I’d let you do anything to me, I know that now. And maybe that’s why I was watching what I was while I thought you wouldn’t notice.
God knows why I was so nervous when you found out my secret. Maybe it’s because I look a certain way. Maybe it’s because I know deep down how fucked up it is.
But I can’t help what I’ve been taught about men like you. I can’t undo generations of knowledge and thought and generalisations.
I can’t stop my genes from knowing exactly what they’re good for.
And I can’t stop myself. Or you. Or the inevitable things that happen when a man like you is alone with a woman like me, while your stepfamily has a weekend away.
