After we moved back to California, arguments came up around the shape of Jon’s desire—the way he talked about my body or looked me up and down. These were advances I had welcomed when we first met. They made me feel desired. But I was beginning to reevaluate my past, and I couldn’t comfortably welcome this plain objectification anymore. I told him this talk felt boyish, adolescent, which hurt him. But the stakes felt high for me now: in bed, Jon’s touch also sometimes triggered memories of being coerced or forced into sexual acts. “When you touch the back of my head when I’m going down on
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