During my jaunts back and forth through the campus, I didn’t see Father Magnus. I looked for him. Not because I wanted to see him. But I was thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about the tender way he held my face and stroked my lip. For so many years, I’d fantasized about receiving affection like that—a caress, a longing look, an adoring kiss. I wanted to experience it so badly I could taste it. But all I’d ever encountered was frantic fondling, sloppy kisses, and some interrupted blow jobs.
