Introduction

The experience of boyhood is a distinct developmental phenomenon which is linked, no doubt, to a boy's desire to be loved in an emotional and sexual way by an older male friend whom he looks up to, and also to the feelings of emotional and sexual attraction to other boys.

One of the factors which tends to hinder reform of the laws prohibiting sexually expressed friendships between boys and men is the inability of many adults to recognize the depth of feeling possessed by some boys. When confronted with words like those you are about to read, one tends to understand finally that relationships are complicated. The driving force behind sexually expressed friendships between boys and men are all-too-often considered by the outsider to be the man's sexual attraction to the boy, without regard to the boy's feelings. In many cases the boy's need to be loved is far stronger than the love which adults possess. It becomes clear that the weak link in the outsider's ability to relate to boylove is recognizing the depth of the boy's loving emotion. Another problem is the boastful conception that young people are less literate and less articulate than adults, a perception that will be quickly dispelled upon reading the following excerpts.

The letters of Nate written to his adult friend, beginning from the age of 14 and continuing through adolescence, show various expressions of need: emotional, physical and sexual. Nate's relationship with his older friend had an intense emotional bond. Physical affection was the most common expression of love. However, Nate desired sexual contact with his older friend, which his friend did not approve of nor offer - he was not sexually attracted to Nate, and had religious beliefs which considered this type of contact to be immoral. Nate was also attracted to other boys, and his older friend's religious influence caused him feelings of self-denial and guilt. As opposed to gay youth, there is, to this author's knowledge, little mention in the literature about the problems faced by teenage boylovers.

These emotional difficulties are also apparent from the diary of Andrew, written at age 17. The experiences of being in love with a 14 year old boy are laced with self-hatred and guilt. The emotions have an emphasis on physical affection and closeness.

Cimcumstantial information has not been included, and as a result, the excerpts standing alone do not necessarily form a coherent story.

Letters of Nate (14 years old)

(8)
Thanks so much for everything! I really enjoyed the weekend very much. (...) I'm free every day, so when you are free, give me a buzz or a letter. Thanks again for last weekend. I had lots of fun.

(9)
Once again thank you very much for the weekend. I had a great time. The worst thing about it was the day after because it was so boring without you. (...)

(40)
The reason why I left [the room] last night was to bring to your attention that I wanted to talk to you alone, which I tried to do, but my brother just followed you around. What was I going to say to him, "Leave, go away!" ? He'd just want to know why and be curious of what's going on. I hinted and also said that I wanted to talk to you alone, but you never responded. I thought you would get the message if I left you guys, but when I heard your car I was the most shocked I ever was in my whole life. I couldn't believe you would leave without saying bye or anything. All I wanted to do was to talk to you alone. I cried all night. My nosey mother and brother makes it all worse. I can't say anything on the telephone because they're always listening in. And now even you wont listen to my plea. I am forced to hold everything inside of me. Why didn't you come to talk with me? Do you think I was avoiding you or something? It's just the opposite. You leaving me here last night made me very sad and rejected. As for the thing I wanted to talk about, you know exactly what it is.
The reason why I didn't come down was I wanted you to come up. I didn't think you would carry out your threat just the way I once threatened to stop writing letters. You just left me here abruptly, which is going to sadden me for a long time. Nothing is going to change unless you talk to me soon. When you left, you gave me the message that you didn't care, and that hurt me so much. I'm so filled with sadness and yet I can't let it show in any way other than this letter.

(51)
Oh, I'm depressed. I need a break. (...) I can't stand this all. I can't stand this love. I'm being torn apart. (...) Why does this love have to be bad? When is this all going to be finished and how. This love is so tender and gentle and yet it's bad?!! That rips me apart. I love him so much and I can't show any of it to him. Why are all the odds against me? Why does it have to be this way? Why! (...)

(55)
Why am I so starved for affection? I don't get any. The amount I have from other people is has never been equaled with another's showing me any. When I feel the worst, I feel shut out in the cold alone, no one to talk to, no one to listen to, to one to hold on to; despair. (...) What ever happened to the Nate that had no problems? I guess he died. I wish the Nate with problems would die, and soon. (...)

(59)
I'm awful lonely, up here. No one to talk to. No one to hug. No one to tell me 'I love you'. (...) I sat in my room all day, alone. I ate dinner in the dining room alone in the darkness. (...) I sit in my room again, alone.

(60)
The life that was breathed into me is now 'holding its breath.' My affections are held back and are wandering in the emptyness of my room. When I give you a hug, I am breathing for a while. Every minute I spent here my breath is held. I can hug you or [another boy] in my mind, but it soon fades to reality. I am reduced to tears. That's the way its been every second, every minute, every hour, night and day, in school and out, home and away, asleep and awake. Misery that can't end itself. It's like when someone puts their hand over your face and you can't breath. No way out, nowhere to breath. (...) My heart (...) just wants to be hugged.
You might say my condition is very poor tonight. Very poor and lonely. I'm ready to explode in either violence or in tears. (...) Now I'm learning to hate myself. Misery. I can't stand this. Have you gone through anything like this? Write me about it. I love you and miss you. Don't forget me.

(69)
(...) When I look for stupid sympathy and a hug, all I find is my only friend to keep just than from me. I'm insecure, deep down inside. That's why I always need a hug. I need the warmth, I need the affection. Yes - a lot of warmth and affection. (...) I need that warmth from somebody or I'm going to kill myself. The longer I go without that warmth and affection, the more I am out in the cold. Is that feeling of warmth bad? Why am I the only one that I know who has this as a problem? (...) I love you always, no matter what.

(75)
(...) If I grab my pillow, and think of you, then I get sad, and emotional, and attached. (...) Am I still your little boy? Do you still love me? I love you. (...)

(78)
I'm getting very, very desperate. My passions are ablaze. My mind is confused with so many emotions. (...) I don't want to lose my affection. Has it all been killed? Where has my life gone? Where will it go? Have I lost my escape from this terrible feeling? My affection is locked in and I'm locked out. No escape. No rest, no sleep, no love, no affection. Pretty soon my affection is going to burst out, and I'm not going to be able to control it. I feel so bad.

(80)
(...) Without you I'd have no friend here. There's something you have that I don't. (...) How come I haven't seen you in a month? (...)

(81)
(...) When I need your love the most, you cease to be my friend? You might as well have died! Now there's no way to get what's inside of me out. (...)

(86)
(...) I miss you a lot more than you think. I still need a friend to do things with, or I might self destruct... (...) I still need somthing physical to attach to, now more than ever. I could use a friend - maybe one person out of the whole world - maybe you. It just seems like you don't want to be friends with me anymore. I don't have anyone else to look up to. No one to use as an example. (...) You've separated yourself from me for quite a while now. You can't comprehend my loneliness. You wouldn't understand it, if it is loneliness. Are you still my only real friend, or do I have none anymore?

(87)
(...). P.S. Nate needs a hug. Bad. Very bad. Very very bad. ver [runs off page]

(89)
I feel insecure. (...) Walking [with you] was one of the favorite things to do when you used to come up. Now I realize why. (...) It was something that changed my life. It brought me out of my earlier years of gloom. It was something you gave to me. (...) It was something hidden in me. You gave me a special security, one which I can't still seem to understand. (...) Most of all, I was with you. That gave me all the security I ever wanted. It felt like a short visit to heaven. All my life I felt so insecure, until those times. Those walks were so healing to my heart, I can't put it in words. Of course, being in those same settings without you wouldn't be the same. You were the one that gave me the security. You were big and strong, you knew everything, (...) and you were my friend. I don't think you knew how good it felt to be around you. I also felt like I was emotionally hugging you, but we were only just walking together. (...) The insecurity vents in emotions I can't alone stop the source of. Sure, (...) you can read this and resolve that you wont come up any time so that I never more will experience that sensation of eternal friendship, because it would help if I became independant. So far, it has only made me thirst more for those times. If you drown me out, I'm going to die. In my view, it would work to my benefit if you didn't cut off all of my security, but rather fed it until I am old enough to take care of it myself. If I keep going like I am now, I'll be insecure all my life down here. Look at other young people who grow up with friends like you. They grow up to have no emotional problems. I don't want to be, for the rest of my physical existence, emotionally paralized like I am now. Don't you feed a child in need, not starve it? (...)

The Diary of Andrew (17 years old)

(p5)
Is sex on my mind, or is love? When I think of George I think of wrapping my arms around him, not sucking his cock. My stomach falls out - like w/heights. My obsession with embracing is kind of wierd -- I want to hug and be hugged, and no one ever does it, no one ever wants to...
This is a good idea - now I won't be boring people, i.e. G , w/endless descriptions, (inarticulate of course), of my problems... I've actually held off calling him for 2 straight nights. Or course, what I'm actually doing is hoping he'll call me -- hope springs eternal. We can't continue to be friends (though I'm not the one who'll stop it) -- the least friendly gesture from him and I deliberately take it as more. What I really want to do is physically cry on his shoulder (who else is there?), but I CAN'T he wouldn't consciously take it wrong but the thought would have to be there. Christ what simply desires: to hug, to cry.

(p19)
The reason why I write about George all the time here is that I never talk about it at all with ANYONE. For WEEKS. Sick of talking about it with George himself (makes me incredibly depressed, + him, I think still, guilty)...

(p26)
I'm no longer quite so depressed, for some reason... I think it's 'cuz I've got more to do, and George has become massively friendlier since the fall.

(p28)
Another thought: my passion for George has become a less concentrated, deeper affection for him. I can almost love with him merely as a friend.

(p45)
I love George to the end of the earth. Often think about suicide now. Can't write. I have few morals, w/o G would go insane, am anyway. Not really interested in studies. (...) Geroge is incredibly beautiful. Whatever... I only write in here when I'm depressed, or moving.

(p48)
Just saw Geo. today for the first time in a month or so. He's like a little rat gnawing at my affections. When I can escape, I lead something that looks like a normal life. When I see him, however, I'm consumed with a terrible joy.