Lilith

Stephanie hung a print of Lilith in her incall bedroom as a signal of female sexual empowerment. Lilith’s mythology is certainly saturated with sex.

According to the Alphabet of Ben Sira, a medieval Jewish text, Lilith (Hebrew לילית) was created from the dust after Adam to be his first wife. Adam wanted to have sex with her in the missionary position. Lilith refused to lie beneath him and flew away from the Garden of Eden. In Jewish mythology, Lilith was imagined as a demoness, a succubus. In the Zohar, a Kabbalistic text, Lilith was portrayed as a “harlot” who “commits fornications” with the “sons of man.” (The Babylonian Talmud had warned, “It is forbidden for a man to sleep alone in a house, lest Lilith get hold of him.”) If, as Judith Plaskow writes, “for the rabbis, a prime instance of the evil impulse was the sexual urge,” Lilith personified the depradations of untrammeled female lust.

Lilith’s defiance of patriarchy and her untamed sexuality has made her a modern feminist icon. “Lilith is the instinctual feminine, hungrily animating [female] sexual longings for the taste of primeval eroticism, seeking sex for its own pleasure without further obligations,” writes Karin E. Weiss. One feminist writes admiringly, “This is sex without love, without procreation, unpartnered, purely for the sake of pleasing the male sexual urge and not at all permitted within the Abrahamic ethos.” (Lilith is considered a patroness of prostitutes and is said to be summoned by black candles and sexual offerings.) Lilith represents the shadow feminine, symbolizing carnal desire and taboo sexuality. “With her legs open and her back arched, she writhes in orgasmic ecstasy, screaming out her pleasure, unashamed for all to hear” (Catherine Hale).

Lilith is both threatening and alluring to men. Kabbalist Ohad Pele says of Lilith:

She poses an erotic seduction that is very difficult for men to withstand. Men yearn for a woman like Lilith, a woman who is able to express the fullness of her unbridled passions, who is willing to be a sexual creature, to be active in bed, to be a woman who derives great pleasure from sexuality and is not one bit ashamed of it…. He will find her in the prostitute, in the courtesan, in the secret lover, in the dark romance….

In Lolita, Nabokov writes, “Humbert was perfectly capable of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for.”

Making Her Reaquaintance

My first visit out West since the pandemic struck provided me the opportunity to visit Stephanie for the first time in 2 1/2 years. She’s a favorite of mine. Attired in a short burgundy robe, she ushered me into her incall apartment and out of the winter chill. She offered me a glass of ice water in the kitchen, and, as we caught up for a few minutes, I stealthily glanced at her shapely ass. Then she invited me to the bedroom.

As seductive music played on a Bluetooth speaker, the first thing I noticed hanging on the wall in the darkened bedroom was a print of John Collier’s Lilith. Steph had become fascinated by the ancient Jewish myth. The demonization of Lilith, she said, encapsulated religion’s subjection of female sexuality. As she removed her robe to reveal a lacy babydoll nightgown, she said she had just finished reading Richelle Mead’s series about a succubus. (She’s partial to stories with supernatural themes that include lots of sex.) She confessed that the irresistibility of the succubus had parallels with her personal life. (Male friends of her boyfriends were particularly susceptible.)

By now her body was pressed against mine at the foot of the bed. My erection could be felt through my pants. She pulled off my sweater, unfastened my belt, and undid my pants. My hands slid underneath her babydoll and discovered that she wasn’t wearing panties. My hand brushed against her pussy; she let out a soft low moan. She pulled off her nightie. My boxer briefs came off. We kissed and embraced on the bed, my hands caressing her breasts. She poured some oil on my cock and gently stroked it. Her mouth found its way to my cock, her tongue teasing the head before she gently nibbled on my balls. She retrieved a condom, placed it on her lips, and rolled it over my cock taking me into her mouth. I caressed her light brown hair as her hazel eyes looked up at me with her mouth wrapped around my cock. Then she moved her body on top of mine. She cooed as I licked and sucked on her nipples. Straddling me, she slowly inserted my cock inside her wetness and mounted me. As I felt her muscles tighten tighten around me, she started by slowly moving up and down on my cock. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear to fuck her hard. Then she accelerated her rhythm. She urged me to thrust deeper. My hands gripped her hips as I thrust back into her. The sight of her bouncing on top of me was exquisite. My hands moved up her waist before they settled on her tits.

“I want you to come in me,” she squealed.

I erupted inside the condom.

When Steph returned to the bed from the bathroom with a warm, wet washcloth to clean me up, she returned to her complaint as to how religion stifles sexual expression. Open relationships, such as the ones she engages in, are condemned by nearly all religious authorities. (She noted some of these same authorities have mistresses or see escorts.) Virtue, she implied, is not undermined by consensual sexual conduct. Were I in “church mode,” I’d answer with certain prescribed arguments. But lying naked in bed with a woman just after sex makes me disinclined to respond. My arousal quickly returned.

“Look who’s waking up,” she said with an impish smile at the sight of my burgeoning erection. She ran her fingers up and down my aroused member and softly stroked it. I reached down and fingered her pussy. She moaned that she wanted me to fuck her again. She slipped a condom on me and got on all fours. She looked back at me as I entered her. I started slowly, then after a few thrusts, she told me to go harder and faster. I began pumping harder, her firm heart-shaped ass bouncing off my pelvis. I came with a shudder.

We resumed our meandering conversation. A fellow provider had encouraged her to use social media to attract clients, but Steph was disinclined to do so. She again teasingly implored me to read the succubus stories or something by Laurell K. Hamilton. (Despite the appeal of the sexual content, I demurred.) The night grew late. It was finally time to depart. I dressed, and she accompanied me to the living room. We kissed each other goodbye. Then it was back into the cold winter night.

On Short Notice

This is exam week at the seminary I’m teaching at this semester. Progress on my dissertation has been grueling. I’m juggling multiple initiatives at the parish in preparation for Christmas.

Fucking’s a form of anxiety reduction.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

I needed to see someone on short notice. Adrianna had earlier recommended that I visit her friend “Giulia.” I texted her requesting an appointment. She responded and offered an early evening session across the bridge.

When she opened the door to her incall apartment, I was met by a slender Italian girl in her early 20’s with long dirty blonde hair. A form-fitting red dress showed off her long legs. Our abortive attempt at conversation revealed the limits of her intellectual imagination. No matter. I wasn’t paying her for her mind.

She asked me to help her out of her dress. I slowly pulled down the zipper in the back. She pulled down her dress and stepped out of it. Now only attired in a black bra and black panties, she drew close to me and gave me a light kiss.

“What do you like?”

I told her.

She unhooked her bra and slid off her panties. She planted her knees on the carpet, undid my pants, and wrapped her soft yet firm lips around my cock. She had commented that she loves to please orally, and her skills testified to her enthusiasm. After several minutes of intense pleasure, I gripped her hair and unloaded in her mouth. A couple of drops of cum dripped down her cheeks.

She got up and retrieved a wash cloth and cleaned me up. She started rubbing me again. I didn’t take long for my arousal to return. She hopped on the bed and asked me how I wanted her. She takes instructions well. She stuck her round ass in the air and positioned her face in the sheets. I stood at the side of the bed and ripped open the condom package she’d given me. Once the condom was on, we vigorously went at it. She responded enthusiastically.

Oh my god!

Fuck!

Provision for the Flesh

From the lectionary we hear Paul admonish us at the beginning of Advent to “make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (Rom 13:14).

But Betty is back.

I usually am pretty effective at compartmentalizing my religious self and my sexual self. But I struggled to contain my arousal. After preparing for my adult Sunday school class, I retreated online to an escort site, found Betty’s listing, and texted her. To my surprise she texted me back immediately. We arranged a late afternoon appointment.

I arrived at her incall in the twilight. She was nicely dressed in a tight black dress. We had a short yet pleasant conversation about our preparations for the holidays. Then she leaned in for a light kiss. She unbuttoned my shirt. My hand moved up her thigh. She pulled off her dress. I buried my face in her luscious breasts and sucked on her nipples. My pants and boxer briefs came off. She slowly stroked my cock. The condom came on, and she buried her face in my crotch. I gently guided her head up and down as she pleasured me. Then she got on top.

Just hours earlier I had been preparing for Sunday School. Now as her pussy enveloped my cock, I was reminded of Bataille’s “delicious taste of sin.” The bed creaked at our exertions. In the moment my moral vision was obscured by the sight of Betty’s bouncing breasts.

“She had sex”

“Claire” was a member of my youth group in high school. With her brown hair and round bosom, she was easy to notice. I was too shy to speak with her, but she was a faithful presence in youth group until our junior year when she suddenly disappeared. Her absence puzzled me until I heard why she had left the group.

“She had sex,” I heard it whispered.

Claire had tearfully confessed to some of the other girls in youth group that she had sex with her boyfriend. Her mother had discovered evidence of her transgression via a discarded condom wrapper on her bedroom floor and lacy thong panties in her drawer. She forced Claire to publicly confess her sin. Then Claire’s family left the church.

Claire had “fallen.” My young mind was confused as to how she could present a façade of righteousness in church each week while engaging in sexual impurity. For a young Christian girl, sexual transgression cast doubt on the sincerity of her faith and imperiled her salvation. Ye shall know them by their fruits (Mt 7:16). While I expected the provocatively dressed secular girls who attended the public high school to egregiously sin, I hadn’t expected that of a good church girl like Claire. And she was irrevocably tainted. No Godly young man seeking a wife would be attracted to any young women stained by impurity.

I recently thought of Claire and Beth, girls I knew who failed to live up to their pledges of purity. Undoubtedly there were more who had fallen of whom I remain unaware. One assumption, both spoken and unspoken, in the culture I grew up in was that females, by dint of design, had it easier than lascivious males in controlling their sexual urges. Those girls who couldn’t were simply categorized as “sluts.” Despite some maturity on my part, this schema somehow still remains embedded in my erotic imagination, which I’m certain helps account for my Madonna-whore complex.

MILF Temptation

I noticed on social media that “Lara” would be visiting. She’s a shapely and tempting MILF with jet black hair.

I gave into temptation.

I reached out via email and requested an appointment. She responded within an hour, and after screening, we confirmed a date to meet. She sent a few flirtatious text messages in the days preceding our date. When the day arrived, I drove downtown to her incall. I arrived at her upscale hotel, and she texted me the suite number. She had left the door slightly ajar. I let myself in. Lara was sitting on the couch with a bottle of wine wearing only black fishnet stockings, a black garter belt, a black bra, and an impish smile. The room was illuminated by candlelight. I sat next to her, and she leaned over to give me a deep kiss. After we made our introductions, we talked for a while on the couch and exchanged kisses. She gently stroked my leg as we chatted. I excused myself to set down the envelope, and she embraced me when I returned. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating. My cock stiffened even harder as our mouths intertwined. She started rubbing my cock through my pants. I reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, revealing her round breasts. Then Lara grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom.

As I stood at the side of the bed, she kissed her way down my chest and got down on her knees, slowly pulling my boxer briefs down. She kissed my stomach before slowly making her way down to my cock. She stroked my cock, then worked her tongue and mouth on me. I ran my fingers through her silky black hair as she continued to suck me. She brought me to the edge, then slowed down before I asked her to climb on the bed.

We started making out on the bed. I caressed her soft porcelain skin, then lowered my head to her breasts so I could suck on her nipples. Her legs gently pulled apart, and my hand made its way to her moist pussy. Her wetness coated my finger as I stimulated her. She spread her legs apart even wider. She begged me to taste her. I kissed her thighs before I ran my tongue just outside her lips. Her hips were writhing. She grabbed the back of my head. I parted her lips with my tongue, then plunged my tongue inside her, savoring her juices.

“Lick my clit.”

She moaned with approval.

“Oh yesss.”

She reached for the condom and rolled it on me.

“How do you want to fuck me?”

She lifted her legs onto my shoulders (her yoga practice makes her quite limber), and I fucked her deeply, slowly thrusting into her at first. Then she moaned for me to fuck her harder. I furiously pumped away. Then Lara positioned herself on top and rhythmically rode me. The sight of her beautiful tits bouncing, as well as her breathless dirty talk, was something to behold. She proceeded to ride me harder and faster until I exploded. She unwrapped me and went to the bathroom and retrieved a warm damp washcloth to wipe me down.

We sipped some wine and conversed for a while afterwards as she lay her legs across my lap. Lara’s kisses and giggles were stimulating enough to reawaken my interest. We started making out some more. She applied another condom, then she got on all fours and told me to give it to her. I moved behind her to get a view of her magnificent ass. I smacked her ass before I entered her. She encouraged me to fuck her hard. Several minutes of hard pounding could not bring me close to orgasm. She suggested that I titty-fuck her. She poured some lube over her DD breasts. I straddled her chest and started to thrust. The sight of those luscious breasts and her verbal encouragement was enough to produce a thick creamy load strewn all over her chest.

Afterwards we rested in the sweaty afterglow. Again we chatted, mostly about her experiences in the “industry” and her favorite travel destinations. We had gone over our allotted time, but Lara was in no rush. I made the move to depart, collecting my clothes that had been strewn across the hotel suite. She remained naked. She leveled one last deep kiss on my lips as I prepared to exit the door. I took the elevator down to the lobby, past unsuspecting patrons, then out into the cold winter night.

“Enticing”

I discovered on social media that “Elle” would be visiting the capital from the West Coast. I submitted my screening information via the booking form on her website, and she quickly responded. We were able to make arrangements for the weekend. When the day arrived, we met late on a cool autumn morning at a chic boutique hotel in the city.

I slipped in the door of her hotel room, and a slender lady with long dark brown hair met me with an embrace and a light kiss on the cheek. She complimented me on my outfit; I discreetly eyed her graceful curves and shapely rear. I discreetly placed an envelope containing the donation on the desk and excused myself to the bathroom for a moment. When I returned, we took a seat at the foot of the bed. She held my hand as we made our introductions. She’s recently embarked on a graduate program in psychology. She had devoted time to burlesque dancing, which had clearly honed her slender frame. I traced my fingers along her forearm, feeling the softness of her freckled porcelain skin. She stood up, and I helped her out of her black dress. She asked for my opinion of her fancy blue Honey Birdette lingerie as she showed off her figure. “Enticing,” I responded, although I very much wanted to see her out of it. She must have sensed what I was thinking, for she slowly stripped out of her lingerie.

Then she invited me to stand up. She reached for my belt and zipper and started removing my pants. Her aggressiveness caught me off-guard, but I did not protest with the direction she was taking things. She pulled down my boxer-briefs and tossed them aside, then pushed me down onto the bed. She straddled me, deliberately grinding her bare crotch against my thigh. Her breasts swaying, nipples erect, she firmly took my erect cock in her hand and began to stroke me. Then she took me into her mouth to administer a deep blowjob, her dreamy dark blue eyes staring into mine.

She then asked me to take her. She applied a condom, and positioned herself atop me. After she slowly lowered herself onto my cock, I savored entering into her depths. She rode me, sensuously at first, then with increasing intensity. As mentioned, she has the loveliest ass, and I wanted to behold it. She positioned herself on her hands and knees, and I enjoyed the view as I took her from behind. She gripped the sheets on the bed with her hands as I vigorously fucked her. I felt my balls tighten and my body shake as I approached the explosive finale. After collapsing on top of her, I noticed that the sunlight peering through the blinds illuminated a sweaty handprint she left on the headboard.

After we cleaned up, we conversed a bit on her academic passions and favorite novels. (She’s partial to Neil Gaiman.) Then we dressed and parted ways with a hug and a kiss.

Frenzy of the Visible

As director of education at my parish, I came across faith formation resources on sexuality provided by the synod. “There has been a need in our church for entering into conversations about sexuality with our youth.” My own sexual education as a youth can be summed up in that old anti-drug slogan: “Just Say No.” Of course, given the conservative makeup of the congregation, were I to propose any such curriculum, I’d probably be relieved of my position.

I’d venture to say that the response of “Sally” would be typical in the parish. Sally was a classmate of mine in college. I first noticed her in chapel. Tall and slender with light brown hair, she emitted a devout, cheerful wholesomeness. Naturally I developed a crush on her which went unconsummated in even the slightest way; we simply remained “friends.” She was the quintessential virginal, unattainable girl.

I hadn’t thought about her in quite some time until I recently stumbled upon a profile of her online. I discovered she had earned a Ph.D. in Christian ethics, specializing in marriage and family life. She had married and already had a quiver full of kids. She was featured in a news article opposing a sex education bill at her state capitol.

Naturally she’s vociferously anti-porn. She called it a “toxin” and compared it with the coronavirus. “A pure gaze focuses our desire alone on our spouse.” An impure gaze she said is like Lot’s wife looking back to Sodom and Gomorrah. She bemoaned the fact that porn negatively impacts a couple’s “lovemaking.” (Perhaps these husbands turn to porn frustrated by the infrequency of “lovemaking” confined to the bed in the dark in the missionary position.) Her Twitter posts are abuzz with purity talk:

Those who believe they’ve found liberation in sex positivity are deceived.

Lust objectifies women.

The biggest impediment to evangelization right now is pornography.

I would say personally that porn has been invaluable as a source of sex education. “[Porn] has drastic limitations in representing real sex,” sex educator Gigi Engle told that esteemed academic journal Teen Vogue. “Porn is like real sex on steroids.” She also complained, “Porn films don’t show the power of intimate and emotional connectivity.” That lack of intimacy and emotional connection is a significant part of porn’s appeal for me. The same goes for its ugliness. It’s aesthetic (if it can be called that) is what porn scholar Linda Williams calls the “frenzy of the visible.” Porn sex is marked by its unabashed physicality. It displays lust. The “lovemaking” Sally extols is not to be found. A review in Variety of a film based on the contemporary L.A. porn scene bemoans what porn has become in the Internet age:

In porn, extreme is the new normal…. I’m talking about the “rough” vibe that now courses through so much online pornography, and how it has turned porn into an increasingly dark arena for acting out a kind of ritualized, eroticized aggression. Porn used to depict, more or less, what was known as vanilla sex. Now, to put it bluntly, more and more of it is about hate-fucking…. Porn, when it’s just a click away, can no longer be called underground, yet the emotions of porn, which increasingly fuse lust and brutality, adoration and degradation, are something that as a society we still tend to bury.

The gauzy, cheesy sex of Deep Throat has yielded to something darker. The performers, the review continues, are “letting out their ids, tapping their inner sexual beings. And what they’re now encouraged to channel is a sadomasochism of the spirit.”

Sex is the point of contact between man and nature, where morality and good intentions fall to primitive urges.
Camille Paglia

Porn exposes sex at its rawest and most honest. In porn, it’s all about the fuck and nothing more. Personal gratification is valued to the exclusion of other goods. The aggression inherent in male sexuality is exposed. Orgasm is exalted above commitment and romance. The selfishness of porn appeals to me. There’s a radical freedom portrayed in porn. As a Parisian libertine has said, “Fucking is our liberty.”

Porn scenarios are outlandish (I generally prefer my porn “straight,” that is, without scripts or storylines), but they can hint at psychic shadows. In one memorable scene, a church-going blonde MILF prays on her knees for “strength” to not give into temptation. She does, of course, explicitly. After getting thoroughly fucked like the slut she is, overwhelmed by her sin, she tearfully gets back on her knees. It’s actually a fine (if sexually idealized) depiction of the guilt-arousal cycle.

The anti-porn zeal of Sally typifies the repression of the flesh that characterizes Western Judeo-Christian culture. Feminist critic Camille Paglia observed, “The problem with America is that there’s too little sex, not too much. The more our instincts are repressed, the more we need pornography.” Porn deflowers the ideal of female chastity. The female figure in porn is decidedly carnal. According to Roger Horrocks, “To masturbate over her is a kind of black sabbath.” The sentimentality and romanticism which define Western femininity are perverted. There is something about watching a girl get fucked that is subversive. It’s what one sex blogger calls “the ultimate kink”: the lure of the forbidden.

Lust-Love Split

One of our older female parishioners (as they are wont to do) set me up for a date with “Lauren.” She’s a smart, lively lady in her mid-30s, with curly light brown hair. She arrived at the coffee shop early Sunday evening in a pretty blue dress. We got to know each other in the autumn twilight over pumpkin spice lattes. She currently works as an insurance underwriter, but her background is in historical interpretation. (She was formerly an assistant curator at a prominent historical site.) She spoke of family and her Catholic faith, and I very much enjoyed her company. We agreed to meet again.

While I was a gentleman, I couldn’t help but notice her shapely legs and her moderately-sized but round bosom. Unlike Colleen, there was a certain sensuality about Lauren. My experience with Catholic girls is that they are either frigid prudes or wanton sluts. Lauren doesn’t seem to fit into either category. She’s intriguing.

My hesitancy to form romantic attachments stems from several factors: a preternatural shyness, a profound introversion, a discomfort with emotional intimacy. Another factor is my recognition of my difficulty in practicing sexual fidelity. I continued to visit call girls when I was dating Colleen. Jack Morin wrote of the “lust-love split.” For me, love is alienated from sexual desire. I’ve written about my Madonna-whore complex. The allure of the prostitute, according to one psychoanalyst, is that her sexual assertiveness and availability — her lustfulness — provides a release for those primitive, predatory urges that can perturb a troubled erotic conscience. Sexual attraction for me involves a significant degree of sexual objectification. My sexual relationship with the Deaconess was enabled by the fact that I was able to reduce her to a vehicle of sexual pleasure. Or to put it another way, once she signaled her sexual availability, the Deaconess transferred herself to the other side of the “good girl/bad girl” binary.

The “good girl“ – Virtuous. Saintly. Chaste. The romantic relationships I’ve had have been with good girls. The girls with purity rings who believe that “true love waits.”

The “bad girl“ – The sinner. The femme fatale. The whore. She’s the one who sexually arouses me.

Meanwhile, I await my next date with Lauren.

Last-Minute Appointment

Most of my appointments with professionals are made in advance. Screening with a new companion can take time. Availability may be limited with others, especially with those who are touring, so booking ahead is advised. Plus the anticipation of an upcoming rendezvous can itself be erotic.

But sometimes I just want to fuck.

Yesterday afternoon was one of those times when I desired a more spontaneous encounter. I called Joyce hoping to secure a last-minute appointment. Fortunately Katie was available in the late afternoon. I hurriedly prepared myself and drove through the rush hour traffic to the private upscale apartment. I called Joyce after I found parking and was admitted into the building. Joyce met me downstairs and walked me up to the apartment. Once inside she offered me a bottle of water, then we innocuously chatted for a few minutes as Katie prepared herself.

Then Katie called me to the bedroom.

She was dressed in sexy black lingerie and kneeling on the bed. A gold cross conspicuously dangled from a necklace on her nicely enhanced chest. She’s definitely a MILF. After I placed the donation on a nightstand, she embraced me with a hug. She asked if I liked kissing. I responded affirmatively, and she planted a deep kiss on my lips.

“I like almost everything,” she said.

Her hands slowly undressed me. I asked her to get on her knees. She complied, kissing her way down to my erect cock. I gently slid the straps off the top of her lingerie, revealing her breasts. I slid my hand over her nipples, and they hardened from my touch. She took me in her mouth. I stared into her lovely eyes as she pleasured me.

Then she begged me to fuck her.

She discretely reached for a condom. She lay face down on the bed. I moved behind her. There was a mirror beside the bed. I dimly saw our reflection as my pelvis smacked against her ass.