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By vanrozenheim
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In ninth grade I was not sure who or what I was, but I was sure about one thing: Out of everyone, there was one single and special guy who made something inside me move, and not in the sordid sense. In those days I could not name this weird, pleasant pestering feeling I had whenever I thought of that beautiful tenth grader. I could not understand why I stutter near him, and why on earth I thought he was so beautiful. Today I laugh when thinking back to those sensations, and know exactly how to call them. Maybe it was a crush, maybe love, maybe plain old sexual attraction.
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