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Confessions

I fancy my neighbour's 17-year-old son. Actually I don't just fancy him—I positively lust after him. But I'm not so deluded that I imagine he feels the same way

By Arabella Weir   July 2007

So, I have a confession to make. You’ll be thrilled to learn it’s not a faux-cute, self-consciously winsome revelation such as, “I secretly love Britain’s Got Talent,” or, “I just can’t stop eating chocolate eclairs.” Or like when someone is replying to a question posed to reveal something unknown about them, like, “What do you least like about yourself?” and says, most infuriatingly, something along the lines of, “I can’t say no,” or, “I’m too kind to people who ask me to do stuff.” That’s not a confession, you twat. You’re supposed to tell us something genuinely unpleasant about yourself,…

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