I found God when I was 15. I wasn’t looking particularly, so maybe it would be better to say he found me. I attended this youth group at my family’s church where we studied the Bible. Presumably many of you are familiar with the kind of setup involved and those that aren’t can imagine. I remember it was reading through the Gospel of Luke that I realised I really did believe in Jesus.
*S was a year older than me. She had light brown skin and the blackest, straightest hair you could imagine. It shone. Her beauty was effortless. When she smiled, her eyes lit up and it was like a movie star was staring at you. When she talked to you, her whole being was directed towards you, her body would turn to you, you would have her complete attention. She made you feel listened to.*
Long story short, in a very confused and enthusiastic way, I threw myself into my faith. I was far from the perfect disciple, but I was sincere. And that is how I ended up on a summer mission trip to Moldova.
*S had been raised in a very strict home. Her parents were academics, rigorously anti-religious. She was brought up to excel. Fluent in Romanian, Russian, French and English, she was also a wonderful pianist and a natural athlete. She had become a Christian in her first year at university. Her parents had stopped talking to her by the time I met her.*
It was with a unviersity Christian group. A team of about a dozen from Britain flew out to pair up with a team from the University of South California and team from a university in Chișinău. We ran a 2 week long English conversation camp where we hoped that the Moldovan students who were invited would become Christians. This kind of thing happens the world over and it is largely benign. We definitely were do-gooders, eager to make friends and teach English and learn about the local culture and just “love on” the Moldovans, as we might have put it in our evangelical jargon.
*In time, I found out that she had never been kissed. With the help of her haughty attitude, she had managed to avoid the attention of boys, who never interested her, and she had never been lucky enough to attract the attention of girls. She had tried to evade her lesbianism, but from as soon as she discovered masturbation, she found herself thinking only of women.*
I was paired with S, a counterpart from Moldova who I was to work with to prepare intermediate English classes. We spent a week before the camp getting to know the Moldovan Christian leaders and S and I hit it off immediately. Her English was perfect and she was passionate about Russian literature (same!) and dreadful 90s rock music (same!) and we got on great. We’d go for long walks in the evening, notionally to pray about our course and for the students who would come to it. But we’d end up telling our life stories to each other and bonding on a very deep level.
*She would get back to her room after these walks and lock herself in a bathroom stall and make herself come. She told me how she would imagine me stripping off for her before kneeling in front of her. She was obsessed with my pale English skin.*
I had some experience with women before (as I say, I was not a perfect disciple!) and I was surprised to find that at night, my thoughts started to turn to S. One night I had a potent sex dream where I vividly remember her making me cry out in ecstasy. I tried to put these thoughts away, considering them the random detritus of my sub-conscious. They had no meaning, right?
*She had never kissed another woman, nevermind tasted her, but at night she would find herself unable to resist touching herself and then savouring the salty taste from her fingers, imagining what I tasted like. She said she was possessed by a carnal hunger unlike anything she had experienced up till then. It was effectively a holiday romance, but it was her first and she was engulfed in desire.
*
When we got to the resort where the camp was being run, I was surprised at how spartan it all was. It used to be an agricultural college, back in the Communist days, and it obviously hadn’t been updated all that much. But it was set on a beautiful lake with a beach and a forest and soon I was too busy with the camp to worry about the cold showers or the bad food. Every afternoon we would hang out on the beach and S and I would have to resist the temptation to spend all our time together. We were there to share the Lord, so we couldn’t be greedy with our friendship. But when we went swimming, I couldn’t help but notice how close she would get to me, how she liked to stand beside me, our legs touching under the water.
*She couldn’t believe it when the English and American girls showed up to the beach in swimsuits and bikinis. They lay out in the sun and soaked it up as if that was the most natural thing in the world. She had assumed that was not permitted. She felt so self-conscious that first day, in her sports shorts and tshirt. She used what little money she had to buy a swimsuit at the resort shop, and with trepidation, wore it during free time on Day 2. She watched for my reaction. She told me that she had to stifle her glee when I told her how great she looked.*
Every evening there would be an evangelistic talk from one of the leaders. This one night, the guy, a giddy American with an awful goatee, talked with surprising eloquence about the beauty in the world. Where did it come from? Why was the world so abundantly, unreasonably, stunning? That night we had a cultural exchange evening where the English taught darts and the American taught pop songs and the Moldovans taught folk dancing. No one in that tremendously naive group looked askew when S and I would dance together. The only suspicious would be if there was closeness between different genders. But the night drew on and we drew closer together.
*She said she suggested it on a whim, that we go down to the lake. The night had grown cold and people had wandered inside bit by bit, to have tea and toasted sandwiches. We weren’t going to be missed. She led me to a little pier, perched out from a wooded area, secluded and quiet. Our feet dangled off the edge, playiing together in the water. She brought up the talk about beauty. She asked me what was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I hummed and hawed and answered, probably sincerely, dawn from a mountaintop on the island of Skye in Scotland. I asked her the same question and she said, without a moment’s hesitation, “You.”*
I laughed it off at first, a typical English response to discomfort. But she was obviously serious, I could see the hurt in her eyes. I reached out and touched her thigh and asked, “Are you serious?”
*She kissed me then. Tentatively. Lips to lips. But the second kiss was not tentative. It was ravenous. Her tongue pressed into my mouth and the weight of her body pressed against me and all I could do was kiss back.*
My arms went around her, in part to keep my balance. Her kisses were pushing me down on to the pier. I let them have their way. To be honest, the voice that told me to stop, that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t do this, was very quiet. I wanted this. My body knew itself and I knew there was no point in protesting. I was wet instantly.
*She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She was just kissing, and gasping, and kissing again. Unschooled in how to proceed, she was following instinct, rubbing her crotch against mine as she sought to cover ever inch of my face with kisses, her tongue greedily lapping over my neck, ears and lips.*
I guided her to my breasts. I was wearing a red sun dress. I guided her under my bra. I pushed her head down so her lips could envelope my hard nipples. I guided her to my now drenched underpants and pulled them aside for her. I showed her how to slip inside me, how to massage me, how to make me cum. I urged her on with quiet whispered affirmations and muffled moans of pleasure.
*She wanted to go down on me. She wanted me to go down on her. She wanted everything, all-at-once. But I think even in her frenzy she knew we had to be fast and we had to be quiet. Her brow furrowed as she felt my body responding with ever increasing tension to her fingering. She wanted most of all to make me cum. Sprawled on that pier under the night sky, my legs spread, my breasts exposed, with her on top of me and in control, she was exactly where she wanted to be.*
I told her I was cumming, lest there be any doubt. She kept rubbing, determinedly and focused, and she kept kissing, until it was certain that the pleasure had subsided. I laughed, in sheer simple joy, as she pulled her fingers out of me. 10 minutes? Not much more? 10 minutes ago we were talking theology and now there was no need for words. I took her fingers and holding her gaze, sucked them clean.*
*I expected her to lie back and expect the same treatment for herself. She breahted deeply at the sight of me tasting myself, obviously deeply aroused. But she did not do as I expected. Instead, she covered my breasts up and pulled my dress down. “We must go back before anyone notices.” I was hurt, just a little, for an instant. Then she leaned in and kissed me gently, like the first time again, and said, “We can do this again.”
“We must”, I answered.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5t6hvl/ff_summer_christian_mission_trip_affair
That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
very nice story
Beautiful story, I got so hard…
Beautifully written! Amazing story.
Sweet.
Great story, more like this, please!
Cut the religious crap, and its a great story.
Here, I fixed it for you.
I found God when I was 15. I wasn’t looking particularly, so maybe it would be better to say he found me. I attended this youth group at my family’s church where we studied the Bible. Presumably many of you are familiar with the kind of setup involved and those that aren’t can imagine. I remember it was reading through the Gospel of Luke that I realised I really did believe in Jesus.
Sarah was a year older than me. She had light brown skin and the blackest, straightest hair you could imagine. It shone. Her beauty was effortless. When she smiled, her eyes lit up and it was like a movie star was staring at you. When she talked to you, her whole being was directed towards you, her body would turn to you, you would have her complete attention. She made you feel listened to.
Long story short, in a very confused and enthusiastic way, I threw myself into my faith. I was far from the perfect disciple, but I was sincere. And that is how I ended up on a summer mission trip to Moldova.
Sarah had been raised in a very strict home. Her parents were academics, rigorously anti-religious. She was brought up to excel. Fluent in Romanian, Russian, French and English, she was also a wonderful pianist and a natural athlete. She had become a Christian in her first year at university. Her parents had stopped talking to her by the time I met her.
It was with a unviersity Christian group. A team of about a dozen from Britain flew out to pair up with a team from the University of South California and team from a university in Chișinău. We ran a 2 week long English conversation camp where we hoped that the Moldovan students who were invited would become Christians. This kind of thing happens the world over and it is largely benign. We definitely were do-gooders, eager to make friends and teach English and learn about the local culture and just “love on” the Moldovans, as we might have put it in our evangelical jargon.
In time, I found out that she had never been kissed. With the help of her haughty attitude, she had managed to avoid the attention of boys, who never interested her, and she had never been lucky enough to attract the attention of girls. She had tried to evade her lesbianism, but from as soon as she discovered masturbation, she found herself thinking only of women.
I was paired with Sarah, a counterpart from Moldova who I was to work with to prepare intermediate English classes. We spent a week before the camp getting to know the Moldovan Christian leaders and Sarah and I hit it off immediately. Her English was perfect and she was passionate about Russian literature (same!) and dreadful 90s rock music (same!) and we got on great. We’d go for long walks in the evening, notionally to pray about our course and for the students who would come to it. But we’d end up telling our life stories to each other and bonding on a very deep level.
She would get back to her room after these walks and lock herself in a bathroom stall and make herself come. She told me how she would imagine me stripping off for her before kneeling in front of her. She was obsessed with my pale English skin.
I had some experience with women before (as I say, I was not a perfect disciple!) and I was surprised to find that at night, my thoughts started to turn to Sarah. One night I had a potent sex dream where I vividly remember her making me cry out in ecstasy. I tried to put these thoughts away, considering them the random detritus of my sub-conscious. They had no meaning, right?
*She had never kissed another woman, nevermind tasted her, but at night she would find herself unable to resist touching herself and then savouring the salty taste from her fingers, imagining what I tasted like. She said she was possessed by a carnal hunger unlike anything she had experienced up till then. It was effectively a holiday romance, but it was her first and she was engulfed in desire. *
When we got to the resort where the camp was being run, I was surprised at how spartan it all was. It used to be an agricultural college, back in the Communist days, and it obviously hadn’t been updated all that much. But it was set on a beautiful lake with a beach and a forest and soon I was too busy with the camp to worry about the cold showers or the bad food. Every afternoon we would hang out on the beach and Sarah and I would have to resist the temptation to spend all our time together. We were there to share the Lord, so we couldn’t be greedy with our friendship. But when we went swimming, I couldn’t help but notice how close she would get to me, how she liked to stand beside me, our legs touching under the water.
She couldn’t believe it when the English and American girls showed up to the beach in swimsuits and bikinis. They lay out in the sun and soaked it up as if that was the most natural thing in the world. She had assumed that was not permitted. She felt so self-conscious that first day, in her sports shorts and tshirt. She used what little money she had to buy a swimsuit at the resort shop, and with trepidation, wore it during free time on Day 2. She watched for my reaction. She told me that she had to stifle her glee when I told her how great she looked.
Every evening there would be an evangelistic talk from one of the leaders. This one night, the guy, a giddy American with an awful goatee, talked with surprising eloquence about the beauty in the world. Where did it come from? Why was the world so abundantly, unreasonably, stunning? That night we had a cultural exchange evening where the English taught darts and the American taught pop songs and the Moldovans taught folk dancing. No one in that tremendously naive group looked askew when Sarah and I would dance together. The only suspicious would be if there was closeness between different genders. But the night drew on and we drew closer together.
She said she suggested it on a whim, that we go down to the lake. The night had grown cold and people had wandered inside bit by bit, to have tea and toasted sandwiches. We weren’t going to be missed. She led me to a little pier, perched out from a wooded area, secluded and quiet. Our feet dangled off the edge, playiing together in the water. She brought up the talk about beauty. She asked me what was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I hummed and hawed and answered, probably sincerely, dawn from a mountaintop on the island of Skye in Scotland. I asked her the same question and she said, without a moment’s hesitation, “You.”
I laughed it off at first, a typical English response to discomfort. But she was obviously serious, I could see the hurt in her eyes. I reached out and touched her thigh and asked, “Are you serious?”
She kissed me then. Tentatively. Lips to lips. But the second kiss was not tentative. It was ravenous. Her tongue pressed into my mouth and the weight of her body pressed against me and all I could do was kiss back.
My arms went around her, in part to keep my balance. Her kisses were pushing me down on to the pier. I let them have their way. To be honest, the voice that told me to stop, that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t do this, was very quiet. I wanted this. My body knew itself and I knew there was no point in protesting. I was wet instantly.
She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She was just kissing, and gasping, and kissing again. Unschooled in how to proceed, she was following instinct, rubbing her crotch against mine as she sought to cover ever inch of my face with kisses, her tongue greedily lapping over my neck, ears and lips.
I guided her to my breasts. I was wearing a red sun dress. I guided her under my bra. I pushed her head down so her lips could envelope my hard nipples. I guided her to my now drenched underpants and pulled them aside for her. I showed her how to slip inside me, how to massage me, how to make me cum. I urged her on with quiet whispered affirmations and muffled moans of pleasure.
She wanted to go down on me. She wanted me to go down on her. She wanted everything, all-at-once. But I think even in her frenzy she knew we had to be fast and we had to be quiet. Her brow furrowed as she felt my body responding with ever increasing tension to her fingering. She wanted most of all to make me cum. Sprawled on that pier under the night sky, my legs spread, my breasts exposed, with her on top of me and in control, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
I told her I was cumming, lest there be any doubt. She kept rubbing, determinedly and focused, and she kept kissing, until it was certain that the pleasure had subsided. I laughed, in sheer simple joy, as she pulled her fingers out of me. 10 minutes? Not much more? 10 minutes ago we were talking theology and now there was no need for words. I took her fingers and holding her gaze, sucked them clean.*
*I expected her to lie back and expect the same treatment for herself. She breahted deeply at the sight of me tasting myself, obviously deeply aroused. But she did not do as I expected. Instead, she covered my breasts up and pulled my dress down. “We must go back before anyone notices.” I was hurt, just a little, for an instant. Then she leaned in and kissed me gently, like the first time again, and said, “We can do this again.”
“We must”, I answered.
Turn this into a novella. I’d read it and I’m like 90%straight
What happened after?