As he talked about how nice my father was, he started running his hands on my leg, feeling them up.
At this juncture, I told her what happened to me four years earlier.
He had only gotten married a year back and his wife was expecting.
But because they my parents trusted him and it would be my word against his, I could not tell anyone; and, of course, he warned me that if I told anyone, he would deny it and deal with me.
The irony about it is that, sometimes you blame yourself.