Blasphemy: The Awakening

“For a woman, the pursuit of happiness must include her experience of rapture. And the only way to truly connect with the female body’s capacity to feel rapture is through her pussy. When a woman owns her pussy, she learns about her body, her innate sensual potential, and her creative capacity.” (Thomashauer, Regena. Pussy: A Reclamation)

“Do you want to see my tattoo?” asked Petra, as we sat in her lounge, enjoying our weekly midmorning coffee.

“Sure.” I looked at my beautiful friend, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders, not sure what to expect. She wasn’t dressed in her normal vicarage clothes. She had a short black Japanese kimono with a red embroidered dragon at the back on. I could see the swelling of her full mature breasts, her long naked legs stretched out before her. My heart thumped in my chest; my breath quickened. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the anticipation of another one of her outrageous theological pranks.

We were both pastors in adjoining congregations, the first females in our denomination. Our husbands were also our senior colleagues in the congregations. Petra was the outgoing, easy pastor everyone loved. Her husband, Gert, was the quiet one, while my husband, Johan, was the dynamic leader in the church. Me, I saw myself as the follower, although my theological studies were far outside the church’s dogmatic box. And I was too scared and timid to openly express my views.

When Petra unfolded her long legs, for the briefest of moments I saw her smooth upper thigh. As she walked up to me, I held my breath. Petra was the expression of everything sexual in a woman. When she planted her legs wide apart before me, unfastening her kimono, I knew our relationship would changec forever. I looked up her smiling face and when she dropped her flimsy kimono, I could only gasp. Her full breasts sagged a little, but their pink nipples stood out like beacons on two hills. My gaze followed the movement of her hands past her navel, over her belly, to the small patch of red pubic hair. The vision of her protruding clit hit me where I didn’t want to go. Or a place I denied myself to enter.

For the first time in my 49 years, I saw another woman’s vulva, her slit and the shy protruding lips. I was mesmerised by the vision. I wanted to touch it, to feel the smoothness of her outer lips and to slip my fingers between her wet lips. Then I saw the tattoo.

“LICK ME.”

Petra pushed her crotch into my face, my nose touching her pubic hair and said: “Just do it.”

I closed my eyes as the exotic aroma of her aroused sex entered my sensitive nostrils. My hands found their way around her legs to her ass cheeks, pulling her closer as I pushed my tongue into her wet slit. That first taste of another’s most intimate secretions overwhelmed me. My head spun as I took a deep breath. I became conscious of the wetness of my panty and my own nipples hardening. My body responded to an unfathomable desire.

When she lifted her right leg over my left shoulder to give me better access to her vulva I nearly fainted. Looking up at her, I grabbed her raised leg with my left hand and with my other hand touched her pussy.

“For God’s sake, Sandy, lick my fucking cunt.”

But the stern voice of decades of indoctrination shouted back: “You know it is dirty down there. A woman shouldn’t touch herself or another woman. Just say no.” Mother’s soft shameful warning about my unmentionables stopped me in my tracks and dried my own wetness faster than a drop of water in the Namib desert sun. I slowly untangled Petra’s leg from my shoulder and pushed her back, my head dropped in shame.

“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I cannot be unfaithful to Johan.”

Petra dropped to her knees, lifted my head and kissed me. When I opened my eyes and looked into hers, all I could see was love, passion and desire.

“I love you,” said Petra and kissed me again, forcing her tongue between my lips. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled with the emotions raging inside me.

“I love you too, but we’re married Christian women.” I stood up and looked down at my naked friend, my heart ripped apart. If I stayed a moment longer, I knew I would’ve stripped off all my clothes and made passionate love to her. Dogma and Mother shut that door as I fled from Petra’s love, into morning traffic to a hill overlooking the city. As I gripped the steering wheel in anger, sobs tore through my body, shaking me to the core.

“Oh God, why are you so cruel? Why give me all these desires, all the knowledge only to deny me the pleasure of living it?”

After what seemed to be hours, my tearless dry sobs, my make-up ruined, I needed to face my past. Rage drove me to my mother’s cottage where she and her friend, Mrs. Tersia van der Merwe were having lunch under a Jacaranda Tree with its purple flowers.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the beauty of our pussies?” I demanded, ignoring the shock on their faces. “Why must we be ashamed of our cunts?”

Mother was the first to recover. “Sandra, that is enough.” After a pause, she deftly placed her delicate teacup on the table and continued her stern matriarchal reprimand. “How dare use that kind of language. You are embarrassing me in front of my friend. Apologise this instant.”

“No, Mother. You and the fucking church fucked up my life. For far too long I had to be the quiet and dutiful one. There is a world out there bigger than your little church and closed cunts. I want to experience more of life than what you can offer.” As I turned around to leave, her next words felt like daggers stabbing me in the heart.

“If you leave without an apology and take everything back, you will no longer be my child. You will be dead to me.”

I gripped the door handle, took a deep breath and said: “So be it. Goodbye, Mrs. Martie Swanepoel,” and walked out.

Driving home, my anger made way for regrets. How could I ever face Petra or Mother again? My biggest regret was: Why did I allow men and their fear to prescribe the expression of my sexuality? Was Goddess really such a schmuck to give me a pussy, only for the church to make it dirty?

I found Johan in his study sitting behind his large mahogany desk concluding what sounded like a serious telephone conversation. “I understand… I will inform her… No, she just walked in… I will… Goodbye.” Johan looked at me as he slammed the phone down, his face turning red.

“How could you do this to me? What have I ever done to you to deserve this embarrassment?” He paused, catching his breath, his hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“Do you love me?” I asked.

“That was the chairman of the Synod,” Johan continued. “He received serious complaints about your Sunday sermons. He called it heresy.”

“Why did you marry me?”

“The church is going to officially charge you with blasphemy.” Johan stood up and walked around his desk to look out the window, his back to me. “Your mother also called. She does not blame me for your outburst but wants me to talk some sense into you.”

“Do you still find me desirable?” I had to know if my love and loyalty had any chance of a return of investing of more than 20 years of my life.

“You have a choice. Retract everything you preached for the last six months and apologise to your mother.” Johan turned around, took a book from the bookshelf and settled behind his desk, paging through the book, looking for something. “Or resign and leave the church.” He never lifted his gaze to me.

It was as if somebody punched me in my stomach and throttled me. I couldn’t breathe. My legs turned into jelly. Since I was a little girl, I wanted to share the Goddess’ love with the world, but people were more interested in church doctrine and money than love. My fate was sealed.

During the next few weeks, I resigned from the church, divorced Johan, leaving a sexless and childless marriage behind; sold the little I had and found myself managing a small game ranch of Koos, an acquaintance of friend of mine. Investing everything I had in my continued education as a hands-on would-be ecologist, game ranching, tracking, wilderness survival and wildlife guide, I quickly left my old life behind. I tried very hard to forget Petra and her tattoo, but my heart had an empty space reserved for her. The biggest challenge was suppressing my sexual desires and sharing Her love with the world.

Meanwhile, I enjoyed guiding tourists through the game ranch that was connected to the Kruger National Park, the pride of South African tourism. On a game drive with five young tourists, I was reminded of what I missed my whole life. These youngsters wanted to see the hippos in the river. After about an hour’s drive we came to a deep pool in the Olifants (Elephant) River. A “pod” of hippos, about seven females, a few young and the dominant bull were enjoying the morning splash in the water. Then the bull lifted his backside, defecated and distributed his dung with the wagging of his short fat tail. The pungent smell reached us.

“Why did the hippo do that?” asked Campbell from Australia. He hand was on Kate, his girl’s breast, squeezing it as he looked me in the eye.

“To mark his territory,” answered Ian from England, his hand beneath his wife’s short dress.

“I don’t think so,” said the young Naomi, sitting next to me. She had a cut-off tank top on, her under boobs showing the bottom of her nipples. Her green lycra short shorts revealed her bulging camel toe. She swung her right leg to my side, opening her pussy to my gaze. “He just had to go and didn’t have toilet paper to wipe his arse.”

I was getting worked up at this sexual display. My dry pussy showed signs of awakening as I felt wetness lubricating my neither lips.

“There’s an old African creation story about why hippos do this,” I said. “King Lion had the task to assign each species a place to live. The crocodile wanted to live in the rivers to eat fish but when the hippo wanted to live in water too, croc objected.

Hippo said: “My skin is very sensitive, and the African sun is very harsh. I need to be in the water during the day.”

“With your big mouth you will eat all the fish,” complained croc.

“Not to worry,” said hippo. “I will scatter my dung to show you if there’s any fish bones in it.”

By the time I finished this little story, Kate was busy sucking Campbell’s cock, Ian was lapping at Jill’s pussy while Naomi was the only one listening.

“Sorry to break up your passion,” I said. “But with the heat from your fucking, you might set this place on fire.” I started the vehicle and drove on to our next destination. I lost interest in nature around me. Why care about nature when your own sexual nature and soul have been denied?

Approaching my fiftieth birthday, with nobody knowing, I wanted time to myself. Then, one day, when I was alone at the lodge, I decided to take a naked dip in the pool. As I swam, feeling the water caressing my naked body, I saw Petra’s smooth pussy as clear as day. The reminder drained my body of energy. I couldn’t continue swimming. I struggled to climbed out and lay there naked on the edge, sobbing.

Not having heard Koos and his wife Rita, arriving, I became aware of their presence only when Rita kneeled next to me.

“Sandy are you okay?” she asked. As I opened my eyes, I looked past Rita’s open legs and saw her naked pussy. She had a short white dress on, obviously without any panties. Then I realised I was still naked and wanted to cover up. Rita stopped me.

“Koos, please pass me the towel,” said Rita as she helped me up. “And her bathrobe.” Rita dried every naked inch of my naked body with Koos grinning at us.

“I’m sorry you caught me naked…”

“I’m not,” said Koos, grinning from ear to ear, leering at my naked body. Reluctantly he handed me my bathrobe. “You still have a beautiful body.”

“Thank you, I think.” I quickly put on the robe.

Rita took me to the pool bar and quickly had coffee percolating.

“We just came from the bank,” said Koos. “They’re giving us three months to pay off our debt.”

“This is not the right time to talk about money,” said Rita. “Can’t you see Sandy is upset?”

The penny dropped. They had to let me go and with nowhere else to go, I was in deep trouble.

“Did you like seeing my pussy?” asked Rita, changing the subject.

I could feel my face turning red and I quickly covered my still naked tits and pussy with my hands.

“I didn’t mean to,” I stammered. “Yes. She is beautiful.”

Rita poured hot black coffee into two mugs and handed one to me.

“Koos, please be a darling and fix us brunch,” said Rita and sat on the bar stool next to me. “We need some girl-time with no interruptions.”

As soon as Koos turned his back to go to the communal kitchen, Rita slipped off her white dress and stood before me, a proud naked woman. The image of a naked Petra flashed before me, blending the two women in my aching heart. I gasped as I looked at her beautiful full breasts and lovely pussy. Rita removed my bathrobe and stepped between my spread legs, resting her hands on my upper thighs, close to my pussy.

“What you need is a good fuck,” she said, kissing me softly on my open lips. Her hands on my thighs slipped closer to my waiting pussy and before I knew it, she cupped my vulva with a warm hand. It was as if my pussy juice wanted to douse the heat from her hand to prevent a fire. But the fire in my soul fuelled the flames of my desire. I pulled Rita closer, kissed her back and opened my legs wider to give her better access to my aching pussy.

For the first time I was able to touch other woman’s breasts, feeling their softness and her hard erect nipples. I have never made love to a woman and didn’t even know how to please myself.

“Let me show you,” said Rita, as she must have realised how ignorant I was in the art of pleasing a woman. Her soft kisses on my neck sent shivers down my spine. She squeezed my tits and played with my nipples between her fingers, pulling and rubbing them. Electrical shockwaves, however small, cascaded down to my pussy, flooded it with my arousal. When Rita kissed my breasts and sucked on my nipples, I knew I was close to an orgasm. Her butterfly soft kisses down to my clit nearly pushed me over the edge. The final demonstration in my sexual education was Rita’s tongue sliding through my pussy and sucking on my clit and lips.

“Oh, my fucking Goddess,” I screamed, as wave after wave of pleasure flowed through me, leaving me breathless. When Rita kissed me, I tasted myself for the first time and something in me awakened. It was as if the burden of shame I carried for so long dropped off my soul.

“Let me try it on you,” I said as I helped Rita on the bar.

Bending forward, I admired Rita’s pussy with a small landing strip pointing to her protruding clit. With both hands, I caressed her smooth thighs on the way to her apex, her open pussy. I could see the glistening pink petals of her secret garden. I fell in love with her beauty, with the source of life. Shyly, I touched her clit with my tongue, tasting her growing wetness. Instinct guided me as I flicked Rita’s little knob with my tongue before I sucked it into my mouth.

“Yes, that is it,” moaned Rita as she fell back onto the bar counter. “You’re getting the hang of it. Swipe your tongue through my slit.” With such detailed instructions, I had to obliged. I gripped Rita’s legs and pulled her pussy closer to devour her and to satisfy my hunger.

With her legs around my head, I could hear my own thumping heart beating in unison with hers. I moved my mouth up and down her pussy, coating my lips with her juices. This was what I should’ve done with Petra. I closed my burning eyes as tears streamed down my face. I was happy and sad and angry. Why did it take so long for me to experience the joy and passion of Eros? Why did I deny myself the pleasure of another woman’s sacred mound? Why did I hide behind the dogmatic trappings of the church?

Rita’s hand on my head, brought me back to the pleasure at hand. I kissed her inner thighs, sucked her lips, fucked her pussy with my tongue and inserted three fingers into her cunt. I prayed to the Goddess to help me make Rita orgasm. I wanted to cram all the wasted years of neglect into pleasuring my new lover. Time stood still as I continued my training to love another and to forgive myself. As my fingers curled inside her, I touched a soft spot, making Rita shake and scream.

After a while Rita calmed down and pushed herself up. She took my face in her hands and kissed me. “Thank you for making me cum,” she whispered, hugging me against her breasts.

Sobs of joy and regret shook me to the core. The softness of another human being enveloped me as a warm blanket. I hugged her naked back, kissed her breasts and sucked on her hard nipples.

“Brunch is served,” interrupted Koos behind me.

This was my awakening moment. I just made love to his wife, I was naked and still aroused. Would I turn and run, like it did with Petra, or would I face my new future?

“But I just had dessert,” I said and stepped away from Rita, facing Koos naked with my hands on my hips, thrusting my tits and pussy out as an invitation to him. He looked me up and down and shrugged.

“Listen, darling, I would love to fuck your hot body into the middle of next week,” he said. “But I made a hot brunch that’s getting cold.” He stepped closer to me, pinched my nipples, cupped my vulva and slipped two fingers into my wet dripping pussy. “I can always heat you up again, but not brunch,” he said, licking my juices off his fingers. “Come on.”

“Let’s not tempt fate,” said Rita behind me as she jumped off the bar counter. She hooked her arm into mine and we followed Koos to the dining area, still naked.

Brunch was the most bizarre experience I’ve ever had. The food was divine, and the company funny and informative. Every time when a naked Koos served us another course, his soft but well-endowed penis swung close to my face. I had to laugh. Johan, my ex-husband, would never have thought about serving me brunch. He would’ve died before doing it in the buff. When Koos poured me my coffee I stopped him.

“My I touch Kosie?” I asked Koos. (Kosie is the diminutive for Koos in Afrikaans)

“I thought you take your coffee black,” he said as his penis started to rise.

“I don’t want your cream in my coffee,” I said. “I just want to feel your cock.”

“In that case, my dear, Kosie is all yours, for now.”

My first touch of another man’s dick was liberating. His softness soon gave way to a hard throbbing and beautiful shaft. Moving my hand up and down, his foreskin revealed a smooth reddish head with a small slit, smiling at me.

“Kiss it,” said Rita. “Taste his juice.”

Without another thought I did as she suggested and kissed the smooth mushroom head. The slit must have leaked something because I could taste its saltiness and smelled its aroma.

“If you continue heating Kosie, your coffee will get cold and my cream would end up in your mouth,” warned Koos.

For a moment everything stopped. I wondered what Mother, no, Mrs. Martie Swanepoel, would say about my depravity. What would the members of the congregation gossip about me sucking another man’s cock with his wife’s blessing?

I pulled my mouth away from Kosie with a pop. With his wife blessing?

“You’re okay with another woman playing with your husband’s penis?” I asked Rita. I turned to Koos. “And you didn’t say a word when I ate your wife’s pussy? Why?”

“We’re nonmonogamous,” answered Rita.

“Ethical nonmonogamous,” quipped Koos.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I asked.

“We’re swingers. We enjoy sex with each other and with other people,” said Koos.

“When I see Koos making love to another woman, I love him more,” said Rita. “I was filled with love for both of you when you played with his penis.”

This was too much for me to swallow. I took a sip of my coffee and saw Koos walking towards Rita to kiss her. She stood up and they hugged each other. What have I missed in my miserable life? Christianity was supposed to be about love and all I got was dogmas with more rules than leaves on a tree. Petra wanted to show me another side of love when she showed me her tattoo. I was just too dumb to realise it.