I remember a time when going to confession would raise my heart rate, make me feel sweaty and dry mouthed, and for some odd reason, make me feel sexy. Not orgasmically sexy, you understand, just slightly but definitely sexually aroused.
Another writer here commented upon one of my stories about the spirituality of orgasm. I must admit, I hadn’t remotely considered this before. I always tied my spirituality into my Catholic upbringing. I still go to mass now and then, and it does make me feel good. Nice. Kneeling, genuflecting, they are all signs of submission, aren’t they, and I am submissive sexually. So, I decided I would have an orgasm and see it I could work out the link between cumming and spirituality. I dressed for the part. I let my instinct take over and just followed where it led me. A white summer dress and panties. As soon as I looked at myself in the mirror, my first thought was “First Communion.” All I needed was a veil and a small post of flowers! I lay on my bed, feeling like some kind of sacrificial virgin. (Virgin! Ha! That ship sailed long ago.) nevertheless, I took a few deep breaths to center myself, and began stroking my breasts. I focused intently on every thought, every feeling. My boobs are exquisitely sensitive. More than ever now since the piercings. I felt the familiar, almost electric shock stimulus of arousal.......and with it came a hole.....a need for fulfilment that wasn’t just the need to cum. There was something more. As my body responded to my touch, I felt the familiar wetness start to build between my legs, and my clit ached to be caressed. My hole, too, ....sometimes, I think I can actually feel begin to open. Fantasy? I didn’t have one. This was pure manual sexual arousal. I found I wasn’t thinking of a scenario, or a previous experience. I certainly didn’t feel I needed any of my more extreme thoughts such as wetting myself. As the arousal grew, I felt, again, like I was in church waiting for my turn in the confessional. I experienced that same sweatiness and dry mouth but this was sexual arousal. When I couldn’t resist any longer, I let my hand explore in my panties. I revelled in my slick wetness, and the orgasm, when it came rolled over me, taking my breath away. But this time, with it came a sense of completion that lasted for hours afterwards. Every stress, every worry was placated, I had given myself the gift of absolution. And it was complete in every way. I walked around I those wet panties for the rest of the day. It reminded me of what I had done, and anyway, I like the feeling of being wet down there. Usually, I wash and change my underwear after masturbating into my panties, but this time, something made me want to keep them on....a reminder, perhaps....or maybe just because it felt nice. I don’t know, really, but isn’t that enough? It felt nice. Reason enough for me. I realise that I have become ritualised to some extent. Masturbate. Cum. Clean up. Present a ‘normal’ face to the world. Hide it. Keep it secret. When I thought of the last two,parts of that sentence, I felt a sudden flash of annoyance. Why should I keep it secret? Why should I hide it? There’s only one reason. I should only do that if I want to. I need to learn to enjoy my sexuality more. It’s not dishonourable. It’s glorious. It’s a gift. A gift I intend to use.
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