K, heregoes:

I stumbled upon this forum the other day during a sinful, lust driven search for erotic material. I was, needless to say, very interested to discover that a forum such as this exists. I suppose I should have realized that I wasn't the only Bible believer who suffers from this malady. I suppose I also should have known that those others would have a forum somewhere on the infinitely vast internet. There's a forum for everything, I guess.

Anyway, in response to a most excellent essay posted by Robert-I, I decided to provide an account of my twenty years, detailing my sexual development and the evolution of this malady you all call boylove within my mind. My purposes are these: to provide support for what I consider to be a very well-thought-out and likely theory, to introduce myself to you all and your much appreciated forum, and especially to fully and honestly express my nature, my experiences, and my feelings before a non-secular group for the first time ever. This is a privilege that I never expected to have, and I am very grateful for the supportive, accepting, and kindred minds that I know will review my story.

My memory of sexual awareness reaches back to nine or ten when I discovered masturbation prior to learning anything at all about sex. It wasn't until my puberty began that guilt crept into my mind bringing with it spiritual insecurity, addiction, paranoia, and a host of other unpleasantries. When my excellent, loving, conservative Christian parents finally got around to cluing me in about sex, they did so by giving me a book to read by James Dobson. I read this book, Preparing for Adolescence, in a single day (quite an accomplishment for such a slow reader as myself). Among the topics covered in the book was masturbation.

Dobson explained that he did not believe that masturbation was much of an issue with God. Very careful to encourage me to listen to my parents' and pastors' opinion on the subject, Dobson suggested that masturbation may, in fact, be a natural part of growing up. As one might imagine, I was initially pleased and relieved, but before I got comfortable with the idea of guilt free masturbation, my conscience (or perhaps the Holy Spirit) chimed in.

I was not comfortable with the idea. Sure, the formost Christian child psychologist in the world said it was ok, but did that make it right? No, I decided that no matter what anyone said, I would not allow this behavior to master me. And this decision opened the door to six years of struggle, guilt, and spiritual inconsistency.

Possibly the most unsettling thing about my secret addiction were the "fantasies" that accompanied each instance. They were not of romance, but of aggression. Not of pleasure, but of pain. Worst of all, they did not concern girls, but boys. I didn't know how to say it then, but I had unwittingly contracted one of the most embarrassing and bizarre fetishes in existence: ballbusting.

Video clips and sound bytes echoed through my mind, constantly reviving every detail of some accident in gym, some bullying in the lockerroom, any and every instance of a guy getting hit in the crotch. I never missed it when it happened, and I never forgot a word, a facial expression, or an agonizing moan. To this day my mind is a veritable archive of mpegs or movs or whatever file extension the brain prefers. Not a detail has been lost of incidents that took place almost a decade ago.

As I grew older, the shame of this obsession grew, and I began to wonder what was all the hype about the female figure. I came to assume that I was just developing slowly, and that someday soon my eyes would be opened to the magic of girls' physical structure.

When it was time for me to begin highschool, it became necessary for my parents to find a new school for me to attend. I had always attended a Christian school (except in kindergarten), and my parents refused to send me to a public school. The school that they found was [edited]. Never before or since have I encountered a less suitable environment for the healthy development of Christian students.

Still I don't know how the place became so corrupt, but it was. The students, even the younger ones, were horribly perverted, and no one corrected them. Detentions were awarded for so many tardies or forgetting your tie, but no punishment was given for pantomiming anal sex in the middle of the classroom. The crass, grotesque language and humor was humiliating and demeaning. My response was to cut myself off socially. This wasn't a problem as I have always been reserved and somewhat eccentric. But you can be certain that I continued to observe and record every instance of my sadistic obsession, and this place was a gold mine.

The next year, after the school burned to the ground and the principal was fired for being gay (again, this was a "Christian" school), Our class took a field trip to a local youth theatre production of Tom Sawyer. I wasn't into musical theatre, but it was better than classes. Something happened to me there, something that I've never been able to adequately explain. The show was actually pretty impressive. I had always loved music, but I hadn't expected to enjoy a full blown "stage production."

But as I watched, I found myself developing a strong, inexplicable interest in one of the actors. Snatching up a program, I learned that his name was [edit]. He played the role of Huck Finn, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. There was just something about him that screamed, "leave your school, convince your parents to homeschool you, join my homeschool co-op, and get involved in this theatre program just to meet me and become my best friend." So I did.

No joke, I told my mom that same week I wanted to homeschool. As it happened, a woman from our old church had recently received a word from the Lord and had called to tell my mom that she needed to homeschool me. My mom and I agreed that this couldn't have been a coincidence, and next semester after Christmas break, I was free from [edited] and ready to begin stalking this twelve year old boy who was a full three years younger than me. Recognizing the creepy nature of this goal, I fully surrendered my efforts and desires to the Lord, praying that he would open doors and shut them as He saw fit.

He flung them open with such style and pizazz that there could be no mistaking it: God wanted me to befriend [edited]. The most notable "door flinging" took place as my family walked into our third service at our new church. I was cranky and did NOT want to be there, but funny story, Jared's family decided it was time for a new church as well, and guess which one they chose? Yeah, I had no doubt that God was behind my bizarre obsession with this cute little twelve-year-old actor, and I went to every effort to keep my motives pure and Godly. "Surely he needs a friend," chattered my fifteen-year-old brain, "No doubt he would benefit from the mentorship of an older guy. Imagine the advice I could give considering my experience!" Ha! I was so certain...

Well, I joined the theatre group as well, and before I knew it, I was up there singing and dancing with the best of them. Being an older student in this youth theatre program, I quickly gained attention and popularity. No one mattered to me, however, except for [edited]. He and I DID become best friends, and I felt ecstacy each time he confessed that it was so.

I never suspected that my feelings for him were sexual in any way, until I started wanting to "counsel" him about more intimate things. It began with coy and indirect questions about his love life. I wrote him pages and pages, letters containing advice on how to initiate and maintain a relationship with a girl (as if I had any experience! I've always had the gift of B.S.). Carefully, skillfully I approached the topic of sex. I chose a confession and a plea for advice as my introduction to the topic. I admitted to him my addiction to masturbation late at night when our tongues were loosened with fatigue. As we lay in bed (yes, the same bed) I drew out of him an equal confession, and used this newfound level of trust to acquire even more of the intimacy that I craved.

Eventually his psychotic parents (why no, I'm not resentful (-: ) talked to him about their concern that perhaps he and I were a bit TOO close. The hugging at every goodbye, the tousling of the hair, it all just seemed a bit much to them. When I found out, I was HATEFULLY angry. For a week I wouldn't speak to any of them. That they would even suggest that I was gay was probably the most hurtful thing I had ever experienced at that point. I had not, you understand, yet realized that I wanted anything beyond close friendship with [edited]. Everything I desired could be defended by Scripture: David loved Jonathan more than women (2 Samuel 1:26 [would you believe [edited]'s birthday was January 26th? I mean come ON!], John lay against Jesus breast (somewhere in one of the gospels...), etc.

Thus ended my intimate friendship with [edited]. But he was not the last boy to get my attention, oh no. My acting career was in full swing and I had a social life for the first time in my seventeen years. I was actually becoming quite popular. The youth theatre program in which I was involved was divided into two areas: north and south. The north students always tried to make it to the south's shows and vice versa. It was at SOUTH's performance of Tom Sawyer that I recognized a familiar feeling as it slithered into my mind. This time it was Tom, not Huck. His name was [edited], and the whole process began to repeat itself, except this time the boy seemed to be screaming, "convince your parents to let you drive a solid hour through the city during rush hour traffic twice a week to be in a show with me here in the south." Did it happen? You bet it did, and it was seriously tough to pull that one off.

I was really getting the hang of this thing, and it began to happen more and more frequently. Sometimes I would become close to the person, and other times it wouldn't work out. Each time, though, I made a significant and impossible change in either my life or his. I had become an influential and socially powerful person, so it was a simple matter to persuade everyone that my quirk was just a passion for mentorship and not a creepy stalker's instinct.

I asserted this largely with the help of a friend I made during our performance of Robin Hood. This guy was open-minded, eccentric, and extremely intelligent. It was he who suggested that I give my little personality quirk a name and develop some lingo to go along with it. Being a trekky, I decided to use the Betazoid word for beloved to refer to my little friends. I'll misspell the word here for my own security, so just know that an asterisk represents the letter "a". The word that I have always used for what you all call a YF is edited, the plural becomes [edited], and I refer to myself as a [edited] (your BL, I believe, although no romantic connotation is officially implied even if I know that it's there).

So using my confident manner and influence, I continue to sell my friends and acquaintences the notion that some people are blessed with the [edited], and they have a responsibility to mentor those to whom the Lord calls them. Most of them are theatre kids; they can go for silly and weird made-up words without feeling the need to ridicule someone. Everyone else knows that I simply don't care what they think, and that is usually enough to convince them that I am simply eccentric, not creepy.

There are ten now in all now, and my favorite of them is [edited]. He is currently fourteen and easily my favorite person on earth. I love him with all my heart on so many levels, wholesome and un. Since my brilliant friend (the one who encouraged me to develop the lingo) led me to face the difficult truth of my condition, I have taken a more honest approach to resisting temptation. I now see things for what they really are, and I know better than to attempt to justify whatever behavior strikes my fancy.

We've finally arrived at last Thursday night. Up until this point, I have wondered why, why the heck, (excuse me) why the HELL, God would create me with this serious defect. Why don't I care about girls? Why will I move earth and sea for some unsuspecting little boy who doesn't even know my name? Why do I see Derick as being "the right shape" physically? Why do I stare at him from behind my drinking glass when he walks shirtless from the bathroom to the laundry room, having arived early at his house to pick him up? And why do I sully my view of this dear boy by entertaining fantasies in which he is hurt for my sadistic pleasure?

And then I read the essay. Robert-I, if you have made it this far, I commend you. I haven't exactly "made a long story short," now have I? *sigh* I'm sleepy, but I must continue, for this is what I promised to provide.

After reading our esteemed Robert-I's brilliant essay, my mind raced backward across my twenty years. I summoned up memory after memory, searching for a possible developmental cause for my regrettable condition. To be truthful, it came to me almost instantly. It was so obvious. My earliest visual and auditory "recording" of a guy getting hit in the crotch.

At church camp when I was between fifth and sixth grade (I must have been ten), I sat in a cabin with twenty or more rowdy guys. I was very shy, and kept to myself. The guys started having a pillow fight, and as one would expect, a few groin shots made it into the game. A serious and righteous little fellow, I was horrified that they would laugh about something that to me involved the private and the "naughty."

I can't think of anything I've ever done that I reflect on with more pride than what I did next. Searching through my concordance, I found the Scripture that says, "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things (Philippians 4:8)." I found it and I read it. Aloud. After getting everyone's attention. Yeah.

Maybe I seemed like a spoil sport, a know-it-all, or a tattle-tale, but whatever. In retrospect I see what I was trying to do. I was being put in a situation in which I felt VERY uncomfortable and trapped, and was making a brave last stand against what I saw to be my own imminent corruption. I'm sure you're wondering, "Wasn't there an adult present?" Yeah, there was. And he didn't do a thing. Everyone just got kind of quiet then went back to their pillow fight. The counselor? He chucked a ball at a kid and hit him in the groin. When the kid shouted out in pain, he laughed and blurted, "Right in the nuts!" My only hope of support and deliverance ignored my valiant desplay of resistance. And today that memory is the most erotic memory I can think of. How messed up is that?

So if I'm not mistaken (and by all means, Robert-I, tear this apart and correct me if I've misunderstood), at that moment, the vulnerable little Magnet55, trapped and alone in a vaguely sexual situation, called out for help, but was betrayed by the only one who could rescue him. So that innocent little boy died and Magnet55 continued to grow, separated from that part of who he once was. Later, at age fifteen when he sees [edited] onstage, he is reminded of the poor, vulnerable child who was compromised at a really crumby church camp experience. He is overwhelmed with the desire to charge to the child's rescue and to mentor him properly, defending him from the wicked peers and evil camp counselors of the world (more or less).

The little boy has essentially merged with the sexual OtherSelf, due to the unfortunate timing of the incident in question. Who could have known that his sexuality was forming then, during his tenth summer and that a deviant sexual identity could be so easily and carelessly imprinted on him just then? Only half my life later did I figure it out myself, so I cannot and do not hate those responsible.

So now I wonder, can I use my situation for good? Can I utilize my feelings of devotion to motivate me to protect other young men from similar harm? I certainly hope so, but if God has something else in mind, then I want nothing to do with my [edited]. I will renounce my silly game of moving earth and sea for some little kid who can't help it that he's so freakin' attractive. Perhaps God doesn't mean to give me a normal sex drive, but I know He will help me mute the one I have. He's done it before, and I trust Him to do it for as long as I put my faith in His promise to one day restore me. To me, that's what Heaven is. Being restored, completed, perfected by the Creator; total fulfillment must feel a hundred times better than [edited]'s fiercest hug, [edited]'s most intimate secret. I will do ANYTHING for my true love, Jesus Christ. Amen.

*stepping away from the pulpit*

Thank you, my new friends, for reading this obscenely long post. I promise never to write this long again. I would truly appreciate any responses that you may have, but mostly I am simply grateful that you read. My story is long and a little sad, but "the ending has not yet been written..."

Your brother,
-Magnet55



Some words were edited out to mask the names of people and places. The word you invented for BL was also edited out, only because you implied that it could somehow be linked to you. --Webmaster