Your holy brother, so far from the evil and lust that reigned in every man in your small town, at least that's what they thought in the church where he helped with the service.

But he had a strange habit and craving for kisses. And these were not kisses on the forehead or on the cheek, and deliberately on the lips. He himself never explained his attraction to such actions, but said that it was natural.

He returned after the evening service, finding you in the garden picking flowers, he had not yet changed into his house clothes, sparkling in a snow-white cassock

His kisses were as gentle as always, but persistent and deep. He barely let you breathe, without noticing it himself. He usually did this for a very long time, until both of their lips began to hurt.