I stare at him in wonder. He is at the height of his allure. He has the skin of a ripe, red rose petal; his lashes would make a baby wince; his green eyes gaze at you with the guile of someone who has no idea of his sexual power. He has emerged from his boyhood plumpness to reveal a tall, languorous body -- with strong, sensitive hands that no self-respecting teenager should have.

I read this and become embarrassed at such bodice-ripping prose, but it would do him a gross injustice to describe him in masculine terms. His beauty is a feminine marvel.

His awkwardness is wonderful to watch because he is at the cusp of sexual knowledge. Girls who would barely give him the time of day are suddenly inviting him to parties. His sister comes home from school and tells him the latest trail of new friends she has made because she's his sister. He looks horrified at these revelations. His face turns a slapped red and he sinks lower into his chair.

He is just finishing school, and his final exams commence in a few months. I've become increasingly interested in him as I've watched him grow from a farty, petulant boy into a young man on the brink of manhood. I regret that to admit to an attraction to anyone under the age of 20 is considered ill-advised by today's ambiguous moral standards. My attraction is automatic. I can't help myself and I don't want to make apologies for it. My instincts rebel against suppressing what others might view as abhorrent. I'm almost twice his age -- but at what age does anyone cease to appreciate beauty?

I look at him and marvel at his physical stature. He has grown from a chubby boy with an annoying habit of following me and his older brother around to a person of wit and humor. His physique evokes images of Greek athletes on ancient urns. It may sound as if he's a poster boy for a Versace campaign, but nothing could be further from the truth. There is none of that posed polish about him, and the closest he has come to designer clothes is his fishing vest, which holds his treasured flies and floatant.

Private Life Romance, relationships, and the personal side of Table Talk