Sammy vs eye candy

I often mention in my posts, as those of you brave or foolhardy enough to be regular readers will know, this or that boy I've seen as I go about my life, and how they've caught my eye and my attention. With very few exceptions, these are no more than fleeting glimpses, a few seconds, or at most minutes, of beauty and sweetness, on buses and trains, in shops or on the street. Very occasionally, someone will have a longer term impact on my life, the most notable example, certainly recently, and perhaps ever, being DBJ, the boy who lived near where I used to work, and who I sighed over for several years, probably even, in a totally one-sided way, and with no encouragement from him whatsoever, fell in love with. Even my feelings towards DBJ, though, are only an enhanced example of the basic principle, which I don't think is unique to me, as a boylover. 'Normal' men, in my experience, look at women in the same way, whether a 'Page 3' model or a 'headturner' in the street, might even have fantasies about engaging them sexually, but go no further. I presume gay men and lesbian women have similar experiences with the objects of their attraction. That's how it is with me in relation to cute boys. I look at them, admire their grace and beauty, and have no expectation or intention of there being anything more. In fact, as I've said before, I almost always go out of my way not to become entangled in even the most casual social interaction with boys, so that even the vaguest source of temptation isn't put in my way.
Because I'm realistic enough about myself to know, even in the unlikely event of my coming across a boy who might, perhaps after reading an online story, for example, feel he wanted to experiment with an older man, that such a hypothetical boy wouldn't choose me as his erastes - I'm old, fat and thoroughly unattractive, and there are thousands, millions of far more eligible candidates for his affections than me. That's not self-pity, simply realism. So, eye candy, and nothing more, it is, in any foreseeable circumstances. E, perhaps for another year or two, if he continues delivering our free papers, then he'll grow up and be gone, as far as my tastes go, to be replaced by the likes of the pair of 10/11-ish cuties I saw on the way to the station yesterday, who will then grow up in their turn. The dichotomous joy and pain of the boylover - boys, even the most special like DBJ, grow up, inexorably, but there are always others coming along to take their place, in the eyes, if not the heart. Being a boylover means embracing transience. And, in my case, accepting that, for all its status as the scariest word in my vocabulary, 'never' is by far the most likely outcome for me.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B