When I was ten, my parents took me to a breast surgeon fearing that I had breast cancer. When a man did want to fuck me, finally, all I could think about was the time my grandfather felt me up and why I was unfuckable to him. My skin wanted to leap off of me and fling itself around his body. Previous Post Wake in the Sky. However, eventually, I found my way and came into my own as a whole person. Questions about my sexual future remained in a vortex of fear and curiosity and self loathing about the boobsie twins.
One morning, after two weeks, he disappeared.
His response at the time was fascinating, although in hindsight it was pretty generic: His insistence that I was molested was met with fierce defiance and persistence that I was felt up. At sunset, we would share a lawn chair and talk. Whispers surfaced about them physically abusing him. You get the idea. Holy shitI thought, maybe I am fuckable!