Lena Dunham Molested Her Sister Says Everyone

Lena Dunham is being criticized for a story in her book where she talks about fingering herself in bed while her sister was next to her.

I shared a bed with my sister, Grace, until I was seventeen years old. She was afraid to sleep alone and would begin asking me around 5:00 P.M. every day whether she could sleep with me. I put on a big show of saying no, taking pleasure in watching her beg and sulk, but eventually I always relented. Her sticky, muscly little body thrashed beside me every night as I read Anne Sexton, watched reruns of SNL, sometimes even as I slipped my hand into my underwear to figure some stuff out.

And for how she bribed her sister in which she compares herself to a sexual predator.

As she grew, I took to bribing her for her time and affection: one dollar in quarters if I could do her makeup like a “motorcycle chick.” Three pieces of candy if I could kiss her on the lips for five seconds. Whatever she wanted to watch on TV if she would just “relax on me.” Basically, anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl I was trying.

People are also saying she sexually molested her sister after reading about how she spread her sister’s legs to get a close look at her vagina.

“Do we all have uteruses?” I asked my mother when I was seven.

“Yes,” she told me. “We’re born with them, and with all our eggs, but they start out very small. And they aren’t ready to make babies until we’re older.” I look at my sister, now a slim, tough one-year-old, and at her tiny belly. I imagined her eggs inside her, like the sack of spider eggs in Charlotte’s Webb, and her uterus, the size of a thimble.

“Does her vagina look like mine?”

“I guess so,” my mother said. “Just smaller.”

One day, as I sat in our driveway in Long Island playing with blocks and buckets, my curiosity got the best of me. Grace was sitting up, babbling and smiling, and I leaned down between her legs and carefully spread open her vagina. She didn’t resist and when I saw what was inside I shrieked.

My mother came running. “Mama, Mama! Grace has something in there!”

My mother didn’t bother asking why I had opened Grace’s vagina. This was within the spectrum of things I did. She just on her knees and looked for herself. It quickly became apparent that Grace had stuffed six or seven pebbles in there. My mother removed them patiently while Grace cackled, thrilled that her prank had been a success.

Dunham went into a “rage spiral” over how people misconstrued her tale of child genitalia curiosity as borderline sexual abuse.

The right wing news story that I molested my little sister isn’t just LOL- it’s really fucking upsetting and disgusting.

And by the way, if you were a little kid and never looked at another little kid’s vagina, well, congrats to you.

Usually this is stuff I can ignore but don’t demean sufferers, don’t twist my words, back the f**k up bros.

I told a story about being a weird 7 year old. I bet you have some too, old men, that I’d rather not hear. And yes, this is a rage spiral.

Sometimes I get so mad I burn right up. Also I wish my sister wasn’t laughing so hard.

I think Lena Dunham just congratulated me. When I was a little kid, I never looked at another little kid’s vagina. In fact, now that I’m an adult, I still haven’t seen a little kid’s vagina. Or even a vagina for that matter. I’m special!