For The Love of God Ch. 01

I sensed that she was going to come soon and I wanted to be inside her when she did. I stopped licking her and pulled my finger from her anus and arranged myself over her. She looked up at me and we stared into each other's eyes as I fed my cock slowly into her pussy. The movements with which she met me as I entered her were purposeful and strong.

'Put your finger into my bottom again,' she said.

With my middle finger pushed a couple of inches into her rectum, I fucked her with long and steady strokes. Her movements were almost violent as she raised her loins to meet mine as they thrust at her. They became faster and faster, until I saw that she was about to reach orgasm.

As she came, she became more vocal and she told me to fuck her cunt. She looked at me with those sparkling, frank eyes and said

'Fuck my cunt with your lovely cock.'

She enunciated the words perfectly, as the teacher of elocution would, and the sound of those earthy words spoken in her cut glass tones gave them a delicious lewdness that thrilled me and made me want to push my cock into her even harder.

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, make me come,' she intoned to the rhythm of my thrusts into her and gave herself to the words as she gave her cunt to me.

I felt her movements become even more strident until she tensed and arched herself towards me and her body became rigid and nothing moved except for the pumping of my cock in and out of her pussy.

She came and as she did, she spoke perfectly enunciated words again, and I watched the shapes her lips made as she said them. It was as though she was commentating on what she was feeling:

'Fuck me, fuck me. God is here, I see Him. Fuck me, fuck me.'

In the wake of her orgasm, I came, spurting my sperm into her pussy. I lost myself and forgot what she had said. Later she reminded me.

I lay still on top of her and I felt my cock go flaccid inside her and her pussy's grip loosen and release it. Slowly it slid out of her. My cock brushed against her inner thigh and slipped over her skin there. How much of her juice it had been bathed in and how much of it had run from her pussy and over her thighs and onto the sheet below her.

We lay silently side by side in her bed. She already knew most of what there is to know about me. She would have got that from what I told her about the research I was doing and my work as an academic, in the café. She was still a mystery to me, though. She was a woman in her late fifties, unmarried, and who was religious, in her way, and a churchgoer; though she had said, not as regular as she had been. I knew from our conversation that she was intelligent and well educated, and from her manner and her proposition that she was very self confident.

And she had a deeper being, and I had been given a glimpse into it. I wanted to know more of it. This, and her physical attractiveness, had made the opportunity of having sex with her an appealing one; and fortunately, afterwards I did not feel a compulsion to run away. She seemed very comfortable too. We had made a good decision. I decided to begin conversation.

'Did your proposition really come out of the blue?' I asked her.

'Yes, it was a proposition, wasn't it?'

She was not being disingenuous or cute or coy. She was too old to be either of the latter, and two earnest and direct to be the former.

'Yes, I said,' and laughed.

'No, it was born of desperation, I think,' she laughed.

'Desperation?' I said, 'you're not an unattractive woman. And you don't look desperate.'

'I'm not desperate, but I was getting the sense that there was something between us, but that the something was not going to happen, and I wanted it to. I mean, I am rather older than you. I didn't want the moment to pass. You needed prompting.'

'Prompting.' That was an understatement.

Then she looked at me and said

'And that was a lovely fuck you gave me.'

Again I was a little shocked by her language. She had a way of throwing in an expletive when you were not expecting it.

'You certainly made it happen and I'm glad...and I've never had fellatio that good before.' I said. I said it because I felt like I could, but I noticed after I had said it that I had chosen the formal word to describe it.

She giggled like a schoolgirl and then said

'I've yet to meet the man who doesn't like having his cock sucked. Decades of practice.'

I asked her if I could smoke and she said yes and asked if she could have one too.

'You smoke too. I thought you didn't.'

'I smoke to complement other sensual pleasures, when they are there.'

'Do you mind if I ask you how old you are?'

'No. I'm fifty seven.'

'Do all fifty-seven churchgoing daughters of bishops pick up strange young men and take them home for the afternoon?'

'I think probably not,' she said, 'And they don't know how to suck a man's cock as well as I do either.'

This time I was not shocked and I had begun to admire her capacity for mixing words to gain the best effects. And it excited me too.

'Few women do, I suspect,' I told her.

'Now you are flattering me, and anyway you have some nice little touches of your own. I loved the way you put your finger into my bottom. That was very rude.'

I grinned.

'I think you did that to test me! You wanted to see how far I would go.'

I hesitated before saying

'Yes, but I was sure, after you said 'cunt'!'

That's why I said it, and it is my cunt, or it was in that moment. Dirty words are exciting in the right moment.'

'But you said 'bottom'!' I replied.

'The word 'bottom' can seem quite rude to me,' she said, 'but you were only touching it. If you had been about to fuck me there, I would have said 'my arse' or 'my arsehole.' They are very rude.'

'I should have been more daring,' I said.

'You will be, as you get to know me more. I adore anal sex. I love to have a man's cock in my bottom! It feels so sinful.'

'Sinful?'

'Yes.'

'I like the idea of sin,' I said.

'It depends on the sin,' she said, 'sins of the flesh are nice. What sins do you like? What do you enjoy?'

'I've never thought of it in terms of sin,' I said.

'All sex outside marriage is sinful, if you take the Book at its word,' she said.

'Have you ever been married?' I asked her.

'No,' she said.

'So you have sinned a little, then?'

'No. I have sinned a lot.'

'So you like it like that?'

'In part. I do find the sense of doing something that is forbidden exciting, and I enjoy the way I can surprise people. They don't expect me to be so...I can't find a word...abandoned, maybe.'

'Abandoned,' I repeated, 'that's a good word.'

'I think you are capable of it too. Not everyone is. But what do you abandon yourself to? What do you like most?

It was not an easy question for me to answer. I had not thought about it as she must have. I had not had religion to complicate everything for me. To me, sex was pleasure. It was simple. Now she was making it more complicated, but in ways that were interesting and, I began to think, necessary.

'The usual things,' I said.

'Nothing is usual about sex,' she said, 'not as I see it, anyway. What is the most unusual thing you have done?'

'Anal sex, I suppose.'

'And you like it?'

'Yes.'

'Why do you like it?'

I don't know.'

'Isn't it worth trying to find out? What you need is a guide.'

It took that as an invitation. I was willing to give myself to her, already.

'Sex is never just about sex,' she said finally.

The conversation lulled and we lay in silence again, but it was a comfortable silence. I did not feel the need to end it with more words. After a while she spoke again.

'I lost my virginity when I was an undergraduate. I was nineteen. How old were you?' she asked me.

'Sixteen,' I said. I have always wished it had been fifteen.'

Sixteen is the age of consent in England.

'It would have been more taboo.'

She laughed and said

'Was it good?'

'Exciting, but no, not great.'

'It seldom is the first time. I was nineteen, and for a girl like I was then; and a clergyman's daughter, it was unusual. And it was 1961, and of course, sexual intercourse was not invented until 1963. I was supposed to wait until I was married to some young curate. I couldn't. But even though the first time wasn't great, and it wasn't great the second or the third of the tenth time either, I knew it could be. It takes time to discover it.'

'And you discovered what you like?'

'Oh yes,' she said, and smiled.

'When?'

Two years later, when I was a master's student. I was in the library every day reading book after book of Victorian religious verse, when I came upon a volume of Swinburne's poetry. Swinburne was my awakening.

I waited for her to go on.

'Swinburne's poetry showed me that there was more to sex than a man and a woman fucking each other; a man's cock going in and out of a woman's pussy. And it showed me that women don't have to be passive. It touched things that I had felt inside me, but which I had not been able to catch hold of or articulate to myself.'

'You mean Swinburne's poems introduced you to the possibilities of lesbianism and sado-masochism?'

'Well, yes, but it was less definite than that. I think that I already knew that I had bisexual desires, and I experimented with sado-masochism after reading him, but what I really mean is that it showed me that there was more, and even if it was strange, and that if it was wrong, it was wrong in ways that I found exciting.'

'The Victorians just thought it was strange and wrong,' I said, 'and shocking.'

'Shocking things can be more exciting. We have all lost that. Remember, it was the 1960's when I was young, and the birth of the permissive society, but all that really meant was boys and girls having sex without the fear of pregnancy, because of the pill. Medical technology made it possible, that's all. And that of all seemed so banal to me. That was just sex. I was interested in eroticism. And love; I was interested in love too.'

Without having referred to him explicitly, she was talking about Georges Bataille's writings on eroticism.

'Bataille,' I said.

Oh yes,' she said, 'now there was a man who understood.'

'You think so?' I asked. I thought so too, but I understood it only in theory. I was sure that she knew from experience.

'Did you here what I said when I came?'

I remembered it now, and said

'Yes.'

It had not seemed strange to me, not that I thought of it again.

'By the time I read him, I had worked out for myself how about felt about myself. Reading 'Eroticism' was like confirmation. When I was very young I felt guilty about sex and about what I desired. That's my upbringing. I had learned that my religious feelings were the opposite of my sexual feelings. I had been taught to believe that the sexual feelings I had were a taint to my religious feelings, and to my beliefs. Reading Swinburne and Pater made me think about that again. I realised, through thinking about it and through more experiences that my religious feelings and my erotic yearnings were close to each other within me. They were part of the same thing. I'm almost tempted to say that if I am a woman who has had stronger than usual erotic urges, then that is because God made me that way, but I don't entirely believe that. I still thing sex is a little sinful. That's one of the things I find most exciting about it'

'Bataille says it needs to be. Taboo is necessary to eroticism.'

'I know, 'she said, 'and I think he is right. The permissive society has turned sex into a healthy lifestyle option and made it less exciting.'

'So you agree with the distinction that Bataille makes between sex as procreation for reproduction and the erotic as the pursuit of the absolute?'

'Yes,' she replied, 'but he does not have much to say about love. To me, love is part of the erotic and vice versa. I'm with the Greeks on that. They had different words for the different kinds of love. I love that word they had for erotic love; 'eros'; English needs an equivalent for it.'

Her ideas and opinions were awakening half thoughts that I had half thought before, but never been able to take hold of. I felt that talking with her more, and having sex with her more, would allow me to grasp them.

'How will long will it take you to write your book?' She asked me.

'I'm not sure,' I said, 'a couple of years. Once I have found my theme, it will come more quickly.'

'You should write about the erotic vein in Christianity in the late nineteenth century. The way that Pater, Swinburne, Wilde and all the rest of them found a connection between religious yearning and erotic desire and wrote great poetry and prose about it.'

It was a great idea. I had kind of been aware of it whilst I read them, but without it taking shape as an idea for a book. It was another thing she had given me.

'But that's yours,' I said.

'You can have it,' she said, 'it's not my book to write. I have my book on the sacred whores.'

'And when will you write it?'

'I don't know,' she said, 'I feel too close to it. I told you, I have learned that unlike all of the other religious people I know, I always felt that my religious feelings and my erotic desires were close to each other. And so much of what I have read explained things to me and made me think. I felt like it was about me. If I can ever write my book, it will be as if I am writing about myself.'

'Then write about yourself, or mix autobiography with your ideas about the things you have read. I mean, your father is not around anymore to hear you.'

She looked lost in thought for a moment and then she said

'You know, that might be a good idea.'

'Does that mean I'd get to be the first to read it?'

'You'll help me write it. You've already started.'

With that she sat up and put out her cigarette. Then she leaned down over me and began to lick my cock. It was soon hard in her mouth and she began to suck it intently. She paused for a moment and looked up and looked me in the eye.

'By the way,' she said, 'I never cough when I'm doing this, and I always swallow.'