I decided to sneak in a little fun just prior to finals. I called Joyce to set something up with Sara, but I found out that Sara is no longer available. Joyce recommended “Alexis” instead. I took her advice, prepared myself, and drove downtown to the high-rise apartment complex where she based her incall.
Upon arriving, I was buzzed in. I surreptitiously made my way through the lobby to the elevator. I got off on the 16th floor and found the apartment. I rang the doorbell and waited. The door opened slightly.
“Philip?”
Alexis is a tall, cool blonde. Her blue lingerie showed off her attractive figure. She offered me a bottle of water, and we made our acquaintance. Our conversation was brief. Soon she invited me to join her in the bedroom.
She invited me to “get comfortable.” She put on some Sade for ambiance. I undressed and removed my glasses. Unexpectedly, she stared into my eyes.
“They say eyes are the widows to the soul,” she said.
She maintained eye contact as she dropped to her knees and started pleasuring me orally. The sight of her staring at me with my cock in her mouth was exquisite. I ran my fingers through her long blonde locks. Her gaze triggered something. Before I anticipated it, my balls tightened; I had reached the point of no return.
I came in her mouth.
She got up and excused herself to the bathroom. I apologized upon her return, but she reassured me there was nothing to apologize for. She invited me to join her on the bed. She briefly asked me about my studies. Then she gently stroked me. I quickly got hard again. She covered me with a condom and lay on her back, her legs spread. I entered her and started to rock my body on top of hers. Her legs clasped around me. Increasing my pace, I thrust deep inside her. Perspiration trickled down my face. I fucked her intently, compelled by the pursuit of ultimate pleasure. Then my body spasmed as I could no longer restrain myself. I collapsed on top of her, satisfied.
A pastor in a moment of searing honesty lamented that we have been endowed with “sex drives that virtually impel us to break rules God laid down.” The Bible’s moral standards regarding sex seem starkly at odds with sexual reality. Theologically it can be explained by original sin. Corrupted by the Fall, sexual desire becomes lust. We are enslaved by concupiscence, the “rebellion” of “vicious desires,” in Augustine’s words. Yet we are to “make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (Rom 13:14). (Paul reluctantly endorses marriage for those who “cannot exercise self-control” lest they “be aflame with passion” [1 Cor 7:9].)
Nature has its own imperatives. Sex is a natural appetite. Francis Bennion puts it bluntly: “The male…is programmed instantly to fecundate every woman within his grasp. From puberty onward, his testicles produce nonstop the fluid called semen. His body is designed to void this fluid at frequent intervals.” Frustration of this instinct is deleterious to psychological well-being. (He even advocates the use of “erotic Samaritans” to achieve sexual release.) The pursuit of sexual gratification “is honesty to human nature.” This leads to his conclusion that “the Judaeo-Christian rules on sex are bad, since they arise from a stance that negates and dismisses the natural sexuality of human beings.” Sexual repression, according to Wilhelm Reich, is “the insoluble contradiction between between instinctual drive and moralistic compulsion.”
Those “Judaeo-Christian rules on sex” that are so “bad” are nonetheless deeply embedded into my values. Values that conflict with the appetites that propel my behavior. I am unable to solve the conflict within me between sexual demands and moralistic inhibitions. Apparently I’m not alone. One psychologist observes that religious believers may actually have higher incidences of problematic sexual behavior. No wonder Karl Barth wrote, “As God’s creatures, we are possibly nowhere so much on our own as in respect of our sexuality.”
“Eros is a great and dangerous god.”
Camille Paglia
Recent Christian reflection on sexuality, in an attempt to disown its Augustinian heritage, has reimagined “sex as gift.” In one document, my denomination states that “human sexuality was created good for the purposes of expressing love and generating life, for mutual companionship and pleasure.” Seen within the context of “original blessing,” sex is a participation in divine creation.
But what about “sex as curse”? Ethicist Christine Gudorf, who has affirmed the positive potentialities of sexual pleasure, warns that in an overly beneficent conception of sex “the power of sexuality is denied along with the demons long understood as animating sexuality.” Some years ago, the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. commissioned a study to articulate a contemporary approach to human sexuality. The resulting document asserted “the basic goodness of sexuality,” emphasized “justice-love” as the primary ethical criterion, and endorsed an interpretation of the Bible informed by one’s experience as a sexual being. Feminist critic Camille Paglia tore it to shreds. With “its view of human nature naive and sentimental,” the study “reduces the complexities and mysteries of eroticism to a clumsy, outmoded social-welfare ideology.” Informed more by sexual liberalism than scripture or the Reformed tradition (Paglia archly notes that there’s nary a mention of the commandment forbidding adultery), the paper denies “the dark drama of sex” with its “eternal perversities.” The report’s appeals to “intimacy and interpersonal communication” blithely neglects the possibility that eroticism “may in fact be most itself” denuded of intimacy. “The body has its own animal urges, just as there are attractions and repulsions in sex that modern liberalism cannot face.” It ultimately descends into self-parody. “‘Eros,’ says the report’s glossary, is ‘a zest for life.’ Is this a soap commercial? Eros, like Dionysus, is a great and dangerous god.” Paglia, a self-described “lapsed Catholic of wavering sexual orientation,” has more insight into our vexing sexual predicament than the putative heirs of John Calvin.
Daemonic Sexuality
For me, sex is experienced as a burden, not as a “gift.” “Sex is daemonic,” Paglia writes, subject to those lower spirits that resist the mastery of reason. In my religious formation, sexuality was subordinated to the higher ends of marriage and procreation. I pledged to order my sexual expression accordingly. But my personal experience of sex is that it is untamed and untamable, compelling the untrammeled satiation of desire. Once I could no longer maintain my pledge to purity, I was in thrall to the erotic impulse.
I just read a review of a new biography of Thomas Merton, whose work I have long admired. The Trappist monk late in life fell for a young student nurse and found himself unable to keep his vows. Merton wrote of her, “I keep remembering her body, her nakedness…. [we] drank our wine and read poems and talked of ourselves and mostly made love.” “He wanted the best of both worlds,” the reviewer writes, “as a holy preacher and a covert sinner.”
Still, I can’t escape a nagging sense of shame. A clinical psychologist who has written on the intersection of sex and Christian life advocates a “sex positive Gospel” as a means of reducing sexual shame. Augustine is probably closer to the mark when he observes that a “natural sense of shame” accompanies the sexual act, an act that we are biologically programmed to engage in. Such is the inherent conflict of eros.
I recall a listing Stephanie posted this time last year:
Easter is coming up. What is it that rabbits do?
As I struggle to complete my dissertation proposal and deal with the business of Holy Week, I needed a respite. Or to put it another way, I wasn’t feeling particularly holy at the time.
Betty has relocated to a new town and gone on hiatus. That left Sara available on short notice. I called Joyce and arranged a lunchtime getaway.
Arriving at her incall loft in the city, Sara greeted me in a red teddy and high heels. We exchanged pleasantries, she offered me a glass of water, then it was off to the races. After a brief makeout session, she positioned herself on her knees and took my cock into her mouth. I looked down and savored the view of her pleasuring me. Then I gripped her head. Sara permits CIM, and I was going to take advantage of her liberality. I prolonged the pleasure as long as I could, but Sara is too talented at her craft. I felt my balls tighten, my body shook, and a hot and creamy load burst into her mouth.
She went to the sink to spit and rinse her mouth. The radio softly played in the background. It didn’t take long for me to get hard again. Sara aims to please, and soon this bouncy bunny was on top of me. She ended up on her hands and knees.
What is it that rabbits do?
The sound of my hips slapping against her ass echoed in my ears. Gripping her hips firmly, I pounded away. When I first became sexually active, I assumed that, having sated my sexual curiosity, I could return to a life of purity. I should have heeded Kerouac’s warning: “Woe unto those who don’t believe in the unbelievable sweetness of sex.”
I erupted inside of her in several bursts.
After I had cleaned up and dressed, a familiar post-coital sadness settled upon me. Sara and I amiably parted ways, and I emerged from her loft into the spring sunshine.
The parish’s nascent young adults group is finally meeting. It’s a small but dedicated bunch. And then there’s “Heidi.”
A tall, slender brunette, Heidi has been a lively addition to the group. She’s different. In her skintight jeans and suggestive makeup, she contrasts with the more modest young women at church. I also sense a burning eroticism within her. (I once overheard her discussing her busy dating life.) I suspect she’s sexually active.
Last week, after a brief conversation after Bible study, she unexpectedly gave me a hug. Having Heidi’s body against mine was admittedly quite arousing. I imagined her hot naked body pressed against mine. My fingers wrapped around her long hair as I pull it. Her sweet voice emitting moans of pleasure.
I really want to get in between her legs.
Heidi’s sexiness seems out of place (although not unwelcome from my perspective) in our conservative parish. The Christian church traditionally has limited sexual self-expression. A short skirt raises eyebrows. A peek of cleavage can ignite a whispered campaign of slut-shaming. One young woman earned the sobriquet “evangelical whore” for having sex with her boyfriend.
One young woman whose nom de blog is “Horny Christian Girl” describes her battle between her love for God and “the desire to get it on.” She’s managed to maintain her virginity, but she masturbates. “It is rare that I’m ever not in the mood for sex,” she confesses.
“Indeed, it robs of all conscience those who were previously honorable and upright, and makes traitors of those who have hitherto been loyal and faithful.”
Arthur Schophenhauer on sexual desire
I’ve continued to date Colleen the past several weeks. I enjoy her company, and I admire the depth of her faith. She’s amused by my wit and has complimented me for my dedication to ministry. We recently spent a day together in the country. She invited me to join her on a retreat sponsored by her church. Our interactions have been entirely chaste.
Colleen has no idea, of course. Like others who “know” me, she’d be stunned by my hidden sexual life. She assumes that I’m “saving” myself for marriage. I abandoned that objective long ago. My pretense of purity is hypocritical, and it’s profoundly disrespectful to Colleen to behave this way behind her back. I’ve split off that part of myself that I can’t reconcile with my beliefs. I’m incapable of developing an authentic self in which what I profess aligns with my actions.
Colleen has an attractive personality, but I struggle to think of her as a sexual partner. She’s a very sweet girl, but she’s…how do I put this…let’s just say that she won’t be appearing in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue in the near future. More relevant is the fact that she’s a “good girl” who is serious about maintaining her purity. To put it bluntly, she’s not spreading her legs anytime soon.
As my sexual adventuring has accelerated, I’ve become hesitant about entering into romantic relationships. I recognize the inconsistency of pledging faithfulness (especially in the context of a chaste relationship) while endeavoring to get laid clandestinely. Or perhaps it’s the case that my aversion to intimacy leads me to seek sexual release in encounters that are mostly void of emotion or affection or commitment. My natural reserve is exacerbated by the need to hide my lust-fueled behaviors. The last lady I seriously dated told me as our relationship unraveled, “I still don’t feel that I know you.” She was right, of course. She couldn’t know me, lest she uncover my secrets. This breeds some loneliness. Yet the best salve for loneliness I’ve discovered is sex.
So, despite a certain affection for Colleen, I’ve maintained a certain reserve during our dates.
“Adrianna” let me into her budget hotel room. Her long bleached blonde hair didn’t hide her Italian ancestry. All she had on was a leopard print bra and panties. She invited me to sit down next to her on the bed. An empty Starbucks cup sat on the nightstand.
I had arranged the engagement just a few hours before. I sought the remedy of sexual release. For the next hour, I didn’t half to worry about my pending dissertation proposal or running the parish’s education ministry.
“So what do you like, babe?”
I whispered in her ear that I wanted her to suck my cock.
Soon my pants were undone, and she was pleasuring me with her mouth. Sighs I couldn’t suppress escaped my lips. All of my commitments melted from my consciousness as I luxuriated in her blowjob.
Then her bra and panties came off. The condom came on. She got on the bed and seductively positioned herself on her hands and knees. I stripped off my shirt and joined her on the bed.
Then I was fucking her shamelessly.
My unsanctioned sexual desires had found an outlet. As the sound of our bodies smacking together echoed throughout the room, I had, for the moment, escaped from external tensions. The flesh is an end in itself.
“There is no such thing as sexual morality per se.” That is the proposition set forth in an recent article by Alan H. Goldman, an emeritus professor of philosophy at William and Mary. “Put less dramatically, there is no morality special to sex: no act is wrong simply because of its sexual nature.” Sexual activity, properly understood, is morally neutral. The moral evaluations that pertain to sex are those that pertain to every other field of human activity. “Sex itself is not a moral category, although it places us in relations in which moral considerations apply.” The primary moral consideration is whether sexual conduct is pursued with the rational consent of the participants, which would prohibit rape, sex with minors, and exploitative relationships.
Goldman replies to the objection that casual sex is a form of objectification, an evident violation of Kantian ethics. “In answering this charge, we must admit straight off that sex does involve viewing the other as a sex object: the focus is on the physical body. But this need not involve denial of subjectivity if the other’s desires and interests are taken into account, primarily by requiring rational consent.” Given the sums spent on cosmetics, it would seem that people readily assent to their objectification. “To use another as a means with her consent is perfectly permissible, especially when both parties benefit.”
Sexual desire is unique in that its only motive is to procure pleasure. Reproduction or the expression of emotion are tangential aims. “Overly restrictive sexual ethics derive from definitions that wrongly build these extraneous motives into the concept of proper sex,” Goldman writes. Catholic sexual ethics has traditionally condemned sex outside of marriage even if it is consensual. Secular ethics has tended to forbid sexual relations decoupled from romantic love. The Western tradition going back to Plato has judged sexuality as part of our lower animal natures, a threat to our rational faculties when untethered from love, preferably within the confines of marriage. This prejudice against sexual pleasure has clouded our ethical reasoning. “Sexual desire and love are fundamentally different psychological states,” Goldman writes. “[S]exual desire, although focused on another’s body, is essentially self-regarding, a desire for physical pleasure.” Confusing sex and love should not lead us to conclude “that all sex outside the context of loving commitment is wrong.” Indeed, sex devoid of romantic love can be “intensely pleasurable.”
Traditional Christian sexual ethics takes a rules-based approach, determining the licitness of sexual acts by judging how they accord with the dictates of scripture and natural law. Even more progressive Christian sexual ethics subordinate sexual activity to higher ends such as “commitment” and “mutuality.” Both presume that there is something unique about sexual experience that imparts its own unique moral quality. Professor Goldman’s reflections challenge that consensus.
As other platforms disappear or are threatened, I’ve started using Twitter to scout “professional talent.” A couple of weeks ago, I checked my Twitter feed and discovered that “Mandi” is visiting from the West. I hurriedly e-mailed her with my screening information, inquiring if she could fit me into her schedule. She quickly responded, offering an appointment late in the evening.
I drove to her hotel after class. She texted me her room number. Anticipation building, I inconspicuously walked through the foyer, took the elevator to the 5th floor, and made my way to the room. I knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before it opened.
“Phillip?” she whispered.
She let me in and invited me to sit down. I discreetly placed the donation on a table. Mandi is in her mid-20s, and her short black mini dress barely concealed her slender figure. She’s bubbly and giggly, and the conversation was light. “What’s the farthest you’ve ever driven to fuck?” she asked at one point. Sensing my reserve, she said, “I think you need to loosen up a bit.” Then she got up, peeled off her dress, put on some sexy music on her iPad, and put on a little show for me, moving that tight little ass of hers. Then she leaned into me.
“Like me being a dirty little slut for you?” she sighed.
She straddled me in the chair, grinding on my crotch. She felt my hardness. She unbuttoned my shirt and ran her fingers down my chest. I ran my fingers through her long blonde hair, then reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. She shook her bra off. I massaged her breasts before I suckled on her left nipple. Then I watched as she descended to her knees. She positioned herself in front of me, unfastened my belt, unzipped my pants, and freed my cock from my boxer briefs. Staring into my eyes, she lowered her lips to my cock. I felt my dark sexual energy stirring within me.
She then lured me to the bed for foreplay. I pulled off her lacy red panties. She ended up on all fours. I planted myself behind her and then slowly entered her. My thrusts, slow and steady at first, soon quickened. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her round, juicy ass. I gave it a light smack. She squealed. So I spanked her again. And again. I grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and gently pulled it. She squealed even louder.
I started to lose control. My animal nature took over. I fucked her harder and harder, slapping her ass when I felt like it. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my face. I had slipped out of reality. I couldn’t last much longer. A loud groan came out of my mouth as I was overtaken by a pulsing orgasm.
As we recovered, Mandi mentioned that she’s planning on returning in May. I promised to see her again.
While doing some research in the seminary library this afternoon, I was overtaken by that primal desire. My concentration wavered from my paper on the Shepherd of Hermas. I found myself surreptitiously browsing escort ads on my phone. I had seen “Nikki” a few months before. I quietly went to the stairwell and called her number. Nikki answered, and we expeditiously set up an early evening appointment. I left the library, drove home to prepare, then drove to her incall.
Nikki hosts in a modest apartment. She’s in her early 40s, tall and well-built, with long hair dyed blonde. She welcomed me with a bottle of water. After a few minutes of preliminary conversation, she led me to her sparse bedroom. We disrobed and moved to the bed. After a bit of foreplay, she asked me what I wanted. I requested doggy style. She got into position, and soon I was pumping away, thrusting deep inside her, enjoying the view of her nice round ass. No emotions. No sense of connection. Just raw, animalistic sex. I looked down and lasciviously watched my cock go in and out of her pussy. That set me off, and I finished sooner than normal.
“It’s a compliment!” she reassured me.
She cleaned me up, then we got dressed. She asked me about my plans for the evening. I answered that I was going to Barnes & Noble to study. She suggested the mocha frappuccino at the cafe. I then headed off into the twilight.
A brief weekend excursion out of town concluded with a visit to “Isabelle’s” hotel room. I had arranged an appointment with her a couple of weeks earlier. Petite, busty, and a bit curvy, she met me in a sheer black robe. She’s in her early 20s, and her long brown hair framed her almost cherubic face. She’s a cosmetologist when she’s not escorting. Like a number of companions, she took an interest in my work and schooling. Then she said something interesting.
“Everyone has a right to their secrets. What goes on in here is for us to know, and them to never, ever find out.”
Then she started to seductively strip.
Soon we were on the bed and my head was buried between her thighs. She responded enthusiastically as I ate her pussy.
“Yes! Yes! Ohh, yes!”
She ended up on her hands and knees. (“My favorite position,” she teased.) I grabbed her luscious round ass cheeks, held on tight, and started pumping in earnest. The bed rocked as I thrust in and out at a steady rhythm. Soon she was meeting my thrusts. I let out a guttural grunt of satisfaction as I exploded, then I collapsed panting on top of her.
As we recovered, she suggested indulging in a little roleplay the next time we meet.
Lutheran Guilt 