My Blasphemous Love Affair

My Blasphemous Love Affair: Sexy Sins

Hello, naughty ones. As a woman of a certain age, I’ve had more than a few pretty wild sexual experiences. But a number of them still pale in comparison to my blasphemous love affair. And I thought I’d share a bit of that particular chapter of my life with you today.

I met Jason at an art exhibit. He was tall, dark, and brooding, almost a caricature of a bad boy typically found in romance novels. Still, he was everything my lonely heart craved at that moment. I’d spent years in a loveless marriage, so I definitely wanted excitement, passion, and maybe even a little bit of danger as a divorcee. And Jason seemed to promise all of that and more.

Our first few dates were normal. We had the typical couple’s dinners, movie nights, and even cliché-yet-romantic long walks along the beach at night where we shared bits and pieces of our respective lives. But Jason was still a mystery in many ways, revealing just enough to keep me hooked. And I was falling hard, fast. Then, one night, everything changed. In retrospect, that night was part of my sexual transformation.

The beginning of my blasphemous love affair

We were at his place – a cozy apartment filled with eclectic art, including some of his unfinished pieces. We’d had a couple of glasses of wine, and the mood was right. But as we headed to his bedroom, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked at me.

“I need to tell you something, Alyssa,” he said, turning me on even more with those hypnotic brown eyes of his. “I have a… unique kink.”

My mind raced. Was he into BDSM? Foot worship? Something even kinkier? I was very horny and somewhat willing to explore most things to end my sexual drought. So I nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“I’m into blasphemy.”

I blinked, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “Blasphemy? Like… you get off on cursing God and mocking religion?”

“Yeah. The more sacrilege, the better.”

I was shocked. However, I also felt a rush of curiosity and arousal because there was something wickedly enticing about Jason’s kink. And my Catholic upbringing felt like the perfect backdrop for this new adventure. So I decided to indulge his fetish, initiating my blasphemous love affair.

Jason had a way with words that was as extreme and seductive as his art. He loved to whisper the most blasphemous things in my ear while we were having sex, things like, “God isn’t watching us, Alyssa. He’s watching porn and jerking off to it.”

I was stunned and turned on by his blatant sacrilege. And he cranked up the blasphemy meter each day. One morning when we were fooling around in the shower, he asked me if I knew why Jesus referred to Peter as Satan and told him to get behind him.

I managed a breathless, “Yes,” as he fingered me.

“Me, too,” he said. “He wanted Peter to fuck him in the ass.”  Then, without missing a beat, he spun me around and started fucking my ass and continued to finger me and say more profane things until we both came.

The blasphemy felt like a game – a way to keep things spicy in the bedroom. Jason actually brought a Bible to bed once and tore out pages as he went down on me. And I found the juxtaposition of holy texts and our unabashed hedonism to be very erotic.

Then, he introduced role-playing. Sometimes, he’d pretend to be a fallen angel, cast out of heaven for having orgies with other fallen ones. And of course, I played along, losing myself in the twisted fantasy. We’d even call out to God, mockingly begging for forgiveness as we fucked like rabbits.

Those experiences were equally liberating and exhilarating. However, in time, I noticed a shift in my blasphemous love affair with Jason that wasn’t fun. He became increasingly erratic, getting angry with me if I wasn’t in the mood or if I just wanted to have vanilla sex. And soon after, his need for sacrilege began to overshadow everything else.

Ending my blasphemous love affair

Our relationship became a battleground of extreme highs and lows. One night, Jason accused me of not being “committed to the cause” in the heat of an argument. And that’s when I realized blasphemy wasn’t just a fetish for him. He needed it in order to function. Denying him would be like denying him air to breathe.

The final straw came during a family gathering. We were at my parents’ house for Christmas, and Jason couldn’t control himself. He made an extremely blasphemous joke in the middle of dinner that left everyone in stunned silence. My mother actually cried while my father turned red with rage, and I knew then that I couldn’t keep living like that.

Breaking up with Jason was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done because the sex was amazing. Plus, I liked him as a person – still do. I see his blasphemy fetish as one facet of a larger truth: Our sexual desires, no matter how unconventional, are a fundamental part of who we are. So while the emotional toll of my blasphemous love affair with Jason proved to be too much for me, I’ll never regret our time together.

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