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three pairs of lovers with space



The following short story by Bill Allen was published in the seventeenth issue, October 1983, pp. 17-18, of Pan, a magazine about boy-love, published by Spartacus in Amsterdam.


May 1st, 2091

15 Brute Lane

My dear Tim:

In your last letter you told me that you were going well at your new high school, but that you miss me. I miss you, too.

At the end of the letter you say you are ‘suffering’ with what your dad calls ejaculatio præcox. Well, congratulations on being able to do it at all at your age: before I left on this holiday you hadn’t reached that stage.

Anyway, don’t worry, as I think I can help you when we are reunited next week.

Pan 17 01

“But,” you will say, “you have no qualifications as a psychiatrist!”

Well, I do have some experience in treating sexual problems, as you will agree after reading the following true story...

In the early part of this 21st century, boy-love was generally accepted (as your parents will tell you) as a normal part of the love life of many males. It was only about thirteen years ago, shortly after your birth, that the powerful World Council of the Communities of Santa Judianna had the whole thing outlawed again in every country except Antarctica. (Hence the massive migration of thousands of Australian men and boys to that continent.)

Well, you know my randy old friend Nick, who is now 60. When Nick was in his twenties, and thus living before Santa Judianna was canonized, he was in love with a 13-year-old boy called John. Now, although John adored Nick, he found him lacking in two respects. Firstly, Nick insisted on wearing very old-fashioned clothes like denim trousers and running shoes. Secondly, he shot his bolt too soon when they made love. All John’s pals were boasting that their men could keep it up for ages, and John felt that unless he could cure Nick of those two ‘faults’, his peer-group would toss him out.

John explained his predicament to Nick, who immediately agreed to dress in shot silk shorts and football boots like everyone else who was normal but he could do nothing about spoofing too soon. So John asked him to get a referral to the famous sex-therapist, the late Dr Philia Rogers.

I think you can guess what is coming, Tim. You are well aware that, in those days, boy-lovers who had sexual problems were routinely treated by being sent to bed with a boy who was a fully trained surrogate sex-partner: someone understanding and kind, with whom the patient could practise correct procedures without losing face if he failed.

Eventually, Dr. Rogers detailed a lovely boy called Alan (but that was not his real name — they all used professional pseudonyms) to ‘fix up’ Nick.

Alan had been instructed to play down the importance of sexual performance in man/boy love. Thus, at the first therapeutic session (look up ‘therapeutic’ in the dictionary if you don’t know what it means), the boy found out that he and Nick had a mutual passion for collecting stamps, so they talked about that rather than sex.

They swapped stamps at the second session, in the course of which Alan showed Nick an old Italian stamp on which was a reproduction of the Eros Vincitore by Caravaggio, This was unfortunate, for as soon as Nick saw the naked Eros he soiled his shot silks, or he ‘shot his shots’ as you would put it.

Pan 17 17
Illustration accompanying the original article

Nick was very worried, but Alan reminded him that the treatment always took a long time, and they had only just begun it. He reminded Nick that he had cured eight other men with this problem, including the President and Cardinal Spinario.

But Nick was inconsolable. He said, “I know what is coming: you will only make me love stamps instead of boys, and John and I will get into bed with our stamp-albums. Oh, why can’t I be like all the other boy-lovers? I’m a freak! How can I expect my business associates and my wife to respect me while I can’t control myself with my boy? I could even be arrested for not pleasing my boy in bed, and this could affect my chances of further promotion at work.”

“Stop worrying!” said the cute surrogate. ”Worry only compounds your problem.” (Alan was a smart, well-educated boy.) “Anyway,” continued the boy, “I myself had an accident when I first saw that picture.”

Nick smiled at him gratefully.

At Session No. 4, the surrogate said, “Now I'm going to take off my shoes, then my stockings. If you can last till then, we’ll have taken a big step forward, for last week you slipped when I had only undone one shoelace. But remember, we can always try again later, so don’t worry. And I’m sure the kid you love isn’t as upset about this as much as you make out he is. I mean, he loves you doesn’t he? You as a person?”

Session by session, more and more of the boy’s clothing came off before Nick lost control. Soon the boy could completely undress, and even kiss Nick, without mishap.

Then they tried some treatments ‘in the field’. They held hands at an Electric Eiderdown concert (this type of music is, of course, hated by all the teenagers of today) and Nick lasted until the second-last number, which was Be my Ganymede, Not my Leda.

Following two visits to the Port Adelaide Nudist Beach; where Nick was able to play underwater sports with the boys there without incontinence, Alan started the hard-core lovemaking sessions. After three of these, Nick was able to keep it up for two hours, with only one break for marijuana tea.

Alan reported this to Dr. Rogers, who pronounced Nick cured.

After that, Nick and John had no more problems in bed.

Now, Tim, I'm sure your problem is not exactly the same as Nick’s, for you are much younger. And you do not need any professional help while you have me, because I can now reveal to you that I was the Alan of that true story! So I should know how to help you.

So, see me as soon as I get home. But, I warn you, for the treatment (free, of course) to be effective, you will need to have at least seven sessions a week with me, for a period of from eight to twelve months, depending on how irritating your case is. But I can scarcely believe that your father’s diagnosis is correct. It is good that Dad is willing to break the law to let us continue to love and laugh together.

Your faithful pal,





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