I’m just like you, you know. I’m ordinary. I do ordinary things. You might have seen me take out my trash, buy milk, fill up my car. Ordinary things. I pass you everyday on the way to work. You might have seen me on the train, listening to my music. I like music. I listen to The Rolling Stones and I own every David Bowie album on vinyl. I used to have a vast stamp collection, but I’ve lost it now. I don’t like TV much – that might make me un-ordinary. I don’t like people coming into my home and screaming at me, telling me what I must like and what I have to have. I like my ordinary.
Part of my ordinary, is little girls and boys. I like them. I like their untouched skin, un-molestered by too much drink or sun. Their skin holds no crevices for wrinkles or spots. Their skin is a refreshing soft under the caresses of my rough hands. They are pure. I like their smallness: they are tiny and light, much like delicate jewels. They hold perfect, miniature feet, with miniature toes, that hold up the lean, tiny legs that stand them erect and straight. Their hair is the colour of honey on a summers day, or dark chocolate, or cherry pie. They taste pure. They laugh and cry without reserve, and frolic together in harmony. I often like to sit and watch them, but only from afar. If I get too close, I might frighten. I can only admire from a distance, keeping my passionate love and secret in the tightness of my trousers. Their bodies are precious, silken manifestations of God’s light and love. He made them for us to enjoy and love.
I only love them. The way that you love. I love just as you love.