzsche. A reference to Foucault turned cheeky: “In a patriarchal system, vanilla sex has a power dynamic just as much as BDSM,” she said. “Only the female is submissive. And no whips and chains.” She discussed the contradictions and complexities in being both a Nietzschean and a feminist. She clarified Nietzsche’s writings on the master-slave relationship and his views on Christianity. (“Read The Genealogy of Morals,” she advised.) Our conversation turned to the subject of sex work. Sex workers, she said, learn the forbidden truth that love is contingent. The fictions of heteroromance and lifelong monogamy are exposed in the transactional encounter between provider and client. Then she became more subdued. Despite having no direct experience with religion growing up, she recently has evinced an intense interest in religion. Previously she confessed to having corrupted a candidate for the Anglican priesthood to the point that he was no longer able to receive communion. Now she was haunted by Nietzsche’s “Death of God,” yet could not conceive of a compelling case for religion in postmodern thought. I recommended the late Michael Novak’s book No One Sees God: The Dark Night of Atheists and Believers. Her vulnerability became more pronounced as the evening progressed. Our bodies drew close together on the couch.
She reached over and kissed me.
I reciprocated and kissed her deeply. I confess that during our conversation I had stealthily eyed her luscious DD breasts. Without any resistance from her, I lifted up her black sweater and pulled it over her head. My hand reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. My mouth fastened itself on her hard nipples. As I sucked on her breasts, she suggested we move to her bed. Once we were in her bedroom, she pulled down her black panties. I positioned my head between her thighs and penetrated her with my tongue. My tongue explored her depths before it located her clitoris, applying gentle flicks. She became increasingly wet.
“Fuck!” she shrieked as she came.
She lay back on the bed. I moved my body close to hers. She grabbed my cock and pulled it inside her pussy. As she wrapped her legs around my back, I began slowly thrusting. After a while, she got on her hands and knees. I gave her ass cheek a slight slap, then grabbed her waist as I fucked her. But she wasn’t done. She climbed on top and rode me cowgirl, her hips bucking back and forth, her body flailing. I was close to coming, but I didn’t want to ejaculate in her pussy. As she got back on her back, I jerked off over her chest. Finally I unleashed a stream of white cream over her tits.
Then she giggled. “Lutherans are very intense in bed!”
Lutheran Guilt 