Colleen hinted that she’d like to have dinner on Valentine’s Day. Not wanting to invest the day with excess meaning (and wanting to avoid the crowds), I agreed to a more modest coffee date on Sunday. Besides, I detest this commercialized confection of chocolate, flowers, and saccharine romance.

Yet lust abides.

The ancient Romans celebrated the festival of Lupercalia on February 15. “The festival was to enable or facilitate fertility,” according to Kresimir Vukovic, a postdoctoral fellow at the Catholic University of Croatia. The festival very much had a “sexual aspect.” Mosaics from the era depict naked women being struck by strips of skin from sacrificed goats by priests of the god Lupercus.

This afternoon I felt especially Lupercalian. I made a phone call to Joyce. Sara was unavailable, so Joyce recommended “Jessica.” We set up an appointment for early evening. I prepared myself and made my way to the incall apartment near the museum.

When I arrived at the apartment, I was greeted with a soft kiss by a mature, tall, slender redhead in stockings. She wished me a happy Valentine’s Day. She offered me a drink (I declined) and led me to the bedroom. She didn’t waste any time.

“Ready to have some fun?”

She hugged me and gave me a deep kiss, slowly slipping her hand down my pants to tease my throbbing cock. My hands reached behind her and grabbed her ass. Soon she unzipped my pants. She shed her lingerie, moved to the bed, and spread her legs open.

I accepted the invitation.

Seconds later my clothes were off, and I joined her on the bed. She guided my head toward her crotch. I kissed her inner thighs, then ran my tongue around her outer lips before I started licking her pussy. She softly moaned when my tongue flicked across her clit. My mouth moved up her body and until it fastened onto her right nipple. After enjoying her breasts, I complimented her on her derrière. She returned the compliment by grabbing a condom. Then she positioned herself on all fours.

I had to fuck her.

I got up on my knees behind her, smacked her ass, and slowly pushed myself inside of her. I placed my hands around her waist. The bed creaked as my thighs slapped against her ass. No chocolate. No flowers. No empty professions of affection. Just flesh on flesh. After some frenzied thrusts, a guttural grunt exited my throat.

We lounged on the bed afterwards. She said Valentine’s Day is usually quiet for her. Most of her clientele are married. “If he’s not getting sex from his wife, he’ll seek it elsewhere,” she said.

She offered me a shower, which I availed myself to. Then I got dressed. She gave me a light kiss and wished me good night. I exited the apartment and headed out into the winter chill.

My involvement in ecumenical social ministry took me downtown to a church this morning for a presentation on Catholic Social Teaching. Afterwards I made the acquaintance of the presenter, “Brigid.” She works for the diocese (she played a role in the preparations for the pope’s visit a few years ago) and is a Ph.D. candidate in theology at a Catholic university. Brigid is smart and vivacious. She comes from a large Irish Catholic family and mentioned her nieces and nephews. She’s in her 30s, pretty, with long black hair that drapes her shoulders. We talked about a project of common interest and, despite our busy schedules, agreed to try and arrange a time when we can meet again. As we departed, I noticed that her modest jacket and skirt did not hide her hourglass figure.

After leaving the church, I decamped for the Barnes and Noble cafe to do some studying for a couple of hours. I then made my way along the square in the light rain until I passed a certain shop.

Nestled in an old brownstone, it’s an upscale erotic boutique. I hesitated. Arousal surged within me. I glanced around to make sure nobody recognized me. Then I discreetly made my way inside.

“Can I help you?” asked a Rubenesque middle-aged lady. I tentatively responded I was “just looking.” “Just ask if you need anything,” she cheerfully responded.

It was an erotic paradise. Lingerie and fetishwear were displayed near the front of the store. It made Victoria’s Secret look prudish. A vast array of corsets were on display, and there was no shortage of latex. (I was particularly smitten with the latex schoolgirl uniform and the outfit inspired by Black Widow.)

There were shelves stocked with lotions and potions, including Kama Sutra Honey Dust.

Literary tastes were not ignored. A bookshelf contained such titles as Pagan Polyamory and Philosophy in the Dungeon. A collection of burlesque photos of Dita von Teese caught my eye.

Near the back, there were whips and chains. And there were toys. Lots of toys (or what euphemistically used to be described as “marital aids”). Dildos, Fleshlights (I inspected the Angela White model), rabbit-style vibrators, remote controlled vibrators — imagine the hundreds of potential orgasms.

The lipstick-shaped vibrator was especially stylish.

It was then that I remembered Brigid.

Modest Brigid has probably never set foot in a store like this. Or has she? Catholic girls can be surprisingly kinky. Even the pious ones. I imagined Brigid slipping off her long skirt, revealing her lacy white panties. She grabs a phallic-shaped device. It starts to vibrate. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that masturbation is “intrinsically and gravely disordered.” Brigid knows she is about to commit a mortal sin. She pulls down her panties and spreads her legs. Her body quivers as she slides the head of the vibrator into her pussy. She writhes as she works it in and out of her, her face contorted in beautiful agony. The vibrator, when it is exposed, glistens with her secretions. She fucks herself harder. Her pussy tingles. She arches her back and cries out as she comes. Her sin is consummated.

I purchased the Dita von Teese book and a bottle of spearmint Kama Sutra Pleasure Balm.

The stress of looming deadlines begets frustration. Frustration that yearns for the relief provided only by sexual release.

I encountered that cute barista at the coffee shop again. I fantasized about accompanying her to the storeroom, pressing her up against the wall, and fucking her mercilessly. I don’t even know her name. A zipless fuck was all I wanted.

Afterwards I discreetly called Joyce. To my delight, I discovered that Sara had returned from her hiatus. Despite my busy schedule, I set up an early evening appointment.

I arrived at her old city loft in the brisk winter twilight. Her athletic body was covered only by red Santa-themed lingerie. There were a few friendly words between us, but no substantive conversation. No matter. My attraction to her was purely carnal.

We sat on the couch and immediately started making out, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths. My hand reached underneath the fabric of her lingerie and clasped her breast. I positioned her to sit on my lap; I wanted her to feel how hard I was. Our bodies writhed, signaling their immanent coupling. She suggested we move to the bed. I got up, unbuttoned my shirt, pulled off my pants and boxer briefs. She tossed aside her thong panties. We positioned ourselves on the bed.

Then we fucked.

Sex is nothing but sex. Sex is not love. Sex is furor and rapture, the quest for the self-oblivion of orgasm. As I vigorously fucked Sara, overcome by Dionysian fury, “lovemaking” was not my intention. It was a cold fuck. It was sex without emotion, without attachment, and without meaning. Nothing more than a robotic release of sexual tension.

Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, author of a book entitled (no joke) Kosher Sex, admits of a disconnect between sex and love:

“What I don’t understand about sex is the fundamental contradiction it poses to love…. [S]ex is stifled by relationship and routine. It seems to thrive most through novelty rather than intimacy, through new flesh rather than old love.”

This insight should lead us, one critic of the rabbi’s approach to kosher sex says, “to internalise that we are – despite everything – animals, and that we have fierce desire to match.”

I recall my hookup with April, the girlfriend of a classmate. Her unsubtle flirtations in the bar led us straight to her bedroom. There I learned that the hookup code stipulates that displays of affection are verboten: no kissing, hugging, caressing, cuddling. In our sexual sophistication, we had no intention of making love. (“We’re going to fuck, right?” she asked to reassure herself of our intentions.) We quickly undressed. There was a certain coolness between us, as if any earnest display of emotion would sabotage our lust. Certainly no professions of caring and concern could be voiced. Only my erect member demonstrated any excitement. There was no need for niceties. As I looked down on her pleasuring me, I felt a dark lustful pride. In fact, lust was the only emotion I felt. We were strangers to each other, united only by having surrendered ourselves to lust and our cold, mechanical fucking. As soon as we finished having sex, our bodies disengaged. There was no kiss goodbye.

I am quite adept at separating emotions from sex. In fact, I can only have sex when the emotional component is minimized. Even when I was with someone I had affection for (such as Rhonda), I emotionally detached myself during sex. Generally, men more easily separate sex from emotional attachment than women. (Samantha on Sex and the City famously wanted to “fuck like a man.”) Sexual liberation, moreover, emphasizes the removal of restraints and the exploration of expanded possibilities (i.e. multiple partners, varied activities). Emotional commitment is an obstacle to sexual freedom. It may also be antithetical to the nature of the sexual act itself.

“But the cold fuck is the fuck,” philosopher Alan Soble writes. To conceive of sex in terms of consideration and mutuality “ignores (what Augustine did not) the spontaneous, uncontrollable arousal, the turbulence, the frenzied passion, the involuntary jerkings, the quest for omnipotence, the primitive infantilism, the acquisitiveness, and all the rest of the eros in the sexual.” Sex is not nice. To pretend otherwise “disregards the essentially amoral, Dionysian dimension of the sexual.”

“Promise me that you’ll jerk off to me.”

It was an interesting request. Then again, “Siobhan” is an interesting girl.

A self-described twentysomething “hippie floozy” with curly red hair, she was on tour from New England. Siobhan was surprisingly soft spoken and shy at first. I had secured an appointment with her after seeing her posts on Twitter. As dusk settled on the city outside her hotel room windows, she opened up about her interests: gardening, sci-fi, political activism. And smut. (She quizzed me on what types of porn I consume.) She’s a practicing pagan, and she was curious as to my thoughts on her religious practices. (A form of interreligious dialogue, I suppose.) She grew more effervescent as our conversation progressed. She talked about her girlfriend and bondage. Meanwhile I anticipated the moment when she would remove her black skirt.

Finally the moment came. I unbuttoned my shirt and unzipped my pants. She pulled down her black panties and revealed a glorious red bush. My throbbing hard-on signaled that it needed attention. She positioned herself on her knees in front of me. A passionate, sloppy blowjob ensued. Then we migrated to the bed, where she straddled me. Her hairy cunt engulfed my cock. My explorations in paid promiscuity have enabled me to sexually experience a vast variety of women. I’ve developed an erotic palette for different textures, sights, smells, sounds (and even tastes). All my senses are engaged when I’m with a woman. Now as Siobhan rode me, I was wholly engaged in the act, except for the random thought that as civilization bustled around us, we were keeping faith with that primal nature that can’t be civilized.

And, yes, I since have jerked off to her.

The stress of this holiday season has been brutal. Completing my dissertation proposal has proved harder than expected. Church is abuzz with activity. I accepted an invitation from another local Lutheran church to give some presentations on the infancy narratives in the gospels. An impending move has only compounded the stress.

And my libido has gone into overdrive.

But each one is tempted when he is carried away and enticed by his own lust (Jas 1:14).

As I write this at the coffee shop, I’m stealthily eyeing the cute barista with brown hair tied in a ponytail. Petite but busty, wearing black leggings, she’s definitely triggered my lust. Ambrose acknowledged, “A woman is a delight, a bodily enticement.” I felt that ache that’s only relieved by being inside a woman.

Fucking’s a form of anxiety reduction.

Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Despite being extremely pressed for time, I snuck away for an erotic holiday escapade. I reunited with Alexandra, the fetching young BBW, at the downtown hotel where was hosting. She had dyed her hair and become a sultry brunette. Her black dress showed off her ample full figure. She exudes a sexual confidence I find irresistible. As we conversed, she again mentioned her fundamentalist upbringing in the Deep South with its exhortations against “worldly” concerns. Her blossoming interest in art, philosophy, and the sciences was a reaction against that narrow worldview. As our discussion wrapped up, she began playing t.A.T.u. to set the mood.

Then she moved to take off her dress.

Some kissing and caressing. Her brassiere cups runneth over (size 44H), so I reached around her back to unhook her bra. She wiggled free of it, then I immersed my face in her ginormous tits. I kissed and licked and suckled. The rest of our clothes came off. She started gently caressing my rock hard cock.

“God created pleasure for a reason, right?” she sweetly asked.

The duality between the carnal and the spiritual vexes me. Despite my advanced theological training, I continue to viscerally experience sex as sin. Yet the intensity of sexual pleasure — pulsating, rhythmic, spasmodic — proves irresistible.

She bent down and started to lick the head of my cock with her tongue.

Then when lust has conceived, it gives birth to sin (Jas 1:15).

Drops of precum trickled out. Her lips wrapped around my shaft. Her mouth was hot and wet. I tousled her hair. Her tongue again darted around the head, producing jolts of ecstasy. The muscles in my penis started to contract. My body tensed as I tried to resist the oncoming climax. It was exquisite agony.

Then came the juicy ending.

She cleaned me up, and I recovered quickly. More kissing and caressing. She grabbed a condom. I moved atop her fleshy body and positioned myself to enter her. I experienced the sensation of being sucked into her pussy. I momentarily refrained from thrusting to absorb the distinct pleasure of penetration. Then, slowly, I start rocking my pelvis back and forth. I maintained a steady rhythm for quite a while. The desire to penetrate her deeper overwhelmed my self-discipline, though, and my pace quickened. I felt her hips rise off the bed, meeting me thrust for thrust. Now my thrusts were frenzied. Almost unrecognizable guttural sounds escaped my mouth. I was fucking her with all my strength. I felt her nails dig into my skin. Then I cried out my pleasure.

An Episcopalian colleague invited me to Evensong at his church this evening. I initially accepted. But that was before I made an appointment with “Alyssa.” The compartmentalization of my religious and sexual lives extends even to Sundays. I had spent most of the day at church being “holy.” Now this Sunday was to turn sinful.

When I arrived at the hotel early this evening, Alyssa texted me her room number and asked that I give her a few more minutes to prepare. I waited a short while in the lobby then went up to the room and knocked on the door. The door opened. I beheld a lithe blonde in a tight black dress. She extended her hand and introduced herself before welcoming me in. I set the donation on the table. Ambient music played in the background.

Alyssa is originally from Eastern Europe and speaks with a charming accent. She’s transplanted to California and is touring the East Coast. There were some friendly words spoken between us, then….

She undid my belt buckle. I started unbuttoning my shirt. She pulled off her dress to reveal a black bra and black thong panties. She unhooked her bra and revealed a perky pair of breasts. By now I only had my boxer briefs on. We kissed, and I sucked on both of her nipples. She worked her way down to my growing erection. She stroked and kissed my balls and my cock before taking me into her mouth. I let out a slight groan. Her hands grabbed my ass and drew me deeper into her mouth. I looked down to see her as she knelt before me, admiring the artistry with which she pleasured me. Then she stood up, pulled down her panties, grabbed a condom, and moved to the bed. She put the condom on me, briefly lubricated herself, then got on her back and spread her legs.

”Fuck me,” she softly moaned.

I got on top of her and slipped my hard rod inside her. With a series of deep thrusts I explored her depths, with the attendant indescribable sensations. Then we switched positions and she mounted me cowgirl. I grabbed her tits with my hands as she gyrated on top of me. I wanted to fuck her from behind. I asked her to get on all fours. She got on her hands and knees. I only lasted a couple of minutes behind her before I was overcome by ecstasy.

Time was almost up, and she asked me if I wanted to shower. I accepted her offer and washed away the sweat that had resulted from my exertions. After I dressed, she gave me a sweet kiss. Then I departed her hotel room.

“You intrigue me.”

“Alexandra” was attired only in a sheer black robe which revealed her bra and panties underneath. She hosted me in her hotel room as she was visiting. The information I had provided for screening had piqued her interest.

“I’ve never been with someone from the church before.”

She went on to say that she attended a conservative high school and was “extremely religious.” She was raised Baptist and was active in her church: Bible study, youth group, Wednesday night service. “But now I’m into a whole other kind of worship!”

She then unhooked her black bra (size 44H!).

I immersed my face in her soft breasts. My tongue circled around her large areola, then it danced around her hard nipple. I took her nipple into my mouth and started to suck. Her mammaries received exquisite devotion on my part. Then she sighed:

“God, I’m so wet.”

She pulled off her panties and spread her legs on the bed. I lightly traced a finger between her labia and felt her wetness. I positioned my head between her legs. Her feminine scent was intoxicating. Gently spreading her lips apart, I slowly inserted my tongue into her pussy. She moaned as I ate her out, her hips slightly bucking against me.

After being pleasured for several minutes, she rolled over and grabbed a condom from the nightstand.

“What position?” she asked.

I told her to get on her hands and knees. She playfully jiggled her round, plump ass. I positioned myself behind her, inserted myself inside her, grabbed a hold of that ass, and started to pump.

We were both a long way from youth group.