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My name was Millie Wilson. I was a dance freshman at my university.

Less than a month into the semester, the boys privately rated me as the most beautiful girl on campus.

As I walked around campus, their lecherous gazes wrapped around my body like snakes, sliding down from my chest to my thighs before crawling back to my face. I knew what they were thinking: filthy and lustful thoughts. However, I enjoyed such gazes.

Whenever I deliberately swayed my hips as I walked across the basketball court, the balls that the boys were holding would suddenly lose control.

They would never have the chance to touch a body like mine. For them, being able to feast their eyes was already a blessing.

The girl in the mirror had the most innocent face, yet the most sinful figure.

My mother's excellent genes had been exaggerated in me. My breasts were so plump that they almost burst through my clothes, and the curve of my hips made many married women feel envious. These excessively feminine features made me swing between innocence and seductiveness. It was almost too much to take in at once.

No one knew my secret.

When I was sixteen, I started having embarrassing dreams. In the dreams, different men pleased me in different ways. As I grew up, the fantasies became more and more uncontrollable. They burned away my sense of reason like a wildfire.

I wondered if I was sick. Otherwise, why else would I be so obsessed with this?

There was no shortage of suitors on campus. The boys from the physical education department chased me like dogs in heat, their love letters spilling out of my locker. Their muscular bodies exuded a strong masculinity, yet they bored me. Simple-minded musclemen possessed nothing but brute force.

Last week, I met Heath Mallard at the campus hospital. He was different from all the other men. His body beneath the white coat was tall and slender, while his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses were calm and collected.

When he lightly touched my wrist with his gloved fingers to check my pulse, I almost collapsed into his arms. His mature and restrained aura, unique to older men, was as addictive as alcohol.

My nighttime self-pleasure sessions became more and more frequent. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him standing before the examination table in his white coat. I needed him, and the desire for him was driving me crazy.

One afternoon, I spent a whole hour preparing. Warm water gently slid over every inch of my skin. In the steamy bathroom, I examined my flushed body as my fingers lingered on my collarbone.

I chose an almost transparent white tank top and a dangerously short denim skirt. Most importantly, I did not wear a bra.

The girl in the mirror was both innocent and wanton. It was the kind of look that most aroused a man's desire to conquer.

Walking through campus, the gazes of passersby were more intense than usual. A professor on a bicycle even crashed into a lamppost because he turned around to look at me.

I pretended not to notice the stares, but my underwear was already slightly damp with excitement.

The campus hospital was more bustling than I had expected.

The waiting area was full of girls, all wearing exquisite makeup. None of them looked like they were there for a medical checkup. During the 40 minutes I waited, girls kept emerging from the examination rooms. They all looked radiant, their legs trembling as they walked. It was as if they had experienced some kind of ultimate pleasure.

This only strengthened my determination.

"Come in."

The voice from inside made my heart race. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the examination room.

Heath sat behind his desk, his white coat spotless.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting fine lines on his face as his gold-rimmed glasses reflected a cold glimmer.

When he looked up at me, his Adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly.

My legs suddenly went limp.

He was even more captivating up close. Something dangerous lurked beneath his ascetic aura.

I imagined him examining my body with his gloved fingers, and my breathing quickening unconsciously.

"What seems to be troubling you?" he asked, his voice calm as if he was discussing the weather.

I bit my lip and slowly walked toward the examination table. My short skirt rode up with each step, almost revealing the curve of my buttocks.

I knew he must have seen it. Men always looked there first.

I whispered, "I feel unwell all over. I need you... to give me a thorough examination."