With her encouragement to seek out his own thoughts on intimate matters, Pelle had often gone to Maria in his head when he sought to release. It had been wrong by other's standards, but she had been so forgiving about the whole ordeal, and pressed that it was part of growing up. There were other girls too, in sordid situations - as sordid as his mind could paint them - but he had a constant in his imagined harem, and she was here with him now.<br/><br/>He felt a new rush of comforts in her, staying close like this, and his eyes lived between her breasts when his head was down cast and leaning on her. For a moment he thought it was only right that he'd get a peek, or a taste. She'd raised him, and now he had all this confidence in skinship that he'd never experienced. She was worried, and that alone made him happier, but her also wanted more. This kind of justification toward selfish impulses felt fresh going through his head, and it was hard to recognize it as a sin when it was so cerebral.<br/><br/>"The Father already denied me." he said. His voice was calm, remembering. A kind of still wrath seeped into his chest at that. The Father, their fountain of forgiveness and bliss. He'd spoken to the boy with some disdain, subtle because pious men learn to hide it in sanctimony, but the room had filled up with judgment's nuances. Then, Pelle hadn't cared, but with the onset of whatever was spreading in his heart and soul, he was feeling increasingly wronged.<br/><br/>His lashes clipped at her when she asked about the details of his new-- cruxes. For a moment, just for her, there were worms swimming in the green rings. "What are the bad things you think of, Auntie?" he asked, voice like it had been, when he asked her if she'd be his wife, ten years ago. It was an unnatural sound, impossible for his grown-up vocal chords. Images of old tantalizing of hers would run over the inside of her skull, vivid and insistent. "What bad things do you want to do?" he asked back. His scent became deeper, like a breeze of his essences coiled in her sinuses, uninvited but dominant and pleasant.<br/><br/>Pelle shook his head and held on to her harder. He pressed his chest into hers. His greens were their usual, faded radiance when the worms hurried into his pupils, and his lips were less certain, like the confidence just now had left him. He seemed somewhat shaken by it, too. "I don't know, Hillie. I saw horrible things, and I thought they were beautiful." he complained. "I saw you and you were begging me to make you feel like a woman. You were putting my old flute..." There wasn't really need to explain. "I saw the congregation mutilated and it made me want to laugh. I saw father's sodomizing themselves with the bones of their daughters." He cried into her chest again, his face moving and compromising the breasts underneath the blouse.