She danced through the garden grass and giggled as a chipmunk scampered across her toes. The verdant leaves bathed her bare shoulders with a healing balm as she brushed past. She reached up to grasp the colorful delicacy, fantasizing about the pleasure in the tantalizing taste of the forbidden fruit. Her coral tongue brushed against her cherry lips in eager anticipation of the ecstasy that waited. As her pearly white teeth crushed the flesh of the fruit, a drop of the juice of good and evil dribbled from the corner of her mouth, down her chin and neck, a teardrop of temptation, leaving a trail of ashen gray.
As Adam swallowed the fruit, a dull achromatic tone spread over his face, a consummation of the act of disobedience, a confusing climax that ended in dissatisfaction. A lingering longing caused the shade of shame to darken as it spread over his disappointed face. Eve faded fifty shades of gray before his eyes, and a shadow of a doubt passed over his own face as he blushed at her new complexion. They rushed to hide from the perfect intimacy of "naked and unashamed," which had been their birthright by design.
Their banishment from Eden produced a shadow over their intimacy as effective as splashing a sea of ink across the evening sunset. That swirling contamination of self-gratification still taints the pleasure of sexual intimacy between husbands and wives, creating a barrier that inhibits true intimacy of body and soul. Always present to tempt and cast a shadow onto sexual intimacy is the seductive and alluring fantasy of an elusive, forbidden fruit, hinting of Eden's perfection just beyond the grasp. Could it be true that God wants his created counterparts to experience the fullness of the real, passionate, abundant life of sexuality through mutual satisfaction in marriage?
Why the Colors Fade
An insatiable desire to return to that blissful freedom unstained by the curse of sin and separation has deceived many into believing that consuming more of that forbidden fruit will introduce a new hue of intimacy. Hoping that one taste of tantalization from media or fantasy will restore more excitement to sexuality, many indulge only to find that perhaps the very act of reaching for that forbidden fruit limits the ability to enjoy the true beauty of the exclusive intimacy of marriage.
What if dabbling with that pretend palette has guaranteed that reality will never measure up to fantasy? Has the airbrushed illusion caused the real woman to take on an ashen hue, as each turn of the page smudges monotony over the covenant partnership? Has that make-believe world, where the lovers are beautiful and perfect, where the remote controls, where the screen minimizes the risk, where the book can be laid down when the appetite of selfishness is appeased, caused her to lose her desire for the man who holds her when she cries?
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