Home Creative Non Fiction What’s Church Got to Do With It?

What’s Church Got to Do With It?

Written by Oracle Orgasmia

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It was on a weekday, I think a Tuesday or Wednesday; days of no significance with dreadful suns in Autumn. My days were grayed by bunking classes for reading books and writing. The yellow came from my sunflowers and dresses I wore in my two-bedroom apartment that I shared with a housemate. My boyfriend of a year was living and working away in Eastern Cape while I sat in Joburg – perks of a long distance relationship. We fought all the time and I was horny, so I decided to entice myself and passively look out for some dick; not too much of it anyway as it makes me sick when a man is always breathing under my neck. I can never give myself over fully to them anyways because I know that women have my heart and pussy. 

Nate*, a classmate, posted a picture on his Whatsapp status of protruding six packs, firm arms that looked like they could carry me with grace, and a bulging dick. You know West African men have the perfect ones with the thick amount of girth and length sufficient to pound the G-spot. Even the internet agrees. 

“Hey Nate, [winky face] ” I sent the text. I knew it would ignite a fire in him. He had wanted me exactly a year earlier but I had rejected his advances. I sensed a possessive aura from him and it had creeped me out. Also, I did not like how he kissed with slipperiness and in inconvenient places. He had been hungry ever since. 

“Hey. How are you?” he responded, blushing over the texts. I led him straight to my objective – I wanted to fuck, did he want to? 

“I’ll come after I’m done at the gym, at 3-ish” he responded. Mission accomplished. I poured myself a glass of sweet Rosé as I waited for some jam time. 

The clock ticked to 3 o’clock and my clitoris pulsated madly. I brought him into my lit room dangling with scents. My housemate knew not to involve herself in my business and hid in her bedroom. If she did try, I did not care. I was a free woman doing what I liked with my body. Sea-line woman, sang Nina Simone. 

A deck of cards distracted us from the real objective for a while. I decided to teach him how to play Casino – my all-time favourite. I bonded with my mother over ripping each other after every match. He got lost in my eyes and body, so he lost one match and gave up, hoping to win me instead. 

He pulled me closer. 

“You know that I have always wanted you” he said. I smiled while admiring his beautiful skin and pumped muscles. 

He lit me up with a kiss. He seemed to have practised a bit in the last year. I handed him a condom and opened my legs wide for him. 

“Give me a BJ.” He instructed. Woahhhh, who does he think he is? I jumped to say “no!”. I don’t give BJs, even my boyfriend knew that and knew better than to ask me to. (Blame it on my gag-reflex and semi-dominance to men when it concerns my vagina). He realised I was not joking and moved to the penetration. 

Two thrusts was all it was, I swear. After that, he jerked aggressively, cumming inside while heavy on top of me. Ten seconds after the commotion, oxygen rushed back to his brain and he said, “Oh my God, I have sinned.” 

I laughed, assuming he was joking. Fuck religion, I thought.

He rose, looked at me pensively, and said, “I believe in not having sex before marriage. I am Catholic. The only person I was supposed to have sex with is my future wife.” He closed his eyes and began pacing around. 

“Dude, did you not want to have sex with me? You made the first move! ” I shouted. “Why did you not tell me you are a virgin?” Why was he treating this like a huge crisis? Technically, we didn’t even have sex. Those two nonsensical strokes did nothing to my insides, so I won’t be attaching them to my alleged body count. I don’t believe in those anyways. Why did I choose him? 

“The only way to solve this is one: will you marry me?” He asked with the conviction of a mad man, while he sank in a deeper pool of regret. 

“Woahhh!!!! Are you hearing yourself?” I clapped while laughing hysterically. What the hell am I witnessing? 

“Am I like Eve or Jezebel now? Tricked you into sin?” 

“We should do it so that we can have sex. You will switch from your church to the Catholic church and …”, he continued. My mind buzzed. 

The cycle of contemplating on the ‘grievous mistake’ Nate believed he had made and mental conundrum would go on for an hour, until he eventually reached a conclusion. 

“I will go confess to Father at church. That’s the only right thing to do.” He said. I laughed. “Dude, do whatever you want at this point. I have no words for you.” I was filled with irritation and sympathy for this man. He was smart, how did he turn confusion right in front of me? My vagina is so good it made him think of sin after cumming. Hahaha. He left me with apologies and regret. 

The next day he asked to meet me after class; he had seen me enter one of the common lecture rooms we shared. 

“I confessed, I have to go for cleansing and other rituals. I hope you don’t feel bad.” He pleaded, trying to be affectionate. “It’s okay.” I responded, knowing it was not okay, but that I had completely washed my hands off him. Never again!

5 COMMENTS

  1. I really feel bad for Nate. I can only agree with Oracle: it’s a pitiable state to find one’s self in. I can only empathize with his conflicting desires to please God and explore pleasure within his own body.

    STILL. Proposing marriage after two pumps??? Nah bruh. Nah.

  2. I’m screaming because I had this same exact experience when I was maybe 20? This man pursued me for weeks, ended up giving me some excellent head, and then the one time we got to penetrative sex….well, you know the rest. He blocked me after calling me Jezebel, or was it Delilah? Whew.

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