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August 17, 2008
The Priest did not understand me then, himself bound to his body by its call, so petrified that it might show, while desire was pouring out of every pore of his body and surrounded him with a sour stench, desire unnaturally constrained by an overgrown, unnecessary morality, his mind pale and coated in sweat as it struggled to curb the willing muscles, the adolescent lust. Now surely he has mutilated it, that primitive force; so many years of curbing will have resulted in a monstrous deformation, a placid creature within him, lifeless like panna cotta, dead, horrid.