It was Halloween, 1987.
My son was six years old and attending a private school on the Upper Westside in NYC. His teacher had arranged a little party for the class at lunchtime, and I’d offered to bring cupcakes. They were a mixture of chocolate and vanilla with bright orange butter frosting. I recall every detail because of what happened to me on the way there. Continue reading Is rape by fraud an insult to “real” rape victims?