Father Jud stumbling back to his room after one too many drinks at the bar, full of bar food and beer and painfully aware of the swell of his stomach pressed against his sweater. The waves of guilt that would wash over him from knowing that he shouldn’t be getting drunk like that, shouldn’t be eating so much, shouldn’t be so hedonistic, and worst of all, the guilt that comes with knowing that doing those things he “shouldn’t” do sends a shiver down his spine. The guilt of lust and the lust from guilt. His own hand on his full tummy, feeling it push slightly past the waistband of his slacks, the warmth and subtle softness and how intoxicating it all feels, swirling around his mind in a haze. Him falling asleep with his slacks unbuttoned and his sweater pulled up and the thought on his mind that he really needs to go to confession soon, at some other church, far away where no one would recognize his voice.
