Dear Older Man, I dated him when I was an underage teen,
Did what was said come to your mind?
Are you wondering if I would write about you – if I would go online and scream out loud about what you did to me?
Are you happy now? California is beautiful and so is your family. Your wife looks your age, and your kids look angelic.
Do they know about me? I wouldn’t tell them. But I won’t be offended if the answer is no.
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I look at you sometimes, not out of longing or confusion anymore, but out of sheer curiosity.
What are you doing now? Have you ruined any other women’s lives since we stopped talking?
Not because you ruined my life, of course.
I’m in incredibly good shape. I am surrounded by loving children and a husband who I cannot imagine my life without. It’s everything to me. All I have left is… This is a lot.
The hole you dug has been filled and covered for years now. Sure, I lost part of my childhood because of you, and you may have shaped me as an adult, but I don’t blame you.
I like who I am now. But do you want it? Do you like what I did?
My father was a narcissist, so it was only natural that I would go out of my way to find an older man to try to impress him once my father’s grip began to loosen.
And don’t kid yourself, you’re a narcissist too. At least I was. Have you changed at all, except that your neck is thinner and your eyelids are heavier?
Is your navel still pierced?
Do you still have that phoenix tattoo on your leg?
Are your legs still shaved?
Are you still riding a bike?
I now have a house, a car, a family, and a dog. I’m your age now.
The age I was when we met and started dating — when it sucked the life out of my 15-year-old self.
You might say, “All men are filth.” “except me.” You were half right.
I try to imagine seducing a teenage boy, but I can’t.
What did you see in me? Why do you even want me?
I try to blame myself. I must have thrown myself upon you, the best man I ever saw; A Greek god with a hushed tone in your voice and black hair that waves as if the moon controls its tide.
do you see? I can still write bad poetry about you.
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I remember waiting for hours in your garage for you to come home from your adult life just to kiss me for a few minutes before leading me to my car and telling me we shouldn’t do this anymore.
I remember my mother almost breaking down your door to find me, and how I hid behind your couch while I dealt with her alone when I was sixteen.
May God protect me from children like me. May God protect my children from men like you.
I started parking my car in the woods a mile from your house so my mom wouldn’t find us again.
You’re lucky you didn’t go to prison. If this happens to my children, I will put the person responsible behind bars.
I’m so angry, so unbelievably angry. why me? I was just a typical teenager. A little too round, a little too angelic, a little too impressionable. Did I stalk you?
Did I force you to keep seeing me?
I have our old emails, you know.
Every few years, I look at them and think, buddy, you don’t look good. I’m embarrassed for you.
Your turns of phrase are too youthful, and your inept attempt to speak online is too transparent.
You led me. you lied to me.
But you were in it. I can see it in the messages. You made me believe.
You recited poetry to me and wrote to me four times a day about your big life, how you attended conferences, worked for a promotion, and went on ski vacations with all your adult money.
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Does your wife know you can’t keep this up? Or was that just a weird time in your life? I assumed it was me, but I know it wasn’t.
I think meeting in the church was a nice touch.
Are you still collecting money from good Catholics every Sunday? Are you scared? I am.
Will that stop you from looking to me to explain your behavior? Would that end my chance to ask you these things to your face?
If I see you again now, will my heart explode from my chest?
Would I get naked in front of you in public and beg for your lips? Will I still feel this anger? You barely affect me anymore.
Who would I be without you? Would it be better than I am now?
Knowing that no matter what I do or where I go, you shaped me, is what kills me.
I’m afraid I haven’t left any mark on you at all, and that’s my biggest fear. To leave this earth without leaving a trace. I am important. I am intelligent. I am a person worth knowing.
do you agree with me? Who have you become? can you see me?
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