Losing Religion


Linda and I met at church. This was one of those fundamentalist type churches with Sunday morning and evening service, Wednesday evening, no drinking, dancing, or card playing. All dating was supposed to be chaperoned or in groups. The last part seemed a little extreme, since we were both 25. I had finished my engineering degree a few years before, and was working in the energy industry, while she was finishing up her biology degree. We had both been baptized on the same day, and attended regularly.

The church deacons had been regarding me with suspicion, since with an engineering degree, I was suspected of being one of those evil evolutionists. I was also a runner at the time, having run track and field and cross country in college, as well as numerous road races and marathons. Exercise and any kind of fitness though was considered not in a good light. Linda was not athletic, having a few extra pounds but by no means a BBW, just good curves and some soft padding, and a face to wake up to. She did like hiking though, and a number of our dates covered some trails around northern New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and New York. No chaperone, so the church did not exactly approve. We’re 25, and we needed to be chaperoned? Right.

I came under even more suspicion when I finally had to retire my old VW Beetle, which was spending more time in the shop, along with more repair bills. So it was new car time. As in a 1980 280ZX. Not a nondescript plain car. Pagan car!

So one Sunday morning in December, at the end of her semester, Linda and I went to church together – in the Pagan Car. So far it was uneventful. Then to Sunday brunch at a decent restaurant. We talked about our college experiences, my running, notably the track meet at 168th Street Armory a weekend ago, and John Lennon, who had just been shot. And then we went to the evening service, where things got interesting, in a bad way. That was when the deacons and pastor lowered the boom on us.

“Ken, we need to talk, there appears to be a little problem.” And I saw Linda getting the same. Apparently Linda and I going to Sunday brunch, unchaperoned or not part of a group date, as well as the hiking trips, were the same as us jumping into the sack and having sex. The whole lecture centered around that. Then I was instructed not to have any further Web Tools contact with her, nor was I supposed to even sit next to any woman at church service, along with some other rules. As I left for the evening, I see Linda in tears. No doubt she was on the receiving end of a heavy head trip, and whoever really tried to mess with her head. She got a ride home from one of the married couples.

I drove home alone in my Pagan Car, listening to a cassette of that evil rock music. Yes, we were only supposed to listen to religious music. I put on Jethro Tull Aqualung. One of the songs was Wind Up:

“And you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday School…”

I got home to my apartment, and attempted to process what happened that evening.

Wow, taking a woman to Sunday brunch is the same as jumping into the sack and screwing our brains out. What the hell is this, a cult? Arranged marriages for those deemed holy enough? I need a beer. No, not beer, I need a shot of Jack Daniels. Except I didn’t have any of the latter, just some contraband Budweiser. Besides, I couldn’t get to drunk since I had to be at work the next morning, and it was an important design review meeting. Ha. I used the word hell in a superfluous manner, thought of having a shot of Jack. I’m on the Highway to Hell. No stop signs. Speed limits. Ain’t nothing gonna slow me down. Then there was a knock at the door.

“Ken, you there”

It was Linda.

I opened the door. “I thought we were not supposed to see each other.”

She immediately threw herself at me. Her eyes were still moist.

“Ken, what did they tell you?”

“Some rot about going to brunch was a serious offense, that it was the same as jumping in the sack.”

“I got just about the same. Plus a lot of other stuff.”

We continued to embrace, when she pressed her soft breasts into me, and then started grinding against me, which of course naturally produced an erection. And she noticed it.

I was about to say “Linda, what did you just do”, when she looked at me and said “We’ve been judged guilty of having sex, so why not,” followed by a deep kiss.

We went into my bedroom, where she saw my collection of running shoes, and race numbers decorating the wall. She already knew I took my running seriously, and Online Web Tools said she liked the fact that I stayed fit. We started removing our clothes somewhat tentatively. Remember now, we were church people at that time, but maybe not much longer. This was not something people like us did “normally.” I couldn’t help but notice her generous cleavage and large areolas. I turned the lights off, and she said “it’s much better that way. It was getting a little too uncomfortable.”

And then we were on the bed. Just embracing, getting used to enjoying the physical contact of our unclothed bodies.

We had been spooning, when I just happened to brush my hand across one of her nipples. She jumped, startled.

“You OK, Linda?”

“Yes, it’s just that a man had never touched me there.” After a pause “Touch me there again, it feels good.” Apparently she had in the past aroused herself that way.

After some nipple play, my hand went down over her belly, and encountered what felt like a landing strip. So she did shave down there. And then she put my hand over mine.

What is it, Linda?”

“Ken, this is the first time I’ve done this, but I want to do this.”

She’s twenty five, and a virgin, but then again she was in a group where even holding hands before marriage is consider sexual intercourse. Yet, as she rolled onto her back, her hand over my wrist as my fingers entered her, she has thought about sex. She was already wet inside. I found her clitoris and massaged it,

“Mmmmm, mmmm, yes Ken, that feels good.” After a few minutes she suddenly arched her back and let out a moan. “Ken, I’m ready.”

Then it hit me. No condoms. We didn’t do that kind of stuff before marriage, we weren’t even supposed to hold hands according to the rules. “Linda, I don’t have any condoms”

“I don’t care, let’s just do it”

Now this was 1980, before the AIDS thing hit, and since we were essentially sexually inactive, the chance of other STD’s was extremely remote. That left the risk of pregnancy. And she was very likely not on the pill. That left pulling out at the only option, and the least reliable.

I climbed on top of her as she spread her legs and gently approached her entrance.

“Linda, are you ready?

“Yes, Ken, do it”

I Çevrimiçi Web Araçları eased into her. Yes, she was tight there. Then I reached a barrier. Her hymen was still intacted.

“Linda, I’m at your hymen.”

“Quit being such a goddam engineer and do it.”

“OK, on three. One, two, three” and I pushed into her, she raised her hips, and let out a yelp of pain.

“I’m OK, let’s keep going”

I went further into her, and eventually the bed started creaking.

“What is your downstairs neighbor thinking?”

“She probably doesn’t mind, besides, she’s always going at it with her boyfriend.”

We continued, as her sighs became moans, as she began to move to meet each thrust. Every once in a while she would arch her back, as her walls tightened around me. As the pace picked up, I was getting close, and the thought off pulling out started to cross my mind. And then it was as if she could read my mind. Her legs wrapped around my thighs pulling me in further, leaving no escape. Did she know what she was doing, or was it all instinct? Then she yelled “Ken, do it now!” Her legs held me tight, fingernails in my back, and her walls not only tightened but seemed to ripple, causing me to explode inside of her. She held me inside her for another five or ten minutes, I really had no idea how much time went by. We just held each other, savoring the warmth of our bodies embracing. Then I looked at the alarm clock. 11 pm.

“Linda, you need to get home. Did you tell your parents where you went?”

“I told them I was meeting some others from church.”

“Did they suspect anything? You got home with someone else instead of me, and you looked like a mess after the deacons gave you the third degree.”

“I’ll probably find out tomorrow.”

The next morning I skipped going to the gym, where I typically did a workout at 5 pm. I got through the design review meeting fueled by about two pots of coffee.

Needless to say, Linda and I stopped going to that church. Toward the end of spring, she finished her degree. The Sunday before graduation, she was again in the passenger seat of the 280ZX. Except we were not going to church, and she was certainly not dressed for church. Tappan Zee Bridge, Cross Westchester Expressway, Connecticut Turnpike to New Haven. Blue Oyster Cult was playing there.

1277 express to heaven, speeding along like dynamite

1277 express to heaven, rumbles the steel like a dogfight

You caught me in it’s spell

Trying to leave but you know darn well

The heat from below can burn your eyes out

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