Art was the closest thing to an angel that you could think of. You and him go to the same church, and you look forward to seeing him there, on his knees, praying with his eyes shut and lips parted.

And you were downright sinful, wearing loose sundresses and licking your lips at him. Art was a good boy, he didn’t act out, but you tempted him horribly.

“Do you really want my help?”

He felt shy when you asked him to help you get closer with God. He was naive, you took advantage of his innocence.