a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable or inappropriate; or force inwards by compressing forcefully
I do this to myself.
The first time, in the third grade, it was Chris T. I can think of multiple persons throughout my young life that became the object of my obsession. When I got to seventh grade, it took on a new angle, as I had my first inappropriate crush, on a teacher. Not one of those cute schoolgirl crushes, but not quite at the criminal point either.
When I was fourteen, I pined for a boy who only knew I was alive because I slipped notes in his locker and found reasons to visit the store down the street from my house where he worked. Never had I volunteered to go out and get more of whatever we were running out of, until then. I took a babysitting job because it was just a few doors down from his house. I cringe to think of how I behaved and hope he didn’t notice my stalker-like behavior, though I know he must have.
At fifteen, I met the man who would change the trajectory of my teenage years. The crush I had on him was incredibly powerful. It affected me in a way that I wouldn’t have imagined possible, and still stays with me to this day. I never had a crush on my ex husband. I thought this made our relationship more interesting. I didn’t realize the fault in this argument until later.
I would like to say that my crushes are special, and they are, but the quantity would lead you to believe that they couldn’t possibly be. I find myself feeling that impetuousness that inevitably comes with the new discovery of someone I have an interest in.
I want to know everything about them. What turns them on? What makes them weak? What do they do when they’re alone in the dark at night? What do they want? How do they want it? I get lost in the fantasy, the peeling back of the layers. I like the coquetry, the “getting to know you” portion of the conversation, the mystery and fascination.
I feel often, at this point, like I can’t help myself. I know it’s a slippery slope. Innocent flirtation leading into the kind of territory that puts me in a precarious position. It’s dangerous to be thinking of one man (or woman as the case may be) while sleeping beside another.
Most of the time, my interest wanes and the threat is nullified. Sometimes, rejection slaps me in the face, and the temptation is gone.
The problem comes when the crush seems to be, or is indeed, mutual.