“Let’s make a baby”

A quiet night at “Ingrid’s” townhouse. She works as an editor at a Christian book publisher. A mutual acquaintance had introduced us, and we had gone out on a few dates. Our personalities didn’t exactly mesh, but her fulsome bosom and plump ass kept me intrigued.

Over the course of this evening, she had consumed nearly an entire bottle of Pinot noir, so she was tipsy. And horny. Her gray sweater had been discarded onto the floor. My hand was inside her thin blouse. The alcohol on her breath had not inhibited my tongue from exploring her mouth. A moan came out of her mouth. And words that were entirely unexpected:

“Let’s make a baby.”

I had consumed a couple of glasses myself, so I thought I may have misheard her. But as I grabbed her breast, the words I heard again were unmistakable:

“Let’s make a baby.”

Our previous sexual encounters had culminated in oral sex. Like many evangelical girls of her generation, anything short of intercourse somehow didn’t count as real “sex.” (Hence the expression “technical virgin.”) When I discovered her neatly trimmed bush and the rhythms of her hips as I proceeded to go down on her, I surmised she wasn’t unacquainted with cunnilingus. (Her blowjob skills revealed that she also wasn’t unacquainted with the male anatomy.) She also wasn’t averse to me ejaculating on her tits. But we had refrained from penetration.

We stumbled into her bedroom and stripped naked. I admit that the possibility of impregnating her heightened my arousal. Imagine the scandal: “good” Christian girl knocked up by a minister and scholar in the church, her bulging belly revealing the consummation of our fornication.

Ingrid frequently referred to her nieces and nephews, so children were on her mind. Perhaps she was at the peak of ovulation. Horny. Aching. Wet. In that moment of inebriation and passion, her instinct was loosed.

Can't help myself, hormonеs are high
Give me more than just some butterflies

In vino veritas, as Pliny the Elder wrote.

I'm so fuckin' horny

She lay on her back and spread her legs, as a woman was designed to do. I moved on top of her and prepared to penetrate her. I pushed the head of my bare cock inside her.

Since they are supposed to abstain from “sex,” good evangelical girls (as I discovered with the Deaconess) also aren’t on birth control. Even though these “good” girls end up having sex.

Gregory of Nyssa wrote that, had it not been for the Fall, human reproduction would somehow have been by means other than sexual intercourse, not “that animal and irrational method by which they now succeed one another.” “It was the woman who, yielding to deception, fell into sin” (1 Tim 2:14).

Men are animals, and none of their functions is more deeply rooted in their animal nature than is that of sexual reproduction.

Roger Scruton, Sexual Desire

I felt her legs wrap around my waist. Our sex was primal. We were animals fulfilling our biological destinies. Her feral sexuality expressed itself.

Mark your territory

“Come deep inside me!“

One of me is cute, but two though?
Give it to me, baby

Perhaps she subconsciously heeded the admonition of the Apostle: “But salvation for the woman will be in the bearing of children” (1 Tim 2:15)

“Make me a mommy!“

The primordial commandment to “be fruitful and multiply” (Gen 1:28) was about to be fulfilled in Ingrid’s womb. My throbbing cock erupted, expelling my seed unimpeded inside her. It was one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had.

It didn’t take me long to get hard again. I positioned her on her hands and knees and fucked her from behind, coming inside her again. Shortly thereafter, she collapsed on her bed and passed out.

We woke up naked in her bed the next morning. She had a hangover. And regrets. I went to the pharmacy and got her the morning-after pill. And a box of condoms for our future sexscapades.