Date: Tue, 25 Sep 2001 18:36:38 -0400 From: C. E. Jordan 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)