“He kissed me a month ago. I kissed him back.” I watched for surprise in the Filipino priest’s eyes and found none. “Since then, he’s put his hands beneath my skirt, over my underwear four times, and I welcomed it. I wanted more.” After the day he trapped me against the door and buried his nose between my legs, he’d done the same thing three more times. His fingers never breached the crotch of my underwear. He never exposed himself, and he never touched my breasts or pussy—under or over my clothes. Much to my despair. He was fighting this thing between us and winning. I did my part by not
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