I remember their eyes.

I remember before it happened.

I remember after it happened.

I remember when it happened.

I remember the dress I wore. Black fitted, slit on the leg and red roses along the neck.

I remember I was young, a child, though I cannot remember how old exactly.

I remember their eyes.

I remember how they grew in size when it happened.

I remember being on a stage.

I remember sitting on that stage.

I remember standing up from that stage.

I remember my dress opening.

I remember my underwear showing.

I remember their eyes.

I remember telling people after it happened that I was embarrassed.

I remember feeling obliged to.

I remember whenever somebody would ask me to tell an embarrassing story, even years later, I would tell this one. Part of it.

I remember when it happened.

I remember not feeling embarrassed at all.

I remember my face turning red.

I remember it feeling like that first sip of alcohol.

I remember it feeling good.

I remember it feeling wrong.

I remember feeling sexy.

I remember feeling desired.

I remember feeling proud.

I remember not understanding why I felt these things.