Plaster His Face

Imagine a man in his 40s. He’s our neighbor. He’s known me since I was five. He’s my parents’ friend. Now I am 12, maybe 13, and while we are driving to pick up his son, he pulls the car over. He kisses me. He says, “Don’t you want to kiss me back?” He runs his hands over my just developing breasts. And that’s just the start…

I hid this for years. But what if we didn’t hide things like that? What if we made it very, very public? I recently found a photograph of him, played around with the image a bit, and imagined it as an enormous billboard. 


One thought on “Plaster His Face

  1. Pingback: Day 30 of Believing the Girl – My Dad | la quemada

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