At what point did God become my third wheel?
I wasn’t raised to expect the Almighty in my bedroom. Guilt, sure. Shame, absolutely. The vague sense that a woman’s desire is something best folded neatly and stored in a drawer labeled later — that I knew well. But God Himself? With opinions? Footnotes? A rulebook?
And yet, there He was. Hovering somewhere between the sheets like an invisible chaperone, whispering theological objections during moments that should have been uncomplicated, mutual, and enthusiastically human.
Enter: my fearful-avoidant boyfriend.
Henceforth referred to — as readers of The Specimen series already know him — to simply be The Specimen.
Meet the Specimen (A Brief Field Guide)
The Specimen is not religious in the way people imagine religion. He doesn’t go to church. He doesn’t quote Scripture in daily conversation. He doesn’t pray before meals or clutch pearls at swear words.
And yet.
Religion lives in him the way old wallpaper lives in an inherited house — painted over, ignored, but still very much underneath. You don’t see it until something cracks. Or until you try to move furniture. Or until you attempt intimacy that requires vulnerability rather than mechanics.
The Specimen was raised Methodist. Not “modern Methodist with rainbow flags and acoustic guitars.” No. We’re talking Book of Discipline Methodist. The kind where morality is gently poetic and deeply intrusive at the same time. The kind where sex isn’t condemned outright — it’s managed.
Which, it turns out, is much more dangerous.
John Wesley Did Not Mean This… But Also Kind of Did
To understand the Specimen, one must briefly visit John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, who was famously disciplined, meticulous, and deeply uncomfortable with excess of any kind. Pleasure wasn’t sinful — lack of control was.
Wesley believed holiness was built through restraint. Through order. Through intention. Desire needed a container. And if the container was wrong — or missing — you didn’t eliminate desire. You suffocated it politely.
Fast forward a few centuries, sprinkle in generational trauma, and voilà: a man who is fully aroused, deeply interested, emotionally invested… and absolutely terrified of what finishing means.
The Book of Discipline: A Sexy Title for a Very Unsexy Text
Enter The Book of Discipline : Rule 161B:
We affirm the sanctity of the marriage covenant which is expressed in love, mutual support, personal commitment, and shared fidelity between a man and a woman. We believe that God’s blessing rests upon such marriage, whether or not there are children of the union. We reject social norms that assume different standards for women than for men in marriage.
People hear “Methodist rules on sex” and assume it’s lax. It’s not fire-and-brimstone. It’s worse. It’s nuanced. It suggests.
Sex before marriage isn’t just discouraged — it’s framed as spiritually complicating. Intimacy creates moral implication. Responsibility. Obligation. Meaning.
And meaning is the Specimen’s kryptonite.
The Book doesn’t scream “No.”
It whispers: Are you ready to deal with the consequences?
In the 1972 Book of Discipline , the church used a very specific phrase:
“We call all persons to disciplines that lead to the fulfillment of themselves, others, and society in the stewardship of this gift [sexuality].”
By calling sex a “stewardship,” the church framed it as something you manage on behalf of God. In this view, sex isn’t just a “sin” if done wrong; it’s a mismanagement of a divine resource. This is exactly where that “nuance” comes in — it turns an act of intimacy into a matter of “responsible self-control” and “integrity.”
The 1972 rule (and subsequent versions until 2024) did this by using “affirmation” as a gatekeeper:
“Although all persons are sexual beings whether or not they are married, sexual relations are affirmed only within the covenant of monogamous, heterosexual marriage.”
Which Brings Us to Onan 📖
Ah yes. Onan.
The most misunderstood man in the Bible and the patron saint of sexually confused men everywhere.
Contrary to popular belief, Onan wasn’t struck down for masturbation. He was condemned for withholding. For refusing to complete an act because it came with obligation. He wanted the pleasure without the responsibility.
If that doesn’t sound familiar, congratulations — you have not dated a fearful-avoidant man over 40.
Onan didn’t want to give himself fully. He spilled what wasn’t his to waste, because completing the act meant committing to what followed.
Tell me you don’t see the parallel.
Allowed, Permitted, Forbidden (A Brief Inventory)
Here is where the Specimen becomes… fascinating.
Certain acts are allowed because they do not cross the invisible line from pleasure into implication.
- Handjobs? Fine. Controlled. Contained.
- Blowjobs received? Also fine. The woman gives; the man receives. No theological paperwork required.
- Mutual completion? Uh-oh.
- Penetration with presence, intention, and follow-through? Absolutely not.
Because somewhere in his nervous system, completion equals responsibility.
Finishing isn’t physical. It’s relational.
Why Giving Is Harder Than Receiving
Here’s where Methodist rule-thinking intersects with something darker and quieter:
In older religious frameworks, male pleasure is permitted; female pleasure is contextualized. A woman receiving pleasure — especially outside marriage — suggests something ongoing. Something relational. Something that extends beyond the moment.
And for a fearful-avoidant person, extension is dangerous. Pleasure he receives ends with him. Pleasure he gives echoes.
Add OCD, Stir Gently
Now add OCD to the mix. OCD doesn’t invent beliefs — it cements them. It turns values into rituals. Desire into checkpoints. Sex into a test you’re always afraid of failing.
Suddenly, the rules aren’t moral; they’re survival mechanisms. If he follows the rules, he’s safe. If he breaks them, something bad will happen. He may not believe this consciously — but his body does.
Baptists vs Methodists: The Clash That Made Me Who I Am
I was raised Baptist. Which is a completely different flavor of sexual anxiety.
Baptists teach women that men want sex — and nothing else. Desire is predatory. Intimacy is dangerous. Vulnerability is a trap. So I came into adulthood expecting appetite.
Instead, I got abstention. He was taught restraint.
I was taught defense. No one prepared us for this stand-off.
Modern Dating Culture Made This Worse
Modern dating assumes people have done the work. That they’ve interrogated their beliefs. That they can separate impulse from attachment.
Men in their 40s and 50s were not raised for this terrain. They learned rules. Not repair.
Why It Feels So Personal (But Isn’t)
When penetration fades. When closeness pulls back. When desire becomes asymmetrical — it’s tempting to internalize it. But this isn’t about attraction. It’s about fear. Fear that finishing creates expectation. Fear that closeness creates obligation. Fear that pleasure turns into permanence.
The Final Gospel According to Me
Onan didn’t ghost. He withheld. And the punishment wasn’t divine — it was relational. Because when you refuse to complete, to follow through, to show up fully — you don’t avoid consequence. You create a different one.
And that consequence is distance.
Epilogue (Because This Is Still a Love Story)
I don’t write this to shame him. I write it because religion doesn’t disappear when belief does. It embeds itself. In bodies. In habits. In bedrooms. And sometimes, it takes a woman lying there wondering what she did wrong to realize:
She didn’t. God just never learned how to leave the room.
And Vibrators are the answer.
