I’m not going to tell you my name, has to be one of the weirdest sentences I’ve written. I’m not going to tell you my name but I’m going to tell you everything about my life that no one would ever guess, not the imaginary guy who is so deeply in love with me, nor the imaginary guy who fantasizes about me, not even my boss whose wife comes in once in awhile, the same wife who shares a striking resemblance to myself.
I’m not going to tell you my name, but I can tell you that I’m 5’6, I have chestnut colored hair that barley covers the top of my breasts. I get up in the morning and weigh myself, nearly everyday I look down and see the same 118lbs roll itself onto the digits of the screen. I cross my arms in front of me, hugging my breasts, as I sleep without a top, but my thinnish underwear hugs my hips. I turn to look in the mirror and my breasts are small, but enough to curve beneath my ribcage and fill one of my hands, they’re round and the nipples are pink. I turn to the side, and brush my hair from view, there’s a slight cup beneath my butt that separates it from my leg, but otherwise it’s not wide nor extensively protrusive. I flex my leg and stand on the balls of my feet; better, it’s a trick I learned from an article I read online some time ago.