The defensiveness crept into her voice, and I took another deep breath. Perhaps we should just go to sleep, I thought."I kind of said my piece yesterday," I said. "I don't know that I have much more to add, without some sort of response from you."Megan just stared at her paper towel, dusted with cake crumbs."What did you think of what I said yesterday?" I asked finally."I don't know. I... I don't remember exactly what you said," she admitted with downcast eyes."What?" I slumped back in my chair, looking at her. So much for having had a conversation the day before."We were busy, and things were crazy, and I didn't have my full attention in it."I sat stone-faced. So she hadn't really listened. What was the point of talking then? Some resentment started to brew up, but then I quelled it. I knew I was guilty of such ignorance as well. How often would I drift off during conversation and then have to ask about already-told details? Enough times not to get mad at Megan now, surely. Besides,. To be honest: For the most part, I didn't notice and I didn't care.By this time, I was more than a little familiar with my father's body and to a smaller extent, his penis. He had spread his bottom for me and I diligently scrubbed between his cheeks whenever he asked, but I never thought of anything that might have anything to do with sex. And, after all, I had access to look at, even peer, at his body almost daily, every day, for the last five or six years.What did I care?By the time I was twelve, I was starting to develop into a young, very young, woman with little or no maturity and absolutely no knowledge of sex. I had little, puffy breasts that barely showed, no matter what I was wearing, but I possessed some new sprouts of fleecy, soft, thin pubic hair between my legs, which alarmed me to no end. Even under my arms, something was happening and I wondered if someday, I would have to shave as my father did every morning.Little did I know.When I was just short of, maybe a month, of.
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