My dad, Pastor Jim, is a well-known preacher here in Dallas and has always been adamant about image.

So, like the good, moral man I was raised to be, I have tried to keep my nose pretty clean.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), I had never been too curious about sex. Even at age twenty-six, I’m still bashful about it. Growing up, I was taught that sex was a modest act — something done behind closed doors between husband and wife under the covenant of God. My entire lifestyle was molded to fit that perspective. Lust was sinful, and I wanted no part of it. That is, until I noticed the new girl in the choir at the 9:30 service.

That Sunday morning I watched her from across the pews as my dad led the sermon. She was beautiful. I did the same thing the following Sunday, and the Sunday after that. I loved how her body arched into this striking, alluring position when she sang. She’d stretch her fingers toward the sky, lost in hymn.

My acute shyness caused my mind to go haywire each time I was close to her, but one day — perhaps by God’s will — we ran into each other at the baptizing pool. I noticed a crucifix key chain hanging from her pocket that read “Shiloh Baptist retreat 2016.” She held out her hand to introduce herself.

“You’re Pastor Jim’s son, right?”

I nodded.

“I’m Hannah,” she said. “Good to meet you.” Then she added, “Hope to see you around, Pastor Jim’s son.”

“Oh, right,” I blurted after a moment, realizing I’d left something out of the introduction. “My name’s Brent. Good to meet you, Hannah.”

I was nervous around Hannah. I get nervous around pretty girls. But there was a smile in her eyes when we talked.

As the weeks went on, Hannah and I discovered our mutual love of volleyball and met twice weekly for an evening game in the church courtyard with a few other parishioners. One night, as I came up for a serve, a small ring fell out of my pocket. Hannah picked it up and glanced at the inscription on the inside. It was my purity ring — the one that symbolizes my intention to save myself for marriage. I’d had that stupid ring since I was fourteen. I’d worn it as part of my daily getup for years.

Hannah stepped toward me, an intriguing expression on her face.

“You know, Brent,” she whispered, “there are other ways to express love that are still within God’s plan.” She pressed the ring into my palm.

That night, Hannah and I were the last to leave the volleyball court. After taking a look around to make sure no one was watching, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the church auditorium. It was deserted except for the donation baskets sitting idly at the end of pews.

I felt a tingling in my groin. I could barely control my anticipation. Still, Hannah’s hands, wandering down my body now, confused my moral compass. This was a serious sin, wasn’t it? Fooling around in the house of the Lord? Each throbbing wave of heat I felt in my little fella was surely the devil at play.

“Don’t be afraid,” Hannah said, sensing my trepidation. “It’s a natural attraction.” She sat down on a pew and opened her thighs. Her workout pants outlined her shapely legs, and her large breasts drew the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her chest.

She pulled me in for a kiss, and I thought I was going to explode. Her tongue was so soft, so smooth…so warm. She massaged my petrified hard-on expertly over my pants. It felt so good. I stopped clenching and finally started to relax. Hannah ran her tongue from the back of my ear to my neck. Up and down. She unzipped my pants and I looked down — I was so hard I was purple.

Hannah pressed her fingers against my lips and pushed them into my mouth. I was surprised, but I instinctively sucked on them. She pulled them out, hooked the waistband of her pants with her thumbs and tugged them down. She turned away from me, licked one of her hands, and started drawing circles around her butthole with her slick fingers, letting out a few soft moans as she darted her fingers in and out of her ass, stretching out her goody hole with that slow, rhythmic, circular motion.

Then she reached back, grabbed my dick, and pulled it toward her. “Now push slowly,” she said, bending over and positioning her arms on the pew in front of her. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat as I watched the tip of my dick disappear into her backdoor. It was tight, and constricting, and amazing — the pleasure overwhelmed me.

All this time, I had only thought of sex in one way. But with each thrust I grappled with everything I’d ever been taught. Why I was enjoying this so much? Was this really sinful?

“How does it feel?” Hannah asked, seeming to sense the surge of thought and doubt that washed over me.

My face felt flushed. I mustered up some words between my gasps. “Um…really good,” I said. “Yeah, really good. Can I keep going?”

“Of course,” she said, letting out a little giggle. She reached around and started stroking the base of my shaft. “Keep going. I want you to come inside me. Can you do that for me, Brent? Can you come for me?”

Having my dick inside her ass was pure bliss. The tingling I felt throughout my body grew stronger and stronger. Suddenly, an unbelievable wave of pleasure hit me. I felt ballooned with heat…it was like my whole body exploded. I let out a wail. I was breathless. I shuddered and shook. Moments after that, I was calm. I felt the best kind of spent. I had just experienced my first real orgasm.

I still see Hannah every Sunday at the 9:30 service. We meet up after hours most evenings. Sometimes to talk. Other times to play. Hannah has given me a newfound understanding of pleasure without shame. An understanding that grows deeper each time she bends over the pew.

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