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.

Cheater’s High

Colleen and I have been talking on the phone during this period of quarantine. We’ve even had a couple of virtual coffee dates. Nothing remotely suggestive has occurred, of course.

I’ve also just started a cyber affair with a wife from New Zealand. She’s sexually frustrated and desires an erotic outlet. She was intrigued about my background in ministry. The prospect of engaging in virtual infidelity excited me. Our online interactions have been almost entirely explicitly sexual in nature.

I remember the first time I cheated on my girlfriend. She had to fly out of town to visit her ailing mother, and I drove her to the airport. Physically separated from her, my lust flared up. I rented a hotel room and called an escort service. Soon my head was firmly planted between the large breasts of a curvy young blonde. After my sexual escapade, I was stricken with guilt over betraying my chaste and absent girlfriend. We broke up just a few weeks later.

Sex had been sundered from romance. Guilt invariably ensued after subsequent furtive encounters. My insoluble dilemma, as I’ve commented on before, of wanting to date “good girls” while enjoying the carnal knowledge of “bad girls” has resulted in schizophrenic behaviors with women. Rationalizations abound. “My intense sexual needs have to be satisfied in some fashion.” “By acting out in other ways, I’m preserving Colleen’s purity.” And, of course, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

I met “Rose” on eharmony. She was a music director at a Catholic parish. During one of our early online interactions, she made her beliefs clear: “God intends sexual intercourse to be between a husband and a wife.” We ended up (chastely) dating for a few months. She was smart and spunky, and I admired her commitment to her faith.

Yet I couldn’t resist another type of woman on her knees.

While driving back after one daylong date with Rose (she lived in another city), I got the itch for another form of female companionship. Again, another hotel room. Another escort. What Rose wouldn’t provide I obtained from this lady of the night. By this time guilt comingled with a certain dark pleasure — what some psychologists have termed the “cheater’s high.” As sweet, innocent Rose preserved her purity, I indulged in impurity without her knowledge. The thrill of getting away with it was undeniable.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez distinguished between a public life, a private life, and a secret life. The allure of a secret life, I believe, partly comes from its brazen assertion of autonomy. Certain strictures, such as cultural and religious expectations of monogamy, can be flouted without having to incur social opprobrium. It comes at a cost to one’s integrity, of course. Hence the guilt. The attendant pleasure makes the guilt bearable, though.

Object of Desire

Colleen reached out to me over the holidays. We hadn’t seen each other since last spring. It was nice to hear her voice. After meeting for coffee (one of her passions) we tentatively rekindled our relationship. I’m accompanying her to hear Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 3 this weekend.

Colleen is smart and lovely. She’s a companion for coffee dates and Bible study, for walks in the park and chaste hugs at the end of the night. Yet I find it hard to develop any sort of sexual attraction toward her. Even the vaguest erotic thoughts about her are quickly suppressed. Her commitment to purity negates her as an object of desire. She’s a “good girl” – virtuous, innocent, chaste, virginal. By putting her on a pedestal, I’ve de-eroticized her.

So my gaze wanders to the Whore. The Whore is impure. Debased. Stripped of any pretense to sanctity, the Whore is the one who’ll give me a dirty blowjob on her knees in a dark corner. That fallen “daughter of Eve,” the temptress and seducer who entices me to yield to my corruptibility: “For although the devil tempted Eve, yet Eve seduced Adam” (Malleus Maleficarum, 1484).

My attempts to sublimate my sexual drives have proven unsuccessful. I continue to date “good girls”:

Yet I continue to lust after sluts:

Seeing Colleen only intensifies the dichotomy that defines my sexual life. With Colleen I’m considerate and unfailingly chaste. I can’t even imaging doing anything inappropriate with her. The sinful flesh will not be denied, however. My aspirations for purity are no match for my erotic impulses. Today I made an appointment to visit Betty.

Betty has moved closer to my residence, making our regular rendezvous even more convenient. She met me at her spartan incall apartment wearing a skin-tight black dress that highlighted her ample bosom. I set down the donation, and we made small talk on the couch. Perhaps she sensed I was in an especially amorous mood, for she asked if we would like to get “comfortable” after just a few minutes. Her black dress came off. So did my pants. The condom came on. Soon I was running my fingers through her soft black hair as she orally pleasured me. Then Betty accommodated my request and bent over the bed. I moved behind her and slowly entered her. Through it all, I was conscious of my impending date with Colleen. Guilt over my transgression hovered over me. Yet I confess that it also produced an erotic charge that intensified the pleasure I experienced. As I furiously fucked Betty, I gloried in my shame (cf. Phil 3:19).

Split

“Indeed, it robs of all conscience those who were previously honorable and upright, and makes traitors of those who have hitherto been loyal and faithful.”
Arthur Schophenhauer on sexual desire

I’ve continued to date Colleen the past several weeks. I enjoy her company, and I admire the depth of her faith. She’s amused by my wit and has complimented me for my dedication to ministry. We recently spent a day together in the country. She invited me to join her on a retreat sponsored by her church. Our interactions have been entirely chaste.

Meanwhile….

I’ve continued to visit escorts. One recent visit included the creative use of whipped cream.

Colleen has no idea, of course. Like others who “know” me, she’d be stunned by my hidden sexual life. She assumes that I’m “saving” myself for marriage. I abandoned that objective long ago. My pretense of purity is hypocritical, and it’s profoundly disrespectful to Colleen to behave this way behind her back. I’ve split off that part of myself that I can’t reconcile with my beliefs. I’m incapable of developing an authentic self in which what I profess aligns with my actions.

Colleen has an attractive personality, but I struggle to think of her as a sexual partner. She’s a very sweet girl, but she’s…how do I put this…let’s just say that she won’t be appearing in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue in the near future. More relevant is the fact that she’s a “good girl” who is serious about maintaining her purity. To put it bluntly, she’s not spreading her legs anytime soon.

As my sexual adventuring has accelerated, I’ve become hesitant about entering into romantic relationships. I recognize the inconsistency of pledging faithfulness (especially in the context of a chaste relationship) while endeavoring to get laid clandestinely. Or perhaps it’s the case that my aversion to intimacy leads me to seek sexual release in encounters that are mostly void of emotion or affection or commitment. My natural reserve is exacerbated by the need to hide my lust-fueled behaviors. The last lady I seriously dated told me as our relationship unraveled, “I still don’t feel that I know you.” She was right, of course. She couldn’t know me, lest she uncover my secrets. This breeds some loneliness. Yet the best salve for loneliness I’ve discovered is sex.

So, despite a certain affection for Colleen, I’ve maintained a certain reserve during our dates.

Proverbs 7 Woman

I’m meeting “Colleen” for coffee tomorrow evening. Mrs. Swan from the adult Sunday school class I teach set us up. “She’s such a nice girl!” Mrs. Swan enthused. As a single young man in ministry, this isn’t the first time a parishioner has arranged a date for me.

Colleen and I have communicated with each other via e-mail and text. She really does seem like a nice girl. She graduated from a local Christian college and is a child counselor. She’s active in her church. She adores coffee and the works of Tim Keller. She’s, um, not unattractive. Her online blog evidences a genuine spirituality. One of her recurrent themes is a desire to be a “Proverbs 31 woman.”

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Most of the young women I’ve dated fall into this mold. I’m genuinely attracted to that type.

But I can’t seem to resist a “Proverbs 7 woman”:
And behold, a woman comes to meet him, dressed as a harlot….
“I have sprinkled my bed with myrrh, aloes and cinnamon.
Come, let us drink our fill of love until morning;
Let us delight ourselves with caresses.” (10, 17-18).

In my experience, dating and sex have generally been separated. Growing up, I somehow was conditioned to distinguish between “good girls” and “bad girls.” Good girls were the ones you accompanied to Bible study, innocently held hands with, and chastely kissed on the cheek at the end of the night. Of course, good girls don’t think about sex. They’re pure and untainted. Bad girls were literally soiled. “Damaged goods.” There’s an OKCupid question that asks: “Could you respect someone you slept with on the first date?” At a certain level, I honestly have to answer, “No.”

But I’d still gladly sleep with her.

In The Purity Myth, Jessica Valenti critiques the cultural shibboleth that a young woman’s moral worth is dependent upon whether or not she is sexually active. “Women are led to believe that our moral compass lies somewhere between our legs.” “Dirty girls” demonstrate a lack of character by their inability to abstain from sex. “Unable to live up to the ideal of purity…many young women are choosing the hypersexualized alternative that’s offered to them everywhere else as the safer–and more attractive–option.” If you can’t be a virgin, you might as well be a slut.

I couldn’t imagine committing myself to a young woman who wasn’t saving herself for marriage. But good girls seriously devoted to preserving their chastity aren’t fuckable. Since good girls were off limits, I subconsciously channeled my erotic energies toward women who advertised their sexual availability, divorcing sexual expression from romantic affection. Sex was dirty, so dirty girls were the ones you went to for sex.

Prostitute use is exciting not simply because it involves sexual contact with a…‘whore’, but also because this contact represents an act of vengeance against ‘good’ women’s demands for monogamy and sexual restraint.

– Julia O’Connell-Davidson

Mine is a classic case of the Madonna-whore complex. Love and sex are not equivalent. Ideally I’d find a nice girl who loves sex. Yet I can’t seem to even conceptualize that. I date Proverbs 31 women. I fuck the woman from Proverbs 7.