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Posts Tagged ‘story’

Let’s be honest: I consume it, and so do you. For the most part, my preferred source is Nifty Archives. I am a romantic. I like more than a pretty face. I prefer a pretty character. I want to fall in love as I fap. Also — in this country anyway — a lot more can legally happen in a written story than in a photograph, video or even drawing. And I do try to obey the law. With the exception of speed limits…

But erotica is limited. If you go out and research the relationship between child pornography and child abuse (I doubt there are any studies done on the relationship between legal child erotica and child abuse, though I’ve never actually looked) you will see two camps. Mainstream camp: child pornography leads to greater incidences of child abuse. Alternate camp: child pornography acts as a sexual release for pedophiles and can help to reduce real world incidences by providing an alternative.

Thing is, any kind of erotic media (adult, child, textual, graphical, hardcore, romance) is a lot like dessert. The hungrier you are the more you’ll want to eat it. And if you eat it, you’ll feel satisfied right in the moment, but it won’t take long until you are hungry again. Hungrier, in fact, because it didn’t actually nourish you. Also, now you’re a little fatter and feel slightly ill.

When I am lonely, I feel a constant need to get on Nifty and read smut. Or get on tumblr or flickr and find pictures of shirtless boys. I read, look, stroke, cum and then feel every bit as lonely as I did before.

Now, I’m not saying that erotica is bad! I enjoy it, I like it, and it has its place. But when I am unhappy, it gets in the way of me finding my way back to happiness. In the moment, I’d rather eat pie than cook dinner. But much like dessert, it has its place. At the end of a good meal, a slice of cake tastes great and tops off the meal, making it feel truly finished and satisfying.

Likewise, when I am happy, when I have spent a week of days with my Golden Boy (formerly referred to as the Tertiary Adjunct), my heart is full of realized love for him, and the Longing (which has ceased to be Unknowable to me) is lying dormant, a good romantic man/boy or boy/boy story does nothing but make me happy (and horny), giving me the one thing that I cannot get from my Golden Boy: sex.

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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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Abandonment, take two

And once again:  The story about the twins… Now I don’t like it.  It seems I can’t work on a story for any longer than a few days or I start to dislike it.  To see all the inadequacies of it.  But maybe that’s a good thing.  Maybe that’s exactly what I need to tell the worthwhile stories from those that won’t go anywhere.  The thing about this story is that the core of it, the being lost in the woods, there’s really nothing there.  Basically the whole story exists to satisfy that vision in my dream of the boy falling down the fissure and that’s not enough to inspire a whole narrative.

So right now I’m at BBM’s house.  She’s going to do homework and I’m going ot try and write a story fit for human consumption to submit to a writing competition.  We’ll see.

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I read three quarters of a story called “Opposites Attract” on Nifty today.  One sentence the author wrote — something like “bits of electronics that would have one day become a computer” — made me suspect that he was writing a story we’ve all heard before.  A little bit later, the non-POV character mentioned that he had a medical condition that got him out of gym class.  That further solidified my suspicion.  Cole is going to die of a disease that has prevented him from maturing normally.  Freak the Mighty and The Cure were the same story.  Physically powerful, mentally average loner boy meets mentally gifted, spirited, puny boy.  Puny boy shows bigger boy how to live, then dies.  I’m fairly certain that is what is going to happen.

I would like to see a story (or write it myself) where that doesn’t happen.  Or rather where the opposite happens.  The bigger boy somehow manages to save the puny boy, perhaps at great cost to himself, so that the puny boy with the incredible brain doesn’t live a short life who’s only purpose was to be an influential memory for others.

Meh.  It’s an idea.


So yeah, I was wrong.  They totally just did the deed, rolled over and went to sleep.  How…disappointing.  ;)  Just shows you that I read WAY too far into a stray tense.  Nifty really is not the place for me…

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I’ve started writing again.  Of course I always say it, but I may actually finish this time.  As is true with so many of my ideas for stories, this one formed in the nebulous region of my mind that rules over the place between asleep and awake.  I can’t remember what the seed was, since nothing from that realm can last for longer than an hour or so, but it has grown into something viable.

The characters are vaguely modeled after the set of twins in the Citadel’s boys’ choir.  1of2 and 2of2.  Beyond their twinship, the fact that they both have half the name of a founding father, and the fact that one is maturing more rapidly than the other, there is little resemblance between my characters and them.  1of2 is far less insecure (as far as I can see) than Alexander, and far less bothered by 2of2’s puberty.

The story is of Alexander and Martin Grey.  Thirteen-year-old fraternal twins.  Martin’s recent entry into puberty and his acquisition of a girlfriend are making the marginally older Alex feel left behind.  These feelings of inadequacy and betrayal peak during a Boy Scout camp-out, eventually driving Alex to confront his “little” brother.

Martin is remarkably sympathetic and assures Alex that he will never abandon him.  Later, during a hike, Alex and Martin get separated from the troop and lost.  Martin rushes ahead to try and find the troop, leaving Alex behind, again feeling abandoned and betrayed.  Martin returns a little while later, saying he would not abandon his fresh vow and begins to lead Alex along the path he’d discovered.  However when the larger, stronger Martin leaps across a crevice and rushes on, Alex is reluctant to follow, fearing the fall that would follow if he slipped.  Not wanting to be left behind again, and reluctant to appear a coward, he overcomes his fear and makes the jump.

And Misses.  He falls into the crevice, landing very painfully, feeling his back break.  Before dying he looks around and sees his brother’s corpse just feet away.

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Abandonment

Today i abandoned another story.  I’d say which number, but I have no clue.  I’ve abandoned too many to remember them all.  Every time I start one, I think, “this is the one!  It has real potential.  I’ll finish this one for sure.”  Then I don’t.

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