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Letters From Our Readers
Dear NAMBLA:
I recently turned 15 years old and would like to commend NAMBLA on the
Bulletin. I figured I would write to help educate your readers on
what a 15-year-old thinks and sometimes has to go through in the 80s
and now the 90s.
My father is an alcoholic and my mother passed away when I was
ten. My life was in prepubertal turmoil. My father, when
drinking, was verbally and physically abusive. In my opinion he
really didn't care what I did. On many occasions I had to prepare
my own meals. I already knew that I stood alone. It was
time to run. I started missing school and became a streetwise
tough.
I feel that I am a sensitive person and considerate to others, the way
my mother was. But it wasn't always that way. Loneliness
shadowed over me. I started at about 11 years old to steal and
cheat my way through life, vandalizing property and the very things I
loved most. I was lost, not knowing who I was.
From what I can remember about mother, she was an absolute angel,
considerate and very willing to help others who were in need, sometimes
taking from herself. Even though my father never gave her
anything, she sometimes gave what she had most of and that was love for
people. My mother understood life. But not enough to pull
herself out of a crisis.
Despite all the good I remember about her, I continued to do the things
I was doing. Even when I didn't want to do things, I forced
myself into doing them for the hell of it.
Then one day when I was riding my skateboard at a local park I noticed
a man about 30ish staring at me. At the time I had no idea what
man/boy love was. However, I knew what faggots were. On the
streets, me and my friends used to tease and harass them. I
assumed he was one.
This particular day it was hot and I was thirsty. There was a
water fountain about maybe ten feet from where this man was
sitting. I was thirsty and decided to take the chance. I
skated over to the fountain only to find out that it was broken.
I looked back only to find the man standing in back of me.
"Thirsty are ya?" he said. I looked up at him and said in a wise
tone, "What's it to you?"
"I mean no harm," he replied, "just offering to buy you a soda.”
He said he had two children about my age at home. He told me he
knew what it was like to be thirsty.
I immediately built up confidence with him. We went to a local
store for a soda. He asked me to sit and talk with him for a
while. To pass the time, I did. I sat with him for about
two hours. Those two hours changed my life in a very positive
way. The conversation we had, made me feel like someone
again. That is where this story really begins. We discussed
many things mainly about myself. I told him what had happened to
me, and that I felt rejected and unloved by everyone. He
understood my feelings. Just talking made me feel better, and
like I was someone, something I hadn't felt since my mother died.
It was getting late and I had to go. We said good-bye to each
other and walked in opposite directions, never setting another date to
meet. I got about a block away, and suddenly realized how great a
guy he was. I turned and jumped on my skateboard, cruising at
full speed heading towards him to make another time when we could talk
some more. He agreed to meet me the next day.
This time he prepared me a lunch and brought me a soda. He asked
me if I wanted to ride to a state park to relax and to talk some
more. I agreed, and that is where we went. When we arrived
he took time to explain some of the wildlife, and also the process of
evolution. His objective was to broaden my understanding of life,
and the difficulties of what anything in life has to go through to
survive. We walked through the park for hours talking, and I felt
a very special bond between us. He encouraged me to stay in
school. Looking back at the steps he took before even bringing up
school still fascinates me. He told me he was attending
university and almost finished with his engineering degree, which made
me feel all the more special. See, in my neighborhood there are
not a whole lot of educated people, let alone someone who would get
involved with me.
Over the next few months a deep friendship developed between us.
I eventually found out that he wasn't married with children, he was a
poor student who didn't have anything. I think that I became his
biggest asset, as he was to me. My attendance in school improved
as did my grades. I didn't feel dirty anymore, no matter how much
my father tried to make me do so.
He took a lot of time trying to get through to my father, to help him
enter alcohol rehab in order to save his job- the only good thing about
my father- and he was about to lose it. He contacted my teachers
and my friends' parents, trying to get advice on how he could raise the
quality of my life. Surprisingly there were no suspicions on why
he asked so many questions. Quite frankly, I had no idea myself.
Like I mentioned, he was poor himself, however, he bought me
clothes. Not expensive ones, but clothes that raised my
confidence within myself. He also directed some attention on
keeping me off the street, in an indirect way, by spending a lot of
quality time with me.
As the months passed by my hormones started kicking in. Puberty
was on its way. At night I would get erections. All of this
was unexplained. Questions would have to be asked. But to
whom? You guessed it. I was embarrassed to inquire, but I
got myself together and went on a quest for sexual information.
I hope I'm not boring you guys out there.
Anyway I explained to him the occurrences I was experiencing. He
explained in detail the reproductive process, also the sexual behaviors
of a variety of people including man/boy love. At first it was a
little scary. I kinda put two and two together and asked him if I
was there for that reason. He replied calmly, "Only if you want
it.” The conversation was dropped at that point. It was to
give me a lot of thinking to do. I went home that night and
started writing my very first journals. This man had given me so
much in the year or so since I'd known him, and I had given him so
little. It was time to repay what I called a debt.
I went over to his apartment the next evening and asked him what he
meant about what he said the previous night. He told me that he
was a little scared that I would never talk with him again, and that he
should have never brought it up. I explained to him it was all
right, and that I didn't know how to start. "I'll show you if
you're ready and if you want me to show you," he said. He also
stated that sex wasn't the most important thing in our relationship,
but could be very gratifying if we did it right.
We went into his bedroom, and he asked me to sit on his bed. He
tried to make me as relaxed as possible. I think he was as
nervous as I was. He massaged my back and gradually worked his
hand down to the button on my pants. He looked at me and asked me
once more if I was sure that I wanted to go through with it. I
hesitated and replied yes. [. . .] How gentle he was. [. .
.] I'd never felt anything like
it. [. . .] A relationship was in the making, at my own
pace.
(Eventually I did get better in bed.)
The months went by. Nothing could have been better between
us. Until I made a big mistake and went with another guy that I
met in an arcade. I really didn't feel there was anything wrong
with it. By this time I was more experienced and wanted to seek
adventure. Till this day I don't know how he found out about
it. He got very angry at me and didn't want to see me
anymore. I had hurt him in such a way that now I
understand. After three months of being away, I had to make
restitution with him. I tried calling him, just to hear his
answering machine telling anyone who called that he would get back to
them as soon as possible. He was lost and I was right behind him.
And pretty soon I again would have nothing. My father was selling
our house. He could no longer maintain it with no income.
But he had enough to drink every day. He was just going to get an
apartment somewhere in Maryland. I had the feeling that he didn't
want me with him. I lost interest once again in school, though I
did attend. How could I be so stupid, I asked myself over and
over again.
Then one day by coincidence I bumped into my friend on the
street. I walked over to him. His first words were, "Take
that earring out of your ear and do something with that hair."
"I'll see you tonight, I guess," I replied.
"Here's five dollars for a haircut. Intelligent people don't walk
around like that," he said.
And we parted. That night I went over to his apartment and
resumed our relationship, never once bringing up what happened.
It's a little over four years since we've known each other. He
since graduated college and is living in another city, away from his
apartment which I currently occupy at his expense. He is
currently employed at a major company, making six times what my father
ever made. My father is still drinking heavily. I no longer
speak with him for obvious reasons. I am in the 11th grade doing
well, and hope to be emancipated next year from my father. I am
drug-free and also anti-drug. I hope to further my
education. Maybe I'll set up a shelter someday for homeless and
for abused boys.
I guess the point that I wanted to make which inspired me to write this
article for your magazine is that I've heard so many bad things about
pedophiles and the harm that they cause to kids. In some cases
this may be true. If you are a boy-lover, don't supply boys with
drugs. We already live in an oppressed society. It's
difficult already growing up. Not everyone's situation is as bad
as mine was. But due to someone who cared, my life has new
meaning. My life has been for the last four years and will be
more functional than it would have been even if my mother would have
lived.
Please don't abuse the situation by incorporating pornography into your
feelings towards us boys. You get caught and it makes the
pedophiles who really care for boys look even worse than what people
already think.
I also want to take time to compliment Louis Miguelito on his article
in the May '92 Bulletin. Many readers probably couldn't
understand what he meant. I think maybe I do. I wish you
much luck in the future. Just feels like I know you.
The Peanut -- Delaware
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