Introduction

If you did not take the time to read my profile, I am a very exhibitionist, very submissive, 40-something, female with 36D (all natural) breasts who is often described as "hot”-- but you can check out my photos and decide that part for yourself. Although I have a professional career, about eight or nine years ago I secretly started doing a few topless and then nude waitress gigs for fantasy football draft parties, bachelor parties, birthday parties etc.  I say “secretly” because I cannot advertise or have a website without risking my professional career, so I am trying to limit that risk by just answering ads on CL and other sites. I do not do this type of degrading work because I need the money but for the intense thrill I get from doing it. In fact, I would do these gigs for free, but I found that party organizers do not take me seriously unless I charge a fee.  

Please understand I am not writing this to get more work. I actually have a rare backlog of gigs at the moment (knock on wood).  My motivation for writing is more out of frustration. In the few instances when I have tried to tell people about my “side work” –a few of them will doubt I am for real-- and those who do believe me ask how I could possibly have ended up becoming such a hopeless exhibitionist /submissive that I would use my nude body to provide this degrading and objectifying service to groups of strange men--especially when I do not need the money. The answer to each of these questions is the same and is easy to understand once you know more about the critical incidents in my life that made me the way I am today.

Unfortunately, it takes time to explain all of this and so most of the time I just give up and do not even try. I recently encountered this situation of having to explain myself again, and decided it would be better to just write this explanation down once, and then refer to this writing instead of repeating all of this information over and over again. Moreover, to be honest, I think I may be writing this to find out if people think I should seek therapy (lol).    

I did not get this way overnight but in a step-by-step process that is best described with a step-by-step explanation. The problem is that this explanation makes no sense unless I start from the beginning. To keep this at a readable length, I will write it in a few chapters (assuming anyone is interested after reading this). This Chapter One describes the first steps or events in my life that led to my becoming a hopeless exhibitionist /submissive. 

Step #1-- I Don’t  “Measure Up”

I was almost a year older than most of the girls in my 11th grade class (I was 17 when I started 11th grade while most of the other girls were a few months over 16). However, because I had been a “late bloomer,” in the “female body development” category, by this time I had already developed a habit of wearing men’s shirts with baggy pants, or ankle-length, “peasant-style” outfits; or really any outfits that were shapeless and baggy. I pretended I was “making a fashion statement”—that I was telling the world that I could not be bothered to care about the sexy fashions that the other girls were wearing—but really, I was just hiding my underdeveloped body in shame.  

Not surprisingly, because of my frumpy wardrobe and low self-esteem, I was invisible to boys—not only in school but also in malls, supermarkets, or other public places as well.  As a result, I never had dates or experienced relating to boys sexually in any of the “normal” ways. These facts created a vacuum in my sexual development, which allowed the incidents and events I am about to describe to shape the kind of behavior that I would come to regard as “sexually exciting” in the absence of any other experiences that I had for comparison.    

Step #2 – The Obsession Takes Hold

Starting in 11th grade, I began to notice an increasingly frequent occurrence in the halls at school. I would be walking behind a group of girls from my class, and a group of boys from our class would pass them going in the opposite direction. As they passed, the boys would make lots of loud comments about the outfit that one of the girls was wearing. The girls would yell back at the boys, calling them “crude” or “animals,” but almost always--after the boys had passed--I saw that the group of girls I was behind would all start giggling and fawning over the girl whose outfit had drawn so much attention. Each time I would see this happen, I desperately ached to be “one of those special girls in the hallway.”

I saw first-hand that getting all of that male attention not only made that girl feel like she was very special and unusually attractive to men, but it also made her “socially special” to all of her female friends --who showered her with all of their attention as well. I cannot think of two more important feelings for any female to have at that age—or any age really. I hope most people will understand how deeply and firmly my desire to be “one of those special girls in the hallway” was “planted” in my brain at this relatively young age of 17, and why that “seed” would grow inside me until it blossomed into making me the exhibitionist/submissive slut that I am today. 

Step #3 – Ch- Ch-Changes.

Even as my body finally began to change over the years from when I was mid-16 to early-18 years old, I continued to hide it under baggy, “full-coverage” clothing, and I just assumed that boys would laugh at my body if I ever tried to show it off

In fact, however, in that time I grew almost four inches taller, thinned out, and gained some curves. More importantly, my bra size exploded from “trainer size” to my current 36D (which you can see on display in my profile photos). Yet, the few times I would ever dare to look in a mirror, I always focused on the negatives in my body and never saw anything positive.  

As hormonal changes set in, I became increasingly obsessed with my desire to be “one of those special girls in the hallway,” and to hear boys making comments about my various body parts, or about the things they wanted to do to my body if they had the chance. This obsession increasingly dominated most of my waking thoughts –and even some of my dreams. Worse yet, as the intensity of this obsession increased –so did my sexual frustration- because I believed that it was impossible for me to ever realize that dream.   

Step #4 – A Crazy Quirk of Fate Changes My Life.

Everything changed for me one day in late-September of my senior year in 1999. A couple of weeks had passed since my 18th birthday, when a quirky set of circumstances led to the first in a series of events that would set me on a course of becoming a hopeless exhibitionist /submissive. I suppose I could skip this Step #4 –and simply describe that incident itself – but I feel it is critically important for me to describe to you the unlikely series of events that led up to this life-changing incident–even if that description is a little lengthy.

Anyway, a few weeks after the start of my last year of high school, there was an organizational meeting of the drama club during the last period on Friday. It dragged on much longer than expected, and since I was the new president, I had to stick it out to the bitter end. As a result, I missed the school bus. Since my father had left us–my mom and I were a one-car family. That meant that if I wanted a ride home, I had to wait a few hours for my mom to get off work. So, I decided to walk a little more than three miles to get home. Although there had been severe thunderstorms all day, luckily, it had just stopped raining an hour or so earlier.

I tossed my books and backpack into my locker and headed out along the shortest route to my house—which was to walk through a huge subdivision development that was under construction, and then connect to a path through some wooded conservation land that led to my backyard. Although there was no grass in that subdivision development at this point, they had just finished installing some paved streets and sidewalks in the part I needed to walk through—which made that route the easiest way home.  

As was typical for me at that time, I was wearing a Mexican-style “peasant outfit” made of a light, “lacey” material. Even though it was all one piece, it had a series of five layered “skirts” below the waist.  The top “skirt layer” was wider and shorter than the other four, and the next four layered “skirts” under it were each longer and narrower than the one above it. The last “skirt layer” came down almost to my ankles and was quite narrow. It is hard to describe this outfit so I posted a picture of a similar dress in my profile.

About five minutes into my walk through the development, I heard a loud roar behind me. When I turned toward the street –a large dump truck roared by--splashing up a muddy mix that soaked the front and sides of my outfit with not only water, but some fairly thick mud. I instinctively turned away, and a few seconds later, another dump truck roared by and soaked the back of my outfit in mud.  Each of the light, lacey skirt layers in my outfit became so soaked and muddy that it compressed all of the skirt layers below it. As a result, the last and longest skirt layer was literally plastered onto my legs all the way down to my ankles --almost like a cast. Since I could barely walk, I realized I had to take this dumb outfit off and try to fix it before I could walk home.

Fortunately, there was a steep hill a couple of hundred feet behind me that ran through much of this development in the same general direction as the sidewalk and road that I was walking along, but at a 45-degree angle away from it. The hill was only about 150 feet or so high but way too steep and rocky for the developers to build on—so they had left it wooded, including a small buffer of wooded land about 40-feet or 50-feet wide running along the entire length of the hill. I had no choice but to waddle over to the closest part of that wooded buffer area to take off my peasant outfit and assess the damage.

 Once I got into that wooded area, it did not take me long to realize I was not going to be able to wear this mud-soaked outfit if I wanted to walk. The top blouse part was not too badly soaked, so it rolled down easily, but I had to sit on the ground and tear the front and back of the bottom skirt layer in half just to be able to open my legs more than a few inches. I then had to tear and peel off of my skin pieces of fabric from the bottom skirt layer that were plastered onto my legs before I could even get this outfit off. After tugging, struggling with and tearing at this outfit for about 10 minutes to take off the lower five delicate, lacey skirt layers –all five layers had become a hopelessly tangled wad of muddy material.

There was no way I could wear what was left of my outfit--so I wrung out the skirt layers as best I could, rolled them up as tightly as I could into the top of the outfit and then used the two puffy shoulder sleeves as handles.  Luckily the temperatures were in the high-60’s, because after I finally got that mess off of me, all I had left on was my thin cotton bra and panties and sneakers. But at least now I could walk.

The question then became, where was I going to walk now that I was wearing only my bra and panties? Being in a single-parent household in 1999--a cell phone was a luxury I could not afford. So, I had no way to call anyone. My only real option was to walk in the wooded buffer area that ran alongside the hill as long as it kept going in the general direction that I was headed—even if the direction of that buffer area was taking me a good distance away from the paved sidewalk and street that I had originally been following.

Although my bra and panties were only slightly damp when my journey started, there were no paths in that wooded buffer area, so I was walking through soaking wet vegetation. As a result, after a while my thin cotton bra and panties became so wet and transparent that I looked like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest. Nonetheless, I had no option at this point other than to continue following the hill and buffer area. To make matters worse, I never wore the size 36D bras my mom bought for me because they were full of pinching wires and thick elastic straps that felt like a strait jacket. So the bra I was wearing that day was over a year old, and was only a size 34C—even though I was now a 36D. Worse yet, the elastics were so old and loose, and the cotton part of my bra was so heavy from being soaked, that this bra could no longer hold my now 36D breasts in place if I walked very fast.

My plan to follow the wooded buffer area near the hill worked fairly well until there was no more hill--and so no more wooded buffer area. Even though I would now be out in the open, I had no choice at this point but to continue heading in the direction of the conservation lot behind my house. As I emerged from the last portion of wooded buffer area, I could see that I was in a new area of the development that had only recently been cleared and marked out with sticks, strings, and occasionally small areas marked with yellow tape. Fortunately, there did not seem to be any construction activity in sight.  There was an area near me that was marked-out with stakes and appeared to be a “street.” It was not paved, but it was covered in gravel so at least it was not as muddy as the rest of this new area. Since that “street” seemed to be headed in the direction of the conservation lot behind my house–I started to follow it.  

I moved as quickly as I could without my tits constantly popping out of my old, undersized bra. After a while I noticed a backhoe in the distance parked on the side of the gravel road I was following. It was parked next to a small area marked off in yellow tape.  I stopped and watched it for a while –but nothing moved and no one came in or out of it. Since this was the only gravel “street” heading toward my home that I had seen, I decided to risk getting closer. When I reached the backhoe, it turned out there was no one around. It looked as if they had started digging a hole in the area marked off on three sides by the yellow tape, and then stopped when the rainstorm hit. The hole they dug so far was about six feet wide and about eight feet deep--but the side that faced the backhoe had either not been dug out yet or had caved in.

I was about to continue walking when I heard a loud rumbling noise. At first, I assumed that –as had always been the case before—the noise was coming from the distant area of the development where all of the construction activity was taking place. But this time the rumbling sound kept getting closer. So, I hid behind the backhoe and looked back along the gravel road where I had just been walking. I was terrified to see a huge truck coming around a bend in the gravel road carrying three tall concrete cylinders on a flat bed. It had some kind of a blue “arm” sticking up from behind the cab. Then I saw that a large pickup truck following the big truck. The backhoe was too close to the gravel road to provide much cover. So, I slid down the caved-in part of the hole to the bottom, and crouched down there hoping they would all drive by.

 

Step #5 – Dreams Do Come True.

At first the big truck did drive by me as I had hoped it would –but then it stopped. When I crawled partway up the caved-in part of the hole to peek over the top, I saw that the taillights of the big truck were just beyond my hole and that the pickup truck had stopped about 20 to 30 feet behind it.   

Two guys got out of the cab of the big truck, but I could only see the guy who got out on the side of the truck that faced me. He climbed up on the bed of the truck where the tall concrete cylinders were. Three guys got out of the pickup truck. I could not see much, but one guy seemed to be standing in the bed of the pickup, handing something down to the other two guys who were on the ground. Those two guys would then carry some long, thin strands of what looked like canvas material from the pickup truck over to the back of the big truck and toss it up onto the flat bed of the big truck before going back to the pickup truck for more.

When the guy who had climbed up on the bed of the big truck started walking toward the back of the big truck bed, near to my hole, I quickly slid back down the caved-in dirt in the hole and crouched in the bottom. My worst nightmare was realized when I heard the guy in the back of the flat bed yell out to the other guys, “Hey, I think there’s someone in that hole!”

The two guys on the ground ran over to my hole. The first guy to get there asked me if I were OK. I tried to say that I was-- but I was so scared that no sounds came out-- so I just nodded. He asked me again—and this time I gave him a thumbs-up sign and nodded faster.

The second guy who had come over, then yelled out, “Hey-- guys--it’s a chick! And let me tell ya --you are gonna wanna see the rack on this babe—holy shit!”

Then the other guy standing near the hole yelled up to the guy standing on the bed of the big truck, “Hey Mike, if this is the ‘special bonus’ you promised us for working three weekends in a row--then forget the overtime -- just give me an hour with her!”

My entire life and world changed in that instant. I was no longer scared, but instead was extremely stimulated. My brain slammed so quickly between two such conflicting emotions that it multiplied the pleasant stimulation exponentially. There is no drug on earth that could possibly match the high I felt when I heard those comments. That is why I remember all of this in such detail.

Out of nowhere, this was the sudden realization of my dream. I finally was one of those special girls whose body was getting all of this male attention. But these were not just some boys in my class wanting my body and making comments about it –these were real men—and they were lusting after my body and my breasts!  My long-dormant hormones suddenly surged through my bloodstream like a narcotic. They created overwhelming physical sensations that literally stunned my brain and numbed it so much that I almost passed out. My hormones were now in complete control of my body—not me—but my body was a more-than-willing puppet for them to manipulate and control.

The guy on the back of the big truck then yelled at me, “What the fuck are you doing? Get the hell out of there—now!" The guy who had said he wanted me as a bonus then said, “Hey Mike, take it easy-she’s just a kid.”

I instinctively knew I had to let these guys know I was 18—or my dream-come-true would end as quickly as it began. So, I tossed my rolled-up outfit out of the hole, and climbed halfway up the caved-in part of it. I then pointed to my rolled-up outfit on the ground and shouted back as loud as I could, “I am not a kid! I’m 18…and I have an ID in the pocket of that dress to prove it, but your stupid dump trucks drenched my dress in so much mud that I can’t wear it anymore. And that is your company’s fault-- and so you owe me a new dress!”

The guy on the back of the big truck (who I now knew was named Mike), yelled back at me, “These are the only two trucks that my company owns, and they just got here ten minutes ago. So, I don’t owe you shit. And, damn it, I don’t care if you’re older than my fucking mother-- just get the fuck out of that damn pit—NOW!” 

Then he shouted to the guys standing near the hole, “As for you fuck-offs, you got ten minutes to put your eyes back in your heads and get that dizzy broad the hell out of here. I need you to spot for me and we’re dropping the first well (maybe he said "bell" --'m not sure) in ten--if not sooner.”

After that pronouncement, Mike and the other guy from the big truck turned their focus to the canvas strips in the back of the big truck, and did not seem to have any further interest in me –at least for now.   

By this time the third guy from the pickup truck had come over near the hole and was pointing at me and talking with the other two guys. I reached up over the edge of the hole, and grabbed my rolled-up outfit in one hand as I climbed out of the hole. For some reason, I decided that I needed to raise my hands over my head as if I were surrendering as I walked up the caved-in dirt to get out of the hole. As I did that, the three guys from the pickup truck suddenly started whistling and clapping, and one of them said, “Whoa, sweetie—you weren’t lying—you definitely ain’t no kid!”  

I briefly glanced down and realized that when I raised my hands over my head, both of my tits had popped out of my undersized, old bra. So now, instead of covering my tits, my collapsed bra was just pushing my bare tits up and holding them out. I pretended not to notice that my breasts were exposed because I was enjoying all of the attention my body was getting from these guys, and I wanted them to see everything I had to offer—but I did not want them to know I was doing that intentionally.  

As a result of all of this stimulation, my brain was numb from the sensory overload and I was literally stupefied. So, I guess I just naturally adopted a personality that was a combination of all of the really stupid blonde characters with big tits and no brains that I had seen in the R-rated movies I’d watched on Cinemax without my mother knowing.  

In keeping with my dumb persona, I kept my arms up over my head and pouted and pretended to be scared as I asked the three guys near me, “Oh my... am I in trouble for …for you know…being down in there?”  As I was saying that, I turned my torso toward the hole and then intentionally motioned five or six times in the direction of the hole by moving one of my raised arms up and down--knowing that my bare breasts would bounce each time that I moved my arm to make that gesture.  

All of the guys started laughing, making comments to each other (which unfortunately I could not make out), and then one of them started shaking his head and responded, “I don’t know, honey. I think we gotta take you to the cops and turn you in.”

I dropped my rolled-up outfit on the ground, extended my arms with my elbows slightly bent, and clasped both of my hands together in front of me—as if begging—and said, “Please no ...please don’t do that. I’ll do anything…. Please.”

As I was pleading, I rotated my torso in the direction of each one of the three guys, faced each of them, and then intentionally shook my clasped hands vigorously out in front of me—so that my breasts would wiggle and shake like Jello for each guy as I was pleading with him. The more these guys were enjoying my predicament, the more excited I was getting sexually. When I saw how much they enjoyed thinking that they were in control of this nearly-nude, dumb blonde--- I decided to use all of my drama club skills to convince them not only that I was exceptionally dumb, but that they actually had complete control over me. By increasing their enjoyment—I was intensifying all of my own pleasurable sensations.

Then one of the guys chimed in, “Whew, it’s gonna be really rough for you, honey, if we gotta turn you in! You know them cops gotta do full cavity searches on you ‘cause that’s required procedure now.” I put my open palms on both sides of my open mouth and looked horrified. But then, using my best “dumb blond” mannerisms, I changed my expression to one of total confusion and asked, “What is a cavity search?” 

They all started making jokes to each other, and then the guy who had said the nice things about my “rack” when he first saw me came over and snapped the elastic on my panties while telling me in a voice loud enough for the other guys to hear, “You know if you take those off here and let us do those cavity searches –well then--we just may not have to turn you in after all.” 

I again played the dumb blond, and looking very confused I responded, “Oh my—you mean I have to take my panties off for you to do a cavity search?” My question prompted a round of laughter and “Hell yea’s” from the three guys in front of me.

I was thrilled and extremely stimulated by everything that was happening, but I was worried about the guy named Mike. So I quickly glanced over at the big truck, and saw that Mike and the other guy had swung the long blue arm that was behind the cab of that truck around so it was now over the large concrete cylinder in the very back of that truck. They both seemed very busy attaching the strips of canvas that were laid out on the back of the flat bed to different parts of that concrete cylinder. So, I figured I still had more time before Mike might intervene to ruin everything.

I did not want these three guys to know how much I was enjoying putting on a show for them, so I slowly and sheepishly slid my panties off over my sneakers while acting as if I were totally mortified. I was now standing in front of them with my bare tits hanging out of over my bra-- and my panties in my hand instead of covering my butt and pussy area. The more I humiliated myself by following their directions, the more aroused and excited they seemed to get—and the more excited and aroused I got. In order to keep feeding this cycle, I asked in a very sheepish voice, “So now what do I have to do?”

The guy who had said the nice things about my “rack” earlier told me that the first step in doing a cavity search was for me to hand my panties over to him. When I had done that, he told me that I had to turn around, spread my legs, bend over and grab my ankles. When I had finished assuming that position, I looked back at the three guys through my legs with the top of my head near the ground, and my tits hanging down toward my chin and said, “Is this how you want me?” The response was a mix of laughter and shouts of “You know it, baby!”

Meanwhile, Mike must have seen that his three workers were not making any progress in doing whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. He jumped off the back of the big truck, bounded over to where I was standing with my butt still up in the air, and started screaming at the three guys, “You assholes get the fuck away from that dumb broad--and get to work-- or you’re all fired!” Then he turned to me (who was still obediently bent over with my butt in the air), slapped my butt so hard that I fell onto my knees, and yelled, “And YOU –damn you --get your bare ass dressed and get the fuck out of here! If I ever see you within ten miles of this place again, I’m calling the cops—is that clear?”

I knew this thrill ride was about to end, but I wanted to squeeze a few more minutes of excitement out of it.   So, I got up and started rubbing my butt where he had slapped it while sobbing and pretending to be scared. When that did not seem to have the desired effect, I increased my sobbing level to soften up Mike.

Then I told him through the fake sobs, “But sir, I need to get my panties back. I can’t go home like this!”

He grunted back at me, “Fuck. Damn it all… OK fine. Get them- and then get lost. You hear?”

As he walked away, his cell phone rang and he started talking on it as he got back into the cab of the big truck.

I put my tits back into my bra and called over to the three guys who were now walking back to the pickup truck. Once I saw that they were looking at me, I started to “girl run” in their direction in an uncoordinated loping fashion that I knew would make my tits bounce out of my bra and then bounce around wildly as I “ran” toward them. Then I started waiving one hand over my head as I ran (to call additional attention to my bouncing bare tits by adding some additional jiggling to them). I began shouting, “Guys, guys, wait up. My panties—I need my panties. I can’t go home like this!”

When I caught up to the three guys one of them held out my panties and said, “Sure--here you go.” But as I reached for them—he pulled them away and tossed them to another guy. I then turned to that guy and held my hands out and pleaded, “Aw, come on, please... can I have my panties back?” Then, in order to give them the impression that they were in complete control of me, I motioned toward my bare pussy area with both hands and said, “You wouldn’t make me go home like this—would you?”

The guy who had my panties held them high over his head and shook them. I knew I could put on a show the guys would enjoy by jumping up and down after my panties. I made sure that each time I jumped, my arms were raised as high as possible over my head, so my boobs would fly up in the air as I jumped up. Then each time I landed I bent backward slightly so my bare, wet boobs would smack back down onto the bare skin on my chest with a loud slapping sound—which the guys seemed to enjoy.

After a few minutes of my nude jumping, the guy holding my panties told me to get on my knees and sit up and beg for them with my “paws” and tongue out like a dog. Secretly, I was thrilled --but I pretended to be totally humiliated. I looked confused and started to whimper.

When I hesitated, he said in a voice as if he were talking to a dog, “Come on, girl, sit up and beg for your panties, good girl, good girl.”   

I pretended to look sad and defeated as I got down on my knees in the mud, bent my elbows and held my arms out in front of my bare tits while letting my wrists go limp --in a pose like a dog begging. Then –as he had ordered--I started panting with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. For good measure, I also started shaking my tits a little and whimpering between pants. All of the guys were now laughing at me hysterically.

After entertaining the guys like this for a couple of minutes, I said I thought I had done enough to deserve my panties back, but the guy holding them ordered me to bark.  I started to (fake) sob instead. But after he said, “Bark doggie –bark if you want your panties!” I started to make some barking sounds much to the delight of all three of the guys around me.

But the guy holding my panties was not satisfied and ordered me to bark louder. Then, after I had been in this humiliating pose and barking for a while, the guy holding my panties said he had changed his mind and tossed them to the third guy. All of the guys started laughing at me and calling me a “stupid bitch” and a “really dumb bimbo” (as well as a few other names) while I just knelt there—looking nude, helpless, and frustrated. To add to their enjoyment --I added in some (fake) sobbing.  

Although I desperately wanted to continue playing this game of “keep the panties away from the dumb bimbo” with these guys, I heard a door slam and looked over to see that Mike guy had emerged from the cab of the big truck. He was using his shoulder to press his phone against his ear while writing something with his right hand on a clipboard in his left hand. For a while he didn’t notice the four of us, but when he finally looked up-- he suddenly got off the phone, tossed everything he was holding back into the cab of the big truck and started screaming and running toward us. The third guy who had my panties—put them over my head and then pulled them down really hard over most of my face. Then all three guys turned and ran toward the pickup truck, laughing and high-fiving each other.

I pulled my panties off my head, got off of my knees and started to run in the opposite direction. I kept trying to put my panties on as I was running, but I would just stumble and end up on my back with my panties around my ankles and my legs spread apart up in the air.  When it seemed that the Mike guy was more interested in chasing those guys than in dealing with me, I just stopped and put them on normally. I then ran over to grab my muddy peasant outfit from the spot where I had dropped it. As long as I was still running, there was no point in trying to stuff my tits back into my old bra, so I just let them bounce in the air as I ran. 

After I got a few hundred feet away, I stopped running, stuffed my breasts back into my bra and headed for home. I followed the boundary of the subdivision project without further incident until I eventually could see the path on the conservation lot that led to my backyard. For that entire walk home—and for a long time after that -- I kept reliving that brief incident, trying to remember each second exactly as it happened and savoring every second as I relived it. This was a thrill beyond anything I had imagined. I was just 18, but I was already addicted to all of these feelings I had just experienced. I knew I would spend the rest of my life trying to find ways to get that same thrill again and again. It turned out this addiction was so overpowering that I could not help but try to feed it again only a few days later.   

[To be continued in Chapter TWO if anyone is interested]