Chap 2> When I was maybe, oh, 6 or so, I used to always beg to go into the shower with my dad. I had this kind of issues with separation anxiety when I was a kid, so he just thought I wanted to be with him. All the time. I would sit in the bathtub under him on my slip-proof little mat, and pretend to play with my toys, but I would really be watching him. It was really fucked up, now that I think about it. But I loved to watch my father take a shower. He was so tall and wonderfully hairy and well…big. He felt embarrassed, I supposed, because he’d always try to make adult converstation with me like “so, did you hear about those Bulls? They’re on winning streak this year, that’s for sure!” or something I didn’t know anything about, but i felt so grown up talking about grown-up things with him. I think he noticed I always stared at his privates, I think he knew (felt) that this wasn’t normal, but he tried to ignore it. But I was fascinated, so I never stopped. As I got older, our little mutual shower sessions got shorter and more silent. Until we stopped doing it all together. When I was eleven, I’d wait out side the door waiting for him to come out of the bathroom in a towel, so I could catch just one glimpse of his manly, freshly washed body. I know these feelings are messed up. I was 11, ok? I was just learning. Investigating. Obviously, I don’t have “feelings’ for my dad anymore, cravings you could call them. I knew right from the time I was 6 I wasn’t like the other kids…. I was different somehow. I ignored it. I was from a big family, everyone took care f them selves and no attention was only spent on one person. Our parents loved us, but didn’t know everything about every single one of us. I kept my “wrong’ feeling a secret, why should I tell anyone? This was my own thing to figure out.