Trick or treat

Halloween, when I was a kid, was, in this country, just another day. I guess most people had heard of 'trick or treat', but it was seen as an American thing, and simply didn't happen here. Fast forward to 2014, though, and Halloween seems to have become yet another commercially driven 'season', advertised weeks in advance and dragging out over days rather than a few hours of October 31. Odd, too, how young people who have 'stranger danger' dinned into them, directly or indirectly, day in and day out, are then encouraged to go and knock on those very strangers' doors and beg for sweets. Isn't the classic 'paedo' tactic supposed to be offering sweets to small children? As ever, it's all hypocrisy and inconsistency. My plan is to leave for work early and take a slow meander there by bus, before anyone gets the chance to knock on my door. K has already gone off to her Halloween party, so there's no incentive for me to sit around waiting for the chance of being 'tricked'. And even the outside possibility of opening my front door to be faced by some unaccompanied cutie isn't a position I want to put myself in. The whole 'holiday' stinks, as far as I'm concerned.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Nothing days

Typical of being on nights, really, the past couple of days have comprised almost nothing beyond the work-commute-sleep-eat-commute-work cycle. The feeling of being disconnected from the rest of the world has been accentuated by the fact that I've seen almost nothing of K - she's in her typical 'school holiday' mode, travelling far and wide. She went down to the West Country on Tuesday to catch up with one of her friends, then headed off yesterday to stay with her potential bandmates - she still seems to be their preferred candidate for being their new bassist - sleeping over there last night and showing no signs of heading back any time soon, while tomorrow she's off to a Halloween party at one of her schoolfriend's places, relatively local, but once more with an overnight stay. The upshot is that between Monday evening when I left for work, and some time on Saturday, I'll have spent, in the sense of face to face in the same room, all of about ten minutes in my daughter's company, the last few minutes before she set out for Buckinghamshire yesterday morning. I'm off work again next week, continuing my programme of using up my remaining annual leave before the end of the year, but she'll be back at school, so I doubt I'll see much more of her then either. There are times when we seem more like random housemates than anything resembling a family. Mind you, I doubt that I'm unique amongst parents of teenagers in those types of feelings!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The big lie

A 'propaganda technique', as the first line of the Wikipedia article on the subject describes it. Make a claim that is so egregious that 'the average person' believes it because they can't imagine anyone being able to make up something so outlandish. The phrase is most commonly associated with the Holocaust, but, these days, it seems to be fair game for religious right bigots. Dehumanise your hate object/scapegoat, in an attempt to justify and legitimise their persecution and ultimate destruction. Vile in the extreme.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Full circle

Almost, anyway. More than four and a half years, and getting on for 1500 posts after I first dipped my toe into the cyberspace ocean in February 2010, I'm back to where I started, just me, the keyboard and the contents of my head. The few 'cyberfriends' I've been lucky enough to interact with over the years have pretty much all melted away, and why not, of course? Who in their right mind would want anything to do with a perpetually depressed, self-pitying 'paedo'. Especially that last, needless to say. People are so terrified of being found 'guilty by association', that in saying anything that isn't bitterly excoriating about the likes of me they would be seen as, at the very least, 'condoning' my attractions, or worse, from their point of view, of being a closeted 'paedo' themselves. Never mind that I don't get any closer to boys than reading online stories for fantasy material, never mind that I've spent decades keeping my desires under control, so as not to hurt anyone, I'm still 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know' in varying proportions. So, frankly, fuck it. I'm fed up of battering my head against the wall of societal hatred. Yes, I'm a boylover. Yes, I want to have sex with a pubescent boy. But only, only ever, with any such boy's informed consent. If anyone reading this finds that offensive, that's too bad. Go and read something else.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Whispering into the void

A phrase I used in one of my very, very early blog posts. And how I feel right now. The corner I've painted myself into seems to be getting smaller and more imprisoning almost by the day, in cyberspace terms and IRL. Self-inflicted wounds, of course, but wounds nonetheless. And wounds that I seem not to have the slightest idea how to recover from.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Winter is here again

A line of dialogue from Damien - Omen II, but, more to the point, descriptive of today, the day the clocks went back to GMT. It's just after 5:00, and dark already, and if that doesn't make it winter, I don't know what does. Allied to the fact that my isolation seems more pronounced than ever of late, spring appears to be an awfully long way away.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Moronic theocrats live here, too

More evidence that the US is far from unique in having religious right blockheads who somehow manage to convince enough of the sheeple to vote for them to get elected, in this case to the so-called 'mother of parliaments'. Even without his antediluvian views on education and marriage equality, anyone who says 'I agree with Farage on almost everything' should be instantly disbarred from public office for life - and mercilessly pointed and laughed at, to boot.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Sheep!

I was in Wetherspoons in another 'quondam Middlesex' part of Greater London, not too far from base, an hour or so ago, when a buzz went round the pub. The mayor of London had been spotted at the road junction just above the pub - he's aiming to be the next MP for the area, and was doubtless undertaking a 'man of the people' photo opportunity. The number of people who rushed out with their phones to grab a picture of this fascist buffoon was, in more or less equal parts, surprising and depressing. Boris Johnson has been touted, apparently seriously, as a future Tory leader. The prospect of him and Farage in some kind of coalition to run the country after the next election is so horrifying I can barely bring myself to contemplate it. And yet the sheep in the pub would, by the comments I heard, apparently welcome such a prospect. And these people are entitled to vote! The fundamental flaw with democracy, that any credulous moron is enfranchised. Boris for PM = me leaving the country on the first available flight.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Sammy's paradox

Why are the lows always so much deeper than the highs are high, especially when they're in close proximity? Like my feelings a couple of hours ago, on a bus in West London. There was a boy involved, predictably enough, sitting opposite me in the company of his mother, cutish, fair haired, 11/12, but the real hook was his bubbly personality, his very obvious joie de vivre. The sort of person who you would love to be best friends with. But then, of course, after 20 minutes of basking in his aura, his 'boyness', he was gone, the buzz was gone, replaced by the relentless knowledge that, as close as he'd been sitting to me, he was out of reach forever, the dead hand of 'never' strangling the spirit out of me once more. I'll get over it, there's no alternative, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

And in between....

....today's two earlier posts, I had a lovely day with K. She was off school on a 'Baker Day' today, as an add-on to half term, which is next week, and she suggested, rather to my surprise, that she wanted to come on one of my meanders, so that's what we did. The original plan was for us to have lunch somewhere as part of the trip, but, in the event, my girl wasn't hungry, probably because we had a rather late breakfast, bacon butties at 10:30, so that element was eventually ditched. The rest was simply quality time, though - K did go into 'teenage mode', with her head in her phone, on a couple of occasions, but I can easily forgive her that - with our 'on the same wavelength' relationship more than evident. And she even conceded that she'd like to do it again, soon. I can't wait!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Looks like someone's just had a birthday

Namely Daniel, the cutie who works in my local. It now appears that he's serving at the bar, which, given that hitherto he's only been waitering and washing up, suggests that he's just turned 18. He still looks at least a couple of years younger, though - and, yes, he's still cute.

1940 edit: And he's just served me. And I even got a smile, albeit a 'professional' one. Keep the customers happy, sweetheart!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another step towards thoughtcrime

Potentially, at least. I heard a report on the radio this morning to the effect that 'child protection' campaigners want it to be made a crime in this country for an adult to send any message of 'a sexual nature' to a minor, even if the message is 'text only' - sending 'sexual' images is illegal already, of course. Given that almost any image involving a minor can be deemed to have sexual connotations when it suits the authorities' purposes, I can't imagine any legislation involving text will be any less widely drawn, raising the prospect of any contact at all between adults and minors, unless the adult is related to or in an authority position in relation to the minor, being effectively barred. I recall reading about one, at least, American state (Maine, if I remember correctly), enacting a law that made it illegal in many circumstances for an adult even to look at a minor, and I wouldn't be surprised if there are people who would like that to be the case here as well. It wouldn't be many steps beyond what is being proposed for books to begin to be proscribed - if you own a copy of Lolita, or Sandel, or myriad others, you're doubtless already a 'suspect' - and not many more until the Orwellian concept of 'thoughtcrime' was invoked, on the basis that if you even think about minors in a non-neutral way, you'd be presumed to be a 'molester in waiting'. And once one aspect of freedom of thought is suppressed, how long would it take for politicians to realise that extending those powers far more widely would be highly conducive to maintaining their position and privileges? Not very long at all, I would venture to suggest.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Unconvincing

I'm in my 'second-string' relatively local Wetherspoons, getting into my kind-of weekend off - I'm not working again until Sunday morning, and then start nights on Monday - and I've had the dubious pleasure of listening to a youngish woman on the next table rather obviously trying to proselytize her companions, waxing lyrical about how wonderful her god is, because she can freely drink beer and generally go about her life, but that there will, after death, still be a 'judgment day'. Maybe I'm being too cynical, but if anyone can explain to me how such a laissez-faire deity can be distinguished from the atheistic universe I believe to be the real one, I'd be interested to hear the evidence. Because evidence was, to me, the big 'missing link' in the woman's argument. Hence the title of this post.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The penultimate Orwellian job?

I've just read a blog post quoting a religious right functionary who was described as his organisation's 'vice president of orthodoxy'. Only his boss, presumably, could be closer to 'Big Brother' than that.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Reality checks can be helpful

And this afternoon has been evidence of that. I saw 'the boy on the bus' again, not, I have to admit, entirely coincidentally, but now that I know that the connection I was hoping for is illusory, I was able to simply enjoy sitting a few rows of seats behind him - or, rather, him sitting in front of me, given that I got on the bus several stops before he did - and admiring his good looks and general 'boyness'. Hopefully, that's the best option - I get to see him, but in not trying for more, by approaching him or whatever, he won't get to feel in any way uncomfortable, or worse. The chances for me to see him are pretty limited, in any case, given my working hours and the very narrow 'window of opportunity' for our paths to cross, even by design - it's the bus, or nowhere, effectively. No doubt there would be those who would still criticise me, even for wanting him as eye candy, but, frankly, that's their problem.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

School holiday views

K is on half term holiday next week, but some schools are off this week, and that proved to be the double-edged sword I've mentioned before when I finished work today. 'Worktown' station was 'eye candy central', with three absolutely delicious boys in evidence as I waited for my train home, albeit that one of them was a little guy who was too young by far to do anything other than coo over. The usual heaviness of heart ensued, though, the knowledge of the untouchability of those I'm enamoured with reinforced once more. When I did get back to the flat, there was another little example of that, too, as my next door but one neighbour got off of the same bus as me, a boy of Asian extraction who is, it seems, in his first year at senior school, so 11/12, who I've seen around several times, and who is more than a little cute (his younger sister isn't difficult to look at, either). Seeing 'ghosts' when I'm out and about might have its bittersweet aspects, but having a cutie on the doorstep, almost literally, is potentially rather more problematic. The temptation to try and drum up some sort of acquaintance with him is compelling, but, ultimately, probably not a very good idea. Hopefully, my habitual cowardice will keep me out of trouble.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Freedom - to be what we tell you to be

Another weekend, another gay man's blog and e-mail account obliterated by Google for unaccountable reasons. Sadly, nothing new there, but, in this case, I'll freely admit to partiality, because the blog in question belonged to a good friend of mine, a good man. But personal virtues have no value, it seems, in this context, all that matters to Google and their ilk is to kowtow to those pouring their corporate advertising budget down their collective throat. And those 'paying the piper' appear to me to be driven by motives of christofascist repression, especially when it comes to the LGBT community. I have two hopes - to see Jay back in cyberspace sooner rather than later, and for the corporate fat cats to choke on their own disgusting excess.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Well, that didn't take long

Back to work at 7:30 this morning after my time off, and, within 20 minutes, the latest dose of 'paedo-baiting' was on, again in response to a TV programme - the delightful phrase 'you'd rip his head off and shove it up his arse' was trotted out on respect of some or other 'character' in the documentary. The phrase that came to my mind was 'isn't it easy to be judgmental when you're not involved'. If the person who was deemed to be worthy of decapitation has coerced anyone, of any age or gender, then punishment is deserved. But 'thoughtcrime' style vilification of who someone is, rather than what they've done, is the top of a very slippery slope.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Where did that go?

I'm now into the afternoon of the last of my 12 days off work, and I can't believe how quickly it's gone, especially considering that I've done almost nothing of any substance. It's back to the grind - and getting up at stupid o'clock - tomorrow. The fact that my alarm will have to be set for 4:30 in the morning means that there's going to be no 'big finale' today - in fact, I haven't been out of the flat yet today, despite getting up before 7:00. I simply haven't been able to work up the energy or enthusiasm, although I may venture into what is a pleasant enough autumnal day after lunch.
There was a little unexpected bonus last night, though - I was out and about, and when I rang K after she'd finished school to see if she wanted to meet up with me at my local for something to eat, she actually said yes! So, tea at the pub it was, and some very congenial time spent together, for once. This time next week, K will be on half-term holiday, but we won't get the chance to do too much during her week's break, because I'm on nights, and she's also planning to go down to the West Country for a few days to catch up with her friends down there. So, last night was all the more welcome - I might even be able to coax her into spending some more time with her boring old dad, who knows!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

It's always the love stories

That make me cry, that is. Especially the stories of unrequited love. Five years ago, give or take, I first discovered a couple of web sites with stories about boys. Men and boys, boys and boys. The specifically erotic ones had the effect that, I guess, they were designed to have. But it was always the love stories that really got under my skin, to the point that I had to stop reading, because I seemed to spend half of my life in tears. I've just read one single chapter of one of those stories, and ended up with tears in my eyes again. It all came back, the tears born of the knowledge of all the mistakes I'd made, the knowledge that I was in love with someone - DBJ, of course - who would, could, never be mine, the realisation that there would almost certainly never be a 'happy ever after' for me. I remember K asking me, that autumn, what was wrong, and my telling her that I couldn't explain it to her. Except that I did, nine months or so later. And now, the beautiful boy I fell in love with in a small Cornish town, who I haven't seen for more than four years, will almost be a man - he's 17, at least, a school year above K, could be 18 already - and more out of reach than ever. And the tears are back.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Honesty

Getting up this morning, and finding a post at a friend's blog which had been published overnight, has made me realise, in connection with what I wrote yesterday, that maybe there is something I can do to revitalise my blog. Lose my cowardice at the potential reactions of others - in the end, as I've said before, who am I trying to appease anyway, hardly anyone even reads the damned blog - and inject a dose of honesty. Total honesty. That said, I'm still going to remain pseudonymous, but that is strictly to protect my daughter's interests - my job would be in jeopardy if my blog came to the attention of my company, I strongly suspect, and given that K needs food, shelter and the wherewithal to complete her education, and there's no-one else able to do that for her, I need to carry on keeping my cyberspace and real lives strictly separate.
So, what was the topic of the post which 'inspired' me, if that's the right word? Well, today is apparently 'Spirit Day', where people are encouraged to support and show solidarity with the LGBT community by wearing purple. All very laudable, on the surface, but my immediate reaction was to wonder how much solidarity the 'community' would show towards me, as a boylover. Somewhere between minimal and zero, on the basis of my experience. Many gay men hate boyloivers even more than those in the 'mainstream', because they're terrified of being tarred with the same brush, or because they think that joining in the chorus of mindless excoriation of 'paedos' will gain them a few brownie points to put towards their acceptance by 'society', and that's without even starting on what the 'L' contingent think. 'Equality' without genuine inclusiveness is a concept that isn't worth the paper it's written on.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Talked out

I'm in one of my periodic phases of doubt about the future of my blogs. Nephelokokkygia is virtually moribund, whatever muse I had whispering in my ear seeming to have deserted me completely, but even this main blog is looking more and more like a closed circle, where I simply talk around and around the same subjects, and one subject in particular, achieving nothing. I don't think I'm able, at least as things stand at the moment, to relaunch the blog in a different direction, so is there any real point in going on? It might be argued that it's a forum for getting stuff out of my system, but I've tried that time and again without succeeding in feeling any sense of catharsis. Maybe it's just that I'm all talked out. All those posts, all those words over the best part of five years, and I'm in a worse position than when I started, with all that's been lost. That certainly wasn't part of the 'master plan'.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Obtuse

I pride myself on being 'bright', it's always been my greatest asset, but there are times when I need to be beaten over the head by the glaringly obvious before I'll take on board things that I should know from the outset. Like this afternoon. Not only was I stupid enough to go looking for the boy on the bus from the Friday before last, but I found him. And he looked straight through me. Absolutely no reason, of course, why he should've done anything else, but it took my seeing it with my own eyes to accept that the moment of humour we shared was just that, a moment. And even if we had, by some unaccountable miracle, 'clicked', it would only have taken a millisecond to work out that if he'd happened to mention to his parents that he'd made a friend on the bus, but that the 'friend' was a middle-aged bloke, what the reaction would've been. I'm not upset - except with my failure to engage with reality.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

From the school of mindless hyperbole

It might seem like I'm trying to portray Americans as particularly prone to this sort of idiocy, but it's just an artefact of the cyberspace haunts I frequent. We've got plenty of morons of our own over here, who say equally ridiculous things.

2055 edit: As I was saying, we have them as well.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

From little to less

If recent days have filled me with a sense of underachievement, today has been an even less fulfilling experience so far. I do have a minimal excuse, though - the weather has been absolutely vile, wet and windy, with the promise of more to come. So, frankly, I've just slobbed around all morning, and now, into the afternoon, playing word games on the computer with the radio on the background, for the most part. I did, very briefly, look at one of my draft stories in Nephelokokkygia, but all that succeeded in doing was making me realise that the story didn't have anywhere to go, at least not without more or less starting again from scratch. It was only another man/boy relationship story anyway, albeit one that wasn't going to contain a sexual element, so much of a muchness with almost everything else I've written. Rather like my life, really - repetitive and pointless. I can hardly restrain my enthusiasm.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Underachiever

I'm now more than halfway through my 'summer holiday', and it has to be said that I've achieved almost nothing that could be remotely considered to be 'positive'. I have done a bit of cleaning in the flat, but only stuff that had been put off for too long, and then, only because K had a friend staying over last night, but, otherwise, I've just been meandering about, feeling sorry for myself, and drinking too much. The 'feeling sorry' bit was rubbed in all the more today, because it was almost a reprise of yesterday, with cuties around almost from the time I stepped out of the door to the last bus back home - 'last boy' was 14-ish, and, I'm sure, easily old enough to have made his own mind up had I had the balls to ask 'the question', which, of course, I didn't. So far, so predictable, but the deeper question is, as ever, unanswered. What, if anything, can I do to escape from the corner I've painted myself into? Would that I knew.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Just say no!

This speaks for itself. Just say no. Don't do organised religion.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Swarmed

With cute 'ghosts', that is, on my travels today. Mostly blond, or at least fair, always my favourites, but almost all of them far too young, even for my despised tastes. K commented yesterday that there are far more adverts about these days showing gay relationships in a positive light, and quite right too, but, as I said in reply, how long will it be before an intergenerational relationship, even a celibate one, is given comparable treatment. Not in my lifetime, I strongly suspect.

1910 edit: And yet more, in my local (which is in far more civilised mode than last night) - a little guy, who seems to have gone, but, right now, a cutie who is much closer to legal age, and who is wearing some very skinny jeans. My cup runneth over!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Politics and pillocks

And, in some cases, their intersection. UKIP. the party I've always described as 'the National Front in a suit', a description I stand by, now have an MP after a by-election yesterday. He was the sitting Conservative MP for a constituency in Essex - where else, the place is a byword for antediluvian stupidity - who recently 'defected' to Farage's collection of fascist xenophobes, misogynists and homophobes. If English (and I use the word advisedly, I can't see UKIP winning many votes, let alone seats, in Scotland or Wales) voters are stupid and bigoted enough to elect a such a farcical bunch of halfwits, they deserve all the crap they'll undoubtedly get - and I'll be leaving the country, forthwith.
Continuing the political vein. I saw this earlier on.

It's seemingly been doing the rounds for a while, but I hadn't seen it until a couple of hours ago. The last sentence could, with 'UKIP' substituting for 'Republican', be just as apposite over here.

And as for pillocks, my brief visit to my local earlier exposed me to enough to last me the rest of the year. For the first time since I started frequenting the place in January, I felt genuinely uncomfortable being in the pub - it seemed to be full of the same brand of mouthy, alcohol and testosterone fuelled pondlife that used to make Friday and Saturday evenings in 'domicile-ville' Wetherspoons so unpleasant, the type that would just as soon smash a glass in your face as shake your hand. And it wasn't as if most of them were 'kids', either - the majority seemed to be nearer 40 than 20, even older in one or two cases. I can quite happily live without that kind of company, and baled out without much delay. I'll be back, of course, but at a time when I can more reliably expect a 'quiet life'.

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

You get what you pay for

I've bemoaned, several times, my lack of motivation in writing fiction in recent times, so when not only a story idea, but the oomph to set about doing something about it, came to me earlier on, I was pretty pleased. I spent the best part of an hour writing three or four introductory paragraphs, and all was going well. Until the 'free WiFi' in my local crashed, and I lost the lot. Not only that, but when I began a post complaining about my fate, the system crashed again, and I lost that as well! Now I'm back at home, with a paid-for WiFi, my words seem to be destined to be preserved for posterity. Q.E.D.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Erudition (postponed), and reconciliation (maybe)

One of the attractions on offer in London for nerds like me are lectures, often free, on all sorts of esoteric subjects. That said, I've been to precisely none so far, although I did seriously consider going to one, given by a historian I've come across several times on various TV programmes, this evening. In the event, though, I was distracted by other considerations (which didn't work out, surprise, surprise) and didn't make it, but there is another coming up in a couple of weeks time, on dark matter, which I'm really keen to attend, work permitting. Given the amount of time off I've got in the near future, I might get lucky.
One reason I was left to my own devices this evening is that K is over at her (recent) cute ex-boyfriend's, 'hanging out', as she described her plans to me last night. When I asked if a reconciliation was on the cards, she shrugged and said 'err....maybe'. I have to admit I wouldn't be too upset if they got back together, for reasons that are, frankly, pretty selfish - I'll certainly try to become better acquainted with him, given half a chance!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A tale of two boys

One real, one imaginary. I've been out meandering again today, on what has been a much nicer day than yesterday, cool and breezy, but with more or less unbroken sunshine. The latter part of the morning and early afternoon were spent debating with my better judgment about whether I should try once more to 'find myself' on a certain bus route at a certain time, but, for once, common sense won the day, and I managed to restrain the impulse. I don't know if I was more afraid of screwing up the schedule like yesterday, or getting it right and having him (most likely) ignoring me, or, worse, freaking out and thinking I was stalking him. I did end up perhaps no more than 3 or 4 bus stops from where he would have been after school, but that was a genuine coincidence, because I was on a different route, going, in terms of where he was, in the opposite direction. To what has become my 'second string' Wetherspoons, where, in amongst the beer, I finished re-reading Alexandrine yet again. At least I can love Xander without deleterious consequences.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Bucket list, item 1 of 1

I was just about to go out on what is the first of 12 days off, but I've just looked out of the window to see it pouring with rain. I'll still go, though, maybe just a little later. Because I'm utterly fed up of being at the bottom of the heap, despite trying to live my life in a way other people might find acceptable. Except they don't, of course, whichever way I turn all I see is society's view of me as a cardboard cutout villain. Well, call me what you will, because I'm going to make sure I'm on the same bus I was when I had my 'oasis moment' on Friday. I have almost no doubt that I'll end up disappointed, but there's nothing much left to lose, anyway, so what does it matter?

1615 edit: I actually saw him, but not on the bus, and in circumstances that were so stupidly depressing, or depressingly stupid, or both, that I can't bring myself to talk about it. When the fates seem to be so determined to make your life a misery, all that's left to do is to consume enough liquid anaesthetic to render yourself insensate.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Flowing downhill

No matter your position (real or perceived) in life's pecking order. there always seems to be someone lower to be dismissively judgmental about. But these judgments are more often than not in the eye of the beholder. Perversion being one of them, it seems. Shit flows downhill. At least until you find yourself in the position designated the 'lowest of the low'.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Do you dream in colour?

That was a question I didn't know the answer to, about myself, anyway, for many years, until one night in my twenties, when I had a very vivid (non-sexual) dream about the daughter of a friend of mine, in which she was wearing a bright orange bathrobe. I had another vividly coloured moment in a dream in the early hours of this morning, involving a small boy on a ferry with intensely green eyes, greener than any I've ever seen in waking life. I don't remember anything else about the dream, just those eyes.
The dream boy wasn't as head-turning as a little guy I saw leaving Hackney Central station with his (presumably) mother as I was passing on a bus yesterday lunchtime, though. Blond hair, lovely face, too far away for me to see the colour of his eyes, although blue would have been a good guess, given the colour of his hair. Not the slightest sexual element to my admiration of him - he was only about 4 or 5 - just appreciation of the perfect beauty of a delightful little boy.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Oh well!

K is a single woman again - cute boyfriend the second was apparently 'a child'. Would that it could have lasted a bit longer so I could have got to have known him better, because if he's 16 going on about 12, as K suggested, and seemingly with, at least from what my girl has said, a bicurious past, he would've been a good match for my 54 going on 12! Damn!!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A rubber stamp moment, and an oasis moment

My second work medical in less than a month, this one supposedly a follow-up in connection with my long-term sickness last year, was a thoroughly perfunctory affair, with exactly the same outcome as its predecessor, namely that I'm still fit to do my job. It got me out of a late turn, if nothing else, with the collateral advantage that I'm now in my local rather than wage slaving, so it can't be all bad.
Not half so good, though, as a little moment of connection with a more than passably cute boy on my meandering way from town to here. It came on an after-school bus, where I was occupying my favoured eye candy spotting niche, the left hand seat at the front of the top deck, while he was in the corresponding seat on the right. A gaggle of girls, from the same school as him, as far as I could tell, were getting off the bus at the first town centre stop, and were giggling maniacally about something or another. The collective noise they were making was, to say the least, strange, like a laughing gas attack on an aviary, and both the boy and I turned to see what was going on. He very obviously rolled his eyes and blew through his lips, and our eyes met just at that juncture. It was evident that we had pretty much the same thought in mind - 'Girls!!!!' - and that shared second caused us both to break into spontaneous grins. These things never have a sequel, of course, but, as I've said before, any oasis in the wilderness of life as a boylover is thoroughly welcome.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Black and white

My heart was in my boots almost as soon as I got to work yesterday afternoon. There had apparently been a documentary on TV on Wednesday evening about a person who had set up a fake website to entrap 'paedophiles' by posing as various young girls, and the programme was the first topic of conversation, along with a recent case of a school deputy head who'd committed suicide after having been found to have secretly taken pictures of boys in his school's changing rooms. Cue the usual kneejerk reactions, the 'hang 'em, flog 'em and lock em' up and throw the key away' bullshit 'cut and pasted' directly from the tabloid press, without any further thought process at all. Nothing I haven't heard umpteen times before, but the reason I was so downhearted by it on this occasion was that the conversation was initiated and pretty much led by probably the only person at work I would consider a friend as opposed to a colleague, the guy I work with regularly who's the father of the two boys, including the supercutie whose photo is his phone wallpaper, I've mentioned a number of times in the past. The knowledge that if I let my mask slip, even for a second, I'd become a hate figure for him really hit me hard. But, of course, my attractions are a 'choice'. Ask any 'right thinking' person.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B