Читать книгу I Am Nobody. Confronting the Sexually Abusive Coach Who Stole My Life онлайн

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Not a demand. Not a command. A request. A simple request that at the time made enormous sense to me.

“Sure.”

I reached down and took off my socks. I leaned back and put my feet in the air for inspection. He took one foot and cradled it, stroked it. He squeezed it, twisted it slightly, ran his palm from heel to toes. He pressed into the arch. He released the first foot and grabbed the other. Same thing, an inspection, a slow, deep analysis of my foot. He stared at each foot for what seemed like a long time. It all seemed so scientific, so analytical.

“You’ve got good feet. Big, strong feet. They’re perfect. Perfect.”

The physical barrier was broken.

From then on, post-workout foot massages became part of the routine. It didn’t seem strange to me but instead made perfect sense after what he’d told me about the physical mechanics of hockey. My feet felt so good after his massages, and I’d thank him for making me feel better and helping me recover from the pain of the drills.

Said another way, I thanked him for touching me.