Posts Tagged ‘pedophilia’

Well, such momentum couldn’t last forever without effort.  It’s been hard for me to come to this blog recently.  I’ve had things to write, but I just didn’t feel like writing them.  Yet again, however, I am determined not to let this endevor fail.  I will continue this blog.

Part of the problem is the video games.  Another part is the depression I’m starting to feel.  It’s just a cycle, and this should be a relatively mild one considering things are going well in my life.

I’ve quit my job (Tuesday is my last shift), I like my new job, I’m supposedly going to be mentoring a boy, and I’ve been seeing a lot of my friends.

The other problem is that I’m reading again.  How does Stephen King do it?  In On Writing he recommends writing and reading every day, but how?  If I like what I’m reading, then that story consumes me.  I just can’t…  I can, but it’s difficult to write even a journal when I’m reading a book.  (Dark Tower III.  I love Jake Chambers!)

While time with friends is great, I wonder if it contributes to my depression as well as softening it.  Every time I’m with The Boys or My Friend On The Facebook, I kind of want to tell them my secret.  But I know how they feel about pedophiles.  Obviously the idea is that I could change their minds, since they would have to reconcile their friendship with me, a known individual, with their hatred of a faceless demographic.  But while they could (and I think would) choose me, the possibilities exist that they’d do the opposite, or fail to make a decision at all and just reject that part of me.  Not all my friends will react the way The King did.  I was fortunate that he already suspected the answer and had, for the most part, come to accept it.  He still had (and has) questions, but they don’t have a bearing in his acceptance of who I am.

I think I need to at least tell My Friend On The Facebook.  For friendship to truly grow, there must be truth.

Maybe Jess too.

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I called off from work tomorrow.  They’re not going to be happy about that, but I must get better.  My voice is almost completely gone and I have a rehearsal tomorrow, a concert the day after, and then a service, another concert, and a singing-social event on Sunday.  I can’t take chances.

I remembered something as I walked back from my car the second time tonight.  (I left my phone.  Again.)  It’s raining.  Two days ago I called Jess and left a message about the melancholy feeling I get when it rains.  That elusive want isn’t the need to be needed that I talked about before.  I apparently have two unknowable longings.  This second one is more nostalgia than the other, I think, but not completely.

What I remembered was sitting on the front stoop of my house when I was a child (think 7-9, or maybe more like 6-8) with an umbrella propped against the wall, huddled underneath it in the rain.  I was making a tent for myself and enjoying the gloomy weather.  I’m fairly certain that the feeling I feel now when it rains is the same basic emotion I felt playing then.  This is significant because it proves my assumption about the rain-feeling’s origins wrong.  If I felt the same feeling that young, then it can’t be nostalgia for some forgotten adolescent event associated with rain.  It likely has nothing to do with boys.  I think I’d just come to assume it did because a) common layman’s understanding of psychology leads us to assume that all things stem from sexuality and our parents and b) boys are generally the only thing that can get that deep and strong an emotional response out of me.

But maybe it still is about boys in some way.  First, the feeling can’t be exactly the same now as it was then.  I’ve matured and evolved and had new experiences that have added to my associations with rain.  And I certainly experienced a lot of rain and tents with boys in boy scouts.

Or we could consider the possibility of an early sign of my sexuality.  (A dangerous and often misleading course of action, I have come to believe.)  I’m sure I ran fantasies of children caught out in the elements, despondent, needing rescue.  I think I remember thinking of that, playing that “game” with me as the distressed child.  (I remember being particularly fascinated with stories like Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Match-Seller.)  I don’t recall that leading to rescue fantasy.  Only the helpless situation.  Only when I was old enough to cast myself in the role of rescuer did my fantasies take on that element, I believe.  But I’ve been fantasizing that general situation my whole life.

And I think this fantasy is likely familiar for most boylovers.  It goes back to the need to be needed thing.  We fantasize about children and distress not because it’s attractive, but because it creates a need for the rescuer.

Perhaps that very fantasy – which is often featured in BL fiction – could be the root of what makes some pedophiles turn violent towards children.  The fantasy has an undeniably dark aspect.  It isn’t inconceivable that a young man experimenting in his mind with the rescue scenario could become fixated on the first half to the exclusion of the rescue portion.  Especially if he pays too much attention to the opinion of society at large that people who feel sexual attraction to children are monsters by “virtue” of their attraction only, and not their actions.  If he obsesses too much on the fantasy child’s distress it could eventually become attractive to him.  Especially if he comes to embrace that self-loathing that viewing yourself as a monster leads to.  Young men often try to live up to expectations.

Coming from someone as inexpert as myself, this may all be a load of bollocks.

In any case, the rain makes me feel melancholy in a sweet way that I want to nurture, while making me long for something unknown and lost.

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I foolishly left my journal at home yesterday.  Well, not so much foolishly as forgetfully.  I meant to bring it, knowing I was working a double.  In actuality, though, I worked a tripple.  The AM shift had two banquets overlapping.

Anyway, The Restaurant seems to have hired a pair of children.  (I assume they are 14.)  The one is about 5’8″, red headed, changed voice, and slightly overweight.  The other, on the other hand, is 5’6″ (still tall for my usual taste), brown haired, skinny, unchanged voice, and has a very cute face.  And beautiful skin.  Quite attractive.  They were stationed by the dish washer to clear a la carte servers’ trays.

Also that day, in my second room, there was a boy probably about nine years old who looked a lot like a slightly younger version of the boy in the JCPenny’s comercials on Hulu.  (The Ice/Nice one.)  Every time I walked out of the kitchen, or carried a tray toward it, he would watch me openly.  He probably watched all the servers as they did their jobs, since the impression I got from him was one of strong curiosity.  He was very cute.  It seems to me that he was watching to see how the job worked.  Where we went, who was where, what we were bringing in/carrying out.

He’s not the first boy to watch me so closely while I waited tables.  Many weeks ago, near my beginning but after my training, there was a wedding when I had my tray stand right next to a boy I took to be around 10.  He also openly watched my every move.  I spent the whole time hoping he ‘d ask me questions.  He never did, of course.

With the dish boy in the kitchen and the JCP boy in the dining room, I noticed that I worked harder, more diligently.  I moved with greater purpose, made sure to smile, follow procedure, do everything with greater efficiency.  It’s something I’ve thought of before, and even considered writing about but never did, in part because I never had this tool –  the journal – that is so welcoming to such observations.

The observation being: boys inspire me.  I mean, really.  They have shaped me since I started noticing them.  While being a pedophile/boylover in an intollerant society has shaped me in various ways – some positive, some negative – the boys themselves have only ever been positive influences.

So many pivotal moments can be dated to when I was 13.  Christmas when I was 13 I discovered (rediscovered) my great-uncle’s colection of English men and boys choirs Christmas carol albums.  Those recordings inspired more interest in the other classical LPs in the basement.  I was drawn to them because of the boys’ voices, but in listening raptly I learned to love the music and the genre as well.  I’d always had an interest in classical music, but that’s when it became a passion.  In those other LPs I discovered Mozart, and then as my ears matured, Bach and Beethoven.

I bought from Boarders two CDs of boy music, also when I was 13 I think.  A compilation recording of Westminster Cathedral Choir and a Vienna Boys’ Choir CD featuring mostly solos by an also 13yo Max Emanuel Cencic.  The Cencic CD I loved, with its Handel, Mozart, Schubert and Strauss.  At first I didn’t like all the 20th century stuff on the Westminster CD, but again the voices inspired me to grow.  It eventually became my favorite CD.

A leadership position got me over my first hump in Boy Scouts (13 yo), but it was the boys (Candy, Orange Hat, Owl, CIA, N, Casper, Little Man, Fox, and finally The Beloved) that got me over the second, so I stayed to and beyond Eagle Scout.

Boys are the reason I joined the Citadel, and that has been an excellent post to have for many reasons.

I’m sure there are many more examples, but now I must eat, shave, change and go to work, yet again.

*I found some pages of skit scripts I wrote for skit night at music camp.  Kinda funny.  I was 14 when I wrote them, I think.  I had horrible handwriting.

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I am not old.  Most people would still consider me little more than a kid.  I am old enough to drink, but my generation is still viewed, not as children, but as “kids.”  Still, I’m old enough to think about my childhood as something that is over, and will not return.  And I have been, recently.  And–holy crap!–everyone was right.  I’m NOT going to be able to remember everything forever.  I’m already starting to forget stuff!

That’s unfortunate.

So, I decided it’s time to start writing things down.  I started a journal.  The journal serves two main purposes for me.  I’m using it to stop the dribble of old memories from running out my ear while I sleep and getting washed out of my pillowcase when I do the laundry, never to be seen again.  I’ll write old memories down which I think were significant in forming who I am and memories that are just too pleasant to risk forgetting.

The second purpose is what most people use a journal for.  To record my memories, my “story,” as they happen.  To structure my thoughts.  Studies show, journalling improves long term memory, blah blah blah…

It’s also practice writing, and as someone who aspires to write creatively, that’s always time well spent.

But that’s my journal, and this is my blog, so what does that have to do with this?  Well, as I was writing I kept thinking about how it would be received by a person not me.  I think–though perhaps it’s pure hubris–that it could be interesting to a third party.  So, you may love it, you may hate it, or most likely of all, you won’t ever even read it, but I’ve decided to adapt parts of my journal into blog entries.

Why would it be interesting?  (Or controversial, as the title claims)  What could I, an early 20 something guy, possibly have going on that is worth reading about?  I’ll tell you.  (Even as I prepare to type it out on the screen in the privacy of my room, where I can delete it without a soul seeing, without having to speak a word aloud, my heart is pounding and my hands starting to shake.  NEVER think that it is easy to reveal this sort of thing to anyone.  Not to one’s mother, one’s best friend, the purportedly anonymous internet at large.)

I am a boylover.  A pedophile, if you must.  Palsambleu that’s hard.  Before you reach for that “report” button or navigate away, or before you become angry at me for using the two terms as though they were interchangeable (I don’t believe them to be), let me explain to you what I intend here, and how I see myself and those words.

This blog is not going to be about boys.  It’s not going to be filled with “pro-pedophilia activism” or accounts of illicit liaisons with “lily-lad” but rather, as I said above, it is going to be an adaptation of my journal entries.  It’s going to talk about things like tiresome jobs, maxed out credit cards, a fun night out with friends, recently viewed movies, my neighbor’s annoying dog (which hates me right back), troubles with computer viruses and maybe even the occasional discussion of foot fungus.

That said, the blog is not going to be devoid of mention of boys either.  Boys are an important part of my life.  I think about them, perhaps not all the time, but quite often.  The most insignificant of encounters can turn a bad day into a good one.  A distant sighting of a particularly beautiful specimen of boyhood can distract me totally.  But my talking about boys will be in the context of my life, which is much bigger than my sexuality.

As to the difference between boylover and pedophile…  Every boylover–probably every human, for that matter–likely has a different way of defining these words.  To me, they’re like squares and rectangles.  All squares are rectangles (being a parallelogram having four right angles) but not all rectangles are squares (being a parallelogram having four right angles and all sides of equal length).  Pedophile is simply a generic term synonymous with pedosexual.  A person who is sexually attracted to minors.  (We could go more in depth and define separately pedophilia, hebephilia and ephebophilia, but if you’re really that interested, you can refer to the lies on wikipedia.)  A boylover is, oddly enough, attracted to boys.  It is a refinement of the broader group.  But as a term adopted by a community of people to define themselves, it has further connotations beyond the physical attraction, such as a genuine interest in the happiness and well-being of the boy, even at the expense of the boylover’s own happiness and well-being.  But like I said, this is how I think of these terms.  Others may, and will, disagree.

So there you have it.  Blog about the regular every day life of a boylover, no matter how unexceptional that may sometimes be.

Thanks for reading,

Louie Singer

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