I am running down the dark edge of insanity naked. Joyful fucking and love making, screwing, copulating, sucking and licking, sodomizing and being sodomized. Screaming explosions of orgasmic cum suddenly crystallize reality into a crackling instant of blissfully painful understanding.

I can feel him entering me now; an eternity of firmness sliding smoothly through my loving wetness. And then that stop... that stuttering breath. Those eyes opened wide, wider. A surprised moan escaping through clenched teeth. Ah, the magic is working again. The magic of cunt and cock and hemp and clean sheets.

I can feel the length of him, the circumference of him, filling me up, expanding the width of me. All of my cardinal points are stimulated by his warmth. The heat of him washes through me like a great purging baptism of flesh. A baptism of devoted lust.

As he gazes down at me, up at me, at my ass, my nipples; I become a quivering nerve ending, exposed and urgent. I want to ride him like my pale horse of salvation, holding fast as we buck within the delicious death of orgasm, each of us groaning and lost in the spasms of our shared but personal “petite morte.”

I want him to go with me into my womb and become, for an instant, a blinding memory of conception. Not two creating three but two creating one. I want his sperm to race into my body seeking a mate, destined to find none. Millions of brave soldiers dying unfulfilled, giving their half realized lives for the pleasure of their master and his lady.

I want to smell him on my thighs as I walk through the streets of town thinking, “So this is what sin feels like, eh? So this is what brought about The Fall?” And then I’ll walk a little farther, inhaling the perfume of my deed as the summer heat acts as a sex-scented messenger bringing memories to my lips, my breasts, my still damp mound of pubic flesh. I want the smell of him, the feel of him, to remain on my skin and in my mind like an ancient race memory lurking behind my mask of evolution and reason. I want to be reminded that I am a mammal and that mammals have moist and secret places.

So this is what sin feels like, eh? This is what I should dedicate my life to avoid? I should shun this firm, soft flesh beneath my fingertips? This sensation of my lover’s face against my face, against my pussy, against my breast? His tongue where inside meets outside, where the day meets the night? These are the feelings of sin?

Are the beds of virgin nuns, safe within their castle walls, more comfortable than mine, unkempt, stained and fragrant with spilled life? Are the dreams of ascetic yogis more pure, more therapeutic? Perhaps so. Perhaps my turn on the wheel is just beginning and my animal soul is damning me to mortal form. So be it.

As I touch my moistness, finger the seamless lining of my vagina, I feel no shame in owning such a thing and knowing the pleasure it can bring. As my mouth accepts the delicious tang of his cock, the reassuring completeness of a suck and my tongue traces the outlines of his veins and smoothly sculpted head, I feel no need to break from this prison of skin and bones. As I taste the musk of his rising orgasm, I do not envy the saints their halos nor the angels their wings.

This is what my humanity was bred for, this exchange of sweat and scent and kisses and embraces. As our bodies are wracked and rocked by the urges of our DNA to replicate and build ladders to the stars, we are content to grab onto this moment of eternity and believe it will last forever. What god can condemn such a moment of blissful union? And what god can offer a better deal? I feel no attraction to an eternity of harps and hosannas, or rubbing elbows with the pure.

My skin has been set afire with life and has no reason to embrace the grave too soon. It is not I who will lead my span of time as one dead, praying for eternal life. I shall hug to me that which feels, be it pain or pleasure in their turn. Whether there be fucking or redemption in heaven (or, perhaps, both) I know that they are both on earth. I see no reason to be proud of fearing passion. I am a spiritual animal who shits in a tiled and windowed litter box, flushing away proof of my digression. I hide my body, as though it were a disease, beneath clothing when I walk about as a human among my own kind. As a civilized woman I pretend I do not see the highlights of a penis pressed against a zipper, inviting my attention. I pretend I do not crave a touch of those slender calves or those impertinent nipples. I will restrain myself from pressing my lips against the curve of a chin, the hollow of a throat; but I will not deny my desire to do so.

Inside of myself I will see the beast who hungers and prowls inside of my mind, its long leash dragging as it paces and awaits its turn to rule my actions. I will live with this sweating, pissing, shitting, fucking, screaming, joyous animal as a part of my humanity and I will bow to no man, no woman, no god in shame for having it as a part of me.

When I feel him smacking against me, our bodies refusing to conform to R-rated standards, his hips meeting my buttocks in pelvic applause, I will embrace him; man-beast and all I will be in loving rut and share with him that oh-too-brief moment when there are two sets of eyes gazing at two sets of eyes.

Through kisses and sighs, fumbled penetrations, wiped brows and applied spit, we will, the four of us, know a momentary unity that no seraphim can dream of knowing, for too much purity makes for thin blood. And the blood of beasts and humans is thick with delicious impurity. For only by our impurity can we understand the meaning of ecstasy.

And when my body goes nova with shared orgasm, my muscles contracting spasmodically on his cock, spent and ready to retreat, I shall breathe his breath into my lungs and know that it is the breath of life and love and that to turn from it would be a sin. If there is a sin to atone for, certainly it is turning our backs on our nature as spiritual mammals. It is turning our backs to our expression of lust, of love, of friendship.

If ever I attempt to deny my beast its run, it is then that I shall truly be in hell. And so I shall again feel the slide of cock in cunt, in mouth, in ass; and celebrate the unity of animal, of beast, and human realized in loving flesh.