Another reason people, especially girls, may have thought I was gay was that I ignored them. I should say, they thought I ignored them because it appeared as though I was not looking. I was and am, but not when they expect it. I see you, cute girl with the short brown hair. The dress worn to make me look at you, the make up and hair casting the same spell as the mirror, forcing eyes to turn. What can I say, I'm good. I trained myself, early on, to not look. Imagine you turn a corner and I have been coming towards that corner head on. I see you as you turn the corner and immediately I look away, the memory of your body and face still in my head. You turn the corner, maybe you are looking at the sidewalk or a car and you don't see me at first. By the time you do, what do you see? A guy who is not looking and who therefore, you presume, does not think you are attractive and the reason is you are not or he is gay. And like I said before, because I have perfectly defined facial and bodily features, you go with your latter reasoning: I am gay.

To explain. I do not look at girls for very long because I never wanted to give them one goddamn thing. I love my mother, always have. There is not a single bad memory of her, but nonetheless I grew up hating attractive women. Or at least, I wanted them to know that I did not give a shit about them. It might come from the fact that I grew up chubby, with low self-esteem. That could be it. It's hard to believe, but I was a fatass.  ¶ 10:01 AM