Please allow me the honour of allowing you to bestow upon me a blowjob.
One year they asked me to be poster boy – for birth control.
I went to an all boys’ school in South London and the only god was sport.
My angel-boy is close now, as in five-feet-away close. There’s no way I’m going to burst into song in front of him. But then the contrary part of me says, you’re going to let a boy keep you from singing out loud? Sing, sister! Sing!So I do, and my angel-boy turns his head.
It was snowing when I got off the bus at Flax Hill. Not quite regular snowfall, not exactly a blizzard. This is how it was: The snow came down heavily, settled for about a minute, then the wind moved it – more rolled it, really – onto another target. One minute you were covered in...
It’s HE-RO,” the boy argued.”No,” the girl insisted,”it’s HER-O.
One day you fall for this boy. And he touches you with his fingers. And he burns holes in your skin with his mouth. And it hurts when you look at him. And it hurts when you don’t. And it feels like someone’s cut you open with a jagged piece of glass.
I was very thin, like a boy, and I was very un-sexy.
Aleksar Greene was a boy I used to play with. He was my imaginary friend.
You are an intriguing combination, half child, half seductress, half angel.”I laughed sort and bitterly. “That’s what all men like to think about women. Little girls they have to take care of–when I know for a fact it is the male who is more boy than man.
I was not a ‘Doctor Who’ fan. As a kid, I thought it was scary and for boys.
You don’t tell a boy that he is a boy. You simply act like a man.
Halfway to the house Stan stopped and turned to Jane. He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her toward him.”I’m glad we’re going steady,” he whispered.”So am I.”In spite of the reassuring weight of his bracelet on her wrist, Jane suddenly felt shy. It seemed strange to be so close to Stan, to...
Fireworks. Snowflakes. Sunstroke and frostbite. It was all that I could ask for and completely unexpected. I expected demands. He gifted me with tenderness. I expected ego. He let me experiment. I expected disrespect. He called me beautiful. I expected him to expect perfection. He taught me all I needed to know.
And what if you try to kill me? Or worse: to kiss me?
Boys will always be boys,’ he said. ‘Therelationship obviously wasn’t meant to be.’ He told me I should trust that the break-up was for thebest, even if I couldn’t see that yet. As with every form of suffering, heartache brings with it catharsis,and turns us into better human beings. ‘It is like an iron in...
Ophelia,’ said the boy. He said it very quietly. She didn’t like the way he said that at all. He sounded sad and as though he expected more from her.’And how do you know my name anyways?’ she said. ‘I never told you it, not once.”I heard it once, a long time ago.’He was full...
I’m not a philosopher, I’m just a simple boy from East Ham.