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Archive for December, 2010

Sentimental

I have been sick. Coughing so much that I’ve lost my voice. Yesterday (Sunday) morning was particularly bad. I could barely get out of bed. I obviously wasn’t going to be much use to the Citadel’s choir that morning, so I called in sick to get a few extra hours of sleep.

That afternoon, 1of2 sent me a text message. “Are you dead dude? I miss you” I was so touched! And, of course, I missed him too. But did I say that? No, of course not.

The last time I ate dinner at their house, as I was headed out the door 1of2 called out to me, “Bye Louie! I love you!” Once again, I definitely love him too. But still I didn’t say so to him.

This bothers me. First, I want to set an example for him that it is OK and good to express his feelings, although he clearly doesn’t need that. Still, I don’t want to set the opposite example and influence him to stop.

But secondly, and more importantly, I want him to know that I do love him and that I do miss him. But I just can’t make myself say it. Fortunately, I’ve gotten over my inability to hug him! So at least he (and the rest of the family) are no longer under the impression that I merely tolerate the boys. They know that I genuinely enjoy my time with them.

Now I am trying to buy them a Christmas present. For their birthdays I got each boy his own personal gift, but I don’t have the money to do that again, so I am trying to come up with a gift for the family as a whole. I would like that gift to in some way represent how much our friendship has grown, to express my love for the boys and my gratitude to the parents, but obviously I have an aversion to overtly putting my emotions on display. This is a long standing problem and I have been working on it for years, but I have never been so bothered by it as I am now.

I have one idea. And I can’t use it. On my Wilfred Owen page there is a poem: Impromptu. The second section is the perfect sentiment I wish to express, but I don’t know that I’d have the courage to use it, strong as it is.

Child, let me fully see and know thy eyes!
Their fire is like the wrath of shaken rubies;
Their shade is like the peaceful forest-heart.
They hold me as the great star holds the less.
I see them as the lights beyond this life.
They reach me by a sense not found in man,
And bless me with a bliss unguessed of God.

It perfectly describes my love for them (part of it, anyway) in a way that I think The Queen would interpret in a very positive way. I truly believe that she would read that “Platonically.”

But that isn’t the whole poem. So when asked where it came from: “Oh, it’s part of a Wilfred Owen poem.” Which leads to: “What’s the rest of it say?”

Yield me thy hand a little while, fair love;
That I may feel it; and so feel thy life,
And kiss across it, as the sea the sand,
And love it, with the love of Sun for Earth.

Yeah, that’s a bit harder to swallow as representing a mentor-protégé relationship.

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I have admitted in the past to reading erotic fiction online about boys and boys or boys and men. Even other combinations, provided boys are involved. I have two thoughts:

First, this is not a flattering admission, but, do I have much choice? A heterosexual woman can read romance novels, or she can read Jane Austen. Those are by no means the extent of her options, but they represent a range of literary genres that would fulfill her urge to hear stories about people who feel the same way she does. Stories that make her feel…less alone, I suppose. The women characters want what she wants, do what she does or wish she could do…

If there is a Jane Austen for boylovers, I haven’t heard of him or her. So I read smut online. I pick through the Nifty Archives, wading through the mountains of absolute shit, looking for those rare gems: good stories that make me relate. Stories that, while most may not achieve the status of art or literature, speak to my mind and my heart as well as my penis. They are there. BAGHDAD, 790 A.D. is one recent such story, concerned more with the main character’s love of boys and his distaste for slavery than it is with large dicks in small rectums.

In addition to the rare find in the archives, there have been books published over the millennia that concern themselves with topics particularly relevant to people like myself. Touched by Scott Campbell is one. Sandel by Angus Stewart is another. I am considering compiling a list. If you have suggestions, put them in the comments below or send me a note. They should specifically relate to Boylove, rather than simply being of interest to a boylover, or seeming to insinuate such themes between the lines (although those would be good lists too) such as The Gunslinger by Stephen King. (I find the relationship between Roland and Jake to be remarkably intimate…)

The second thought is really not at all surprising, profound, significant. And yet, it is all these things to me. Almost never in any story on Nifty worth its bandwidth (Baghdad is an exception, but its historical setting negates my upcoming point), nor in any published work I have read with the exception of The Moralist by Rod Downey, does the protagonist pedophile have pedophile friends. He is alone. Often, starkly.

Now, as I said, this shouldn’t be surprising. If literature is to be an accurate reflection of life, then the truth is most pedophiles are alone. We live in isolation, often literally as well as socially.

But we don’t need to be. And not all of us are. Some pedophiles couple, if their sexuality is broad enough to allow for that. Others gather circles of pedophile friends. Being in this last category myself, I can say that it is remarkably life-changing. Having the ability to meet face to face with other people, real people, to whom you can talk about your inmost thoughts, your likes, your dreams–your fears–makes a huge difference in the way you interact with the rest of the world. Your confidence increases. Self-hatred decreases. You find yourself to be more motivated and willing to take risks.

Is it any wonder that the mere thought of a group of pedophiles can send terror shooting into the hearts of those who would see my kind repressed?

I think it is time. . . Well, to start with, it will well past time for serious literature relating to Boylove to be written. Thankfully, a friend of mine with great talent is well on the way to getting just such a book published. It’s a beginning, but we need more! But beyond that, it is time that literature reflected not only the circumstances of the average, solitary pedophile, but also the possibilities that some of us have achieved (made much easier by the internet which allows us to get to know each other before revealing our identities) and the power that gives us over our own minds and over a society that wants us to be scared and alone.

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