“Good girl”

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I ventured out into the midday heat to visit “Sara” again at her loft in the city. She opened the door in a skimpy lavender nightie and high heels, welcomed me in and fetched me a glass of ice water. As per usual, we had a conversation that lasted a couple of sentences. I sat on the couch and she hopped on my lap. I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth while I slid the strap of her lingerie down, exposing a breast. She’s around 40, but her body is toned and tight. Sara is rather docile, which made me more aggressive than I usually am.

“Get on your knees,” I whispered in her ear.

Sara obeyed. She unbuckled my belt, unzipped my slacks, and pulled down my underwear. My erection was in her face. I looked down to see her put my penis in her mouth. She lubricated the shaft with her saliva, then slid her hand up and down it while her mouth worked on the head. Having a woman on her knees servicing me gives me an incredible sense of my masculinity.

“Good girl,” I whispered.

I usually don’t come during oral, but Sara permits CIM. She’s a talented cocksucker, but I held out as long as I can. I enjoyed having her on her knees. I grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and gently fucked her face. I felt my balls tighten. It was time. With a loud grunt, I shot a load into her mouth. She rose and went to the bathroom sink to spit and rinse.

It didn’t take me long to recover. I started on top of her. Rolling her on top of me, she rode me for a while. She ended up on her hands and knees. I grabbed her hair and fucked her rough and deep. Nothing tender about it. It was liberating being so unabashedly physical. No pretensions of intimacy. I fucked her like the whore she is.

After it was done, I lay exhausted on the bed. Music from her radio played in the background. I almost drifted off to sleep.

“It’s relaxing,” she said, some of the few words she uttered.

I dressed and prepared to leave.

“You’re sweet,” she told me as I said goodbye.

Ecce Unde

Constantine’s cooptation of Christianity marked a turning point in the church’s view of sex, a definitive rejection of a Semitic appreciation for sexuality. Raymond J. Lawrence, Jr. makes this claim in Sexual Liberation: The Scandal of Christendom. Uniformity in belief and practice was imposed. Proponents of a more liberated perspective, such as Theodore of Mopsuestia, were condemned as heretics and silenced after the Council of Nicea in 325.

Before Constantine, the sin of idolatry–in particular offering sacrifice to the imperial cult–was the primary concern of Christian morality. After Constantine, Christian morality became obsessed with sexual purity. Lawrence attributes this to the Stoicism and Neoplatonism, which viewed sexual pleasure with suspicion, that dominated Roman thought at the time.

Two figures that stand out in the post-Constantinian church were Jerome and Augustine. Lawrence writes, “Among all the great personages of early Christendom few exerted as much influence and none is more fascinatingly kinky than Jerome.” Jerome believed sex was intrinsically impure; the only good to come out of marital intercourse was the birth of virgins. (He disapproved of baths for virgins lest they kindle lust in the bather.) Virginity and sexual abstinence were the hallmarks of Christian life. He condemned Clement of Alexandria for espousing the notion that Paul was married. “His dark, sex-phobic shadow casts itself across the church right into the present generation,” Lawrence concludes.

Augustine led a sexually licentious life during his youth. After his conversion to the “Catholic” faction, he became an obsessive celibate. His formulation of the doctrine of original sin, in which the human will is ineluctably tainted by dark impulses, can be interpreted as a psychological reaction to his former life. Original sin, as Augustine understood it, was inextricably linked to sex. “Ecce unde,” he wrote. “There it is.” The libido’s inability to be mastered by the will made it demonic. Arguably this derived from his philosophical training than biblical reflection. As Peter Brown wrote, “The loving cleaving of Israel to God would never be reenacted in the marriage beds of Western Christendom, only the sad shadow of Adam’s estrangement from the will of God.”

The Black Curtain

Nobody knows I do this. Nobody knows.

It can be both thrilling and exhausting living a double life.

There is an incredible sense of freedom. One decides that the rules and strictures that others have to abide by don’t apply to oneself, liberating oneself from social conventions. There’s a certain feeling of power in keeping secrets. The need to keep my transgressions hidden forces me to control other people’s perceptions of me. I have a secret life they’re completely unaware of. As one escort put it, “I get off on being in public an hour after an appointment and nobody having a clue about what I was just doing.” The excitement derived from the risks I take (especially considering I’m remarkably risk-averse elsewhere in my life) can’t be discounted. To do something dangerous and get away with it, to transgress and then return to “normal” life unscathed, with no one any the wiser, can be exhilarating.

But there’s a cost. I’ve developed a split personality, the formation of an alternate self and the inner conflict attendant with that. Tammy’s invocation of Jekyll and Hyde was apt. I lead the ultimate Jekyll and Hyde existence: the good Christian on the one hand, the sexual adventurer on the other. There’s the pubic persona and the private behavior. There’s the one who is morally upstanding in front of family, friends, parishioners, associates; then there’s the one consumed by lust. No one really knows me. I have been keeping up the façade for so long that I’ve been able to compartmentalize my sin. I inhabit a contradiction. It’s impossible to lead a life of integrity; my character is opaque. Even my double life has a double life. When I was cavorting with Rhonda, she was unaware that I was also visiting call girls. Secrecy and duplicity are inescapable. I’ve had to develop increasingly labyrinthine lies to obscure my behavior. The pressure to keep up pretenses and appearances is exhausting. My behavior induces shame. I’ve been living dual lives.

Dr. Beth Wish describes the mindset of one living a double life: “‘Oh my god, I’m doing this in the dark furtively. I have a part of my behavior that is closed. The black curtain has been drawn on how other people see me and how I present myself to others.’”

“When you’re an escort, you constantly have to lie,” Stephanie once complained to me. Yet I suspect that’s exactly what she finds so exciting about her lifestyle. Leading a double life, with all its stresses and contradictions, can be an adrenaline rush. (Or as she once said, “It’s walking a tightrope, but it’s a blast!”) Stephanie told me that when she was younger she seriously thought about working for the CIA, so something about leading a double life obviously entices her. I imagine her clients at her “straight job” in real estate would be shocked if they discovered that this sweet young lady worked as an escort.

The stakes are high for me. If my other self were discovered, I would most likely lose my position at my church and any future in ministry would be foreclosed to me. Having to face family and friends in light of any personal revelations would be humiliating. In short, my entire world would be upended. Yet I can’t surrender these parallel lives.

Jekyll and Hyde

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The dreary weather did nothing to dampen my sex drive. So I left church early and cavorted with “Tammy” early this evening. She’s a secretary in the city with an “understanding boss” who permits her to keep a flexible schedule. What he doesn’t know is that she leaves the office to moonlight as a call girl. “A dilettante, not a pro” is how she described herself. (But if she accepts payment, doesn’t that by definition make her a “pro”?) I had an earlier assignation with her at her friend’s apartment downtown. Today we met at an upscale hotel. She was running behind schedule, so I waited a while in the foyer. When Tammy called me up to her room, another lady was exiting it. I wonder if she’s the same friend. Anyway, Tammy greeted me in jeans and a sweater. She’s a super-friendly curvy gal with dirty blonde hair, about 40ish. She comes across as the neighbor next door. We chatted for several minutes. More accurately, she talked for several minutes. She used to dance years ago at a local strip club. She has a 14-year old daughter who obviously has no idea she does this. She leaned in to kiss me. “I like to kiss,” she said. Long, deep kisses followed. My hand found its way under her sweater. She stripped off her sweater and jeans, showing off a sexy pink bra and pink panties. She grabbed a condom. She peeled off her underwear. Hopping on top of me, she began riding me slowly.

“Yes, Daddy, yes…” she moaned.

We picked up the pace, her thick hips moving back and forth. She really got into it. I grabbed onto her full tits. I could tell she was enjoying it. Then I exploded.

“We make a good pair,” she said cheerfully, referring to her extroversion and my introversion. Surreptitiously working as a call girl was exciting, she told me. “It’s like being Jekyll and Hyde!” She had once almost gotten caught. A potential client turned out to be a coworker. She spotted him before she entered the building and was able to avert detection. Tammy then escorted me to the door (apology for the pun). We kissed and said goodbye.

The Scandal of Christendom

By happenstance, last year I discovered Raymond J. Lawrence’s Sexual Liberation: The Scandal of Christendom. The title captures the book’s thesis. “Christianity…is the most sex-negative of all the major world religions,” Lawrence contends. A historical account of the relationship between Christianity and sexuality, Sexual Liberation sets forth a vision of Christianity that is “sex positive.” To remain viable as a religion, Lawrence maintains, adherents of traditional sexual ethics must stop “continuing Christianity’s long campaign to inhibit its adherents from experiencing the best of God’s gift to humankind, the pleasure of sex.” My curiosity still piqued, I decided to revisit the book. (I earlier summarized his chapter on Luther, sexuality and the Reformation.)

Judaism at the time of Jesus had a far more positive view of sexual pleasure. The Song of Songs “is unambiguously pornographic”:

O kiss me with the kisses of your mouth.
His left hand is under my head;
His right hand clasps me. (2:5)
Let my love enter his garden;
Let him eat its delectable fruit. (4:16)
Under the apple tree I aroused you.
There your mother conceived you. (8:5)
My love thrust his hand [a euphemism for penis] into the hole
And my inwards seethed for him. (5:4)
Your curving thighs are like ornaments crafted by artist’s hands;
Your vulva a round crater. (7:2)
The scent of your vulva like apples,
Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my perfect one! (7:8)
Your valley [a euphemism for the female pudendum], a rounded bowl
That is not to lack mixed wine. (7:3)

Renowned Old Testament scholar and Catholic priest Roland E. Murphy noted the Song’s depiction of “human sexual fulfillment, fervently sought and consummated in reciprocal love between a woman and a man.” Its provenance may be Babylonian orgiastic rites. First century rabbi Akiba ben Joseph sought to preserve its inclusion in the canon and proclaimed, “The whole world, is not worth the day on which the Song was given to Israel.” This was in stark opposition to the Stoics and Platonists in the Hellenistic world who divorced sexual pleasure from religion. Later traditions obscured its literal sexual meaning through allegorical readings. Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, sexual intimacy serves as a metaphor for the covenant relationship between God and Israel.

The Pharisees sought to regulate sexual activity while not denying sexual pleasure. Polygamy was permitted (even occasionally required). Sexual intercourse constituted a de facto marriage. Levirate marriage is contrasted with the Christian understanding of marriage. One of the results of Christian monogamy was the creation of the categories of mistresses and illegitimate children, both of which were unknown in ancient Israel. Prostitution was tolerated. (Rahab is considered an exemplar of faith in the New Testament.) According to the Talmud, we can look forward to sex in heaven. “Of the three Abrahamic faiths, only Christianity has no tradition of sex in heaven.” Novelist Herman Wouk summed up Judaism’s sexual heritage: “What in other cultures has been a deed of shame…has been in Judaism one of the main things God wants man to do. If it turns out to be the keenest pleasure in life, that is no surprise to a people eternally sure God is good.”

Lie of Innocence

Stephanie unbuttoned her tight white shirt. “You get to have me before the professor does,” she teased, alluding to a college course she was about to take. Once she shed the shirt, she was clad in only a bright red bra, a short plaid skirt, and knee high stockings. Her blonde hair was done in long pigtails.

She leaned in to kiss me. I kissed her, then my hand slowly reached up her thigh underneath her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any panties. So naughty.

I reclined on the bed. She climbed onto it, then moved to undo her skirt. I asked her to keep it on.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” she teased. The she climbed on top and mounted me.

Catholic school girls. The uniform’s what does it for me.
Banky Edwards, Chasing Amy

The short pleated skirt. Knee-high stockings. Polished Mary Janes. Pigtails. And a glimpse of white cotton panties….

I have a thing for the Catholic schoolgirl fetish. It’s a favorite trope of porn I consume. (“While they might not score high on the SATs, they all get A+s in Sex!”) It probably has its roots in my adolescence. Britney Spears enticed me in her schoolgirl uniform just when my sexuality was budding. According to Rolling Stone, it was an “incendiary combination of girlish purity and sex-kitten naughtiness.” A fashion photographer who arranged an erotic shoot on the theme said, “I was experimenting with a symbol of virginity, the untouched, the ideal, the romantic notion of the pure. That is what the uniform signifies.” One male who pondered the durability of this particular fetish concludes, “I’d speculate that the fetish for Catholic schoolgirl outfits has little to do with an attraction for underage chicks and much more to do with the allure of sexual repression finally unleashed…. It’s not pre-pube innocence which drives men wild— it’s the LIE of innocence.” The ostensibly virginal Catholic schoolgirl, who maintains the facade of religiosity and chastity yet indulges her lust, proves irresistible to me. Innocence defiled plays a big role in my erotic imagination. This fetish undoubtedly is yet another manifestation of that. What can I say? Plaid gets me hot.

“Let’s play together”

Young, Hot, Stunning GFE – let’s play together

I scheduled with Victoria via text for another appointment. She was able to meet in the early evening at an upscale hotel near the convention center. She called me as I arrived at the hotel and apologetically told me that she was delayed. After a considerable wait, she called me up to her room. She answered the door with tears in her eyes.

Something had happened to upset her. We sat on the bed. My pastoral instincts kicked in, and I tried to console her. She didn’t want to go into detail about what happened. It made the setting quite odd. The minister in me wanted to provide succor.

But I couldn’t avert my eyes from her phenomenal ass.

She composed herself within a few minutes. Her hair color had changed from blond to brunette, but her 20-year old spinner’s physique was unchanged. (And I had discovered during my previous encounter with her that she was tight in more ways than one.) She reminded me of the girls who attended the public high school, the ones who would flaunt their nubile bodies and sex appeal. The ones who, despite my commitment to purity, I secretly wanted to fuck.

My carnality overwhelmed my ministry of presence as I stripped off her lingerie. She said she wanted to make up for her tardiness. My clothes came off, and I lay on the bed. She positioned herself to my right, her head approaching my cock. Soon her mouth was moving up and down my shaft as I fingered her. I felt her getting wet. On came the condom. My aggressiveness surprised me as I fucked her doggy style: my hand spanked her bare bottom, then grabbed her long hair as I pounded her hard. I had her get on top and ride me. The sight of her slim body fucking me cowgirl pushed me over the edge. My hands clasped onto her hips as I exploded inside her.

Sexual Object

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Amidst the stress of Holy Week and the approaching end of the semester, I made a brief escape this afternoon. A quick call to “Joyce” arranged an appointment with “Sara.” After returning home to shower and change clothes, I drove to the city and walked down an alley by the river to Sara’s incall. It’s a cozy loft discreetly located — perfect for a late afternoon frolic. A knock on the door and she let me in.

I’ve seen Sara about a dozen times. With her long blonde hair and tight, athletic body, she makes for an entertaining playmate. She’s quite sweet, but she doesn’t reveal much of her personality. Halting attempts at conversation with her have gone nowhere. Joyce advertises her as “GFE,” and while Sara may provide a lot of services on the menu, she doesn’t really fit that (admittedly vague) description for me. Little emotional intimacy is shared. Our encounters are marked by raw physicality. There are times when I seek a genuine personal connection with an escort. Other times, frankly, I just want to fuck. Sara is the perfect companion for those times.

Today she met me in an outfit that was totally slutty, advertising her sexual availability. She offered me a glass of water. Few words were spoken before we were stripped naked, French kissing on the bed.

Sara’s instrumental, impersonal approach to sex (even her moans were obviously feigned) is erotic in its own fashion. Having little sense of her as a person, I consented to her sexual self-objectification. She had been reduced to a “fucking machine,” an assemblage of tits and ass and pussy which was designed solely for my sexual gratification.

The prostitute does not satisfy the need for a woman or even the demand for a particular sort of woman. She accommodates the client’s desires for a woman who ceases to exist when she is no longer wanted. A man seeks a prostitute in order to avoid the inconvenience of sexual relations with another subject. Indeed, he pays her to disguise the subjectivity expressed through her individual needs, interests, and desires. With a prostitute, a man can have sex when and how he wants it…. The consequences she bears for their sexual encounter need not concern him.

– Yolanda Estes, “Moral Reflections on Prostitution”

But, as Kant and others have asserted, isn’t all sex ultimately objectifying? In his Lectures on Ethics, Kant writes that sexual activity is inherently objectifying because the participants use each other as means to an end, which is sexual satisfaction. “[A]s soon as the person is possessed, and the appetite sated, they are thrown away, as one throws away a lemon after sucking the juice from it.” Sex also entails self-objectification, since in the throes of sexual passion one abandons rationality and descends to the level of animal instinct, using oneself as a mere means for sexual pleasure. Sara and I merely made explicit what is implicit in all sexual activity. I used her to obtain an orgasm. She used me to obtain $300. We fucked without pretense.

Audrey Redux

“I like you, Philip,” Audrey said lazily as we lounged on the bed. Stan Getz played on her MP3 player. We had fucked just minutes earlier.

“Fruit is so sexy,” she purred. She daintily reached for a slice of pineapple on a plate on the nightstand. I thought about how certain fruits resemble female genitalia, but I thought it best not to vocalize that impression.

I saw that Audrey was in town again, so I booked an appointment with her early this evening. When I arrived at her room at the Sheraton, she greeted me with a smile. A thin white robe was draped over her flawless body. She was clad in a white garter and stockings set, accentuated by her high heels. She seemed a bit different this time. Something was off. She seemed a bit sedated, like she was somewhat out of it. Her room was messier than during my previous visits — I spied a couple of empty wine bottles and a package of snack cakes. When I placed the donation on the dresser, she immediately opened the envelope to count the bills.

She moved toward the window in her room and commented on the view at dusk. The dome of the cathedral could be seen below us. The thought occurred to me to bend her over in front of the window, grab her by the hips, and go at it, hoping that someone down on the street below could look up to the 23rd floor and see us. I’ve never considered myself an exhibitionist, but I imagined Audrey and I being caught in flagrante delicto.

Instead we moved to the bed. Her lingerie came off, causing me to admire her pale skin. I caressed her glorious breasts and sucked on her nipples. She reached down and stroked me. As her mouth went up and down my cock, I ran my fingers through her silky black hair. Eventually my mouth made its way to her bare mons pubis. Then I went down on her. She smoothly put a condom on me with her mouth and wound up on top. Her vocalizations as she rode me triggered a thunderous orgasm.

We talked afterwards. (And she does like to talk.) Again, Audrey seemed a bit spacey this evening. She mentioned she once had a boyfriend in the New York neighborhood I once worked in. She was considering moving to the Northeast. She had recently watched Roman Holiday again. (Audrey Hepburn was the inspiration for her name.) She asked if she was my favorite escort among the ladies I have seen.

“You’re up there,” I said, which isn’t quite true. (If I had to rate her, she’d be in the second tier. Good, but not among my favorites.)

“Yay!” she replied.

She wound things up a few minutes before our hour was up and started to get dressed. It was early evening now, and she was going out to grab a bite to eat. She dressed up quite stylishly, and upon getting dressed myself, I accompanied her to the elevator. We exited into the foyer and went our separate ways into the dusk, but not before she wished me goodbye.

“Ciao!”

“I don’t know what to say”

7 (2)

A setback triggered the urge. I rented a room at the casino and called Tina. “Robin” wasn’t available, so Tina recommended “Emily.” Then I waited, anxious to lay my eyes on her. A basketball game on TV sufficed for background noise.

There was a knock at the door.

I felt a surge of adrenaline. The anticipation of meeting this woman with whom I would shortly be intimately engaged was intoxicating. (It can work both ways. Stephanie said that she gets “tingly” in a certain part of her anatomy when meeting a new client.)

I opened the door.

“Philip?”

I ushered her into the room, took her coat and offered her a seat. With her long dark brown hair, ample bosom and round derriere accented by her classy but tight blue dress, she looked appealing. She sat in a chair.

After a few moments of silence, she said softly, “I don’t know what to say.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Tina said you’re a nice, shy man, but it makes it hard to know what to say.” She seemed kind of shy herself. We struggled to make some small talk. Finally I suggested that we move to the bed. She got up and unzipped the back of her dress. Her tall white stiletto heels came off. She took out a condom and put it on the nightstand.

“You smell nice,” she said.

I had just taken a shower. She drew near in her bra and panties. She removed her bra; her big breasts were mesmerizing. We lay down on the bed. I complemented her on how cute she looked. She attributed it to her dimples. We talked for a short while. She said she designs children’s clothing during the day.

She slowly kissed me down my chest. My member stood at attention. I reached behind her and tugged on her panties. She reached down and slid them off. Then she reached into my boxers and pulled out my cock, lightly stroking it. I settled back onto the bed. I felt her warm, wet mouth engulf my cock. I gently caressed her hair as she sucked my cock. Then Emily reached for the condom, tore open the package and rolled it on me. She climbed on top and straddled my cock, slowly sliding me inside her. I savored that exquisite moment of penetration. She slowly began to rock her hips. I moved my hands to her round breasts. I started to thrust into her. I moved my hands down around her waist. She quickened her pace. I marveled at her bouncing breasts. She went faster and faster, bucking and jerking on top of me. Her fingers pressed into my chest. I felt myself spurt into the condom, and I cried out.

We lounged naked on the bed afterwards, saying little. She checked her phone; the hour was almost up. She quickly hopped off the bed and dressed. Offering me a chaste hug, she wished me good night. I opened the door and let her out.