My first reaction was sheer panic. The bra was the only thing I had in my hands and I threw it, right at his grinning face. My brassiere hit the window glass and fluttered to the floor and lie still stood there, grinning like a possum eating shit. I covered my tits with one arm and slouched down to the floor in a desperate, embarrassed crouch and huddled there, sobbing, till he went away. It seemed like hours.

When I got home from the dance, he was sitting up in the kitchen with a bottle of beer. "Hi, kid," he said. "But then, you're not a kid any more, are you?" He got up from his chair and started toward me. I was frozen with fear. I wanted to scream for Mom, but it was Friday night and she was still at the plant. Tony stretched out his hand. His fingers touched my shoulder. I shrank down, gurgling with terror.

"C'mere," he said, beer-breathed. His fingers tightened on my shoulder and he gave a little pull. I stumbled, lurched toward him. He reached up with his other hand and the fingers closed on the soft little swell of my left breast. Even through my sweater and I could feel the heat of his fingers the defiling dirt of them.

I shivered, said "No," and tried to wriggle loose, but my body felt like a hundred pounds of jello. He clenched with both hands, one on my shoulder, one on my tit, and I arched back, a scream fluttering on my lips, ready to burst forth at any moment.

"Not so little at all." Tony grinned, and he leaned his face toward mine. I'd never been kissed for real at thirteen, but somehow I knew he was going to kiss me. And I didn't want it, didn't want those beer-flavored lips on mine, didn't want his hands touching me in naughty places.