GUILT.

There he lay, the musty stench pervading the air, filling his nostrils, half choking him. He knew what it was. He was all too familiar with it, all of it. He had been down this road several times before, every time promising himself it would be the last time, every time failing to keep that promise.

There she lay, mind wandering, gazing on the beautiful beast that lay beside her. She knew what it was. She was all too familiar with it, all of it. She had been down this road several times before, every time promising herself she wouldn’t give it up so easy again, every time failing to keep that promise.

There he lay, choking on the musty stench of his own semen. A smell he’d come to recognize as the scent of sin. There he lay, choking on shame. He’d come back to the realization that God was watching, his eyes now rid of the blinding rush of testosterone.

There she lay, feeling cheap. She’d started to contemplate if she was really a whore. There she lay, staring at him. She knew there was only one way to let herself off the hook, if only she was certain there was mutual love between them both.

So she reaches across to hold him.

So he feels her hand on his neck.

So she feels him jerk beneath her touch.

So he pulls away from her and gets dressed.

She is overcome with self-loathing, off the realization that she just might be a whore after all. She’s ignorant of the fact that he pulled away not because the feelings weren’t mutual, but because her gentle touch was too reminiscent of the choking he already felt, from his sin, his guilt.