Date: Fri, 05 Apr 2024 19:13:24 +0000 From: plz234plz Subject: Little Bradley - Chapter 1 All characters are fictional. Comments and feedback are very welcome. If you have any thoughts, ideas, fantasies or experiences that you'd like to share please get in touch. plz234plz@proton.me If you enjoy these stories please consider donating to Nifty to support the site using link https://donate.nifty.org/) Little Bradley -- Chapter 1 I'd moved to the quiet neighbourhood 6 months ago, after taking early retirement from my work as a Teacher at the Art College. Technically we were Lecturers but beyond the required Art History I preferred the hands on approach, often drawing or painting alongside the students -- especially in the life classes. When I'd moved in back in early spring it had been a bit of unusual procedure, as despite my minimal furniture there were two vans of canvasses and plan-chests containing my drawings. I'd chosen the house primarily for its location on the very edge of the town, and also because it wasn't a new build -- it's one of the few old places still standing. It also had more than adequate rooms for me and a guest, and my artwork. The fact that it overlooked the valley that leads down to the river, with a garden backing onto the woods had sealed it. There were a few new houses that had been built along the lane didn't really concern me. I was sure that the occupants would be busy city-types who commuted every day and had little interest in the surroundings, other than to show off to friends. That was until the day I moved in. As the second van was being unloaded and a number of my larger canvasses were carefully stacked alongside before being carefully carried in, a small boy appeared in my driveway looking curious. "What're all these Mister?" he asked with a grin as he shook the long fringe from his eyes with a toss of his head. I guessed he was around 8 or 9, though he was quite a slender little thing. His green eyes had a sparkle which made his unfaltering gaze somehow infectious. He seemed to have a natural inquisitiveness which immediately appealed to me, along with his sandy brown hair that had streaks of almost bleached fairness. There was something about him that I couldn't quite pin down, but it was enough to make me pause. It takes quite a lot to distract me when I'm focussed on something, which is usually my work, but I found myself momentarily stuck for words. "Paintings," I said without any explanation, and busied myself supervising their move to the old lounge at rear of the house which I'd designated as my new studio. It was the largest room on the ground floor with large patio doors which opened directly onto the spacious garden behind. Once they were all safely inside and I'd checked the protective dust sheets that covered them I went back out to organise the smaller works and found the boy still there, sitting on the low stone wall silently taking in what was happening as the workers unloaded the two heavy plan chests and the other paraphernalia for my studio. I found myself admiring the boy's curiosity and determination, plus his politeness in keeping out of the way, and tried to dismiss any thoughts of how cute he looked. After giving the workers instructions on where to put the chests, I turned and asked the boy his name. "I'm Bradley, Sir. I live next door," he said with that same infectious smile and flick of his head to swish the strands of hair from his eyes. I made myself pause and take a breath as images of him posing for me in the studio and out in the garden flashed through my mind. No. I came her for solitude and peace and quiet to finally concentrate on finishing the work that had been occupying me for so long. Luckily one of the workers pulled me out of my reverie with a question about where to put another stack of frames, but when I turned back the boy was still sitting there with the same almost quizzical expression. "Well Bradley -- less of the Sir please, I'm just Steven," -- it just came out and I hope it sounded quite natural, which it was. He looked at me for a moment, as if contemplating something. "You can call me Brad," he said, and looked down at the ground for a moment. There was something about him; a deepness that I sensed and wondered how many others had overlooked. "Well, in that case you can call me Steve -- but don't tell everyone..." His eyes lit up and he beamed me that smile again with the inevitable flick of his head. I was smiling now too. "Come round and explore sometime, once I've settled in..." I hadn't meant to say that, but it just came out in the moment. "t's alright -- I already know the garden `n the stream -- it's been empty for ages till you came." With that he hopped off the wall with a wave and disappeared.