Don’t Pet the Coeds

Be forewarned, this entry contains words of a sexually explicit nature. If such things offend you, I advise against reading it.

Out of all the girlfriends I’ve had, Cynthia Rhinehart is the one I remember the least. I couldn’t even remember her name up until a few weeks ago when it just popped into my head for no apparent reason. Often, that is how it goes in my mind; something just rises from the deep recesses of my memory by sheer chance.

Memories of a sexual nature seem to be the kind that resurface more than any other. Such was the case of my recollection of Cynthia. I do not recall how I first met Cynthia, a stereotypical young Mormon coed at BYU, as pure as the driven snow. I do remember my reason for finding her quite intriguing was the fact that she wouldn’t let me get past first base with her. For those who are not familiar with what getting “past first base” is it is going beyond kissing, into the realm of heavy petting or touching a girl beneath her clothes. Cynthia did exactly what her strict LDS upbringing had taught her to do, resist all lustful desires.

Up until going out with Cynthia, I had been on several first dates with other BYU girls. Being a recently-returned missionary, I was like a god to them. They put their total confidence in me, trusting that I would never lead them astray, down the path of unrighteousness. I didn’t live up to their expectations.

My flesh was weak and I indulged it to the point of getting those girls to do things, sexual things that were contrary to the teachings of their church leaders. I saw nothing wrong with that at the time.

I felt that my sole responsibility as the one who controlled everything in the relationship was to simply ensure things didn’t go so far that the girls would have difficulty getting married in a Mormon temple later on. What that was, in plain simple terms, was no sexual intercourse. Everything else, in my mind at the time, was fair game. Strange as it now seems, I felt then that I was actually doing a good thing by enlightening those girls to the ways of the world. I felt like I was an important part in their social education by helping them experience the pleasures of the flesh.

Given my mindset at the time, the only reason I dated Cynthia was to break down her barrier, to get her to accept my physical advances. It was more of an ego-booster than anything else. I was patiently biding my time, playing the role of Cynthia’s boyfriend, while I slowly broke down her defenses. Eventually, my patience paid off.

I remember it took a few months of dating Cynthia to get her to the point where she trusted me with her body. At the time, my warped mind was so caught up with my conquests that I had a common practice of dumping a girl as soon as I had seen her nipples and touched her bare breasts. I felt that was the indicator telling me I had helped another confused individual find the way.

The truth is that I was the confused individual who needed to find the way. Perhaps that is what Cynthia was trying to do, show me the way. Perhaps she had more faith in me than I did in myself. Regardless, Cynthia succumbed to my advances and removed her blouse and bra during one make-out session.

Because of the time I had invested in this pursuit, I felt Cynthia owed me a bit more. During another romantic interlude, with Cynthia topless again, I ventured to get Cynthia totally naked. I had her Bermuda shorts down to her knees and was beginning to remove her panties when a flood of guilt came over me. I felt that my sense of control and high-and-mighty mission was being replaced by something wild and primitive. I felt a sudden shame that I had allowed myself to push Cynthia that far.

I drew back from Cynthia. Undoubtedly, she knew something was amiss and she quickly put all her clothes back on. She then proceeded to console me, saying that she felt the same way as I did, that what we were doing was wrong, and a sin. She was way off the mark with how I was feeling, as it had nothing to do with feeling guilty about sinning, but with feeling guilty about losing control of the situation.

That would have been the expected time of dumping Cynthia, given my history, but I stayed in the relationship a few weeks longer. I felt bad that Cynthia was ashamed of what we had done. Instead of the restraining sorrow she felt, I wanted her to feel a liberating joy. I felt that she had overcome a weakness and could now experience physical pleasure without regret. I wanted her to realize that. So, what ensued were several intellectual conversations about sex.

Eventually, our relationship grew stagnate, as I couldn’t sway Cynthia to my way of thinking. I have always found stubborn girls to be unattractive. I guess that is because I am a true dominant. That may sound like a “my way or the highway” mentality, but it really isn’t. A true dominant, as I learned in my brief involvement with the B&D society, puts the desires of his submissive above his own. The apparent control in the relationship is owned by the dominant. However, the proprietor of the real control is the submissive. Cynthia wanted both the apparent and real control. I felt that to give her both would be going against my nature. I wasn’t willing to give up everything that I was for her. So, we broke up, agreeing to remain friends. As with many amicable breakups, we never spoke again. Still, I much prefer “amicable” breakups to the alternative.

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