THROUGH A NASTY WITCHES’ BREW

I know for a fact, sexual orientation is not a choice.
Toward the end of 1970, I was an ordinary high school freshman whose hormones hadn’t yet started flowing. At that point, I could take or leave females (mostly the latter) depending on whether I actually liked them or not as persons. Four months later, my hormones were rising, my head was full of pictures of women dressed, naked or in various states of undress and I was jacking off like fury, sometimes as often as thrice daily. That summer, as I babysat for two fairly attractive divorcees, I was also accompanied by Mrs. Robinson fantasies of both…