And just like that, once again, I feel like a fluke.
Like a total hypocrite. Failure. The worst sinner in the world. Okay maybe not the WHOLE world, because although we learnt ages ago in Sunday School that there were no such things as small and big sins, murdering and torturing a baby must belong to a category of some sort. Because that, in my books, is a MAJOR SIN.
This is what I usually do when I feel guilty. It usually begins with a crippling sense of dread and disappointment in myself and my apparent lack of discipline or self control. It’s literally a few hours of “ohmyGod you said the last time was THE last time and… oops, girl you failed AGAIN, you colossal failure!”. Somehow, I manage to get over the fact that I have indeed, sinned again for the umpteenth time, and begin to look for ways to make myself feel better. Hence the categorization of sins thing.
I guess I should get right to the point and tell you exactly what it is I’ve done to make me feel this way.
The thing is, to most people, this is not a thing. It is natural. Just a way of life. Chemistry. Feral instinct, or whatever it is called. To me however, the Christian, the one who got baptised at fifteen and gave a speech so heart wrenching about love and acceptance that made the head pastor of our church so determined to see that I was enrolled in Bible College as soon as I was able, it is the worst thing I could ever deal with.
I might as well just come right out and say it: I slept with Sam.
I still cannot believe it. I mean, of course I can believe it has happened, because well, I was there when all these feelings or whatever were coursing through my body and making me say and do things (oh good God) that a good Christian girl has no business doing or feeling, at least not before marriage.
OHMYGOD I AM SUCH A SINNER.
What am I going to do? This keeps happening, I keep saying the last time IS THE LAST time, but that was three times ago and here I am again, laying here in his room after reassuring myself that this time I would be good, would stand my ground, be firm and look all disinterested because heck, I am a Christian girl, and nice abs don’t get us weak at the knees like these mere non-Spirit filled women ruled by their carnal desires. We proclaim that our “bodies are temples of The Most High”, that we are not beings who are ruled by the flesh but by the Spirit, and go about our day. It is that simple.
But see, Sam just knows what to say. Or how to tickle me when we’re watching a movie that makes me giggle like a stupid sixteen year old (I used to smirk at such girls in school. Like, get a grip, he’s only stealing your pencil, not taking you to Paris for goodness sake). I can faintly hear my voice go up by two octaves, he’s tickling me and of course, I’m loving the attention because hey, who doesn’t love it when another saved “brother” who is very, very attractive and possesses the same body as Usher in the Confessions video (I wasn’t always “saved”, and even if I was, who hasn’t seen that video?) is devoting his time to hear you shriek like a banshee? Of course tickling is only code for “soon to begin kissing”, which I know, but by the time I’ve succumbed to tickling, it is only right that I should let myself be kissed also. And then that turns into whatever else and before you know it, we’re back at square one again.
Sam is being such a male about the whole thing. “Babe, oh no, I can’t believe we’re here again, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry but we just have to pray and move on and not let this determine our salvation” –
It’s the same story every time. We do it, we pray, he feels surprisingly calm about the entire thing like we haven’t just done the worst thing in the history of Things Christians Should Not Do Before Marriage and he’s ready for the next adventure. How does he do it? I’m sitting on the rumpled bed, feeling like the World’s Worst Christian ever, and he’s dressed, ready to leave the house like nothing happened?
How did I get here? How did I become this girl? Why can’t I stop? I really want to, but really, this pull, this force of attraction, this bond, is strange. It just keeps pulling me back and I can’t help myself. I lose all sense of rational thought when I think about us like that.
I really hate to admit it, but I cannot keep lying to myself any more; I like sex. I really, really like sex.
I am a Christian girl, and I am torn. Guilt – stricken, because I hate that I like sex so much, but not disciplined enough to stop doing it.
OHMYGOD I AM SO SCREWED.
And welcome to the first of a little somethin’ I’ve been trying my hand at. I’m still unsure of what to title it, the protagonist doesn’t really even have a name yet, but do bear with me, early days and all! Trying to write/formulate a sort of mini story series. It was a project I mulled over for a while and debated whether or not to attempt embarking upon, but then again, the point of starting this blog was to improve and expand my writing skills. Hope you enjoy it? I’d like to hear your thoughts!