GFE

“The door is unlocked. Just let yourself in.”

I gingerly walked across the parking lot, trying to avoid slipping on the ice. I opened the door to the apartment. Stephanie was sitting by the roaring gas fireplace clad in a skimpy black robe. She invited me to set my coat aside and join her by the fire. It had been a while since we were last together. (Living two time zones apart will do that.)

“I’ve been such a dirty girl….” she teased.

It turns out that a few days earlier she had gotten dirty doing some off-season work in her garden. Our conversation then ranged from the TV show Lucifer to the distinctiveness of Orthodox theology to furnishings for her new house to her new therapist (who she described as a really cute girl). I found myself peeking inside her robe. We talked for almost an hour, so long that the ice in the glass of water she set out for me had melted. She rose from the floor and beckoned me to follow her. It was time.

I followed her to the dimly lit bedroom. Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse” played on her music player. She moved in to affectionately kiss me. “I like your sweater,” she said as she helped me pull it off. I untied her robe, and she removed it. She was standing before me in a sexy pair of blue bra and panties. I admired her curvy but athletic figure. I reached behind her back and unclasped her bra; I pulled down the straps, and she let it tumble to the carpet. My hands caressed her shapely breasts. Her nipples were hard. My hands slid down her sides. “You have a nice touch,” she complemented me. They rested on her waist, then moved back to caress her ass. I felt her butt muscles clench. She guided me to the bed where we gently kissed and caressed. She pulled off her panties, flinging them onto the floor. Then she tugged down my boxer briefs. She lay on her back. I licked and sucked on her nipples before slowly kissing down her chest and stomach. I ran my nose across her strip of pubic hair. Positioning my head between her legs, I kissed her outer lips. My tongue darted inside her. She cooed as I tasted her, my tongue feeling her warmth.

“I just want to be on top,” she said with a sly smile. I lay on my back. She reached over to the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom. Tearing the package, she took it out and positioned it on her lips. She bent down and put the condom on me with her mouth. It took me longer than usual to get warmed up, but when I was ready, she lowered herself on me. She moved slowly at first, then started to energetically ride me. I grabbed on to her hips. She bounced up and down on top of me. I reached up and grabbed her breasts. I could hear the bed creak under the strain of our exertions.

She ended up lying back on the bed. I grabbed my cock and eased myself into her. I thrust slowly at first, enjoying the feel of her body pressed against mine. I quickened my pace. Her girlish moans echoed in my ears. We fucked for a good while. (Not to brag, but I’ve developed pretty good stamina.) I kissed her on her forehead. I started to go at it harder and harder. Stephanie possessed a magnetic attraction that literally drew me deeper into her. I hear myself grunting, groaning. I kissed her on the lips. I got close but I remained on the cusp of orgasm.

The came the sudden intuition that this here now is all there is. There was no past or future. The feel of her body beneath mine, the smell of her skin, the sounds of her moans — that’s all there was. At that moment, consumed by ecstasy, sex was everything.

“There is a lightning flash which passes through the blood of both individuals, there is a thunder of sensation which rolls in diminishing crashes down the nerves of each—and then the tension passes.”
D.H. Lawrence

I lingered inside her for a while. I could feel her tighten her muscles around my manhood. She smiled.

She pulled the condom off me and headed into the bathroom. She returned with a warm washcloth and cleaned me up. We reclined on the bed. She put her head on my chest. We talked some more, primarily about her work in real estate. She loves being an escort, she said, but she has other interests, too.

It was finally time to depart. As I dressed, I inconspicuously placed an envelope with my “donation” and a gift card on a nightstand. We moved out to the living room, where we embraced one last time. She kissed me again. We said good night. I exited out the door, where I faced the bitterly cold wind alone.

“Are you okay with this?”

The first time I called the service, “Tina” went about verifying me. When she asked me where I worked, I hesitated before telling her that I work at a church. “We’ve dealt with a number of clients who are with the church,” she reassuringly told me.

This time I picked out “Ashley,” a self-described “Irish vixen” with pale skin, dark blonde hair, and green eyes. She arrived at my hotel room wearing a pretty blue dress that accented her ample cleavage. I handed her my driver’s license so she could verify my identity. Having learned that I worked for a church, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

I reassured her that I was.

Then she slowly removed her dress and said somewhat seductively, “I can make your time with me very memorable. What do you like?”

I revealed my desires.

She lowered herself onto her knees and took my cock into her mouth. I caressed her hair as she stared into my eyes. I love having a woman on her knees servicing me. The sight of her submitting before my manhood reaffirms my masculinity.

We lay on the bed and talked for a long time. She had been reared in a repressive fundamentalist Christian household, but had since discovered a more progressive church where’s she’s encountered some “real” Christians. She had a young daughter with a Welsh name. After her daughter’s birth, she had suffered through a bout of postpartum depression.

As our hour progressed, she began manually stimulating me in preparation for intercourse. She tore open the condom wrapper and asked, “How do you want me?” I told her. She pressed my body down on the bed and climbed on top. My hands clasped her hips as she lowered herself onto my cock. Her tits bounced as her body rocked up and down on mine. Faster and harder, my hips bucked, our flesh slapping together. I unexpectedly and uncharacteristically came early. After we disengaged, I sheepishly confessed my embarrassment.

“Shit happens,” she said philosophically. “Cum happens.”

The alarm on her phone rang, signaling the end of our appointment. She called her driver, hurriedly got dressed, and, quoting Yoda, gave me a word of inspiration. I accompanied her to the door, where we said goodbye. Then she exited, heading into the cold winter night.

“You can get dressed now”

Karina1

I called “Katrina” to find out where she was staying and her room number. She told me she was running late. Then she made a request.

“Can you get me a bottle of Riesling? There’s a liquor store on the way over here.”

I’ve enjoyed wine with an escort on a number of occasions, but never has one asked me to pick up a bottle before an appointment. Then again, Katrina is a little different.

Last night was the third time I saw her. On our first “date,” she gave me a massage before she dozed off on top of my back. Last time, she asked me to drive her to a Walgreen’s so she could complete a financial transaction. (I complied. I think I’m too nice.) She’s kind of flighty and has a major sweet tooth; her motel room is littered with soda bottles and candy.

So why do I see her? She’s an attractive blonde in her late 30’s with a smokin’ hot body. Tight and firm with nice natural breasts. Not exactly GFE, but her skills more than make up for it.

I arrived at her room with the wine. She opened the bottle and poured us some wine into paper cups. “Do you have some time?” she asked. I had nowhere else to be. She spent a good deal of time talking while fiddling with the playlist on her iPhone. Business has been slow lately, she lamented. “They all want young girls.” (I reassured her that there are those of us who appreciate a real woman.) Her car needs to be fixed, but she knows a mechanic she thinks will repair it in exchange for sex. And so on.

Finally it was time to get physical. She give me a decent massage, then flipped me over. She got on top and slowly began to ride me. Her hips sensuously moved back and forth, allowing for an exquisite build-up. Eventually she quickened her pace. I grabbed her tits as she bounced up and down. I strained to hold out as long as I could, extending the pleasure, but she drained me.

Afterwards, she sat naked on the side of her bed playing music on her phone. I lingered on the bed for a while, until she said, “You can get dressed now.” I got the hint. I put my clothes back on and wished her goodnight. She remained naked on the bed, listening to the Beatles on her playlist.

Fiasco

“Ava” is a new girl at Joyce’s. She’s a brunette in her early 20’s whose goth look makes her resemble the girl on NCIS. She met me in the parlor in black lingerie and stockings that nicely contrasted with her pale skin. After some brief pleasantries, we adjourned to the bedroom. Betraying a little nervousness, she quickly went to work, sliding a condom on me and beginning a blowjob. (She noted that the condom was banana flavored.) Then she climbed on top and started riding me reverse cowgirl for a few minutes. As she rolled over on the bed, the rubber slipped off, but she absentmindedly moved to slide me inside of her.

“Aren’t we going to use a condom?” I interjected.

“Oh. Yeah.”

She didn’t have another condom in the room, so she slipped on her lingerie and went out to retrieve one. I waited. And waited. And waited. I wondered if she had to go to the store. Finally she returned to the bedroom with a new condom. I had gone limp waiting for her. She stroked my soft cock to reanimate it.

I couldn’t get hard again.

This hadn’t happened before. I’ve never had a problem getting it up. But now I was completely flaccid. Ava continued to stroke me, but no response. I strained to produce an erection, but I couldn’t will it into being. She grew distressed. “I’m sorry. I guess you don’t like me,” she said sadly. I reassured her it wasn’t her. I finally gave up. As we got dressed, she continued to apologize. I felt bad for her. As she walked me out, she gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. I left feeling embarrassed. It was, as Stendhal put it, a fiasco.

“Would you like to come home with me?”

I slid my hand up her skirt, feeling the hosiery on her leg.

“I haven’t been with a man since my ex,” she confessed nervously. I started pulling her black skirt up. My hand grazed her crotch before my fingers traced the waistband of her pantyhose. Then I moved to pull her pantyhose down.

I met “Susan” on a dating site. She had contacted me. She was a few years older than me and divorced. She was an elementary school teacher and active in her singles’ group at a Presbyterian church. Honestly, she wasn’t very attractive — she was rather heavyset — but she was very nice. And she was desperate for sex.

She didn’t come out and say that, of course. Our first date was somewhat cliché: we met for coffee. She was dressed smartly. Our conversation was halting at first, then as we grew comfortable with each other it flowed more easily. After a couple hours, we left the coffee shop. I walked her to her car and was preparing to tell her good night when she blurted out, “Would you like to come home with me?” I hadn’t expected that. Still, I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity. After giving me her address, I hurriedly drove to Rite Aid and bought condoms.

She let me into her apartment. I could tell she was quite nervous. She offered me some water, then invited me to sit next to her on the couch. She showed me photos of her nieces and nephews on her phone. I behaved like a gentleman until I sensed that she wanted me to make the first move. I wrapped on arm around her and leaned in to kiss her. Despite her apparent anxiety, she reciprocated. Within minutes, my hand brushed against her pubic hair. She got really wet as I fingered her. We ended up on her bed, our clothes shed. I lay on top of her fleshy body and inserted myself inside her. After we fucked, I fingered her again until she came.

We went on several more dates, each one culminating in her bed. (One Sunday I accompanied her to her church and Sunday school class. Afterwards at her place, after she tossed her Bible aside, I literally ripped off her pantyhose as we frenetically made out and fucked.) Then she sent me an e-mail saying that she didn’t think we were a “good fit for a romantic relationship.”

Martin Luther: Sexual Reformer?

Luther-als-Augustinermönchklein_-©-GNM

499 years ago today, Martin Luther nailed a copy of his 95 theses for disputation on the door of the Wittenberg Castle church, igniting the Protestant Reformation. According to Lawrence J. Raymond, Jr. in his book Sexual Liberation: The Scandal of Christendom, Luther also ignited a sexual revolution.

The intellectual scaffolding of the late medieval church was the scholasticism of Thomas Aquinas. Sexual pleasure, according to Aquinas, could only rightly accompany the desire to procreate. All other expressions of human sexuality were sinful. Aquinas condemned the “animal-like” nature of sexuality which was “untempered by reason.” He approvingly quoted Augustine: “Nothing so casts down the manly mind from its height as the fondling of a woman.” The sexual was the antithesis of the spiritual.

The Renaissance challenged the medieval worldview. Its humanism rediscovered the human body in all its sensuousness. Lawrence calls the Reformation “the religious dimension of the Renaissance.” Luther was to lead this sexual revolution. Initially he steered clear of sexual matters. The Ninety-Five Theses are silent on the subject of sex, instead attacking the abuses of church authority. Luther’s early dissent ignored the church’s proscriptions regarding sex. Challenging the authority of the pope and the Roman magisterium led to the questioning of the discipline of clerical celibacy. Once the virtue of obedience was undermined, the virtue of chastity inevitably came under scrutiny. For most people, the assault on the sexual values of the medieval church became the most prominent feature of the movement for reform. “[S]ex became the cause célèbre of the Reformation,” Cunningham says.

Luther’s doctrine of sola scriptura undermined the church’s sexual doctrine for want of a biblical basis. Moreover, Luther claimed the church’s rules on sex were humanly impossible to adhere to. Not one in 100,000 could abide by them, he wrote, bluntly saying, “Nature never lets up …we are all driven to the secret sin. To say it crudely but honestly, if it doesn’t go into a woman, it goes into your shirt.” Inspired by Luther, priests, monks and nuns abandoned their monasteries and convents and sought marriage. Luther himself married a former nun, Katharina von Bora, in 1525, a scandalous act. Relations between a priest and nun were considered incentuous. Intercourse with a nun was even a capital crime. Philip Melanchton opposed it. Catholic polemicists attributed his ecclesiastical defiance to his lust. (Luther himself admitted, “I burn with all the desires of the unconquered flesh.”)

Luther cannot be counted as a prophet of modern sexual liberation. He opposed adultery, divorce, prostitution and promiscuity. But he was radical for his times. He supported his benefactor, Philip of Hesse, entering into a bigamous arrangement. He speculated that polygamy, which was sanctioned in the Hebrew Bible, would return. He enthusiastically endorsed the experience of sexual pleasure. A letter to an engaged friend rejoiced that both men will “penetrate” their wives (both coincidentally named Katy). He advised a man whose wife suffered from syphilis to choose bigamy over adultery, a course preferable to chastity. Similarly, a woman with an impotent husband was counseled by Luther to take a man (preferably with her husband’s consent) in order to satisfy her sexual needs. “If the husband is unwilling, there is another who is.”

The rigid and oppressive sexual morality of medieval Catholicism was ripe for rebellion. Sexual freedom led to the proclamation of “evangelical freedom,” Cunningham claims, summed up in Luther’s famous admonition, Pecca fortiter. “Thus it was that many found sexual liberation under the sway of Luther and sixteenth-century Protestantism.”

Magia Sexualis

One of Rhonda’s more curious spiritual practices was “sex magic.” She believed that sex is the primordial force in nature, and the energy generated during sex could be channeled through the power of intention. According to Baba Dez Nichols and Kamala Devi:

[S]ex magic is a spiritual practice that uses sexual desire to manifest tangible effect in the physical world. One of the most powerful experiences that we have as human beings is orgasmic energy, and if we can pair it with intent, then we can direct the most powerful manifesting force available on earth.

Needless to say, I’m skeptical. I was willing to go along with anything that made Rhonda wet, however, so I gamely participated.

We were intertwined on her “altar bed” in the yab yum position, bathed in candlelight. Sexy New Age music hovered in the background. She started with a chakra meditation. Then Rhonda gently undulated her body against mine. I savored her slickness. I stared into her blue eyes. She quickened her pace. Her eyes closed as she concentrated; her intention was for success for her nascent private practice. (We had once fucked to heal the planet.) Drops of my perspiration fell onto her body. She was moaning as her hips gyrated, luxuriating in our sexual energy. We went at it for a long time. With short thrusts, I strained at lasting as long as possible. But as my balls tightened, I knew I couldn’t last much longer. A husky groan escaped from me as I expelled my life force deep inside Rhonda. Her face scrunched together as she absorbed my semen and tried to access my orgasmic energy. I went limp, hoping she was convinced we had engaged in sexual alchemy.

Witchcraft does not need to apologize for involving sex magic. It is other religions which need to apologize for the miseries of puritanical repression they have inflicted on humanity.
Doreen Valiente, Witchcraft for Tomorrow

“You really like missionary!”

“Tiffany” was a bit delayed for our “date” at her incall motel. When she was finally ready, she called me, and I promptly went to her room. She greeted me with a playful hug and light kisses. I was anxious to remove her blouse and jean miniskirt. I discreetly left the donation on the dresser. She hugged and lightly kissed me again. She started taking my clothes off; her goal, she said, was to please me. I lifted her skirt and discovered a lacy black thong. I slid down her panties. She promptly removed her blouse and skirt.

Her slender naked body made its way across the motel room to a table in the corner, upon which sat some sex toys and a bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. Reclining on a towel upon returning to the bed, she poured chocolate syrup on her breasts and stomach. I leaned forward and started to lick the chocolate off her body. My mouth moved to her vulva. She invited me to enjoy her. I continued to lap her up.

Once my tongue was worn out, she said she wanted my cock inside of her “so bad.” She put a condom on me with her mouth, climbed on top of me and energetically fucked me reverse cowgirl. She’s in excellent physical shape because she rode me this way for several minutes. Then I took her from behind. She begged me to pull her blond hair. I obliged. (She likes it a little rough.) She rolled over. I got on top of her, her long legs draped over my shoulders. My body pressed against hers, I thrust and thrust. And thrust some more. I’ve developed pretty good stamina (I struggled with premature ejaculation during my first few sexual experiences), but even after many minutes of vigorous fucking on my part, I wasn’t close to coming. I continued pumping. Her firm legs wrapped around my back. My body straining with exertion, I slammed my cock deep inside her. I finally reached the threshold. I gave her some rough, bestial thrusts, then emptied myself into the condom. My body collapsed on top of hers, totally spent, drained.

She giggled beneath me. “You really like missionary, don’t you!”

As I recovered from my exertions on the bed, she told me she had recently returned from a hiatus. She said she had missed escorting.

“Like a whore in church”

I skipped my afternoon class today to visit “Liz” at her cozy rowhouse in the city. She’s a curvy, sultry brunette who I’ve seen before. She greeted me with a come-hither smile. She led me to her parlor, where we quickly disrobed. I noticed the impressive assemblage of BDSM gear on the wall. (She said she procured it from a lifestyle domme.) It was warm, so she turned on the AC. “Otherwise I’ll be sweating like a whore in church!”

“Do you have anything to confess?” she whispered in my ear as she gave me a massage.

“Not yet,” I replied.

Her hand lightly touched my thigh and slowly made its way toward my crotch. “You will thank the heavens and stars you called me.”

She brought up her fetishes. “I like cum,” she said straightforwardly.

As she stroked me, she crawled on top of me. My tongue eagerly traced around her pink nipples.

While talking, she somehow got around to revealing that her uncle was a Catholic seminarian in his youth. “Then he knocked my aunt up.” The massage continued until she flipped me over. She started stroking my erect member.

“I have your cock in my hand,” she teased in a sultry voice. Then she leaned in with her pouty lips.

“I’m wet and ready.”

She reached for a condom.

“Now you’re really going to believe in a higher deity,” she sensually whispered.

She straddled me and slowly lowered herself onto me. As she guided my cock into her pussy, she let out a deep moan.

“Fuuuuuck….”

Two Sinners

I felt religion with you on the floor
The holy word that I’ve been waiting for

We made our way through the dark church to the choir loft. I was hard. She was wet. Her fiancee was in England doing missionary work, oblivious to our coupling. Nervously, she unbuttoned her blouse and undid her long blue skirt. Tall, gangly and awkward, a bit of a nerd, she had confessed to sleeping with her youth minister in college. I reached around her back and unfastened her bra. Through the shadows I saw her slight breasts. I sensed, behind her prim and proper persona, a smoldering desire. I ran my finger through the elastic of her cotton panties. I slowly pulled them down her long, slender legs. A bang of her hair messily draped her forehead, almost a preview of what would happen next. A peculiar expression was set on her face, an admixture of arousal and shame. I clasped her hand and guided her onto the floor. What had started with a few stolen kisses had led to this. She lay back on her clothes. Having been led this far into temptation, we succumbed to our destiny. I wondered what was going through her head. Her conservative family in Nebraska would be stunned if they learned about her fornication. As I moved on top of her, she spread her legs….

The taboo on sexuality which the religious of his own free will carries to extremes, creates in temptation a state of affairs abnormal certainly, but in which the erotic element, rather than undergoing a change, stands out more sharply…. The struggle of the religious springs from his will to maintain a spiritual life, and that life would be mortally imperilled if he fell from grace. The sin of the flesh puts an end to the soul’s soaring towards immediate freedom.
Georges Bataille, Eroticism

It felt so very satisfying to be inside her. As she clasped my back, I could feel her engagement ring on her finger.

What if someone from the church finds out?

Then I experienced an emotion I had never felt during sex: disgust. Disgust at her for not guarding her purity, for leading me into temptation. Disgust at myself for my inability to resist sexual temptation. Here we were, two ministers in the church, behaving as if we were servants of Asmodeus, fornicating in his honor. We had fallen, fallen farther than we had ever thought possible.

At that moment, I realized that we were nothing more than two sinners fucking.