Daemonic Rise Tuesday, 21 November 2017
And Kenneth rose up against Joe, and slew him, but Joe's hot blood still cries out from a parched ground, like a prick up the bum...
Damn your eyes, Kenneth Halliwell! -- you always were too queer to be trusted.
Any fool can fuck a boy, but if you want proof Joe was no gay Johnny who on occasion o'erflowed the measure, look no further than this diary extract:
"I have fucked the arses off aging queens quite easily, but found a beautiful young boy often too difficult to come, because I loved him too much."
No, not middle-class guilt, but a touch of the Platonic shivers, the Aschenbachian delirium. Only a boy-lover knows that particular soul-slaying score—an aria way above the sensory range of your average lumpen goat-lover.
With most of the swashbuckling pederasts around here, I envy them and want to be them (twice). But with Joe, I make an exception. With Joe, I want to travel back in time and be his boy. What a blast! What a catch for a kid trundling through dreary suburbia like a wax-work wannabe.
Sure, you'd probably never quite snag him, and he'd break your heart, but you'd never forget him, and his incorrigibly boyish smile would brighten your dotage better than any line of dancing daffodils.
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