My First Munch

[Image description: Photo is of a gray tee-shirt with a red raised fist design and white block lettering that says “Introverts Unite…Occasionally in small groups for very limited periods of time”]

I attended my first munch in August of 2018, right after divinity school orientation ended. #Priorities. A munch is a public get-together of kinky people, usually at a restaurant. No whips or chains there, just people chatting over food. Especially for new people, munches are a great way to connect with the local kink community, make friends, and find safe play partners. 

I was quite nervous before I went, changing clothes three times–it was a true Lizzie McGuire montage–before settling on a skinny jean-combat boot-jacket ensemble. I had read that I should “dress for success.” 

Fortunately, my Uber driver didn’t ask why I was taking a twenty-minute drive to this particular IHOP when another IHOP was much closer. Feeling like a detective, I told the restaurant manager that I was looking for “the group in the back.” I found them, a merry bunch with black clothes and colorful hair. 

They made room for me but didn’t engage much at first. Starting to feel like a statue, I mustered the courage to say “I’m an introvert; please talk to me!” Miraculously, they did. We chatted about kink and ate pancakes. I felt a thrill as I told them I was in divinity school and wanted to work on the issue of sexual shame in Christianity. Everyone was friendly. 

After the munch, we carpooled to the local sex-positive dungeon. On the way, I learned that for some people, the appeal of kink isn’t sexual at all–some just like the rush of impact or the opportunity to relax into a different role for a while. 

In the play space, I met three or four white guys with scruff and glasses over the course of the night. It’s a little embarrassing to say, but in the dark, they looked so similar that I didn’t realize they were all different people at first. To this day, I’m still not sure exactly how many dudes I talked with as I sat on that leather sofa, though one of them eventually became a friend and play partner. 

Of course, even in the low light, the house bootblack noticed how scuffed my boots were. A little sheepishly, I climbed into the bootblack chair. I chatted with her shyly while she cleaned and conditioned my boots–they were too dry at that point to be polished! I have since learned how to take better care of my boots. It is now one of my sub’s tasks. 

I watched the play with scientific interest, somewhat overwhelmed by the effort to watch multiple scenes unfold simultaneously. It was easier to focus on one at a time. In one memorable scene with two women, the top (the sensation-giver) kicked and hit the bottom (the player receiving the sensation) with wooden spoons and spatulas. They both smiled and giggled the whole time. At the end of the scene, the bottom slid down the wall, laughing uncontrollably as the experience washed over her.

Watching their joyful play reminded me that I didn’t have to play a certain way to be kinky (nor did I need to act like a movie dominatrix). I’ve been back to the play space and to munches several times since then. When I’m feeling awkward, I remember that I can always wave the introvert flag, and someone will welcome me.

BDSM is Not Repentance

[Image description: Photo is of a black flogger draped over a gold handheld mirror.]

Content notice: possible self-harm, police brutality 

Some time ago, I read about a guilt-ridden police officer who went to professional dominatrices to be beaten and humiliated as punishment for his habit of mistreating the people that he stopped on the street. As far as I know, his kinky sessions didn’t stop him from hurting the people under his power. He was still cruel. To put it in religious terms that I understand, he wanted to burn off his sins by ‘suffering’. Instead, he just burned off his guilt and went on his way. Shame covered him like a blanket of ash. 

He wouldn’t be the first to try to use BDSM to cope with guilt and shame. Some reading this post might wonder whether typical kink ‘punishment’ activities like being caned, forced to do chores, or verbally degraded will allow them to compensate for behavior that they’re ashamed of. My answer is “Maybe, but probably not.” 

My full response would be a real treatise, accounting for the various ways that people like to define BDSM and even ‘punishment.’ I’d also have to talk about whether I think that consensual punishments are fruitful (I have complex feelings). I’ll save those for other posts and spare you the ninety-five theses. 

For now, I want to talk about repentance, something more powerful than self-punishment. The Hebrew and Greek words that we often translate as “repent” appear over and over in the Bible.  

In Greek, the original written language of the New Testament, the word is “metanoia,” “to change the mind.” In biblical Hebrew, words literally meaning “to turn” or “turn around” are common (a little more on the language here). 

Wikipedia calls repentance “the activity of reviewing one’s actions and feeling contrition or regret for past wrongs, which is accompanied by commitment to change for the better.”

In short, repentance isn’t just about feeling sorry. Feelings are important, but they don’t do much in themselves. Instead, repentance is about harnessing thoughts and feelings through reflection in order to change behavior. 

Let’s consider the police officer. Did he repent? No. He felt bad and used BDSM to feel better. Perhaps, he thought that because he had chosen to experience pain, he now understood the pain he had caused others. Maybe he thought that his pain (carefully calibrated to satisfy him, as kinky pain usually is) would balance out theirs.

Repentance doesn’t work like that. For those who use Christian God language, God doesn’t work like that. 

Jesus didn’t say “I was in prison, but you felt bad and punished yourself.” Jesus said “I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me” (Mt. 25:43). 

This passage might sound harsh and confronting to some readers. It is. It doesn’t leave room for us to pretend that feeling bad about something is the same as doing something about it. 

But it also means that God doesn’t demand that you punish yourself to counteract the suffering you have caused. It means that you get to choose how you respond to that suffering. 

In the police officer’s case, there was most likely nothing he could do to repair the harm he had caused. The bodies he bruised (probably black bodies) would have to heal themselves; the heartache and trauma might never fully go away. He numbed them out with his own ‘suffering’. But he has the power to recognize what he has done and to make different choices, I hope with the help of a good therapist and strong community. That in itself is painful, and not in a fun way (think of a much less extreme version of Voldemort’s fractured soul).

The temporary hurt of kinky play is not a shortcut to understanding the harm one has caused, and it isn’t repentance. 

That being said, does BDSM have a role in repentance? Maybe so (and I’ll talk about that more in another post), but it depends on one’s goals and attitude. I want to practice treating others well through kink, and I want to give myself care in the play that I choose. I want what my sub experiences under my direction to have a positive impact on the way that he interacts with the world outside of our dynamic. I believe that kink can help people to reflect and grow. In the end, though, repentance is a chosen struggle, and there is no substitute.

The Story Still Matters – An Epistle on Theory

The birds had just begun to lift their songs of praise as I reverently opened my laptop. Illuminated by the glow of the screen, I sought the sacred PDF: “Postmodern Biblical Theory.” I trembled with emotion as I read, eyes welling with tears. “Yes, I see now,” I said aloud. I knew, as rosy-fingered dawn appeared on the horizon, that I now understood the Bible. Heavenly music played as I typed my ardent one-page reflection. Now fully prepared to deliver the Gospel to this troubled world, I emailed the quote “Nothing is original” to a custom bumper sticker company. I said a quick prayer to the Academy as I filled my metal water bottle, fortified by my faith in postmodernism. 

That totally did not happen. 

Closer to reality: I skimmed the PDF at 11:30 at night, my brain promptly shut down, and I slammed my laptop closed in disgust. I had hoped that going to divinity school would help me to reconnect with the Bible. Unfortunately, this New Testament class had turned out to be a survey course of critical theory. We read a whole lot about the Bible but hardly the Bible itself. I felt less connected than ever. 

That’s not to say that critical theory isn’t valuable. Theory helps us to see consequences of writing and interpretation, especially for groups then tend to be on the margins of society. It trains us to be flexible; we’re not stuck with the old “Eve sinned and now all women have to obey their husbands” nonsense that often gets repeated in churches, for example. I think that many of us find comfort in theory because we’ve been hurt by people who repeat “God said it, I believe it, that settles it.” Theory reminds us that nothing is actually ‘settled.’ 

But theory is a set of tools we can use to understand the Bible’s role in our lives. The story still matters. Unfortunately, my class was often “all theory and no Text.” Without the consistent opportunity to read the Bible, it was hard for me to figure out how to use these tools, let alone imagine how I could communicate the value of theory to other Christians who love the Bible and read it…religiously. 

All theory and no Text makes Fox a dull boi

I’m pretty grumpy about it. As a result, one of the purposes of this blog will be for me to read the Bible as a beloved story book, informed but not driven by theory, and to find what moves and inspires me as a Christian. What might this look like? Bible studies, spiritual practices, poems, stories, and songs. In other words, church activities minus the peer pressure (love you, Church). I’m going to start with a series on the story of David and see where it takes me. 

Be of good courage!

Perpetua Fox

She/her/hers

Fireworks

[Image description: Photo is of distant exploding orange and gold fireworks.]

Picture me at age four. It’s the fourth of July. I’m at an Independence Day celebration at the local megachurch. I’ve been so excited to see the fireworks. But when I actually see them, loud and bright and technicolor, I’m terrified. When I look up, they’re so close that it feels as if they’re coming down on me like fiery rain. After a few minutes trying to tolerate it, I cut and run, bolting across the field to my dad’s car. And my dad? He’s running with me, not after me. He isn’t mad at me for being scared. After that, we admire the fireworks from a distance. 


Even now, over two decades later, I prefer to keep my distance from fireworks and sparklers. They’re beautiful, but when I’m too close, my fear of injury and sense of “overwhelm” make me unable to enjoy their beauty. I stand a little farther back from them than most people. And that’s okay. In my life, there are shows, events, relationship styles, people, and activities that I prefer to admire from afar. That’s the best way for me to enjoy them. It doesn’t make me a coward. It doesn’t mean that I don’t respect those who choose differently–quite the contrary. It doesn’t mean that I’ll never change my mind. It does mean that I know what I need right now (like when I needed to get away from those fireworks right then). And it feels good to know that the caring people in my life respect that.

An Epistle on Theatre and Kink

[Image description: Photo is of a slender white person wearing a cream-colored winter coat, dark gray button-down shirt, long, fuzzy white scarf, and fitted dark brown boots standing on the edge of a wooden stage.]

I’ve been a theatre kid since about age ten. Cast as a “merchant/servant” in a summer youth production of Aladdin, I caught the theatre bug (or rather, it caught me). I’d thought when I signed up that I would want to work behind the scenes on set design. Instead, I suddenly craved the spotlight. Eager for more “work,” I made a diagram of the ‘palace’ floor for my personal use and thought intently about my purpose in the story. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t study Stanislavsky.  

I milked my one line for all it was worth. “There would be peace in the marketplace if they would just lock him up!,” I snarled and tutted as a merchant in Act I, later transforming into a meek and gormless palace servant for Act II. It felt glorious to get a larger role in the next summer production, but even in that first, tiny role, I had carved out a space in fantasy that made me feel integral to making Aladdin’s story ‘work.’ 

Unlike me, the characters I played knew exactly where they belonged in the world, and they lived in that satisfaction. I, their storyteller, lived in their satisfaction second-hand. I started to find a role in the local theatre community too, clicking with fellow actors in ways that I never had with my classmates. I felt a sense of belonging in being among creative people working toward a common goal. No longer just the shy art girl, I was an actor–and I could be anything I chose. 

Over the years, I acted in several other shows and attempted tech work. I discovered that I was funny. I also discovered (during an Edgar Allan Poe-themed production) that I could be very creepy and unsettling when I wanted to be. 

The final curtain was always bittersweet. I wanted the magic to last just a little bit longer. I remember keeping the heavy makeup on as long as possible (yes, even the Poe makeup–I’m sure I frightened some locals during that cast party). Acting became about more than attention; acting was a retreat. It helped me feel safe to try new things, even silly and embarrassing things. It demanded that I be embarrassed, proud, menacing, hapless, and fierce, over and over. Theatre gave me space to be all those things without losing my place in the community.

Now, every character that I have ever played lives in my mind, but I am more than the sum of them. And that mysterious extra bit that’s just me? That’s what I bring to my kink life. It doesn’t surprise me that many kinksters are also theatre people. The craft, the thrill, the freedom to “play pretend” and explore without losing the respect of peers–kink makes room for all these precious things. Kink gives me experiences that even theatre couldn’t. But I wouldn’t be comfortable in kink if not for my time with theatre, and theatre is special to me too. 

It’s been a couple of years since I was last in a production; my current schedule just doesn’t allow for the weeks of consistent commitment that theatre requires. I miss it. I take what I learned from acting into my activism, my kinky relationships, my friendships, and my work. These things all belong in my life. And when I have time for a show? I’m auditioning.

You don’t have to. – An Epistle for “Low Drive Wives”

[Image description: Photo is of clusters of bright red and purple flowers.]

Content Notice: Abstract discussion of rape culture and sexual coercion. This post is just a start to discussing a very complicated issue. Bear with me.  

Beloved, I don’t know about you, but when I try to want something more, I usually end up wanting it less. “How can I learn to like sex more?” is a question that I see all the time on Christian sex and marriage blogs, usually posed by married women whose interest in sex doesn’t seem to match their husbands’. The usual answers have some helpful information. Among Christian sex bloggers easily found on Google (which I won’t name specifically here), answers like “Check with your doctor” or “Get more in touch with your body” or “Reframe sex as good and holy” are common. 

They’re not wrong; sexual desire can absolutely be affected by factors like hormonal changes, past trauma, relationship issues, and regular old stress. I want to stress that I respect the work that these bloggers do to make sex a ‘speakable’ topic in heterosexual Christian marriages. 

That said, posts for low drive wives tend to make me really uncomfortable. Because these Christian sex bloggers sometimes believe that spouses owe each other sex, pointing to Paul’s epistles for evidence. This notion of ‘owing’ underpins the rest of their advice.

One blogger states that “Biblically, we are not to withhold sex from our spouse.” Another writes, “Let me clear that while I believe that 1 Corinthians 7:5 instructs spouses that they have a sexual duty to one another, God doesn’t want you to approach sex in your marriage as a chore.” 

What does this mean, “a sexual duty”? As a Christian, I believe that we do have certain duties in life, to show care for one another and to promote justice (because life isn’t just about us as individuals; we’re supposed to be a team). Sex should be a caring activity, rooted in respect and concern for the well-being of everyone involved. I enjoy sex. I enjoy helping partners feel pleasure. But do I ever have a divinely decreed “duty” to have sex with anyone? Hell no. 

I’m troubled by the apparent attitudes of the spouses in these posts who want more sex, especially husbands. Describing a conversation about how much her sex life had improved, another Christian sex blogger recalls that her husband’s “face showed a surprising look of disgust as he said, ‘Yeah, even when we did it back then, it was like you couldn’t wait to get it over with.’” I have to wonder, if he thought his wife wasn’t enjoying the sex, why did he keep going? Did they really have to “get it over with”? Or did they just think that they had to? 

These bloggers sometimes use language and concepts reminiscent of the Sex Positive Movement, rhapsodizing about how wonderful and sacred married sex is. They promote pleasure and object to rape. Yet, they treat it as a given that married people should have sex and that low desire, even hatred of sexual activity, is an obstacle to be overcome. Sex is ultimately a duty that we must learn to like, or else we are not following God’s plan for marriage. That’s not sex-positive. That’s rape culture. And it disturbs me. 

So how would I respond to a ‘low drive’ wife who asks how she can learn to enjoy sex with a ‘higher drive’ husband? 

First, here’s what I’m NOT saying: 

  • I am Not saying that mismatched sexual desire isn’t a frustrating or even painful issue.
  • I am Not saying that sex isn’t a valued part of many relationships. 
  • I am Not saying that people shouldn’t seek answers if they want to enjoy sex more. 

In fact, I encourage people to discuss sexual issues with their partners, medical professionals, therapists, and coaches. Sex is meant to be a mutual activity that you and your partner(s) choose together. You need support and good information to make that choice (here’s where I recommend my Resources page again). 

Here’s what I AM saying: 

Christians, we don’t have to apply the Apostle Paul’s marital standards directly to modern relationships. I will say more on dear Paul in future posts (long story short, I read and appreciate him, but I can safely say that his take is oft misinterpreted, irrelevant on some issues, and dead wrong on others).

Wives, if your husbands know that you don’t enjoy sex but keep initiating it anyway, you are not frigid or “withholding.” They are trying to get you to do something you dislike for their pleasure. That is selfish, not patient or kind. If you are trying to get your partner to have sex when they don’t want to, you need to STOP immediately. 

People of every gender, if sex feels like a chore or a pain, it’s okay not to have it. I will have more to say about how to have great sex soon, but I can’t say any of that without first saying that you don’t have to.  

To all God’s Beloved…

Welcome to Unbuttoned Epistles, a queer kinky Christian’s thoughts on faith and sex in the American South! 

Here you’ll find…

  • Reflections on my journey with kink, sexuality, and faith,
  • Biblical interpretation and Bible studies,
  • Feminist, sex-positive and LGBTQ-friendly resources,
  • Sex education and how-to’s,
  • Media reviews and recommendations,
  • Stories and erotica,
  • And other queerstian rants and raves. 

For more detailed info about my purposes here, see “About the Epistles,” “About Me,” and “My First Epistle.” 

If you’d rather not see sexually explicit writing, choose the “Non-Explicit Epistles” category. Please heed the content notices at the tops of posts, and use the tags to find the topics you’re looking for. 🙂 

Be of good courage!

Perpetua Fox

She/her/hers

Be Whoever You Are – An Epistle on Feelings

[Image description: Photo is of a glorious sunset silhouetting trees, buildings, and light poles.]

Note: This post deals with some difficult feelings and anxieties related to sexual orientation. If it hits you hard, remember the Resources page! 

Greetings, Beloved!

After yesterday’s bear of a post, I thought I’d make today’s a short one, inspired by a recent conversation with a friend about sexual attraction and identity. My friend shared that they felt some anxiety about how to define their sexuality (essentially because their feelings don’t appear to fit neatly into a particular box). It reminded me of a worry that I used to have that sometimes crops back up (thanks, brain). 

In college, I experienced a lot of anxiety about whether the sexual orientation label I used matched what I thought I should be feeling (it didn’t help that I was very aware of the social and political consequences of identifying as queer and bisexual). At the end of my first romantic relationship, an ill-timed long-distance relationship with another woman, I worried that I had deceived myself into thinking that I was attracted to women at all. I read every resource I could find, trying to make sense of my experience. Internally, I cycled through a host of possible labels, even flirting with the idea of asexuality before eventually concluding that ‘bisexual’ still suited me. 

I struggled that year with a cocktail of hard thoughts and feelings: guilt and shame about my apparent inability to just get over the relationship, worries that I would never love again, and the nagging fear that I could be lying to myself about this whole thing. I thought that I couldn’t enter a sexual relationship without harming my partner(s) because my feelings seemed all wrong. Can you tell I was a perfectionist? Seriously, bless my heart!

Perfectionism can turn feelings (in themselves neutral) into reasons for self-judgment and shame. In hindsight, I was so busy measuring and judging my feelings that I couldn’t fully live my beautiful queer life. I had to get help. Fortunately, my college had a free counseling center.  

Through therapy, the support of great friends, some true tea from Brené Brown, and the healing influence of time, I gradually began to make peace with the fact that feelings are weird and finicky–including those related to sexuality and attraction–because people are weird and finicky. 

Here’s some informal advice that I gave my friend about attraction:

  • Attraction Is fluid and complicated.
  • It may change and expand…but you can’t force it to change.
  • You get to choose how you identify. 
  • You don’t have to force yourself into any label or situation that you don’t feel right about. 

So, feelings don’t come from nowhere, and it can be worthwhile to reflect on “why,” but at the end of the day, you feel what you feel. Your feelings might not be what you expected. They might not fit the mold. They might change. That’s all fine. What you choose to do with them is a more complicated matter, but whatever your feelings are, they’re okay. Let’s start with that. 🙂 Music for your consideration: “Be Wherever You Are” by Rebecca Sugar

Diversity is Chosen – Pride Sunday Thoughts

[Image description: Cover illustration from picture book A Church for All, showing a dark-skinned pastor blessing a congregation of people of all races and genders. Rainbow banners and welcome signs are displayed on the walls.]

CW: Minor mention of church bigotry

I woke too early this morning. Dragged myself to Sunday School with wet hair. Struggled to warm up my voice while we sang the first hymn. I love my home church. It is pretty much “the little brown church in the vale.” I hop right back into the choir when I visit (of course, the fact that my mom is the pastor has something to do with that).

The members of that church are my family, and I wouldn’t trade them. When I’m sleepy, church can feel like a chore, but seeing queer friends visit (and noting today that almost half the adults sitting in the congregation have grown LGBTQ children whom they affirm) reminded me of why my church community is so valuable, how it’s so freely yet painstakingly built. 

In my conservative Southern hometown, my little church is becoming a place of haven for LGBTQ people and our families. A couple of years ago, I felt safe enough to come out as bisexual to my Sunday school class (mostly middle-aged adults) because I just wanted them to know who I was. More on that story later. It wasn’t always this welcoming a place. 

When I was a child, nobody talked about queerness in my church community. The only occasion when I remember anything being said about homosexuality was one Sunday when an older male church member, substitute preaching while my mom was away, listed homosexuality as a sin during the regular Prayer of Confession. In a sense, my mom limited the conversation around queerness, not because she disapproved but because a fundamentalist segment of the congregation always overwhelmed the discussion with bigoted views. Saying “We’re not going to talk about it” was the lesser evil. 

What eventually broke the silence was a 2014 PC(USA) General Assembly ruling that allowed same-gender couples to marry in the churches. You see, in my denomination, the Presbyterian Church (USA), big changes are made by a national governing body and ratified by Presbyteries. As we say in the Presbyterian Church, “We do it decently and in order.” 

This constitutional change tore my home church apart. More accurately, most of the fundamentalist faction broke off and joined other churches. They perceived a church that was more welcoming to me as less welcoming to them. For a church our size (fewer than fifty members), it was a significant loss. We were sad to lose them–it was like losing aunts and uncles–but their absence made room for needed change in the community. It also allowed me to be open about who I was without feeling like I would be causing trouble for my parents. We lost a bit of our theological diversity to evangelicalism but created space for people like me to participate more fully (after coming out, I felt confident enough to get confirmed). 

Today, I was reminded once again that ‘diversity’ is chosen. It usually doesn’t just happen; the kind of diversity that appears in a church community depends on the values and consistent work of the people involved. What a refreshing feeling it is not to be made expendable in the name of theological diversity, not to have to shrink for the comfort of people who think I’m hell-bound. Can someone who isn’t ‘affirming’ be part of this community? Sure. But I’m not expected to hide who I am to make them comfortable. 

With its steady welcome, my church community is becoming more sexuality and gender-diverse, and its children are being raised to understand that they are loved and have something of value to share regardless of how ‘normal’ or ‘different’ they are. When one of my grandfriends makes a Pride month announcement, when my mom gives thanks for LGBTQ people in the Thanksgiving Prayer, even when a little boy in the congregation gets to be an angel in the Christmas pageant (yes, that is actually an issue for some people), I can tell that my little church is doing the work.

We’re all still learning, but we’re working together to build a community that welcomes everyone who wants to participate. If that offends our fundamentalist siblings enough that they leave, then it’s a loss for everyone, but it won’t stop us–and it won’t stop me–from building and celebrating our community. 

That’s what gets me out of bed early in the morning (to drag myself to Sunday school with wet hair). I have the opportunity to be a full member of a church that works to reflect the love of God more fully each day, and I won’t squander it. 

Be of good courage,

Fox (she/her/hers)

PS–For Christians (especially faith leaders) looking for ways to help folks to see the beauty of a church with people of all ages, races, genders, abilities, etc., I recommend the award-winning picture book A Church for All by Gayle E. Pitman and Laurie Fournier.

“Herod, They’re Lesbians!” In Praise of Biblical Fanfiction

[Image description: Photo is of a stack of weathered old dark green and brown books, including works of Shelley and Shakespeare.]

As a divinity student, I read and write a fair amount about queerness and sexuality in the Bible. A lot of it’s depressing or just needlessly complicated. There will be a time and place for me to dig into the nuances of biblical meaning, the authors’ intentions, etc., and recommend scholarship here, but not now. 

Right now, I want to give some love to a genre that most people can read, even outside the academic world: fanfiction! In short, a fanfiction is work based on a piece of pop culture, like a book, movie, or show. A fic author might ask “What happened after the end?” or “What if this had happened a little differently?” or “What was happening behind the scenes?”

Most fanfiction is archived on websites like FanFiction or Archive of Our Own. While fanfiction based on the Bible may seem like sacrilege, it’s been around for quite a while. The Prince of Egypt, Jesus Christ: Superstar, and Milton’s Paradise Lost are all fanfictions. Other works, like Harry Potter, use biblical themes to tell new stories. 

The point is, the Bible inspires all manner of creative work. Some of it invites us to see ourselves in the stories, to reimagine them as we learn. For people accustomed to seeing the Bible used as anti-queer purity culture propaganda, fanfiction can be a refreshing oasis of healing affirmation. And most of it’s free. 

It helps us see the Bible not as a dusty old rulebook or tool for bigots but as a living collection of stories that we’re still in conversation with today. It helps us bridge the gap. 

Here are a few Bible fanfic gems that I enjoy: 

Mature/Sexually explicit works:

“…Jonathan became one in spirit with David…” Quintessential David/Jonathan slash fic based on 1 Samuel 16-2 Samuel 1, written beautifully in the literary style of the Hebrew Bible

“Afterwards she blamed the serpent. It wasn’t a lie, really, because the serpent had been there, and the serpent had encouraged her. In fact it was quite possible that the serpent had arranged the whole thing. But, truthfully, it was not the serpent’s urging that made her lips part uncertainly and her teeth slice into the skin of the fruit.” Juicy and poignant Eve/Lilith femslash based on Genesis and Jewish tradition

Works for teens and older: 

“Stop telling me to leave you, because it’s not going to happen. I’m not turning away from you. Wherever you’re headed, I’m headed there too. Where you stay, I’ll put down roots. The tribes of Israel will be my tribe. Your God will be my god. Because the only thing that’ll keep me from you is Death, and even then, I’ll be right there at your side.” It’s Ruth/Naomi…in Space.

  • Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett 

This book (now a charming miniseries on Amazon Prime), is especially fun for me right now. It contains a queer bond (not necessarily sexual but deeply loving and subversive) between an angel and a demon who team up to try to stop the Apocalypse. It raises good questions about the nature of God, humans, redemption, and the “Divine Plan.” It’s also spawned some fanfiction (great but not always appropriate for all ages ;)). 

General Audiences: 

“The Exercise of Virtue” by tree_and_leaf

“Exegesis! fic, to invent a new genre label, on the story of the Syro-Phoenician woman (Matthew 15:21-28; Mark 7:24-30), who may be anonymous, but is the only person in the Bible who changes Jesus’ mind.” No pairings, but good retelling. 

Do you have any favorite fics to recommend? Have you ever been encouraged by a story? If so, let me know in the comments! 

Endnote: In case you didn’t catch the reference in the post title, it’s a play on the “Harold, they’re lesbians” meme. You’re welcome. 😉