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> Un pedone racconta il suo amore per un bambino.
>
> Tratto dalla rivista pedona: http://modernblmag.org/mbmissues/mbm13.pdf
>
>

From the very start, my intentions were anything but pure. They
were fueled by lust and filth of mind. Like an itch I couldn’t scratch,
growing to a torturous boil over years of denial and self-loathing. I was
a monster. I knew that much to be true. Given the chance, just like the
world would expect, I would steal your child’s innocence and keep it all
to myself. It’s all I thought about, an obsession, both filled with horror
and excitement in equal parts.
That said, you could imagine my delight when I first met my poor, innocent
little Alex.

I can remember the first time I laid eyes
upon him like it was yesterday. I was at a
friend’s house for her son’s tenth birthday
party---Alex. That was him, my friend’s son.
He was the most impossibly beautiful boy I
had ever seen.
His eyes were a sharp hazel, but in the sun
they’d sometimes appear as an emerald
green. At other times when the light was
dim, and, only on the rarest of occasions,
they’d look almost red; an alarming shade
of crimson. His skin was smooth and lightly
tanned, with the slightest sprinkling of freckles
across his nose. Most people wouldn’t
even have noticed that. In fact, I was certain
that only I could see them, like they had been
placed there just for me. When you added it
all together with his thin-yet-slightly-sporty
physique, complimented by his walnut colored
hair, and those wonderfully, slightlytoo-large-for-his-head
ears you had nothing
short of perfection.
He was wet. Of course, he was wet. It was
a pool party after all. I wanted him so badly.
I could even go as far as to declare that I
needed him, every part of him. That itch, the
one so impossible to scratch, was making it
hard for me to think straight. I needed to get
close to him, to touch him, to hear his voice,
his laughter and secretive whispers.
Getting close to him was not hard to achieve.
In the pool, I played Marco Polo with Alex
and his friends. Being blindfolded was the
best part of the game. I could feel around
anywhere and not raise suspicion.
As I waded around the cool, chlorinated water,
I’d occasionally call out “Marco” and
listen for the boys to reply with their boyish
“Polo”s. What the boys didn’t realize

was I could see through the bottom of my
blindfold. Thanks to an unfortunately large
bridge of a nose that I had hated for my entire
life, until now.
Every time I’d call out “Marco”, I’d secretly
tilt my head back slightly to see if Alex was
anywhere near me. After faking the game
for a good five minutes, I finally “found”my
boy. With my hand
going for his groin, I retracted it and made
contact with his tummy. The moment I had
realized what I had done, I became angry
with myself. Upset that I would never have
such an opportunity again.
However, I did. Many opportunities presented
themselves. Apparently, my perverted
charades in the pool, with the half naked,
soaked-to-the-bone boys had convinced Alex’s
mother, my friend, that I was great with
kids and trustworthy of becoming Alex’s
babysitter. After feigning disinterest and inconvenience
for all of 30 seconds, I “caved”
in.
From then on, every single Friday night, and
sometimes Saturday as well, I’d babysit my
Angelic Alex. Every evening that I babysat
I’d go to his house and my mind would be
blaring with terrible, nasty thoughts and
schemes and desires that I had every intention
of fulfilling that very night.
Yet every night, something completely different
would happen. Alex was always so
playful, so happy to see me, affectionate
to a fault. He gave me every single chance
a pervert could ever hope to see come into
reality. Nothing ever happened. Regardless
of what my intentions were, even seconds
before I arrived, the very moment I stepped
through that door that itch, that terrible
yearning, would fly right out the window.
Instead, all I wanted to do was protect him,
to see him happy forever-more. Occasionally
we’d watch movies together, and he’d
cuddle up against my side while I stroked my
fingers through his hair or down his spine.
The most risque thing I had ever done was
lightly circle my fingers along his beautiful
tummy, just to see him squirm and his wonderfully
smooth skin ripple with thousands
of tiny goosebumps.
As time went by, I found myself madly in love
with Alex, but it wasn’t the kind of love I had
expected. When I really sit down and think
about it, there’s no actual comparison to
the kind of love I had for him. Something in
between a father’s love for his son and that
of two newly weds. But it was a clean love.
Clean in the sense that I was content with
what we had, without the desire to muck it
all up with perversion.
Not that I didn’t think about it. In fact, I
thought about it all the time. But those
thoughts were just fantasy. Things that I
would never allow to happen, not to my
Alex.
I babysat Alex until he was thirteen. At that
age his parents decided he no longer needed
a babysitter. It wasn’t a sad time though,
he would often call me over when his parents
were out, or we’d go out to the movies
or the beach or the park just to hang out.
We were the best of friends. We really were.
When Alex was nearly eighteen and preparing
for his final exams, where he would then
go off to the university to become an archi-
tect, where he was supposed to find the girl
of his dreams and fall in love, get married
and have a family of his own, where he was
supposed to be happy for all of eternity, he
was taken from me.
We were to meet at the park for one last hurrah
before he became too busy. Alex never
made it.
Instead, everything he had been working
for, every late night study session, every
part-time job to save money, every moment,
every thought, every dream he ever had was
gone. Gone in one terrible moment.
On May 17, 2013 at 6:43 in the evening, Alex
was pronounced dead on arrival. A man who
had recently lost his job, his wife and kids,
his entire life, had decided to drink himself
numb and then go on a joyride through the
park at 60 miles per hour.
Alex didn’t see it coming. I, however, did.