In the periphery of my vision, I can see them caressing my body with their eyes and mentally undressing me. I can’t sip on a straw or suck on a lollipop in public, without perverted minds imagining about what else they could put in my mouth. I avoid tightfitting clothing encase they mistake it as neon signs announcing my sexual availability. I spend more time trying to dull my attractiveness and sex appeal, then most women do to attain it. I’m just tired of all the sexual innuendos, the catcalls and even the well-meaning compliments. Being the constant object of male fantasies and lust isn’t a blessing, it’s a curse.