It's a little scary

Alison’s head flies backwards and her mouth opens in a silent scream. Every muscle in her toned body from the toes on her feet to the cords on the side of her neck is straining and initially I think I’ve achieved my goal. But this is not the explosive orgasm I envisioned. Her pretty face is painfully twisted and instead of the release I was anticipating, it feels more like Alison is having some kind of epileptic episode.

I take her in my arms, but her body is still as stiff as a board. “Angel?” I try softly to get through to her, but her eyes are still rolled back in their sockets, and I get no response. “Alison!” I try again this time with a much sharper tone. Other than a little twitch there is still no reaction, and I start to panic. “Alison!” I shake her and finally I break through. The contortions in her face slowly melt, and I can feel some softness return to her muscles. Reassured that my lovely young tenant is not going to die on me, I carry her up the stairs and deposit her gently on her bed.

“Are you OK, Angel?” It takes a moment for her eyes to focus on my worried face, but I am rewarded with a hint of a smile. Nothing like her usual 1000-watt cheerfulness, but a lot better than the anguish which her face had been locked into just moments before.

“I’m sorry.” The whispered apology is a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. “That’s what happens when I start to feel too good.” She explains with a sad sigh, “not always, but the better I feel the more likely it is.” I don’t even know what to say, so I take her in my arms, and we sit on her bed in silence with Alison’s nearly naked body wrapped in my arms until the last bit of tension eases.

“I’m so stupid, I just can’t do anything right.” Alison breaks the silence, and I am quick to defend her.

“Angel, you’re not stupid, and we can figure this out.”

“Oh yeah?” She turns to the side, so she is facing me, “Mr. P, I masturbated regularly for over two years and didn’t even know what I was doing. How's that for stupid?”

“You’re going to have to explain that a little bit better.” I smile as I run my hand down her bare arm, pleased to see her body slowly relaxing.

“Our school library was strictly PG, Mr. P” she explains, “no young adult romances and certainly nothing with any sex,” her voice is hushed bit the words are clear enough as she tries to explain. “but I found a book on the lives of saints.” She continues, “have you ever heard of St. Ursula?” When I shake my head (Adventists pretty much see worship of Saints as akin to idolatry) she tells me about how over 1,000 years ago a Saxon Princess was on a pilgrimage to Rome with an escort of 111 virgins when she somehow ended up in the besieged city of Cologne surrounded by Huns.

“When the city fell, Mr. P,” Alison continues, “the pagan leader demanded that Ursula surrender her pure body to him, but she refused.” Alison catches my hand and pulls it to her lips, “The book said the barbarian king thrust Ursula through with his lance, killing her and making her a martyr to the faith.” She smiles shyly, “Even as young and sheltered as I was back then, it was impossible for me not to understand what ‘thrust through with a lance’ must have meant in those dark times.” As sheltered as this girl’s upbringing was, picking up on the double entendre, showed she was pretty bright despite her education, I turn my attention back to what she is saying.

“... in bed late at night obsessing about the fate of Ursula and all the other poor Christian maidens in the fallen city.” Alison crosses her legs and covers her mound with her hands. “In the dark when all my family was asleep, I pressed my legs together, and protected my holy of holies with my hands like this.”

Alison's fingers press even more firmly between her clenched thighs, and I smile broadly when I saw where this was going. “I'd lie on my bed, Mr. P, imagining that I was fighting to preserve my sacred virginity as my legs were pried apart by a merciless Hun.” I watch her thighs tighten and relax in a steady rhythm, as she demonstrates what she did. “I thought I could feel the holy spirit building inside and the harder and longer I fought, the more intense the feeling grew.” By now Alison's has lowered her eyes and her voice drops to a hushed whisper. “When I could no longer fight off the Hun warrior and my legs were pulled apart, I felt what I believed at the time to be divine presence and my soul lifted up to Jesus.”

The pretty coed lies beside me, still with tears in her eyes and panting from the exertion of reliving those nighttime fantasies. She doesn’t fight when I pull her back into my arms and claim her lips with mine. When the kiss ends, she smiles wryly up at me.

“You see how stupid I was, Mr. P?” She asks sadly. “It wasn’t until my senior year in my Christian Living and Morality class that I learned that what I thought was striving towards a holy state, was instead the work of the devil. I had been regularly committing a carnal sin two or three times a week for the past two years.” She sniffs softly and presses her nose into my shoulder.

“No, Honey.” I correct her, “I think your first interpretation was closer to the truth than your teacher’s.” This time, after the kiss ends, I let her pull away from me judging her reaction.