I was so innocent when I was first married.
Came home from beauty school one day to
ask my husband, what’s a hard on?
And once when he was telling me about a neighbor
who had a two hundred dollar a week coke habit I said,
How can anyone drink that many cokes?
We lived far out in the country in a small house
that was part of his salary for milking cows.
Every week or so an ancient grizzled cowboy
who lived down the road would stop by.
He’d time his visits to make sure my husband wasn’t home.
When I’d answer the door he would walk right in.
"Hey there little lady!" he’d say each time,
putting his skinny long snakelike arm all the way around
my shoulders to feel my boob with his groping fingers.
Those fingers seemed to grow in length with each visit.
I was so young and dumb and humiliated.
Sat there with flaming face and didn’t have a clue what to do.
He knew it to. The horny old bastard.
Soon I was locking my doors and laying on the cold floor.
Cringing flat so he wouldn’t see me when he looked through the windows.
It would take decades for me to realize I had the power all along
to tell him to get lost. Why was I trained to be so dang polite?
We shouldn’t teach our daughters to be so pleasing. So giving.
Or we should teach them to choose who they want to give to.
And to tell the rest to Back Off Bucko !
Unless you want your nuts where your adams apple used to be.