I could feel his hot breath on my neck—he was tall, taller than my husband—and his other hand came around and started groping my left breast.I didn’t say anything. But I did shiver—a shiver of fear, I suppose, or possibly arousal. I didn’t know what this young man was doing, or how I felt about it…but my body was responding. I could feel myself getting wet, as the teenager dating my daughter openly groped me in the kitchen.He used his feet to spread my legs, gently pushing first one leg and then the other. The dishwater was starting to get cold, but I continued the illusion of housework, even though all I was doing was polishing one wet dish over and over again. Ash moved his hand from my ass to my thigh—I was wearing a floral dress that went down past my knees, and as his left hand found my hard nipple and started tweaking it, his other hand slowly started inching my dress higher and higher, until my inner thigh was within reach.My breathing was heavy as his hand made contact with. I don't get to prejudge anyone or anything. I have to let the evidence decide who's guilty. Last time I tried to go with the way things looked, or pick the obvious wrongdoer, you guys hung me out to dry and I got my ass fired. So if it's my ass on the line, I'm doing this my way."I left him there sputtering and balling up his fists while I went into the room. As soon as I walked into the room, Mr. Smythe jumped up. He was the male version of his wife. He was balding, pot-bellied and full of himself. He combed all of his hair to one side to cover up the fact that his hair was beyond thinning in the front. He had small, beady, piercing eyes and he liked to step up into people's faces and point his fingers at them.His entire persona said,"I am important and you will listen to me." Anyone who had to be that much in someone's face obviously had hidden self-esteem issues. It was almost like he wasn't trying to convince other people that he was important as much as he was trying to convince.
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