Date: Thu, 3 Jan 2008 07:23:02 -0800 (PST)
From: Jack deGropier <jackdegropier@yahoo.com>
Subject: Crossing Over - 1

[This story is dedicated to Ross]

It's a scary moment. Panic. Flight. What is happening to me? Maybe you never
had that moment. Maybe you always knew about yourself. But for a lot of us,
it's not like that. All the years of chasing girls, then getting married,
servicing your wife, but  somehow not feeling complete. Thank god for the
internet. We surf furtively, feeling  dirty, depraved, looking for more and
more outrageous forms of sexual deviation to  sustain our flagging lust. Dom
women. Lesbians. Teenage girls. Spanking.  Watersports. BDSM. Shemales. It
helps, but it doesn't satisfy. The hunger continues to  gnaw at our guts.

And then that scary moment. I remember mine very well. It was the moment I
looked at a buddy of mine, Andy, someone I had known for years. We'd been on
pussy hunts together many times. And then, out of nowhere, I looked at his
mouth and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. On his mouth. French
kissing the way you kiss a girl. And then I found myself looking at his crotch,
trying to define the outline of his penis under the tight material of his
pants. NO!!! NO!!! What is this? I am looking at my best buddy SEXUALLY!!!

That night I went home, tucked myself in my study and wanked. Hard.
Deliberately  filling my head with images of men's cocks, men's hard bodies,
pecs, abs, muscular  thighs. Crazy. I must have been drunk. I woke up next
morning, next to my sleeping  wife and I felt nauseous. What the hell was
happening to me? Oh ok, I thought, I have had so many weird fricking fantasies,
this was just me getting more extreme. I showered and tried to forget the whole
incident.

But it got worse. I teach in a boys' school, and I can honestly say in the
fifteen years I have worked there I had never looked at a boy in a sexual way.
Well, one exception, a boy called Brian, who was so delicately pretty - classic
blue eyes and blond hair falling over his face - that I momentarily saw him as
a girl and therefore fuckable. But after that first moment of making my buddy
Andy into a masturbatory fantasy, I found myself looking at boys: big boys,
young boys, loutish boys, gentle boys. It was terrible! Bad enough I should
have had a fuck-fantasy with Andy grinding his cock against mine and pushing
his tongue down my throat. How much worse to find myself getting achingly hard
checking out the groin of every boy I looked at.

OK, let's calm down. Let's look at this rationally. I love my wife, but
sexually it's all gone stale. That's ok, lots of guys in the same situation. We
cope. We manage. So, I am as horny as the next man, so I look for ways to
satisfy my hungers. Porn, dirty stories, fantasies, the usual. OK, this is just
one more fantasy. Young cocks. Chill, man. Be cool. What's the big deal? Boys
are fuckable like everyone else is fuckable. Yeah, no big deal. Forget it.

And I got through that first day, and I went home, and I was extra loving to my
wife, not that it made any difference, and I sat at my computer after she had
gone to bed with her usual "headache", and I looked for pics and stories about
young boys. Stories, yes, pics, forget it. But the stories! Sheesh! There must
be a gazillion men who spend their waking hours dreaming about boys, kissing
them, fondling them, sucking them, fucking them. I tell you, I had a hard on
that whole evening that wouldn't go down. I stroked, you know, I edged,
buliding up the tension till it became a physical ache, and I was hornier that
I can ever remember being in my whole life. It was like I had finally found who
and what I was.

We are into "BL". We are called boy lovers. We are the pedos, the rapers of
innocence. We are condemned by everyone. We are persecuted. We are the pariahs,
the outcasts, the filthy sodomists of pretty boys. We deserver to be hanged. We
don't even call them boys any more, we call them boiz to hide our depraved
craving from those who would punish us for it. We devise a whole language of
"stiffies" and "boipussies" and "spring chicken" and "boicum" to sweeten the
sordid realilty of our lust.

Now, do you want to know the real laugh? The ultimate irony? I became a totally
dedicated boy lover, sorry boi lover. All my fantasies contained gorgeous
bubblebutt boiz bouncing on my cock, giggling as I sucked on their pretty
little penises, squealing with delight as they jacked me off and watched my
manseed arcing in the air and splashing down on their pale hairless bodies. All
my fantasies. Yes. Wonderful fantasies, not the real thing, but the best most
of us have most of the time.But the day when my fantasy became a reality, I did
not seduce some innocent boy, corrupting him with my filthy lust. No, a boy
seduced me. Sure, ok, tell that to the gendarmes, but it's the god's honest
truth. I met a boy who knew what I was and what I wanted, and he wanted it too.
That was an even scarier moment, but it led to the most wonderful moments of my
life. His name - yes, you are already ahead of me as usual - was Brian.

[To be continued. Comments to jackdegropier@yahoo.com or visit
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rovinghands2/