I was 17 the first time my teacher touched me. He was 47. I was 14 or 15 the first time he paid me special attention, but a senior when he made me feel confident enough to “make the first move” in his classroom, during school hours, with the door locked, back by the closet with the shades pulled down. This went on the whole spring semester and, I’m mortified to admit, throughout college. He had me under his thumb. He told me I was so smart, so talented, so far above the rest of his students. I