I love sex. I always have. Its raw, carnal, biological draw is coded somewhere deep within my DNA. I can’t help it – I’m a slave to masculinity and the sweet surrender of passion is my muse. Chocolate be damned, I’ll take my untamed man every day of the week. . .and I’m positive that I’m not the only good Christian girl who feels this way.
Oooo – this may get uncomfortable for a few of you, but stay with me.
Like many, my religious upbringing ran contrary to my innate sexual instincts. I was raised in a Southern Baptist church that unwaveringly subscribed to the tenets of “no sex before marriage.” We were so resolute, in fact, that alternative education (i.e. birth control, biology and condoms) was not only absent from the discussion, but labeled as “evil.” Our doctrine even went as far as to say that I would be nailing Jesus to the cross again and again if ever I were to succumb to the “cravings of my flesh.” It was a confusing education, to say the least.
So did it work? Was I virgin when I walked down the aisle?
