Date: Tue, 25 Sep 2001 18:36:38 -0400
From: C. E. Jordan <c.e._Jordan@MailAndNews.com>
Subject: MY DENNIS 8: MARIA

 My Dennis Copyright c.e. jordan
c.e._jordan@mailandnews.com


                       MY DENNIS 8: MARIA

     Sometimes I think, even in the best circumstances, an adult/child
relationship should be avoided if one has the strength and will to do so.
Again--it's not because the younger person can't handle a sexual, or romantic
affair with an adult--clearly a few can; it is because the adult lover will
inevitably get hurt. The nature of kids is constant change. They are in a
continual process of growth and adjustment. When we exit their lives they'll
be none the worse for the experience, and many times better off for it (that
is, if the authorities don't get involved and do a guilt-trip on them).

     But I suppose one doesn't have to avoid the relationship, but just try to
temper the emotions, and expectations. When I stop to think about it, the
memories I have of Dennis and myself together are still overwhelmingly of
happiness--and I'm not even speaking of the sexual part of our relationship. D
freed me in certain ways, I learned a lot--he opened me up to having an
innocent joy in life that I'd never known before.

    But the trouble is, true boylovers tend to fall in love
passionately...with all our hearts and souls. I'm not talking about
`predators' or those guys just seeking to `get off' on a serial number of
kids. Real boylovers fall for the whole boy. We want to get close to them, be
an integral part of their lives. We're always concerned for them and wish
desperately to be at the center of their world. But most of all, we dream of
our love being returned just as passionately. However, with rare exceptions,
because of the vast social system that keeps kid and adult apart, such as
school events...family....friends of their own age...and so on, a seemingly
unbridgeable social rift remains--even when they do return our love.

     So, often a creeping jealousy rears its ugly head. We find ourselves
getting upset when they are just being themselves, making friends of their own
age, and doing all those kid things they must do to grow up as balanced
persons. We look on from a distance and burn slowly because we can't
participate. It seems our young loves are ignoring us; we begin to feel
neglected and bitter, thinking that everything and everyone else seems to be
more important to them than being with us, the ones who love them so
desperately.

     For me, it wasn't a matter of sexual frustration, it was the creeping
loneliness of knowing our special time together was inevitably drawing to a
close. I hated myself for wondering what was happening at his school, or in
his house that I didn't know about.

     Dennis was getting taller by the minute, slim and goodlooking. He carried
himself with a casual arrogance and elegance that attracted girls--and
boys--to him. At school he acquired friends with ease. Girls tagged after him
or followed him home. Amazing thirteen-year-old girls, and others many years
older than he, brazenly offered their bodies to him. Then a new girl, again
just 13, (what is it about that age?) moved in to the apartment across the
hall. Maria was Spanish--from Columbia I believe. Pale, pink spots in her
cheeks with long dark hair and big black eyes, Carlos was her younger brother,
about eleven years old, cute and slightly roly-poly rather than fat. Their
family and D's became instant friends, mainly because D's mom is also
Spanish-speaking.

     It was immediately obvious to me that the Columbian kids--both of
them--had developed crushes on my D. They were very restricted by various
family rules and D was about the only kid the parents permitted them to play
with, or visit in the building. Using her brother as a messenger, Maria
quickly started sending notes declaring her love. The notes started getting
increasingly explicit. Obviously the kids didn't care that D looked "black".
Left to himself, little brother would have moved in with D if it were
possible. I think the fascination was partly because D's big room was like a
fantasy playland for a kid. It was arranged like a seperate little apartment
within his mom's apartment. Aside from his bed, Dennis had a mini living room
with desk, table, chairs, books, lots of video games, his own large TV, lots
of toys, and a computer I'd bought for him. He was a neat,
everything-in-its-place, no-nonsense kind of kid, very independent and
self-contained. His parents trusted him to an unusual degree for a boy his
age--they even let him have a seperate phone for himself, of which he took
very good care....

     Anyway, adoring and adorable little brother Carlos, was always hanging
around, getting in the way, and doing things like laying his head in D's lap.
D benignly tolerated this. But I wasn't jealous. Cute though Carlos was, D
clearly wasn't interested in him `that' way. And for some reason I wasn't
jealous of Maria either. But I greatly resented that they'd begun cutting into
the time he used to reserve for me alone. At first he'd want me to come over
when the kids were there, but I still felt left out. The two of us were, more
or less, an even match on our own, but the relationship got skewed when the
other kids were present. All the focus was on D. He was their young god just
as he was mine; they reacted to whatever he said or did, always trying to
please him.  The kids didn't treat me badly at all; actually, they simply
assumed I was one of them. But I felt like I didn't belong. So I began to stay
away. My heart was breaking. I couldn't concentrate. But it got much worse
when a new kid, a year younger than D, who lived a floor above and attended
D's new school began to be a regular fixture at D's place. Soon he was hanging
out there after school every day. Another supplicant to worship my Dennis.

(to be continued)