Slut child. I was watching cartoons. In a room. By myself. He lay down on the bed, his pose mirroring mine. He begins stroking the mountain-range length of me; head, hair, cheek, shoulder, arm, waist, hip, thigh, calf. An endless petting. I watch cartoons. His sour breath, garbled words. His hand. Slow and stroking. Feeling him inch closer, narrowing the valley between us. I want for bedsheets, a night-light, a way to hide, shrink away. Monsters aren’t always in closets, under beds. I watched cartoons, unsure. Uncle ****. He’s nice, right? My dad’s friend. This is okay, right? Then why does it
...more
