Decoherence

I spent an hour after work decidedly undecided about what I was going to do with myself on a thoroughly wet and miserable Bank Holiday afternoon - K is back from her trip to visit her mother, but went out again almost immediately to meet up with a friend, and won't be back at the flat until sometime this evening. So there were a number of possibilities open to me, from which I was abjectly failing to choose. Until a beautiful boy intervened, and collapsed the superposition. It was simply a case of getting off of the tube at one station rather than another, so I could walk to the exit in the wake of the Adonis and his father, mere seconds in his aura before we turned in diametrically opposite directions. Which led to me ending up here, in my 'second-string' Wetherspoons', where I'll stay for a little while before going off to get some groceries on the way home.
Utterly trifling, in all honesty, in comparison to the horribly difficult position a very good friend finds himself in. Would that I could do anything to help.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another turn....

....of the torturer's ratchet. On the tube this afternoon, en route from work to my local, a boy, 13-ish. So what was different from the dozens of others I see on my travels? Just the fact that this boy was a 60%/70% lookalike of my cousin as he was at the same age. Same build, height and weight-wise, same colour hair, reddish-blond, similar lightly freckled face. My darling boy, my best friend for thirty-odd years, the greatest love of my life, bar none. Who now hates my guts, after that nightmarish weekend almost two years ago. My fault it all went to shit, but that doesn't make the hurt any easier to bear.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I've witnessed child molestation....

....this very afternoon, if this is to be taken seriously. An oldish guy, pensionable age and then some, who I've seen a few times in my local, and who was perhaps not quite as sober as he might have been, was rather loudly stating to his companions that he'd known he was gay since he was 12 (you and me both, I couldn't help thinking), and that he was quite happy in that knowledge. Standing next to my table, two away from Mr Gay Pensioner, was a girl of around 8 or 9, listening with obvious interest to his declaration. I couldn't possibly say whether she was pro or anti, but she was indisputably interested. The girl then went off, apparently unperturbed, to find her grandfather, who was talking to someone at another table.The disconnection between the Christian right and real life could hardly be more patent.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Truly, deeply....

....tired of it all. Yeah, cracked record, heard it all before, but two 'boy moments', or, probably more accurately, non-moments, exacerbated by the usual fuckwitted nonsense at work, really have left me wondering what the point of any of this stupid charade actually is. A truly beautiful boy on my way to work, more than a little reminiscent of the boy who lived next door when we first moved to Cornwall (apart from the fact that today's boy had dark rather than fair hair), and then, tonight, 'little friend', in my local, looking straight through me several times. No reason whatsoever, of course, why I should expect either boy to do anything other than go about their own business, but both encounters underlined the hopelessness of my situation, the fact that my chances of ever finding what I want the most in my life are somewhere between infinitesimal and zero. Why bother?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

An open letter

To 'James'
I found your Tumblr last night. Not too many entries, and none for the last three months. I really hope that doesn't mean you've come to any harm, especially self-harm. You describe yourself as 'coming to terms' with your sexuality. I hope you don't take as long as I have to do that. They, the world, want you to hurt, every day, it's all that they think you deserve, even though you haven't chosen your attractions. You can be celibate your whole life, never hurt anyone, or have any intention of doing so, and they'll still hate you for what's in your head. Don't fall for the hype. Don't, ever, hate yourself for who you are. It's difficult, so difficult - I certainly can't do it all day, every day, but I do try. Really try. What you do is your responsibility, your choice, but who you are is immutable, and sexual orientation is a big part of that 'who', for everyone. The 'best' the world will concede is that minor attraction is an illness. Most will just consider you to be wilfully, irremediably evil. I have little doubt that you're not ill and not evil. Just, like me, someone who feels attractions this society finds unconscionable. And has to live their life against the backdrop of their implacable hatred. I hope, so much, that you find a way to live your life safely and happily.

Love & best wishes
Sammy B

Some are more equal than others

I'm doubtless repeating myself, but a post - actualy, thinking about it, two posts - I've seen about 'defensive' responses to bigoted clichés has piqued my sense of being 'thrown under the bus' by those on the more 'acceptable' side of the LGBT spectrum once more. The first said, flatly, that it didn't matter if the sexuality of people like me was innate or 'learned', it was still unacceptable from everlasting to everlasting, while the second suggested that more 'marginalised' groups deserved more attention, but only, of course, to a point - the point where boy and girl lovers start, needless to say. It's blatant self-interest, as far as I'm concerned - my 'difference' is fine, but if I show the slightest hint of empathy towards yours, I'll lose my grudging acceptance by 'society', and that can't possibly be allowed to happen. Give me an honest enemy, any time.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Back on home ground

K and I got back from our seaside trip at lunchtime, and I'm now ensconced in my local. The time away has been, for the most part, very enjoyable, albeit that the maritime climate of the South Coast didn't cooperate over the last couple of days - the weather was vile on Wednesday, and only marginally better yesterday. My girl and I got on pretty well, as I would have expected, although the constant proximity did induce a few minor sparks, the reason, no doubt, for K disappearing into her 'girl cave' as soon as we got back to the flat!
So, how was it for me? Somewhere on the knife edge between heaven and hell, in all honesty. I'm struggling to remember the last time I spent more than a few hours by the sea in summer, and I certainly can't remember the last time I was somewhere with more cuties per square yard than where we were staying. Seeing the boys was a delight, really, but there is always that 'drip, drip, drip' of the implacable knowledge that, for all you look, you can never get any closer, never have that opportunity to be yourself, even for a few fleeting moments. The poisoned chalice of the boylover.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Cuties-on-Sea

First full day of our seaside trip, and I'm already well on the way to a nervous breakdown - if I thought London had been awash with cuties this summer holiday, the beaches here and at K's potential 'uni-town', where we were earlier today, are on a different level altogether. I mused aloud to my (thankfully patient) daughter an hour ago, leaning on the promenade railings, about whether I could have spent the rest of my life there, mooning over scantily clad boys. The answer was a definite 'yes'.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Summer holiday

As of a few minutes ago, I'm officially on my summer break, all six days of it, although, in reality, I actually left work an hour and a half ago, finishing on a ninety minute break thanks to night shift people coming in early for overtime. And tomorrow lunchtime, K and I are off to the seaside, although there have been a few nervous moments on that front in recent days - I was having a lot of trouble getting hold of the accommodation's landlady to make the arrangements to pick the keys up, but finally managed to contact her this morning. So all that remains to do now is to set the tone for the week by having a couple of cold ones in my local (as I am now, indeed, doing), packing as minimalistically as possible in the morning, and setting out for town at around midday to catch the coastbound train. And keeping everything crossed in hope of user-friendly weather, of course!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Nobody really cares if you don't go to the party

The wording on a flypost I've seen on my travels over the past couple of days. A quick Google search just now suggests it's promoting a song by someone I've never heard of. But it rather succinctly sums up my whole life.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Tying myself in knots

About boys, of course, what else? There was one in my local yesterday, with a 'family and friends' group, the oldest of the young contingent, 11/12, blond, not supercute, but cute enough, and, from what I could hear of the chitchat, bright with it, who I managed to get thoroughly gooey over. Then, getting home, 'next door but one cutie' was out in the garden with his friends, playing some kind of 'tag' game. An athlete he isn't, but oh, is he beautiful. I want, I want, I want. I can't have, I know, but that does absolutely nothing to take the wanting away. There's a fork in the road signposted 'Madness'. Maybe I'm not too far from heading that way.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A fantasy come to life

I've posted before about drawn and computer generated 'cartoons', for want of a better word, that can be found online (my most direct reference was here, I guess), but I haven't seen many of late, because they seem to have been clamped down on, even in Japan, where the genre (as far as I'm aware) originated. The restrictions seem to be born of some theory that they constitute a 'gateway activity', i.e. that people viewing such material will go on to abuse actual young people, ignoring what I think is an equally likely possibility, that they could also act as a 'displacement activity' to prevent real world abuse.
Whatever the view that's taken of such material, though, what's brought it to my mind now was a (very) brief encounter on my way to work last night. As I got off of my train at 'worktown', a boy (with an adult) was waiting to board at the same door. And he was a spitting image of one of the cutest characters I've ever seen in any of the cartoons, an 11/12 blond cutie with blue eyes, freckles across the bridge of his nose and beautiful, ultra-kissable lips. 'Billy' come to life in the London suburbs. Amazing!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Why? Why me?

I may have written before about an incident that happened at school when I was 13 - I've certainly used a fictionalised version in at least one story in Nephelokokkygia - where I was sitting in a cubicle in the school toilets literally shaking with fear about the possibility of my classmates, and worse still my friends amongst them, finding out I was attracted to boys, about how they might react. That terror-stricken young boy resurfaced at around 6:00 this morning. At work. In the face of a conversation between my colleagues - everyone there, in fact, apart from me - about the allegations of 'historic sex offences' against (the conveniently dead) ex-prime minister Edward Heath that have been reported over the past couple of days. The contempt, the hatred dripping from every word they spoke sent me into something akin to a panic attack, made all the worse by the fact that I not only had to keep it all inside, but had to keep doing a job that was becoming very difficult, just at that moment, because of some faulty equipment. The scared little boy of 40-odd years ago was right there again, close to tears at the knowledge that all that contempt and hatred was about me, or, at least, about the sort of person I am. About something I can't help, something I would never have chosen, in a million years. I could be a self-confessed axe murderer and attract less opproprium. Why couldn't I have been 'normal', part of them and their world? Why did it have to be boys?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The boys in my life

A misleading title, I guess, because none of them are in my life, in any direct way, but there are three boys who have caught my attention in a major way over the past few months. I've written about them individually, so this is a rehash, but, hey, it's my blog, and this is what I want to talk about.
'Little friend' - he's the youngest, maybe 8, and I've seen him regularly, with his family, in my local over the past three months, or thereabouts. He isn't, with apologies to him, especially cute, albeit he's far from being ugly, and he isn't, even to me, sexually attractive, or, indeed a sexual being at all in my eyes, he's simply too young even for an unreconstructed boylover like me to think of in that way. That said, he's the one, of the three, who actually makes me happy, albeit occasionally and fleetingly. How? Because, almost every time I've seen him, he's smiled at me. Just that. And I've smiled back, of course. Those moments of connection are, in the context of the person I am, inside, simply the best thing that ever happens to me. That probably sounds utterly pathetic, probably is utterly pathetic, but when the world won't countenance, even for a moment, allowing you to be yourself, it is, on present evidence, the best I can hope for.
Or is it? Dylan - he's 11, give or take, and lives (I think, I've never been able to pin the fact down definitively) in the same block of flats as me. He's absolutely all boy, full of energy and mischief. In fact, I get the impression he could actually be a bit of a brat, and a pain to be around. Except for one thing. He is, especially when he smiles, simply irresistible, just on the cusp of beginning the journey from boy to man. When I first saw him, just before my birthday, he had the biggest immediate effect on me since I first saw DBJ in 2006. Is he a sexual being yet? I've seen him once, in the communal garden downstairs, fooling around with his friends, pumping his hips in a thoroughly suggestive manner. The first stirrings of puberty, maybe? If I had the chance to find out, I'd find the temptation very hard to resist.
But then, there is another level. 'Next door but one cutie'. I saw him a few times a year or so ago, not long after I'd moved here, but then, ironically, given how close he lives, I didn't see him at all for months, basically the whole of last winter. And oh, how much he'd changed over those months. The chubby little boy of eighteen months ago replaced by a pubescent beauty. Still slightly overweight (yeah, I know, who am I to talk about being too heavy!), but totally, utterly beautiful. Maybe one of the four or five most beautiful boys I've ever seen, on a regular basis, at least. He's just finished his first year at senior school, so he'll be a teenager on his next birthday. And the hormones, in his case, are definitely beginning to flow, from things I've seen. To say that I find him desirable is the understatement of the year. I'd give up the rest of my life for an hour in his arms, without the least hesitation. But only, of course, if he wanted to. Which I can't imagine he ever would. Just like DBJ. So close, yet so far out of reach. The story of my benighted life.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B