three pairs of lovers with space

AN AMERICAN INITIATED IN WAR-TIME NAPLES

 

The following memoir was published in Boys for Sale. A Sociological Study of Boy Prostitution by Dennis Drew and Jonathan Drake, New York, 1969, pp. 193-213 as “Portrait of a Customer.”

Drew and Drake introduce the first-hand account they present as an example of how affluent men may be drawn into buying the sexual services of boys. They describe the narrator as “George C. — George is a married man, now in his early fifties. George has been a successful manager for a company which sells equipment to the oil industry. He is a respected member of his community and the father of three children — a daughter of 31, a son of 22, and another son who is 19.”

WARNING: George's account is sexually explicit, since the whole point of it was to explain how and why he had become sexually enthusiastic about boys, and it should not be read by anyone who might be upset by this.

Armed Neapolitan street boy during the 1943 uprising

George’s story begins in late 1943 just after the liberation of Naples from the Germans, and it is inferred that it was recounted in about 1967, since his daughter was aged seven at the beginning and 31 at the end. Since George himself was in his early fifties at the end, he must have been in his late twenties or thirty at the beginning. The lapse in his boysexual activities after the war implicitly lasted until about 1957, since it ended with a boy of almost twelve described as three years older than his younger son, who was 19 at the end.

 

I suppose you must wonder why a man like me is interested in young boys. The only way it could possibly be understood at all is to know all about me. There are many factors involved — not just one as some people might think.

I guess I was always a pretty sexy person. Nothing about sex ever shocked me, I suppose, even though I was brought up in a very strict Victorian atmosphere. Perhaps this had something to do with my later interest in sex. I read a good deal — as much as I can get my hands on when the subject matter deals with sexual relations, and I guess that’s a reaction to my being reared in such a hush-hush way. “Anyway, through my reading, I naturally came across every available topic, including boy prostitution and the use of boys in Middle Eastern countries. At first, it appeared curious to me, but...it didn’t shock me. I just sort of wondered what a man could possibly want in a boy.

               American troops entering Naples, 1943

Then, during World War II, I was in Naples just after the liberation.[1] I was a married man then, and had a daughter about 7 at the time. I was approached by many Italian women, all prostituting themselves for a living — or rather for a meal. The country was destitute. I saw so much loose sexuality going on that I feared getting a venereal disease from these women. But I wanted sex, nevertheless, and I wanted it badly. But still, my fear overcame my desire.

Then, on a dark side street one night, I was approached by a man. He said that he was a pimp and asked if I was interested. I told him of my fear of disease and he just “aahhed” and said that he had just the thing for me...a nice clean boy. At first, I looked at him as though he was joking but, as he continued to talk in his halting English, I realized that he was in earnest. The more I thought about it, the more interested I became. First of all, I reasoned (wrongly, I now think) that most of the men were interested in women and few would be interested in boys — therefore, there would be less risk of contamination. Then too, I suppose, I had read so much about that sort of thing that I felt inclined to try it while I was overseas. After all, in Italy just after the war, one could take a few risks without too much danger of ruining one’s reputation.

The man went on to say that he was actually performing a great service to the country because he was feeding and housing his boys — boys who might otherwise be roaming the streets and picking up what little they could gather to eat from the garbage piles. And he also argued that I’d be doing them a great service in patronizing them — my fee would help to keep these boys from starving.

                Neapolitan boys 1944

In the end, my curiosity won out over my fear. I have since met many men who first indulged in boy-love while across the ocean. Some never return to it out of fear, but others, like myself, become patrons of boy prostitutes. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was brought to an old ramshackle building constructed of stone blocks — it miraculously had a second story intact. There were several large holes in the roof but it was shelter enough. The man also urged me to dine there as this would mean additional income for the boys. I agreed and he seemed delighted.

I was amazed to find several other servicemen there. One of them was a Major. I remember blushing all over when I saw these men. The Major winked at me and, after he sat down beside me, told me not to be embarrassed. He realized that I was a first-timer. He assured me that I’d be pleasantly surprised. We all sat on large pillows on the floor since most of the furniture had been confiscated by the Germans and burned for firewood.

The meal was served by eight young boys, ranging in age from 8 to 13. They were stark naked, but they were clean. Without their ragged clothes, they somehow managed a certain dignity of carriage which impressed me. The idea behind the meal was that the men could leisurely choose which boy each one of them preferred. A boy could be rented for the entire night or for just one sexual session. If a boy was requested by more than one man present, they could flip a coin to see which would have first go with him — the other had to wait his turn.

Most of the boys had lost their families. Either they had all been killed, or they were scattered too far apart to reestablish any sort of home life. None of them had a place to go. I eyed them all carefully. They were all beautiful, of course, but I noticed that some of them were all equipped with little and delicately charming penises, while others were, for their ages, extremely well endowed.

An American soldier and local boy at a war-time Naples puppet show: a scene from Rossellini's film Paisà (1946)

By the time I had finished my meal, most of the men had made their choices. I was in no hurry. It became apparent that some few boys were more popular than others. My eye kept going back to one lad who looked about 11. He was built a little better than urchins one usually saw but there were still traces of famine clinging to his small frame. He had large, dark eyes and hair. I noticed his eyes first of all. They were very sad eyes — the eyes of a child who had known much misery and unhappiness. He said nothing. He was very quiet when he waited on the table but it was obvious that he didn’t expect to be among those chosen.

I signalled the pimp and whispered in his ear that this was the boy I had chosen and he agreed that I’d made a wise decision. The boy was one of his personal favorites. I knew that he was lying in his teeth but I didn’t care. I pretended to believe him. Any wise pimp agrees with his clients’ tastes, if he is not a fool, so I did not condemn his action.

When I had finished my meal, most of the other men had retired to the upper floor with their boys. The pimp whispered something to the boy and I noticed that he looked at me long and hard. His eyes brightened just a little bit and he tried hard to suppress his delight at being chosen. I knew that he must have been one of the least in demand but there was something about him which appealed to me.

When the boy led me to the second floor, I was surprised to see that only blankets strung on fragile ropes provided any privacy. There was nothing to blot out the sounds. I could hear the other men already in the throes of passion with their boys. There was the childish giggling, like that of schoolgirls on a picnic, and the passionate groans of the men.

Friendship developing amidst the ruins of Naples: another scene from the film Paisà

The boy led me to an unoccupied cubicle and sat down on a pile of rags that constituted his bed. He watched me interestedly as I began to remove my uniform. I smiled at him. In a few seconds, he favored me with a shy little grin. He was a cute little devil, at least to me.

When I was nude, I sat on the pile of rags next to him. He had no way of knowing that I was innocent and inexperienced. He waited and then I took him onto my lap and cuddled him. He looked so helpless and little that I wasn’t even sexually aroused. I caressed his back and shoulders and continued to do this for some time before I was aware that he had taken my penis into his hand. It was still unexcited.

When I looked at him again, his eyes seemed very sad. ‘You...no like?’ he said. Sensing his disappointment, I hurriedly reassured him that I’d chosen him out of all the others. I could see that my lack of erection had puzzled him. He thought it meant I wasn’t interested in him.

“He began to stimulate me with his mouth. It was not the mouth of an amateur and I responded immediately with a full erection. He kissed my testicles and then lavished attention on my penis until I was in a frenzy. Then he got some lubricant from a jar — I believe it was animal fat — and began to work this onto my penis. His young fingers delighted me and tantalized me. Then he greased his anus and sat down upon me. I was shocked at his capacity to absorb all of me. I suppose this was typical male vanity. I was not an exception to the rule. But the boy took me easily enough, with only a small grimace or two to indicate that he was not as frequently patronized as his brothers.

I sat up and put my arms about him. His skinny little legs were on either side of my body and I caressed him and cuddled him, letting him get used to the feeling inside of him. He seemed to understand my intention and he kissed my chest and one of my nipples. I stroked his head. By this time I was well aware of the tight little sheath which clutched my penis. If you have never had a boy, you can never understand the feel of having one. It is not only exotic, it is different from anything else in this world!

Dumbfounded with pity for the orphan: final scene in the Neapolitan episode of Paisà

I then lay on my side, taking the boy with me. One of his legs was underneath me, but I was careful not to put all of my weight on it. I eased myself in and out in gentle coital motions until I achieved an orgasm. Satisfied, I lay like that for some time, just stroking him and petting him. We slept together and in the morning, when I awoke, the boy was still asleep. I studied him carefully. In the morning light, he looked like a baby, not the strapping little half-grown lad who had given such delight in the dark hours. In spite of this, I was aware of an intense erection and a desire to be coupled with him again.

When I woke him up, he was pleased to notice my erection. He reached for the fat again and repeated his actions of the previous evening. Then he lay face down on the pile of rags and instructed me, in halting English, to cover him, taking care to support myself on my knees and elbows. This took some doing before I finally figured out what he wanted me to do.

Once the glans of my penis had penetrated, he began to work his hips. If I had enjoyed the previous intercourse, I was unprepared for the extra thrills of this one. He would sink all the way to the root of my penis and then work his hips until only the head was in. Then his anal sphincter would work violently on the glans with a sucking action, after which he’d sink back all the way on it, taking it entirely into his rectum. It was like having a mouth working on it, only a tight, hot mouth. He was a master at moving his pelvis. What that kid knew at the age of 11, many an adult could have learned.

   Boys in Naples, 1950s, by M. Cattaneo

I finally reached a violent orgasm. I was a complete wreck, mentally and physically'! I lay heavily on him, holding him tightly, moaning and kissing his shoulder and neck. He seemed delighted with the attention.

Then, when we were disconnected, my eye fell on his excited little penis. It was hard and throbbing visibly with each heartbeat. A wave of sympathy passed over me. I had used the kid. Surely, I could repay him. Suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to satisfy him with my mouth — to give him some pleasure in return for what he’d given to me. It was my first experience with fellatio and, looking back, I’m surprised that I didn’t hesitate but went right to it. The kid loved it. He had perhaps doubted my interest before, but I left him no cause for doubt later. I found that I could take both of his young testicles into my mouth simultaneously. I fellated him until he had an orgasm and then we embraced, fondled and kissed afterwards. He cried. He was sad to see me go and wished that I could stay with him. I believe that if I hadn’t been in the army, I would have!

Upon dressing, I found that the Major and I were the only two men who had spent the entire night. He indicated that he’d like to be friendly, so I saw no reason to ignore him. We spent the rest of the day walking on the beach, just talking about what had happened. I learned a lot from him, both then and later. He had been a boy-lover for years and had had lots of experience.

Shortly afterwards, about a month later, the Major contacted me and asked if I’d like to go to Tangiers with him. He pulled some strings and managed to get the two of us on a flight to the North African coast. How he did it I don’t know but he obviously had pull. Perhaps another boy-lover up the line had done the trick, and there we were.

                                        Tangier in the 1940s

My experiences in Tangiers were somewhat weird. The Major and I frequented the boy-brothels which were so popular in those days. We spent three days in Tangiers, sometimes lying in the same double bed and having anal intercourse with our respective boys in company.

The Tangiers boys were amazingly erotic and quite uninhibited. I was surprised at how enthusiastically they entered into a sexual relationship. The Major delighted in my reactions and, since he was also a voyeur, he liked to watch me at work on my boy, sometimes getting down between the boy’s thighs to see the action close up.

“We had frequent discussions about boy-love. He warned me that I should never use a boy selfishly but that I should share the pleasure with him by stimulating his penis with my hand at the same time. This gave the boy an incentive — a reason to work harder to please me.

Six months after we returned to Europe, I learned that the Major had died in action. I was depressed. I had looked forward to maintaining contact with him after the war was over.

After Italy, there were only a few isolated incidents with boys over in Europe — never with any prostitutes like the ones in Naples and Tangiers. When I went home after the war, there wasn’t much opportunity to indulge myself in boys. I fathered two sons of my own, as a matter of fact. Sometimes, when I was reminiscing about the affairs in Tangiers and Naples, I’d go down to the swimming pool and watch boys swimming and diving. I could see the outlines of their genitals and buttocks in their tight swim suits and, later on, I’d masturbate, fantasying over what I’d seen — sometimes, I included the wonderful little Italian I had so enjoyed that night in Naples. I don’t believe that my wife ever suspected my secret life.

I had a good job and was advancing with my company. I had no wish to jeopardize it or my future. Besides, I had my family to think of — so, fraternizing with the boys around town was out of the question. I was forced to remain unsatisfied, at least as far as boy-love was concerned.

This condition existed for a good many years. Now and then, I’d see a certain exciting youngster and be tempted, but I always managed to control myself even though sexual relations with my wife had never been thoroughly satisfying (especially compared to that little Italian boy). She was inhibited from her own Victorian upbringing and I could never quite bring her out of her shell. In time, my sexual interest in her diminished and I think she had some vague idea that I’d gone through my “change of life” or some such thing. She seemed relieved that I no longer bothered her so much. After my experiences overseas, she was poor fare I must confess.

All of a sudden, a curious set of circumstances altered my life radically. My brother and his wife were killed instantly in an automobile accident. Their only child, Ben, who was asleep in the back seat of the car, escaped with a few minor injuries. He suffered a broken arm and a sprained leg, but nothing that would cripple him for life. We naturally adopted him and he came to live with us. Ben was 10, three years older than my youngest son, Don.

My wife and I got quite close to Ben after he came to stay with us. We naturally sympathized with him for the loss of his parents and so did my other children who were happy to have him for a playmate.

From the start, I noticed a difference between Ben and other boys. There was something about the boy which set him apart from my other children. I didn’t know what it was but it didn’t take long to find that it was his extreme interest in sex. He was quite a precocious boy for his age. As he got older, about 11, he took on the qualities of a sexual object as far as my thinking went. He was my nephew, but... After all, he was the same age as the little Italian. I began to find excuses to enter the bathroom while he was in the tub so that I could see him naked and observe his development. He didn’t have any pubic hair at the time, but his penis was fairly well developed. I noticed that when I urinated, he’d glance at my penis. On one occasion, erotically stimulated because Ben’s penis seemed slightly reddened (I suspected that I had interrupted some masturbation), I got an erection from his looking at me. I let him see it, but neither of us said anything about it at the time.

When he almost 12, I took him on a camping trip. My older son had to play in a ballgame and couldn’t go along. My younger son had developed such bad asthma that my wife wouldn’t let him go either. So, Ben and I went alone.

When we undressed in the tent, I was aware of a slight tension. Something was developing, but I assumed that it was mostly in my own mind — a product of memories and imagination. The kid was only curious, I thought. Once we were inside the bedroll, lying close to each other, I had a violent erection. The sweet smell of him, the warmth of his nearness were both more than I could bear. It was quite a while before I could even think of falling asleep. As if answering my unvoiced desire, Ben’s hand began to touch me. After a few caresses, he took my penis out through the opening in my underwear. The touch of his young fingers drove me wild. I pulled down his shorts and fondled his stiff little penis. It was large for his age — about the size of a Vienna sausage.

I had only touched him for a few minutes when Ben crouched over me and put my penis in his mouth. I was astonished! This I hadn’t expected in my wildest dreams. He wasn’t too experienced but he was trying hard. I caressed his buttocks and thighs and then began to play with his penis and testicles. I masturbated him with a milking action and he soon had an orgasm. I felt my hand get wet with very thin liquid. Soon afterwards, I had my own orgasm (which he swallowed) and then I held him close.

I asked him if he knew what he had done and he told me that he did. He admitted that he had fellated a few slightly older boys and, on several occasions, he had fellated a few adult men in rest rooms. He said that he loved doing it. He confessed that he was very highly sexed and that he had been aware of sex for some time. He said that he had been playing with himself since he was 7, and from then on, he had hardly ever missed a day doing it.

I told him that I could go to prison for having sex with him and that he must never, under any circumstances, reveal to anyone what we were doing. He told me that he understood. He knew how most people regarded sex. Tired from love and play, we decided to call it a night and discuss it further in the morning.

A fine drizzle was falling when we woke up. There was no sense even trying to do any hunting so we stayed in the tent. I asked Ben to tell me all about himself. I asked if he thought it was wrong for the two of us to have fun together and he said no. He was glad that it had finally happened and that he’d wanted to ever since he came to live with us. I told him that we must keep it our secret and that not even my sons should know about it. I warned him against them in particular. He caught on. We started to fool around some more and I learned just how curious Ben was. He wanted to examine my penis close up, to investigate it minutely. Naturally I encouraged him to do so. Then I had him lie back so that I could fellate him. I think it was his first time and he enjoyed it immensely. I learned a valuable lesson from my Major friend...how to fellate a boy properly. What he taught me is so true — one must be gentle with a boy.

A boy is more used to tactile stimulation by direct methods. Either he masturbates or has a friend do it for him. But, when he is fellated, it must be gently done. He isn’t accustomed to sucking mouths. When he is older, he can take more vigorous fellation and stronger suction but not when he is pre-adolescent. A gentle suction combined with caressing action of the tongue and lips plus lots of moisture — that’s what he prefers. I fellated Ben in this manner, bringing him to heights he had never dreamed of. His little legs twitched and he moaned. Then I allowed him to climax in my mouth. Incidentally, even if I were ever to fellate a man, which I haven’t done yet, I don’t think I could ever do that!

He then masturbated me, saying that he wanted to observe ejaculation and examine the semen. (Remember, he was still only 11.) The few men he had masturbated in men’s rooms had been very hasty after climax and had zipped up and left without giving Ben much opportunity to satisfy his curiosity completely.

We spent the rest of the morning sitting and talking. I answered his questions about sex and the boy really opened up and confided in me. I learned a lot about him. He was very serious for his age. I think the shock of losing his parents caused him to mature ahead of time, in conjunction with his already precociously developed sex drive. Ben told me that he had wanted to make an advance before but that he held back in fear that I’d get angry and send him away. I assured him that I was not angry and that, on the contrary, I was overjoyed by his attentions.

I could go on and on with every little detail of our relationship as it developed. He knew that he could confide in me and vice-versa. In the beginning, I’ll admit that I was jittery. But, as the months became years, I never had the slightest fear of betrayal. My only concern was that we might be accidentally discovered. My own frustrated sexual drive found an outlet in the boy and I became a better person because of it. I was less grumpy and a lot easier to get along with. Life was brighter. For Ben, it was a godsend. He was often worried about how often he had always wanted to play with himself (and me) but I calmed his fears and told him that many boys his age were plagued with strong desire. I knew this from my own boyhood.

Realizing the high potential we shared, I let Ben come into the bathroom with me in the mornings while I was shaving. I’d masturbate him then because he claimed that by starting the day with satisfaction, he did better in his schoolwork. Sometimes I saw to it that he had satisfaction twice a day as I felt he really needed it (and it was fun for me too). In those instances, I’d masturbate him while he was taking a bath. I could bring him to a climax in two or three minutes so there was never any problem about suspicion developing because of the length of time we spent together in the bathroom. Sometimes I’d vary the situation, masturbating him one morning and fellating him the next. Three or four mornings a week, Ben would fellate me. Since I was in my forties, this kept me completely satisfied.

In time, we found that a variety of opportunities presented themselves and, when they did, we took advantage of them for intimacy. There were times when we were alone in the house. Occasions when I masturbated him in the garage or in the cellar were easy to arrange. Sometimes, Ben would fellate me while we were driving out in the country. The family realized the close bond which had developed but I think that they credited it to Ben’s loss and to my trying to fill in as a “father” for him. Neither of my sons resented him, seeming to take the situation for granted.

I suppose someone would say that I ought to feel guilty about having done these things with my brother’s child, but the only guilt I ever felt on these occasions was that I often found myself neglecting my own children by being too tied up with my nephew. I still admit that they took a back seat to Ben, but I know that I’d do it all over again.

As for our sexual life, I feel no guilt about giving him pleasure. Relations with him were actually to his benefit for he seemed to thrive with release. He was a good student, better than my own children. He was very obedient, but how much of this was due to a feeling of obligation to us for having taken him in, I don’t know.

When Ben was 13, my job required me to travel a good deal. Both of us suffered when I was away. This brought home to me the value of our relationship. When we were reunited, we were very passionate and demanding. During the summer months, I took Ben with me on my long trips. My older son preferred to stay home (to play baseball) and little Donnie’s health was not very good. His asthma was used as an excuse by my wife to coddle him. Guilty as I felt, I was glad for this excuse because if he had gone along, physical intimacy with Ben would have been difficult or maybe impossible.

It was on one of these trips that I performed analingus for the first time in my life. We were in a motel room and Ben was lying atop my body - head to feet, performing fellatio. The sensations were wonderful — he had developed a great technique. He rested on his knees slightly to enable me to fondle and caress his genitals. As I neared climax, I wanted to do something to express my gratitude but my mouth could not reach his genitals, so l seized upon his anus and tongued it. The closer I came to climax, the wilder I tongued and mouthed. We both enjoyed it. I had seen the Major do it to many boys in Tangiers. He loved it and didn’t mind my watching. I had often wondered about it. I supposed I rationalized but I can’t say there’s any more harm in a man performing analingus on a boy than performing cunnilingus on a girl or woman. There wasn’t much difference, except maybe psychologically.

Thereafter, analingus became an accepted part of our relationship. I didn’t press anything and in a few months Ben began to experiment with it actively, much to my pleasure. He did not, as might be expected, find it disgusting. Nothing sexual seemed to disgust him.

Ben was unusual in other respects. Unlike a good many boys of 13, Ben was a “kissing bug”. I’ve been told that most boys do not relish prolonged kissing — Ben did. He never got enough. Perhaps it was an expression of insecurity — I don’t really know — but I was happy to comply whenever it was possible. On our trips, I would hold him in my arms, kissing and fondling him for as much as an hour at a stretch. I’d toy with his penis and testicles. I also took to inserting a finger in his anus and moving it about. I’d continue until he got sore and then I’d stop, but I noticed that it took longer and longer for him to get sore as time went by. Before he was 14, 1 had penetrated him. By the time he turned 14, he couldn’t get enough of it.

In the course of my trips, I’d met other men who liked boys and I offered to share Ben with them. It may sound strange for me to say that I shared Ben but I felt that it was a greater favor to him than to the man. Naturally they enjoyed him but Ben got a big bang out of sex with them too and I wanted him to have the experience. Once, three of us worked on the boy at the same time. He loved it. He liked to have someone perform analingus while another was fellating him at the same time. He would fellate or have intercourse with any man I introduced him to. Of course, I didn’t offer Ben to just anybody and I never prostituted him either. No money changed hands — we just had fun. I was happy to see the boy get satisfaction and I got kicks seeing other men, less fortunate than myself, go to jelly during the experience.

I suppose that technically, I could be accused of prostituting Ben, from one point of view, because a few of the men who had relations with him did throw some hefty business my way. But, this wasn’t the reason I let them enjoy each other.

Our affair continued until Ben was 17. That year, he graduated from high school and began college. He is now in medical school, planning to become a doctor. He has a friend with whom he is currently having homosexual relations. They both plan to get married and raise families when they finish their studies. I think the relationship is merely something of a convenience — as an outlet for two highly sexed young men who find it more simple to have sex with each other as needed than to look for something else. The boy knows about our relationship and doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

After Ben went off to college, I found myself right back where I had started when I got home from the War. Of course, the frustration was more profound because I’d had the convenience and luxury of my own private boy for some 6 years. Needless to say, I missed Ben and the fun we had had for so long. Occasionally, the men to whom I had introduced Ben would help me out by providing a boy of their acquaintance in much the same way that I had offered Ben to them. It was their way of returning the favor. Sometimes we enjoyed a boy simultaneously or, on other occasions, they’d just drop one off at my motel and pick him up later. Some of the boys were new at the game, having had only token experience. This, I confess, left me cool at times. The boys in Naples and Tangiers had had so much on the ball and as for Ben — well, he had been all that anyone could ask for. He had been so easily aroused, so highly sexed and game for anything that it was a little disappointing to have to break in new partners, especially realizing that they would be relatively temporary pals.

12 year-old hustler in New York City

I began to seek out boy prostitutes whenever I visited large cities. It took several years before I managed to get enough contacts and gain enough confidence to be able to get a boy with the snap of a finger or by dialing a telephone. Of course, professionals cost money, but they were worth it. The kids I began to meet were experienced, erotically talented and versatile, and, most of them earned their money.

You could say that I feel little or no guilt over my interest in boys. Perhaps I feel anxiety at times — fear that I might be caught — but it’s true that I never feel that what I am doing is wrong. For one thing, the boys enjoy what they ’re doing. They may deny it, but they do all the same. A boy is not as choosy as an adult. Some adults have to have a mixture of Errol Flynn and Sean Connery to be happy — a boy is often satisfied with just a big erect penis to play with. It pleases him to handle an organ larger than his own.

I have taken Ben with me on some long trips. Now that he is nearly an adult himself I have introduced him to having a younger boy for pleasure, now and then. He enjoys it just as he has enjoyed sex all his life. He once told me that sex with little boys gave him a better perspective. Now he understands what I got out of our relationship. He had always thought of it from a youngster’s viewpoint. We have shared the same boy at times and Ben did not lose the opportunity for chiding me about not having taken advantage of the similar circumstances when he was young. Seeing these kids making such good money at it, he feels I was a fool not to use him for money when he was little.

To sum up: One might say that I would never have become a boy-lover had it not been for walking down that side street in Naples so many years ago. But, that’s how life is. I’m not sorry — I’m happy as I am.

 

[1] During the Second World War, Naples was the first Italian city to rise up against the Nazi military occupation; between September 28 and October 1, 1943 the people of the city rose up and pushed the Germans out, in what became known as the "four days of Naples".