Just a little drink? I remember asking my mom. Then it was for a little glass of my own. Then for seconds.

Then I didn’t ask anymore.

The bartender tried to talk me out of it. Said he had a daughter who began just like I did. I told him I wasn’t addicted. I could stop when I wanted. He told me to stop. I said I didn’t want to. When he refused to give me a drink I threatened his job and saw I had hit home when he poured me another glass; though it was less than usual. I didn’t care. It just meant I’d have to walk to the bar more often for more.

I was having fun and no one seemed to notice the diagonal line that my feet took of the stench of my breath.

Then he came.

He was nice. He made me feel nice and kept complimenting me. I felt so safe with him. That’s probably why I had no problem when he took me to a room in the hotel. Or when he got me on the bed. Or when my clothes were somehow off…..

Some people just get a kiss. Why can’t I be like some people?