Retard Dumping Ground

I think that white people should die. There needs to be a white genocide. I am going to build a white's only bomb that triggers off their DNA!!

WHITE LIVES DON'T MATTER

Hello,

The following is a true story that happened to me. I decided to share my story in the hopes that people will see how unfair the system is to "the victim."

When I was about 14, I was in a really great Boy Scout troop and was having the time of my life. I had finally worked my way "up the ranks" and was the number-two guy in the troop. The leader of the troop, Gary, became my best friend. My parents had divorced a few years earlier (and my dad almost never came to see me), so Gary and I became really close. We spent quite a bit of time together both with the troop and alone.

Well, on one of our camping trips, we ended up sleeping next to each other (one of the perks of leadership was sleeping in the "cool" tent). Gary leaned over and kissed me. Not just a peck, but a full-on kiss. I kissed back. He unzipped my sleeping bag and started to touch my penis through my sweat pants. At this point, I became very nervous. This was my first sexual experience with another person and I was also worried about the other guys hearing something. I asked Gary to stop and he did.

Several weeks later, we had a sleep-over at his apartment after a night of bowling and pizza and I was offered the floor in his bedroom. I accepted. Gary did not make any move toward me and just got into bed, shut off the light, and said good-night. I asked him if he would continue where he left off on the camp out. He climbed out of bed and joined me on the floor. We both took off our clothes and had a night of passion. He went down on me and I had my first orgasm at the hands of another. He also tried to have anal sex with me (at my suggestion), but I was really tight and he didn't want to hurt me. I realized then that I loved him- emotionally and physically.

The next thing, however, my emotions went haywire. I realized that I was probably gay. I didn't really know what to do. I was afraid to go to my friends for fear of being totally outcast and I knew my mom would freak out, so I just stewed. Gary and I were still close, but never had another sexual encounter. This agony went on for several months.

Finally, after my falling grades and depression finally alerted my mother to a problem (which she thought was drug abuse), I was dragged to a counselor. I thought that here was my salvation! The counselor told me that I could say anything in confidence. I could finally get help in sorting out all of emotions.

The very first session I spilled my guts. I told the whole lurid story and asked for answers. But instead of help, I was told that she had a legal obligation to report the incident to the authorities. She said I could call them from her office right then or she would. So I called.

The rest of the session, she continued to tell me how "bad" the things were that I had done with Gary and that it wasn't my fault. He had used me. She totally disregarded my feelings and made me feel like I was some kind of pervert.

That night, I cried my eyes out. I had betrayed the man I loved. I decided not to go any further and to not help the authorities.

The next day, two police officers came to where I was working that summer at a Boy Scout day camp and hauled me back to the station against my will. Even though they were in plain clothes, all of my friends and co-workers saw them flash their badges around. (They were legally obligated to get a statement within 24 hours of the initial report or they could not act on my "tip.") They grilled me for six hours. They would not let me call my parents. They totally harassed me until I told them everything. Eventually, with their harassment and the constant barrage of crap from the counselor, I started to believe their line. Sex with two males was bad. Gary was pervert that needed to be locked up. I could help them with that.

Over the course of the next few months, they "convinced" me to drag all of my friends down to the station to also give statements. Well, surprise, another kid was also a "victim.” Mid-way through all this crap I told my mother I was not going to attend any more counseling. I was not about to spend my time with a woman who was just going to degrade all of my emotions. I also lost all of my best friends and (once the parents of all of the Boy Scouts got wind of the situation) lost my last refuge when the troop was disbanded.

The police finally shipped me over the Assistant DA. This woman seemed nice. Told me that she was there to help. Finally, I thought, now I get some help. But what she really wanted was a promotion. She railroaded me into testifying against Gary and making me feel like the lowest form of life on the earth- not only a scum pervert, but also a guy who ratted out all of my friends and a man I loved.

Gary was convicted and sentenced to three months in county jail and one year probation.

After this whole experience, I buried my sexuality. I had a few relation- ships with girls, but they were almost totally disastrous. Finally, after 12 years and a failed marriage, I am finally coping. I have "come out" and realized that I am bisexual. I also truly regret what I did (indirectly) to Gary and that I had not explored more with him physically. There is a big hole in my life now and, to make amends, I have tried to find Gary. I even hired a locator service, but it seems that he left the country. (I know he has family in Europe.) I just want to tell him "I'm sorry" for all that happened and "Thank you" for showing a young budding man the pleasures of love, physical and emotional.

The moral of the story is this: I feel like the only real crime in this was the way I was treated by the authorities. I was told that everything in the counseling session was confidential, which was not true. I was told that what I was feeling was "bad," which was not true. I was told over and over by people in authority that they were there to help, which was not true. I have suffered through 12 years of pain before I finally saw the light and I know it is because of the way I was treated, not by Gary, but by the people that were legally supposed to protect and care for me.

In my book, Gary did nothing wrong. All of the sexual relations that took place did so at my insistence (he even repeatedly made sure I was still willing to go ahead). Some people would say that I was not mature to make decisions about sex at that age. To them I say: bullshit! I was not a stupid child. The only thing I really lacked was information and only because the "health" class section on sexuality was basically of the "married, lights out, eyes closed, in the missionary position, only if you want babies" type.

I was in control the whole time. The only reason I was unsure after the second time was because I didn't know how to handle gay emotional love and didn't know where to turn (since it was still totally unacceptable back then).

What really worries me these days is the fact that, although the gay lifestyle is accepted (for the most part), the victimization of young gays still continues. For once in the pedophile argument, there needs to be the say of the real people involved- the young people who are not stupid, but are caring, loving, sensitive people with feelings who can make decisions for themselves.

Dear NAMBLA,

When I was 13 years old I had my first sexual experience with someone older: my adult camp counselor. He had been my counselor for three years, was a school teacher somewhere, and was very kind to me.

My first year in camp I was very home-sick and this kind and gentle man would hold me close to him, in private, and allow me dignity as I cried onto his shoulder. He held me, stroked my back but in no way did he take "advantage" of me.

Over the next two years I had my parents request this man, whom I believed to have been in his late 30s, to be my counselor because I liked him and thought he was a very nice man.

During my third and final year I began having sexual desires for him, wanted him to kiss me, and tried to give him several hints. While other boys were working their way towards medals and projects they could take home, my project was to climb in bed with this man.

My chance finally came on a rainy night after all of us went to bed. I could not sleep and instead I went into his private quarters where he invited me to climb under the sheets.

He finally took the chance and fondled me finally kissing then sucking me over and over again. It was the most exciting sexual experience I have ever had.

The next day and for the final week of camp we reacted toward each other as if nothing had happened. I left camp never to see or hear from him again.

As a gay man in my early 30s I am not now attracted to children but to older men; perhaps thinking of my counselor. But my case is one to refute the charges that once molested as a child, a person grows up to be a molester of his own. I was not molested. I was loved and I feel I am better for it.

Sincerely,

Brian

Dear Sirs,

I am a 24-year-old white male who really wishes to join your organization. I firmly believe in all you stand for. I myself was shunned by society's rules and a small community's norms of acceptable behaviors. I was 13 and met a really nice 45-year-old man who really made me feel special. He liked me for what I was, not something that I could become. Sure, sex was a part of our relationship, but that wasn't the only thing. We enjoyed each others' company, sharing our thoughts and ideas on different topics, and setting our goals.

Well, needless to say, my parents found out and prohibited me from seeing him anymore. They also made me file a criminal complaint on him. He went to trial and was sentenced to 5 - 10 years on a variety of charges in which I had no say.

I told the judge that I consented to our relationship and what went along with it. He said that I was too young to make a "mature" decision. That kind of bureaucracy is driving our young people into their shells. I'm sick and tired of all this narrow-minded thinking, and would like to change it.

Thank you for the application for membership. I will be sending it along shortly. Please respond to my letter and give me some advice on how to, or how I should voice my opinion.

Sincerely,

Dear NAMBLA:

I recently turned 15 years old and would like to commend NAMBLA on the Bulletin. I figured I would write to help educate your readers on what a 15-year-old thinks and sometimes has to go through in the 80s and now the 90s.

My father is an alcoholic and my mother passed away when I was ten. My life was in prepubertal turmoil. My father, when drinking, was verbally and physically abusive. In my opinion he really didn't care what I did. On many occasions I had to prepare my own meals. I already knew that I stood alone. It was time to run. I started missing school and became a streetwise tough.

I feel that I am a sensitive person and considerate to others, the way my mother was. But it wasn't always that way. Loneliness shadowed over me. I started at about 11 years old to steal and cheat my way through life, vandalizing property and the very things I loved most. I was lost, not knowing who I was.

From what I can remember about mother, she was an absolute angel, considerate and very willing to help others who were in need, sometimes taking from herself. Even though my father never gave her anything, she sometimes gave what she had most of and that was love for people. My mother understood life. But not enough to pull herself out of a crisis.

Despite all the good I remember about her, I continued to do the things I was doing. Even when I didn't want to do things, I forced myself into doing them for the hell of it.

Then one day when I was riding my skateboard at a local park I noticed a man about 30ish staring at me. At the time I had no idea what man/boy love was. However, I knew what faggots were. On the streets, me and my friends used to tease and harass them. I assumed he was one.

This particular day it was hot and I was thirsty. There was a water fountain about maybe ten feet from where this man was sitting. I was thirsty and decided to take the chance. I skated over to the fountain only to find out that it was broken. I looked back only to find the man standing in back of me. "Thirsty are ya?" he said. I looked up at him and said in a wise tone, "What's it to you?"

"I mean no harm," he replied, "just offering to buy you a soda.” He said he had two children about my age at home. He told me he knew what it was like to be thirsty.

I immediately built up confidence with him. We went to a local store for a soda. He asked me to sit and talk with him for a while. To pass the time, I did. I sat with him for about two hours. Those two hours changed my life in a very positive way. The conversation we had, made me feel like someone again. That is where this story really begins. We discussed many things mainly about myself. I told him what had happened to me, and that I felt rejected and unloved by everyone. He understood my feelings. Just talking made me feel better, and like I was someone, something I hadn't felt since my mother died.

It was getting late and I had to go. We said good-bye to each other and walked in opposite directions, never setting another date to meet. I got about a block away, and suddenly realized how great a guy he was. I turned and jumped on my skateboard, cruising at full speed heading towards him to make another time when we could talk some more. He agreed to meet me the next day.

This time he prepared me a lunch and brought me a soda. He asked me if I wanted to ride to a state park to relax and to talk some more. I agreed, and that is where we went. When we arrived he took time to explain some of the wildlife, and also the process of evolution. His objective was to broaden my understanding of life, and the difficulties of what anything in life has to go through to survive. We walked through the park for hours talking, and I felt a very special bond between us. He encouraged me to stay in school. Looking back at the steps he took before even bringing up school still fascinates me. He told me he was attending university and almost finished with his engineering degree, which made me feel all the more special. See, in my neighborhood there are not a whole lot of educated people, let alone someone who would get involved with me.

Over the next few months a deep friendship developed between us. I eventually found out that he wasn't married with children, he was a poor student who didn't have anything. I think that I became his biggest asset, as he was to me. My attendance in school improved as did my grades. I didn't feel dirty anymore, no matter how much my father tried to make me do so.

He took a lot of time trying to get through to my father, to help him enter alcohol rehab in order to save his job- the only good thing about my father- and he was about to lose it. He contacted my teachers and my friends' parents, trying to get advice on how he could raise the quality of my life. Surprisingly there were no suspicions on why he asked so many questions. Quite frankly, I had no idea myself.

Like I mentioned, he was poor himself, however, he bought me clothes. Not expensive ones, but clothes that raised my confidence within myself. He also directed some attention on keeping me off the street, in an indirect way, by spending a lot of quality time with me.

As the months passed by my hormones started kicking in. Puberty was on its way. At night I would get erections. All of this was unexplained. Questions would have to be asked. But to whom? You guessed it. I was embarrassed to inquire, but I got myself together and went on a quest for sexual information.

I hope I'm not boring you guys out there.

Anyway I explained to him the occurrences I was experiencing. He explained in detail the reproductive process, also the sexual behaviors of a variety of people including man/boy love. At first it was a little scary. I kinda put two and two together and asked him if I was there for that reason. He replied calmly, "Only if you want it.” The conversation was dropped at that point. It was to give me a lot of thinking to do. I went home that night and started writing my very first journals. This man had given me so much in the year or so since I'd known him, and I had given him so little. It was time to repay what I called a debt.

I went over to his apartment the next evening and asked him what he meant about what he said the previous night. He told me that he was a little scared that I would never talk with him again, and that he should have never brought it up. I explained to him it was all right, and that I didn't know how to start. "I'll show you if you're ready and if you want me to show you," he said. He also stated that sex wasn't the most important thing in our relationship, but could be very gratifying if we did it right.

We went into his bedroom, and he asked me to sit on his bed. He tried to make me as relaxed as possible. I think he was as nervous as I was. He massaged my back and gradually worked his hand down to the button on my pants. He looked at me and asked me once more if I was sure that I wanted to go through with it. I hesitated and replied yes. [. . .] How gentle he was. [. . .] I'd never felt anything like it. [. . .] A relationship was in the making, at my own pace. (Eventually I did get better in bed.)

The months went by. Nothing could have been better between us. Until I made a big mistake and went with another guy that I met in an arcade. I really didn't feel there was anything wrong with it. By this time I was more experienced and wanted to seek adventure. Till this day I don't know how he found out about it. He got very angry at me and didn't want to see me anymore. I had hurt him in such a way that now I understand. After three months of being away, I had to make restitution with him. I tried calling him, just to hear his answering machine telling anyone who called that he would get back to them as soon as possible. He was lost and I was right behind him.

And pretty soon I again would have nothing. My father was selling our house. He could no longer maintain it with no income. But he had enough to drink every day. He was just going to get an apartment somewhere in Maryland. I had the feeling that he didn't want me with him. I lost interest once again in school, though I did attend. How could I be so stupid, I asked myself over and over again.

Then one day by coincidence I bumped into my friend on the street. I walked over to him. His first words were, "Take that earring out of your ear and do something with that hair."

"I'll see you tonight, I guess," I replied.

"Here's five dollars for a haircut. Intelligent people don't walk around like that," he said.

And we parted. That night I went over to his apartment and resumed our relationship, never once bringing up what happened.

It's a little over four years since we've known each other. He since graduated college and is living in another city, away from his apartment which I currently occupy at his expense. He is currently employed at a major company, making six times what my father ever made. My father is still drinking heavily. I no longer speak with him for obvious reasons. I am in the 11th grade doing well, and hope to be emancipated next year from my father. I am drug-free and also anti-drug. I hope to further my education. Maybe I'll set up a shelter someday for homeless and for abused boys.

I guess the point that I wanted to make which inspired me to write this article for your magazine is that I've heard so many bad things about pedophiles and the harm that they cause to kids. In some cases this may be true. If you are a boy-lover, don't supply boys with drugs. We already live in an oppressed society. It's difficult already growing up. Not everyone's situation is as bad as mine was. But due to someone who cared, my life has new meaning. My life has been for the last four years and will be more functional than it would have been even if my mother would have lived.

Please don't abuse the situation by incorporating pornography into your feelings towards us boys. You get caught and it makes the pedophiles who really care for boys look even worse than what people already think.

I also want to take time to compliment Louis Miguelito on his article in the May '92 Bulletin. Many readers probably couldn't understand what he meant. I think maybe I do. I wish you much luck in the future. Just feels like I know you.

The Peanut -- Delaware

Dear NAMBLA,

I will be out of this jail in nine months for good and will lend my services as needed to further the fight for freedom to chose whom a man, as well as a boy, can be with and LOVE. We both know that sex is not the main thing. It's the love and care that is shared between the two.

I myself have been involved in a relationship with a boy since he was eight years old. He is 16 years old now and we still have the same love, care, and joy. Foolish people may think he is "too young to make up his mind" or that "I made up his mind for him.” To that I say BULLSHIT! Everything has been consensual, plus we did not even have any sexual contact until the year of his sweet sixteenth birthday (and boy was it sweet). As life isn't fair, we are apart for the first time in eight years, but only for nine months. He comes to see me every weekend and we talk and laugh, then a sad time comes when he has to leave.

This kid is very normal. He does things all boys his age do. He has a girl friend and a boy friend (me). I respect him and he respects me. Maybe one day he'll get married and have kids of his own, but for now he says, "not to fret.” He'll always love me for the things I've taught him, the love I've given him so freely, and the happiness we've shared with each other.

So in closing, I say keep sending the Bulletins. After I read them I send them to my friend and love.

If loving Robbie is wrong, I don't want to be right!

Courage to all the other boys, men, girls, and women that want to just love each other. You're not alone! One day these fools will see that LOVE IS GOOD in whatever form it comes in.

Holy Jesus Christ

are you faggots really going to shaw me for copy pasting a few NAMBLA blogs after you spent all day defending a dude who wants to fuck 13 year old boys?