[font="times new roman"] I should have known the first day I noticed low cut shirts. It happened suddenly, or maybe I'd just been trying not to see, but either way I came to school one day and there were breasts everywhere. It must have been more towards the end of the school year, when the weather gets warmer and sweatshirts and jackets are traded in for tank tops and tees. I didn't know what was wrong with me, girls aren't supposed to be staring at each others chests, that's what boys are for. I'd be talking to one of my friends and trying to focus on her face but my gaze would drift downwards and without fail find her breasts.[/font]
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[font="times new roman"] PE was awful. During the actual class I was ok, the mandatory baggy t-shirts and shorts were quite successful at giving everyone the relative figure of a potato sack. The problem was changing in the locker room. Everywhere I looked pubescent girls were spilling out of their bras. Not only was it a bit disturbing to have lost control of my vision but it seemed wrong to be noticing this. Like the other girls could sense the invasion of their privacy. So I tried to concentrate on my lock. It didn't work. My combination wasn’t nearly interesting enough to compete with cleavage. The breasts were still there and I was still noticing them. And after a while I stopped looking away.[/font]
[font="times new roman"] That's the day I should have guessed. Especially after it became clear that my new interest in cleavage and my habit of wearing men’s clothing wasn't just a hormone ridden phase, as my relatives have so desperately hoped. But I didn't really want to guess, in all honesty being gay isn't exactly the fast track to success in Junior high; a place where even the slightest non-conformity can spell out your doom. It took me until high school to figure it out that I am a lesbian. [/font]