Below is a completely imaginary LDS sexuality question I’d love to see posted on an LDS Sexuality Facebook or Reddit Group.
Post:
I’m glad to have a forum like this where I can ask questions related to the places where the Gospel and sexuality overlap. I’m struggling at the moment, so I hope that this group can offer insights and wisdom.
My husband and I have a pretty dull sexual relationship. Our sex life was fine before the baby came, but now that she’s about nine months old, I feel like something is slipping. It is embarrassing and troubling for me, so please be patient as I give context. I hope that, by the end, I have enough courage to come out and confess to you what happened.
My husband is kind and patient. He’s my best friend. As I said, we have a bland and “vanilla” sexual relationship. We usually have sex about five times a week, that is unless the baby has been crying a lot or is adjusting to a new sleep schedule. In that case, I will, you know, want to have sex two to three times a day. Like most moms, I guess, adjustments and stress make me crave the closeness, reassurance, energy, pleasure, relief, and relaxation that come from the orgasms I get from the absolute anvil my sweetie has between his legs. I feel guilty about it, but sometimes I’ll put on the Mandarin language videos that little Kaitië3e loves so that His Celestial Bigness (silly nickname, I know) and I can have some “alone time.”
Alone time—that was what I wanted yesterday when my husband got home from work. Since our daughter was in her room babbling in Chinese (soooo cute!), I closed her bedroom door, slipped out of my shirt, my bra, my shorts, and my garments and got on all fours right there in the living room. I love feeling the air on my naked body and the anticipation when I feel my knees and palms on the laminate flooring. It was a good thing my husband closed the door as quickly as he did when he walked in or the guys from his carpool might have looked in and seen way too much of me from the apartment complex parking lot!
He’s my little Johnny-on-the-spot, so it wasn’t long before he was moving his hands up my stomach to my erect nipples. Then he was bathing my vulva with his tongue. He says I taste like honeydew melon and happiness. So cute! He does that thing where he starts with a few teasing thrusts, well not even thrusts, little entrances and exits. He will tease me like this even if I try to move back onto him to take him inside. When his low voice rumbles, “open your legs wider,” I know he will tease me with his perfect cock just inside my pussy’s slick entrance. He knows I’m ready when I whisper, “please…fuck me.” He’ll slide out, and I will feel myself getting wetter. Then he will ease his way deep into me. My muscles will contract around him. He will linger, and then alternate quick, shallow thrusts with longer, deeper, slower ones. He will pick up the pace as my breathing gets shallow. His hands will move from massaging my breasts or circling my anus to grabbing my hips. This gives him more control over the depth and angle. His total control of me and the relentless machine of his body build more and more pressure in me.
It is then that I’m always grateful for how thoughtful he is. I think of this because of the Valentine’s gift he gave me three years ago. I had not even thought of it, so when I unwrapped the Etsy box with a pink helmet and a “Property of Daddy” sticker in white bubble letters on the side, well, I was so happy. I can’t even tell you how much money we’ve saved on Advil since I got that present! Even though I’m sure everyone has one, I still appreciate how my sex helmet allows me to brace my head against the headboard, a wall, a seat or door in the car, the dishwasher, a tree, or, in this case, the front of the couch, as he’s railing me.
Here’s where I want the help of the wise church members in this group. Something happened yesterday. Maybe I’m tired because of the baby. Maybe something like this happens to other new moms. Or maybe my spirituality is dwindling after I accidently took the sacrament with my left hand four months ago.
Anyways, yesterday he was pumping me so hard that I could barely stay on all fours. My brain was getting quieter and quieter as energy was surging. He said something, but I couldn’t understand.
He repeated: “What are you?”
Puzzled, I murmured, “What?”
He repeated, “What are you?”
To which I stammered, “Please don’t make me say it.”
After a grinding thrust, he insisted again, “What are you?”
And again I said, “Please no.”
He slowed slightly and said, “Do you want my cock?”
I whispered “Yes.”
“How badly?” he asked.
When I said, “I must have it,” he asked, “Do you worship it?”
I moaned a confession, “Yes.”
His low voice concluded, “Then what does that make you?”
I paused.
I said, “Your slut.”
I’m so grateful he knows just how to get me to say two of my favorite words, words from my lizard brain that make me hungry with pleasure and desire. But that is when it happened. The moment was just so intense!
This is so hard to say. I meant to say “gosh,” I really did. That is what I always say, but, you guessed it, in that moment when the orgasmic bliss crashed over both of us, I did it: I took the Lord’s name in vain.
We rolled over onto the laminate flooring for the naked cuddling aftercare that I love. I closed my eyes in his embrace. After a few minutes, he searched the folds and then lightly pressed two fingers on my clit and whispered, as a question, “Slut?”
I know it’s a cliché but that is how he asks if I’d like to go again. I whispered that I thought Kaitië3e had had enough Chinese, but, to be honest, I said that because I felt too guilty and unsure to have sex two or three more times.
I got dressed and mechanically checked in on the little one. I could barely take in the weight and the fear I carried at that moment. I could only hope that my transgression had not forever stained our beautiful experience for my faithful LDS husband. He didn’t seem bothered, but he’s the sort of kind, patient, righteous man in Zion who will love me enough in my grievous sins to let me pray, read my scriptures, fast, attend the temple, and work through this trial with an appropriate fear and trembling.
Knowing him, he will probably never say anything until we are old mission presidents on a three-hour drive home from a meeting, and I finally have the courage to say, “I’m deeply sorry that I took the Lord’s name in vain.”
I know him. He’ll look over, smile, and say “I forgave you long ago.”
And then I hope we can look into each other’s eyes and smile as he guides the car to the shoulder of some deserted highway, bends me over the seat, lovingly wraps around my favorite ball gag and then inserts the thick, black vibrator from the glove compartment into one of my orifices and drills me in the other until I’m tempted to again take the Lord’s name in vain.
I realize that that is a lot of background, but it felt necessary for me to give some context for my question: does everyone else agree that, to be on the safe side, I should talk with the Stake President about my using God’s name in an unholy manner?
Also, I’m sure the answer is, of course, yes, but do you think that he’ll need all of that context as well?