Blessed Be the Merciful
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 14
It's Leon's first sight of Porthmeor beach at St Ives. It reminds him of the beach at Dinard, but this one has the headland and rocks curving round at the western end and the distinctive 'Island' forming the other part of the horseshoe shaped bay at the eastern end. Despite the overcast and cool weather for the end of August, Leon wants to paddle in the not so inviting grey blue sea, swirling and eddying in pools around our ankles.
'No further Leon!' I demand, as I watch him wade further and further into the foot high surf driven by the moderate south westerly breeze, his now lengthy dark hair flipping this way and that.
With chilled and sandy feet we found our sandals and tee shirts where we had left them at the top of the beach under the sea wall and the rather ramshackle beach café above our heads. Although our white shorts didn't cover much more than our underpants, we had still not managed to keep them completely dry. That last wave before Leon decided that discretion was the better part of valour and turned back into shallower water, had hit our thighs harder.
Alex Rodchenko, bearded and still in the white boiler suit he wore for work in the studio, had finished his mug of strong black coffee. He plays with the chromium plated teaspoon for a few moments thinking how much better he would have designed it. He raises his eyes again to see the two boys walking back up the beach, the elder of the two with his arm around the other much slimmer figure. The two figures stop for a moment, turn towards each other and their faces appear to meet in some sort of gesture of friendship, a kiss perhaps, but discrete and disguised, and far away from anyone else not to be noticed. Not that Jamie was reticent to show Leon affection. He wasn't at all. If he felt the need to tell Leon he loved him more than he could say, he would tell him wherever he was, and plant his mouth on his friend's just to confirm his feelings. Leon would smile as he ran his tongue over his lips, look down in that coy way of his, and feel that feeling again, a strange sort of muted excitement and tummy churning deep down inside him. The boys had to be a bit careful after these public displays of affection because they could easily show in a physical manifestation of their love for each other. There's a time and place for everything.
The boys walk on, their hands touching momentarily. Alex watches on, interested. He's suddenly excited. The boys, naked bar the scant covering of white, present an intriguing prospect for subject matter……one slightly taller than the other very slightly built boy with well-formed shoulders, and standing as he is, perfectly poised. When the two boys find their discarded belongings right under his nose on the sand below, he watches as the two figures pull on the shirts and on one knee, pull the Velcro straps of their white shoes tight around their feet. The older boy looks up at the tables set out, gestures to his friend, and moments later they climb the stairway and the two boys are sitting so close to him that a conversation between him and them is entirely possible. When the girl, a teenager with very pink lipstick, appears to ask the boys what they would like to drink, Alex intervenes.
'I'll get these.' He says to the girl who doesn't reply. And then Alex says, gesturing to the boys…….
'You look cold. What would you like?'
It's not what Alex does normally, chat up young boys, but it was a risk he had to take. His uncle, long since emigrated to America, had told him never to pass an opportunity by. Opportunities were fleeting and gone in a moment. Take them whilst they are there, or be sorry.
Jamie looks at Alex, making the instant assessment of the face looking back at him. He felt inclined to accept Alex's offer, given the general lack of funds the boys had for the day. It meant that the five pounds Jamie's mother had given them could be frittered elsewhere.
'Two hot chocolates please. That's very kind of you, thanks.'
Alex ordered another coffee as the boys moved from their table to his. The conversation that followed revealed to Alex why the boys were in St Ives in the first place, mainly an educational experience centred on the art community and the local galleries to be explored. When Alex asked Jamie what his precise interests were, Jamie felt in his pocket for the photo of the plaster cast figure he had made of Peter. He hands it to Alex.
'You made this?' Alex asks.
'Yes. We cast a clay model in plaster. My friend Peter was the model.'
'I like it.' Was all Alex had to say as the boys gratefully sipped from the warming dark steaming mugs. The words of his uncle Antione sing in Alex's head.
'I'm a sculptor. My studio is over there,' He gestures with the wave of one hand. 'Would you like to see it?' Another risk taken.
There were no windows in the room, some twenty feet square with white walls covered with paint spatters, words written in pencil in various places, dozens of photographs pinned up, piles of rag spilling from cardboard boxes, the plain wooden floorboards covered in blobs of white and grey, and a fireplace in the corner, oddly, with the ashes of a fire left from a winter passed. There were shelves everywhere covered with bottles, jars, tins, tools and countless other bits of equipment designed to scrape, scratch, dig, and smooth out surfaces. In the middle of the room is a three-foot square wooden box painted white, scuffed, and with the corners worn smooth. Where possible, everything was white, including a large table with a small electric cooker on it with the word 'Belling' on it. There were no chairs in there, just the white box placed in the middle of the room. On the far wall were drawings that Jamie recognized as being made with charcoal. The drawings were of naked women, a few men, some of whom looked quite young. There were front views, back and side views of all the figures worked up, messy, on the large sheets of paper.
'May I look please?'
Leon stayed where he was sitting on the white box while Jamie wandered through the galleries of nudity.
Leon didn't know quite how to arrange himself as there is no support for his back. He tried various positions and then settled for one, his feet touching the floor, elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. It wasn't that comfortable, so every minute or so he changed, very aware that Alex pretending to shuffle papers, was looking at him. Why? Because Alex knew he was a natural and instinctive model.
Alex is no stranger to controversy in St Ives, so when he took the boys on a tour of his friends' studio's, a few eyebrows were raised. This would never worry Alex. It was his art that mattered, not the approval or disapproval of his behaviour. He had always drunk a little too much, especially at the many private views he had attended over the years. Even at the age of twenty-eight, he had seen many artists give up their premises, and then disappear almost overnight, penniless, with dreams of greatness melted away.
There was a naturalness to the way Leon sat……a rhythm to how the limbs were arranged, arms and legs co-ordinated to create a harmony of form, the head raised or lowered to create the mood, perhaps draped in cloth like a Greek goddess reclining, or better still, naked as nature and art intended him to be.
'Remember Alex, sieze the day.' Antoine had said to him the day before he had left for New York. He had left his studio for Alex to use in perpetuity. Alex was considered a talented but 'emerging' artist, that is to say not recognized by the St Ives Art Establishment as 'there' yet, or by the pre-eminent London Galleries who, if they gave Alex a Show, he would be 'on the map', and consequently on his way in his creative life. Membership of the London art societies would follow, and then the pinnacle of pinnacles, election to the Royal Academy of Arts itself and even a knighthood……..in the end? But for now, none of that looms on Alex's horizon. What does loom large is the prospect of mining the rich seam of gold that has just turned up in the town in the form of two impressionable and extremely eligible boys.
The problem would be, how to get the ball rolling. They both lived near Newquay which is forty plus miles away. In term time, they are both away in Truro for some unknown reason it seemed to him. Jamie's sculpture of Peter had impressed him, and had the hallmark of quality and commitment……..all the ingredients for a future as an artist, in that unlikely event, but he should nevertheless be encouraged. For Alex, a traditional figurative sculptor, Leon is right up his street, slim, elegant and just a hint of mystery there, everything that interested him and a perfect foil for his Giacometti style work. He needed to draw him……to draw him over and over again until he really understood the boy and all his works. As for Jamie, he thought him perhaps just a little ordinary……standard proportions, standard everything really. Leon was different. Rangy with coltish legs, moody and brooding almost, as he shoots Alex occasional glances. Alex thought him interesting, very, and possibly interested in what Alex wants too.
Jamie spent a good fifteen minutes studying the drawings pinned to the wall, tits, big dicks, little ones on what appeared to be teenagers, and large hanging balls and all that. He looked at one boy, scantily clad like he's been summoned before the Emperor, and his tummy flipped over. The boy didn't look any older than he was. Alex made it his business to notice how Jamie was reacting to the show on the wall.
'You like that one Jamie?' Jamie felt his face warm to the point of acute heat, but didn't answer.
'You can't be shy in this business. How do think Leon would feel, standing there like that……or you even?'
'I don't know. I never have. Do they get paid?'
'Unfortunately they don't do it for the love of it, although most of them do enjoy it, so they say. Would you consider a swap?'
'A swap?'
'Yes. I'll buy you lunch if you can spare me an hour of your time this afternoon. Don't worry, I'll let you keep your pants on……if you want to. You can change in the flat. That's just through that door.' He points to the door, painted white, in the corner. Alex thought that the boys wouldn't dream of standing there naked for a total stranger, so he assured them that they wouldn't be expected to pose nude for him. Of course, when it came to it, he hoped they would.
They went back to café on the beach. Leon wanted to as it reminded him of Dinard. They all had fish and chips with peas on the side. Alex made tea back at the 'shed' as he called his studio, an odd infill between two cottages with corrugated plastic sheeting to give more light from the ceiling. Alex showed the boys the flat which was essentially one small room with double bed, wash basin, a sink and a small cooker in the corner and a door to a tiny lavatory.
'It's for visitors. It's very basic but they don't mind. It's free accommodation in St Ives.' Alex explains, with a sort of 'how about' expression on his face. He knows he's thinking far too far ahead, but he's a glass half full kind of man.
The boys changed in the middle of the room, shedding the little they wore onto the white box in the middle. Alex picked up shorts, pants and tee shirts and carefully folded all of it and placed in the corner on a pile of old newspapers. Alex glanced back at the boys, not believing his luck. Two hours of two models time has cost him the price of two plates of fish and chips.
The boys had stood in the middle of the room still in underwear. Alex had pretended not to notice the boys undressing, and as they stood there seemingly ready to work for him…….
'So, how would you feel about……..?'
'Being naked? We thought we had to be.' Jamie gesturing towards the lines of life drawings on the walls. 'We were just waiting until you were ready for us.'
'Right. I think I am now.'
His eyes were drawn to Leon, and like all boys and men, they look at the competition. After that, nothing much else matters. Leon is a match for at least half the men in the drawings on the walls. Although Leon was no match for Jamie in terms of physique, Jamie is no match for Leon in other respects. By the time the session had ended, Alex knew that he had to have more of the two boys. The spark had ignited the flames of his creativity, and a fire was burning in his mind that he knew may well burn for years. Jamie and Leon had to be at least part of his immediate future.
The boys caught the ten past four bus back to Newquay, just. Alex walked with them to the bus stop to make sure they got on it. He saw them climb the stairs to the top deck, walk to the row of seats at the back and wave him goodbye from the window. They had worked hard for him and he was grateful and feeling that he might just have exploited the two boys. On the other hand, he had given them an experience of S. Ives that no one else would get that day, a tour of his friends' studios. Jamie had heard of Terry Frost, and now he had met him, thrillingly, albeit very briefly.
The boys had enjoyed the work they did for Alex, but found contact with each other problematic. Alex had shown them a reproduction of Rodin's famous piece, The Kiss, and asked them to replicate the pose, or variations of it as the mood took the boys. Alex had asked them quite specifically not to stay still, but to move their hands and arms as they embraced as if they are making love. Leon was to take the part of the woman, his genitals showing, and by the time that ten-minute session had ended, it was obvious that it was not the first time the boys had been so intimate. It was a question Alex had been pondering from the time since he had seen them together on the beach, and now he knew the answer to the question. They were, at the very least, very good mates and possibly, probably even, sexually involved. Alex's drawings were vibrant, urgent and exciting, leaving fragments of charcoal scattered everywhere, to be ground into the floor like all the rest.
The party of children and their adult minders were waiting at the Carbis Bay bus stop. Again the children head noisily for the upper deck of the bus, leaving the adults on the lower deck, but this time they opt for the vacant front seats with their view clear in front of them, apart from one who looks towards the back of the bus where Leon and I are seated, again with Leon tight up against the window and me turned towards him. It's the same boy with the fair unkempt hair, same striped tee shirt, same pale blue shorts, same pretty face sitting next to me. Leon and I have had unspoken thoughts about what might be possible on the back seat of a bus. After all, there is plenty of time for a spot of playfulness between St Ives and Newquay. I can't help touching Leon. It isn't long before he has slipped his hand inside my pants threatening to do all sorts of damage. I've told him that you can't do this kind of thing on public transport, but he's taken no notice as he kisses me once more. I'm in no mood to resist so I let him continue with his own form of tantalizing massage. It's a slow burn and he knows it. It's the first time since his arrival at the Rectory that he's shown any serious intent, and I'm not about to discourage him. The boy next to me must have noticed as he glances sideway every so often. If the boy wants to sit there, he can as far as I'm concerned, but I'm not stopping Leon from doing what he's doing. Leon kisses my neck, something I particularly enjoy, and he knows it. He pushes my head sideways and to my left so I'm looking straight at the boy, whose eyes move from Leon's slowly moving unseen hand, to my face, and then back again as if to follow the story as it unfolds. As if by inspiration, the boy slowly lowers the waistband of his shorts and reveals himself, to join our little party, a pale skinny rod, and two tiny balls compressed into tightened translucent skin, pointing skyward, as I stare transfixed into his lap. We are now three boys together, amused on the back seat of a bus.
There are some things you can't finish due to practical considerations on the back seat, upstairs on a bus, but there are some things you just might see if you are in luck, between Carbis Bay and Porthlowan.
Most of the passengers had left the bus by the time it had left Perranporth, which left us completely alone on the top deck of the bus. Tired, Leon has slept fitfully with his head resting on my tummy, and the palm of his hand warming the front of my shorts. I'm spoilt for choice about where I put my hand, but I settle for a thigh. My preoccupation is with the story I have to concoct, under interrogation, to satisfy his mother as to what we have done all day. I shall be honest. We had got chatting about art to an artist at the café on the beach and he had offered to take us on a tour of several of the private studios in the town. We had had a fish lunch, paddled twice, and had a lovely time.
Walking back to 10, Azalea crescent, Porthlowan, the flaxen haired boy's elder sister wants a quiet word with her brother.
'What were you doing back there…….with those boys……….on the bus Charlie?' 'Nothing.' Charlie replies. 'Are you sure?' his sister persists. 'Of course I'm sure.' Charlie insists, his face warming. 'You were up to something. I saw you.' 'No I wasn't!' Charlie replies, fibbing.
It's a fair walk from the road where we left the bus. We both felt a little odd after the events of our day in St Ives. When we set off this morning we could have had no idea of what was to happen…..meeting Alex, the tour of the town's artists' studios, and then agreeing to model for a real sculptor. I thought as the day progressed that Leon was getting quite clingy and wanting to touch a lot, something I had missed for a while during his transition period at the Rectory. Then on the bus home it became obvious to me that he was in some sort of emotional need. Things must have been building up inside him. When Leon and I finally arrived back at the Rectory finding no one about, we headed straight for our bedroom, not a decision we had discussed but one that came quite naturally to both of us. I was having some difficulty banishing from my mind the image, rather naughtily, of the boy from Porthlowan who decided he was going to join us on the back seat of the bus just as Leon and I were well into a nice fumble together. Such a pretty face, and then of course his instinctive decision to expose his very lovely attributes in the way that he did. I'm afraid this is typically me…..thoughts that shouldn't really be in my mind at all.
We assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that we were alone in the house. The car was gone from the drive, but my mother was in fact in the kitchen garden picking runner beans, and thence to the kitchen which is directly underneath our bedroom. I may have mentioned that our bed is not the quietest, and nor were we that afternoon. Leon and I never played with ourselves alone. We had agreed that if we needed to, then it would always be with one another. To us, any sexual experience would always be more significant and meaningful, not to mention pleasurable, if it involved another person. Many people do not have that luxury. At this time, we seemed to have got lucky.
Upstairs now, and settled on the bed, we began to play our kissing game with some urgency. With the events of the day still fresh, very fresh, a 'you first and then me' approach wasn't going to suit this occasion, so we decided on a soixante-neuf which as most boys over the age of ten have heard about but very likely haven't had the opportunity to experiment with. Nor had we up to this point. Thinking back, the chances of it working perfectly were remote. It didn't, well not for me. But it did for Leon, who began to let his feelings and his ever-heightening pleasure express themselves in louder and louder grunts, gasps, and eventually, he's crying out, literally, in ever louder expressions of agony and ecstasy, as he finally bangs through the door into the golden light of fulfilment, leaving me limp and exhausted, with an interesting but far from disgusting taste in my mouth. No problem there. I'm here for him, and I had had a different kind of fulfilment, just as good frankly. Very good in fact, and quite different from Henry, being the only other person I have had the pleasure of pleasuring. The exercise confirmed something else too, that it wasn't going to long before Leon would want to give me more of his body.
I heard pans in the kitchen being moved onto the cooking range, and I went cold and still. My mother must have heard us upstairs. What with the noisy bed and Leon's carrying on, she would have heard us. I decided to go and see her and face the music, leaving Leon upstairs. I will deal with impending catharsis on my own.
She took me into the drawing room and shut the door. I was expecting the worst.
'Darling, you know you are loved don't you?'
'Yes. I love you too……and dad.'
'Then I can speak frankly to you?'
'Yes…..of course.'
I've had all the sex education stuff already, including my parent's contribution delivered by my mother, not my father. I think getting it from my mother was better personally. The difference now is the increasingly obvious fact of my different sexuality from the average. It was her suggestion that Leon and I sleep in the same bed, and consequently the assumption that we just might enjoy bring close at night. Leon had had a lot to take onboard recently and that aspect of our friendship has been on the back burner. While he has been 'off it', so have I. Our romp in the bedroom is the first time Leon, apart from the fiddling on the bus, has wanted anything in three weeks. Mothers have a sixth sense when it comes to sons I'm told.
'I can see that you love him Jamie. That's true isn't it?'
'Yes mum, I do.'
'And he loves you?'
'I hope so, but that's his choice. I think he does, yes.'
'And we love him in a different way of course because he's not our son……very different to the kind of love you may want to give him. Are you? I rather think you are.'
Crickey. That's very direct and personal. Many people would say that we are far too young to have any kind of sex. Even my mother knows it now, as a fact. To her and the others who might consider the behaviour of boys who are very attracted to other boys as grossly precocious and premature. They think that a fifteen-year-old boy having his way, completely, with a girl is quite common, but the thought of two boys, not even at the same age, 'doing it' together a quite unacceptable idea. So what is the difference, exactly? But my mother is a realistist. I think, and hope, that when Leon has settled down at the Rectory, which may take some more time, we will make love the way I'm sure we both want to.
'We haven't mum. Not in the way you're thinking.'
'I'm just being realistic Jamie, and want you to be happy. Boys are not like girls Jamie. We can't have a situation whereby either of you get hurt in some way……if and when the time comes. It hasn't you say?'
'No it hasn't. It may do one day. I do want to make love to him. I'm hoping it will happen as soon as Leon wants to. I know it's an important step for both of us. We wouldn't make that decision lightly, I promise. I love him Mum.'
I think everyone on the planet knows, especially boys like me, what you need to make love to your boyfriend comfortably and safely, and there's no way I'm going into Boots the chemist in Newquay asking for it.
Leon and I had a wonderful walk at Holywell Bay the next morning. When we got to the bedroom late that afternoon, it was there on the bedside table. I showed it Leon. He hardly reacted although I'm sure he knows perfectly well why we might need it some day. What he did do was to lead me to the bed, sit next to me and give me the most beautiful kiss. It was a long one and by the end of it we both wanted to lie close to each other. He leans over to the bedside table and picks up my mother's gift. Smiling, he asks…….
'What do you do with it Jamie? What's it for?'
I was very happy to explain, going through it all from the start, as I understood it, detail by intoxicating detail. We kissed again, felt each other. We are excited!
That night our adventure began, slowly, but very surely, one step at a time. The whole idea of being so grown-up is both wonderful and just a little scary too.
I suggested that Leon should get used to the idea, and the reality of a physical bodily invasion gradually. He asked me if he could be allowed to play the dutiful wife which I thought odd but a delicious fantasy. I would shower him with kisses and begin the process with something from my own body's natural lubricant even before we've left the shower. I suppose it was the acclimatization procedure. Not a bad start!
Lying naked on his back, hands under his head, he's his usual lovely self, and I can see he's excited by what I suggested to get things going nicely. The hexagonal lid of the tube undoes easily, and pieced now, I very gently squeeze a single bead of the clear gel onto the tip of my middle finger. I show it to Leon.
'Go on then.' Leon says, encouragingly.
I'm wondering, after all the talk, if this is going to Leon's thing, but after five minutes of teasing externally around the entrance to the cave, it's time to prise open the door and enter.
I ask Leon if he is actually enjoying things, and what he says really touches me…….
'It feels like you're getting closer to me Jamie……that your loving is becoming more and more real. I'm imagining that we will be just one body soon, both of us in the same body?'
I'm on my side supported on an elbow while Leon lies on his side with one of his legs held back and my hand under his balls and between his bottom cheeks. What began with one becomes two as he relaxes and becomes more and more accessible. I know I can't get any further, but where I am is perfect with the pads of my fingers gently rotating at the spot where Henry said to do it, and did it on me with remarkable results! I watch as Leon's erection develops as he begins to play with himself. I'm imagining how it would feel for me when we are having sex. Leon has let himself go now, and I can see his balls churning away and his cock making little jumps. I've been going at least five minutes. Leon has turned his head to one side and his breathing has become irregular. I'm excited for him, and for me too. From Leon's breathing and wriggling around, I guessing that something is working. Then quite suddenly I feel rapid contractions grip my two fingers as the warm ejaculate miraculously appears in little semi-transparent pearls nestling serenely on his pale brown sunken tummy. It's all becoming clear now, secrets of the human body revealed.
I waited a while before I asked Leon about what had just happened. He was clearly taken by surprise by the slightly strange but powerful sensation his body had generously provided for him. I imagine some boys are taken by surprise at their first orgasm, and this alternative event might also come as a surprise. I don't remember the first time I masturbated or why I did it. Perhaps it was just an accident and happened unexpectedly. I do remember my first wet dream and how intense it was, and the ones I have had since. As I have mentioned, Leon had abstained for more than three weeks after his arrival at the Rectory, before his glorious resumption, much to my joy. Again, the fount of all knowledge, Henry, had touched on this sexual phenomenon during one of our afternoon chats in his bedroom. He maintained that a very intense sexual experience resulting in ejaculation can happen [if you're lucky] if the little semen storage tank somewhere inside you gets full and demands to be emptied with the help of a nice imaginative erotic dream.
I didn't warn Leon that this event might happen in his case, so when his little reservoir full of a mixture of several ingredients was overflowing, it was suddenly all over the mattress. My mother obviously had to be informed [not by Leon] who was more than understanding. When she told Leon that it was a completely natural thing to happen, and not to worry one jot about it, he cried, the blessed creature. My mother would take anyone in the world into her arms if they needed comforting. She held Leon for as long as it took for him to be convinced that hadn't committed a heinous crime against humanity and an angry god. You could see her love pouring into him.
With my mother's sudden insight into just how important our relationship actually is, she has become more than just a mother but a friend too. Leon and I feel completely relaxed about how we show our feelings towards each other, so if we feel the need for our mouths to meet, then they do wherever we are, with one exception. Public displays of our affection are not seen by my father. That's the way he would want it and I respect that. In many ways he's old fashioned whereas my mother is certainly not.
Now Leon is relaxed enough within his new environment, sex is regular and always complete now, and always when we know my parents are absent for a while at least. What I give him, he gives back with his body. We are good together……partners. We have experimented, naturally. He's on his back lying on my tummy with his legs dangling either side of mine. I fuck him from underneath, just as Henry taught me.
I watch as Leon's beautiful cock bounces this way and that, and then, sometimes with a bit of help from me, he will come, just as I have done. If such a device existed, I'd film him performing.
We had fun, especially my mother, kitting Leon out for the new school year. Mine would have to last out another three terms if at all possible, but Leon's, fetched out of the trunk sent on from the Oxford Charity, was in dire need of replacement. The official outfitters for the school had had instructions to provide Leon with the essentials gratis, such as navy-blue blazer, sports kit and so on, but other items were our responsibility such as grey trousers and white shirts, socks etcetera. My mother holds up one of the pairs of underpants that Henry bought us in Dinard…….
'I'm not sure about these Leon. I think something a bit more conservative?'
She's right. I have no intention of going back sporting my beloved, but far too racy underpants. Our sleeping quarters are sometimes mixed ages and I don't want to drive small boys crazy! Mind you, I might acquire a new 'friend' that way, not that I want or need one. The underpants situation was the only tricky issue really, and easily resolved by a quick trip to the Newquay Marks and Spencers. What we came away with was really quite nice…….white, plain and simple, and acceptably brief, and came in packets of five……two sets of five for both Leon and I, and in my view really just as sexy as Henry's choice, Leon's being a size smaller than mine and intended for a boy a year younger than him. Before bed that night, trying them for size and the effect they might have on me, they looked lovely on his snake hips, emphasizing his boyish attributes very nicely. I told him that he wasn't to wear them in bed tonight.
'Why not Jamie?'
'Too risky sweetheart.'
'Why?'
'Because……..I love you.'
'I love you too Jamie. Can I wear them please?'
'What, just so I can take them off you?'
'Can I keep them on?'
Well, that's is an interesting idea. Something different tonight.
It was different. Leon has thus far been very reluctant to talk about life at the Oxford Charity. He'd been there since he was eight years old. He had been very friendly, fortunately, with one of the other foreign boys there call Maxwell. His original Romanian name was unpronounceable apparently, so he became known as Maxwell. At night in the sparse and cold dormitories, the boys would wear their clothes in bed, preferably two pairs of underpants which kept them warm, and safer from intruding hands as they slept. However, simple pleasures were still possible for Leon and Maxwell, as well as mutual comforting and support. On the smiling, kind face of Maxwell, Leon had glimpsed the unknown god, but not the one that hung on their dormitory wall.
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