Waif

by Samantha Kolesnik

mellifluously

gesticulating—the

That was the crux of my oppressive experience with men in the flesh—the ones you wished would touch you never did, and the ones you never wanted to touch you did so without asking.

Our sex hadn’t evolved much, truly, since that first time. The only thing that changed was how I pretended. I should have been angry and sometimes I was. But it was even worse when I felt pity for him, my self-esteem so low that I prized his opinion of his ability to please me far more than I valued my own pleasure.

His penis had been extraordinarily skinny. It was an odd thing that flopped out of his pants and looked grotesque, like it belonged in a jar somewhere.