You wouldn’t know it from reading my books, but I’m a Christian.
That’s right. I released two books chock full of sexually explicit scenes, (with four even smuttier books on the way!), I blog at a site I call, “Risque Reveries,” and I still call myself a Christian.
I don’t profess to be a good Christian, just that I happen to be one.
Most rational people would say that authoring erotic fantasies and living a Christian life are in fundamental conflict. That’s especially true when it comes to writing about BDSM, swinging, and other forms of adultery. The Christian Bible is awash in passages that speak to the evils of lust, promiscuity, and “unnatural relations.” Christians are also encouraged not to cause others to “stumble,” which you could argue every single one of my fantasies does since they depict men and women living in open marriages, swapping, and getting intimate with people they barely know.
I should feel guilty about the debauched state of my mind. I should stop and consider that the words in my books might make someone on the receiving end have an unholy erotic fantasy, doing their own strokin’ and pokin’ as they visualize fucking (and being fucked by) the characters in my works.
So why don’t I feel guilty? Why do I continue writing erotica if I know it’s “wrong?”
Could it be that we are all born sexual creatures with the natural urge to copulate and populate? After all, if you believe that “God” is the creator of all living things, it’s seems obvious that “God” designed us for sex. However you describe the way the two sexes came to be a roiling stew of testosterone and estrogen, cock and pussy – evolution or divine design – our bodies are formed to experience the mind-scrambling beauty of orgasm over and over and over again. God created us with complementary physiology, each equipped to fulfill the natural urges of a member (or members) of the opposite sex. That urge is not limited to heterosexual partners, either. As a bi-sexual woman I have equal cravings for pricks and pockets. Whether by an accident of in-utero programming or as an expression of an animal nature, I hunger for endless, sweat-soaked, shriek-inducing, cum-spurting fucks, whether given to me by men or women, though preferably by my hubby.
Sadly, that word makes most Christian’s cringe. “Fuck.” My faith-centered mind should feel horrible referring to the beauty of sex as getting “fucked.” On it’s face that word lacks the tenderness of the phrase, “making love.” Nevertheless, the sad truth is I do like to get fucked. I especially like to get fucked hard! When it comes to the pinnacle of sexual fulfillment, nothing gives me more joy than being on the receiving end of my husband’s penis when he fucks me to the point of a blackout.
I understand why “God” wants us to keep our minds pure. For people who have a hard time differentiating fantasy from reality, it’s just one small step from a masturbatory fantasy to acting out that fantasy in a way that could destroy a relationship. There are some who, by their very nature, are inclined to stray. If such people read my books they might come away imagining I’ve somehow given them license to do so. Notwithstanding the fact that my stories are filled with spouse swapping and stiffy stabbing, I’m obsessed with bringing every ounce of my passion and energy to spicing up my monogamous marriage with my long-suffering hubby.
There are those in my community of faith who will tell me that that my spiritual walk is weak. They would argue that my commitment to godly sexual purity is frail. It would be hard for me to argue with them.
All I know is that I find no guilt in letting my fantasy mind run free, especially if it feeds and fuels my intimacy with my forever lover, my husband.
Now if you’ll pardon me, I just imagined my husband doing me doggie style and I’m starting to feel really wet. Now where did I put that vibe…?