I only understood its meaning a whole year later. I didn’t know the word ‘f*ck’ until I was 15. With about 9 other relatives on the first floor. It was in a dusty half-lit store pantry on the ground floor of my grandfather’s house. It didn’t happen in an alleyway, or in a sleazy motel room. It was silent-mostly because I had no idea what was going on.
It’s not like most stories that you might have read about there was no struggling, no screaming, no taunting or violence.
