” The key looked a lot like an allen wrench, the kind that came with the Ikea bookshelves my dad had put in my room a few summers ago. She inserted ...he key and give it several twists so that it tightened snugly around my wrist.“There. And the only way to remove it is with my key. Other wrist, please.”She did the same to that, as well as to both of my ankles, using that same tone of voice the entire time. Not exactly cold, but somewhat detached.“Now, to make sure you don’t get any ideas about. What she was afraid of, really, was that she wasn’t sorry that she’d touched her teacher like that. She wasn’t sorry her teacher had done such dirty bathroom things or had kissed her like that. She knew that stuff was wrong, and now she was shocked at herself for liking it. For not caring any more about breaking the rules. For wanting to do it more and more.Her values shifted. It was an easy victory within her–of depravity over decency. Why couldn’t adults touch her, really? If she wanted it,. More

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