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Modesty and shame had become only words to me. Achingly small, and weak, and meaningless words. Laughter and guttural jests in the other rooms of my home were punctuated by the crash of breaking furniture and glass. But here it was quiet. My eyes still fixed on the wall, I waited. Moments passed and the quiet endured. When finally I turned, the soldier was still on his knees by my bed, his face buried in his hands as he silently wept. For a flittering moment I felt the urge to reach out and touch him on the shoulder, until my anger flared and crushed the despicable notion. To evoke such a feeling of compassion was a violation as despicable as that of those others, and perhaps even more so! I wanted to kick him. To scream and punch. To hurt him in every possible way. He looked up then and met my eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a folded photograph. He looked at it with loving melancholy and held it for me to see. I wanted to turn away, to deny him the satisfaction, but I. She snapped out of it right before her hand touched her crotch. Grace shook her head in disbelief, she’d come so close to sinning and she didn’t think she’d be able to bring herself to confess to something as corrupt as masturbating. Father Ryan was always telling her how pure and chased she was and how great that is. Grace had made it nineteen years with an intact maidenhood, she could make it a few more until she found a husband.The feeling in her gut didn’t go away though, and as she walked deeper into the stacks she felt like something was tugging on her clitoris and nipples. She looked down and sure enough her nipples were hard and visible through her sweater. She told herself she should leave but she kept walking deeper until she came to a stack that had a chain and wooden sign in front of it. The sign read, “Dangerous Books No Unchaperoned Entry.” Grace chuckled at the sign and moved the chain aside. The feeling was getting more intense and even though Grace wasn’t touching.
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