I
am God. Down on your knees and pray! Sin not lest I smite thee! Taketh
not My name in vain!
Yeah, right. Chill out. I am God, but it's not what you think. Let me
tell you a little about myself.
I'm
not all powerful -- but I can do a great deal. I'm not all knowing -- I
know some things but not others. And am I all good? That is an
excellent question, and I would give anything to know the answer.
I
mostly exist in the Godspace dimension. It has a geography identical to
"real" space, it's just a place hidden from you guys where I can move
around and do cool God things.
My awareness began on Earth just
as the place was cooling down. Probably someone or something sent me,
but I haven't the foggiest idea who or why.
I'm a local kind of
God. Can't do a thing with Mars or Venus, and can't tell what's going
on there any more than your astronomers can. I can move a bit of dust
around on the moon if I had to, but it would be very tiring. But in
this little sphere of the Earth's crust, up into satellite orbits and
down to the deepest mines and ocean trenches -- there I can do things.
I can move a mountain, part the seas, even nudge a tectonic plate a
little bit -- but they are exhausting! As objects get smaller, it gets
easier. I can move around something the size of a boulder with no
problem, even a few thousand at a time. If you go down to the level of
things the size of people, I can mess with billions at once without
breaking a sweat. I could squash every human in an instant. I can
change trillions of things at a time.
But as the story begins, I
had never used that power. So all the religions who thought they'd seen
the hand of God revealed on Earth were wrong. God said nothing to
Moses, and Jesus was just a man. Spirits do not reside in trees or
rocks, and there is no reincarnation.
Religions come from
people's heads, and they are interesting, but there was no God who
influences things on Earth. Agnostics were closest to understanding
reality.
That's what I can do. What do I know? I can be
everywhere at once in Godspace, observing from billions of
perspectives. So over the millions of years I have been watching Earth,
I have collected a huge hunk of data to work with.
Understanding
natural phenomena is pretty straightforward. What goes on in the minds
of creatures is less clear, and of course the more complex the brain,
the harder it is. I started paying close attention when the apes
showed, then I learned from all the hominid forms. Neanderthals were
cool, but you guys killed them off.
You humans are by far the
most fascinating creatures. I've read every word that's ever been
written, and heard every word that has been spoken. With all that, I'm
a pretty good student of human nature. But I can't read anyone's
thoughts and I don't know for sure what anyone is going to do next. Nor
could I control anyone with any subtlety. I could restrain them or
threaten them with pain, but I can't change someone's thoughts just by
messing with some neurons. The patterns are just too small and too
incredibly complicated.
So I can do a great deal, but didn't used to, and I know a great deal,
but not everything.
What I don't know is what I should
do or why.
I've
considered looking at human purposes and seeing if I can learn from
them. You humans have come up with your own sense of morality that you
almost all agree on. There is far less agreement on a purpose, and most
people know that a satisfactory answer is impossible. People latch on
to some purpose: being fruitful and multiplying, religion, the love of
nature, the love of fellow humans, great art, even just maximizing
pleasure. Then they stop thinking about it.
But even if humans
had found a purpose, it would have been a result of evolution by
natural selection. That is arbitrary and unsatisfying. It would not
have any direct application to me.
So I have collected massive quantities of data and tried to make sense
out of it -- something kind of like meditation.
I
said earlier that I never changed anything on Earth. Here's why:
Studying the evolving Earth was my biggest hope for grasping my
purpose. I'd always believed that as soon as I changed it in any way,
it would be contaminated with my ignorant impulses and could no longer
help me.
Religions who imagine a personal God are correct in one
respect: I watch everything people do, and I listen to prayers. But I
never answered any of them because it would have contaminated my
experiment.
Most thoughtful believers have asked themselves at
one time or another how I could allow so much suffering. The main
reason was my determination not to contaminate anything. But did I
gnash my teeth, itching to intervene? No. I understand yearnings to
some extent -- I want to know the purpose of my existence, and I
understand boredom. But I deliberately stayed aloof from the human
viewpoint. It is just something that evolved in largely arbitrary
fashion. I was looking for a real purpose beyond the whims of chance in
human evolution -- I am God, after all. Getting all wrapped up with
preventing suffering would have been identifying too much with human
purposes. It was also clear to me that if I eliminated suffering and
strife, Earth would become a very dull place.
In any case, I had
been meditating and cogitating for these millions of years, never
disturbing a hair on Earth. Was I as God supposed to find a higher God?
Find transcendent truth of the sort you seek in your meditation? I
thought that if I considered the matter hard enough the truth would
come to me. No luck.
Human
history and prehistory are full of cycles. An ice age came and went.
Civilizations were born, flourished, and then died. First there was
famine and pestilence and the population plummeted. Then in better
times the happy and optimistic people filled the world once more. The
cycle repeated itself.
I became disturbed when I saw another
trend. Humans had triggered a permanent decline that would last
forever. The Earth would never recover from it, not in thousands of
years or even millions. Non-renewable resources were being consumed at
a rate sure to lead to scarcity. Natural habitat was being destroyed,
causing a massive and accelerating loss of biodiversity. This was all
happening during a cycle of peace and plenty. It would become much
worse when prosperity turned to severe hardship.
Humans were
over the hill! If the human condition had reached its peak of
complexity and was headed downhill, what hope did I have that my
experiment would teach me what I wanted to know? It was enough to make
a deity turn to drink.
Feeling
that my hands-off approach was never going to get me anywhere, I
thought of alternatives. The most interesting choice open to me was to
experience reality as you humans experience it. If I couldn't figure
out the purpose of my existence, perhaps I could at least feel less
lonely by letting myself experience life as you do. I would at least
learn something new, and perhaps something unexpected would happen.
My
first intervention in the world, my first contamination since the dawn
of time, was to move a grain of sand over by a millimeter. I paused for
a day or so to celebrate -- and mourn. But once that barrier was
broken, I saw no further need to proceed gradually.
So I
incarnated myself in real space as a human -- I created a human out of
material from Godspace and hooked myself up to him. For the first time,
I felt pressures within my body, heard sounds, saw colors, felt air
move in and out of my lungs. I could move the body around with its own
muscles without any further intervention from Godspace. I held my
breath and felt the compulsion to take another breath. I dug my
fingernails into my forearm to feel the pain. I drank water when I was
thirsty and felt the relief. It wasn't that hard to master a body.
I then turned to the uniquely human -- the achievements of the human
mind and imagination.
I
didn't satisfy myself with a single body. To sample a large chunk of
classical music I made thousands of human bodies. I plopped them down
on living room sofas throughout the world when the residents were away
so I could listen to the records all at once. I attended ballet and
theater and concerts in hundreds of cities at once. Other thousands of
bodies traipsed through the art galleries, twirled with the sufis,
chanted, and received communion. No one thought anything of my
presence, as I incarnated myself as an ordinary-looking person within
whatever culture I was visiting.
It wasn't very rewarding.
Religion was useless as I knew it was wrong and that I myself was the
closest thing to the God that these misguided people worshiped.
Painting, sculpture, theater, dance, classical music -- none moved me.
I had been experiencing them from the outside for millenia, and the
pleasure I as a human felt was mediated by inferior intellect. It paled
in comparison to my own fuller understanding. I had examined every
sketch or doodle a human had made, heard every warble that sprang from
the human voice, and seen every skip and hop.
What drew my
attention was not the higher pleasures, but the lower. I had known for
ages just what the differences were between making a Burgundy and a
Bourdeaux. What I had not known was how that was experienced by the
people drinking them.
Starting with oatmeal, hamburgers, and
potato chips, I worked my way up to kalamata olives, lobster, tarragon,
truffles, and prime beef -- and the countless ways the flavors can be
blended. I sampled hundreds of varieties of dark chocolate, hundreds of
coffees, thousands of wines. The sensations were varied and
interesting. I enjoyed them a lot.
What moved me most, however, was sex.
For
some reason, I was never all that comfortable in a female body. When I
tried to investigate sexuality as a female, something profound didn't
resonate right. Perhaps whoever made me had made me fundamentally male,
and if so that was a tiny hint about my nature that my millions of
years of meditation never revealed.
But male sexuality -- that
was something else. I stroked my penis and it got hard, something I had
observed countless billions of times. But this time I knew what it felt
like inside. I felt the pleasure of each stroke, and never had imagined
just how pleasurable an orgasm could be at the moment the semen spurted
forth.
Countless times I had seen how men watched women and
girls and the pornographic representations of them. I had seen how the
men ignored their welfare and made fools of themselves in search of
sex. Now I experienced firsthand the power of those urges. I
masturbated to a wide variety of sexual stimuli. I climaxed watching
tens of thousands of porn videos. I jerked off to the images of girls
and women I had just seen in my travels. It was even easy enough for me
to find places to materialize where I could see a naked girl without
being observed. Watching them masturbate was very exciting. I didn't
restrict myself to single individuals: I could gauge my own reaction to
watching men having sex with women, men with men, women with women.
But I wanted more than watching others and pleasuring myself. I wanted
to touch.
A
gentle breeze billowed the gauzy white curtain now and then, and the
full moon shone through to illuminate Carol. She was the epitome of
beauty. Long golden hair, blue eyes, shapely body. As she lay in bed I
could see her breasts rise and fall lightly under her nightgown. She
was 23 and had recently dumped her boyfriend. She thought it was a good
move for her, and I agreed, knowing her values and the probable future.
The bad part was that she was very horny. A good part of the
relationship had been the sex, usually twice a day. Here she was, a
week on, and there was no one to caress her. She fondled herself, but
loneliness inhibited her and made her unable to achieve the release of
orgasm. She had fallen asleep with her nightgown bunched up at her
waist and her panties down. Her hand lay limp between her legs.
I
started with a small, simple tweak to her brain from Godspace to keep
her asleep. I sat on the bed, the weight of my body depressing the
mattress. I leaned over and touched my lips to hers, and found my first
kiss electrifying. My cock surged to full hardness within seconds. Her
feminine nature as perceived by the body I was using resonated right
back to me in Godspace. My hands were not troubled by her nightgown,
because I simply ripped it by a direct intervention from Godspace, and
would as simply mend the tear seamlessly when I was done. My fingers
lazily glided over her silky breasts, and her nipples soon stuck out.
Then I brought my hand down between her legs, gliding between smooth
thighs to her hairy but soft pussy. After letting my hand luxuriate in
the wetness of it all, I focused on her clit while snuggling against
her and whispering in her ear. She moaned and strained in her sleep,
then I felt her body convulse with the release she had been craving. I
think her unconscious knew she was with a man and that it was time for
the sexual release she had been unable to achieve by herself.
I
was surprised at how tempted I was to mount her and thrust my cock
inside her, but that would have been too much, too soon. I made the
body I had created disappear and let my sexual desire slacken.
I
thought all the issues through in the first second or so after that
experience and reached a conclusion, but made myself wait. I had been
meditating on humans for millenia -- why not take a little longer? I
gave it 24 hours.
On my return I didn't just part Carol's
nightgown. I simply stripped her from Godspace and gave my body free
rein. I mounted her, thrust, and felt for the first time the ecstasy of
a vagina enveloping my penis and offering its firm caress. I came
within seconds -- filling her pussy with my sperm. The pleasure was
magnificent, as was the sense of rightness -- as if this
was my purpose. But what a ridiculous idea! How soon had my God nature
been contaminated by the animal lust of the human male! I lay on soft
Carol, taking in her feminine smell and the gentle rise of her chest.
When I had had my fill I disappeared, then from Godspace I covered my
tracks. I made my semen disappear, mopped up her excess moisture, and
made her nightgown appear around her just as it had been before.
It
felt so good and right that I made a hundred thousand bodies appear all
over the world where attractive women slept alone and were hungry for
sex. From skinny to fat, from large-breasted to those with flat chests,
from teenagers up through a few women in their 50s, all races and
stations of life: I found the pussy of each one and urgently intruded
my cock to my great satisfaction. I arranged for thirty thousand of my
bodies to come in one simultaneous orgasm. It felt fantastic! The
bodies I had created disappeared on a varying timetable, lingering more
in comfortable surroundings with the truly gorgeous. The bodies
disappeared, but the longing and excitement and pleasure of
consummation of each of them returned to please my God mind.
For
weeks I was awash in pleasure. But I tired of making love to sleeping
girls. I knew one element of the true sex act was having a girl know
she was receiving a man and responding, even begging for more. I wanted
to make myself known.
Becky
sat at the bar with her Michelob, eager to see who might come along. A
couple of losers tried graceless opening lines, and she deftly turned
them away. One of the disadvantages of being attractive was unwelcome
attention, but it was outweighed by the larger pool of men she had to
choose from.
The man took her breath away as soon as he entered.
She tried to be open to men without paying so much attention to their
physical appearance, but it was hard to avoid. He had a large bald spot
on top, which is a turn off to a lot of women, but her daddy was bald.
Being bald was an extra little plus to her, not a minus.
The man
sat on a bar stool and ordered a brew. He scanned the crowd and his
eyes rested on a few of the other attractive women before fixing on
her. She looked down. Although it was involuntary, she knew it was a
sign of attraction. When she looked up again she saw him sitting
calmly, glancing at the ball game on the TV up over the bar. Then as
she watched, he stood and looked at her as he approached slowly, with
confidence.
"Hi, I'm Cliff."
"I'm Becky."
"You're very attractive," he said as he sat.
She liked that. Nothing fancy, no pretense. That was all he knew about
her, and that was all he said.
She couldn't believe what came out of her mouth next: "You're pretty
handsome yourself."
Cliff
smiled. He realized it was an unusual comment, but he wasn't going to
make her feel bad about it. "My girlfriend and I parted ways about two
months ago. It's taken me a while to get over it, but here I am, my
fourth day of seeing who else might be out there."
She realized that with a lot of men, the recency of his availability
might be an exaggeration. But she believed Cliff.
"You
want to know my basics? I've never been married, and I'm not a
high-powered anything. I'm a middle manager, with three people working
for me."
"Me, I'm... Single, waitress at Orlay's." If Cliff was
local, he would know that the entrees at Orlay's ran around $30.
"Looking for Mr. Right." She thought she'd keep it simple too.
He looked into her eyes, and while she tried to hold his gaze, she kept
looking down and blushing.
"I
don't know if I'm Mr. Right," he said, "but I'd like to get to know you
better. I'd like to get out of here now. Is your place OK?"
"Yes," she said.
And that was all there was to it.
He
was so hot and so straightforward in his talk. He was also bald. She
could barely wait to get him into her panties. She knew he could sense
that, and he didn't waste any time on preliminaries either.
He
kissed her for maybe thirty seconds as they stood in the bedroom. His
hands wandered over her back and shoulders, down her flanks and to her
butt.
She broke the kiss and started working on his buttons,
while he worked on hers. She raised her arms so he could take her
blouse off, revealing the light blue lacy bra beneath. Although her
breasts weren't especially large, most men thought they were appealing,
and from his hungry smile she could tell he agreed. She helped him out
of his dress shirt and T-shirt and went straight to his trousers. He
unzipped her skirt and set to work rolling her pantyhose down her legs.
In record time they stood facing each other with nothing on but briefs
and panties. His erection was plainly visible. With a questioning look,
she pulled down his briefs and knelt, looking to see if he objected.
She took his cock in her mouth and used her considerable experience to
get him moaning.
But within a minute he lifted her head gently
and led her to the bed. They kissed, but his lips were all over the
rest of her too: ears, neck, breasts, and stomach. She was a little
disappointed he didn't head farther down to her pussy, but he was
excellent with his fingers -- exquisite, in fact. She gave him That
Look that meant she was ready, and he smiled.
"Let me get a condom," he said.
"Are
you clean?" she asked. "I'm on the pill." She wasn't, but she thought
he really might be Mr. Right and was eager to make this special for him.
"Yes,
very clean," he said with an excited smile. With that he was on top of
her, cock headed for the place she so desperately wanted it.
She
steeled herself for the common problem: her pussy was kind of short,
and it hurt when a guy went too deep. Would she tell him not to go in
too far? She wanted it to be special for him, but there was no way
around that! But as his organ slid into her deliciously she felt their
pubic bones bump. He hadn't hit the back! Apparently he had a short
cock to match her short pussy. But he was good and thick, which she
loved.
Ordinarily she would have suggested she have some time on
top, because that was how she came best, but she wasn't going to. She'd
fake an orgasm if necessary, but she would do absolutely anything he
wanted and make no demands of her own.
To her surprise, his
rhythm and depth were perfect, and she was moved by his own sweet but
intense pleasure. She lay flat on her back, barely moving, and this man
was going to take her there! Her immensely pleasurable release made her
gasp and seize him with strong contractions. He didn't come with her,
and didn't take her orgasm as a signal to hurry up and finish himself.
He slowed his rhythm and smiled at her pleasure before revving up again
in earnest. What a sweet man! She then followed his hard passion,
rooting for him to find it fantastic. She was waiting to squeeze his
cock at just the right moment as he was almost at climax, something she
had learned men love. But her own pleasure carried her urgently, and
she found herself squeezing in response to her own unpredictable
pleasure. He finally let go with a gigantic moan and a torrent of
urgent strokes that sent her over the edge again, squeezing
frantically. She had never had two orgasms during sex before, and they
were mind-blowers. She faintly felt his twitches as he shot his load
deep inside her -- and with no condom on, she got to keep it all! That
sent a shiver of excitement through her.
They lay together in a
pleasant afterglow, and after they caught their breath they chatted.
She dreaded the moment he would announce he had to go; some men
wouldn't spend the night. But she sensed he would, and she wasn't
disappointed. After five minutes she began idly stroking his flaccid
cock, and it responded. She was a little sore from their energetic
first rutting, but this needed to be special for him. She asked if he
wanted anything different, like maybe from the rear, and he did. He
fucked her that way with equal enthusiasm. She didn't come again, but
that was just fine.
She woke a number of times during the night
to admire his body and his handsome face as it lay slack and vulnerable
in sleep. She awoke before he did and put on the silky red nightgown
she kept for special occasions, then crept quietly to the kitchen.
After brewing fresh coffee she thought about what she could make him
that was memorable. A mushroom and cheese omelette, she decided. She
could open that jar of home-made strawberry preserves she had been
saving for a year and serve it on toast. She got everything assembled
and crept back to the bedroom. He opened a sleepy eye and smiled at her.
"I've got a surprise for you!" she said. "Just wait here two minutes,
OK?"
"I'll be right back from the john," he said.
Becky
hurried back to the kitchen, determined to make the finest omelette of
her life. It was very close to it, and she eagerly took the tray in to
serve him.
"This is really delicious!" he said, savoring each bite.
She sat on the bed seductively as he ate -- nothing too obvious, but
some thigh and breast showed.
He
handed her the tray and she saw his cock at attention. After she put
the tray aside, he lay her on her back and slid his hand once up the
inside of her thighs, then abruptly turned over on her and slid in to
her pussy, which was not exactly dry but not too wet either. After a
mere ten seconds of sharp thrusts he came, spewing his cum into her
innards once more.
He pulled out and without even looking at her
he started dressing. This wasn't the ending for their interlude that
she had in mind, but the first part had been fantastic. Maybe his mind
was on his job or something.
He took down her cell number, said, "I'll call you," and gave her an
absent-minded kiss.
For
days afterward, every time her cell rang her heart pounded. Days turned
into weeks, and he never called. It had been just another one-night
stand.
I
had known everything about Becky, of course, including her father's
baldness and her appreciation for straightforward, unpretentious men. I
had observed the sizes of the dozen erect cocks that had disappeared up
her pussy and had noticed her problem with sensitivity when a cock
bottomed out in her. I had fashioned a short, thick cock just for her.
I had even seen the sorts of motion men used to make her come on those
rare occasions she had while on her back.
I had made myself her perfect lover. But only for one night.
I
should mention that I couldn't create a full person out of Godspace and
keep him there indefinitely. I couldn't simply make millions of Mr.
Rights into real people to live happily ever after. For the most part,
what is created from Godspace has to come back to Godspace before too
long. A couple days is the limit for something as complex as a human
being.
I created tens of thousands of handsome young men to
frequent bars, tailoring each man to the mark I had in mind based on
knowing everything about her past. Ten percent of the time I couldn't
get the girl into bed -- remember that I can't predict anyone's
behavior with certainty. I showed each of the others a fantastic time.
I liked being a good lover to them, and I luxuriated in my own lust so
completely fulfilled.
Bars were a good source of women, but not
the only one. I also made bodies to wander through small towns and
rural areas. They are full of teenage girls and single young women
yearning for the right man to come along.
Maria's knees grew
weak following me to some bushes behind the shed. She gasped and moaned
at my kisses. The lightest touch to the front of her dress at the right
spot got her to ditch her panties, lie on the carpet of leaves and
expose her hungry privates. I arranged through Godspace to enhance her
lubrication, and within seconds I was down on her, lustfully taking her
virginity. As a rule I used careful snips from Godspace to remove the
obstacle of any virgin's hymen; I wanted my girls to enjoy their
experience fully, even the first time.
Kate was walking in the
woods and was astounded to meet the handsome stranger. Her fantasy was
being ravaged and I was happy to oblige. I shoved her against the tree
trunk, found her wet pussy easily enough, and as the tree trunk scraped
against her back, I rammed my cock up inside her. In her case I ripped
her cherry on the way in, just as she wanted. She got about 30 seconds
of urgent fucking and a dose of cum. For weeks and months she wandered
the woods hoping the handsome stranger would return. He never did.
Ivana
let Fyodor fuck her regularly in hopes of conceiving a child. She had
married him because he was the best match she had been able to find.
But the mysterious stranger came to the door while Fyodor was out in
the fields. She found him handsome, strong, and irresistible -- maybe
she could have his
baby?
He looked a bit like her husband, at least. She presented her rear end
while leaning over a living room chair, and was rewarded with the
straight, quick shot up the cunt that she wanted.
But she would
not get the baby she wanted. For the first few months, I made sure
never to start any babies. I was seeking pleasure, and had no desire to
create offspring.
That was until Sasha asked me flat out if I would try to make her
pregnant. I considered the issue.
I
ordered up bodies for all my sexual encounters, but my specification
was at the level of observable characteristics: height, weight, voice
quality, body shape -- and penis shape. I could create a face or for
that matter a whole human off the model of an existing person. But at
the microscopic level, I wasn't involved. My incarnations ejaculated,
but I didn't know the details of what was in the milky fluid. Could I
even make a woman pregnant? If so, what sort of DNA was it?
I
decided there was no harm in trying, and Sasha conceived my child. I
quickly learned that that much was possible. Thousands of other women
asked for it, but I only tried with forty or so, and I only fathered a
dozen children, waiting to see how I would feel as they grew up.
Months
went by. I never sleep, of course, and as the sun circles the globe
there are always time zones with evenings and mornings and the dead of
night. A hundred thousand seductions a day ended with a hundred
thousand ejaculations, and a hundred thousand orgasmic bliss states
accrued back to me.
A
single experience with any particular girl was plenty for me -- or if I
wanted a girl a second time, I appeared as a totally different man. I
didn't want to get emotionally involved. Once I had what I wanted from
a girl, I didn't care what happened to her.
Missy was a girl I
took home from the bar one night, a particularly beautiful and
vulnerable 20-year-old who was an especially satisfying sexual partner.
A week after our interlude she was brutally raped. I had been observing
rapes for thousands of years, and in the modern age there were millions
each day. I watched her rapist spit on her and slap her, then I watched
as terrified Missy took it up the cunt. A normal occurrence, and
hundreds of thousands of times each day people treated each other far
worse. But a little something stirred. I felt a little compassion, and
a momentary surge of anger against the rapist. This was ridiculous! I
had observed countless tortures and massacres, why would I care about
one girl? It was just part of life!
But I did. And I noticed
this same stirring of compassion when misfortune befell a few of my
other partners as well. I felt the urge to intervene.
Missy's
situation kept coming back to me. Something as simple as a severe pain
in the foot would have steered Missy's rapist away from her and kept
her safe, but I began to dream of more than prevention. I dreamt of
slowly crushing his balls as he died of thirst, chained to his bed.
Where was that coming from?
To make it totally ridiculous, I even began feeling sorry for all the
bar girls whose hearts I had broken.
I gave up sex completely and reflected on my situation for several days.
I
was thoroughly submerged in the human pleasure of sex. That in itself
was a dangerous slide from Godhood to groveling in the mud of the human
experience. But I had not been satisfied with my own orgasm -- I wanted
conscious partners who enjoyed my attentions. Now I was showing the
first signs of emotional involvement, wanting to protect the women I
had screwed. The evolutionary basis of this in human men was clear
enough -- it was worth a little effort on the man's part to protect the
baby she might be carrying as a result of their union. But I was not a
human!
Where could this lead? I could resolve not to intervene,
and become increasingly troubled as the tragedies of life befell my
girls. I could protect them from rape and auto accidents without
disturbing the world too much. But what about chronic diseases?
Miserable, cheating boyfriends? Poverty? Aging and death? That way lay
madness.
But the other option was to give up the sex, and that was unthinkable.
"I have committed 23,404,771 acts of sexual intercourse outside the
bond of holy matrimony."
Nah,
as I played that scenario out in my mind it was obvious that was never
going to work. I'll try going Protestant, I thought. That one I
followed through with:
"Reverend, I am not known to you, but I wonder if you could offer me
some spiritual guidance."
"Come in to my study and let's talk... So what can I do for you?"
"I
have been hardhearted through most of my life. And then I have had
numerous affairs with women. They have all been consensual, mind you,
but I know I have misled some of them and not acted as honorably as I
could have. However, I now find that my heart melts for one of them."
One -- keep it simple and believable. "I feel true compassion for her
and want to ease her way as she goes on in life. I can do this, but if
I remove all challenges from her future, am I doing her a favor? And
what if some of the things I do end up having a negative effect on
other people?"
"What sort of help are you considering giving her?"
I
had many options, but figured I ought to pick something remotely
believable. "I could give her $2,000,000. Or help her get that job she
wants. But if I do, then someone else won't be getting that job, and
the money can't go to help someone else instead."
"You say you may have not been honest with her. Would she like to marry
you? Would that be a more natural alternative?"
"No... that wouldn't be possible."
"Well,
OK. Those other favors you suggest sound very generous. As to the other
people who could have benefited, I encourage you not to worry about it.
We have to live our lives on a human scale. Figuring out the very best
way to spend our money to do the most good in the world is a task
beyond most of us, and even if we do it we will be tormented by
uncertainty. If you have this one girl who needs your help, it is
honorable to give her the money and not just spend it on some luxury
for yourself."
"That's very helpful, Reverend. Thank you for your time."
"You're welcome."
Of course that didn't get at the real problem.
I wrote a letter with a fountain pen:
"Dear
Father, Mother, or Whoever, You have made me God of Earth, but you have
not told me how to figure out what to do. First I just observed, hoping
that my purpose would come to me. Recently I decided to experience life
as humans do, and have become very interested -- nearly obsessed --
with sex. Now I feel my objectivity slipping, and my desire to reduce
suffering and evil among these humans. While each act would be good
taken in isolation, the overall effect will be to create an insipid,
uninteresting world. Please help me! Please? Sincerely, God"
I
reconciled my sexual hunger with my profound doubts about easing
suffering with a muddled middle course. I stopped girls from dying in
car crashes and kept them from being murdered and raped. To avoid
future anxiety and tough choices, I didn't approach those who were in
difficult situations already, such as suffering violence at the hands
of their husbands. Then I reduced the pain of broken hearts by
restricting my attention to girls who truly wanted only one-night
stands.
I was getting a great deal of sex, but another element
of dissatisfaction arose. I was known to these girls and women, but I
was in disguise. I wanted them to know me as I was, as God. Even if I
was unlike their God in some important respects, I wanted them to know
me.