Orla, 25
On our first date, last October, I asked Rory how conservative he was and he said: “I have premarital sex, but I’d rather die than eat meat on a Friday.” I’d been single for almost three years and wondered if I’d ever meet someone who understood both sides of me: Catholic but liberal. When we told each other we were bisexual, I felt a huge sense of relief.
He introduced me to his friends straight away and we had sex after a week. I remember lying in bed afterwards and thinking wow, everything has just changed.
I usually struggle to feel present during sex, but I can lose myself with Rory. I orgasmed from oral sex for the first time with him – I’d never felt comfortable enough before. In past relationships, I’d use sex to gain affection and attention or I’d withdraw it to say: please show me you still love me.
Sex was a way to prove I was enough, and so the focus was always on the other person’s pleasure. But with Rory I feel safe, and I don’t use sex as a bargaining chip. If I can’t come, it’s not a big deal.
While training to become a Catholic monk, Rory was celibate for three years, so he’s proven he can go without sex – there’s never any pressure. We have it three or four times a week, sometimes twice on a Saturday morning. That’s my favourite time, when we can take it slow.
In Catholicism, premarital sex is considered a mortal sin, so you’re not supposed to take communion. At mass, when everyone goes up to receive communion and we stay sitting, sometimes I worry about being judged. Rory wonders whether sex will feel less exciting when we’re married.
The sex we have is fairly standard, but emotionally it feels new. Had he continued his training, Rory would have become a priest this year. Knowing how different our lives could have been – that we could so easily never have been together – makes what we have feel even more meaningful.
Rory, 31
I converted to Catholicism at 22 and then decided to train to become a monk, joining a monastery just after my 24th birthday. At the monastery, I found celibacy surprisingly easy, despite having a high sex drive. I left because I was lonely. People think the physical side of celibacy is the difficult part, but for me it was the thought that I’d never be able to have a deep emotional connection with a partner. When I left the monastery, I thought I’d never get married; I’m a bisexual ex-monk – too weird.
The first time I saw Orla, she was smoking a cigar. We were at a Catholic society party, and a man was telling her that he didn’t think Catholic women should smoke. She told him to fuck off. She was fun, confident and clearly knew herself, which I found attractive because I’m quite reserved. I liked that she wasn’t a stereotypical good Catholic – there was something different about her and it excited me.
I’ve always struggled talking about my bisexuality with partners and it contributed to my last relationship breaking down. But with Orla, I could be open and vulnerable about it. I feel comfortable with my sexuality for the first time.
The church’s teaching on sexuality is quite strict. I’m attracted to people I shouldn’t be – all the sex I’ve had has been naughty in some way. On the other hand, it feels very natural that Orla and I have sex. It’s a physical expression of our love.
Although the sex we have isn’t very exciting, and sometimes I worry my preferences are too vanilla for Orla, it is passionate and emotional, and that intensity makes it special. We have an ongoing fantasy where Orla is a princess in a tower waiting for me to rescue her. Sex is one of the ways I make her feel safe and reassure her that she’s beautiful – simply telling her rarely works.
