Destined for Convergence

Today the parish staff was virtually introduced to our new pastoral intern, “Caitlin.” She joined us from Michigan via Zoom and, conditions permitting, hopes to join us this fall. She’s assisted in college ministry and is enthusiastic about working in parish ministry.

As our online conversation progressed, I couldn’t refrain from noticing just a hint of cleavage peeking out from beneath her shirt. Her round, almost cherubic face was framed by shoulder-length blond hair. Afterwards I located some photos of her online. She’s petite yet pleasantly curvy. One picture showed her in a modest swimsuit.

I’m intrigued.

My thoughts returned to the Deaconess. With the Deaconess, I sensed her sexual desperation, which she later confirmed to me in a tearful confession. By outward appearances, no one would have guessed her sexual history. A shy child, she had been raised in a strict and devout Lutheran family. As a freshman in high school, a senior took an interest in her. She lost her virginity and with it any sense of propriety with guys. Even though she was active in church and prayed for deliverance, she couldn’t say no. Periods of abstinence were followed by sexual binges. In college she slept with her minister. As she pursued theological studies and became active in ministry, she set up online dating profiles to arrange sexual encounters. She spoke of her isolation in her parish assignment, which hinted at her use of sex as a salve for loneliness. (A female sex writer bluntly stated, “Women fuck for intimacy, and men fuck for sex.”) I noticed that after our encounters, she struggled to look me in the eye. Her guilt and despondency were palpable.

Yet the next time we were alone, her panties were damp.

Sex is a paradox. It needs the difference between man and woman, yet it reminds them that they are not different at all. In this way pleasure is the world’s great equalizer.

The Kama Sutra

She undid the buttons of her skirt and let it fall. I unzipped my pants. My hand reached up her thigh. My mouth found her breast. My trembling hands pulled down her cotton panties. Wanting to feel her flesh surrounding me, I lay on top of her. My cock and her pussy were destined for convergence. There is something so sublime about penetrating a woman. As I felt her contract around me, I thrust into her even deeper. Her body bucked against mine. Harder. Faster. Louder. “We were nothing more than two sinners fucking.”

Meanwhile, I fantasize about Caitlin.

Momentary Extinction

As the lockdown in our region has loosened, I’ve resumed visiting escorts. The risk of contracting, and spreading, the virus makes me hesitate. But….

The ultimate aim of eros is thanatos.

Richard Kearney

I browsed the agency’s site and noticed that “Lexi” was visiting. I booked an appointment, prepared myself, and drove to the hotel across the bridge. Once I arrived, I was texted her room number. Behind the door was a tanned, athletic spinner with dirty blond hair. She very much looked like that hot girl in tight shorts you see running on the side of the road. She also vaguely resembled an attractive classmate of mine I wouldn’t have minded nailing. A Midwestern “girl next door,” she talked a bit about her rescue dogs and the Packers. I eagerly anticipated her shedding her pink lingerie. Then she leaned in for a deep kiss….

It was a blur of flesh. Thrusts and groans. A sheen of sweat on my skin. My breathing was heavy. My limbs tensed. My grip on her hips tightened. My body began to spasm. It’s as if I started to dissolve. The logic of the flesh led to an evanescent self-annihilation.

La petite mort.

We have all experienced how the greatest pleasure attainable by us, that of the sexual act, is associated with a momentary extinction.

Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle

Nympho Nerd

Once more, I had to satisfy my cravings.

I found this self-described “nympho nerd” online. After she received my screening information and deposit, she sent me her address in the city. Finding a place to park during twilight was a chore, but I finally located a vacant spot. I walked a few blocks to her residence, rang the doorbell, and waited for her to answer.

“Sophia” finally came to the door and let me in. She doesn’t look like your stereotypical escort. With her black-framed glasses and nose ring, she looks like a gamer girl. Her pink dress accentuated her hourglass figure and ample bust. She’s bubbly and a little flaky. After a brief introduction, she told me, “I’m into the green” and showed me her considerable collection of pot. We sat on the couch, her long legs strewn across my lap. She took out her tablet and showed me some clips from PornHub she had been masturbating to. “Girls like porn, too, you know,” she said. She also attested to the efficacy of semen as a facial moisturizer. Then she said straightforwardly, “I’m too horny.” We went up to her bedroom.

My hands wrapped around her waist as we embraced. “I’m not an actress – I’m a slut!” she unexpectedly exclaimed. I grabbed her squishy ass. I then undressed and lay down on her bed. She crawled between my legs. I ran my hands through her long hair as she gave me a long, wet, sloppy blowjob, with considerable attention paid to my balls. Then she reached for a condom. She got on top and bounced up and down on my cock.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck….”

I strained to prolong our coupling, but I soon found myself emitting a husky groan. But Sophia wasn’t done. After cleaning me up, she worked on getting me hard again. It didn’t take much effort. She applied another condom and then bent over, giving me a view of her cute behind. I penetrated her, slapped her ass, and energetically fucked her.

“Oh yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah….”

Driven by instinct rather than by any spiritual impulse, my hips gyrated furiously as I felt my balls smack against her flesh. Overcome once again by my animal passions, I thrust deeper and deeper until I was spent. My body spasmed. and a guttural groan signaled my release.

Afterwards we made awkward conversation. She enthused about her latest performance playing Assassin’s Creed and talked about watching King of the Hill stoned. When the hour was up, I excused myself and prepared to leave. She continued to talk, mentioning that her ambition is to own a dispensary in Colorado. I finally made it out the door into the warm summer night.

Porn Star Experience

PSE in escort nomenclature stands for “Porn Star Experience.” “Sex workers that offer a Porn Star Experience for their customers engage in kinky and taboo sex acts similar to those seen in pornographic films. This kind of sexual experience opposes the sensual and romantic sex characteristic to the Girlfriend Experience.” Activities “might include sex in adventurous positions, loud moaning, dirty talk, hair pulling, light spanking, anal play, extreme gagging, facials, and sex with toys or costumes” (Kinkly).

If money was no object, and fantasies were no obstacle…ask yourself this tonight: Who will she be, and how will you have her? The premise of one porn site consists of porn stars offering their services as escorts. It captures some of the dynamics of paid sex: the knock on the door of the hotel suite, the introductory banter, the exchange of cash. The sex that follows is decidedly PSE.

The ubiquity of pornography has left an imprint on sexual tastes. Cindy Gallop delivered a TED Talk a decade ago recounting how her sexual experiences with young men had become pornified. (Their most frequent request was to come on her face.) She urged them to “make love, not porn.”

But how unrealistic is porn?

Make Porn, Not Love

In its sexual acrobatics and wild erotic phantasmagoria, porn certainly seems unrealistic. Stephanie once complained about an inexperienced client who tried to replicate what he saw in porn. (“I’m flexible, but I’m not Gumby.”) There is nevertheless a profound sexual realism in pornography, for it does, according to Camille Paglia, “represent the brute reality of sexuality.” The pornographic narrative subverts the ideal of monogamous romance and decouples physical passion from emotional intimacy. It exalts raw pleasure over any procreative intent. In porn we confront the darkness of eros.

What critics of pornography have decried as objectification might be better described, according to a Yale philosophy professor, as animalification. Women in porn are appreciated not for their rational faculties but for exercising their sexual instincts. For me, much of the appeal of porn starlets comes from their unabashed sexuality. The message I received growing up in the purity culture was that the female libido is passive, tethered to the desire for emotional intimacy. Girls are naturally modest and pure; they must guard their bodies and hearts comes from the sexually assertive male. (Hence the need for modesty.) Female sexuality is marked by restraint. “Sugar and spice and everything nice.” Porn disrupts that myth.

Not so nice….

Porn can affirm female sexual agency. Angela White says, “Pornography functions as a space where I’m able to be very creative with my own sexual desires. I’m able to express myself and explore the boundaries and depths of my sexuality.” Porn depicts women as sexually voracious, an antidote to the forced illusion of modesty. The constraints of chastity or fidelity no longer apply. Yet it does so through the prism of the male gaze in which women are presented as objects of desire. The women in porn present themselves as always sexually available. As Gail Dines notes, sex in porn is “something that the woman seeks out because she loves to be sexually used.” The subtext is that women function as vehicles of pleasure designed to satiate a man’s needs.

One of the well-worn tropes in porn (which nevertheless still entices me) is that of female innocence defiled — the schoolgirl, the cheerleader — even if the ostensible ingenue turns out to be the sexual protagonist. The stereotypical “porn star look” appeals less to me than “the girl next door turned hardcore.” Charles Stember writes, “The gratification in sexual conquest derives from the experience of defilement — of reducing the elevated woman to the ‘dirty’ sexual level, of polluting that which is seen as pure, sexualizing that which is seen as unsexual, animalizing that which is seen as ‘spiritual.'” A moralistic sexual ethic which exalts chastity and makes sex “dirty” interweaves sexual gratification with the violation of taboos. Porn exploits that dynamic.

Most vitally, porn affirms my experience of sex as detached from love. Sex has little to do with expressing love or affection. Outside the niche of so-called “couples porn,” the sex in porn is brutally depersonalized. Philosopher Roger Scruton observes, “It prizes sexual excitement free from the I-You relation and directs it to a nameless scene of mutual arousal, in which arousal too is depersonalized, as though it were a physical condition and not an expression of the self.” In that manner, porn replicates much of my experience with escorts. One artist distinguishes the “pornographic element” in that “what you’re left with is a sense of estrangement, not a sense of connectedness,” for porn is “never about warmth or emotional proximity.” One study documents that repeated exposure to pornography weakens among both men and women valuations of marriage and monogamy. In its baseness, porn nevertheless depicts a stark truth.

Contra Ms. Gallop, I say: Make porn, not love.

Hope Abideth

My pent-up lustiness after weeks in quarantine makes me keenly susceptible to temptation. I browsed Twitter and discovered that “Hope” was visiting nearby. Her voluptuous figure and fiery red hair were irresistible. I filled out her booking form and sent a deposit. She promptly responded, and we booked an engagement.

I called her when I arrived at her hotel. She answered and gave me the room number. I went up to her room, and she greeted me from behind the door in a lacy black robe with a hug and a kiss. My eyes were mesmerized by her mammoth breasts. She offered me a drink, then we sat on the bed for some conversation. She’s sweet and bubbly, and she seemed genuinely interested in my work and studies. (She professed to be “very spiritual.”) Her green eyes were intoxicating. Her hand crept up my thigh. My arousal was apparent. Then she told me to get comfortable.

Her robe came off, followed by her bra, fully revealing her glorious tits. I immersed my face in them, caressing them and licking and sucking her nipples. She rolled a condom on me, then got on her knees on the carpet. Her eyes locked on mine as she took me deep into her mouth. Watching her devour my cock brought me to the brink. She sensed I was on the verge of release, so she asked me to lie on my back. It was time to abideth in Hope. She got on top of me and proceeded to ride me with great enthusiasm, her tits bouncing before my eyes. She ended up on her hands and knees. I slapped that big round ass of hers, which produced a squeal of delight. (She said she enjoys being submissive.) I started pounding her, losing myself in the sheer animalistic intensity of the moment. I came hard.

She removed the condom and retrieved a warm washcloth to clean me up. We talked some more on the bed. She’s pursuing her real estate license and already has some properties she’s interested in. As the end of the hour approached, we retrieved our discarded articles of clothing. Then it was time to say goodbye.

Escape

Now more than ever, I needed an escape. I found it in “Katie.”

I discovered Katie on Twitter. She quickly responded to my inquiry via text, and we arranged a late afternoon tryst. I drove to her modest incall across the river. I was met at the door by a young lady in pink lingerie and stockings with long black hair and an attractive figure. She somewhat resembles Alison Brie with glasses. Once inside, I was greeted with a light kiss. I discreetly placed the donation on a table. A few minutes of light conversation to get to know each other, then it was off to the bedroom.

As we kissed, my hands played with her breasts. My mouth found its way to her hard nipples. After a light back rub, I flipped over on the bed. She crawled between my legs and lowered her head onto my crotch. First the head, then the shaft of my cock disappeared into her mouth. She still had her glasses on, so it was like having the sweet but sexy librarian go down on me. She pleasured me for a while, and her skills were magnifique. So good that I almost blew in her mouth. Then it was time to return the favor. I kissed and licked and sucked that precious spot between her legs. Then she reached for a condom.

She put the cover on, straddled me, then rode me hard. After a few minutes, we switched to doggy style. After admiring her round, juicy ass, I entered her once more, grabbed her by her hips, and started to thrust. As I pounded her, I had reached that state of total concentration that I experience only during sexual exertion. I had found my escape. Some wails and nasty talk on her part sent me over the edge. I exploded into the condom.

She cleaned me up, and we continued with some small talk for a few minutes. Then it was time. I got dressed. She bid me adieu with a kiss, then it was off for another trip across the bridge.

Celebrity Crush

She stripped off her bra and panties, then reclined next to me on the bed.

“If you could have sex with any celebrity, who would it be?”

I confessed to fantasizing about Katy Perry and Kaley Cuoco.

“Who else?”

I paused, then admitted to having dirty thoughts about Erin Andrews and Taylor Swift.

“I see,” she said as she moved her naked body next to mine.


In a comprehensive survey of the sexual fantasies of Americans conducted by Dr. Justin Lehmiller, two-thirds of respondents admitted to fantasizing about celebrities. Among men who fantasize about women, the most fantasized about female celebrities are:

Lehmiller notes that ScarJo’s body dimensions are close to the ideal fantasy partner: 5’3″, 126 lbs with the optimally attractive waist-to-hip ratio of 0.7.

No surprise, but porn stars are the objects of sexual fantasy. Jenna Jameson, Gianna Michaels, and Sasha Grey were the three most-mentioned starlets.

Many respondents reported fantasizing about fictional characters, especially superheroes and comic book characters. The superheroes most frequently fantasized about were:

In his research, Dr. Lehmiller discovered that people who frequently fantasize about celebrities exhibited an “avoidant attachment style” and were less satisfied with their relationships. “[F]requent celebrity fantasies and porn star fantasies were also linked to having an overactive imagination, sensation-seeking tendencies, and an unrestricted sociosexual orientation,” which includes a disposition towards casual sex.

The first celebrity I masturbated to was model Laetitia Casta in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. Her voluptuous figure and come-hither look was a striking contrast with the modestly attired girls at my private Christian school. Seductive celebrities substituted for porn stars, who I had no access to. Some of my earliest struggles with purity came from trying to resist their enticements: Britney Spears, especially when she was at her most Lolitaesque; Alexis Bledel in her schoolgirl uniform; Kirsten Dunst in her cheerleading uniform; perky Reese Witherspoon as a Playboy bunny. A late night airing of Poison Ivy caused me to lust over Drew Barrymore, and a Maxim photoshoot of Kristen Bell resulted in self-abuse.

The five celebrities I currently fantasize about the most:

My top 3 porn stars of fantasy:

Cheater’s High

Colleen and I have been talking on the phone during this period of quarantine. We’ve even had a couple of virtual coffee dates. Nothing remotely suggestive has occurred, of course.

I’ve also just started a cyber affair with a wife from New Zealand. She’s sexually frustrated and desires an erotic outlet. She was intrigued about my background in ministry. The prospect of engaging in virtual infidelity excited me. Our online interactions have been almost entirely explicitly sexual in nature.

I remember the first time I cheated on my girlfriend. She had to fly out of town to visit her ailing mother, and I drove her to the airport. Physically separated from her, my lust flared up. I rented a hotel room and called an escort service. Soon my head was firmly planted between the large breasts of a curvy young blonde. After my sexual escapade, I was stricken with guilt over betraying my chaste and absent girlfriend. We broke up just a few weeks later.

Sex had been sundered from romance. Guilt invariably ensued after subsequent furtive encounters. My insoluble dilemma, as I’ve commented on before, of wanting to date “good girls” while enjoying the carnal knowledge of “bad girls” has resulted in schizophrenic behaviors with women. Rationalizations abound. “My intense sexual needs have to be satisfied in some fashion.” “By acting out in other ways, I’m preserving Colleen’s purity.” And, of course, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

I met “Rose” on eharmony. She was a music director at a Catholic parish. During one of our early online interactions, she made her beliefs clear: “God intends sexual intercourse to be between a husband and a wife.” We ended up (chastely) dating for a few months. She was smart and spunky, and I admired her commitment to her faith.

Yet I couldn’t resist another type of woman on her knees.

While driving back after one daylong date with Rose (she lived in another city), I got the itch for another form of female companionship. Again, another hotel room. Another escort. What Rose wouldn’t provide I obtained from this lady of the night. By this time guilt comingled with a certain dark pleasure — what some psychologists have termed the “cheater’s high.” As sweet, innocent Rose preserved her purity, I indulged in impurity without her knowledge. The thrill of getting away with it was undeniable.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez distinguished between a public life, a private life, and a secret life. The allure of a secret life, I believe, partly comes from its brazen assertion of autonomy. Certain strictures, such as cultural and religious expectations of monogamy, can be flouted without having to incur social opprobrium. It comes at a cost to one’s integrity, of course. Hence the guilt. The attendant pleasure makes the guilt bearable, though.

In the Dark

A medieval text, Malleus Mallificarum, stated that female sexuality was so powerful that it ignites the lusts of the flesh and consumes the men who fall prey to it.

As Alyssa undid her robe, revealing a lithe body clad in only a red bra and panty set, she had me bewitched.

“It was as though the heavens had silently kissed the earth, such that in the blossoms’ lustre, she was caught in dreams of them.”

Joseph von Eichendorff

“But there are things that happen between a man and a woman in the dark- that sort of make everything else seem … unimportant.”

Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

Candles flickered and music played softly in the background. Our clothing lay strewn on the floor. Lowering her head, she wrapped her lips around my cock. I groaned aloud. Her tongue swirling around my erection, she took me deeply in her mouth. She stared up at me with her big green eyes.

Desperate to feel myself inside her. Our sin seemed especially egregious right now. The condom wrapper was discarded. Positioning myself between her thighs, I emitted a satisfied moan as I filled her. Her legs wrapped around my back. Her bare flesh hot against mine. I slowly fucked her at first. Then harder. My hips pressed her into the bed with each thrust. The air was pungent with the scent of perfume and sweat. A guttural growl emerged from my throat as my cock tremored inside her.

“Young votary of Venus”

“Some things don’t change,” Stephanie remarked.

She had just returned from a trip to New Orleans. She had toured Storyville, the city’s red-light district in the early 20th century. Among the historical items she encountered were guidebooks which included advertisements for prostitutes and descriptions of services offered.

Long before Eros or The Erotic Review, printed media were employed in the service of sexual commerce. In 18th-century London, Harris’s List of Covent Garden Ladies was an annual directory of sex workers for a clientele that included James Boswell, Robert Walpole, and the Prince of Wales. It was published around Christmas and sold for two shillings and sixpence. One contemporary report estimated that 8,000 copies were sold each year. Historian Kate Lister writes, “[T]he list detailed the appearance, skills, and prices of up to two hundred women selling sex in the capital….As you may well imagine, Harris’s List was a hugely popular work. As well as being a practical resource, the list also provided titillation. As Delinger notes, the list functions in two ways: ‘names, addresses, and prices all point to their practical use, while the lush descriptions of women also function as soft-core pornography.’”

Here is the description for one “Jenny Nelson, St Martins Lane”:

A jolly smart wench, a good companion at table; but particularly joyous in bed; there are few whores to be found so generous as she is, often restoring the money when she likes her man.

The British period drama Harlots features a scene in which the ladies read their reviews in Harris’s List. A review describing one Emily Lacey as a “young votary of Venus” propelled the noted courtesan to a more elite brothel.