Young

I was 23 years old, and I had never been kissed.

Never so much as even had another person hold my hand in a romantic way. I had never been asked to a dance, or out on a date. I was thoroughly convinced that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. It was the only explanation that made any sort of sense.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I didn't find myself to be particularly attractive. But I didn't seem to be unattractive either. Growing up, I had hated my body. My genetics meant I was never going to be petite, and I had played sports as a kid, resulting in a stocky, muscular physique as I grew into adolescence.

When my awkward phase started, right around age 12, I stopped playing sports and became a bit chubby. Looking back at photos from that time now, I really wasn't that fat. But having spent my formative middle-school years in Southern California, I was always the chunkier one amongst my friends and peers. I can recall several instances of being teased mercilessly by other kids who felt it was their job to remind me that I didn't quite look like the beautiful, blonde beach volleyball players that captured the attention of every crush I'd ever had.

"Your hair doesn't match your face..."

"Your face really isn't that pretty..."

"What's the matter, seat not big enough for you?"

...

And on and on and on -- you get the picture.

By the time high school started approaching, I was fed up. I tried starving myself, and then crash diets, and then obsessive amounts of daily exercise. Each one gave me the results I wanted, but none were sustainable. I was miserable, and still ended up hating the way I looked, always striving to reach higher levels of what I deemed perfection. It wasn't until I started college that my body began to just mold into the new dips and curves provided by puberty on its own. I also developed a regular exercise routine and healthier way of eating, and the pieces just started to fall into place.

Years of struggling to be accepted by both myself and those around me had made me into a hardy person who knew what they wanted out of life. At least, I thought I knew at the time.

I felt so young back then, hopeful and excited and ready to experience the world.

After graduating from college, I was living in a rented room in a house near campus with my best friend and roommate of over four years, Katie. We spent the summer working in a local coffee shop together, going to the beach after work and eating sushi at our favorite spot over in the gayborhood. When the summer ended and fall started to creep its way into the air - a relative term considering autumn in San Diego is only, on average, 10 degrees cooler than spring and summer - my friends inevitably started discussing what they wanted to do for Halloween.

I didn't particularly care, as I intended to stay home and watch movies or write like I always did. But this year, they seemed determined that I go with them. They wanted to go to this bar in the Gaslamp District called McFadden's, and wanted me to be the third Powderpuff Girl with them. I had never had a sip of alcohol in my life at that point, so the idea of spending a night at a bar where everyone else was going to be drunk, horny and trying to hook up really didn't appeal to me. But somehow, and I truly don't remember how, they got me to say yes.

I wish to God I had known what was in store for me at that bar.