It started at birth. From the moment the milk entered my mouth I felt a connection. The spoon had been sitting over the fire for nine long months, the nipple just served as the syringe. By the age of 13 I had developed a pallet of a king. My mind snatched away at the very smell of food. My heart skipped a beat, butterflies swarmed my abdomen, her skin smooth and blemish free. I grasped her, using my hands to explore the curves, awaiting the moist rouge flesh that slumbered inside craving the tangy taste on my starving buds. My grapefruit stirred emotions in me. Like a chef who masterfully whisked lust and guilt into heart stopping milliseconds.
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