Another Girl, Another Planet

This is a short story I wrote specially for the Eroticon reading slam. There was a certain amount of inspiration from a song, as older readers may notice.

‘Space travel’s in my blood’ she said, pulling off her silver boots, ’there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Tell me about yourself, how you came to be doing this.’

‘My name is Neptunia. I was born on the Neptune colony four thousand years ago and came to this galaxy through the time shift, after the solar system was abandoned I have travelled a lot, I enjoy it and when..’

‘they allowed sex again?’

‘Yes, I was chosen to apply to be an inter-galactic sex worker and I jumped at  the opportunity. I see a lot of the cosmos, the money is good  and I ways wanted to be a teacher.’

A teacher was what I needed. This was my first permission to visit our galaxy’s pleasure planet. I had read about sex in antique data storage from the days before humans destroyed planet Earth and the solar system had to be abandoned, musty stained things called books. I grew up after the move towards the more efficient asexual reproduction of the species.  For millennia sex was forbidden. Oh we still married, but only for companionship. Ova and sperm were produced by industrial process so there was no need for the human body to be involved. And sex for pleasure was deemed harmful, detrimental above all to the efficiency of the galactic economy. Like all males I had been locked into a chastity device on my thirteenth birthday. It was only ever removed under medical supervision for purposes of washing and so on,  and we knew nothing other than the dull aches and throbbing pain of the erection being crushed by the pitiless kryptonite.

And now sex was allowed as a privilege, but only for those with the means to travel to the pleasure planet and pay one of the few handpicked sex workers like Neptunia.

‘We only have an hour’ she said ‘maybe we should get on with it?’

She removed her gauntlets and pulling down the shimmering suit revealed two small firm breasts followed by a stomach tattooed with a pink meteor shower and then her pussy, her pubic hair shaven into what Earth language called a Brazilian. As the suit fell round her ankles she stepped out of it and walked towards me. I gazed at her. I had never seen a naked woman before. She took my hand and guided it to the hair, the lips and made me feel my way gingerly up and down.

‘You’ve never seen a woman before have you?’

‘No I er…….’

She gently kissed the top of my head.

‘The pleasures of the body couldn’t be denied for ever’ she said, ‘ and I am so glad the Administration realised that. Just relax……feel my hair, feel the roughness of the stubble, then feel your way down..’

She guided my hand to wear I could sense an opening, then put one of her fingers in and pulled it, put it on my tongue.

‘Taste. I’m getting wet, that’s what women do when they are ready for sex.’

She knelt before me, pulled my head towards hers and kissed me, forcing her tongue between my teeth.    I pulled away horrified.

‘But that’s so unhygienic. It’s gross.’

Neptuia laughed.

“You need to forget all they taught you at school. This is not dirty. It’s really wonderful to get close and intimate with another human being like this. Besides I’m clean and if you want to suggest otherwise you know where the door is,’

She wasn’t laughing now.

‘Just get this straight. I am proud to be a sex worker and any ideas you have about dirty disease ridden whores are just so ancient solar system. Just get them out of your head. Besides only I have the cyberkey to your chastity device. So you had better be nice to me.’

She began to laugh again.

She pulled a thin metal rod out of her bag and pointed it at my crotch. The chastity device loosened with a click and she was soon on me, Gently sliding it off, pushing me onto my back as she kissed me again. This time I could feel her strength as she pinned me down and pushed her tongue into my mouth so hard that I struggled to breathe. I made a token effort to throw her off but she was too strong for me. She slid down my body, her tongue leaving a damp trail until she arrived at my penis. She licked the end before whipping it delicately with the end of her tongue. I felt it harden and rise, now unrestrained for the first time in thirty years. She took it into her mouth and began to suck.

I stiffened and made to draw back.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I’ve never done this before i…..”

The move into her mouth had drawn the foreskin back and the unsheathed bellend, all purple and shiny with her saliva felt vulnerable and exposed. I shuddered.

“Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

I lay back on the bed took a deep breath and tried to relax. She started again.  This time I shut my eyes and tried to yield to her. She began to move in and out in slow rhythmic movements, and I felt myself beginning to enjoy the warmth and softness of her mouth. Another tongue whipping, another couple of swift movements in and out and I had come, feeling more pain than pleasure as one huge ejaculation quickly followed another.

Neptunia swallowed but kept a little in her mouth as she kissed me and passed some of the creamy fluid into my mouth.

“That’s the taste of a man. That’s your taste.”

She wiped her lips and smiled.

‘That’s it” she said. “Your time is nearly up.”

“And sex?” I asked not hiding my disappointment.

“Not today. I need to file my report and the Pleasure Ministry will decide if you can have a second appointment with full service.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If they don’t they don’t” said Neptunia matter of factly. “It’s down to the Ministry to decide if you need sex, or if the productive capacity of the state will be enhanced. It’s not my decision. And to be honest I don’t care either way. I’m a sex worker. I service my clients and show them the door. I don’t get emotionally involved.”

Perhaps she could see the disappointment on my face because she quickly added

“I like you and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. So I will write a positive opinion. And maybe you will come again.”

She reached behind her and picked up the chastity cage and cyberkey.

“Come here. I have to put this back on.”

“No” I said, surprised at the firmness in my voice. “I’m not going back into that.”

I backed away but she stood up and walked towards me with a determined look.

‘That chastity device IS going back on. It’s inter-galactic law and I am here to enforce it.’

She pushed me back against the wall and hissed

‘Are you going to do as you’re told or do I have to hurt you?’

The last words came out with such venom that her spit flecked my glasses.’

‘Just remember the report I have to file. Piss me off and you’ll never come here again. You’ll live the rest of your life like a fucking monk. Is that what you want?

‘No’

My resistance was broken. She clipped it back into place, locked it with the cyberkey. I looked at her, as he pulled on her boots. I felt desire for her again, felt the blood pumping into my penis, which rose and swelled until cruelly restricted by the cage. I bent low with the agony and sank to my knees crying. It was not just for the desire of Neptunia but for what I had understood. Chastity was slavery, I had always wondered about the things I had read from earth days when chastity was a form of play in something called BDSM. I realised that when we are not free to use our bodies as we want, when we cannot express ourselves sexually then we are slaves. My head was teeming with subversive thoughts. Did The Administration realise how dangerous this could all be?  I knew too that I could say nothing of this to Neptunia who was after all a spy for the police, part of the control apparatus. What an irony there was there!

In any case I had to come back, to push my penis for the first time through those mysterious soft folds of flesh, into that secret place of the ultimate warmth and softness.

‘Come on’ said Neptunia. ‘it’s time for you to go.’

She led me out to the docking pod and I was soon on my way, her planet a distant speck and her body a sweet memory. It is a long and tiring flight to the Pleasure Planet and back but I know I will return. Long journeys wear me out but I know I can’t live without it.’

 

Going for a Curry

Never let it be said that the BDSM scene is not tolerant and broad-minded. It attracts such interesting people.  Mistress Helga appreciated her life in a multi-cultural society and was pleased to have chambers on the edge of Manchester’s most famous Asian area. She was fascinated too by the variety of men, occasionally women, who came to serve her. She particularly enjoyed the transformation she effected, turning so many of them in 15 minutes from drab, stressed office workers to maids and sluts, or subs bound in leather and masked, not knowing where the next blow to their buttocks was coming from. She loved the shiny happy faces of those ensnared in her world with no hope of escape and, more importantly, no desire. To talk to them was an education. Helga’s university was the University of Life.

Today she was seeing a regular client, David. David was a well-spoken Cambridge graduate who had been seeing Helga for about a year. It was to be his seventh visit. He had been very nervous on his first visit but Helga had seen him grow in confidence over the course of subsequent visits. Of course a certain amount of confidence in a sub is no bad thing but all things have their limits. On David’s previous visit Helga felt him becoming cocky, indeed taking her for granted. If he had forgotten his place in the natural order of things it was time for him to be taught. She had devised a session of exquisite humiliation for him, one in line with the principles of diversity  and multi-culturalism she held so dear.

Shortly before two o’clock David rang the bell of the chambers as arranged and, as usual, the door opened as if by itself Mistress hiding behind it, not wanting the neighbours to see her black PVC dress, long gloves and cap, complemented by sparkling thigh boots. David entered expecting the usual peck on the check and a coffee and chat on the sofa before starting. He was shocked to hear Helga say firmly

“Kneel”

He knelt but looked about him bewildered.

“You are a worthless ordure and I’m going to punish you. You need taking down a peg or two and by God am I going to do it. Now crawl into the front room, take your clothes off, fold them into a neat pile and wait for me, on your knees with your head bowed. You are worthless and I am going to make you feel worthless. “

“Yes mistress”.

David was already rock hard but relief was still two hours away and conditional on good behaviour.

Helga adjourned to the kitchen for a cigarette and a cup of coffee and made David wait nearly ten minutes just to muddle his head a little more.  She walked silently to the front room before flinging the door open to find David, as ordered, on his knees, shaking.

“Look at me” she commanded. David looked up and she saw the fear in his eyes. Now she had him where she wanted him, confused and not knowing what to expect.

“I have a little treat for you today” she said. “I’m going to introduce you to Asian culture. You’re going to be my Bollywood tart. Wait there.”

Helga went to the dungeon and took down from the rail the outfit she had chosen for David, It was an authentic salwar kameez bought on the Wilmslow Road, in pink with shades of gold and blue. To set it off she chose a pair of shiny sandals.

“Stand up” ordered Helga and David, stark naked, stood up to await dressing.

“You’re going to wear this today, it’s a salwar kameez, it’s gorgeous and very feminine and you’re going to be my Indian slut. You’re going to go for a walk round the block with me.”

“Please mistress no…”

“Silence. The word “no” does not exist in this dungeon except for those wanting a punishment they will not enjoy. One hundred strokes should leave a few welts to explain to your wife”

“Please mistress, please” David was looking terrified.

Helga laughed. “Yes slave; you will please mistress won’t you?”

“Yes mistress”

Again incipient disobedience had been nipped in the bud. David was crushed, Helga knew he would go meekly to his fate. So he put on his lacy knickers and the pink salwar kameez . Again he felt an erection coming but Helga saw it straight away and one fierce lash brought his errant manhood to heel.

“You come when given permission. You know the punishment for ejaculators”

“Yes mistress”

David was ordered to stand still and Helga skilfully applied tint and make-up to give him a more coffee coloured hue with black eyelashes and a black flowing wig. Surely Aishwarya Rai herself never looked so ravishing. There was dark lipstick, lovely jet black mascara. Helga’s shopping trip to the Wilmslow Road had been well worth it.

“Look at yourself in the mirror” she commanded and David stood amazed before the full length mirror Helga kept in the hallway. He had long curly black locks, his lips were prominent in dark red and his eyes highlighted in black. He wore a pink salwar kameez, with shades of blue and gold detailing; the trousers were tight and fitted snugly round the ankles. On his feet was a pair of gold sandals.

“What do you look like?” asked Mistress.

“Like a Paki” David replied and almost before he had uttered the word Helga’s hand slapped his face with a force that momentarily stunned him.

“How dare you use such words about ladies of any race you worthless piece of filth. Every woman is superior to you, you lowlife, you reptile. You’re my little princess what are you?”

“Your Indian princess Mistress “

“No you’re not. You’re a worthless piece of filth” Helga slapped the other cheek.

“I am a worthless piece of filth”

“Exactly. Before your next appointment I require 200 lines from you. I am a worthless piece of filth and beg for punishment”

“Yes mistress.”

David was ordered into the dungeon and strapped to the whipping bench. The pink trousers were slid expertly down, followed by the lacy panties, to expose David’s pink buttocks.

“You are going to receive twenty strokes for your impertinence. After each stroke you will count then say ‘I worthless piece of filth thank you mistress’.”

And so the flogging began. David gasped with delight as the paddle hit its target.

“One.  I, worthless piece of filth thank you mistress.”

He was left waiting for the second stroke. And the third. Helga liked to vary the frequency of the strokes to confuse her slaves. There was a house rule that if a slave miscounted the flogging started again. One slave had miscounted at stroke 99 of a hundred stroke punishment for disobedience to orders. She recalled with satisfaction his tearful pleading to be excused. But he could not, surely, expect mercy.   Mercy there came none although she spared him having to count the second time round.

David was grimly determined to concentrate and the twentieth stroke was administered and counted without mishap. It hurt as he pulled the panties and pink trousers over his glowing back side.

It was now time for the main event. David knelt before Helga’s throne as ordered. Helga sat down, resplendent in PVC and gleaming thigh boots. She lit a cigarette and said, imperiously:

“You’re going to dance for my entertainment.”

“Yes mistress”

“Get up and stand in the corner facing the wall.”

David did as he was told. Helga flicked the switch of the CD player and the sounds of Bollywood music filled the room.

“Dance slave”

David turned round and tried his best to sway from side to side.

“Not like that you stupid twat!”

“Swing your hips, I want to see your fat gut shaking like a jelly. I want to see sweat pouring off you. And use your hands!”

Helga clapped her hands as a signal for the dancing to begin. She drew deeply on her cigarette.

David hesitated, unsure of himself.

“Dance again,” commanded Helga and do it properly!”

She turned up the volume a notch and David began to wobble his middle aged stomach and swing his hips as he made his way across the room . He dared not look at his Mistress. He wobbled back across the room. Helga grabbed him as he passed in front of her throne.

“Genuflect you worm!”

David did as he was told, and as he bowed his head Helga grabbed it and pulled him towards her.  She took one last drag on her cigarette and blew smoke into David’s face.

“Now go and dance and do it properly.”

Confused and humiliated, David struggled to his feet and had a third go at pleasing Mistress. He writhed and squirmed, attempted what he thought to be Indian hand movements. And at that moment of deepest shame he felt his penis harden and make the pink trousers bulge. Helga, of course, missed nothing.

“You pathetic piece of filth! Does that turn you on? Or are you having forbidden thoughts about your Mistress?”

“No mistress”

It was too late to give Mistress that assurance and David was forced to his knees , dragged forward until he felt Helga’s booted thigh trap his head in a dark  tunnel.

“You miserable piece of filth. Lick my boots.”

And David licked the wall of his sweet prison right up to the tops of her boots where he could feel the stockinged flesh that was forbidden to him.  To worship Mistress’s body was a privilege granted to few.

Then he was sent to dance again. For twenty minutes, driven by fear as much as the need to please a superior being, he swayed and sashayed and wobbled, not daring to stop and finished up with a vigorous ten minute pole dance. When Helga commanded him to stop he was red and sweaty with the effort, ready to drop.  He stood waiting for further humiliation and scorn.

Helga said,

“What time is your session booked to end?”

David answered “At four o’clock Mistress.”

“It’s five to four now” said Helga “Bit I’m not letting you go yet. I have something planned for later .”

But Mistress I have to do the shopping.”

“Shopping?” asked Helga scornfully. “Phone your pitiful vanilla wife and tell her to do the shopping. Tell her you’re working late.”

“Yes Mistress”

David made the telephone call as ordered and was led, still dressed in salwar kameez, to the cage.

“I have one more session. Slave Michael’s a bit of an exhibitionist so he won’t mind you watching. But you’ll be caged so you can’t escape.”

David went meekl y to his fate. The cage was small and uncomfortable and he had to watch as Slave Michael was given a merciless flogging for breaches  of chastity before being taken into another room from where his moans and screams  rent the air. David marvelled that the neighbours couldn’t hear.

It was nearly seven o’clock when Mistress Helga came to release him from the cage.  He was stiff from three hours of close confinement and desperately needed to stretch his legs.

“Well done slave, Mistress is pleased with you. And Mistress wishes to reward you for your faithful service.”

“How Mistress if I may ask?”

“You may ask. We’re going for a curry and I will pay. We leave in five minutes.”

“Thank you mistress. Please may I go and change?”

“No you may not. You’re going as you are.”

David’s face showed the horror that was gripping him.

“No Mistress please no.”

“The phrase I expect to hear is ‘yes Mistress’. You are not permitted use of the word no.”

“Sorry mistress”.

Several hours of relentless mockery and humiliation had broken David and he climbed meekly into her car for the short drive down the Wilmslow Road to Helga’s favourite restaurant. Walking down the street was bearable, just, it was by now dark, but the bright lights of the restaurant were coming ever nearer and offered no such safety. When they reached the door David knew there could be no escape. He felt a firm push in his back as he walked through the door.

He was sure that time had stopped, that the whole city had fallen silent to feast on his humiliation. Every smile was a grin, behind every hand was a snigger. With every effort he could muster to take the bass tones out of his voice he spoke. He suddenly felt confident. He loved his Mistress and pleasing her was the only thing that mattered.

“Table for two please.”

The Longest Night

David sobbed as the searing pain of the hundredth stroke speared through his buttocks. He had never known pain like this. Mistress untied him and drew him to her. She hugged him and stroked his hair.

‘Brave boy. Mistress is proud of you.’

David continued to sob. As he felt Mistress’s breasts rise and fall, felt her warmth and soft skin he felt shame that he had let her down again. She stroked his hair again then clasped his chin forcing his head back so that he had to look her in the face.

‘Next time I will not be so gentle.  You are going to take your submission more seriously. When I say that you are in chastity I mean precisely that. You will go away and reflect on what has happened today. You will obey me. You will learn self control and if you have to do it the hard way so be it. You will phone me every morning and give me a full account of each night. You are dismissed.’

At bedtime that night David  knelt by the bed and asked his Mistress for the strength to get through the night unsoiled. He put on the silk nightdress she had given him, that made his cock just that bit less accessible and pulled on the plastic underpants he had been commanded to wear each night. Finally, as a final defence against temptation he pulled on a pair of pink rubber gloves. In these, at least, it would be difficult to wank. He sat up in bed for a moment, holding Mistress before him, before lying down and clicking off the bedside light.

He lay on his front at first, as an old book about the dangers of self abuse suggested,  but soon found himself rubbing his crotch against the sheet. He turned over onto his front and placed the gloved hands outside the duvet. He imagined Mistress looking at him thorough a spy hole. Sleep didn’t come and he realised that this would be a long night, a lonely battle against temptation.

As he lay there, tossing and turning, Mistress began to appear to him, first in a latex dress and stilettos, the ones he had worshipped recently, then in tight PVC trousers with red thigh boots that gleamed in the lights of the dungeon. He felt his hands reach to pull up the nightdress and he began to pump his cock with a gloved hand. As the precome dribbled out over the pink glove he stiffened in horror and pulled his hand away.

‘I just obey I must obey’ he repeated breathlessly.

He rolled over into his front and pushed his hands underneath the pillow. He slept fitfully for a while before Mistress came into his head again, this time in a red PVC dress and black boots. She bent over the arm of a chair and lifted the dress to reveal the new tattoo on her left buttock,. David saw himself creeping forward on his knees to kiss the tattoo slowly and lovingly.

He rolled over. He was hot and sweaty. He pulled off the rubber gloves and again reached for his big hard cock. Mistress was now standing over him, commanding him to come, pushing the sole of her boot into his face. He looked up.  She seemed even more magnificent from this perspective, pushing down harder commanding him to lick the soles, to wank his cock harder. He pumped, he kneaded the tip, he pulled the foreskin back and as he felt the ejaculation surging  up the shaft he remembered and took his hand away just in time.

He sat up in bed panting and switched the light on. He was hard, he was desperate to come, and yet………

‘I must obey, I must obey’

He was hot and uncomfortable in the plastic pants and pulled them off, looking at the precome that stained them. He felt shame. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. Four o’clock. It was starting to get light. He had two hours to endure. Mistress had told him that chastity would be hard but he had to do it, he wanted to do it for her. He must obey. He switched the light off, lay down and fell into a fitful sleep.

Mistress was soon back, peeling off. a shiny dress to reveal her breasts, a tattoo above the left one. She stood before him in boots and  nothing else. She turned round and flaunted the tattoo on her buttock, backing up to the bed for him to kiss it. Then she turned to face him and he saw her shaven cunt, saw her fingering her clit.

‘You’d love to but you never will.’ She laughed a long demonic laugh.

‘Look at it,you’ll never see another one, you’re in chastity, eternal chastity…’

She laughed again as she disappeared. The alarm rang. The sun was streaming  in  through the window. He reached for his cock, pumped and massaged and the thick creamy come was soon running down his leg. He turned over and rubbed his crotch hard against the sheet. It was wet, it was warm, the unmistakeable smell filled the room. There was a large damp patch on the nightdress..

He panted with relief, He had hardly slept. His head ached. Then came the dreaded realisation that he had failed, He had disobeyed. He had advanced no further in his submission.

He reached for his phone and dialled Mistress’ number.

‘Forgive me Mistress I have sinned’ he said as tears rolled down his cheek, tears of shame, of joy too. He would surely learn to love the cane.

Faith in our Bodies

I will begin with an anecdote. A male friend of mine once visited a massage parlour. During the post-coital chat the girl told him about her strict Catholic upbringing. One day her devout aunt in County Clare found out what she did for a living and, to her niece’s astonishment, took it in her stride.

“You’ll go straight to Heaven” she said. “It’s a lovely thing to do. When I think of all the poor lonely men you provide a little comfort to, I know the Lord will surely reward you,”

I mention this little episode as it shows that not all those of deep religious faith are posturing moralisers and not all hostile to sex workers. It also shows the gap, frequently a chasm, between the official teaching of the Catholic Church and the practical common sense of ordinary believers.

Officially sex is only licit if it is between couples with a canonically valid marriage and then only if the act is open to the transmission of life. The list of prohibitions resulting from this view is very long and includes

Oral sex

Anal sex

Masturbation – male definitely (it spills seed) and probably female although I can find no definitive pronouncement on this.

Contraception

Extra- or pre- marital sex

Sexual acts between people of the same gender

BDSM is a grey area on which moral theologians express divergent views but a majority reject it.

It’s probably not much of an exaggeration to say that it’s OK in your pyjamas and with the lights out but otherwise it’s probably a mortal sin.  There is no sense of sex as an expression of love for your partner, sex as enjoyment, sex as an act of self-expression. Ideally there would be no sex. I once heard a priest talk approvingly of a married couple who had decided to live together as brother and sister with separate bedrooms and, of course, no sex. This does not sit well with any theology of marriage known to me but shows how the fear of sex can tip over into doctrinal unorthodoxy.

In practice most Catholics ignore the teachings. I have no idea how many of the diminishing numbers of those who go to confession at all ever confess to taking the pill or using condoms but I suspect not many. If, then, the official teachings are ignored why worry about them?  The reason is, in my view, that the fear of sex is at the root of misogyny within the Church.  I have discussed Eve in a previous post so will say nothing further here except to point out the contrast between Eve, who had sex, and lost humanity its place in the garden of Eden and Mary, the new Eve, who was a Virgin.  A woman playing a key role in salvation history must necessarily be a sexless one.

For nearly a thousand years the priesthood has been celibate. Compulsory celibacy has proved either unworkable in practice (in many parts of Europe it was entirely normal until recent times for the village priest to have a concubine) or harmful as priests were forced to live out a celibacy that were not called to with consequences such as rape, sexual assault, gay mafias in seminaries and so on. It also contributed to the priesthood becoming a caste, men apart who protected their own interests at the expense of the ordinary faithful. The consequences of this have become all too clear in recent years.

Women found themselves, still find themselves, shut out, second class believers. Only men can be priests. I once heard a Bishop say that priests enjoyed the ‘special friendship’ of Christ. This is a theologically dubious proposition and dismissive of both lay men and women. It is however particularly dismissive of women. None of us, it seems, can be a ‘special friend’ of Christ. Another dangerous proposition is the one that priests on ordination are somehow ‘configured to Christ’ as if all believers are not called to be configured to Christ or as if Christ’s defining characteristic was his genitalia.

A look at scripture gives a different view. We can read how Christ’s most intimate circle included several women, read St. Paul’s letters to the Corinthians, the Christian community at Corinth whose leader was Chloe, a woman.  Today it is women who make up the bulk of Catholic congregations, it is women who remain faithful to Christ as men fall away or betray their vocations.

What of women religious? I know a number of nuns who live celibate lives to which they are called and they are an inspiration. A number of them are feminists. Sadly even women who don’t have sex cannot be trusted and under both Benedict and John Paul II there were Inquisition style investigations into female religious orders. The message is clear. Women who think for themselves are not welcome here.

Yet women have so much to contribute to making the Church a better place. Yes, we need women priests, but that is not the answer in itself. The role of lay people must be transformed, lay women and also lay men. Most of all, the Church needs a healthy attitude to sex. It needs to teach that sex is good, a gift from God and part of His plan. The only bad sex is that based on coercion or deceit.

What are the doctrinal implications? If we are to have a Church that welcomes women, celebrates sex, do we need to believe in the perpetual virginity of Mary? Where does the doctrine of original sin fit? Original sin is, in effect, transmitted by the sexual act. Some theologians have already begun to question the basis for this doctrine. A fresh understanding of sin and sinfulness is long overdue.

Women’s bodies are the work of God. When we make love we are not temptresses luring men to perdition but beautiful human beings doing the work of the Lord. And when we go to Heaven, let’s look out for a sex worker from Birmingham leading the way.