You're an engaged and involved member of your Church. Imperfect, but certainly not a diet Catholic: You read First Things, you know your Aquinas, and try your best to navigate a tide of excessive social liberalism as well as extreme conservatism, both an anathema to your own theology. Given the polarization and increasing secularism of the country, not to mention heightened bigotry, you were one of the first to answer the call when your local Diocese started extending a welcome to the city's Muslim and Jewish faith leaders for a series of dialogues and community events. The nearest mosque responded, and eagerly connected you to their recently elected Board president.

This grace was welcome, but unexpected, though it wasn't the first of your surprises when you met her--yes, her. Her tanned skin was the hue of rich caramel. A woman with striking, almond-shaped eyes the color of midnight and fluttering, dark lashes. Her ovular face framed by a luxurious headscarf, highlighting her strong cheekbones, sharp face softened by a delicate nose and full lips. She moved her slim palms and digits when she spoke, carefully, elegantly--eyes twinkling and teeth white when she laughed. Her accent was natural, but touched with a hint of the foreign, hinting at her roots abroad but local upbringing. And though she opted for well-made abayas and modest blazers, it was difficult not to notice the generous dips and curves which made themselves known upon with her slender frame. You were instantly struck by her. Not only for her beauty, no, but the deepness of her faith and the wit of her tongue, far and away from the image of a demure or silenced Muslim woman; hell, she could probably face off against the grouchiest and meanest member of your own community who resisted these events.

Slowly, over teas in the office, as you planned the series and its logistics together, you got to know her. About how her family came from overseas with little to nothing, operating a string of small businesses, saving up to send her and her siblings to college. She was a consultant by training and practice, but educated in political science, and raised to dignify herself and her faith. It was this steel and fire in her that let her challenge and reform her local mosque for years, becoming its first female Board president. It wasn't simply her courage or good-humor that made you feel so at home with her, but the striking complimentary between your own experiences as a church-goer challenging your own co-coreligionists, and your shared commitment to faith in an increasingly godless society, the both of you liberal in your openess and conservative in your convictions. Something just fit about you two, something felt so naturally right. And so you began to look more and more forward to your monthly meeting, which became biweekly, and then once a week. Sometimes planning, and sometimes mutual idling, your eyes dancing over each others, the warmness in your gaze and timber in your voices lowering until one would cough politely, check the time, and sheepishly mention 'Same time next week?' And when you missed her, and replayed the conversation in your minds eye, you began to imagine others. Conversations across dinner, or on the couch, conversations melting into silence, into the exploratory movement that closed the gap between your lips and hers; a wordless conversation where all the unsaid things would be dictated by your palms removing her modest layers and exploring her flesh, your mouth and digits mapping and exploring her, gently, insistently, claiming what no man had.

You knew it was a gamble inviting her for the next meeting at your place; that perhaps you'd offend her or make things awkward by assuming a familiarity that wasn't there, jeopardizing not only your friendship but the program you fought for. But the days and nights of the same 'What-If's' and heady images occupied your days, and guiltily touched your private repentance. It was the strangest thing, perhaps an answer to a prayer, perhaps a test, that as you knelt by the bed your phone buzzed with a text. "I'll be there."

Heya, thanks for reading this far! I want to explore the torrential and erotic relationship between a Catholic man and the Muslim woman he's struck up a friendship with. I'm open to exploring what happens this evening, whether it's simply a confession of feelings, a first kiss, or even a consummation, and then exploring the guilt, romance, and complexity of their subsequent meet-ups. If you're interested in a more short-term and less emotionally charged fare, then we could play a scenario where the two save themselves for a controversial marriage, with a honeymoon to get away from scrutiny and explore each other as man and wife, or how they navigate their mundane life as a settled couple. Race, religion, ethnicity, and gender clashes all here make the perfect recipe for emotional depth and very searing sex. If you're interested, hit me up with your ideas for your character (name, appearance, background) and what direction you'd like to explore this prompt from.