Dirt

Letter to My Precious Boy

I am presently sitting in a room of countless days and heartfelt memories. I am pondering many imponderables, and reconsidering many certainties. I have had a life of many vicissitudes, full of both pathos and joy, desolation and love, regrets and fulfilling moments. On the whole I must confess that I am a fortunate soul.

I am sitting here awaiting the time when I may be reunited with my most precious love. A bitter-sweet anticipation. A movement of pure hope and wonder. And a necessary impediment of both time and place.

As I look through those well known steel bars, I am thinking back on all the twists of fate which had brought me this precise moment in life. A life I suspect I could have had no other way. Yes, with some regrets but none I'd be willing to recant.

Thus in a moment of maudlin whim, feeling momentarily bereft of comfort, confidant, or even close friend, I have suddenly taken it upon myself to pen a letter to a boy, who, against all resolve and determination, had totally captured my heart and soul, not to mention my lusts, and brought me to this particular day, at this particular moment, and to this particular place. I know full well that almost no one actually writes an actual real ink and paper letter any more these days, but I figured at this precise moment it was all I had at hand. And besides, no one will read it anyway.

To My Most Beloved and Adorable Perfection of Boyhood.

I certainly believe that time and distance may not truly separate our souls. I have absolutely no doubt that your true wishes coincide with your most dedicated lover. I am sitting here, where fantasies may truly be entertained and fulfilled. And of course you have been the sole object of those desires both past and present.

I can think of nothing better than at this moment to express the undying devotion and love I bear for you, my most precious possession. Perhaps your memories do not correspond with mine, but I would insist that they can overlap where they matter – in the very hearts of those few people capable of intimate union in both mind, body, and soul. And I must insist against any opposition that our bond is of such quality.

As I await our eventual reunion – an event which I must hold in perfect contemplation of hope and will – I would dabble in a frivolous conjecture of imagination. Please allow me to describe exactly what I would do to you, my most precious boy, if only you were here with me at this very moment.

There is a framework in this very room which could very well be utilized to capture you struggling body. One, which in my minds eye and memory, had done exactly that on many past occasions – occasions which brought both of us to realized pleasures, passionate struggles, and consummated love. A man and a boy coupled in life's concrete bonds, intimate passion, and spiritual mystery.

In my reconstruction of events, upon your arrival and forced entry into this very room, where struggles of a boy may not prevail against the desires of his mastering lover, you would be seized. You would be grabbed with sufficient desire and strength of both purpose and overpowering muscle. Your struggles would be both unheeded and ineffectual. Your small black body, the object of your master's desires and lusts, would be no match. Your clothes would soon be mere remnants, having been literally ripped from your thin thrashing frame. Your struggles and shouts for reprieve would only enhance your master's pleasure. With total futility your struggling limbs would be overpowered one by one as they are tied fast in spread-eagled fashion. You protestations would only fuel your master's desires. Eventually you beautiful and infinitely sexy little teen body would be stretch tightly by strong bonds at wrists and ankles, your torso tightened down by several straps, your little boy penis protruding upward in mock salute to your master's desires. At this moment your master would rest in contemplation of your magnificent little boy body. Perhaps not of classical design or typically assessed boy beauty, but to your master, total perfection. As he touches your smooth skin his protruding member would prove his lust and desire. And love. He would force your gaze upon it making you comprehend that soon it will find its appointed and destined place inside your very body. Into your sphincter of love. It would make itself felt into the very bowels of your perfect boy's body.

Covetous hands would roam across your smooth black flesh caressing your most intimate parts and making them his rightful possession. Hands would caress your face, with those startling black eyes, its flaring nose, and the full lips only your heritage could produce it such magnificent size and alluring design.

Your master would then…

It took me a moment to reenter the world of reality. I looked up to see the familiar face of the night guard. I paused in my writing.

His voice finally penetrated: "Miles, fancy seeing you here."

We both chuckled. Of course he and I were almost bonded in familiarity if not friendship. I was happy to maintain a rapport with Dunbar Dumont as he made his nightly rounds. Even if our respective status and situations would seem to separate our worlds.

"Just filling an idle moment." I said with a slightly melancholic smile. "Just writing down the musings of an old man."

He chuckled again. In spite of his baleful aspect, his underlying heart drew my true respect. I would like to regard him as my friend even if we only engaged in such occasional repartee.

"Old? Do not make such obvious misstatements. I must easily have 10 years on you."

"Truth be told, at this particular moment I feel the years on me. I just wish…"

"I know. How long do you have yet?"

"Too long. Though I shouldn't be truly discouraged. It's just that days seem like weeks, and weeks like months."

"Miles, you're getting poetic again."

"Sorry. But when I remember my one true love, I can not help myself."

"Well. I can not actually understand what brings you and your kind to love a boy, but I certainly will not allow my own presumptions to interfere with what nature directed. Especially in this place where such male couplings abound."

Miles was a straight as an arrow but I admires his tolerance. Of course tolerance was one of the main foundation stones of this island's raison d'etre.

"Well, behave Miles. There is a party going on upstairs which requires my presence. Good night."

This momentary interlude has brought back stark memories of just how I came to be living on this particular island, and in a country whose people and life were so vastly dissimilar from the my those of my boyhood and my own family. A family whose mores fashioned me into the person I was today.

Miles Endeavor was not your typical man. Not by a long stretch. First of all he seemed to have a good physique almost without trying. And although by no stretch could one call him good looking, or even the euphemistic 'rugged,' he nonetheless seemed to have some nameless quality about him which occasionally brought him second looks. Athletically he was never in any organized sport, but yet was athletic enough to enjoy the occasional game of tennis, or even a pick-up game of racquetball or even basketball at the neighborhood courts. And in spite of being a straight up 6 foot [1.80 m] and perhaps 160 pounds [72 kg], he had quite the strength and ability to hold his own against most of the usual competition.

He grew up an only child in the great Northwest, but in spite of the rather liberal flavor of the area, he was unlucky in the draw of parents, who were not only religious, but as conservatively religious as one could get. Thus at age 17, having just finished high school with honors, and obtaining a scholarship to a good college, his parents honored him by setting out on the sidewalk all his belongings, in a jumbled heap. They would never speak to him again. For to them he was an abomination – a gay teen.

Fortunately, for Miles 'endeavor' was more than his name. By age 28 he had not only received many accolades and even pecuniary bonuses at his place of work – designing around engineering difficulties too difficult for his fellow workers, but he had also been relatively fortunate in the stock market – although truth be told, and he will admit it himself, thought it involved a good sense of trends and the market, it involved an even greater amount of plain luck.

But of course speaking of 'luck' it was 'bad-luck,' along with his unfortunate penchant for liking barely pubescent boys, which brought him to the opprobrium of his fellow citizens. Thus at the age of 29, after the acrimonious testimony by two rather horrified parents of a 13 year old boy against a pervert who had ruined their good child, Miles was sentenced to five years in prison. And forever after would be branded a sexual offender. The only reason his sentence was not longer, the alleged 'victim' – not considering himself to be a victim at all – refused to testify in spite of his parents' attempt to coerce his cooperation.

This pause has brought to me such a clear memory of the first boy I had loved. Though I was then 22, and in my last year of college when we first met, I can only envision him as he was in those days of our unbridled romp through the reciprocal excitement and wonderment of out mutual exploration of the lust and desires involved in a tryst of man and boy.

I truly can not reconstruct in my memory just who made the very first move beyond friendship. I suspect our mutual lust prevailed almost concurrently. That the courts later labeled our affair as one of perversion, seduction, and abasement of all that is good in an intimate affair, Billy and I knew different.

At 13, Billy knew his own mind and desires and even if immature, he was nonetheless not an unequal participant. I have to admit, as I remember our year of near pure debauchery, the relationship was totally one of joyous exploration of body and sexual desire. But we both supremely enjoyed and refused to regret a single moment.

I thought only an unjust social order separated us and eventually led to my incarceration. I was quite pleased to discover that I had eventually succeeded in making sure that Billy would not blame himself for the retribution of his parents in particular, and of society in general. I was further happy to note his eventual successful advance into adulthood and into a good and lasting relationship – to his parents' consternation – with a boy his own age.

But right now I was not really of a mind to dwell on recriminations, and things best left in the past. I choose only to remember the 13 year old Billy and our amazingly unbridled gambol through our mutual exploration of the world of man-boy sex.

Of course, five year in prison necessarily changes one, and how one approaches life. My overwhelming goal was to regain my former life but making absolutely certain I would never again face either condemnation by an errant perversion of society's mores, and especially avoid even the slightest possibility of arrest and reimprisonment. This time things would be vastly different. This time a more mature and careful person would plan my future.

There were two things during my stay in prison which changed me into the prison I am today. One, I found myself crying not for myself, but for the boy I only later had come to discover I had begun to love. And the second, I became absolutely resolved to find another boy, one to whom I could convince to be mine forever. I realize I had a taste of true love, and I now wanted the entire meal plus dessert.

When I left prison, I had found that any future in my country of birth would require me to not only give up all aspirations of finding my precious boy to whom I could dedicate my entire life, I would also be required to register as a sex offender.

But my time in prison was not spent in idle pursuits. I spent quite a bit of time in research and eventually devised a plan. My first move was to relocate to a place where there was no reciprocal extradition – a place of true sanctuary. Not only did I discover such a place, I found a country – in actuality a small island nation in the Caribbean, a former English, then French colony, which had early on gained its own independence. It was a strange mixture of ethnicity and religious background. It had been a land of war and catastrophe. A land of slavery and freedom. But most of all, it became a land of supreme tolerance and respect for difference. A bastion of civil liberties and a country of beauty. Beauty of both nature and its people.

And no requirement to register as a sex offender.

Thus, with my fortunate, even if modest wealth, I soon relocated the Isle of St. Sergius.

And with deliberate care, I again took back a life of comfort and respect. And true freedom. I settled down in a modest home in a modest suburban development and secured a modest employment. No one seemed to care what my past had been, only my present and willingness to work. I soon regained my previous standard of living and resumed my most assiduous hobby – boy watching. I deliberately chose a neighborhood with an absolutely bourgeoning population of beautiful boys all ethnicities. And that was another thing I enjoyed about my adopted country – the total mingling of white and black. A land that actually practiced true racial tolerance.

Of course it was quite inevitable that I would discover that one boy who would capture both my lust and my heart. A boy, perhaps not of classical beauty, but my perfect boy. I met him at the neighborhood swimming pool. As he walked toward me I was suddenly taken with that certain attraction of boy form and beauty which somehow brought to fullness my desire and need.

Most people, even most boy lovers, would not give this boy a second glance. But for me he was perfection. The very first thing which grabbed my attention was that his skin was that absolutely blackest of Negro pigmentation which only revealed itself as brown on the closest of inspections. The next thing that revealed itself to me was the absolute fullness of the boy's sensuous lips. To me another thing of attraction. That the boy was the very height of stereotypical Negroid feature, to me was a distinct plus. I would suspect that many would judge the boy's sloping forehead, deep brow, large penetrating eyes, non existent nose until it flowered in wide upturned and exposed nostrils whose middle curled down to his protruding lips, as the antithesis of boy pulchritude. But for some reason I could never ascertain, this boy struck me as infinitely desirable.

Over the next several weeks, taking infinite care not to be even suspected of as a stalker, I made every opportunity to observe this boy in all aspects of his boy's life. He was quite athletic even if small and slender. I was surprised to learn that he was 14. I had secreted away one of his folders from school which he had lain on a bench unsupervised. His name was Jaumar Ashmeade, and in 9th grade. He was a good student gaining mostly A's and B's. I tracked him to his school. I tracked him home. I watched him with his friends. He was forever smiling and seemed to have a need to touch and make bodily contact with those he was at play with. Nothing overt but to my practiced eye, done with a subtle deliberateness. And I was especially grateful that he loved to swim, and I took every occasion that I could safely devise, to see him as unclothed as possible. His beautiful unblemished black skin shown with youthful vigor. His slim legs joined his trim waist. Though his ribs were evident, he had the very beginnings of his future musculature. I judged him to be about 5 feet [1.50 m] even, and perhaps 85 pound to 90 pounds [c. 40 kg] – somewhat small for his age and slim for his height, but he was well proportioned in body and limb.

Eventually I had an opportunity to see my heart's desire in total nudity. It was obtained in the open dressing room near a public beach. And I gasped at the perfection of his young manhood. His flaccid penis was about four inches [10 cm] long including a substantial foreskin over a slightly bulbous head, with astonishingly pendulous testicles, even if only average in size. Of course quite respectful for a boy of his age and relatively immature sexual development. It was a standard fantasy of mine that my perfect boy would stay a boy forever. Applied to this boy, his sexual development would remain as it was at that moment forever.

I became ever more determined to discover every one of this boy's movements and eventually moved into another residence so that I was now only across the road and diagonal to his own house. I set up a telescope in a upper room to spy into his own. Fortunately I was rewarded with my persistence and dedication. He would frequently undress near his open window and made no attempt to cover his beauty when walking about near bed time. As the weeks progressed by desires mounted. I eventually HAD to know if he could possibly be THE boy. Unlike other pederast, I was firmly convinced that a boy's love could be gained rather than coerced. But of course I had to do something to see if there was any hope at all. Before I had taken the extravagance to actually move my residence, I had first determined that this boy, though he associated with girls, had no actual girlfriend. This was a definite plus, and made this object of my growing desire a clear possibility. (I was determined that my boy would only be mine if he too were attracted to his same sex, and of course myself).

Finally my diligence paid unrivaled dividends. During one period of play, I espied my boy tumbling in fierce boy 'combat' with another boy of similar age. Although it was purely in fun, there seemed to be some kind of serious intent and edge to their 'wrestling match.' Finally my boy inexplicably seemed to give up even though they were clearly matched. This passivity I thought curious but was totally astonished to view the next stage of their intent 'game.' I suspect that this stage only occurred because they thought themselves to be unobserved. But as my boy lay still underneath the other, I definitely saw his mere token resistance as the other boy grabbed his now aroused member and with a whelp of laughter, pulled down the boy's pants exposing his naked boyhood. He had been wearing no underwear and I quickly snapped a photo with my telephoto lens. But even more than the photo, I was astonished at my boy's seeming passive abandonment to his friend's obvious sexual advance. It was over all too quickly when my boy himself suddenly lurched upward, pulled his pants back up and laughed as he ran into the open.

I had now finally decided. I would take my activity to the next level. Even if I risked discovery. I absolutely had to know. My desires for this boy were becoming overwhelming. But this time I would make no unnecessary move. I definitely did not want to tempt fate. This time there would be no regretful ending. This time I would make meticulous plans.

Over the next week I eventually engineered strategic 'meetings,' both in situations where we were in normal social settings, and in venues where a minimum of clothing was required. I decided to try to invite the boy's positive response to my presence and perhaps even sexual advance if opportunity presented itself. I certainly regarded myself as perfectly trim and presentable. I was only 34 years of age had still looked to be in my twenties.

And I hung in my bedroom a 20 inch [50 cm] glossy of that photo of my boy in all his glory to keep me inspired and determined to pursue my final objective. I 'accidently' met the boy in a café. In a photo shop – his hobby was photography. I even eventually won a position as a math tutor at his school even if it took two weeks before he would seek out my help. He was an astonishingly open and unreserved boy. His emotions were always in the open. He laughed, he smiled. He looked forlorn, he looked agitated. But above all, he was all boy. And even seemed to like my glances and verbal repartee on those occasions I could engineer a meeting. Finally I took one additional chance.

I calculated that if successful, this would seal the boy's fate. And my own. It took place at the neighborhood pool. (I sure liked the island climate where swimming was a year round occupation).

And so it was on a holiday. I discovered he was on his way to the neighborhood pool. I made my way in advance – barely – and undressed in the changing room awaiting his arrival. He was minutes behind. Now was the moment of truth. Would he deign to undress in front of a naked man? Would he even possibly invite my look at his own nakedness. MY wildest dreams came true. He not only bared himself, I swear he deliberately wiggled his beautiful boy buttocks as he leeringly smiled at me. I followed him almost the entire morning. We never even spoke but we seemed to be very conscious of each other's presence. I made a calculated decision. I went back into the changing room first. He followed! Though no words were ever exchanged he definitely took his time changing and he took no shame in drying himself whole sporting a beautiful 4½ inch [11 cm] boy boner! (His genitals were just beginning their very first start through puberty).

I almost fainted in a frisson of lust.

That night I decided. I WOULD have this boy. Nothing would stand in my way. I HAD to possess him. But THIS time there would be absolutely no mistake. No rash action. No misstep. No misadventure. My planning would be meticulous, and my execution flawless, my goal attained without possibility of failure.

First I bought a small bungalow half way across the island. I fixed the place up and then I prepared a special room, with special attention to detail. The room was prepared to allow us to engage in all manner of man-boy sex without any possibility of alerting any neighbor. I envisioned a permanent arrangement. I had made careful investigation concerning the available drug regimen that my boy would undergo. I was certain in my mind that my boy would be mine forever. I could countenance no other outcome. My boy would not WANT any other life. We would join in the beauty and joy of a man-boy relationship. We would both revel in our moments of sex, and still have room for the development of true love. THIS BOY WOULD BE MINE!

I next prepared a detailed schedule of both the boy's actions and those of his parents. I wanted to make sure that when I first came for my boy there would be no possibility of interruption. His parents MUST be elsewhere.

What I was doing could not be labeled stalking. I was merely setting the stage. I finally had everything in readiness. Finally the day had come. With calm determination I approached the boy's house. It was early morning and I reached his front door totally unseen. It was a Saturday. His parents were always away shopping on Saturday mornings. The boy was home alone.

The door was unlocked. I made a pretense of knocking and entered the living room. There was my boy. Our eyes met. Mine in desire, his in astonishment.

"What are you doing hear?" he asked, not overly alarmed.

"I've come for you. I know that you are attracted to me and I want you as mine. I intend to brook no objection. You WILL be mine!"

I made bold with my reply. He had to know absolutely that my will in this matter would brook no rebuff.

But it was I who next received an unwelcome shock! From the other room walked the boy's father. He probably outweighed me by 50 pounds [23 kg]. His look, though not hostile, was certainly not inviting.

"You're Miles, aren't you? I've seen you around. I would like to know what you are doing here? And specifically just why have you addressed my son in that manner?"

I was in shock. This was a confrontation for which I was not prepared at this early stage. Now I was faced with a confrontation I was not yet prepared for. I had to regroup. I had dispel the father's concern. But just how could I adequately explain both my actions and words to his son. I looked at the boy and he just stood still. But his father definitely was not. He called to his wife who soon appeared.

The boy's father forced the confrontation.

"Miles, you need not try to explain. I've seen you staking my son. I've known of your prurient interest now for some time. And my wife and I overheard just how you announced yourself to my son, after walking into our home without invite. We WILL have a reckoning!"

Ten weeks later, I was before another judge in another country. I stood proud in spite of some mummers from those in attendance. My world of man-boy love was definitely not as accepted as a norm by most people in the world today. Of course the residents of this island country were exceptionally tolerant, but even their degree of liberalism was not spread throughout their population. There were many openly opposed to a relationship between a man and a boy. Especially of the kind I had envisioned. I looked over at the boy's parents and took great pleasure in their reactions. They had surprised me. I looked at my boy. He too surprised me. In spite of that premature confrontation with my boy's parents, my hopes and dreams had still been realized.

We were at the very end of the this official gathering.

The judge was asking the final questions:

"Do you Miles Endeavor, take this boy, Jaumar Ashmeade, as your spouse for life. To love and protect, for the duration of your lives?"

"I most certainly do!"

My smile was a big as my boy's.

"Do you Jaumar Ashmeade, take this man, Miles Endeavor as you spouse for life. To obey and cherish? For the duration of your life?"

"Absolutely!"

Five minutes later we were at the boy's home with a small gathering of his and the family's closest friends. Our honeymoon was all planed. My boy would first spend his first week at out private bungalow which had been meticulously prepared for this occasion.

Though his parents still had some reservations, their son had prevailed and insisted that they give me a real chance to show my true feelings and allow our love to grow as we came to know each other Five months later the wedding day was set and a month later we were married. That was this very morning. His parents had finally relented and the law, allowing same sex marriage in this liberalized and tolerant country recognized the age of consent to be 15. Today was Jaumar's fifteenth birthday.

Eventually we escaped the pressures of his family and friends, some of whom were not absolutely convinced that Jaumar was doing the sensible thing. But no matter. Over the past several months we had agreed on exactly what our relation hip would be.

Later that evening, before climbing into our wedding bed, we discussed our futures.

I asked again that very important question. "So, are you absolutely certain this is what you want?"

"I love you Miles. I knew that you were the man for me when I saw the response of yours to my deliberate taunts."

"But you do not mind this kind of relationship? I do not want even the slightest concern or misgiving."

"Absolutely. We have both investigated. Our family doctor has approved of the drug regimen and will carefully track my progress. There is no real risk. I am ready."

I picked up the syringe and made the very first injection of an LHRH analog, a synthetic hormone that block the body's production of the sex hormones. Later, when his hormonal balance was deemed totally balanced, he would be implanted with a yearly implant. In some cases the child responds better to some other GnRH analogue which would be a back up if needed. With this drug regimen, which I had investigated a number of years ago, my boy would remain my boy forever. His progression through puberty will come to a complete halt. With other growth hormone blockers, my beautiful black boy would stay my beautiful black boy forever."

Our lovemaking that night set my soul on fire. And I found that sex was that much more amazing when one was more interested in a partner's pleasure then ones own.

I continued writing my letter…

Your master would then would take total possession of your body. He would invade everyone of your holes making special use of that so very inviting black well in the cleft of your boy butt.

Later, after you bonds had been disengaged, we would do it all over again but with the tenderness of intimate lovers who needs only the other to make their lives whole.

Jaumar, I need you with me. I need to share with you our total dedication. Ever since you convinced your parents to allow our relationship its chance to blossom we knew we for each other. I had hoped to first convince you and then approach your parents but fate intervened to bring about an even faster resolution.

I believe myself to be the most fortunate person in this world. To have found a country so tolerant as to recognize same sex unions. To have found parents willing to allow their son's suitor to prove his true love. And to find my perfect boy whose physical beauty is only out shown by that of his inner spirit.

I wish you could have taken those university courses closer to home but I know that in weeks we will be back together. Very long weeks as I just mentioned to .

I am currently at the Oscar Wilde Boys and Men's Club and sitting in that very room where we lived out some of our best sexual fantasies, and looking through those very iron bars which you pretended defined your sexual imprisonment.

Please be thinking of your most dedicated master. As you master is thinking of his most beloved boy.

The security guard here asked about you just a few minutes ago. I mentioned that the days we are apart seem like weeks, and weeks like months.

Please know that you are the most beautiful boy in the world, and the most loved.

You most beloved master,

Miles

Miles opened the iron barred door of the scene room, walked down the wide hallway containing other similar 'rooms,' and went upstairs to join the ongoing party. Knowing that his boy was thinking of his master, as he was thinking of his boy. Now just 15 days away.

The End