I was the first born daughter of a first born daughter. Which means that when I was young and we went to visit my Gramma, there were teens in the house. To this day I suspect my youngest Aunt harbors a small grudge against me. It may or may not have something to do with her saying Shh, don't tell Gramma, and me promptly telling Gramma that my aunt was smoking.
My Uncle had a friend who used to live at my Gramma's. He's behind my attraction to dark handsome men. I don't care if I was only five or six, when he came out of the bathroom in his tighty whities, you're fucking right I looked. It was whole hell of a lot more interesting than my Ken doll. Too bad I made the mistake of asking what that bump in front was. After that I never got to see him come out of the bathroom in only his underwear again. It was a better lesson on the value of keeping my mouth shut than my Aunt's ire over the smoking thing.
Then there were the older boys who lived next door to my gramma. One of them is the reason for my attraction to handsome blond men. My lascivious thoughts may have been mostly unformed, I have hazy memories of thinking that a piggy back ride on his shoulders would be dreamy. Even so, I can clearly remember the attraction I felt.
These vague childish memories of finding men attractive have stuck with me for almost forty years, leading me to believe the attraction was strong.
So doesn't it make sense that people are born with their compass already set and pointing in the direction that is right for them? What gives anyone the right to say different?
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