The cyclical nature of history

Some time in the late 'noughties', I read, at my then workplace in Cornwall, on one of the odd occasions when I had anything resembling a usable signal on my mobile broadband there, a review (a customer-submitted review on Amazon's US website) of a book. A review that annoyed me enough that I wanted to write my own take on a loving relationship between a man and a boy, to counter the assertion of the reviewer that such a relationship was always abusive, that love, real love was never a possibility, the man's only motivation being sexual gratification. The story that I began to write, in pencil in an exercise book - it predates my entry into Blogland by at least 18 months - has never been published, and maybe never will, but others along the same lines, most notably Alexandrine, have documented my belief that such relationships, not necessailiy sexual, can exist, with consent and mutuality, and without any hint of 'abuse', even if I've never been lucky enough to find such a connection myself. And, for whatever reason, I searched the book on Google again earlier this evening, finding another review barely differing from the earlier one, accusing the (obviously fictional) main character of taking advantage of a vulnerable boy simply for his own pleasure, once more implying that to be the only reason for a man to engage with a boy. I've been struggling to find the motivation to write anything substantive in my blog of late. The reiteration of a point of view I fundamentally disagree with has rather renewed my incentive to continue being 'a voice in the wilderness', saying things that most probably find anathema, but that, as far as I'm concerned, need to be said. We, boylovers, are not rapists. The clue's in the middle syllable. You know. Love. It's not rocket science.
(The reviewed book, in case anyone's interested, is Loving Sander by Joseph Geraci. I love it. But I would, wouldn't I?)

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B