Before I begin it is essential that I make it perfectly clear that I am writing this account because I wish to express my gratitude. Peter was my best friend in all the world at the time, but Peter is not his real name because in this world to identify him would be to harm him. That would be entirely contrary to my purposes here. To disguise the identity of my friend I am therefore taking the precaution of deliberately muddling the details, although the basic facts, ages and events are accurate.

Introduction

My nickname on the Internet is albertRoss. I am pedophile at heart, and pedosexual by orientation. I am not, and have never been, homosexual, at least as far as I can tell. I was nine when I first met Peter, who was fourteen at the time, and my interest in sexual matters was based on an insatiable curiosity, nothing more.

I grew up in South Africa, which in itself bears some explaining if you're not familiar with that country and its official moralities of the time. In 1972, when this account begins, it was illegal for men to go bare-chested in public, the media was obliged to airbrush and/or otherwise censor any indication that women had nipples, and according to the information that I and my peers accepted as gospel truth, possession of an image of a naked breast, or anything outside of medical documentation that attempted to describe such satanically inspired sinfulness, was sufficient to net the possessor a year behind bars. In other words, South Africa at the time was perhaps the most sexually retarded country in the world.

For example, when Jethro Tull's Locomotive Breath became a hit, the lyric his woman and his best friend, in bed and having fun was replaced with an equivalent that informed us, instead, that they were traveling to the sun. The original was banned, the penalty for possession the aforementioned year behind bars — or so we were led to believe.

Peter

Nobody I knew had a clue what sex was about. Peter, at fourteen, was my first exposure to the realities and my only real childhood mentor in these matters. We met when he expressed an interest in a model cable car he found me building out in the garden, and as I lacked any batteries for the motor, we went back to his place in search of same. His family was obviously affluent, and the fact that he had a swimming pool at home contributed largely to my consciously mercenary decision to cultivate his acquaintance, not to mention the ready supply of fresh batteries.

My father recently remarked that I'd always been a strange kid, that I never seemed to get along with my own age group, but seemed to prefer the company of those who were either much younger than me or much older. In my own opinion this is largely because I had intelligent parents and was generally rather ahead of my peers, who tended to scorn and/or punish me for this. Peter was, to me, a far more challenging acquaintance. I knew, even at age nine, a lot more than he did about mechanical and technical matters, and he knew a great deal more than I about music and art — and about sex.

It all began, as I remember it, a few weeks after we had first met, when I made some absurd claim based on my self-invented concepts of reproduction. In order to set me straight, Peter showed me the chapter in the Time-Life science series that illustrates the life cycle of the human fetus. This was utterly the most fascinating information I had encountered to date. That moment marked the point at which sex entered my life, and sex has held me in it's thrall ever since.

It's difficult to explain this, but it's central to what made my time with Peter so valuable, so please bear with me. In those photographs I met God. I saw life begin and, stage by stage, unfold into a newborn baby. Until then it had all been a vague mystery, and rather unimportant, to me. But this made a very profound impression and at the age of nine, sex became my one true religion. Nothing else mattered, and it was Peter who held the keys.

In retrospect, I realize it was very different for Peter. He was old enough to have experienced the pleasures of sex, was vaguely interested in girls, but would soon become almost exclusively homosexual, and he found me attractive. This didn't even enter my mind at the time. I wasn't attracted to any body yet, I was simply enthralled by sex itself, and Peter was more than willing to assist.

A Win-Win Situation, in My Opinion

Through Peter I was able to complete my education. In him, beside knowledge and mentoring, I had a developed and fully functional male body to study. In addition, with the reluctant cooperation of his younger sister (my age), there was an undeveloped set of female genitals to explore. Finally, by dint of persistent teasing — we called his eighteen-year-old neighbor Size-Thirty-Six Socks until she capitulated — we had a large set of adult breasts, complete with erectile bits, to ogle.

Owing to the fact that I'm planning to post this on GirlChat I can't go into too many graphic details. My relationship with Peter lasted two years, and although it would probably have been much easier (and more to my taste) if he'd been female, I was able to explore all the basic aspects of sex in separate parts, by substitution and extrapolation. He, in exchange, had a ready and willing accomplice in his own interests and satisfactions, and although our relationship was never, in terms of orifices, 'consummated' as such, I am fairly sure he wasn't unhappy with the arrangement.

The relationship terminated sadly but peacefully. I was born and raised Roman Catholic, and amongst the books in my mother's library (officially, but not physically off limits to me) I came across a dusty old marriage manual that gave me a definition of homosexuality, along with the information that this was a sin. I took that to heart, and at the age of eleven, I paid Peter one final visit, to explain what I'd read, and that I couldn't see him any more. He made no complaint, and from then onward kept himself carefully out of my orbit.

That was an unhappy experience, and it took me almost thirty years to shake the destructive guilt and shame that nasty little book inflicted on me. It is only recently that I have come to realize how much I have missed Peter's company since that time. I'm posting this account in part because I hope it might still be possible that he is out there somewhere, perhaps a boylover still, and that he might recognize me from this, and perhaps even be willing to speak to me again. I assume this is a forlorn hope and that this account is as much as I will ever be able to do to express my gratitude.

Observations

The only negative effect I am able to identify is the shame I felt after finding that book in my mother's library. Peter remained a dirty little secret that I dared not share with anyone throughout both my adolescence and the bulk of my adult life to date. Homophobia, to begin with, was severe and provoked violent reactions amongst my teenage peers, while pederasty carried (and still carries) a far worse stigma. I was ashamed of my history and even now, even here, I'm embarrassed to admit how much I enjoyed the things that Peter and I shared.

Other than this, the experience was entirely positive. I was a geeky and awkward kid, a nerd, and entirely lacking in the social graces, but from Peter I had all the attention and support I needed. While it's certainly true that what we shared was primarily sexual, in the sense that sex play formed the basis of virtually everything we were involved in, Peter treated me as an equal and respected both my opinions and my wishes. Most things, both sexual and otherwise, happened at my request and in fact I often felt that I was imposing on him. I have a fertile imagination and always wanted more, much of which was impractical, and often dangerous.

One of the greatest dangers facing pedophiles in this world is that sex, when it's right, becomes an obsessive compulsion with children. Kids are insatiably curious by nature and sex is the greatest wonder of all. Let this be a warning — kids, once inspired, will not take “No” for an answer. Should you find yourself in Peter's situation, please realize that to refuse your inquisitor is to risk disaster.

This is what happened to Peter in my regard. I attached myself to him, and never gave him a moment's peace. I did, fortunately, realize that sex was supposed to be a secret, and that the adults would not be pleased to learn that I'd been playing forbidden games, but I had no clue how dangerous this was to Peter. It's quite possible that, had I known how easily I could have blackmailed him, I would have become utterly merciless in my demands. I was a child, and entirely selfish, wanting more and more, and each time it had to be new, and more interesting than the last experiment.

It was only after we had separated that I discovered (by myself) what the fuss was all about. Orgasm was something we'd discussed, and the results were familiar to me from an observer's point of view, but I had no idea what that felt like. I was fortunate in that I discovered this before my ability to ejaculate had developed, and for the space of a couple of years I was as multi-orgasmic as the most nymphomaniacal of females. I'm including this information because I think it's a diabolical deprivation that most males have been cheated of this experience. Those years were absolutely the most intensely sexual period of my life and without Peter's example to inspire me, I would have missed it.

Throughout the remainder of my adolescence I was without question the best educated and most experienced of my peers, but owing (I believe) to the fact that I'd discovered the pleasure of orgasm by myself, I felt no particular need to share the information with others. I laughed inwardly at the naive concepts my peers held to be true, failed miserably (as the only uncircumcised male in my otherwise circumcised social world) on the one occasion I attempted to explain the mechanics of masturbation to my friends, and otherwise hugged it all to myself, remaining a virgin through age twenty one.

Conclusion

Throughout my adolescence I was obsessed with the female body, but owing to an exclusively Catholic male boarding school environment, I had no outlets for this. I shared the basic information with my sisters, but the taboos of incest prevented us from taking this much further than basic show and tell, and I otherwise concentrated on gaining access to every scrap of forbidden literature and pornographic imagery I could find.

Somewhere in that process I managed to educate myself fairly thoroughly in regard to the workings of the female sexual response. As an adult I've been uniformly judged rather exceptionally talented in their regard, to the extent that every partner I've had, bar none, has credited me with taking them places they've never been before. I guess that's bragging, but it's also quite true. I believe it's an important aspect of this assessment of the advantages that my relationship with Peter conferred on me.

In summary, for an otherwise unsociable kid growing up in one of the most sexually repressed environments in the world, my degree of sexual education and enlightenment is essentially miraculous. This could not have happened without Peter's help, and it is to him that I owe all these blessings.

Peter, if you're still out there and you should happen to recognize me and/or yourself in this description, please get in touch with me. Perhaps you're concerned that this might be a trap of some kind, and I can only offer my word that this account represents my true feelings.

Thank you, from the heart,
albertRoss