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By Ray (hoorayray@yahoo.com)

As a devout Christian, this sort of thing (thinking these thoughts, reading or much less writing such a story) was never considered an option. I'd always tried to minimize my sexual thoughts and fantasies. Now, we (my wife and I) are discovering that God is no prude, and that thoughtful, rational Christians can enjoy sexuality to a much greater degree than traditional, culture-bound teaching has taught us. This, therefore, is a stab at "Christian erotica," with the understanding that the phrase is not an oxymoron. Comments to hoorayray@yahoo.com are welcome.

Adam and Eve had a great deal. They were "naked and not ashamed." They would look at each other, absolutely without embarrassment. They didn't care. They had an intimacy that looked past the physical and embraced the spiritual and emotional. Their physical love only capped the closeness between them. They didn't have sex, they made love. Theirs was a relationship modeled for them by God Himself, based on a foundation of honesty, communication, and acceptance.
We don't know what Adam and Eve looked like. We shouldn't really care, because they didn't. They probably didn't care about a lot of things. Like the birds of the air, they didn't have to fret about food, because everything they could ever desire was theirs for the picking. Like the other animals, making love in the garden was a beautiful, natural, sacred, public and shared event. They could no doubt see the animals practicing procreation, and their own lovemaking was plain for all to see.
Maybe the animals didn't fully appreciate what they saw, but God did. You see, God could see everything. In fact, He invented it. Like everything God made, He looked down and "saw that it was good." An artist admiring His own excellent handiwork, I'm sure God delighted in every one of His children's loving trysts that He witnessed. God is a voyeur, the best possible kind. God likes to watch; He likes to see His children blessed. God loved Adam and Eve, Adam and Eve loved God, and Adam and Eve loved each other. And God watched.
God's character has not changed. He still sees all. He still delights in seeing His children enjoying what He has given for them to enjoy.
My wife and I love God; we also love each other. My wife loves me with an incredibly generous, unselfish love. She models God's graciousness to me, for she delights in blessing me. She loves to make love to me. And God watches.
I like to watch, too. It's an incredible turn-on for me to see someone enjoying sex. Nothing is more powerful, sexually, than seeing my wife aroused. And it seems like nothing arouses her more than pleasuring me. We've got a great deal! And I watch. And God watches.
I love to watch her when she dresses up nice for a special date. She puts on a sexy lacy bra, and a dress that buttons all the way up the front. She starts with it buttoned all the way, and is the demure mother of three. We go out to a restaurant for dinner. We talk about the schedule, about what God is teaching us, about the kids. But as the dinner wears on, the top buttons somehow slowly come open, showing her very attractive cleavage.
Now, normally I'm a fairly focused thinker, and if I want I can keep two or three different thoughts in my head at the same time. But when I start to see her tits like that, and a little of her push-up black bra, most everything else leaves my head. I wonder, does she know that she's distracting me in a heart-racing way? It's the best kind of short-term mental vacation. I'm not thinking about work, she's making me think about something else. The very slow tease is a delight. I watch and I wonder. And God watches, but doesn't wonder at all.
I also watch those who watch her. I like it when I catch other men watching her. It confirms my own good taste. I see the way other men see her cleavage. I catch the waiter at the restaurant, a nice looking friendly guy from the nearby college, glancing down her dress. I notice the man at the next table looking over his own date's shoulder to see my wife, with the tease of her tits. I wonder if they wonder, would those breasts be as perfect uncovered as they seem when covered? I know they are, the way they fit my hands so perfectly, they way the nipples grow when I kiss them, the way they stand out so firm when I tie her up. I wonder if she wonders whether they see. She pleases me with the sight of her breasts, she pleases God by showing His excellent work. The waiter is pleased, I can tell. She's a pleasing sight to everyone. Does she know what a delight it is when she's showing? Nothing to be ashamed of at all. She should be like Eve in the garden, not ashamed.
Eventually, after dinner across from a perfect pair of milky white breasts trying to spill out of her bra, we'll take in a movie. During the movie, she'll lean over and whisper "I'm not wearing any panties." A button or two or more from the bottom of her dress will "somehow" come undone. She'll take my hand, and place it on her exposed thigh. Can anyone see us in the darkened theater? We're a church-going couple, and it's a church-going town; would we dare let anyone else see into our private universe, to know just how much we love? God knows; He watches. Who else watches beside He and me? That man behind us?
I don't remember many details of the movie, because I watch. And I know that God watches, and probably the man at the end of the aisle. It's a dark theater, but you can tell when a person's hand isn't in his own lap. My hand is not in my own lap, and my wife's occasionally reaches over to my lap. She gives a squeeze, and she can tell my pleasure at what I see. I slowly, gently stroke her thigh. Occasionally, I stroke higher on her leg, pushing up her dress a little more each time. Then, I can feel her pubes, the coarse kinky hair that offers no protection from my probing fingers. Now, she's getting wet and aromatic; I can tell her pleasure. I give a long, slow stroke through her moist mound, and lick my finger clean of her juices, smelling and tasting my favorite perfume of all.
We both anticipate the eventual climax later in the evening, but the public foreplay is so exciting! Sometimes I wish I could step back and just watch, to see this couple so in love, to see them aching to give each other pleasure. I'd really like to watch some more, but not the movie. I try to picture the picture playing in that other guy's head. He surely can't be thinking about the movie, not with this masterpiece of art just down the aisle, escaped from a classical painting.
The movie is over, we'll straighten our collars during the credits. We'll stand up to go, while it's still dark. I have to hide behind her, so my bulge won't be so obvious. She'll give it a quick squeeze just the same; did the guy down the aisle see that? God saw. He likes to watch.
We'll head to the car, and decide where to go next. There's a seclude park nearby; dare we go there? Like high schoolers itching to fondle each other, but a little worried about whether her father will discover them making out. Actually, our Heavenly Father already sees, and approves. We'll drive to the park, walk nonchalantly around the track a turn or two, trying to appear casual to another late night jogger. Then, we'll head down a short embankment and lay on the grass, our heads pointing up hill, our feet pointing down.
Her dress will come completely open, and I'll kiss her long and tenderly, my hands sliding up and down her chest and belly, teasing but not touching her warmth. Over the rushing sound of my blood in my ears, I can barely hear the footsteps of the jogger heading around the track.
In the nearly-gone light of the sliver of moon, my wife's pale skin takes on the faintest glow of pearl. I reach under her, undo her bra clasps, and push up her bra, exposing her pink nipples. They are erect, but whether from cold or thrill I can't tell. I love to watch her. And I know God can watch, too, if He wants. Who wouldn't want to?
I cup one breast in one hand, and take her nubbin into my mouth; I'll make sure it's not cold. While alternately sucking and tonguing, alternately hard and gentle, my other hand completes one more journey down her soft skin, but not stopping like before. I cup her mound with my hand, pressing firmly on all her womanhood. She moans quietly, losing herself in all the sensations: The cool night air, the tickling grass on the back of her thighs, my hot mouth on her cold titty, my cool hand on her warm pussy. We're starting to make love like Adam and Eve, in the Garden where God can watch.
Is God watching? I hear heavy breathing. Is it mine? Is it hers? Who else is watching? Without letting go of her breast, I lift my eyes up to the top of the short hill. Yes, the jogger is watching. I smile with my eyes at him, pleased that my pleasure, the thought that our joy, can be shared like this.
Looking back down to my wife, I see her begin to spread her legs wider. She brings her knees up and spreads them, too, opening her pussy lips for wider access by my dancing fingers. I bend my middle two fingers, pushing to find their way into her soaking pussy. I move my mouth over to her other tit, kissing/nibbling her chest on the way. Keeping the palm of my hand against her pubic bone, putting pressure on her clitoris from the outside and probing for her g-spot on the inside, I slowly rub a little up and down, in and out.
I look up to her face; her eyes are closed, her breathing heavy, her chest beginning to heave. Making little meowing sounds, she starts to move her hips, grinding against my hand. This is the part I love to watch. The jogger, too, apparently, because he hasn't left. In fact, he's stepped a little closer, about 20 feet away, with his hand in his own "lap" now.
In this display of pleasure my wife is giving, there's an audience of at least three. We are all watching, and we are all pleased. Would she freak out knowing we were all watching her? Would it help if she knew how much pleasure she was giving all of us? It's fabulous the way receiving a blessing so enthusiastically can in turn be a blessing to witnesses.
I'm concentrating solely on her, giving her my best attention. I keep watching her face, barely able to make out the look of her own concentration on the sensations she's experiencing. I'm torn between wanting to heighten her delight, and the risk of breaking the spell by moving. I choose to try to take her higher. I leave her breasts, and start nuzzling my way up around her neck, tickling the sensitive hairs there, and around her ear. I risk a few words. "I love you. I love watching you. You're so beautiful. Keep your eyes closed and enjoy whatever comes."
I then start to move down her body, grazing her chest, her stomach, her thighs with my lips. With the rest of my body lying downhill, I settle my face between her thighs. From here I can still look up and see her shadowed face, her white breasts. I can also see the jogger has moved a little closer. He's watching, but probably wanting more.
With my tongue, I begin to lick around her luscious, swollen pussy lips. With my hands, I reach up and massage her breasts. She reaches her own arms straight over her head, loving the feel of stretching out, fully exposed.
The previous pre-climactic intensity has slowed, her hips are stilled. She's has settled herself down for what she knows will be a perfect tongue-lashing.
I start with a quick flick of her erect clitoris, and I can tell by the short catch in her breathing that I'm in control of her body. I continue flicking her clit with my tongue, like "licking honey off a butterfly's wing" I heard once.
With one hand still on her breast, I wave the stranger in with my other. He approaches, dropping his jogging shorts. I shake my head "No;" my wife only takes it as my face playing with her crotch. He looks confused. I wave him in again, this time using my free hand to point to my captive's breast, squeeze it wholehandedly, point to it again, and point to him. Another squeeze, another wave, and he gets the message.
I watch him sit behind my wife's head. I move both my hands down to her stomach, lightly stroking her now hypersensitive skin. I continue my tongue's work, occasionally taking her swollen vulva into my mouth and sucking gently, then returning to her clit. My new friend, my partner in providing pleasure, calmly strokes his fingers around my wife's heavy breasts. At first she doesn't seem to notice, for she's caught up in her own contentedness. He then begins to massage her breasts, while I stroke her belly and lap up her secret juices.
"What?!" she exclaims, and starts to sit up.
I lift my head. "Trust me," I answer, and press her back down with my hands. She complies, and I return to the one true aphrodisiac. The new helper lies down beside her to continue the breast massage. He also starts nuzzling her neck and ear as I did before, which I know she finds almost irresistible. I watch her relax, her body being ministered to by four hands and two tongues.
She starts to talk quietly, whispering so that no other passersby might hear her. "It feels so good. I never guessed. Don't stop. I love your tongues." Hearing her be vocal only makes my heart race, and my tonguing picks up pace. "I'm climbing," she says. I keep my eyes lifted the whole time, watching her happiness.
Helper has started flicking her nipples, rolling them gently between thumb and finger. They're now standing up more erect than I've ever seen them. Her breathing is coming in little gasps, for she's having a hard time containing so many erogenous sensations at once.
"Lover I need you in me, now..." she hoarsely whispers. "Ride me like I like it; ride the pony." I lift my head and wipe my drenched mouth on my sleeve. She rolls over, brushing off the stranger, while I quickly undo my fly and release my cock from his recently painful prison. She assumes the position on her knees, and I scoot in behind her. I push the bottom of her dress aside; her arms are still in the sleeves, but everything else is exposed.
My dick enters her easily; she's ready-ready-more-thanready. I can see my hands on her finely rounded ass, and I watch my dick slide in to her. I know that if I move too fast I'd finish too quickly, which would cheat my lover. I move slowly, in and out, concentrating on not cumming, and on making her cum first. I watch the watcher watch us, unashamed that he can see our love in climax.
I reach up and grab my wife's hair, using it like a bridle to control her head. This is the "pony" part she likes. I'm in control, and she loves it.
The stranger moves to his knees in front of my wife's face, then looks at me as if for approval. I pull her hair, lifting her head up level with his crotch. I then nod at him silently.
He drops his jogging shorts, and out springs his erection. He's perfectly straight, not curved up like my own. "Show him how good you are, gorgeous." She tries to turn her head around to look at me, but with my fingers entangled in her hair, I turn her to face him again. "Trust me," I say to her.
He offers her his "little man," and she begins by tentatively licking around the crown of his penis. I press harder at her from behind, pushing her mouth against his dick. She moans from the feel of the flames stroking her insides. She takes him into her mouth. He closes his eyes and takes her head in both hands. She's receiving pleasure, she's giving pleasure, and I'm watching it all. Unselfishness at its finest.
This must be what God originally intended in the Garden of Eden. Watching His children be naked and unashamed, watching them giving pleasure, and observing it all would be to His great delight.
The stranger just can't last with all the excitement. He gives one spurt in my wife's mouth, but then she takes his dick out of her mouth and finishes stroking him by hand. With a long drawn out "Oooohh," he fertilizes the earth with his seed.
I stop stroking for moment, still in her, while she licks him clean. "Please go now," she whispers to him, so he hikes up his shorts and hikes up the hill as we watch him go.
When his head disappears beyond the rise, she lays down flat on her belly, leaving my stiffness to hang in the night breeze. I immediately begin to cool off. She rolls to her back, opens her knees in the traditional missionary position, and holds her arms out to me invitingly. "I want to finish with you, lover."
I accept the invitation, and press the weight of my chest against hers. She aches down to help guide me in to her treasure box. I immediately begin to warm up again. I resume my slow stroking, trying to last as long as I can.
"I'm ready to cum," she tells me in a constricted voice. Reaching down and grabbing my butt with her hands, she pushes me into her at a faster pace. "Harder, now," she insists, and I comply. I start pounding for all I'm worth, my manhood reaching her cervix inside, my pubic bone smacking her clitoris outside. Her breath comes in a vowelless "Nnngh," matching the tempo of our lovemaking. Her hands push faster, I try desperately to increase the pace. I watch her face contort in that agony of ecstasy, until she throws her head back in a breathless, silent scream, her hands like vises gripping me to her. The moment is perfect. I release myself, unloading deep in her in a lengthy, perfectly synchronized climax.
Afterwards, we lay on the grass, coasting in each other arms until the heat of our bodies dissipates and the cool of the night chases us back into our clothes. Climbing to the top of the little hill beside the track, we see no trace of our anonymous friend, or of anyone else to witness our passion. But I know God watches. I can bet the nightly exercise routine will be greeted with renewed enthusiasm, and Friday nights will never be the same for us either.
I silently thank God for my eyes, for the beauty He offers, and for the joy of watching. God likes to watch, and so do I.

P.S. After I gave this story to my wife, she wanted to put on that dress I so admire, try flirting a tiny bit with a waiter, flash a little at the movie theater, and take a walk around that track. Was I nervous or what!?
As it turns out, we did it all, just like in the story. Well, almost all. We walked the track for about a mile, with her dress unbuttoned down below her bra and open halfway, and unbuttoned up to her crotch, flipping open as we walked. We walked counter-clockwise, so any latenight joggers could get a frontal view. It was a new moon, very dark, so any details were hard to make out, but the tantalizing hints were there.
There was a lone, late-night jogger. It just happened to be the youth pastor from our church, a 22 year-old college guy. Can you say "mortified?" I knew you could.My wife and I went to a baseball dugout for "privacy," trembling and nervous the whole time wondering if anyone, especially the pastor, would walk by. No one did, but what an adventure! (I did say we did "almost all")
Now my little homemaker/church secretary is becoming quite the sex engine, and fantasizes about flashing each time we go out. I don't know, but we might be tempted to warn you when our next date night is...