Date: Tue, 27 Dec 2005 23:01:35 +0000 (GMT) From: Veneration Subject: Empty Vessel Part 1 The standard disclaimer applies. If you don't want to, don't. If you shouldn't, don't. If you do want to, what the hell, go for it. Any comments are welcome. Send to veneration2003@yahoo.co.uk - - Veneration EMPTY VESSEL BY VENERATION PART 1 CHAPTER 1 Cool. Calm. Quiet. Dark. Peace He is at the centre of the universe. He is the centre of the universe. He is free of all external influences. He is affected by everything. The observer in the eye of the hurricane stands in calm, but can see the storm all around him. A man can easily hold a large, heavy object at its point of balance. Yet if it should start to topple, he couldn't possibly stop it from falling and crushing him. The conductor stands at the focus of the orchestra. He plays no music himself, yet it is only through him that music is made. The meditator centres his awareness at the core of his soul, or spirit. From this place of detachment, he can observe how his spirit has been influenced and modified and sometimes distorted by his interactions with other people and with the world around him. And so, the way he thinks and behaves and acts has been moulded by the influences of the outside world. But equally, the meditator can see how his spirit and his actions can influence the outside world. To see the tangles and distortions of his spirit leads to the prospect of being able to untangle the knots and smooth the distortions. And from this his spirit and mind will be empowered. That is the goal of his meditations. But, as the eyewall of the hurricane will inevitably overwhelm the observer, so must the meditator let life engulf him once more. Meditation is a withdrawal from life and if the meditator does not, or cannot, find his way back, his spirit will spiral into that black hole that all, who die, enter and never leave. Roger lets his awareness of his surroundings return to him as he leaves his state of meditation. In recent months Roger's life has been steadily pared back to a minimum. After 20 years as a loyal company man in a provincial town, he has been made redundant. One good friend has died of the epidemic. Another close friend who lived in the same town has been transferred elsewhere by his employers. He no longer saw his workmates after he lost his job. He had no family living in town. So, with no ties remaining, he decided to move to the big city. He plans to take stock of his life and to see where it might go next. He wonders how much more his life will be simplified. Roger opens his eyes, rises from the half lotus and begins to stretch some of the stiffness out of his legs. He has never been a fan of the minimalist style of interior decoration, but as he looks around he notes that his new apartment is about as minimalist as it is possible to get. The apartment is completely bare, except for a mattress and his bags in a corner of the livingroom. The mattress is his bed and his sofa and his dining seat. His dining table is the floor in front of the mattress. The sun streams through the south-facing windows and across the wooden floors, warming the room. There is a background noise of street traffic and other city sounds coming through an open window. The apartment has a faint smell of new paint. It is a chemical smell, so not exactly pleasant, but it is fresh and makes the apartment seem renewed, and so not unpleasant either. Roger sighs. He has been inside and on his own for too long. He needs to go outside for some fresh air and to be in the company of other people. He decides to make the 15 minute walk to Beaumont Park for a coffee and a bite to eat. . o O 0 O o . CHAPTER 2 Trevor and his best friend saunter across the paved picnic area. There are picnic tables scattered around and food stalls and a cafe off to one side by the road. The weather is sunny, but cool as it is still early summer. The sounds of children shouting and laughing as they play can be heard from the nearby children's playground, with its swings, slides, climbing bars and rumble tumble cylinder. The beat of hip hop can be heard from a ghetto blaster on a picnic table, where a group of older teens, wearing flash trainers, hoodies, and ripped jeans or sweats, sit. The two friends keep a wary distance from the gang as they wander. Trevor adjusts his baseball cap and sniffs at the greasy smell of fried food that wafts from a nearby fast food kiosk. "Am I ever parched. I could sure go for a cuppa." "Well, I'm skint, so you can buy me a cuppa also," Sam replies. "Nah, I'm broke, too," Trevor admits. "Then you're no fuckin' use, are you?" Trevor grins. "Maybe, but I could sure use some fucking." "In your dreams," Sam scoffs. "Stick to what you know, wanker, and that's wanking." Sam nudges his friend and points at a middle-aged man sitting on his own at one of the tables. "There's a sucker who'll cough up the cash for a cuppa, no sweat." "Yeah? How do ya reckon that?" "I can tell an easy mark when I see one. I reckon he's a poofter, perving the kids on the swings." "Oh, yeah? So how come you're such an expert on poofters?" Trevor asks slyly. "Shut it, cunt," Sam retorts. "You just have to flash your arse at him and we'll get the dosh." "Well, it'll have to be my arse. You flash your arse at him and he'll run screaming from the park in horror." Trevor laughs as he evades the punch that Sam swings at him. The two boys approach their prey. "Hey Mister," Sam begs, "Can ya spare us a coupla quid for a cuppa tea? We're really thirsty, man." Roger looks up and inspects the two young teens as he considers the request. One wears a black hoodie and jeans, the other has a cap, lime-green T-shirt and calf-length shorts. Their pants are low-riding, showing the tops of their brightly-patterned boxers. Both wear grubby trainers. He digs his hand into his pocket, but all he pulls out are a couple of 10p coins and a note. "I'm sorry, but all I have is a ten pound note." "That's OK, we'll take it and give you the change." Sam replies. Trevor grins at the joke. No-one's going to believe that Sam would actually give back any money. Roger narrows his eyes slightly, brown eyes meeting brown shadowed by the boy's hood, then smiles and holds out the ten quid. "OK, that's fine." "Ta, Mister." Sam grabs the money before Roger can change his mind. The boys turn and start walking towards the café. "What a sucker," Trevor crows in disbelief, as they move out of Roger's hearing. "He must be fresh from the farm, with pig shit for brains." "Told ya," Sam replies complacently. They reach the entrance to the café and Sam walks inside. "Whatcha doin'?" Trevor asks as he follows his friend. "Thought yer said you were thirsty, dickhead. I'm gettin' a cuppa tea an' a pie." "Yeah, but when the geezer comes looking for his change, he'll find us. Then we'll be in shit street." "Nah, don't worry about that fucker. I can handle him." The two boys emerge from the café, food on trays, and Sam makes his way towards the man at the table. Trevor starts to feel a little nervous. Sam is his best friend and has some wicked ideas about cool stuff to do that makes their friendship exciting. But sometimes the excitement gets a little scary. "Shall I call the loony bin now, Sam, or wait 'til later?" Trevor mutters as he follows. * * * Sam is not sure what he's doing or why he's doing it, as he's never done anything quite like this before. But perhaps that's why he's doing it, as he always likes to push the boundaries. He places his tray of food on Roger's picnic table and sits opposite him, while Trevor rather helplessly follows suit. "Here's yer change," Sam says as he dumps the coins on the table in front of Roger. "We bought some food, 'cos youse gotta have somethin' to eat when ya have a cuppa." His jaw juts a challenge as he regards the man. "Absolutely, " Roger agrees, "I like to have a bite to eat, too, when I have a hot drink." "You know," says Trevor, "you should be careful who you give yer money to. You can't trust most guys, they would have taken the dosh and run. Ya jus' gotta wise up, man, or you'll get ripped off." Sam looks at his friend in alarm, then grins. This is why Trev is such a good friend, he's always ready to play the game and push things a bit further. Roger smiles. "But you did bring back the change." "Sure, but we're nice guys," Trevor asserts. The two boys gossip about school and their friends, ignoring Roger. They have established their dominance, to their satisfaction, and can now dismiss him from their attention. Roger doesn't appear to pay any attention to the conversation as he looks out over the park. Sam and Trevor finish their meal and are ready to leave. "Are yer going to jus' leave that money lyin' there?" Sam demands as he looks at the change that Roger has left on the table. Roger shrugs. "Perhaps." "Well, if ya don' want it, we'll have it." "I suppose that if you'd been dishonest, you would already have taken it. It does seem a little unfair that you're worse off for being honest. So, OK, it's yours." Sam pauses to work out what the man is saying. "Cool." He starts to reach for the coins. "But there is one thing," Roger continues. "What?" Sam glares at the man, feeling vaguely disappointed. 'Typical fuck-arse adult', he thinks. 'Always ready to screw you around.' "What are your names? I'm Roger." "So?" Sam sighs with exaggerated patience. "I'm Sam and he's Trev." "Pleased to meet you, Sam, Trevor." Sam grabs the money off the table; he's had enough of this nonsense. "Is that it? You just wanted our names? You're fuckin' weird man. You're an easy mark that anyone could con, an' you're jus', . . . just weird." "So I've been told." "Don't know how you do it," Trevor tells his friend as they leave. "You'd con the rattle from a snake." "It's 'cos I'm the master," Sam retorts. * * * Roger smiles as he watches the boys stalk away. It has been an interesting experience, well worth leaving the flat for. They are two sexy boys in that appealing transition phase of puberty, where they have started to mature but haven't lost their boyishness. Sam's attitude and bad language is in complete contrast to his sweet innocent-looking face with his sultry eyes and mouth. Trevor is a cheerful looking lad with a cheeky, humorous expression lurking in his grin. . o O 0 O o . CHAPTER 3 Longwood Street runs from the canal that was once the commercial and industrial lifeblood of Beresford. However, this district of the city has never fully recovered from the decline of canal traffic and the red-brick factories and warehouses lining the narrow street are now mostly empty or converted into flats. Narrow streets of workingmen's row houses run off Longwood. The small park halfway along the street was once a factory, until it was bombed. Rather than rebuilding after the war, the bomb site was left for many years before being cleared, a lawn laid and shrubs planted. This removed a wild and exciting place for the neighbourhood boys to play and fight in, to be replaced by a convenient meeting ground for drug dealers and their clients. In recent years, however, the druggies have been moved on. The district still has the grittiness of a Victorian working class neighbourhood in decline, but is now in the earliest stages of being gentrified, as the young and upwardly mobile discover its cheap 'character' housing located close to the centre of the city. Sam and Trevor amble along Longwood Street from the canal, where they have been playing, towards High Street, where they hope to find some of their friends, perhaps in the video arcade. A tall, slim dark-haired figure walks towards them, laden with supermarket bags. "Hey Sam, ain't that the geezer we got the tenner from last week?" "Yeah? So what?" "What's his moniker?" Trevor continues. "Ronald McDonald? Nah. Roger the Dodger? Yeah, that's it." "Who cares what the old fart's name is," Sam replies with an indifferent shrug, hands stuffed in pockets. "Hi Roger, how's it hanging?" Trevor cheerily greets the man as they meet. "Hello Trevor, Sam, it's nice to see you again." "So, do you live around here?" Trevor asks. "Yes, just down the road a little." "Cool. We'll help you with your bags, if you like." Sam looks at Trevor in alarm, shakes his head and silently mouths 'why?'. "Why, thank you boys, that's very kind of you." Roger hands one bag to Trevor, one to a reluctant Sam, keeps two for himself and leads the boys down the street. Sam frowns ferociously at his friend, but Trevor just grins. Roger reaches the converted factory opposite the park, where he lives, and leads the boys inside and up the stairs. "Ain't this shithole place got a lift?" Sam complains as he climbs. "Two healthy fit boys like yourselves don't need the lift, and an old man like myself needs the exercise," Roger replies. "Thanks, boys," Roger says as they deposit the groceries on the kitchen bench in his flat. He digs into his pocket and gives each a one pound coin. "Ta, Rog." Trevor's glance at Sam seems to say 'see, easy money'. "Of course, if you have a tenner, we can get some change for you." Roger laughs. "Not likely, lad." * * * As Roger puts away the groceries, Sam and Trevor wander into the living room, curious about where he lives, which is completely different from the small poky council flats or row houses, crowded with tatty possessions, that they and their friends live in. "Have you been robbed?" Trevor calls out. "No." "Then how come the place is empty?" "I rented the apartment unfurnished," Roger replies. He leaves the kitchen and rejoins the boys. "Then ya should furnish it, dummy," says Sam. "I'm not sure I can afford to." "Why not? What sort of job do you have, anyway?" Trevor asks. "I'm unemployed." "Oh. Then how come yer can afford this place? It looks pretty flash." "The owner is a friend of a friend who is in Saudi Arabia for two years," Roger explains. "As it's unfurnished and he just wants to keep the apartment occupied, he's let it to me cheap." "What does your wife think of this?" "I don't have one." "Yer girlfriend, then?" Trevor persists. "I don't have one of those, either." "Why not?" Roger simply shrugs. "Are yer queer, then?" Sam asks. Roger hasn't expected to be faced with that question, and certainly not so soon. He wonders what the boys' reaction would be if he tells the truth. Teenage boys in working class neighbourhoods are not known for their tolerance. In the past he would probably have lied, but he is in the city to strip away all the garbage of his old life and start again. He decides to tell the truth and that any adverse reaction is a price he is prepared to pay, in preference to the price of lying. "I'm gay, yes." * * * Sam is slightly surprised, as Roger looks like a regular guy, not one of those pansy nancy boys. But then it would explain why Roger has been so tolerant of him and Trev, unlike the unfriendly, aggressive local men he knows. "Dus ya have a boyfriend, then?" "No." "Why not?" "That's a very good question. Are you offering?" "No fuckin' way," Sam retorts, "I'm not into that shit." "Well, that answers your question," Roger replies with a shrug. "That's what all the cute boys say." Sam's not sure he likes being called 'cute', as girls are cute, not guys. And while he's not sure about the thought that Roger might like to get into his pants, he can't help feeling vaguely flattered. He's beginning to like Roger, who appears friendly, easy going and a welcome distraction from the rather grim and dreary sameness of Beresford and it's people. Trevor laughs at Roger's comment as his friend is cool, wicked, and a good mate, but no way is he cute. "You're jus' asking the wrong guys," he suggests. "There must be someone older out there, like someone yer own age, who'd go for you. Tell ya what, if we find someone nice, we'll introduce ya," he offers. * * * Roger is amused, but decides against explaining that a guy his own age wouldn't do the trick at all. "Well, that's very thoughtful of you." Sam wanders around the large room, inspecting it, and peers out of the window towards the park across the street. He looks up at the mezzanine that overlooks the living room and faces the row of windows on the south wall. "What's up there?" "There are bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs." Roger replies. Sam and Trevor look at each other, then investigate with a rush and clatter of feet up the wooden stairs that lead from alongside the entrance passage. A few moments later their heads stick out of the windows above the kitchen, then a few moments later their heads stick out of the other window. Their heads disappear and they clatter back downstairs again. "It's pretty cool up there," says Trevor admiringly. "But, man, you really do need some furniture. All this space and you must rattle around like Sam's brain cell when he shakes his head." Sam glares at his friend and gives him the finger. "Yeah, and that's twice as much as you've got, fuckwit." "Perhaps you're right," Roger admits, "but I just haven't got around to it yet." Sam and Trevor look at each other in the wordless communication that can occur between good friends. "You should go to Bains second hand shop. They have furniture and everything there, and it's really cheap. We'll come along and help you," suggests Trevor. "Yeah, you need our help," Sam agrees. "Ya must be a pretty dopey character if ya can't even furnish a flat." "Well, that's an offer I can't refuse," Roger replies and he settles on the arrangements for the following morning with the boys. Just before the two friends disappear down the short passage leading to the front door, Trevor turns and calls out "Hey Rog, who d'ya like to roger, Roger?" Then with a cackle of maniacal laughter and a slammed front door, they are gone. Roger shakes his head ruefully and wonders what he's getting himself into. The two boys have more energy than he's had to deal with in a very long time. They seem to be nice lads, under their hardened street-wise exterior, but Roger's uncertain what demands they might make of him in the future, or what trouble they might cause. He decides that some meditation will help him integrate his experience with Sam and Trevor. . o O 0 O o . CHAPTER 4 Roger meets Sam and Trevor outside the door to 'Bain's Quality Second Hand Goods Emporium'. Waiting with them is a dark-haired solemn-faced boy of about ten or eleven. "This is my little brother, Bill," Sam explains. "Hello, Bill," Roger greets the boy. " 'lo," he replies. Inside the entrance to Bain's is a long narrow shop that leads from the street. It's crammed full of small household items, such as crockery, cutlery, kitchen items, vases and other ornaments, stacks of linen and blankets. The counter is located near the entrance, guarded by Fred Bain, who is in his 60s, bald, sharp-eyed and not about to be fooled by anyone, but with an affable outward manner. Behind this room are two large warehouse-type rooms, filled with larger appliances and furniture. The sound of the street noise from outside is muffled and the atmosphere is slightly dusty, slightly musty. Bain's Emporium is filled with the sad detritus of once-loved, but now discarded belongings, perhaps from a dead person's estate, or sold because they are tired and out-of-date, or sold by the bailiffs who were recovering debt, or sold by the owners to raise some urgently needed cash. The boys scamper about the shop, calling for Roger's attention with suggestions of what he should buy. Roger follows along behind, trying to impart some sense of moderation on what is necessary, or reasonable, or affordable. In between times, while the boys search out new treasures, he selects those essential mundane household items that two teenage boys would never dream of, at least not until they were suddenly found to be missing from their homes. Roger finds the boys' enthusiasm infectious and he admits to himself that he should have found the energy to furnish his flat a month ago, when he first moved in. A week ago Sam and Trevor would have poured scorn on the suggestion that they would enjoy shopping for household items, but now they find the game fun, and of course they don't have to worry about paying for it. Bill simply enjoys spending time with his adored elder brother. Sam is sometimes cruel, but sometimes shows a rough and ready, offhand affection. He often ignores his younger brother, but usually tolerates his presence and is sometimes his protector. Roger approaches the boys as they inspect the shelves of second hand consumer electronics with complete disdain. "This is all rubbish," Sam announces, "ya don't want to waste yer money on this crap." "Yeah," agrees Trevor. "You need to get a new stereo system and a 29 inch TV." "And a VCR, that'd be cool," Sam suggests. The two friends grin at each other in agreement. Roger vetoes the suggestion, in spite of their protests. "This crap is all I can afford," he tells them. "And a small TV is all I need." "Yer a cheap-arse skinflint," Sam protests. "But you've just gotta have a VCR, it's useful for recording programs an' renting movies and stuff." "Essential equipment, is it?" Roger asks. "Too bloody right," Sam replies and Roger agrees to buy one. Roger looks at the double and queen-sized beds, trying to decide what to buy. "You want a queen-sized," suggests Trevor, "something big enough for a queen." Roger looks over at the boy, who tries to look innocent, but can't help grinning. He pretends to try to clout Trevor across the ear, who dodges with a laugh. "Cheeky lad," Roger scolds him with a smile. "Hey, Rog, ya gotta have this," Sam calls out from further down the row of beds. Sam stands by two metal-framed bunk-beds, while Bill perches on the top bunk. "What do I need bunks for?" Roger asks. "For visitors to sleep in, of course, dummy." "I'm not sure I'll be having visitors staying overnight, besides why bunks?" "They're very practical 'cos they don' take up much room," Sam explains. "An' ya never know when you might have visitors sleeping over. Trev and me, f'r instance." There's a small silence as they think about that. Roger wonders how much the boys are going to take over his life, whether he is ready for it, and how he is going to keep his hands off them. Sam and Trevor wonder how safe it would be to spend the night with a gay guy, but it would be a chance to have a sleepover together, which they've never been able to at each other's homes. There's no room in Sam's council flat, where he shares a tiny bedroom with his brother, and Trevor avoids Sam's mother and her boyfriends as much as possible. There is more room in Trevor's row house, but his parents disapprove of his friendship with Sam, who they regard as a bad influence on their son and a criminal in the making. "Well, OK, bunk-beds it is," Roger finally says. When they have finally decided on everything needed to set up an apartment, Roger and the boys approach the counter with the last of the small items, which they add to the collection already on and beside the counter. Fred Bain has been watching the activities of the boys with suspicion, at first, then with benign approval as he realises how much stuff he is going to be selling. "Your little helpers have been useful, then, have they?" he asks Roger. "Very useful, if rather expensive," Roger agrees. "Good, good. I'm pleased to see young Samuel staying out of trouble. Now don't you be giving the nice man any strife, d'ya hear," he admonishes the boy. Fred has lived in Beresford all his life and knows all the locals and goings on in the community. Sam stares back scornfully and, after glancing at Roger, barely manages to restrain himself from telling Fred to 'fuck off'. He regards Fred as an interfering old sod who should mind his own business. Roger shows Fred the larger items that he wants, then returns to the counter to pay for his purchases. He gulps when he sees the size of the total bill. Fred is pleased at what has turned into a very successful day's trading. "If you wouldn't mind help load and unload the truck, we can deliver everything now," he offers. "I will give Samuel and Trevor five quid each for their help and little William two pounds." The boys smile at the news. Roger is turning into a useful source of cash. "Thank you," Roger replies. "I'm sure the boys appreciate your generosity." "Not at all," Fred grins. "After all, it's your money I'm giving them." Roger and the boys help Fred Junior load the truck. Fred is a junior version of his father, though not as bald, not as bony-featured, and not as hard-natured. When everything is loaded, Roger looks doubtfully at the cab, which is going to be rather crowded with two adults and three boys. "No problem," Junior assures him. "We can all squeeze in." "Yeah, sure, easy for you to say," comments Trevor, "There's plenty of room for the driver." Sam is quick to climb into the cab and sit in the middle of the bench seat. "Bill can sit on my lap and Trev on Roger's." When everyone is in the cab, Trevor on Roger's lap, Sam looks over at them with an evil grin. "You two have fun." * * * Trevor glares at Sam, then glances up at Roger. "And you behave yourself," he warns him. He laughs a little at the thought of a kid telling an grownup to behave himself. "Of course," Roger replies and gives the boy a quick hug. "Hey," Trevor protests, with a wriggle. Trevor is embarrassed to be sitting in someone's lap at his age. But, though he is barely able to admit it to himself, there is also something vaguely comforting about Roger's hug and sitting in his lap. His subconscious responds to the forgotten memories of being a little boy, warm and safe in his parents' embrace. Trevor is also intensely aware that Roger is gay, and that his arse is firmly planted on Rogers crotch, separated only by a few layers of cloth, and he wonders if the man fancies him. Trevor's cock stirs a little at the thought and he hurriedly directs his attention elsewhere. * * * Roger relishes the solid weight and the warmth of Trevor's body, pressing down on him. He is heavy, but makes Roger feel anchored to humanity and to the world. The boy's dark brown hair, nestled under Roger's nose, is unwashed and somewhat rank. He breathes in the essence of boy and his spirit aches a little at the thought that this moment is going to be over, all too soon. . o O 0 O o . CHAPTER 5 The truck arrives at Longwood Street and parks outside the entrance to Roger's flat. Trevor's ears are pink as he slides off Roger's lap and when he stands on the pavement he is slightly bent over until he quickly adjusts his crotch. Before Roger can get out of the truck, Bill clambers over him with a cheeky grin. The two men carry the heavy furniture into the livingroom, while the boys bring the lighter items. Sam removes his hooded top, to reveal a tousled mop of black hair and black T-shirt. Bill takes off his socks and shoes and shirt. He has a narrow chest, visible ribs and slightly rounded belly. "Hot," Bill explains. When everything is piled in the livingroom, Junior returns to the shop, leaving Roger and the boys to set up the apartment. Roger is in the living room when a pair of ragged jeans falls from a mezzanine window. He looks up to see Bill's face peering down at him. A few minutes later Bill is back downstairs again, clad only in greyish, droopy, tattered jockey briefs. " 's hot" Bill says. "He's always taking his clothes off," Sam explains. "It drives Mum spare, especially when her boyfriend's around. She's al'as yelling at the stupid sod to make him put his clothes back on." "I don't mind. Bill's always welcome to take off his clothes here," Roger says. Sam raises his eyebrows. "He's a bit young, ain't he, mate?" Roger blushes. He had meant the comment innocently, Bill being younger than his normal preference, forgetting for the moment that Sam knows about his sexuality. Bill regards Roger thoughtfully, then gives him a gap-toothed smile before continuing unpacking. They set up the dining table at one end of the livingroom. Next to it, they arrange the two sofas so that they face the TV and VCR against the wall. They move the desk and bookcase into a room leading off the living room. "What's this for?" asks Trevor. "This is going to be my study and I'll probably get a computer to go in here," Roger replies. "Cool," says Trevor, "we can play games on it. Are ya gonna get connected to the internet?" "Why? Do you think I should?" "Too right, man. Sam and I can use it for lotsa things, like, um . . . . homework and stuff." Trevor glances over at his friend, who sniggers at the thought of their wasting time on homework. There was a small silence as the three of them think of the implicit promise, or perhaps threat, that the boys would be visiting Roger in the future. They wrestle the mattress to Roger's bed, queen size of course, up the narrow stairs and into the bedroom, then the rest of the bedroom furniture. Roger sets up the bed and unpacks his suitcase. In the other bedroom the boys set up the bunkbeds, with much banging and clattering and other noise, instructions and arguments and laughter. Bill pads barefoot down the hall to Roger's room, checks what he's up to, then with a grin returns to the excitement in the guest bedroom. When the boys have finished with the bunkbeds, they clatter down the stairs, sweaty and happy. Roger brings out cold drinks and biscuits and they all sit around the table, enjoying the well-deserved rest after the hard work. Roger smiles at the rosy-cheeked, but slightly dirt-smudged and food-smeared, faces before him. "Thank you boys, for your help. I couldn't have done it without you." He puts his hand in his pocket for some coins and offers them a one pound tip each. "Nah, thanks Rog," Trevor says as he waves away the cash, "we already got paid for the job." Sam turns to his friend in shock. "Are ya out of your tree, dork, turning down dosh?" he hisses. "Roger's a goose, we can always come back for more eggs later," Trevor replies. "Huh?" Sam wonders what Trev thinks he's up to. Bill grins and Roger laughs at being so openly described as a golden goose to be plucked. The boys prepare to leave and Bill reluctantly pulls on his clothes. 'He really is too young,' Roger thinks, but he has enjoyed seeing his almost naked skinny body wandering around the flat, glimpses of bum peeking through a tear in his undies, and the tidy package barely hidden by a thin layer of cloth has raised his curiosity. Then with a loud "Cheerio" the boys are gone. * * * Sam and Trevor realise that they like Roger. He is gentle, interested in them, and puts up with their nonsense, which is unlike any other adult in their lives. Roger's flat begins to feel like a safe haven that they might be able to relax in. The other places where they spend their time, school, the arcade, the youth club with its menacing older teens, home, are never entirely safe and they can never entirely relax their guard. The fact that Roger is gay and might fancy them just gives the edge of the forbidden that they find exciting. In the world they live, everyone is expected to hate fags, but this is a world with the real hazards of drugs, crime, prostitution, violence, where the blights of unemployment and poverty sour the lives of those who live in it. Compared to that, homosexuality is no big deal. Sam and Trevor have finely tuned survival instincts to detect danger and they sense no danger in Roger. They respond to Roger's interest in them like drought-stricken saplings receiving a refreshing shower of rain. Bill is quietly happy. He has just spent a morning where he has felt safe, able to get rid of his constricting clothes, with his brother, who was in a good mood. It is not often in his life that all of these happen at the same time. Bill is a silent boy who is more observant than others realise. He had been fully aware of Roger's gaze, like a soft caress, on him and the other boys, and has a shrewd idea of what it meant. To Bill, it is a promise of the affection that he has been starved of in his short life. Roger's gaze was completely unlike the sharp predatory stares of one or two of his Mum's boyfriends. Those times Bill kept his clothes on. Roger collapses on a sofa with a sigh after the horde of boys departs. He finds their energy and noise and street-smarts wearying, but as the silence seeps back into his flat he starts to feel its emptiness. Under the hard urban exteriors of Sam and Trevor, Roger thinks he can see a glimpse of two sweet-natured boys who are keen for an escape from the grim world they are trapped in. Perhaps not even that much, perhaps they are simply searching for hope. Roger anticipates the boys' return with some nervousness, but also eagerly. Sam and Trevor might be tiring, but they are also energising and, in receiving hope from Roger for their lives, they also give him hope for his life. The time he has been spending in meditation is at risk of spiraling into empty navel-gazing; the time spent in reflection on his life at risk of decaying into depression. It is time to get off his arse and do something with his new life. Besides, Roger has to admit to himself that the boys are sexy as all hell and they are making him hornier than he has been in a long time. He wonders whether to meditate to integrate the morning's experiences, or perhaps he should just have a good wank. Roger decides on a little light meditation followed by a nice wank. . o O 0 O o . End of part 1. To be continued . . .