My heart fluttered with excitement as I read the text Elijah had just sent me, sinful thoughts racing through my mind. His words were blunt, informal, yet to me they read as the poetry of Clinton F. Larson himself: a romantic missive, promising thrills and delights of the like I'd yet to experience. I reread them, pronouncing each word aloud as I did.
'Hey bby u want 2 fool round?'
I clutched the phone to my chest, suppressing a squeal of delight. Elijah was the hottest guy in my liberal arts class at Brigham Young University, and I'd long been a worshipper at the church of his latter-day studliness. He was the very image of a clean-cut, handsome young Mormon; Tall and athletic, with chestnut-brown hair and soft, friendly features. All year long I'd been making eyes at him across the art room, hoping against hope he'd ask me to read scripture with him. Of course, even in my most scandalous dreams, I'd never imagine he'd make so forward or bold an offer.
Still, no matter how tempting his offer was, I knew I couldn't accept it—I wanted nothing more than to fool around with Elijah, but I was a devout girl, and the Book of Mormon expressly forbade such premarital deviance. My body belonged to the Lord alone; until such time as a good Mormon man took me as one among his many wives, I was forbidden to even pleasure myself. With a heavy heart I tapped out a message to Elijah, letting him know that as much as I wanted to, I couldn't turn my back on my faith. A moment later I received a response, a reply that changed everything.
'We cud soak???'
Of course! I didn't know why I hadn't considered soaking before! It was a relatively common practice among Mormon teens now, a loophole that allowed us to act on our urges without committing the sin of premarital sex. Eagerly, I began tapping out a message back to him.
'I cud c if my bestie wuld cum jump hump 4 us?'
***
A few hours later, my best friend Ivy and I stood outside the door to Elijah's dorm. Butterflies were fluttering in my stomach, and last-minute misgivings were starting to creep into my mind.
"Hey, Ivy," I asked, hesitant to give voice to the doubts starting to gnaw at me. "Do you think what I'm about to do is, you know? Wrong?"
"Of course not, dude." Ivy reassured me with a grin, reaching past me to knock on Elijah's door herself. "Everyone knows it doesn't count as sex if you don't move!"
I opened my mouth to protest, but suddenly the door swung open, revealing Elijah. He was like a vision of Joseph Smith himself: Young and dashing, with chiseled, conservative features and a pearl-white, charming smile. He was dressed in traditional Mormon fashion—an immaculately ironed white dress shirt clung loosely from his slim shoulders, adorned with a simple black tie. A black nametag was fastened to his left breast, identifying him in bold white lettering as 'Missionary Elijah, of The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints'. In the pocket behind his nametag, he kept a small, leatherbound copy of the Book of Mormon, directly over his heart. A pair of pressed grey slacks completed the outfit, giving him an approachable yet formal, clean-cut air. I felt my knees weaken at the sight of him, and I couldn't help but offer a nervous smile.
"Hey Hannah, Ivy. Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?" Elijah asked, favoring me with a wink. There was a touch of mischief to his tone, a detail that might have gone unnoticed to anyone save Ivy and myself. He held the door open for the two of us, and wordlessly I accepted the invitation.
Elijah couldn't keep his eyes from me, nor I from him. He barely noticed Ivy, offering her only a polite nod before slipping beneath the blankets of his bed, and holding them open for me to follow. My heart racing a mile a minute, I crawled beneath the sheets alongside him, until my slender body was pressed against his. He gently guided my face to his, and a moment later our lips met in a deep, passionate kiss.
I heard Ivy giggle from across the room, and felt my cheeks flush red with embarrassment, but Elijah paid her no mind. His arm wrapped tightly around my waist, and he drew me closer, until the heat of his body enveloped mine entirely. My lips still locked with his, I planted my hand on the fabric of his shirt, gently tracing my finger down the spine of his Book of Mormon. It felt so good, so right, as if Christ himself was beneath the sheets alongside us, the three of us entangled in spiritual bliss.
Elijah's hand withdrew from my waist, and I felt him fumble with his belt, awkwardly twisting and squirming in an effort to free himself from his pants without breaking the kiss we shared. Gently, I slid my hands down his body until they found his waistband, and I helped him slide his slacks down, my hands brushing against the smooth skin of his bare thighs in the process. I could feel his manhood as it flopped free and came to rest against my hip, and I wanted nothing more than to reach down and touch it—but I didn't. It felt too deliberate, too close to sex, and premarital sex was a sin.
Once he'd freed himself of his own pants, Elijah's hands found their way to my skirt, and looping his fingers through the waistband of it and my panties alike, he slowly slid them down my hips. I squirmed and wriggled cooperatively, helping him pull them down my thighs until I was able to slip my legs from them. The two of us lay naked from the waist down beneath the blankets now, though our bodies were still covered from the eyes of all save the Lord.
Gathering the blankets around himself, Elijah rolled atop me, and I spread my legs, accepting him between them. I shuddered at the feeling of our bodies moving against each other, at the sensation of bare skin on skin. Closing his eyes to protect my modesty, Elijah reached between us, guiding himself between my legs, and a moment later I felt the head of his manhood pressing into me.
The feeling of Elijah's devout Mormon meat sliding deep into my quivering wet womanhood sent a shiver of delight through me. I bit my lip, trying as hard as I could not to moan in pleasure, instead simply letting out a needy whimper. I was determined not to moan like some harlot, but the tingling feeling of Elijah soaking in me was almost overwhelming. He took his time sliding slowly into me, inch by agonizing inch, savoring the feeling of moving against one another, for he knew that once he was fully hilted in me, neither of us would be able to move—at least, not without breaking our vows to the Lord.