The Evolution of an Atheist Sex Kitten

My parents and I don’t share much anymore. I used to share my life with them, my religious beliefs, and my genetic material. Looking back, I’ve always been a nonbeliever. I once confess edit pm y mother, crying, that intellectually I knew there was a God but I simply couldn’t feel that it was true. “I believe it in my head, but not in my heart.” Of course I believed in the god of Abraham, Moses, and David. I went to church every week and sang songs and heard stories. As a toddler I attended bible class every morning where they pressed the love of Christ upon us. In middle school I watched videos of ‘scientists’ shushing or explaining away evidence for an old earth, evolution, and inconsistencies in the bible. In college we were taught but not encouraged to believe the mainstream explanations for how the world has become so. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the science classes or the philosophy that led me astray. The history of our sect, the various interpretations of the bible, the inaccuracies and poor behavior of those interpreting it are what led me astray. When I learned that the bible is known to have been written by authors it is not attributed to (psalms not by David, Daniel not actually at the time of his life but long after his death, etc) I lost what little faith I had left. The layers of intellectual armor I had been give as a child fell away and I realized that if I didn’t feel it and I no long knew it, why should I believe it. And so, as the school board erected a quarter million dollar statue of Jesus and his disciples, I lost faith in the myth I had always held.

Then life got fun. My friend group shifted to include several lgbt members, a few struggling theists, avowed and hilarious atheists, and most importantly cute boys. I finally lived on my own and was able to host and provide alcohol for what we uptight religious kids considered quite the party. A total rager. We drank, like, a whole bottle of liquor! Between the five of us, haha. I decided that I enjoyed fun and I wasn’t going to let my parents god get in the way. Plus I had boys to entertain me.

I’ve always had a weakness for the stronger sex. For a year I enjoyed a fulfilling and fun sexual relationship with two beautiful young men who were exploring their first sexual experience. I was thrilled to be their chaperone on this journey. There was a great deal of fondness between all three of us. I rarely spent a night alone with the two of them around. One night I and the older one fell asleep under a blanket in the backyard. We woke long enough to make love and then fall asleep again, cuddled close to stay warm. Three or four times that night we woke and then slept again, each time coming together under the stars, just because we could. Another time, the younger and more adventurous one met me in the basement of the science building. I had some keys, no one was around, and in the single stall bathroom with one foot on the counter we fucked furiously and as quietly as we could, excited by our daring. On another occasion we bumped into each other late at night. He was coming from the gym after a few hours on the climbing wall and what started as an innocent hug turned saucy as soon as I smelled the fresh, salty sweat on his skin. Oh, those were the days: when I was the knowledgable one, experienced and in charge.

I always have felt good about sex. I was extremely proud of my first encounter between my lips and his cock. Im not proud of the circumstances surrounding it, but be that as it may, I was oblivious to any and all slut shaming that came of that and many of my other behaviors at that age. Fortunately I only had one young man all the way through high school or I might be in a very different place right now. Sex education was severely lacking in my sleepy small tow and though my mother helped dispel some myths, it didn’t occur to me to ask some of the more important questions. At least I kept out of the kind of trouble that follows you for the rest of your life long enough to make it a point of mitigating the danger. The fist time I had sex… Oh I remember it well. Years of horseback riding, running, falling, and some more recent sexual activity meant that I felt no pain. It was all pleasure. I had no second thoughts until after when we pledged never to do it again. But of course we did. All the time. Everywhere. Usually in the back of his pickup or in ibis bedroom, but also in the woods, at the drive in theater, in the back seat of my car several times in different locations, in the school bathroom after hours… just, anywhere we could find. Childish, fumbling, over-too-soon sex, but so much of it. By the time college rolled around I was a pro. Or so I thought. I still had much to learn but enthusiasm and openness makes up for lack of technique in many ways. It also helped that my partners were all equally oblivious.

And so, I share little, if anything with my parents anymore. I love to hem, of course, and find them intelligent and able to hold great conversation, but without a god to share and withholding a large part of my life from them, I find that memories hold us together. The genetic material thing is a story for another time. Feel free to ask next time you come over 😉