Tag: lust

A Further Reckoning with Lust

I had signed “The Covenant,” my Christian college’s code of conduct, with the expressed intention of abiding by its stipulations. “Sexually inappropriate behavior” was among the forms of conduct I was prohibited from engaging in. “This includes overly intimate sexual behavior, sexual intercourse outside of marriage, and the use or distribution of pornography.” By my senior year, I had retained my virginity, and I was still committed to purity.

But I couldn’t stop the burning in my loins.

I was dating a sophomore. She was a music major, blond and Rubenesque. (I confess that the first thing I noticed about her was her ample chest.) She was smart and sweet and liked quoting C.S. Lewis. And she devoutly believed that True Love Waits®.

She was, in Pete Hamill’s words, one of the “noble defenders of the holy hymen.” Our physical interactions were restrained. I suppressed my sexual attraction to her. I couldn’t conceive of my girlfriend as an object of my sexual desire. She was too pure.

But True Lust Won’t Wait.

My faith was inextricably intertwined with my purity, and despite my lust, I had preserved my virginity. A pharisaic pride had crept into my soul. Unlike so many of my contemporaries, I had kept my pledge. “I thank you that I am not like other men” (Lk 18:11). But lust is without conscience. Religious studies professor Scot McKnight calls the expectation that young Christians will abstain from sex until marriage “absolutely not realistic.” I began to buckle under the weight of that expectation. I was losing Every Man’s Battle. For the first time I began to doubt that I had the strength to endure temptation (cf. 1 Cor 10:13). Desires I had long suppressed were straining to erupt with volcanic force.

The Covenant would be violated. I was about to consummate my sin.

A Divided Man

But I am carnal (Rom 7:14).

As she undressed and revealed her naked body, I instinctively thought “it was a delight to the eyes” (Gen 3:6). Then as she nibbled on my ear, my eyes glanced down toward the only item of clothing she still had on.

Her white thong panties.

The mysteries those panties concealed.

I was about to be irreparably marked by my sin, the implications of which I couldn’t fathom at the time. Pledges discarded. Prayers unanswered.

With fear and trembling, my fingers moved along the waistband of her panties.

“What do you want to do now?”

Let’s fuck.

She pulled her panties down her legs. Then my underwear came off, exposing my erection.

But I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind (Rom 7:23).

In my quest for victory, I had read the Puritan theologian John Owen, who had written of the “indwelling sin” believers must make war against. But now I was being seduced by Jezebel — with her deep blue eyes, red hair, voluptuous figure and full breasts — into committing fornication (cf. Rev 2:20). I was a divided man. Part of me still wanted to remain pure.

But I wanted to fuck even more.

The moment I knew sin, I fucked.

Reckoning with Lust

It was Friday night. I locked the door to my dorm room. My roommate was gone for the weekend. I took out of my backpack the copy of Maxim I had purchased at a local pharmacy. My purity pledge weighed heavily on me. I had refrained from masturbation since arriving at college. As I pulled the zipper down my pants, my sin was ever before me (cf. Ps 51:3).

Yet Avril beckoned.

My college’s Internet access was filtered, so I had no access to online pornography. This was my portal to sexual release. Unlike other girls of my acquaintance, who were sweet and (ostensibly) pure, Avril Lavigne radiated sex. As I furiously jerked off to Avril, my hypervigilant conscience, if only momentarily, was obliterated. It was only later that I was plunged into shame and tearful repentance.

“Self-gratification” was a sin, a grievous violation of my pledge to purity. Warnings that spilling my seed would invite divine displeasure (Gen 38:9-10) were still vivid in my mind. The same hands with which I hold the Bible should not be defiled by touching myself. I read and reread Every Man’s Battle to fortify myself. As my time in college progressed, however, my struggle against “the secret sin” intensified. Alone in my room, I succumbed again and again to sin. (Elizabeth in my English literature class was a frequent object of my ejaculatory fantasies.) I felt so dirty. But it felt so good.

I eventually summoned the nerve to purchase a copy of Playboy at Barnes & Noble. It all seems very tame in retrospect (Playboy was a relic even then), but possession of pornography, even in its soft-core form, was a serious offense at my school. Enjoying the company of Miss October was a transgressive act. I still recall the delight of discovering, as I unfolded the centerfold, the form of a woman’s naked body and the pleasure it invited. (Although my knowledge about female anatomy was so limited that I initially assumed that women naturally did not grow pubic hair.) A cycle that would becoming achingly familiar started to emerge: Yielding to concupiscence, I sought out sexual gratification, only to be tormented by guilt and regret afterwards. I’d recommit myself to purity and abstain for a period, only to fall yet again into sensuality. My sexual personality was beginning to fracture.

My girlfriend had no idea about my struggles with lust. She devoutly believed that True Love Waits®, so our relationship was resolutely chaste. (We refrained from kissing for a long time.) I strove to honor her purity; I suppressed any sexual desires that arose toward her. The fires of lust continued to smolder, though. It was with an exquisite mixture of arousal and guilt that one night I masturbated in my apartment while my girlfriend was touring with the school choir. I felt so unworthy of her. There she was singing hymns of praise while I lusted over Katy Perry and her two big talents. My commitment to purity was being battered by intense urges I could no longer corral.

There would soon be a reckoning.