I had my first frottage at age three, and munched on my first sausage (elder brother the second) at age five (a conscious act, mind you).
Growing up was hellish; I had to fight the demons that plagued my very existence. Being a pastor’s child, you’d think that everything about my sanctity had been taken care of. But no! It could not be taken care of by the Holier-than-thou persons that were around me.
It turned out to be the perfect irony that Mother Nature could ever conjure – me, as who I am, and an offspring of a Christian home. An existence that came with beautiful lessons to be learned, bearing in mind how my pain and hardship has helped shape my perspectives and curbed my excesses. Continue reading