He knew it was wrong.  Very wrong, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.  Hidden behind a thick laurel hedge that skirted the local playing field, he was able to peer through unseen and felt his heart leap at the sight of the small boys on the football pitch.  Racing around excitedly, pushing and shoving each other in pre-match high spirits, they looked so young, so fresh, with their bodies still showing small signs of baby fat that was so attractive. They were blithe spirits without the cares that would bow them down in later life.   He watched as they finally organised themselves into their positions on the field just as the referee blew his whistle for the match to start.  The Watcher’s eyes were immediately drawn to one boy in particular.  The boy looked to be around eight years old, with messy blond hair, a cheeky grin and the sort of build that was obviously indicative of the handsome youth he was to become.  The Watcher felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as he observed the boy closely.  He felt entranced, elated, and excited the longer he watched him and wondered how on earth he would be able to get close to him without raising any suspicion. He watched on with his mind working overtime on perfecting his strategy.  He would need to follow the boy for a while, to learn his habits, see his favourite places before….......
What might come next both scared and excited him as he had never felt like this before.  The boy had broken through the other team’s defence and was racing towards the goal.  The watcher felt a frisson as he saw the boy’s legs working like pistons to propel him to the goal.  He scored!  The man had to clamp his hands over his mouth to prevent a yell of joy escaping.  What the hell was happening to him?  Maybe he should back away now before things got possibly out of his control.  Yet deep inside he knew that even if he went now, another day, another event would start it all up again.  He was obsessed already and nothing, not even the deep down shame he momentarily experienced would now stop him from getting to the boy.  The yearning need he felt for him was all consuming and it had to be assuaged. 
The match ended and he watched the boy race with shining eyes to his mother on the touchline.  She scooped him in her arms and swung him round with obvious joy at her precious boy’s achievement.  The Watcher moved back into the shadows of the hedge as the boy and his mother walked through the gates nearby to make their way home.  He followed for a while at a distance, desperate to see where they lived.  However, he was thwarted as they met up with a family further along the pathway leading from the field and the whole group moved on together.  He prudently withdrew, disturbed by the presence of another man, a normal man, a man seemingly not possessed as he was.  Never mind, (he reassured himself), his chance would come again.

In the village where the boy lived, there was only one school, so it was reasonable to assume that the boy attended there.  So it was, a few days later that the man walked slowly past the railings around the school, his eyes scanning the playground for sight of the boy.  He spied him among a small group exchanging what looked like cards between them.  The boy’s head was bowed, allowing his beautiful blond hair to fall forward (the Watcher noted) as he concentrated on cards in one of his playmate’s hands.  A bell rang and children started to return reluctantly to the school building.  The Watcher gripped the railings and craned his neck to ensure he could see the boy until the moment he disappeared into the doors of the school.  Suddenly he noticed a male teacher watching him with interest as he shepherded the children back into the building.  The teacher started to move towards him, so the Watcher walked away at a brisk pace.  That was close, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest.  I must not be spotted or my prize will be lost.  

The following day he was back at the school, the plan being to follow the boy and.... was it too soon? Intercept him, talk to him, gain his trust and then…..?  The watcher dare not think past this point as it always made his pulse quicken and he broke into a sweat thinking about what could happen between the two of them.  Must stay calm, he told himself.  If he got too eager and impatient he could risk discovery and everything would be ruined.  No, he must wait until the time was right and the boy would be his for the taking. 
He hovered nervously by the railings, aware of the looks of curiosity being aimed at him by a group of mothers near the gate.  Just as he was considering leaving to return another time when there was less interest in his presence, the children poured out of the school doors.  As some ran and some ambled towards the gate, the mothers turned their attention to looking for their offspring rather than to him.  He searched the crowd of children for the familiar head of hair.  He spotted the boy talking to two other lads and watched in awed wonder as the boy threw back his head and laughed heartily at something one of the other had said.  The three boys came through the gate chatting and jostling each other and headed off down the road.  He hung back for a few minutes and then followed the boys.  Thankfully, no one paid any attention to him as he passed the previously inquisitive mothers. 
The boys walked to the playing fields that had been the setting for the football match.   He again placed himself behind the hedge, taking care to find a good vantage point through the shrubbery.  The boys had headed towards play equipment in the corner of the field close by to the hedge.  They clambered onto the swings still chattering all the while. Though he could not make out the words, he thrilled to the happy tone of his favourite’s voice.  He hugged himself in joy as he observed the boy at closer quarters than ever before.  He could see the boy had skinned his knees and he longed to kiss them better.   At the thought of touching the boy a shudder of pleasure ran through him…please let it be soon he said to himself.  He stood watching from his verdant hiding place, lost in his own thoughts until the boys started to leave the playground.  He ``mentally shook himself and started to follow them, pulling back into the hedgerow when one of the other boys looked back, a quizzical look on his face.   The Watcher intended to stay concealed until the other boys had left for their own homes and then make his move.   At last as the boys reached a fork in the lane, the boy’s two friends said their goodbyes to their friend and turned right.  As the boy turned left, the Watcher quickened his pace to catch the boy up, his heart hammering hard in his chest.  He was growing ever closer to his quarry, he licked his lips nervously as his brain filled with images of himself and the boy together at last.  He could almost feel the boy in his arms, smell his young skin.  Suddenly, a woman appeared walking a dog that possessed a face only a dedicated dog lover could care for.  He slowed his walk and dropped back just as the boy looked at his watch and started to run to a row of houses that skirted the far end of the lane. 
As the woman passed the Watcher she distastefully eyed him, her dog also gazed at him with some distain.  Forlornly, he realised his chance had been missed once more. 

He spent the next few days feverishly making plans for his next attempt to encounter the boy.  He was barely eating and his appearance was now distinctly unkempt, but he cared for nothing else except his desire to see the boy, to hold him, to be with him.  This desire consumed him as if it had now taken on a life of its own.  In some deep recess of his brain he recognised the risk involved in his actions, but his need to be near the boy overrode every other consideration.
He awoke to a brilliant sun streaming through his window and decided he would travel to the village again to continue his quest. It had to happen soon or he felt he would go mad.
He alighted from the bus in the village square and then was at a loss as to what to do next.  He had been so wrapped up in his obsession that he had failed to note it was the weekend and there would be no school.  He slumped onto the bench at the bus stop and pondered his next move.  He looked up as the bell on the shop door opposite tinkled merrily.  His heart leapt into his mouth as he saw the boy leaving the shop with a plastic carrier in his hand. 
He sprang up from the bench with renewed vigour and followed the boy down the road.  He figured he would wait until they were approaching the lane towards the boy’s home before he made his move, that way there would be less chance of drawing the attention of suspicious adults.
Just as he was formulating the plan as they turned into the lane, the boy stopped dead and turned on his heel so quickly that the Watcher had no time to draw back into any cover. 
The boy looked straight at him.  His expression turned from curiosity to shock and then on to fear in rapid succession as he stared at his follower.
All at once the man realised what the boy could see.  An unshaven, gaunt stranger in dirty smelly clothes and all his feelings at once turned to disgust at himself and what he was doing.  It was the terrible look of fear in the boy’s eyes that hurt him most.  He held his hands out in supplication to the boy but this seemed to terrify the lad more.  With a yell, he dropped the shopping and pelted up the lane as fast as his sturdy legs would carry him, screaming for his mum the whole way.
Realising the game would be up unless he took drastic action now, the Watcher ran after him, calling to the boy to stop, but this just caused the boy to run even faster and yell louder.  He reached his gate as his mother came out the front door anxiously calling his name.  He skidded along the path and into his mother’s arms sobbing.  His mother hugged him tight, whispering soothing words into his ear and stroking his hair. 
The boy and his mother turned around to see the Watcher at the gate, who had a look of pain and bewilderment on his face.
The mother stood up and gazed at the man for what seemed like an eternity to him.  She turned the child around to face the figure now inside the gate and said:
“ Nicky, meet your father.”
Ó  Sandi Besant 2007