Bad, Bad Girl

Her lips slowly imparted kisses along my collarbone. Then down my chest. Down my stomach. Down to my pubic region.

“I’ve been a bad, bad girl….” softly confessed Fiona Apple in the background.

Her hand wrapped itself around my erect member. I felt her tongue gently flick the tip of my cock. My fingers grasped strands of her dark brown hair. After teasing me with her tongue for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, her lips finally enveloped my throbbing hard-on.

A groan I had been stifling escaped my throat.

“Sheryl” had been a classmate before completing her master’s degree. We unexpectedly encountered each other at a seminary event as the spring semester drew to a close and agreed to meet for coffee at a newly reopened coffee shop near campus. Her background is in music; she’s a violinist and conducts a youth orchestra. Her father pastors a small urban church. She’s just a few years older than me and comes from a similarly conservative religious background (she was an undergraduate at Wheaton), although her theological leanings have since drifted leftward. (Witches, Sluts, Feminists was a title she recently read.) Her brassy personality certainly contrasts with mine, which made our ultimate coupling all the more intriguing. Our first date consisted of catching up and discussing one of her favorite authors, George MacDonald. Always flirtatious, she grew increasingly brazen during our second meet up for coffee — she ran her fingers through my hair at one point. Then her hand slid along my belt. By then I was fixated on getting her into bed. She must have intuited my intentions because she invited me back to her place.

Once we arrived at her home, we wasted little time — we headed straight to her bedroom. She undid my belt and the zipper on my pants. We started making out. Our lips met, and my tongue forced its way into her mouth. Again she ran her hands through my hair. I undid her bra; my mouth greedily sucked on her hard nipple. I caught her staring at my hard cock. There was no way to coyly hide my arousal. I was stripped bare in the most radical way, exposed as nothing more than an animal with an erection. She lay back on the bed and spread her legs.

Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its choicest fruits…. (Song of Songs 4:16)

“Mmm….”

After I tasted her, she reached inside her nightstand (I spied a vibrator inside the drawer) and pulled out a condom. She rolled the condom onto my cock. She lowered herself down and guided my cock into her depths. My fingers dug into her flesh as we found our rhythm. Low grunts emerged from the back of my throat. My pace quickened as my hips lifted off the bed as I thrust myself deeper inside her.

“Please, God, yes….”

It had been a while since I last hooked up. My regard for Sheryl in the moment was purely carnal. It felt so good to be inside her.

“OHMYGOD!”

We were nothing more than two sinners fucking.

I felt her tighten around me. I moaned. She collapsed on top of me, breathless and sweaty.

“For I do not understand my own actions”

It just occurred to me that I’ve been writing on this blog for five years now. I can’t exactly say for sure what compelled me to chronicle intimate (and scandalous) details about my sexual experiences. Perhaps it was an attempt to seek the underlying, hidden impulses that motivate my behaviors. “For I do not understand my own actions” (Rom 7:15). Despite the many words I’ve written since, I don’t believe I’ve acquired much in the way of self-knowledge.

A brief synopsis: I am a single man in his early thirties completing a PhD at a divinity school and serving in lay ministry at a Lutheran parish. The product of a traditional religious upbringing, I struggle to reconcile my sexual behavior with my calling. My Testimony provides a brief introduction to my dilemma. I’ve described growing up in the purity culture, the struggle to remain pure as a young man, and ultimately losing my virginity to a call girl. Paying for sex has remained an essential part of my sexual experience. There have been liaisons with married women, an extended fling with a classmate, a brief but intense entanglement with a colleague in ministry, plus the occasional hookup.

I’ve explored my Madonna-whore complex, my fascination with porn, Christianity’s trouble with sexual liberation, my darkest sexual fantasies, and my pained experience of trying to reconcile my sexual appetite with the traditional Christian sexual ethic. Some insight has been gleaned, to be sure, but my dilemma remains fundamentally the same. I suspect there will be no tidy resolution to this any time soon.

Naughty, Not Nice

I discovered on social media that “Faye” was visiting from the Midwest. She seemed like the perfect holiday treat. After contacting her and arranging an encounter, I arrived at her hotel room at the appointed time. The door opened, and I was invited inside by a petite blonde with mesmerizing green eyes in fancy lingerie. (She said she had recently ordered it from Agent Provocateur.) Bubbly and flirtatious, she projected a corrupted innocence that was tantalizing. Despite her diminutive stature, she didn’t quite fit the description of a “spinner.” Her ample chest and round derriere gave her a comely figure.

After a few minutes of conversation, she abruptly halted our discourse by climbing into my lap and straddling me. Slowly grinding on me, she certainly felt my erection through my pants. Her pouty lips signaled that it was time to get naughty. I reached around her back and unclasped her bra. I started to feast on her breasts, tracing my tongue around her areolas before my lips wrapped around her taut, hard nipples.

“You like them?” she coyly asked.

As I sucked on her nipples, she continued to grind on me. She started nibbling my earlobe. “How do you like that, Daddy?” she whispered in my ear. Then she reached down to undo my pants. She got up to fetch a condom before she planted herself between my legs. It was time to put those pouty lips to work. She proceeded with a blowjob before she abruptly stopped. “Take this,” she said. She handed me a small pill. “It’ll make us really horny.”

What followed was a haze of rough, athletic sex. Ambien sex.

Ambien is a sleep medication which, according to some, can also function as an aphrodisiac. One woman who was prescribed the drug said, “Ambien makes you sleep, but it can also make you want to have sex.” After taking the drug, she said, “I want to bang.” One of Tiger Woods’ mistresses claimed she and the golfer had “crazy Ambien sex.” The craziness comes from one of the pill’s possible side effects: “lack or loss of self-control.” It doesn’t necessarily stimulate arousal, but it’s disinhibiting effects can create the conditions for some wild sex. A sleep specialist said, “I have heard of people using Ambien because it lowers their inhibitions and they tend to do more interesting things sexually.” My hazy memory dimly recalls me furiously fucking Faye in front of the suite’s bay window as she begged to be treated as a “fuckdoll.”

That night was the only time I’ve had sex under the influence of some substance. One escort I visited suggested we share some marijuana (“I’m into the green!” she said), but I declined. I don’t drink much, so I’ve never had drunk sex. The memory (however hazy) of that wild night with Faye is enough is enough to make me contemplate experimenting with Ambien again.

I do recall her reaction to being dragged onto my lap and harshly spanked.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Sex Abides

In the midst of so much chaos and uncertainty, one thing abides: sex.

Betty’s back. So I e-mailed her seeking an arrangement. There was a bit of difficulty setting up a time that worked for both of us, but we managed to figure it out. I arrived at her new incall, and after a very slight delay, she gave me her room number. I knocked, and she answered the door in a blue dress and sexy thigh high boots. Her small apartment was illuminated by flickering candles. After a short chat to get reacquainted, we took care of business and made ourselves comfortable. As she undressed, I took time to admire her nicely shaped body and resplendent porcelain skin. Betty wants to please, so when she asked me what I wanted to do, I asked her to get on her knees. She retrieved a condom and accommodated me. A surge of masculine pride rippled through me as I looked down on her servicing me.

We moved to her bed. Betty has amazing breasts, and I gave them ample attention, fondling them and sucking on her nipples. She then positioned herself on top, rhythmically riding me. I enjoyed the sight of her bouncing tits. I thrust my hips off the mattress as her body undulated on top of mine. Minutes later I let out a deep groan.

“Did you finish?” she asked.

She climbed off of me, removed the condom, went to the bathroom to retrieve a warm washcloth, and cleaned me up. We talked a bit more. She said most of her clients are married. She had once been married herself. Her ex was now married to the girl he had cheated on her with. Then her alarm sounded. Our hour was up. Our clothes came back on. She accompanied me to the door and, after a light kiss, said goodbye.

Expecting

The resumption of in-person worship at church has reacquainted me with “Lindsay.” Even masked and socially distanced, she remains a pleasing sight with her long blond hair. It was also immediately apparent by her swollen belly that she hadn’t devoted all her time in quarantine to contemplation. Her protruding curves evidenced her fertility and stoked a primal desire in me.

As I gazed at Lindsay’s round belly and swollen breasts, I became decidedly aroused. She’s not the first pregnant woman to turn me on. Maiesiophilia is the term sexologists use to label a pregnancy fetish. Perhaps it’s not as weird as it sounds. Pregnancy is inherently sexual. A neuropsychologist notes that a pregnant woman in the most obvious way exhibits her fertility as well as her sexual activity. The famous “glow” of pregnancy can make a woman more sexually attractive. Blood flow increases and the surge of hormones can make hair shinier and improve skin tone. The same hormonal surges can also increase libido. (It’s possible that Lindsay is a very horny gal right now.) Ultimately, the taboo surrounding an expecting mother may explain much of the appeal. “Here you are having hot sex with someone who is preparing for motherhood,” one sex therapist says. “It’s sort of like trying to have sex with a nun.” Plus, as a married woman, Lindsay is supposed to be off-limits. Defiling her marriage bed while she is pregnant seems especially (deliciously?) egregious.

Lusting after Lindsay prompted an even naughtier fantasy: impregnating a woman. The risk of pregnancy made unprotected sex with the Deaconess especially hot. Even now I’m aroused by the memory of my bare cock inside her fertile pussy, her legs wrapped around me to pull me closer inside her, her hips bucking up to meet my thrusts as I unleashed a torrent of sperm into her womb. This fantasy isn’t exclusive to men. A phone sex model I speak with admitted that the impregnation fantasy “makes [her] pussy twitch.”

Lips

I went up to her apartment, and she answered the door. Dressed in a sexy black garter belt, stockings, high heels and a short black dress that amplified her already ample cleavage, “Ryleigh” was an impressive sight: a tall statuesque blonde in her 40s with full, soft lips.

Lips that could please a man.

I didn’t receive my first blowjob until I was 22. I recall watching with fascination as the mouth of the escort I hired slid up-and-down the shaft of my cock. Since then, most sexual encounters–and virtually every paid encounter–has included a blowjob. Katherine promised, “I’m going to give you the best blowjob you’ve ever had!” and she delivered as promised. Nothing reaffirms my masculinity more than having a girl on her knees servicing me. As a character in Michel Houellebecq’s Submission says, “For men, love is nothing other than gratitude for pleasure given.” 

Ryleigh slowly kissed down my neck, down my chest, down my stomach. She pulled my boxers off. Her kisses went lower and lower. Her tongue ran slowly up-and-down my shaft, then swirled over the head. As her lips encircled the head of my cock, I felt my entire body tighten. I looked down and savored the sight of my cock in her mouth. I gripped the back of her head as she continued pleasuring me. The sensations her mouth produced were exquisite.

I started to get weak in the knees.

Oh fuck, baby, I’m gonna come….

The Purist Thing There Is

She slowly started to grind into my crotch as she straddled me in the chair.

“Whatcha going to do to me, Daddy?” she teased.

I pulled down the strap of her negligee, exposing her breast. My mouth found its way to her nipple, and I greedily sucked on it.

I reunited with Adrianna, the spicy Italian blonde. Unable to subdue my lust, I met her at her hotel downtown. We chatted pleasantly for a few minutes. “I don’t deny that I have a large sex drive,” she said. She plans on continuing studying psychology soon. I placed the donation on the desk. Then we stripped off our clothes and got down to business.

Soon my hand was at the back of her head, guiding it as she bobbed up and down on my cock. I derived a perverse pleasure from watching her suck me. Perhaps it’s from being conditioned by porn, but I immensely enjoy watching a girl give me a blowjob.

Then she assumed the position. I crawled on the bed and positioned myself behind her. Slowly, achingly, I entered her. My hands clasped her waist, and my pelvis started that familiar yet always electrifying motion. Despite our acquaintance, this was as close to a “zipless fuck” as I can get. Her real name remains unknown to me. My intentions were entirely carnal. My payment had obviated any pretense of love or devotion. My lust had totally instrumentalized her into a sexual object. In that moment, I cared not a whit about her character or personality. Her wetness and tightness around my cock was all that mattered. In Erica Jong’s words, it was “the purest thing there is.”

Revelation

Still thinking about the recent Pew survey about the growing acceptance of casual sex among Christians….

This verse from Romans, which I’ve quoted before, sums up my struggle:

I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind (7:23).

As a believer and minister of the gospel, I am bound by divine revelation, the record of which is disclosed in the Bible. As a young believer, I became firmly convinced that if I were to live my life in accordance with the gospel, I was to abstain from sexual activity until marriage. Religion, in general, discourages unbridled sexuality, and conservative Christianity does so with particular vehemence. Yet I continued to battle these impulses that tempted me to violate my pledge. Living up to the stringent biblical doctrine of my understanding proved to be unattainable. To even look at a woman with lust in my heart was a sin. A bikini-clad girl was enough to stoke arousal and the subsequent guilt that came with it. The harder I fought against lust, the more intense the impulses became and the more frequently I succumbed to them. I sinned in secret, because it violated my religion, and I kept sinning because I couldn’t stop. The “law of my mind” which dictated sexual purity was assailed by those instincts that dwell “in my members.”

A psychologist poses this stark question: “What if revelation and common sense (or biology) diverge?” What if the law in my members contradicts the law of my mind? To put it another way, through my sexual explorations, I’ve encountered a revelation in the flesh.

Despite the heavy guilt I incurred, I excused my initial forays with escorts as youthful experimentation. By the time I was visiting Leigh regularly after college, sexual curiosity had turned into compulsion. Experimentation now yielded to indulgence. It was humbling to observe my capacity for self-discipline diminish every time Leigh let down her brown hair and removed her lacy lingerie. At the time, I was working for a prominent parachurch ministry dedicated to promoting “family values.” Contrary to my principles, I was proving incapable of restraining my sexual impulses. In my quest for purity, I had tried to admonish myself: “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you” (James 4:7). Then I discovered what Hamlet meant:

The Devil hath power
T’assume a pleasing shape.

That pleasing shape had soft, creamy skin. Full breasts. A seemingly voracious sexual appetite. My flesh instinctively responded to her open thighs. “Great sex is apocalyptic,” Norman Mailer wrote. “Apocalypse” (ancient Greek: ἀποκάλυψις) literally means “unveiling.” As my body rocked against Leigh’s, I started to receive the slow but certain revelation that I was incapable of chastity. During an earlier encounter with an escort, she teasingly predicted that my inexperience would soon yield to promiscuity: “Soon you’ll be having sex like a rabbit!” She was prophetic. The law of my members continually impressed itself on me, and I assiduously sought to obey this law. I couldn’t be sated. The more I fucked, the more I needed to fuck. My emerging satyriasis nevertheless uneasily coexisted with my religious commitments. I couldn’t forsake my theological studies or my work in ministry. Nor, despite my rationalizations and theological explorations, could I shake my earlier traditional sexual ethic. I sinned in sex and was convicted by my sin. Each time I penetrated the Deaconess, I experienced a sense of desecration. The law of my mind could not be erased.

Anyway, back to that survey. Perhaps a growing number of self-described Christians have also experienced that law in their members which can’t be reconciled with inherited interpretations of scripture.

Christians and Casual Sex

Here’s an unexpected finding from a recent survey of American Christians from the Pew Research Center:

“Half of Christians say casual sex – defined in the survey as sex between consenting adults who are not in a committed romantic relationship – is sometimes or always acceptable.”

According to the survey, 54% of mainline Protestants agree that casual sex is permissible. Even 36% of evangelical Protestants agree. These numbers still lag far behind the percentage of religiously unaffiliated Americans — 79% — who condone casual sex.

Self-applied religious labels are notoriously slippery. Nominal believers are counted with more committed adherents. Those who attend religious services monthly or more are much more likely to condemn sex outside of a relationship. The article notes that liberal sexual mores clash with Christian traditions which proscribe premarital sex. Even progressive Christian sexual ethics generally confine permissible sexual activity to a committed relationship. That significant numbers of believers reject the precepts of traditional Christian sexual morality reveals its weakening saliency among people in the pews.

Beth

Somehow I have neglected to mention “Beth”….

Beth was a classmate of mine in high school and a colleague on the debate team. Yes, I had a crush on her. She was smart and mature. Her long brown hair and tall, slender physique also captured my fancy. (Despite my best efforts not to, I found myself ogling her smooth, pert ass.) She was friendly, but I’m fairly certain she didn’t notice my desire for her. Even by the standards of our conservative Christian high school, Beth was rather demure.

Fast forward a few years. Curious about whatever happened to her, I located Beth’s profile on Facebook. It didn’t take long to discover that she had been a dancer at a gentleman’s club.

Sweet, innocent Beth. On the pole.

She wraps those hands around that pole
She licks those lips and off we go
And she takes it off nice and slow
‘Cause that’s porn star dancing

My Darkest Days, “Porn Star Dancing”

Beth would have been among the last girls at my high school I would have ever suspected of becoming a stripper. I snooped around online some more and discovered her erotic profile, which included the revelation that she lost her virginity in high school to a cadet at a military academy.

My head began to spin. While Beth was wearing her True Love Waits ring at school and piously intoning against the evils of premarital sex, she was getting banged over the weekends. Then she became a sex worker.

Curious about Beth’s erotic rebellion, I scoured my memory for clues. I recall her parents were rather strict. She was conspicuously prudish (again, even by the standards of our conservative Christian high school). Perhaps she cracked under the pressure of having to live up to such high standards of holiness. I can certainly relate.

I’ve never been to a strip club, but I would gladly pay to see Beth on stage. Images I sought to suppress as an adolescent came racing back. That round, pert ass. Her enhanced breasts. (Her bust was noticeably more prominent than back in 11th grade.) Those long legs. Unabashedly flaunting her sexuality.

I confess to jerking off to her online photos.