Toby Young Quotes

The challenge of modern freedom, or the combination of isolation and freedom which confronts you, is to make yourself up. The danger is that you may emerge from the process as a not-entirely-human creature. (Referenced in How to Lose Friends and Alienate People by Toby Young)

Can we get out of here?" "Your chariot awaits." "In the form of a blue Ford ute?" I curved my brow. "But of course," he said in an over-the-top French accent. "Sacre blur, bad accent alert!" "Wow," he said, "Le rude?" "Le sorry?" "Le hurt." Toby clutched his heart. "What can I do to soothe your shattered ego?" Toby drummed his chin thoughtfully, pacing around me. He stopped just near enough to whisper in my ear. "Le kiss?

When you knock off work tonight, go looking for Toby, because, trust me, he will be looking for you.

Tess, will you marry me?" Toby laughed.

A 'T' for Tess, a 'T' for Toby.

Boat. Toby. 1pm. Shit!

Some people are lucky enough to stumble across the right path straight away; most of us only discover what the right one is by going down the wrong one first.

It was journalism at its best: irreverent, mischievous and beholden to no one.

Unbefuckinglievable.

I love you, Tess McGee. I don’t do big funny or heartfelt speeches in front of people at birthday parties, but I’m excellent in private alcoves in beer gardens.” He paused. “Okay, that sounded really bad, what I mean is …” I kissed him into silence. I pressed my forehead against his with a sigh. “I love you, too, Toby. In fact, that’s what I was going to tell you before we walked into the beer garden. Right before the really bad singing started.” Toby chuckled. He let out a sigh of relief. “Ready to reminisce?” I whispered my final word before he closed the distance. “Always.

But he liked it all, that was his secret. He saw how fleeting it would all be, how quickly the kids went through the different phases, and how once those small things were gone, they never returned. A walking child never crawled again. So secretly, it was okay with him. Rachel loved her children, he was sure of that, but she was never natural around them. She was afraid to be alone with them most of the time. She grew impatient if they hung on her or talked too long, always feeling the pull of being elsewhere. Toby could have either or both of them on his lap for hours before even realizing it. At work, he was able to sit with his patients, knowing that this was not a stepping-stone for his life but life itself. Can you imagine what it’s like to have arrived where you want to be at such a young age? That was what she never understood: that ambition didn’t always run uphill. Sometimes, when you were happy, it jogged in place.

The word wrath jumped out at me. I thought about the alcohol and drugs we’d found in Toby’s room. I thought about the fire on Hawthorne Island and the way the press had lauded Toby as such an outstanding young man.

[T]he majority possesses an empire so absolute and so irresistible that one must in a way renounce one’s rights as a citizen and so to speak one’s quality as a man when one wants to deviate from the path it has traced.

Thanks,” Toby said. “And if Wesley breaks your heart, I promise to… well, I would say I’d kick his ass, but we both know that’s physically impossible .” He frowned down at his skinny arms. “So I’ll write him a strongly worded letter.” Keplinger, Kody (2010-09-07). The DUFF: (Designated Ugly Fat Friend) (p. 272). Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. Kindle Edition.

It seems as if we can’t go right, or do right, or be righted,’ said Toby. ‘I hadn’t much schooling, myself, when I was young; and I can’t make out whether we have any business on the face of the earth, or not. Sometimes I think we must have a little; and sometimes I think we must be intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes that I am not even able to make up my mind whether there is any good at all in us, or whether we are born bad. We seem to do dreadful things; we seem to give a deal of trouble; we are always being complained of and guarded against. One way or another, we fill the papers. Talk of a New Year!’ said Toby, mournfully.

Why look'e, young gentleman," said Toby, "when a man keeps himself so very ex-clusive as I have done, and by that means has a snug house over his head with nobody a-prying and smelling about it, it's rather a starling thing to have the honour of a wisit from a young gentleman (however respectable and pleasant a person he may be to play cards with at conweniency) circumstanced as you are.

intrigues of love are unfolding as they do among the young, and as they do as well among the snails on the lettuce and the shiny green beetles that plague the kale. Murmurings, the shrug of a shoulder, the step forward, the step back. Toby

Toby knew not whether to be agonised or glad, to see that Meg had turned a deadly white, and dropped her lover’s hand. ‘And as for you, you dull dog,’ said the Alderman, turning with even increased cheerfulness and urbanity to the young smith, ‘what are you thinking of being married for? What do you want to be married for, you silly fellow? If I was a fine, young, strapping chap like you, I should be ashamed of being milksop enough to pin myself to a woman’s apron-strings! Why, she’ll be an old woman before you’re a middle-aged man! And a pretty figure you’ll cut then, with a draggle-tailed wife and a crowd of squalling children crying after you wherever you go!

And Richard says, father—’ Meg resumed. Then stopped. ‘What does Richard say, Meg?’ asked Toby. ‘Richard says, father—’ Another stoppage. ‘Richard’s a long time saying it,’ said Toby. ‘He says then, father,’ Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, and speaking in a tremble, but quite plainly; ‘another year is nearly gone, and where is the use of waiting on from year to year, when it is so unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are poor now, father, and we shall be poor then, but we are young now, and years will make us old before we know it. He says that if we wait: people in our condition: until we see our way quite clearly, the way will be a narrow one indeed — the common way — the Grave, father.

he liked it all, that was his secret. He saw how fleeting it would all be, how quickly the kids went through the different phases, and how once those small things were gone, they never returned. A walking child never crawled again. So secretly, it was okay with him. Rachel loved her children, he was sure of that, but she was never natural around them. She was afraid to be alone with them most of the time. She grew impatient if they hung on her or talked too long, always feeling the pull of being elsewhere. Toby could have either or both of them on his lap for hours before even realizing it. At work, he was able to sit with his patients, knowing that this was not a stepping-stone for his life but life itself. Can you imagine what it’s like to have arrived where you want to be at such a young age? That was what she never understood: that ambition didn’t always run uphill. Sometimes, when you were happy, it jogged in place.

One year later the society claimed victory in another case which again did not fit within the parameters of the syndrome, nor did the court find on the issue. Fiona Reay, a 33 year old care assistant, accused her father of systematic sexual abuse during her childhood. The facts of her childhood were not in dispute: she had run away from home on a number of occasions and there was evidence that she had never been enrolled in secondary school. Her father said it was because she was ‘young and stupid’. He had physically assaulted Fiona on a number of occasions, one of which occurred when she was sixteen. The police had been called to the house by her boyfriend; after he had dropped her home, he heard her screaming as her father beat her with a dog chain. As before there was no evidence of repression of memory in this case. Fiona Reay had been telling the same story to different health professionals for years. Her medical records document her consistent reference to family problems from the age of 14. She finally made a clear statement in 1982 when she asked a gynaecologist if her need for a hysterectomy could be related to the fact that she had been sexually abused by her father. Five years later she was admitted to psychiatric hospital stating that one of the precipitant factors causing her breakdown had been an unexpected visit from her father. She found him stroking her daughter. There had been no therapy, no regression and no hypnosis prior to the allegations being made public. The jury took 27 minutes to find Fiona Reay’s father not guilty of rape and indecent assault. As before, the court did not hear evidence from expert witnesses stating that Fiona was suffering from false memory syndrome. The only suggestion of this was by the defence counsel, Toby Hed­worth. In his closing remarks he referred to the ‘worrying phenomenon of people coming to believe in phantom memories’. The next case which was claimed as a triumph for false memory was heard in March 1995. A father was aquitted of raping his daughter. The claims of the BFMS followed the familiar pattern of not fitting within the parameters of false memory at all. The daughter made the allegations to staff members whom she had befriended during her stay in psychiatric hospital. As before there was no evidence of memory repression or recovery during therapy and again the case failed due to lack of corrobo­rating evidence. Yet the society picked up on the defence solicitor’s statements that the daughter was a prone to ‘fantasise’ about sexual matters and had been sexually promiscuous with other patients in the hospital. ~ Trouble and Strife, Issues 37-43

She is you, Rosie. The little girl with raven-colored hair and pale skin is the girl I used to go to school with. It was amazing. Even talking to her felt like young Alex again. Toby kept a watchful eye over me though, I think he was afraid I would steal his friend away. I felt like I was keeping a watchful eye over him too, because he was stealing my friend away. I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn't you.

Toby Young has always embodied contradictions, even if simply by being interested in eugenics while looking like an unviable foetus.

The left’s attempt to punish, humiliate, and ostracize its opponents is particularly apparent in universities. Students at the Savannah College of Art and Design began a petition demanding the removal of the name of Savannah native Justice Clarence Thomas from one of the campus buildings, preposterously claiming he is “anti-woman.”66 Across the pond, Cambridge University rescinded its invitation for a visiting fellowship from Professor Jordan Peterson after students protested Peterson’s skepticism of white privilege and global warming, among various heresies.67 Laughably, they say Peterson isn’t welcome on their campus because they promote an “inclusive environment.” Only leftists could speak such Orwellian pap with a straight face. As the Spectator’s Toby Young observed, inclusiveness means an environment where “everyone looks different but thinks exactly the same.”68 Indeed, how can liberal academics think they are training young minds to think for themselves when they censor ideas not in lockstep with their own?

Socialism always begins with a universal vision for the brotherhood of man and ends with people having to eat their own pets.

Local power is also the realm of the small nonprofit, church, and civic association. A handful of people, properly organized, can drive enormous changes in a city’s dynamics. I’ll offer yet another example from Portland, Oregon. A group of water-conservation enthusiasts, frustrated at the illegal status of graywater reuse in the city and state, formed an organization called Recode. Although many in the group were young, among them they had built solid relationships with a number of local officials, business leaders, and other key people in the politics of the area. Recode pooled their respective connections to gather together relevant stakeholders, such as health officials, state legislature staff, the plumbing board, and developers. To the surprise of all, everyone at the meeting supported graywater use. So, everyone wondered, what was up? A state legislature staffer in attendance zeroed in on the main obstacle: There was no provision in the state codes for graywater. Legally, all of Oregon’s water fell into one of two categories, potable water or sewage. Since graywater was not potable, it had to be considered sewage. The staffer told them, “So, all we need to do is create a third water category, graywater.” They drafted a resolution doing that, got it to their state representative, and it passed at the next legislative session. After three subsequent years of bureaucratic wrangling and gentle pressure from Recode, graywater use became legal in Oregon. Recode then tackled urban composting toilets as their next target for legalization.

April 2012 Aria wrote: It is nice to hear from you. I received a message from Carol a month ago but was too busy with family and work to write to you until now. Your email arrived when I was on the phone with Andy and I read your message to him. There was a long silence at the other end before his shaky voice returned, sounding distraught, as if he was sobbing. My brother went through a difficult period after you separated. He missed you terribly and thought of returning to England to be with you. He was close to being a nervous wreck, often contacting me in devastating states of misery. Plunging full steam into his engineering studies eventually healed his wounds. He did well at the University of Canterbury, where he met Toby a few years later. They separated when Andy moved to Canada after graduation. My brother often talked about you and wished he had stayed in London. I know the two of you were very close in school and you were his first true love. From personal experience, our first love lasts longest and can be the most difficult to release. I count myself fortunate that my husband of 37 years, Jay, is my first love. We have 3 children; Jamie, 27, our eldest is a pharmacist in Stockholm; Charles, 24, his brother, will be graduating from law school in a few months and last but not least Angelique, 20, is a computer science major at the Ecole Polytechnique Federale de Lausanne. We moved to Stockholm when Jay got transferred by his bank so we could be in closer proximity to Jamie. I’m assisting and keeping busy with several nonprofit charities now that the children have left home. I’ve enclosed Andy’s contact information. Maybe the two of you can reconnect.

They are splendid young men,” Ellen said after her second glass of wine—or was it her third? “And I think having them around makes us all less lonely.” “Lonely,” Abby spat. “I got damned sick of being lonely. I’m not lonely now.” “Because of Mr. Belmont. He is an impressive specimen.” Abby grinned at her wineglass. “Quite, but so is your Mr. Windham.” Ellen shook her head, and the countryside beyond the balcony swished around in her vision. “He isn’t my Mr. Windham.” It really was an interesting effect. “I think I’m getting tipsy.” Abby nodded slowly. “One should, from time to time. Why isn’t he your Mr. Windham?” “He’s far above my touch. I’m a gardener, for pity’s sake, and he’s a wealthy young fellow who will no doubt want children.” Abby cocked her head. “You can still have children. You aren’t at your last prayers, Baroness.” “I never carried a child to term for Francis,” Ellen said, some of the pleasant haze evaporating, “and I am… not fit for one of Mr. Windham’s station.” Abby set her wine glass down. “What nonsense is this?” Ellen should have remained silent; she should have let the moment pass with some unremarkable platitude, but five years of platitudes and silence—or perhaps half a bottle of wine—overwhelmed good sense. “Oh, Abby, I’ve done things to be ashamed of, and they are such things as will not allow me to remarry. Ever.” “Did you murder your husband?” Abby asked, her tone indignant. “Did you hold up stagecoaches on the high toby? Perhaps you sold secrets to the Corsican?” “I did not murder my h-husband,” Ellen said, tears welling up again. “Oh, damn it all.” It was her worst, most scathing curse, and it hardly served to express one tenth of her misery. “What I did was worse than that, and I won’t speak of it. I’d like to be alone.” Abby rose and put her arms around Ellen, enveloping her in a cloud of sweet, flowery fragrance. “Whatever you think you did, it can be forgiven by those who love you. I know this, Ellen.” “I am not you,” Ellen said, her voice resolute. “I am me, and if I care for Mr. Windham, I will not involve him in my past.” “You’re involving him in your present, though.” Abby sat back, regarding Ellen levelly. “And likely in your future, as well, I hope.” “I should not,” Ellen said softly. “I should not, but you’re right, I have, and for the present I probably can’t help myself. He’ll tire of our dalliance, though, and then I’ll let him go, and all will be as it should be again.” “You

Dearest Young, It has been more than 40 years since we communicated. When Aria mentioned that she received your email inquiring after me, I was held speechless for a while. Throughout the years you’ve been on my mind, but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to locate you. After our separation, my emotional life went on a roller coaster ride. I could not get you out of my head for several years until I met Toby, my ex, who helped ease my sense of loss – yet, your image continued to haunt my existence often. After Toby I’ve been through several relationships, but they were nothing like those four years we shared. I know it is sentimental of me to drag out our past, but you continue to be on my mind. I have moved forward with my life, and I’m sure you have too. Although I have stored our past into distant memories, there were occasions when your sweetness came rushing head on, like a euphoric air du printemp.

Now, I understand that the universe had a greater plan for me, and that I was not supposed to meet the tycoon. I would have lost you earlier than I did if I had obtained a position as his apprentice. When you decided to stay in London, I was devastated! I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. You were my first love; I longed to be with you. I left for New Zealand in haste, deeply saddened by your decision to not join me. Being miles apart, I thought I could start afresh and the distance would eliminate my hurt and heartaches. Unfortunately, you continued to haunt my consciousness. I flung myself into my engineering studies, working every conceivable project I could lay my hands on. Yet you loomed large during my quiet moments. Images of you followed me everywhere, until I met Toby.

As much as I loved Toby, he was not you and never would be. I had unconsciously fallen into a relationship through default, using Toby as your replacement. Although our sexual rapport was excellent, our relationship did not touch the soul-to-soul level I shared with you. At twenty-two, there were many things I did not understand about love. I thought I knew it all. I plunged full steam ahead, and, soon after we met, I found myself sharing a home with Toby. Our lives together came crashing down a year later. I concluded that there wasn’t anyone who could replace you in my heart. It was best for Toby and me to separate. He realized that I could not provide the love he so desired. You, Young, are the boy I’ve been trying to replace, all these years. You are an ever-present apparition who never leaves me. Images of you continue to follow me everywhere I go. You are my shadow…

A world in which one of the greatest exertions of ‘power’ is constantly exerted – the power to stand in judgement over, and potentially ruin, the life of another human being for reasons which may or may not be sincere. To date there are only two weak, temporary answers to this conundrum. The first is that we forgive the people we like, or the person whose tribe or views most closely fit our own, or at least aggravate our enemies. So if Ezra Klein likes Sarah Jeong he will forgive her. If you dislike Toby Young you will not forgive him. This is one of the surest ways imaginable to embed every tribal difference that already exists.

I was in the right place at the right time,” he said again. Jalam corrected him, “The worst place, young man, at the worst time. But you were the right person.

Day after day, night after night, he went from one Jewish house to the next, telling his story and that of Malka, the young girl who lay dying for three days, and that of Tobie, the tailor who begged to die before his sons were killed.

tape already marked the area around the body. A first responding officer jumped to his feet, holding the scene log on a clipboard. “Good morning, sir.” The young man spoke in the nasal voice of someone whose nose is blocked. Lei spotted white cotton sprouting from his nostrils. “Hey. Nice up here if it weren’t for the smell.” She took the clipboard, and each of them signed in. Passing the tape, Lei spotted the hand first, extended toward them from beneath the ferns, palm up. The tissue was swollen and discolored, masked in a filmy gray gauze of mold that seemed to be drawing the body down into the forest floor. Lei could imagine that in just a few weeks, the body would have been all but gone in the biology of the cloud forest. The victim lay on his stomach, his head turned away and facing into a fern clump, black hair already looking like just another lichen growing on the forest floor. The body was at the expansion phase, distending camouflage-patterned clothing as if inflated. A black fiberglass arrow fletched in plastic protruded from the man’s back. Lei and Pono stayed well back from the body. Lei unpacked the police department’s camera from her backpack, and Pono took out his crime kit. The modest quarter-karat engagement

Week Of June 2012 …In some aspect, Toby was like you. He had a good heart and we shared a lot of laughter together, but he also possessed a streak of unpleasant bitchiness. Unfortunately he wasn’t Bahriji-trained and gentlemens’ words of honor meant nothing to him. That was an issue I had difficulty with. That said, Toby is in the past. You, my boy, are here and now. You are always in my heart. Now that we have reconnected, I hope the next chapter in our relationship will be deeper and wiser. I remember the prayer you recited one night after our lovemaking: “I asked God for a minute and he gave me a day. I asked God for a flower and he gave me a bouquet. I asked God for love and he gave me that too. I asked God for an angel and he gave me himself. YOU!” Love, Andy.

One day I saw him going into one of the lecture halls, I followed. I thought it was you when I first noticed him. I sat some distance away from the boy at the lecture hall. He was a freshman law student from a well to do family in the Philippines. I stalked him for a day before I introduced myself. Toby was new at campus and was finding his way around. We started hanging out after classes. He was attractive, charming and pleasant but lacked a certain je ne se quoi which you possess. As much as I like him I had a hunch that he wasn’t altogether the kind of man I would be totally happy in a long term relationship. My loneliness and heartaches got the better of me and I pursued this relationship half-heartedly; thinking our emotional affinity would improve with time. One evening, a week after we met we were at a pub celebrating a friend’s birthday. I was intoxicated trying to drown my sorrows from missing you. He had a wee bit too much to drink at the celebration. We ended up in my flat with our clothes scattered around us. He had a beautiful physique like yours. I began seeing you in him when we became intimate. I longed for your sweet lips and wanted to believe I was making love to you instead of Toby. Ignoring my premonitions, I plunged full steam ahead. I kissed him passionately like I did you when we were a couple. With my eyes clammed shut, I imagine holding you in my arms, caressing you and submerging fully in you. I desired no other only you.

Toby was delirious from my amorous display of affection, he had never been made love to like the way we did together. Under the influence of my inebriation, I made love to the boy with ferocity, biting and kissing every part of his sinewy body. I desired him to be you; I longed to make sensual love to you, nibbling your soft earlobes, sucking the sides of your delicious neck, drinking the nectar from your tendinous veins, and leaving love bites to substantiate my love for you. His perky nipples stuck out like yours as I lapped at those tiny luscious knobs. He wanted me as much as I craved for him. By now my manhood was throbbing uncontrollably, I needed to be inside him, the way you revered my hardness inside you. In a drunken daze, I unconsciously tuned out his crying moans. Instead I heard your groans emanating from his temulent breath. I had to be inside you to render you our perpetual love we so lovingly bestowed upon each other during our intimate moments. It was a criterion I later discovered that Toby and I did not share.

Unlike you who received me so readily and compliantly, I did not realize my length had caused him to shriek in pain during entry. I withdrew my quivering organ leaving me with pulsating dissatisfaction. He tried to accommodate my pleasure and in my bibulous state I saw your sweet yearning biophilia rather than his obliging bligation to please me. I would have terminated our liaison there and then if I was in my right mind. Knowing your infatuation for my unbridled sex and my hunger for you, ravaged my senses; I pounded into the boy despondently until I relinquished my load into his tightness. If I was with you, you would not have enraptured me to stop but craved for me to deposit my abundance into your core; staying inside until my stiffness rears its bulbous head, to ravish you again and again. Unfortunately Toby isn’t you; it hurt him if I stayed in his opening after my release. As his drunkenness wore thin, so did his ineradicable homosexual guilt from years of deep-rooted Catholic upbringing. He requested I leave without reaching a pleasuring crescendo himself. The following day we met on campus; I was surprised when he asked me if I’ll be his boyfriend. My pity for my companion supplanted my sound reasoning and I reluctantly agreed to give the relationship a try. Well my dearest Young, that’s all in the past; after all life is an experience and to any great experiences, one thing is essential; an adventurous nature. That is an essence I love about you which Toby did not possess. Your loving ex-Valet, Andy.

Mid June 2012 I was pleasantly surprised by Andy’s candid email. During the years I was with my ex-lover he was a rather reserved gentleman of impeccable manners. I would never have guessed he would verbalize an unreserved monologue regarding his feelings for me and his early sexual relationship with Toby in a email. Maybe age and time has brought forth a sense of self-assurance that as teenagers we were often unsure of ourselves. Locating Andy has been a revelation. Our renewed friendship and regular correspondence is a journey of self-discovery in and of itself. After all what is life but a journey of experiences? What better way to travel down this yellow brick road than to have companions that are near and dear, to share in our tree of knowledge and wisdom.

In response to my ex-Valet’s email, I wrote: Hi Andy, I am surprised by your honesty and openness in relating your early relationship with Toby. I had not expected such frank soliloquy from a ‘perfect’ gentleman like you. Although we often discussed everything candidly in the old days, we had never written down our thoughts and opinions in black and white. Are we finally reaching an Age of Aquarius where truth and freedom are here to enlighten humanity? I am gladdened that we are able to communicate quickly and efficiently in this electronic age. I know you are aware that I am writing my memoirs. Aren’t you concerned that I may reveal the true nature of your feelings you confided to me in my writings? One thing I can promise you; I will never do anything unsavory or conduct myself in an ungentlemanly fashion towards those I love, respect and trust. My dearest Andy, I value your love greatly and laurel you in the highest esteem in my pantheon of cultivated beings. Moreover we are soul mates and as past E.R.O.S. members we also have a duty to our forebears to continue living spiritually and intellectually. To be illustrious examples in the chaotic world we reside…

Therefore it came as no surprise when Andy wrote: My dearest Young, Your correspondence brings an abundance of joy to my heart. Although we’ve both grown older (and hopefully wiser), you are still the boy I knew and the boy I left behind many years ago in London. I love listening to your experiences after our separation. Keep them coming, it’s like listening to your sweet voice all over again. As I mentioned in my previous email, I should have ended my relationship with Toby before it began. Our four-year relationship lasted with a copious amount of quarreling, disgruntlement and resentment. I wanted to end the relationship three months after our sexual rendezvous, but Toby threatened suicide if I left. Those years were not easy for either of us. Pettifoggery often led to intense bickering, and he would sulk for days, waiting for me to kiss and make up with him. I resented having to admit that the squabbles were my fault and having to apologize to keep peace. These prolonged melodramas sent me into a psychological and physical tailspin. I had difficulty concentrating on my studies. One day, I told the boy I wanted to end our relationship. He was devastated and immediately started to blame me for the pain I caused him. He did not listen to what I had to say before he stormed back to our lodging. I was speechless. I felt guilty for what I had done, even though it was the best solution for us. I tried explaining that I loved you and I had mistakenly used him as a substitute, but it was no use. Toby proceeded to use this as ammunition, accusing me of perjury. Instead of being sound of reason, he turned the tables around, saying that I had falsely led him to fall in love with me. As you are well aware, it takes two to tango. Toby reminded me of Oscar’s charge, Srihan. Their parents spoiled them materialistically when what they most needed was love. Toby grew up not knowing how to love. Love, to him, was about taking; he knew nothing about giving. Unlike our relationship which was built on mature love, Toby’s and my relationship was the complete opposite…

Mid June 2012 …Young, as time passed, I missed you more than ever. My exasperation with Toby festered with each passing day. When I finally could not tolerate our tempestuous relationship, I confronted the young man. After a heated emotional argument, Toby left our unfinished discussion in a state of vexation. I did not realize he was using the age-old psychological threat of overdosing himself to obtain my attention. I found him unconscious, foaming at the corner of his mouth from consuming an entire bottle of sleeping pills. He was rushed to hospital. I would not have been able to live with my guilt if Toby had died. He recovered from this ordeal, but my respect for him had plummeted. Instead of loving him, I felt sorry and pitied him. This was a malignant sign of what was to come. To appease him, we often kissed and made up after impassioned disputes. I made false promises that I had no intention of keeping. These desolate pledges soon dissolved into self-abhorrence. I had allowed myself to be trapped into a situation, and I could not figure out a solution. Throughout this ordeal, I threw myself into my engineering studies, channeling my unhappiness into what I enjoyed best. I could not give myself fully to the boy, and had little respect for him. When we made love, I shut him out. Instead, I saw you in our sexual liaisons. Toby was merely a vehicle to satisfy my sexual desires to be with you. Throughout the years we were together, it was you I made love to, not Toby or anyone else. I could not and would not release you from my mind. The pain of losing you was too oppressive, until the fateful day I suffered a nervous breakdown. I ended up in a hospital, in the psychiatric ward. Aria and Ari came to nurse me back to health. Aria stayed for two weeks until I could commence classes again. I knew I had to get away from this toxic relationship. The day I graduated I enrolled in a postgraduate program in Alberta, Canada. I desired to be as far away from New Zealand as possible; I needed to be away from Toby and to find myself again. I finally had a solid and legitimate excuse to separate from the boy. I was glad when Toby’s parents demanded their son’s return to the Philippines after his graduation so that he could take over his father’s business. Toby did not wish to return to Manila, but had no choice. His father threatened to cut off his financial support if he did not return. Thanks to universal intervention, my freedom was restored. I began a new life in Canada. That, my dearest Young, was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The rest will be revealed to you in our next correspondence. For now, be happy, be well, and most importantly, be you at all times: the Young whom I love and cherish. Andy, Xoxoxo

Mid June 2012 Good morning Andy, I hope today brings you good cheer and bounteous energy. We certainly have been through some tough times since our separation. Back in the late 80s to the mid-90s, I too experienced a negative relationship like you and Toby. My relationship with Kregory, an American from Wisconsin, lasted for nine years. It came to a screeching halt one day in August 1996 when he suddenly disappeared from our apartment and my life. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. The universe had again intervened on my behalf when it was time for a new beginning. I will relate this life’s chapter at a later date. It breaks my heart to learn that you went through a difficult period with Toby. I’m glad those days are behind us. I believe that I emerged from those horrendous experiences to become wiser, stronger and better-equipped for life’s challenges. You, my dearest ‘big brother,’ have always been my guiding light, and I’m positive that you, too, returned unscathed through adversities. I, for one, am grateful for my Bahriji education and treasured E.R.O.S. experiences. Without this priceless enlightenment and knowledge, my life would have turned out differently and would have been difficult to grapple with. Now that we have reconnected, it’s also the beginning to a new friendship. If the universe chooses to bring us together again, time is our guiding star. For now, I’m gratified to be corresponding regularly with my ex-lover, Valet, mentor, and guardian.

Andy’s Message Around the time I received Arius’ email, Andy’s message arrived. He wrote: Young, I do remember Rick Samuels. I was at the seminar in the Bahriji when he came to lecture. Like you I was at once mesmerized by his style and beauty, which of course was a false image manufactured by the advertising agencies and sales promoters. I was surprised to hear your backroom story of him being gangbanged in the dungeon. We are not ones to judge since both of us had been down that negative road of self-loathing. This seems to be a common thread with people whom others considered good-looking or beautiful. In my opinion, it’s a fake image that handsome people know they cannot live up to. Instead of exterior beauty being an asset, it often becomes a psychological burden. During the years when I was with Toby, I delved in some fashion modeling work in New Zealand. I ventured into this business because it was my subconscious way of reminding me of the days we posed for Mario and Aziz. It was also my twisted way of hoping to meet another person like me, with the hope of building a loving long-term relationship. It was also a desperate attempt to break loose from Toby’s psychosomatic grip on my person. Ian was his name and he was a very attractive 24 year old architecture student. He modeled to earn some extra spending money. We became fast friends, but he had this foreboding nature which often came on unexpectedly. A sentence or a word could trigger his depression, sending the otherwise cheerful man into bouts of non-verbal communication. It was like a brightly lit light bulb suddenly being switched off in mid-sentence. We did have an affair while I was trying to patch things up with Toby. As delightful as our sexual liaisons were there was a hidden missing element, YOU! Much like my liaisons with Oscar, without your presence, our sexual communications took on a different dynamic which only you as the missing link could resolve. There were times during or after sex when Ian would abuse himself with negative thoughts and self-denigration. I tried to console him, yet I was deeply sorrowed about my own unresolved issues with Toby. It was like the blind leading the blind. I was gravely saddened when Ian took his own life. Heavily drugged on prescriptive anti-depressant and a stomach full of extensive alcohol consumption, he fell off his ten story apartment building. He died instantly. This was the straw that threw me into a nervous breakdown. Thank God I climbed out of my despondencies with the help of Ari and Aria. My dearest Young, I have a confession to make; you are the only person I have truly loved and will continue to love. All these years I’ve tried to forget you but I cannot. That said I am not trying to pry you away from Walter and have you return to me. We are just getting to know each other yet I feel your spirit has never left. Please make sure that Walter understands that I’m not jeopardizing your wonderful relationship. I am happy for the both of you. You had asked jokingly if I was interested in a triplet relationship. Maybe when the time and opportunity arises it may happen, but now I’m enjoying my own company after Albert’s passing. In a way it is nice to have my freedom after 8 years of building a life with Albert. I love you my darling boy and always will. As always, I await your cheerful emails. Andy. Xoxoxo

Early July 2012 In one of Andy’s responses, my ex-lover wrote, Young, That sounds great! I look forward to co-writing the fourth book of A Harem Boy Saga with you. This will provide us time to map out the outline of our joint project during the course of our correspondence. As much as I’d love to work with you on this project, I want to be sure that Walter is okay with us going into this venture together. I have no desire to upset your loving relationship and certainly have no wish to be an unwelcome intruder into your lives. Let me know if he agrees. When I was in hospital recovering from my nervous breakdown, I met Jack, a 24-year-old nursing student. He cared for me during my recovery. We dated for several months before his transfer to a hospice in a different city. I did not have the courage to tell Toby that Jack and I were dating. I was afraid Toby would threaten suicide again, until the fateful evening when he discovered Jack and me making out in my flat. My caregiver and I had proceeded to my lodgings after a scrumptious dinner one evening. After several glasses of wine while watching television, Jack leaned his head against my shoulder. His dreamy, doe-like eyes looked adoringly at me, reminding me of your beautiful Asian eyes staring at me during our intimate moments together. Our kisses soon led to lingering sensual foreplay. Before long, our clothes were scattered all over. Jack went on his knees, eagerly caressing my growing hardness and wrapping his luscious lips around me under my briefs. Easing down my underwear, he went to work. His sweetness stirred my longing for you. Closing my eyes to savor his warm fallation, I reclined against the comfortable sofa and enjoyed the pleasurable sensation showered upon my erection. He engulfed my pulsating manhood, suckling away as if to satisfy his hunger. It was similar to the way you used to relish my hardness for hours on end. Like you, he pleasured me with deep, devotional worship; I was overwhelmed by his sexual imperativeness, wanting his warmth to wash over my entirety. His expert titillation did wonders for my soul, causing me to spasm involuntarily. He devoured my length as if deprived of nourishment while I nurtured my feed into Jack’s bobbing head, pressing him against my quivering palpitations.

Just as I was on the verge of release, loud banging was heard at the front door, rudely jolting us back to reality. Desperately adjusting my spinning vision to normality, I saw Toby fuming in front of our nakedness. The boy was shouting obscenities at Jack and me. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back; I had enough of Toby’s erratic behavior. I commanded him to leave my flat, and our relationship terminated from that moment forward. I had no wish to see this irrational guy again. I was no longer responsible for his childishness, even if he threatened suicide. By now I had enough of his stupidity and told him that was none of my business if he decided to take his own life. Toby stomped out of my lodgings, cursing and hurling profanity at us. This offensive episode had ruptured our evening of blissful sexuality. Jack and I decided to take a hiatus. I also needed a respite from Toby’s drama. My four-year on-again-off-again relationship with the Portuguese Filipino ended that very evening. I had been holding on to that relationship, hoping I would uncover a glimmer of your positive traits in the boy. I learned that people don’t change; what changes is our perception of them. Toby slowly relinquished his suicidal absurdity over time. Our friendship remained cordial despite all that had transpired. He continued to try to reignite our passions, which to me had passed the point of no return. I never looked back after I left for Canada to pursue my postgraduate studies. That was the final chapter to my relationship with Toby. Well, Young, here we are, reminiscing about the past when we have the present and the future to enjoy each other’s company. Be well, be good, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Love you always, Andy.

When I was giving birth to my son, I had a veritable entourage of attendees, including, but not limited to, my mother and sister. I brought two art cards of my mother’s work with me to give myself something to focus on during labour. I expected to use “Sister Moon” more than “Winter’s Cup” because to me it is my mother as a young woman. It is probably my favourite piece of hers and I wanted her with me on many levels for the grand event. However, to my surprise, it was the image of myself that I clung to. The one of me conveying utter determination and strength, clothed in old finery, raising a chalice above my head while I literally manifested and birthed good things from within. It became, in those trying hours, a vital source of power for me. I see the picture differently now. “Winter's Cup” as my mother created it has found a life of its own, far from the one she ever imagined. In the end, this is perhaps the greatest achievement of an artist, of a mother, that their work moves beyond them, becoming for the viewer a source of truth and beauty with new stories to tell….

Tell him to stop, a voice inside her said, but all she could think was that Jeremy had never kissed her like this. He had never made her feel like this--not once in the two years they had been together. No one had ever made her feel like this. And she didn’t want the moment to end. Her brain seemed to shut down just then, leaving her body in control. Desire curled like mist through her veins. She fumbled with the buttons on the front of his denim shirt, tore one of them off in her haste to touch him. She jerked the fabric apart and slid her hands inside, pressed her trembling palms against his bare chest. Thick bands of muscle tightened. Crisp brown chest hair curled around the tips of her fingers, and ridges of muscle rippled down his flat stomach. Call made a sound in his throat and a shudder ran the length of his body. His mouth still clung to hers. He jerked up her sweatshirt, cupped her breasts over her white lace bra, and started to work the catch beneath the tiny bow at the front. “Hey, Call! You over here? Call! Is everything all right?” She whimpered as he whipped his mouth away and softly cursed. With an unsteady hand, he jerked down her sweatshirt and stepped protectively in front of her, leaving her shielded behind his body and the trunk of the tree. “Everything’s fine, Toby.” His voice sounded raspy. She wondered if his friend would notice. “I thought I heard shots,” Toby said, “but I was cooking so I didn’t pay all that much attention. Then I went into the living room and found the front door open. When I saw your rifle gone from the rack, I was afraid something bad might have happened.” “Our neighbor, Ms. Sinclair, came nose to nose with her first black bear.” Call looked her way, gave her a quick once-over, saw that she didn’t look too disheveled, and tugged her out from behind the tree. “Charity Sinclair, meet Toby Jenkins. Toby’s chief-cook-and-bottle-washer over at my place, and all-around handyman. At least he is till he leaves for college in the fall. Toby, this is Ms. Sinclair, our new neighbor.” “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I heard Mose sold the place. I’ve been meaning to come over and say hello.” “Forget the ma’am,” Charity told him. “It makes me feel too old. Charity is enough.” He nodded, smiled. He was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, with thick, dark red hair and a few scattered freckles, sort of a young John Kennedy, an attractive boy with what appeared to be a pleasant disposition. She wondered if he could tell by looking at her what had been going on when he arrived. Then she noticed Call’s shirt was open and missing a button and felt her face heating up again.

Hey, Call! You over here? Call! Is everything all right?” She whimpered as he whipped his mouth away and softly cursed. With an unsteady hand, he jerked down her sweatshirt and stepped protectively in front of her, leaving her shielded behind his body and the trunk of the tree. “Everything’s fine, Toby.” His voice sounded raspy. She wondered if his friend would notice. “I thought I heard shots,” Toby said, “but I was cooking so I didn’t pay all that much attention. Then I went into the living room and found the front door open. When I saw your rifle gone from the rack, I was afraid something bad might have happened.” “Our neighbor, Ms. Sinclair, came nose to nose with her first black bear.” Call looked her way, gave her a quick once-over, saw that she didn’t look too disheveled, and tugged her out from behind the tree. “Charity Sinclair, meet Toby Jenkins. Toby’s chief-cook-and-bottle-washer over at my place, and all-around handyman. At least he is till he leaves for college in the fall. Toby, this is Ms. Sinclair, our new neighbor.” “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I heard Mose sold the place. I’ve been meaning to come over and say hello.” “Forget the ma’am,” Charity told him. “It makes me feel too old. Charity is enough.” He nodded, smiled. He was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, with thick, dark red hair and a few scattered freckles, sort of a young John Kennedy, an attractive boy with what appeared to be a pleasant disposition. She wondered if he could tell by looking at her what had been going on when he arrived. Then she noticed Call’s shirt was open and missing a button and felt her face heating up again. Call cleared his throat. “I’ll be home in a couple of minutes, Toby.” “Yes, sir. I’ll have your breakfast waiting.” With a wave good-bye, he set off down the path the way he had come. When Charity turned, she saw Call watching her, his face dark, his expression closed up as it usually was. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Oh, God. He was obviously sorry it had and it made her even more embarrassed. “Neither did I. I don’t make a habit of…of…I don’t exactly know what happened.” She studied her feet, then stared off toward the creek. “It must have been the fear, you know? They say when your life is threatened you revert to your most basic instincts.” She risked a glance at him, saw that his jaw looked iron-hard. “Yeah, that must be it.” She glanced away, trying not to think of what they’d just done. Trying not to wonder what would have happened if Toby hadn’t arrived when he did. “You’d better go,” she said, making an effort to smile. “Your breakfast is waiting and I’ve got work to do.” As she started to turn, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones and the little indentation on his chin. He didn’t move when she grabbed the plastic bag of garbage and headed for one of the heavy iron trash cans that were supposed to be bear-proof. She saw him walk over and pick up his rifle, his fingers wrapping around the stock with a casual ease that said he was comfortable with the weapon. He didn’t walk away as she expected. Instead, he stood there watching, waiting until she disappeared inside the house.

it was hard to believe God had a plan when she’d spent the day looking for the crime scene where two young girls were drowned.

Commissioner Farley has had a major heart attack. He may not make it. He wants to see his grandson now.” Bruno was a good actor. He stared straight into the young counselor’s eyes. “We’ve been warned to take particular care of Timmy,” Toby said,