CW \/\/ NSFW \/ Sex \/ Intimacy \/ Purity Culture \/ Rape Reference \/ Evangelicalism \/ Christianity \/ Religious Trauma<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Soft fingers trail along the curve of my breasts. The living room hums with the rumbling of the furnace, watches between the cracks in the walls, waits with the lights off. Her body curves around mine, my back to her chest. Herbal tea and lemon chicken hang in the air, paired with the scent of ferns that drifts off her. Her touch runs along my sternum, up to my collarbone. Her caress is a breath. It is mist brushing along the surface of a stream. It is the one against my ear, warm and affectionate, hitched with a quiet question. I answer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I move the arms bundled against my chest away, granting her more room to wander. I reach back and entangle my fingers in her hair. She kisses my jawline and her fingertips graze my nipple. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A spiral of pleasure coils around my spine, constricting each vertebrae. My eyes close a moment and I relish in the gentle affection. She rolls the teat between her thumb and forefinger, listens as a moan escapes my lips. My grip on her autumn locks tightens. I focus on the feeling, focus on the way she plays, the way she tugs and rubs and flicks. I press into her and grind my thighs together. She pulls her hand away, sits up, and pushes me onto my back. She straddles me. I cup her face and pull her in for a kiss. She matches my desire with her own and her tongue slips past my lips. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her fingers tease my breasts. A flash of desire elicits a whine that I spill into her. Desperately, I attempt to keep the kiss going, but whimpers and moans steal what my lungs attempt to hoard. Soon, they give out. I grip her head and pull away, chest heaving. She smiles. She presses her lips against my throat before she wraps them around my other nipple.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was born in 1993. Purity Culture gripped Evangelical society in the same age. We learned about Christian marriage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first step to any good marriage proved to be chastity. A woman was not to let another touch her before that all-holy wedding night. She was to keep herself wrapped in clothes to avoid a lustful eye; to keep her virginity guarded with lock and key, else she earn the rightful title of harlot.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n A young woman sent a naked photo of herself to her boyfriend during our senior year in high school. Her boyfriend violated her trust and sent it to his friend, who sent it to his, who sent it to the whole senior class. The religious administration board discovered the chaos when they spotted the image on one of their children\u2019s phones. The victim was punished. A lecture, extra school work, shame and bullying from teachers and students alike. She did not come to school for several days. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The boyfriend received a firm conversation about honor and continued to attend classes, continued to play football. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The hallway expanded with murk-colored carpet. My locker pressed against my hand, cold to the touch despite the sun bearing down from a nearby window. The sweatshirt I wore hid me from even the most curious gazes, to the point many did not notice me there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I saved it on my phone, <\/em>said a male classmate. I looked up to see a tall, lanky boy with ruffled raven hair walking past with one of his friends. My mom wanted me to delete it so I moved it onto my computer. There\u2019s no way I\u2019m getting rid of that photo. You\u2019ve seen it, right? I can send it to you. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I watched as they entered their next classroom, frozen. I wanted to open my mouth to say something. I wanted to tell them to delete it. I wanted to tell a teacher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But what good would it do? The victim was punished and the boy was not. I would be reprimanded for being late. Nothing would change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Our bodies were commodities. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I think she likes to feel me squirm. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She licks and sucks and I twist beneath her, gripping her hair and crafting knots. I spare a glance to see her eyes closed, focused, engrossed in the act of teasing me. I run my hand down her back, try to catch my breath before another bite of pleasure rolls up my ribs and steals the air away in a gasp. Her skin is hot and mine is flushed. My heart drums along to a quickening beat. I want to keep her where she is, to hold her head steady, to never let her stop – but there is a kick, an urge, a desire to run. A desire to escape the intimacy, to flee somewhere that is sanctified, that is without the affection I find myself hopelessly drunk off of.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n It makes me coil, makes my legs hitch, makes my instincts cry for circumvention. I find it creeping up my throat to swat at the moans that escape me, to thieve this moment and fill my mouth with shame or guilt instead. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My love uses her knee to push my legs aside and I wrap them around her in response. My hands press against her spine and close my eyes, concentrating on her tongue tasting my goosebumps, her fingers squeezing my chest, relishing in the attention, the care, the way she touches me. I take a deep breath. I will not allow this to be stolen. I remind myself I am safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She pulls away after a few minutes, kisses my bosom, and climbs up my body to place more along my collar, my throat. I turn my head to expose more of myself. She presses her lips near my ear.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Men owned us. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Many of my classmates admitted as such in a discussion circle during our religious studies course that they believed they were made for the benefit of man. I remember the young woman who would later have her nudes leaked resting her long fingers atop the bible in her lap, rolling her shoulders back, and scanning her blue eyes across the group of us – avoiding me.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n It says clearly that woman was made second, <\/em>she professed. We\u2019re made to help our husbands and I\u2019m okay submitting to mine. That\u2019s what God told us to do. I think it would be sinful if we didn\u2019t. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Her boyfriend was not in the class, but the raven-haired boy was. He sneered from his table and nodded, a grin on his lips, a glint in his eye. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I said, No. We are to be partners. We aren\u2019t to be ruled – we\u2019re not less, we\u2019re not to be controlled. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The boy opened the bible. He read Ephesians 5:22: Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked at me. I stared back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Keep reading, <\/em>I said. Read what it says about men. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He chuckled darkly. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n No, <\/em>I said. Read the rest. Read how husbands must treat their wives. You can\u2019t stop there. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Yes, I can, <\/em>he said, gesturing at the bible. That\u2019s what it says. Women are supposed to submit to men. Men are the head of the household. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m not lesser than you, <\/em>I snapped. I am not a pet. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m just telling you what the Bible says, <\/em>he replied with a smirk. God tells women to be ruled by their husbands. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Women are not less, <\/em>I insisted. We are not things to be controlled.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n We\u2019re going to stop the discussion there, <\/em>the male teacher said, laughing. The boys laughed as well. I stood up. I didn\u2019t know what I wanted to do, but I stood, and I seethed, and I pushed my chair out of the circle we made.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n The kisses near my ear send shivers down my spine. They pull at a string that stretches through my body, tightens a series of muscles near my lower back, my shoulders, the underside of my legs. It is exhilarating in a way that tears control of my own body from my clutches, makes my mind full of dizzying thoughtlessness and heat and desire. It worsens when her teeth lock around the lobe, when her exhales swallow up my awareness of the outside world.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n I grab at her, holding onto anything I can manage, trying to form words but not knowing what words I\u2019m attempting to say. Her body presses down against mine, applying a comforting pressure and hindering my body\u2019s immediate proposal to run. I tilt my head and she follows, her fangs still firmly holding onto my ear. The feeling of something heavy builds in my chest, serpents along my spine as I struggle to hold onto some semblance of self. Block upon block until, relenting, she lets go and kisses down my neck and bites along my skin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I can feel humanity returning, and thoughts, distantly, beginning to make their way back. I lean into her as she takes a mouthful of flesh and digs her teeth pleasantly into my nerves. My chest heaves. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She places another kiss on my cheek and gives a small chuckle, hints of a smile on her face. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I think she likes making me breathless, too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Marriage meant submission and ownership. Our bodies, upon birth, were for a husband\u2019s future pleasure. We were not asked. We were not questioned. We were expected. We were to keep our virginity, our chastity, our honor, until the night of our vows. And then, for the rest of our time alive, we were to open ourselves up to him whenever his arousal lifts. When the marriage band binds a lady to servitude, so does it strip away the option to say no. <\/em>They will take when they want, and we are to give it to them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I have been trusted with stories. Stories that others have not shared with any before me. A woman felt pressured by her boyfriend to be intimate, because he would one day be her husband, and she could not say no. I have been told about the pressure to marry their rapist, the pressure to wed the one who took her virginity so she would not be soiled and unworthy of another. I have been told of the unending guilt for not saying no <\/em>loud enough. I have been told of the violent lies these women endure within their heads about their dignity, about their salvation, about if it was right to deny their male partners anything. Perhaps they deserved the abuse received for saying no<\/em>. Perhaps it was righteous punishment for the sin of having a boundary. Perhaps the blooming bruises and punched walls are the burdens women are intended to carry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The only question in Purity Culture\u2019s marriage is: when will you finally give up and let him have you? <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n My love slips her arms beneath me, wrapping me against her chest as she sits us up, me in her lap. Her strength and gentleness stir a hunger and spreads warmth through every sensitive part of my body. I kiss her, one hand cupping her cheek. My thumb brushes her jaw as she gets her feet onto solid ground. She dips me, and I cling to her, before she stands and lifts me with a practiced ease that makes the earlier warmth burn hotter. I groan and bury my face into her neck, consumed, for a moment, by incoherent wants. My heels lock together behind her back and her hands hold me steady. She walks us to the bedroom, her footsteps assured against the hardwood floor, and lowers me onto the mattress with a knowing, somewhat smug, smirk upon her lips.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n I think she knows full well what she\u2019s doing to me, and she\u2019s rather pleased. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She climbs onto the bed with me, pushing the blankets aside to keep them out of the way. Tenderly, she works to undress me, helping me out of my button-up, kissing me, waiting. Each movement is a question, each article of clothing gone an opportunity for me to stop us, for me to pause, for me to reconsider. I reach for her shirt, insist she\u2019s worn it long enough. She laughs as I pull it over her head and drop it to the floor before allowing her to run her hands along my sides, to trace her nails along the curve beneath my ribs where nerves send both pleasure and alarm to my mind. It makes me writhe.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n She will continue to tease until I indicate I want more. She has always been attentive like this. She has always been careful and kind and considerate of my pleasure. Never once have I felt forced into a situation I did not want. Never once have I feared her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Purity Culture demanded heteronormativity. It required domination, submission, ownership. It demanded virginity and shame and chastity. <\/p>\n\n\n\n A man owned me, a man did not need to ask. A man took, and a man made me afraid. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood rectangular, with a rounded jaw and dark hair greased atop his head. He was a Christian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He and I became friends in my college P.E. course. We walked around town, playing Pokemon Go, or fighting on campus with Nerf guns in Humans vs. Zombies. He often chose to be on my team, chatted with me and my friend about Dungeons and Dragons, suggested we hang out sometime after school as a group. He offered his number and I took it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I believed us friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It did not take long for him to ask me out. I explained my disinterest in men, explained I identified as asexual and wasn\u2019t looking to date anyone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n How do you know if you don\u2019t just try? <\/em>He asked. We could go on a few dates and you might change your mind. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I said no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s no harm in going to dinner or seeing a movie.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I said no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I know some people who weren\u2019t interested but they ended up going on dates and getting married! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I said no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There doesn\u2019t need to be any expectations. Just one dinner? <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We could go to the movies if that\u2019s better, or play some video games at my place?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Do you really know if you\u2019re asexual? Maybe you just haven\u2019t found the right one. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I could be the right one.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I told my parents about his refusal to hear my answer. I shared my frustration, my discomfort, the way I felt uneasy about future classes with him. They told me how a good Christian man will be relentless in his pursuit of what he desires.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What he desires.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was an item. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The foreplay continues until I can hardly take more. Her tongue trails along my larynx, my clavicle, my shoulder. <\/p>\n\n\n\n You are such a tease, <\/em>I manage between breathy, desperate inhales. She hums, her smirk returning as she props herself up to see me better. I let my eyes meet hers before pulling her in for a kiss, letting us drift away in that moment until I feel her fingers draw patterns below my stomach. My hips lift involuntarily, closing the distance, offering her me. She strokes my entrance. The want builds. The desire mounts. My hands dig into her shoulders as I force her closer. Her tongue tangles with mine and her fingers slip inside.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Women did not exist as people in Purity Culture. We existed as objects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They required our submission, our bodies. They required we be a trophy a man could have sex with whenever he so wished. And the church agreed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We could not say no. It did not matter if we didn\u2019t want him. A man\u2019s desires were innate and uncontrollable. A woman\u2019s weren\u2019t. We needed to stay chaste. We needed to cover our bodies. We could not express ourselves in clothing, we could not build a foundation of marriage without locking our freewill into a chest and burying it behind the shed. We are not human beings in Purity Culture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We are sex dolls with the annoying tendency to have opinions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then let me be annoying. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My opinion is Purity Culture kills. My opinion is Purity Culture endorses the abuse of women. It pushes us into boxes where we are denied being human beings, we are denied innate desires, we are denied hopes and dreams in favor of getting married and being controlled as a pet on a leash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And my opinion is sex with a woman is a victory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My eyes flutter and the wave of gluttonous pleasure urges me to kiss with more hunger, with more want. She rocks her hand slow at first, ensuring my comfort, before she responds to my wordless pleading with deeper, quicker thrusts. The ferocity makes my head spin. I pull from her lips, needing air as the orgasm starts to build. Her hand against the wetness of my folds fills the room with lustful harmonies, echoes off the forest tapestry hanging above our heads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I am a lucky few.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The bed creaks, rocking beneath us as her fingers curl against my inner walls. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Bearing the scars of guilt, of shame, I drug myself from the fangs of evangelicalism on bleeding hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She leans close and growls in my ear, a chill accompanied by muscle spasms descending down my back. <\/p>\n\n\n\n With broken ribs, I inched my way to freedom, chains clattering behind, linking me to a burning desire to be wanted in the ways they told me were wrong – by the gender they told me was wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her fingers strike the spot, and they strike it again and again, until the orgasm reaches its breaking point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Scorched from a hell they put me in, I crawled, with the trauma of indoctrination still shadowing my steps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The climax spills with a wave of bliss that threatens to steal away all coherent thoughts. I cry out, lifting my voice high. I jerk upwards, pressing her hand as deep as it will go, indulging in the waves of gratification that wash through me.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n She pants next to my ear and I hold her tight, kiss her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. She laughs and props herself up with one arm to smile, a pleased expression on her face. I hold her and pull her lips towards mine and her arm gives out, dropping her onto me with a huff. We laugh together, joy bursting wild and free, our songs of amusement waltzing in harmony. She kisses my chest. I kiss her forehead. Her fingers push into me and I welcome another round.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yes, I am a lucky few to have survived the torture they put us through, the lies they spun about our worth, about our place in the world. But none of us leave this place unscathed. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Her caress is a breath. 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