Two weeks ago I fell in love with a beautiful girl. I fell in love at first sight, watching her walk purposefully across the campus in a tight but very prim dress, just as the sun was setting. From a distance I could see her dark shoulder-length not-quite-curly hair, her golden skin, her firm high breasts, her tight taut body, her long neck and wonderfully shaped legs. I ran, as unobtrusively as I could, then slowed so as not to seem too eager. Catching her was not difficult; she was significantly shorter than me, was wearing high heels, and had a yellow backpack slung over her shoulder. A few more steps and I was walking next to her, admiring her fine-boned finely-honed face, her dark blue eyes, her dark red lips, her high cheekbones.

I was about to say something when I noticed the cross around her neck. I'm not a religious person by nature and Christians, especially those who wear crosses for purposes other than accentuating the curves of their breasts, tend to make me nervous. On the other hand, it has been my experience that Christians, especially those wearing crosses, like to talk about church. So after stammering out the usual "I'm sorry, I thought you were somebody else" (or maybe it was "Excuse me, did you drop this") followed by the obligatory "Good God you're beautiful" facial expression, I asked her if she could recommend a nearby church. Of course she could. She even had a card. When I examined the card later I discovered that she'd written "Kristen" on the back. It seemed a pretty good bet that Kristen was her name and not some weird spelling of her faith designation, so when I showed up at the church on Sunday morning I told the usher I'd been invited by a young lady named Kristen whose last name I hadn't quite caught. He promptly directed me to the pew where she normally sat, despite what seemed to me like rather firm disapproval of my choice of clothing.

Kristen was somewhat taken aback when she found me sitting in her pew, but she recovered quickly, smiled radiantly, said good morning warmly, offered me her hand graciously, and then sat primly about a foot to my left.

I spent the rest of the service bored, restless, underdressed, and out of place, alternating between admiring Kristen's reserved beauty and looking around the sanctuary as inconspicuously as possible, until I noticed the equally-out-of-place couple to my right, on the other side of the small dividing wall that some idiot with no common sense had put down the middle of each section, forcing everyone to pick an aisle and stick with it. Or maybe that was the point. Other than being on the petite side, the girl was everything Kristen was not. She was an unruly blond, dressed in sweat pants and a tube top, half sitting, half lying with her head on the shoulder an enormous individual who could not possibly be anything but a football player, her very large breasts rubbing against his arm, her delicious tight ass thrust slightly toward me, her round face with the slightly-too-big nose, eyes and mouth smiling and winking at me when she caught me staring. I had a strong, sudden impulse to leap over the dividing wall and bury my head between her breasts and her thighs. But I refrained. The service dragged on.

Finally the last words had been said, and we all retreated to another cavernous room for refreshments and mingling. I followed Kristen, not sure if I was expected or welcome, but figuring it was worth a shot. Armed with a cup of juice and some cookies, I waited patiently while she exchanged meaningless pleasantries with some older, attractive, equally prim women, then jumped in as quickly as possible, thanking her for inviting me, and asking if I could take her out to dinner. She seemed flattered for a second, answered that she thought she'd like to get to know me better, that perhaps after I'd been here a few times we might think about lunch, excused herself politely and disappeared into the crowd.

I was standing there in a strange church holding strange juice and strange cookies, feeling rejected, wondering if a maybe lunch date with the beautiful Kristen was worth two more trips, close to deciding that it wasn't, when the blond from the other side of the dividing wall came bounding across the room like an oversized puppy, her breasts bouncing wildly, stopped directly in front of me, pumped my hand vigorously and introduced herself as "Georgia, The Self-Appointed Evangelism Committee of One." I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it.

"Aha. Gotcha. See that. Everything's not so awful. Now. What brings you to church anyhow?" she asked with a rapidfire delivery.

"It was recommended" was the best response I could come up with.

"Coming back?" she asked.

"I was just thinking probably not, before you came over."

"Huh. Want to talk about it?"

I thought a moment. Perhaps the day was salvageable after all. "I think that would be lovely. How about lunch?"

She shook her head vigorously no. I was momentarily crestfallen. "Can't" she said. "Tied up. Promised I'd go bike riding with the big guy there. How about next Saturday night? Like to dance?"

"Uh sure" I stammered, wondering at the complexities of her social life.

"OK. Great. We can talk after we dance, or before we dance, but no talking while we dance. And there's one requirement if you're going to go out with me."

"What's that?" I asked, now very confused.

"You have to come to church with me the next morning. Call me." With that she handed me another card, which looked just like Kristen's, except the back had a phone number and said "Georgia" with a smiley face dotting the "i". And just as quickly as she had bounded over she bounded back, breasts bouncing and ass swaying, to the football player on the other side of the room.

Visions of Kristen and Georgia cavorted in my head for the rest of the week. It took me three days to get up the nerve to make the call. Georgia seemed thrilled to hear from me, suggesting a fundraising dance for a local peace and love nonprofit that I would probably have never gone to otherwise. Saturday finally arrived, and then Saturday evening. Georgia was gorgeous in jeans and a peasant top. We grabbed a quick bite to eat at a salad bar before heading over to the dance and I couldn't help smiling the whole time. She would look up at me staring at her and smile back before shoveling more salad into her mouth. She was not a dainty eater.

The dance was magical. Georgia was all over the floor on the fast tunes, spinning around me, dragging me with her, the blouse threatening to ride up over her breasts, then melting against me for the slow songs, her breasts crushed between us. I wanted her bad. An hour after we arrived she was leading me by the hand off the dance floor and back to her apartment "to talk."

We never did talk. Our mouths were otherwise occupied the second we got in the door. We were trying to kiss and rip our clothes off at the same time, and she was directing me to the mattress on the floor, where she collapsed on her back and I fell onto my knees with my head between her thighs, licking her hard, her feet on my shoulders and her hands playing roughly with her huge breasts, driving me on faster, wanting to move up to suck them, but determined to make her come first, as she goaded me: "lick me. Like that. Oh yes. Come on now. Make me come. Come on baby" And come she did, clasping her legs around my neck, driving my whole face into her sweet wet cunt. As soon as I could extricate myself I was all over, kissing her mouth, and her neck, taking as much breast as I could into my mouth, sucking licking and teasing the nipples, then mounting her and fucking her before she could recover from her first orgasm. We were insatiable. We fucked for hours on that mattress on the floor: on her back, from behind, with her riding me hard. Finally around 3 we fell asleep, still intertwined, fondling and sucking.

The next morning I was sitting in the pew on the other side of the dividing wall, with Georgia's head against my shoulder and her breasts pressed into my arm, trying to ignore the sharp sideways glares that came lancing out of the corners of Kristen's beautiful eyes. During the sermon Georgia put her feet up on the pew and began painting her toenails red. Every few minutes her hands would stray from her feet to my lap and she would give my cock a gentle squeeze.

I think I may have lost Kristen, but I'm pretty sure I've found God.