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.

Fat Tuesday

The evening before Ash Wednesday. I confess self-mortification was not on my mind.

I spent the night of Fat Tuesday in a hotel room near the airport. Tina at the agency suggested “Jessica.” An hour later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it and saw a young, petite brunette in a leather jacket and black mini skirt. After introducing ourselves, we sat on the bed. She’s relatively new to the profession. I asked her how she liked escorting.

“It’s better than I thought it’d be. It helps if you like sex!”

I confessed to being a bit nervous with someone I hadn’t seen before. She responded that hiring an escort shouldn’t produce anxiety since you’re going to get what you paid for. Then she unzipped my pants and slid her hand down my boxers. I began to kiss her and remove her clothes. I grabbed her tits and sucked on her nipples. Soon she was fingering herself.

“I’m so fucking horny!” she squealed.

My mouth made its way down her smooth stomach to her shaved mons pubis. My tongue entered her pussy. She was noticeably wet. I went down on her. She moaned.

She rose from the bed, then dropped to her knees in front of me. After teasing my balls, she flashed me a smile. She teased the head of my cock with her lips, then took me deep into her mouth. After several minutes of her servicing me, I couldn’t hold out any longer. I erupted in her mouth. Some of my cum spilled onto her chin.

She excused herself to the bathroom to spit. When she returned, we lay down on the bed and made out some more. She reached for a condom. I bent her over the bed. She begged me to spank her pert ass.

SMACK!

“I really need you to fuck me,” she pleaded.

I penetrated her and started fucking her from behind. As we went at it, her loud moans and cries of “Fuck me!” and “Yes!” filled the room. I have no doubt that whoever was in the room next door heard her. (I mischievously hoped it was a mom and dad tasked with explaining it to their kids.)

My Nun Story

Speaking of transgressions….

During my first semester in divinity school, “Sister Beatrice” was in my Reformation history class. A Dominican nun who is working on a doctorate in church history, her order permitted her to take the course at the school. (If you want to learn about the Reformation, it makes sense to be taught by Protestants.) She certainly stood out in her white habit. I casually chatted with her on occasion. She was bright, funny, and rather pretty. But I noticed that as the semester went on, I started to get aroused by her. Her young, unblemished, “virginal” body draped in holy attire enticed me, and I derived a sweet thrill from thoughts of corrupting it.

Yes, I fantasized about fucking a nun.

I confess it wasn’t the first time. I had fantasized about corrupting Amy Adams’ naive Sister in Doubt.

Female sexuality is inextricably intertwined with humanity’s fall from grace at the hands of Eve in the Garden of Eden, and woman forever remains on the precipice of impurity. Even a nun can be debauched.

There’s a scene in 3 Needles in which a nun portrayed by Chloe Sevigny sacrifices her chastity. As she lifts up her habit and gives her body over to a man, one senses the exquisite burden of her vows and the cost of betraying them.

I dated two Catholic girls who pursued religious life. One went on to take vows. (I hope it wasn’t because of me.) Another had contemplated becoming a nun and even briefly entered the novitiate of a Dominican order before I met her. (She obviously didn’t stick with it.) The lure of chaste vestals, and defiling their purity, is intensely erotic for me. (That may explain my Catholic school girl fetish. Catholics sure know how to inspire fetishes.) Are such women really chaste? Can they truly give themselves entirely to God, remaining celibate their entire lives? Intimate relations with a “Bride of Christ” is taboo of the highest order. (It was a capital crime in the Middle Ages.) The thought of getting her to betray her vows is hot.

Young MILF

I pulled up to the budget motel. “Gem” had texted me that she had just returned with “supplies.” I knocked on the door, and she let me in. A self-described “young MILF” in her mid-20’s with long brown hair and an average build, she met me wearing a tight sweater and a black miniskirt. She lightly kissed my neck.

“I like your sweater.”

She helped me take it off and unzipped my pants. She took her top off, revealing a lacy bra. I placed the donation on the table. She quickly stripped off the rest of her clothes, and soon we were both naked on the bed. I started playing with her perky tits – her sizable nipples hardened – and caressed her ass. My fingers then ran through her trimmed bush. She noticed that my cock was rock-hard and took me into her mouth. I placed my hand on the back of her head to guide her as she orally pleasured me. She climbed on top of me. She started slowly moving her hips in a circular motion, then accelerated her pace as her breasts bounced up and down in my face. She slid her hand down and manually stimulated her clit. My hands clenched her hips as my pelvis thrust off the bed. After several minutes, I cried out my pleasure.

But she wasn’t done. After cleaning me up, she caressed and stroked my cock and got it hard again. She got another condom and covered me, then she lay on her back and spread her legs.

“Yes, baby, let’s go.”

She moaned as I slid inside her. She reached down to stimulate herself again as my body rocked back and forth on top of hers. The bed wobbled as she urged me to keep fucking her. I erupted once more.

We talked afterwards. She was quite sweet. She said she wanted to go back to school, probably in the medical field. She enjoyed making jewelry. Christmas was a little rough for her; she had barely enough money to afford presents for her young son. The conversation tempered my lust. When our time was up, I quickly got dressed and departed into the afternoon sunshine.

Flight Attendant

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I received an e-mail from “Sarah” this morning. She is a flight attendant and part-time escort. We had seen each other before. She was in town for a couple of days and was available. I replied expressing interest in an appointment, and she responded, saying that she could meet me early this evening. I battled rush hour traffic and arrived at a hotel near the airport. I was welcomed by a friendly, curvy, somewhat matronly woman in her 40’s in black lingerie. She fetched me a bottle of water, and we caught up a bit. Then it was time for fun.

She positioned herself so she was sitting on the tops of my thighs. She slid the latex over me. Moving up on her knees, she positioned herself above me, fitting me inside her. She closed her eyes and leaned back her head. This woman was built to fuck. Rocking her pelvis back and forth, her big tits flopping up and down, she increased her speed as I bucked beneath her, magnifying the friction inside her. She continued to ride me, picking up her pace even more. I grabbed onto those delicious breasts, as if I was holding on for dear life.

Then she suddenly stopped and got off me. She got on her knees and leaned forward, inviting me to enter her from behind. I guided my cock to her pussy. Placing my hands around her ample waist, I started pumping. My strokes became deeper and stronger. She arched her back and cried, “Oh, God, I’m coming!”

“You’re not a priest, are you?”

She tugged at the waist of her tight pants. “I know you want to see me naked!” she teased.

She advertised herself as “Southern Comfort.” She moved to New York from down South to attend school. She hosted from a basement apartment near Greenwich Village. When we spoke on the phone, she asked me to see her earlier because she had to study. With her dark mop of hair, she looked a bit disheveled. She struck me as a little flaky. She rapidly stripped off her clothes. I followed suit, then nervously lay down on the bed. She crawled on top of me.

“You’re not a priest, are you?”

Startled, I told her I was a volunteer minister at a Lutheran parish.

“You seem like a priest — so nervous and shy.”

She said she had gotten to know a couple of priests, including a couple at St. Patrick’s Cathedral — “know” as in the biblical sense. She had been the covert girlfriend of one for a short time. “They’re just guys,” she said – implying that guys just need to get laid. She had converted to Catholicism against her family’s wishes a few years earlier. She had a devotion to Mary. She showed me a holy card blessed by Pope John Paul II.

“I don’t agree with the Church on sex, though,” she said. She even contemplated becoming a nun, but couldn’t take vows: “I like to fuck too much!”

“Do Lutherans have to be celibate?”

I told her we don’t.

“Good!”

I kissed her tentatively.

“Let me show you how to kiss a girl,” she said. She gave me a wet kiss, thrusting her tongue inside my mouth. We continued to make out.

We had been together over an hour. “I must really like you.” Then she pleaded, “Will you be my boyfriend?” She said I resembled an old flame who had dumped her.

Finally it was time. I lay on top of her. She helped guide me inside her. She squealed with delight as we fucked.

We recollected ourselves. She asked me to call her just to hang out. “I don’t have many friends,” she said. She had some pot we could smoke. I promised I would call her again. Then I headed out into the city night.

I never did call her.