I remember the way he looked at me. The first time. Like I was new meat. I miss the way men used to look at me. I’m not sure why I miss being objectified but I guess it never really felt like it. To feel desired is to feel accepted. He was married. That matters to me now but not back then. Until I met his wife. She was pretty, and tall. I was short and fit and curvy. She had blonde hair and green eyes. I have brown hair and brown eyes. I’m just on the borderline of looking exotic, although 60 pounds later I just look like a porker with a double chin (I’m working on that, thanks Weight Watchers). He was so sexy, I can still remember it like it was a few hours ago. His skin glistened in the sun. It was this color… not quite tan. But you know the color white guys get when they get some sun but don’t quite tan? And he had a thin layer of sunscreen and sweat over his muscles. Looking at him was a shock each time because you only see men like him on television. And what was crazier is he wanted me too. I could tell by the way he looked at me and told me I looked good. The way he tried to touch me every time I passed by. But I didn’t… I couldn’t. I grew up then. In that moment. When I met a wife and realized that I didn’t want to be the woman that was despised. I didn’t want to be that person who makes another woman feel unworthy….betrayed and ugly. Outside he looked like rainbows and cotton candy and a warm summers day with the scent of flowers and ecstasy in the air. On the inside he was confused and broken and unable to realize that one day he’d break someone just as bad as life had broken him.

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