Well, here's the first draft of the piece I was supposed to do for my writing class last week. Basically we got given this picture
And we had to write an inner monologue (from the POV of the man) about lust. This is what I came up with. It's not the final version so comments will be appreciatedScorched
It won't be long until he comes to me. I can feel him there, watching me, rapture in his eyes as I perform the blessing. How he would despise me if he knew the truth, the way the blood rushes to my loins when he's near. Oh, I am truly a damned creature.
I pray every day for my salvation, but my soul is weak. No matter how fervently I pray I still think of him, dream of him. Sometimes I wonder if he has been sent to me as a test just as the Lord tested Job. Oh, how weak I am.
He's approaching me now and I don't know if I can bear it. I'm burning and for a moment I wonder if the fire will consume me entirely. But no, I'm still here and he is kneeling before me, his pale youthful eyes fixed on me with wonder as he awaits his communion.
With a trembling hand I place the morsel of bread in his mouth and my thumb light brushes his lips. They're so soft, like the petals of a newly bloomed rose. I wonder what it would feel like if I didn't pull back. If I allowed him to suckle on my finger. But the moment is past and my hand is now back at my side.
He's looking at me expectantly now and I realise I have yet to hand him the chalice. I look down and see the wine, the blood of Christ. It will bring him his
salvation, but I am beyond that now. The desires of the flesh are too much for me.
He takes the chalice from me, unconscious of the way his very touch makes me feel. Oh how I wish I could be an innocent such as him.
He is gone now and I am alone.
How badly I want to gather him into my arms and caress him. To run my hands through that lusciously soft hair and to press kisses to those tender lips. I want nothing more than to make him mine, to show my love physically, emotionally and spiritually.
But it can never be. Those lips of his are reserved only for prayer and his love is only for the Lord.
I'm burning again, burning for him and burning with shame. And no matter how much I feel I know that this is only the beginning. The fiery gates of hell are awaiting me and Beelzebub is waiting to draw me into his arms and make me his. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.