Sunday, 4 December 2016

Lazy Sunday morning

Not that it's going to last much longer, because I'm working this afternoon, but I certainly haven't been over-exerting myself since I got up. I found a lovely e-mail from K in my inbox when I arrived in cyberspace this morning, written a bit in vino veritas, by her own admission, but none the less welcome for that. She'll be home for the holidays a week on Friday (although she will be away again, staying with her mum for a few days in the run-up to Christmas), and I'm looking forward so much to her return. As I said to her in my reply to her e-mail, she really is the centre of my universe, my raison d'ĂȘtre.
Yesterday marked, I guess, the start of what little 'Christmas season', K excepted, I'm likely to have. I met up with my brother and sister-in-law for a late lunch and a catch-up session, and it was as congenial as ever. Although it's still three weeks until 'the big day', it was the last chance we had to get together, because of work commitments - my next weekend day off is Christmas Day itself, while the few midweek days off I'll have in the interim aren't convenient for them. We have made provisional plans to meet up again early in the New Year, though.
So, a late breakfast (bacon rolls, yum!) beckons, and then it will be time to get ready and head back to the grindstone. Are we having fun yet?!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Friday, 2 December 2016

Subconscious truths

I've written about dreams a few times in this blog, and while the picture show in your head is often an inchoate and illogical mess, there are occasions when an underlying reality is elucidated. One such this morning, as I woke in the middle of a notably vivid dream about my cousin, as he was at 13 or 14. There was, in the last moments before I 'resurfaced', a distinct erotic element, but most of the dream was about love and cuddles and closeness. The feeling, as I was able to begin to think consciously, told it all - he's still, despite the cataclysmic meltdown of three years or so ago, the greatest love of my life, bar none, and the person I'd have unhesitatingly chosen as my life partner, had he been willing and able to fulfill that role. My darling boy. My irredeemably lost darling boy.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Thursday, 1 December 2016

All gone

I had it in mind to write a post about how benighted November had been - Trump, mostly, but this 'football abuse' business over here, too - but then I read something, a blog post from ages ago, which has set me off on a different tack altogether. There aren't any new insights, and I have talked about this before, but, once more, it's occurred to me that of the nice little 'community' I was lucky enough to find my way into when I arrived in cyberspace nearly seven years ago, there is literally only me left. Everyone else, for one reason or another, is gone. I'm the one who has to switch the lights off when I leave. And that's a dispiriting place to be.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Tuesday, 29 November 2016

What's the difference?

Using someone's dreams and aspirations as a means of manipulating them to submit to your desires, to facilitate your gratification.
Giving someone you care about, and who has consented, as much pleasure as you can, because you want them to have the best you can give.
What's the difference? None at all, in the perception of 'right-thinking' people, where relationships with boys are concerned. Because anyone who desires boys is self-evidently predatory and evil.
Sorry, but I believe there is a difference. If what you want is the most important thing, then there's a strong likelihood that you're a child molester. If what the boy wants is the most important thing, then, maybe, you might be a boylover.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Saturday, 26 November 2016

How much longer?

How much longer, that is, can I justify keeping this blog, and Nephelokokkygia, for that matter, going? In the face of another 'historic sexual abuse scandal', this time around youth football, and the lurch towards right-wing, if not undisguisedly fascistic politics that seems to be rife at the moment, being a self-confessed boylover, even pseudonymously, seems likely to become an even more untenable position than it has been hitherto. Because there's nothing more that fascists love than a convenient scapegoat. I like to think that I'm not a coward, but there is a line between courage and recklessness. I really need to seriously assess which side of that line my staying in cyberspace will place me.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Wednesday, 23 November 2016

Almost to the point of insanity

I've written often enough about the torturous nature of my life, but there are occasions when it all seems gratuitously cruel. A few days ago, I spent hours while I was meandering thinking about Cammy, only to be 'ambushed' at a bus stop by a boy who looked hauntingly like DBJ. Then at lunchtime today, as I was out and about again, I found myself close to being washed away by a tsunami of hopelessly unrequitable desire for a quite exquisite 'skater boy' who got on the bus I was on, 13/14, blond, dimples framing a mischievous smile, as close to irresistibility as I could imagine or invent. When he got off, fifteen minutes or so later, I simply felt like crying, unshed tears of frustration and absence of fulfillment. Torture is hardly a strong enough word for it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Tuesday, 22 November 2016

Fascists and dominionists, oh my

Two weeks into the 'transition', and Trump is filling his government-in-waiting with a selection of neo-Nazis, Christofascists and one-percenters. And suggesting that Farage - Nigel fucking Farage - would be an ideal candidate for British ambassador to the US. If the effects of this insanity were confined to their country of origin, all well and good. But the old adage about America sneezing, and the world catching a cold has never been more apposite, as far as I'm concerned. Or more frightening.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B