I grew up in an average environment. My father was an architect for a mid-sized firm downtown and my mother taught the 3rd grade at a private catholic institution. When I was 8 years old, I was tested for an advanced program called Gate, but otherwise I was never exceptional at anything. I never played a sport, or an instrument, and in memory no exceptionally cute boys asked me out on a date during high school. In fact it wouldn’t be until I started going to college that men started noticing me.
Admittedly, the attraction was towards my pubescent girlish figure. I’ve often stood in front of the mirror and wished my breasts would grow. Instead they stood taunt against my body, half a handful in my palms with the pinkish flesh of my nipples peeking out from between my fingers. My skin was milky, and creamy. A man I dated once told me that my skin was like condensed milk and he wanted to brush his dark, chocolaty skin against it, spreading me apart until he could taste my strawberry center.