Thanks, Catalina, for “read Leo’s poem today”.
Pup was 13; Tommy was 15. The relationship was consensual, a couple of kids. The great aunt’s husband was *my* abuser, two totally different situations.
You remember a lot, but you don’t remember perfectly, and in this case you are wrong both about me, and about the fictional story I wove around early memories of an actual, but in reality totally non-sexual, encounter with another boy.
There are others here who have in the past expressed interest in the side-references to those earlier stories. I wouldn’t even respond here, except to set the record straight for them. If they even care.
I’m not quite sure why you have an axe to grind with me except I called your Pages prosaic weather reports… But it’s fairly obvious that you do. I always found it interesting that you are a source of seemingly-bottomless compassion for supposed victims of various types of abuse or oppression. Except me. And I’m the last person who needs to be lectured about sex abuse, as a survivor, plain and simple.
And I meant it on the other Page: I wish you well.
I wish you well.
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