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O Mores! O Bullshit! Forthbwoyner 35 Who was that boy I saw you with last night? Billy—at 16 36 The hazards of urethral coitus. Missus Marasmus 40 Never underestimate the stupidity of a woman! Ecce Puer! Luc—at 13 51 The case of the nearly-lost load. Gogo Renascent 54 The balloon-boy pricked! Ave Atque Vale! Tinker—at 15 58 "Am I hurting you, dear? Haven—at 15 63 You know in your heart he's Right! Luc—at 13 67 "Wipe me, please, sir!

Donal—at 13 73 "Dessert c-c-coming up! Luc—at 13 77 The long and short of it. Pro Bono Sapciety 78 The F. Parris—at 14 81 Muffling the transports of lust. Cencio—at 13 83 The reluctant virgin. Roy—at 14 84 I am laggard in seducing him—and he blames me! Carr—at 16 87 Fill 'er up with high-test! Luc—at 13 88 About a certain ineffable sticky whitish fluid. Jason—at 14 89 A boy-Svengali and a recalcitrant Trilby. Donal—at 13 91 "Go on and take s-s-seconds, Duke! Anstruther 94 The answer to the Faustian quest for youth.

Donal—at 13 98 "I don't mind trying it when my b-b-butt heals! Luc—at 13 That unspeakable phrase: "I love you!'s Instagram Friends in Last Photos

The Gone Beloved Cheat—at 13? Rowan—at 17 Originator of the 'poor-boy' sandwich. Pascal—at 18 Aphrodisia is no lady! August—at 17 A calf is a lethal lover. Andy—at 14 Of a persistent cyst and a phoenix foreskin. Luc—at 13 Even hyperbole seems not enough! The Feminine Mystaque Nothing but the truth—on the whole. Wakefield—at 14 "Cold pops, why you play so hard to get!

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Bucky—at 14 The young wrestler who could stand while lying down. Fiat Lux It pays to advertise—if you feature a boy. Traumerie Primero Latrine interlude. Perry—at 13 The mutual larcenists. Luc—at 13 Once a boy knows you are his slave. Linden—at 15 An unadvertised use for Geritol. Sonny—at 17 A close shave and some cutting remarks. Warren—at 18 Fouled balls, or: The heavy hitter hit. Luc—at 13 The ointment in the fly. C'est Si Bon! Einar—at 14 He came, I saw, fuzz conquered! Luc—at 13 Pull up an electric chair and sit down!

Ben—at 18 Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! Luc—at 13 An exercise in phallic undexterity. Renfrew—at 13 The pitiful account of an outwitted sex-fiend. Luc—at 13 Harvard may call it Proctology but I call it Sodomy. Norbert—at 16 Money makes the mare go and the stud come. Kevin—at 14 Who killed Cock Robin? Luc—at 13 The aphrodisiac 'hic'!

Rex—at 15 I love to see that evening son go down! Luc—at 13 Define 'incest,' Mother Goose! Chinois Connu Won Hung Lo. Mercer—at 16 Brush your teeth, man, they're hairy! Luc—at 13 Beauty and the Beast and a Birthmark. Sherry—at 13 Pull it out deeper 'cause it hurts so nice!

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Luc—at 13 You're the cream in my coffee! Pell—at 13 Does your mother know you're out? Luc—at 13 An 'L' of a cutup is Casimir. Molto Molto Sotto Voce! Post-Mortem An ice pick and an obituary. Luc—at 13 The medicinal value of a scorned substance. Roger—at 18 The papal infallibility of rubbers is a myth.

Sky—at 14 The young Catholic and his confessional catholicon. Luc—at 13 The quite impossible she. Ricky—at 13 He who is without stones can't cast the first sin.

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Matthew—at 15 Reproach to a Young Blackmailer. Luc—at 13 Casimir as a Bridge of Sighs. Lee—at 13 That lovely war between the North and South. Luc—at 13 The asscent of Mt. Non Seductio Ad Absurdem! Nick—at 18 Sexual intercourse is a figure of speech. Luc—at 13 It's not what you do but who you know!

Burtis—at 14 He wants to have a baby in the worst way! Willy—at 17 Liquid deposits are a medium of exchange. Luc—at 13 Of Luc's spear and Shakespeare. Wheeler—at 12 Whose pudding can be pulled but not eaten. Luc—at 13 He is suddenly stricken with everything but the Curse! Henry—at 15 Which came first—the hen or the egg? Martin—at 14 Takes a stimulating course in remedial reading. Hush, Hush, Little Baden-Powell! Luc—at 13 I knew you were coming so I baked a cake! Eros Apteros The three nonconformist faces of Eros.

Jerry—at 14 The erotic enuretic. Luc—at 13 "Sir, do you want to! Bilitis In which a Wiper is mistaken for a Shaker. Luc—at 13 "Sir, it's impolite to talk with your mouth full! Joel—at 15 Shoot me again, lover—I'm still breathing! Luc—at 13 A whistle gets blown in fuzzy Lovers Lane. Steve—at 15 A murderous hustler gets coldcocked. Kenneth—at 12 Suffer little children to come unto me. Luc—at 13 Indoor football and a five-toed touchdown. Winter—at 14 Please excuse me for falling asleep! Scotty—at 14 Father and son, or: the horrendous substitute. Tony—at 13 If at first you don't suckseed—try, try again!

Luc—at 13 Blessings on thee, Fanny Hill! Dick—at 14 The arbitrary Amoroso. Lester—at 19 What evil lurks in the vaginal chamber of horrors! Luc—at 13 Goosing Mother Goose. O Night, What of the Watchman! Alexis—at 12 Of buttons and indecent exposure. Luc—at 13 The sleepy schoolboy and the higher beducation.

Lars—at 13 Of a high IQ and the almond underworld. Luc—at 13 Orgasm by mail. Blair—at 13 A snow-boy who's a NO! Joseph—at 15 The too-systematic hustler and his itemized bill. Luc—at 13 Little Boy Blew! Luc—at 13 Resurgam delights and a declaration of affection. Gentlemen: You have left the door open. And I have walked in. Assuming you have bought this book and seek to get your money's worth, you will read it at least in part thus involuntarily becoming a captive audience; when or if you finish it you will probably conclude there is much to be said for capital punishment with particular reference to the author—though here I want emphatically to state that this polemic is a posteriori rather than a priori autobiographical.

I will attempt in the following pages to put into perspective a relatively unknown area of human activity which has been affrightedly neglected in pornographic and popular literature though not in classical. This so-called unspeakably immoral relationship has existed sub rosa and sotto voce since there were boys, hence it deserves passing attention in the modern idiom. In the neo-hip dialect, a man who for any of a multitude of reasons finds certain masculine teen-age lads sexually desirable is called a 'boy-sexual'; he is classified with the general group of homosexuals but is definitely more akin to the heterosexual male in appearance and psychic constitution, though he is superior to the average heterosexual in that he generally practices the Emersonian principles of truth and tenderness, plus a humane sexual responsibility.

The true boysexual is a madman—make no mistake about that—but his is a benign uncertifiable madness symptomised by a gullible romanticism and an impractical sentimentality. He is not a sex-maniac, child-rapist or molester of very young children. He never employs force or violence except in self- defence, if then. He does not initiate child exploitation, and has a necessary regard for the public sensibilities that many heteros could well emulate.

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Far less a threat to your pubescent son than the automobile or motorcycle, the boysexual ordinarily concerns himself with junior-hustlers or lads who are otherwise delinquent or adventurous youths who could easily find far less wholesome contacts. The modus operandi of the boy-lover will be developed hereinafter. Puberty, which is a sine qua non to the boysexual, occurs in young males from ages 12 to 17, usually 13 or 14, and some time before pubescence most lads have already indulged in sex play alone or with age-mates or older and younger persons of both sexes.

Scarcely a generation ago quite a few boys of 14 and even 13 were earning their own living, were independent of adult supervision, and sex-outlets usually female prostitutes were available to them; at present, principally to avoid a glut in the labor market but also due to a far too protracted educational process, adolescents have been forced into a dependent and artificial child-status until they are 20 or older, with markedly deleterious results. Taking into account the immediate foregoing, you could without too much straining credulity regard this Diary then as the case-history of one man's sexual relations with youthful workingmen and young husbands or husbands-shortly-to-be, actually or in posse.

Finally, do not assume I wish to proselytize any man to my way of thinking or mode of life—the competition is too cutthroat fierce as it is! That part of the male which cannot tell a lie is not duplicated in the too often feigning female's duplicitous body Oh shut up, clitoris, you're just a penis-envying spoil-sport! A gay widow is Mrs. She is young, generous and salacious, I am sorry to relate, as she and I are rivals for the hand of elusive Gavin who has saturnalian curls, a Pierrot face and a statued grace fit for classical museums though if he went into one, Venus de Milo would sprout arms to strangle him out of sheerest inferiority-complex.

And while Mrs. And late one night when Gavin is scheduled to be rumpticooing Mrs. C, he comes snivelling into my bed and I, asking no questions, reach thankfully for his fascinum fascination but he winces away displaying a mound of gauze where his candy-cane I trust still is in residence. And between lamentations he groans that he is through with Mrs.

A lean and whippy lad is Carolus, handsome as a new flag snapping in the wind. He can give you a high research in depth old-fashioned buggery-ride that has you counting your fingers on your toes but penilely he can delight neither man, woman nor himself for at age 10 he was irremediably kicked in his tiny budding sprout by a contemplative carthorse. Shodding myself with metal-toed boots, I hunted down that iniquitous equine determined to mete out to him Carolus' fate. GOGO—at 3 weeks June There were 20 positions of love, according to the ancient Etruscans; borrowing from Asia, the classical Greeks counted 27; and a German soldaten-tante savant, writing from a Munich madhouse, insists there are These figures all presume heterosexual intercourse of course, subject to the limitations imposed by vertebrate anatomy.

In the little rose-covered bungholow next door resides Mr. Nehemiah Snoony whose reputation is a wool shirt that has entertained a summertime of moths. He did a stretch in the local snoozer ostensibly for impairing a whore's morals, but us in the In-Group know he really was bugged for highway mopery and throwing stones at airplanes; besides, it wasn't a whore but a youth and morals didn't enter into it, being just a slight misunderstanding with reference to centsible dollars.

Among Snoony's more heinous offenses, doubtless the most remarkable occurred while he was working at Goodyear and was fired for attempting to smuggle out two truck tires in his vest-pockets—which though impossible is still highly probable. And I lie on my often lonely couch in the endless unamorous night, hearing Snoony rutting and rioting, grunting and groaning, wheezing and whiffling on Gogo until I actually begin to envy him and am seriously considering commissioning him to fabricate for me Gogo's twin brother.

But lately I see Nehemiah is wearing a lugubrious puss, jowls almost to shoulders chapfallen, and hearing no more copulative noises in my restless unslumbered hours, I inquire is young Gogo enjoying the best of health. And Snoony hurls to the ground the tire-pump he is carrying and sourly snarls it is none of my business entirely but the sad fact is Gogo has developed an incurable chronic slow leak!

Like liquid Stardust and distilled moonlight, boys are an acquired taste wherein an exquisitely precise adjustment of buccal hollow, lingual stalagmite and palatal stalactite is mandatory, and the heart necessarily must be coronarily puer-occluded—the cardiac blood plasma pumping left or sinister rather than oscillantly dexter-sinister as in less erotismic organisms.

Boy-lovers are not remarkable for their longevity. Tinker is a stinker but I admire to toy with him on lilac'd nights and honeysuckle days for he has me wholly in the palm of his hand and is ever making a fist. He has dark houri eyes, mouth all soft outrage to decency and a silky torso tapering to satin inner thighs and velvety genitals —emporium of wet dry goods, specializing in boys'-wear; yet there should be a law against open-legged Satyr lads like him for his lovelost victims ever frantically founder themselves on his rock of St.

Peter or become moral shipwrecks on the reef between his Charybdis-Butt and Scylla-Tox. Proudly he boasts that he has seduced his own father, which is understandable enough for Tinker is far more handsome than his mother, who thinks Hygiene is a salutation and imparts a piscine stench to everything she touches, having the horrendipitous capacity to menstruate 24 days out of the month. Ah, me! I can look into the wild oat seeds of Time and safely prophesy a bad end for this too ravish'd groom of lustfulness, and will willingly wager a fifth of Dr.

Brown's Anal Unguent that ten years from now Tinker will be either a physical disaster carrying his asshole over his arm, his prepuce tattered into torn flesh lace curtain and his glans meatus gaping like a dying whale August Immorality and a stiff prison sentence begin with a philanthropic gesture! In the sovereign state of Minnesota recently, a man was sentenced to ten years' confinement at hard labor for teaching a year-old boy how to masturbate. And fervently I hope that poor guy never reads or hears of the authoritative pronouncements of many modern, advanced, enlightened psychiatrists, psychologists, doctors, pediatricians et al, that a boy of 14 who has not instinctively or from his age-mates learned how to play with himself is lacking in normal aggressiveness and enterprise and can be considered somewhat retarded!

Even the gods when judged by history are usually judged wrong! In all Olympus fastidious Zeus found no goddess worthy of love so he wisely raped a boy from Earth. Dominant-gened, overbearing, almost ballbearing Mrs. Forthbwoyner D. But tell me please, dear Mrs. Forthbwoyner, what is that short coarse blond pubic hair doing in your husband's mustache? Boy-love is an exclusive institution which for obvious reasons has been forced to operate largely underground but it flourishes today even more strongly than it did nearly twenty-five centuries ago when it was accorded an honorable status.

The indignant or curious hetero may speculate why there is such fascination in this type of emotional attachment: to simplify, why love boys when such an overabundance of unattached girls and women exists? One very essential reason is that, unlike the female who is physically and psychically limited only to take, a lad can both take and give.

What mature man has not with Byron sighed: "Ah, to be a boy again! If you are sufficiently receptive, a lad will share with you the springtime of his boyhood and by a sort of osmosis graft upon your age his exhilarant youth, which will take root and grow and thrive. For boy and man are anatomical allies; the lad's bodily geography is the man's own, his native land, whereas the female is a strange foreign country in which the male knows neither the language nor the customs nor the topography, too often entering with forged passport and inadequate luggage and always proceeding at his own risk.

I am him in like mind and flesh and spirit, in resurrected hopes, dreams, ambitions, great expectations! Billy has a piquant Renoir face and a body that would have brought home the thousand ships that Trojan Helen launched; he is a junior-hustler who is good in the better sense, being immoral, dismoral, unmoral and amoral. Highly intelligent, he does not believe homos are guilty by definition nor that homosexuality is any more a disease than genius is, and he declares fervently that I am his best friend by which he means I am free with my money and ever ready with ice cubes to cool off the frequent hot water he finds himself in.

Billy has a quaint habit of sneezing when his melting-crisis approaches, which is a superbly convenient sexual warning-system for he has so inexhaustible but unpredictable a semenarium that he sometimes melts just when I think he can be no more than warming-up; and this afternoon, dispensing with the preamble to the boy's constitution and nestling in the warm happy valley of his thighs, I am chinning myself on his horizontal bar and effortlessly lifting both his barbells with one little finger when he inquires: "Duke, why do you like boys?

Billy admits I have a very strong point there and allows me to administer a severe licking with my cat-o'- nine-tails tongue to his horizontal bar which gradually becomes vertical while he adjures me to go easy on him and make this one last for he wants to have something left when he takes his new girl Linda out tonight in her father's Volkswagen, as he thinks she is the type who can be talked out of It if he plays his fingers right. I caution him to be careful, make certain she's willing, wear a dependable rubber but Billy scorns condoms as deadening sensation , be gentle if it's her first time, etc.

A couple shots of Old Panther Piss revives him and he leans his hard young shoulder against my flabby ageing one, blubbering that he took Linda to a dance and later in Lovers Lane she says Yes! And he poises his weapon at the opening but perhaps because of their cramped position he has it angled wrong for when he drives in, it is not into her vagina but up past a certainly dumbfounded clitoris into the urethra, and when Linda begins to scream Billy pulls out covered with blood and urine bubbles.

And while gratefully I reflect that there but for the grace and uncomplicated sexual mechanism of boys go I, Billy relates that he drove Linda to the nearest hospital where she is wheeled into the emergency-room and her parents notified, and shortly an interne takes him aside and breaks the bad news that the girl's urethral canal is ruptured, with perforations of the bladder wall; and as Linda's irate father with suspicious bulge in one pocket shows up at the hospital's front door, Billy ducks out side door and homes to me.

Resignedly I phone my lawyer, acquaint him with the sordid details, ask him to get over to the hospital and do the necessary; then dig out pajamas for Billy who thankfully clutches my hand, says he'll repay me ten times over and asks dolefully: "Duke, why do I like girls! Then Mrs. Marasmus, who has the personality of a Senatress McCarthy and the appearance of the south end of a skunk headed north, runs me down with her juggernaut wire basket on wheels. When I have collected myself except for one gristled bit forever lost in a barrel of kosher pigs'-feet, Mrs.

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  4. I look at her and consider for one satisfying moment opening the packaged-fish freezer behind her, shoving her into it, closing the lid and cementing it over. Marasmus to cuddle, nurse and care for. LUC—at 13 January Luc rhymes with Luck—last name unknown because he refuses to divulge it is five feet tall, weighs 98 pounds and is the politest, most insulting boy I have ever encountered.

    He deliberately mangles 'Casimir Dukahz' into disrespectful 'Cashmere Duckass' but addresses me as 'Sir', a reflexive observance of etiquette that has ineradicably been beaten into him at a tender age by a sadistic foster parent. I have adopted Luc unofficially thus breaking my own rule of the unnecessity of buying a bull-calf when cream's so cheap, but this bull-calf is purebred in everything I prize and I overlook no tie to bind his destiny to mine.

    He came to me with fading chain-marks on wrists and ankles and back latticed with healing welts, fugitive from some neanderthal-Gothic Deep South purgatory, for his was an unhappy childhood that out-Twisted Oliver. The boy's exceptional good looks have brought him only humiliation and mistreatment and he has a low opinion of both man- and womankind: his stepfather used him as substitute-wife during the aware mother's disabling illness, chained and horsewhipped him when he violently resisted, then 'rented' him to a wealthy bisexual townsman whereby the lad lost his anterior virginity and ran away when his new admirer's wife proved even more brutal than his stepfather.

    Luc declares himself three-quarters poor white and one-quarter Comanche Indian: is scornful of the first, proud of the latter. Sometimes the Fates are kind, though always tricky: when shabby, shivering Luc first knocked at my back door one morning in early January asking if I had any work he could do for something to eat, still guilt-engrossed in compiling a highly implausible Declaration of Estimated Income report I proffered a hasty five bucks and a too-small fur-lined jacket of mine and was about to direct him to the Juvenile Home or Children's Aid Society.

    Dumbstruck I fall back as he enters neither bold nor shy, and retina blurred with the afterimage of that arresting countenance I prepare a meal which he devours with the restrained ferocity of a wolf cub table-manners trained. He thanks me in low husky drawl with the deserved sequitur: "You're not a very good cook, are you, sir! And while he warmer clad removes snow I drive downtown in maniac traffic-light color- blindness and buy a boy's entire wardrobe, sizes expertly guessed and complete except for pajamas— nightgowns I already have so much more convenient in bed and in bath custom-made of some stuff sheer as smoke, years waiting for the right recipient.

    At supper the kid's blue-green eyes between improbable eyelashes fasten somberly on me as he asks if I'm married, do I live alone, and several other searching questions revealing an awareness, a hard practical knowledge that now is judging me. Later I lead him to the spare bedroom, hand him night-wear which elicits a fractional insolent laugh, indicate key on inside of door and again he casts me a glance whose significance I am unable to grasp does ignorance wonder or does experience confirm?

    In my own room aloneness seems to assume shape and substance, the bed in its monastic order mocks me and there is dust under the love-seat! But this fool bee does not sting the bloom that may afford it honey and I only press lips lightly to the pulse in his ankle, cover him and creep away, senses dizzied by the glow of his comeliness and feeling disquietingly that I have been observed. AM Static by owlpostagain reviews Getting the summer internship as a talk show host on W was Roxas' dream come true.

    His new favorite caller is just an added bonus. Akuroku for Akuroku Day. He had to escape. He had to. But how? Even the light around him was blocked out as they swarmed over him. His head was soon covered. Hands clawed at him and he felt them begin to bite. This was it. It was all over now. Dastardly Brilliant Plan by tsuki-san16 reviews Soul was one sneaky bastard. In retrospect, this was not how he pictured their first kiss. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single high school boy in possession of a good libido, must be in want of a girlfriend — or a pretend one.

    Red White and Blue by Aria6 reviews A one shot so far, but there might be more! Roxas is a police officer looking for pedophiles on the internet but what he finds is not what he expects. Well, ever been forced to choose between your dignity and mindless f-wording with the love of your life? It's sort of like that. Love Stinks by kurosora reviews Two guys with the blues, the reds, and the pinks. Only thing they're sure of is If the Man Fits by kurosora reviews Keep him.

    AkuRoku, Happy Valentine's Day Peace on Earth by kurosora reviews If only it were always this simple. Merry Christmas C'est la Vie by kurosora reviews The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. AkuRoku for Norikuu. Sketch and Shiver by kurosora reviews Art students should refrain from falling in love with nude models. Axel missed that memo. Which is why it surprised him that Kid had taken an interest in him. Not that they're dating. It's all the mistletoe's fault, New Year's fault, and symmetry's fault. Rated M. Axel and Roxas are having a general conversation.

    A Roll in the Hay by kurosora reviews Axel and Roxas and a quiet barn full of hay at night. Ride him, Cowboy. You can imagine how this is going to go. The Restaurant by Mamotte Ageru reviews Axel works at a restaurant. Roxas is a student at the school on the opposite side of the street from the restaurant. Oh, and Axel is a Roxasphile.

    Inertia Creeps by risokura reviews Note to self, next time you try to commit suicide, jump off a building. It's a lot more effective. Language Arts by sbspf Scary. Part of the "Random School Series. Math by sbspf You can't really summarize this. Are We Friends Yet? Roxas just so happens to find something to keep him there for a while yet. And it all started with a freaking cold. Some Zemyx. Sasuke is Gay Part 2 by sbspf reviews You asked for a sequel so here is the damn stupid sequel. And there was Sora, the kid who showed up one day, claiming to be my long lost twin.

    There was Axel, who was trying to worm his way into my heart. And my pants. And there was Riku. But you don't care about him. It wouldn't have been that bad, except we have to bring Kairi along. And Sora's boyfriend. Roxas, you'd better be worth it. AkuRoku, RikuSora. Officially by lhbaghead reviews It was at that first party where Roxas found out his best friend was a really good kisser.

    And, oh- that they had actually been dating for the last two years. Thanks for stopping by. Appreciate your comments. Thank you and welcome to the "Early Birder". Good picture of the Jay too, this is the time of year to catch 'em! Thanks for the tip. I notice you had a few flutters earlier this week as well. Thanks Roy. Won't be long before there are more species to hunt down. Great to see the butterflies on the wing, as it gets warmer. And well done on hearing the Cuckoo. I've been keeping an eye, and ear out for these; but unsuccessfully so far. Beautiful butterflies! Looks like you had a great day.

    Loved the bird photos. Beautiful shots all, Frank! The Jay is really exceptional. I've never seen one before.

    My favorite shot, hands down, is the Mallard's synchronized swimming ;-. Hi Larry. I think the Mallard were practising for the Olympics..