On Sat, 15 Mar 2008 21:35:17 GMT, HMS Victor Victorian
<VictorVictorianREMOVE@hushmail.com> wrote:
>My Dear Friends,
>
>When witnessing the ebbing of life brings realisation of one's own
>rapidly fading youth and inevitable mortality, one may be forgiven for
>some philosophical musings. I hope you might forgive me, then.
>
>Whilst driving back from hospital, I made a sudden decision [so
>sudden, in fact, that if a constable had been at hand on the corner, I
>should have received a traffic citation!] to forego my usual route
>back from this melancholy routine and take a quieter route. It was a
>peculiar decision, insomuch as the weather has been so typically and
>dreadfully dreary as to preclude a sightseeing outing. Nevertheless I
>turned to the right rather than left, away from the roar and clatter
>of the glaring steel lined, soot smudged boulevard and down the
>misting grey of tree-lined lanes.
>
>On either side, through the monotonous click of the wipers, I peered
>out at old homes of brick, slate and stone facade as they solemnly
>passed by. They were modest homes, the type in which you might expect
>your Aunt Edith residing ... stout, resolute against the chill of the
>English drizzle, with a warm light peeking out from behind partially
>drawn and slightly worn, yellowed curtains.
>
>At once I found myself drawn to these unassuming, silent places as I
>might be drawn to a steadfast and welcoming friend. They had a spirit
>of comfortable congeniality, welcoming anyone who might come up for
>tea or toddy or a chat. One particularly attractive place appeared
>... that one with the yellowed draperies. I thought to myself, "Well,
>if I could just be out of the flat. I should very much like that
>place, the stoop of old stone comforted by draping ivy. I don't need
>much ... this would be just perfect."
>
>Oh! But to enjoy such refuge from the obscenity of the city! Such a
>place, however diminutive, would cost a king's ransom here and I am
>not within the means, I fear, even if it were up. So I started to
>move off when, through those curtains, peeked the small face of a
>young lad ... chestnut hair and brown eyes set off by a splash of
>freckles about the nose. His expression absolutely melted my heart.
>Certainly he had been in all day, and as if taking a last hopeful look
>for a break in the weather, he parted the curtains. He gave the
>drizzle a dejected scowl, then drew back from the window.
>
>Poor boy. How desperately he must want out to play with his friends,
>only to be imprisoned by the weather. And I thought so clearly as to
>speak, "How I wish I ... yes ... I ... could be out playing and
>frolicking with my dear school chums once more!"
>
>I at that moment felt absolutely ancient, but seeing that dear,
>wonderful boy's face nonetheless lifted my spirits.
>
>For you see, I am a Boylover. I have always loved boys, I shall
>always love boys. I love boys.
>
>I have known many boys and they have almost without exception filled
>my heart with joy. Why should not a man wish to be around the epitome
>of enthusiastic, lively youth? Why, it is the most natural thing in
>the entire world! To caress a lad, to hold him close, to feel his
>breath on your cheek, to experience that thrill when he drapes his
>arm around your neck in affection and whispers some frivolously
>mischievous boyish thing by your ear ... such joy, such utter
>fulfillment rushes over and you declare you would protect that boy
>with your very life should anyone or anything ever threaten him harm.
>
>Have I regrets? Certainly, for who that lives has not? As with many
>of you, I have felt anger and outrage. I have felt rejection,
>persecution and isolation. I have chafed under the seemingly
>unrelenting virtrole spewing forth from a society that endorses
>degraded love yet condemns the higher love. I have felt fear ...
>actual terror at times that rendered me shaking and nauseous.
>
>But nonetheless my heart is set aglow on a dark, overcast and drizzly
>evening, upon seeing that boy frowning out from the curtained window
>of his comfortable, congenial, ivy wreathed little home. And the
>heart always speaks true.
>
>So, given it all together, would I ever repudiate my love for boys?
>
> No. Never. Never in my lifetime.
>
>I wish you all peace, happiness and a comfortable, congenial, cozy
>hearth of your own.
>
>Victor
>
>
>
>
>God Save Her Majesty the Queen.
>God Preserve the Prince of Wales.
>Rule Britannia!
Thank you Double V for your musings. I too am full to the brim with
love for boys. To brighten your grey British morning, let me tell you
of a perfect boy moment that was at once humourous, delightful and
scandalous.
I was one day travelling through one of the panhandles of West
Virginia, here in America. I was on a two lane road with traffic
backed up and slow due to road construction. It was high summer, July
about 15 years ago to be exact. I rolled slowly along until traffic
stood still while the road workers allowed northbound traffic through
the construction zone, about a half mile ahead. I was delighted to see
that I had stopped in front of a farmhouse with a HUGE oak tree in the
side yard, about 25 feet from the roadway. There was a tire swing
hanging from one of the branches and four boys and a girl ranging in
age from about 7 to about 13 were playing on the swing and under the
tree in the shade. Much to my surprise, the oldest boy (12 or 13)
stopped pushing one of the younger boys in the tire and unzipped,
whipped out his penis and began to pee right there in front of God and
two dozen vehicles within sight of the tree. The boy leaned back and
arced a bright golden stream of urine about four feet into the air and
the same distance away from him. I'll never forget the way the sun
shone off the golden tinkle... Well, the other boys thought that a
hoot and joined him in the act, though they had the modesty to turn
away from the traffic. The single stream was followed by three smaller
ones or lesser height, distance and duration. I was transfixed by the
image. The little girl, for reasons of her own, was not amused by the
pee display and stomped out of the yard toward the house, yelling and
them and threatening to 'get momma'.
By this time I was laughing hysterically and the younger boys noticed
me, as my car was nearest to them. They pointed me out to the older
boy who made a surprised look, covered his mouth and then began to
laugh. They all laughed and I thought they were about to put on a show
(so-to-speak) when Momma came out and upbraided the boys. This made me
laugh harder, but then traffic began to move and I rolled slowly
ahead. The last image, etched forever in my mind, is of the four boys
standing almost in a row, looking chastened as Momma left the scene.
Then breaking into a grin and snickering when she was back inside.
For the next few years as I passed by that place, as I used to do, I
couldn't pass by without laughing to myself and hoping for a glimpse
of those uninhibited boys.
Hope that brought some sunshine to your day.
Love,
Doc
NP-f31
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