Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2008 21:59:14 +0200
From: Tristan Deveraux <zanatio@hotmail.com>
Subject: Wrestling With Demons 1

Author's note: For some time now I've wanted to write something dealing
with the feelings that make me a gay and a boylover, my constant struggle
with those feelings, and what would happen if I were ever put into a
situation where those feelings were put to the test. This story is the
result. All the characters are fictional, and the situations are also
fictional but partly based on reality. The thoughts and feelings that are
described and explored by my character, though, are my own genuine
feelings.

Please be aware that this is not a story about sex, though there will most
likely be some minor sexually-related situations in later chapters, so if
you're hoping to blow your load reading this story, you're in for
disappointment and should find another story to read.

This story is copyright by me, Zanatio, in November 2008, so please don't
go stealing my work and passing it off as your own as that's not very nice!

Finally, I'd appreciate feedback from readers. I'd like to know what you
think of the story so I can decide if it's worthwhile carrying on with it
or not. You can mail me on zanatio@hotmail.com.


Wrestling With Demons - Chapter 1

I was 27 when I finally moved out of my parents' house and into a place of
my own. It was quite a difficult experience for me seeing as I'd gotten so
used to living with my folks and was unsure of whether or not I'd be able
to cope alone. But the closer I got to 30, the more I knew I had to take
the plunge and move out. So I forced myself to do some serious
house-hunting, and quite quickly found a small but cozy apartment on the
third floor of a block of flats in a modest area of town. I checked the
place out, decided I liked it, and committed to the buy. I used some cash
I'd saved up in anticipation of moving out to buy things like a bed, a
two-piece lounge suite, a TV, microwave, fridge and a washing machine. The
flat itself was quite compact, and consisted of a single bedroom, a
bathroom with a shower, a lounge and a kitchen. I really didn't need
anything else, so I was content with the buy, and I took a day's leave one
warm Friday in late summer and moved into my new home.

It was a strange sensation leaving the house I'd spent the last 10 years
in. Seeing my old room bare of my belongings and kissing my mom goodbye was
quite an emotional experience for me. I will admit that I shed more than a
few tears as I said goodbye to my old house, but I was determined to move
on with my life and really stand on my own two feet. Still, after unpacking
the last of the few boxes I had in my new house and standing in the lounge
looking at the brand new couches and TV, I was hit my some pretty powerful
emotions, loneliness the strongest of them. Yes I was moving on with my
life, but I was doing it alone, and with the way things were going and the
way I felt about myself, I believed I'd be alone for a very long time.

You see, I'm gay, and back then I was very, very unhappy with the idea. As
far as I was concerned, it just wasn't right for a man to be romantically
interested in another man, and I couldn't see how it could be possible for
two men to fall in love and have a genuine, fulfilling romantic
relationship. Yet despite feeling that way, I was, for reasons I could only
guess at, attracted to men, but since the idea of having a romantic
relationship with another guy made me quite uncomfortable, I didn't believe
I would ever find myself in a relationship of that type.

And as if being a reluctant gay wasn't bad enough, I discovered in my early
twenties that I was attracted to boys. Those with similar attractions call
themselves boylovers, but to the rest of the world we are called
paedophiles, the greatest pariahs of society. As with the homosexual
feelings, I did not choose to be attracted to boys, but again, for reasons
unknown, the attractions exist, particularly towards boys of around the age
of 12.  Their bodies are, to me, works of art, with their shining eyes and
bright smiles and slender limbs and soft, smooth skin. But in addition to
appreciating the beauty of a boy's physical appearance, I also find them
fascinating in other ways. I particularly love the ideas of innocence and
spontaneity and excitement and nonchalance that boyhood represents and that
boys exhibit. In essence, I find the very concept of a boy, for lack of a
better word, intoxicating. And that is why I was terrified to be around
them.

I lived in constant fear that the desires created by my feelings of
attraction towards boys would overwhelm me and I would not be able to
control myself were I to have a close encounter with a boy. Just seeing a
boy always sparked off a whirlwind of emotion inside me as my belief that
my feelings were wrong did battle with those feelings. Don't get me wrong,
though: I am a very compassionate and caring person and would never
intentionally hurt or mistreat anyone let alone a boy. Yet the feelings of
attraction existed nonetheless. I could not believe that they were right or
natural in any way and I saw them as a deviation from what I considered
normal. For years I had wrestled with them, but had never been able to
accept them and consequently had found no peace.

Because of these feelings and the intense internal struggles they caused, I
had eventually decided to isolate myself from society as much as possible,
and particularly avoided any situation where I might have some form of
interaction with a boy. This is why, for example, I had decided to leave
the church youth group that I was a leader of some years ago. I simply
could no longer deal with the emotions that accompanied every Friday
evening session, particularly when we took the kids to the water park at
the beach, and the boys, most of them very cute and attractive 12 year
olds, would strip down to their swimming trunks or Speedos to play in the
pools or fly down the slides. Seeing their lithe and supple bodies, their
naked torsos and their slender limbs, and watching their childish
enthusiasm and energy, would send thrills through my body which were
immediately echoed by intense feelings of guilt and anger at myself for
allowing myself to feel those emotions in the first place. I wanted to stop
looking at the boys, I wanted to stop feeling that attraction towards them,
but I just couldn't. So by the end of each evening I was usually pretty
depressed and upset, wishing that I could be rid of these feelings. Deep
down I knew they were wrong, yet in spite of that they still remained and
showed no inclination of leaving.

In addition to the fear of losing control and the constant internal battles
over my feelings, being a boylover had also caused me an enormous amount of
strain, because it's not exactly something you would like people to know
about you. I hated lying to people about who I was, but I had no choice,
because the world does not seem to understand that not every paedophile is
a sex-monster who gets his kicks from abusing little kids. There are many
of us who would rather die than hurt a child, yet we were all lumped
together with those who do abuse kids and were reviled just the same. I had
found some comfort in chatting to other boylovers on forums on the internet
dedicated to boylove. The knowledge that I was not alone with these
struggles had helped to lift some of the weight from my shoulders, but a
lot of guilt and pain still remained.

Thankfully though, as I unpacked the last of the boxes in my new home that
Friday afternoon, boys were the last thing on my mind. After grabbing a
Coke from the fridge and putting my ABBA 'Mamma Mia' CD into the CD player,
I sank gratefully into a couch in the lounge and let out a big sigh. It
wasn't that I was physically exhausted from unpacking lots of boxes or
moving lots of furniture, because there wasn't that much to move or
unpack. Rather, I was emotionally exhausted, because every few seconds I'd
kept asking myself if I'd made the right decision to move out and if I
should've moved to this area and if I'd be able to cope on my own
and... Sitting in that chair, looking at my home, it was all quite surreal
actually, and a tear crept into my eye as I thought about how a phase of my
life, one that had lasted 27 long years, had come to an end.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by the sound of my cellphone ringing. I
fished it out of my pocket and answered it.  "Hi Tristan." It was my mom.
"Hi mom, how are you?"  "I'm ok thanks," she replied. "How are you doing?
Have you settled in ok yet?"  "I've just finished unpacking now
actually. I'm sitting in the lounge having a Coke and listening to ABBA."
"Yes I can hear. It must feel pretty strange, being in your own home for
the first time."  I felt a twinge of homesickness as she said that, but did
my best to ignore it. "Yeah," I said, "it does feel weird. It'll definitely
take some getting used to."  "I'm sure. What are you doing for supper?"  "I
think I'll get a pizza from Scooters."  "That sounds nice. I suppose you
won't be able to get their three-for-two special anymore though, will you?"
"I don't see why not!" I replied with a laugh. "It just means I'll be
having pizza for breakfast, lunch and supper tomorrow!"  "Well I hope by
the time you have supper tomorrow you won't be sick of it!" she said, also
laughing. "But if you ever want to come here for supper, just let me
know. I know how difficult it can be to cook for one."  "Thanks, I will."
"Is it still ok for dad and I to come round tomorrow?"  "Yes, of
course. Everything should be done by then. I just need to put the lounge
curtains up." As I mentioned the curtains I looked towards the small
windows that looked out over the corridor outside the front door and the
big open field over the road, and I got a bit of a shock when I saw a pair
of eyes below a small forehead and mess of dirty-blonde hair peering at me
through the window! The eyes went wide when their owner caught me looking
at them, and by the time I jumped to my feet and went to the window they'd
disappeared.  "That's a good start," I muttered.  "What was that?" my mom
asked.  "Someone was watching me through the lounge window now," I
explained. "Looked like a kid." I went to the front door, opened it and
looked both ways down the corridor, but saw no-one.  "Oh my!" she
exclaimed. "Well hopefully he was just a curious neighbour."  "Yeah, I hope
so." I closed the door and went back to my couch. "Guess I better get these
curtains up then."  "Ok. If you need anything, just give us a call."  "I
will."  "See you tomorrow then. Lots of love hey."  "Thanks. You too. Bye"
"Bye."  I ended the call and put my phone on the small coffee table next to
me, then thought about the eyes I'd seen staring at me. They'd definitely
belonged to a kid, probably one of around 10 years old, and from the hair I
guessed he was a boy. This is not good, I thought to myself. The last thing
I needed was a boy living close by. I didn't want to have my emotions
surrounding my feelings towards boys run wild every time I came home from
work! I'd not noticed any kids when I'd come to look at the flat, and the
estate agent who'd shown me the flat hadn't mentioned any kids living on
this floor, but then again, I hadn't exactly asked her if there were any
kids here. And the fact that he'd disappeared by the time I'd opened the
front door meant that he probably lived no more than two doors down from
me. I sighed and shook my head, feeling once again the surge of conflicting
emotions that always rose up when I thought about a boy. Then I clamped
down on the thoughts, took a big swig of Coke, and went to put the lounge
curtains up.

Ten minutes later the curtains were up, and since the sun had almost
completely disappeared below the horizon, I closed them. I turned the
lounge light on then grabbed my phone to call Scooters. As I was dialing,
the doorbell rang. I frowned, wondering who it was. I thought it might be
that kid again, deliberately annoying me by pressing the button then
running away, so I jumped to my feet and yanked the door open, ready to
rush into the corridor and see which flat the kid came from. I got the
shock of my life when I nearly ran into the woman standing there, and she
stepped back in surprise, right onto the foot of the person behind her, who
yelped in pain.  "I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed as she turned around to
apologise to the person whose foot she'd trodden on, and then I saw that it
was the boy who'd looked in on me earlier. My heart jumped into my throat
and my eyes involuntarily gave him a quick once-over, taking in every
detail of him in an instant.  "Are you ok Josh?" the woman asked him.  "I'm
fine mom," he replied, his voice sweet and melodious even though it was
stung by a hint of pain. "You don't have big feet like dad did."  "Sorry
about that," I said as the woman turned back to me. I could feel my cheeks
going red with embarrassment. "I didn't realize you were there," I added
rather lamely, but I really didn't know what else to say.  "I'm sure I
pushed your doorbell," she said guardedly.  "You did. I saw someone peeking
in at me earlier and I just thought it was the same person playing with the
bell."  The woman turned back to the boy. "You didn't peek through the
man's window, did you Josh?"  Josh didn't say anything, but his cheeks went
a little red and he looked at the ground in embarrassment, giving his mom
the answer she sought.  "Josh, that's rude! I don't want you to do that
again, understand?"  "Yes mom," he replied sullenly.  "It's not a problem,"
I told the woman. "I was just startled, that's all."  "He won't do it
again, I can assure you."  "It's ok," I said, "really." I glanced at Josh,
who was looking pretty downcast and forlorn, so I decided to change the
subject to try and ease the tension that had developed between mother and
son that I felt I had inadvertently created. "I'm Tristan, by the way," I
said and offered my hand to the woman. She took it and we shook briefly.
"Jennifer, but most people call me Jen," she said with a smile, and her
grey-green eyes sparkled for an instant. The change in subject must've
worked as the edge had left her voice.  "Nice to meet you."  She motioned
the boy forward. "This is my son, Joshua."  I turned my attention to the
boy. He was short and slender and I put him at about 10 years old. He had
honey-brown hair that tickled his eyebrows, his ears and the nape of this
neck. His eyes were grey-green like his mom's and his limbs were lightly
tanned. From the way he stood and the meekness with which he extended his
hand to shake mine, I figured he was a pretty shy kid. There was nothing
meek about his grip though, and he pumped my hand strongly a few times, his
touch sending a surge of electricity racing up my arm that I fought to keep
from spreading to the rest of my body.  "Nice to meet you," he mumbled
before stepping back, and as he lowered his hand to his side I noticed that
his fingernails were ragged and I wondered if he bit them as I used to.
"We live next door," Jennifer explained as I turned back to her. "Number
317." She gestured to the flat next to mine. "I know you've just moved in,
and we wanted to introduce ourselves. We moved in pretty recently ourselves
actually. Six months ago. After my husband passed away." Her voice cracked
a bit as she mentioned her husband and I noticed Josh wince as well. The
pain of their loss was obviously still very fresh, and I immediately felt
an upwelling of compassion inside.  Especially for Josh. I looked at him
again and saw his lower lip quivering ever so slightly as he no doubt
thought about his dad. I couldn't begin to imagine what it must've been
like for him to lose his father. All of a sudden I felt a powerful urge to
scoop him up in my arms and hold him, but I forced myself not to as I knew
it would be totally out of place seeing as I'd just met him and his mom.  I
forced my feelings down again and looked back at Jennifer. "I'm sorry," I
said.  "Thank you," she replied with a brave smile. "It's been tough, but
we're managing." She took a breath, composed herself, and then
continued. "Actually, we were wondering if you'd like to have dinner with
us tonight. I know the last thing you want to do right after moving into a
new house is cook."  I was quite taken aback by her offer. I wasn't used to
being invited to dinner, especially by someone I'd just met. I was also not
really any good at small talk since I didn't do much worth talking about,
so I had a feeling the evening could be quite awkward. But mostly I was
hesitant to go because it meant I'd no doubt be close to Josh, and while it
was a thrilling thought, I also knew very well what would happen: the
battle inside me would rage stronger than ever, and I really didn't feel
like spending my first night in my new home in emotional turmoil.  However,
I didn't want to appear rude or ungrateful by saying no, and I was worried
that that was exactly how Jennifer would perceive my refusal. So, figuring
I'd rather suffer in silence than be thought of as rude, I accepted her
offer.  "That's very generous of you," I told her, "thank you. I was just
about to order myself a pizza, but it looks like you interrupted me in the
nick of time!"  "Great," she said with a smile. "We'll see you in about an
hour then?"  "Sounds good. Would you like me to bring anything?" It was
pretty pointless asking that, I thought to myself, since I didn't HAVE
anything, but I figured I ought to offer anyway.  "No no, don't worry, you
just need to bring yourself. We're having macaroni and cheese. It's Josh's
favourite." She winked at Josh, and he gave her a small grin in return. At
least the tension between them was gone, I noted.  "That's great, it's my
favourite too," I told her.  "Mom makes a mean mac and cheese," Josh
declared proudly.  "I look forward to trying it," I said to him.  "We'll
see you later then." Jennifer smiled warmly at me then hustled her son back
to their flat. I heard their door close, then I went inside, closed my own
door and collapsed on my couch, thinking about what had just happened.

The first thought that came into my head was that my carefully crafted plan
to stay away from boys had totally fallen apart. Not only was there a boy
living in the same apartment block as me, but he was living right next door
to me! I wanted to kick myself for forgetting to ask the estate agent if
there were any kids in the surrounding apartments. Now it was way too late
for that. I'd probably see him on a daily basis now, which meant a daily
helping of emotional chaos, and I groaned at the thought.

The second thing I thought about was Josh himself. Already I could feel the
turmoil beginning inside me as I thought about the boy I'd just met, and
though I wanted to stop thinking about him and hence avoid the turmoil, I
couldn't. At first glance he seemed like a pretty average and decent kid,
albeit a bit shy, and I didn't think he was really that good-looking. But
the one thing about him that really stood out to me was his eyes. It wasn't
that they were of an extraordinary hue - in fact I thought the colour of
them was quite dull - nor did there appear to be a mischievous sparkle or a
hint of mystery in them. It was more the set of them in his face. He had a
small nose, wispy eyebrows and an otherwise fairly featureless and narrow
face, but all of it combined made his eyes stand out like jewels. And the
more I thought about them, and about him, the more uncomfortable I became,
because I kept asking myself why I was thinking about him, why I couldn't
get him out of my head. It's so difficult to describe how I felt when I
thought about him. It was almost as if I was viewing a work of art,
something priceless and beautiful, but that was silly because a painting or
a statue doesn't move or breathe or laugh, and art connoisseurs certainly
didn't gawk and stare at paintings and sculptures with lust in their
eyes. Yet that desire to look at a boy, to look at Josh, and just keep on
looking, was incredibly powerful, and it refused to go away.

I shook my head, hoping the movement would be enough to erase the thoughts,
but when that failed I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my
face, then came back into the lounge and put my ABBA CD back on and focused
on the music. Soon I was singing along and tapping my foot to the beat, but
I could still sense my thoughts about Josh at the back of my mind, lurking,
waiting for me to lower my guard and take control again. I didn't want it
to happen, but I knew it would, especially since I was going to be seeing
more of him later. What have I gotten myself into? I thought to myself as I
let out a deep sigh.