Are just so. Old enough to know desire but not old enough to hide it. Knowing enough to fear sex but not informed as to why. Randy enough to be almost tearfully grateful for a touch, a kiss, a casual brush of a silk dress against their thigh, but not enough to wheedle, cajole, lie and bribe to get what they so adorably crave.

Pubescent boys are lovely. Fresh and crisp, with acne still in the future and voices that break endearingly at unexpected moments. Flopping hair fringes carelessly brushed aside on a sweaty brow on a hot day... T-shirts discarded for a quick game of football after school. Downy cheeks that need no shaving, satiny chests that need no waxing; puppy-large hands fumbling in tremors as the blush grows hot in their armpits and climbs slowly up their necks to cloud their eyes.

And while your effect on them is comically obvious through training shorts, their effect on you they will probably never know, the dears.

A 14 year old boy is the best of both worlds - by no means a woman, yet thankfully, not yet a man.