A bit of autobiographical writing for Thursday April 17 2025 THINGS NOT SO HIDDEN Jill
jill stockinger
Things Not So Hidden (Autobiographical Prose Poem?) by Jill Stockinger
/ 7 min read /
I don't know why reading about Tarik's closet, his hidden desires, made me think about the warnings my parents gave me about men driving in their cars, trying to abduct little girls, or at least, trying to shock us with their penises sticking up while driving by in cars. Told to run away as fast as I could if I saw a man's penis. And to go across yards, over fences, as quickly as I could, so I could not be followed. (This was New York, after all. But blue-collar suburbs, not the gritty city! ) Told to be sure to go home in a roundabout way, being very careful I was not followed. So around age five or six, when this young chubby blonde-haired man gestured to me as he was driving by, called out, "Could I give him directions?" and I noticed his chunky white penis leaning against a lower part of the steering wheel, I did not answer. I started running, ducked under a low wooden log fence, ran through rose bushes, climbed on top of (what? ) Something and clambered into the next neighbor's yard, walked to a street and walked the LONG way round to my house. Certainly not followed! Got home. Told no one. Proud I had known exactly what to do. Around age 12, walking home from school, a nattily dressed elderly man drew his car along side me and said "Hi! I'm Mr. French, would you like a ride?" I looked disdainfully at his prune-like penis, said no, and just kept on walking. Ignoring him. He kept pace a bit, then drove away. Told no one. Resigned to the stupidity of such men. Knowing a little more, that I should "consider them sick," that it was okay to "feel sorry for them, they could not help themselves." BUT TO NEVER GET INTO THE CAR WITH THEM. As if, I said to myself. However, I have disliked the name Mr. French ever since. Age 16. Taking honors Social Studies with Mr. Seiderman, the teacher considered "the most intellectual, the most amazing." Impressed like all the other young women in the class. He ran the drama club, he introduced us to Socrates, had us listen to a record of "Howl." Asked me to stay after, to talk about a special project. He had a cubby hole of an office as he also ran Adult Education. Invited me in, asked me to take a seat, closed the door. TINY room, sitting pretty close to each other. And he unzips his pants and out pops his penis. He asks me if I want to touch it. I say no. A headache starts. He asks me if I want to go to a motel with him. I have lost my voice. Shock. I try to act mature. I try to nonchalantly shake my head no. He abruptly closes his pants, says, "Let's not talk about this. Tell no one." I nod agreement, mutely. He opens the door, and I flee. A year later, he is accused of fondling the breasts of at least two young female students. They state he did these things. Somehow (Who knew? Who noticed? I had told no one!) my name came up. Did they question all the young women in his classes who were considered to have large breasts? The school psychologist calls me in. She asks general questions. Tries to get me to relax. I feel tense. She asks me about my dreams. Makes a negative comment about the symbolism of flying in dreams. I feel hostile. She finally gets around to talking about the teacher. Explains the accusations. Asks me, gently, if the teacher ever tried anything sexual with me. If he had asked or even made suggestive comments. I say, "No." I insist he has not. I consider myself an adult. Nothing had happened. No reason to discuss this. The next year, Mr. Seiderman has gone on to another high school to teach. I have mixed feelings. I was glad he could not prey on other "less sophisticated" young women. But he had still been my best teacher. The most intellectually challenging. Still, I thought it best for our school and me that he was gone. Though I noted the hypocrisy: our school did not put it on his record, did not charge him. He just "left"–it was known he had taken another job. Final story: walking on campus, NYU uptown, stopped by a sharply dressed man, mid-thirties. He said he had a job offer. That surprised me. He said he was a representative of the UGLY GIRLS MODELING COMPANY. He said they tended to hire large-breasted females and I fit the profile. He mentioned a fairly large sum of money, in the thousands, per year. I asked curiously what the job entailed. Somewhat annoyed he wanted to label me as an UGLY MODEL, but it also tickled my funny bone a bit! Then he explained that giving blowjobs was part of the description, and I remember laughing in his face! "No thanks! Not interested," I breezily explained. But THIS I considered funny, a story worth sharing with my roommate and friends. At least he didn't try to introduce me to his penis immediately!