Date: Thu, 11 Nov 2021 13:08:08 +0000 From: Wes Leigh Subject: Misunderstood, Chapter 1 (Gay Adult/Youth) MISUNDERSTOOD By Wes Leigh This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation. Author's Note: For those who read the original three-part series `Misunderstood', a short explanation is in order. This is an expanded version of that series, adding additional information from the early life of Andrew "Blue" Wright before he met Gray Langston. If you never had a chance to read the original story, I hope you find the new `Misunderstood' an entertaining and entrancing tale. With highest regards, Wes Leigh. Prologue It was cold. Blue-lipped, breath-snatching cold. The youth stood shivering underneath a tree, trying to find shelter from the freezing rain, but failing. The wind swept past the meager branches and sent the rain stabbing right through the thin shirt and jeans he wore, carving into his body like a million icy knives. Fuck, he was tired of this. Tired of not catching a break. Tired of a deck stacked against him. Tired of being crushed by circumstances beyond his control. He was ready to give up. He hated admitting that, because deep down he was a fighter. He'd never given up before, not once in his life. Not when everyone hated him and called him disgusting names and beat the hell out of him. Not when he seemed to be all alone with no one he could trust, suffering at the hands of those who should have helped him. Not when he was running for his life, scrambling to find food, doing whatever he had to do just to stay alive. Not once, no matter how desperate his situation had been, had he ever given up. So why couldn't he catch a break? Just one fucking time? Hadn't he earned it by now? He wiped the rain from his eyes. Things were getting pretty damned desperate now. Out of money. No place to stay. And now even the sky was fighting against him, pouring its freezing wrath down on his weary head. He wrapped his arms around his shivering body, stepped out from beneath the tree, and stared up into the sky. His bright blue eyes searched the dark storm clouds. No answer there. Just bright lightning flashing through the sky and striking a few miles away. Seconds later, thunder shook the air. He dropped his gaze to the house just ahead. The house was where the man had gone, the man with the kind voice and the silver eyes. And the Pitbulls. If the man was willing to take care of misunderstood dogs, perhaps he'd be willing to help a misunderstood boy too. What the hell, the youth thought. What other choice did he have? Lurching away from the tree, he pushed through the blowing rain and prayed through chattering teeth that he wasn't making another horrible mistake. Chapter One A few years earlier ... Andrew Gabriel Wright was a good boy in every way. Or tried to be. He attended Mass with his mother Dayna and his father Alan every week, and he did his best to sit quietly and listen carefully to the homily and take it to heart, so his parents would be proud of him. His mother always seemed pleased with Andrew's behavior. She saw Andrew listening attentively and smiled at him. She reached over and stroked his wavy black curls and caressed his bright red cheeks beneath his brilliant blue eyes. It gave Andrew a warm feeling all over knowing how much she loved him. He wasn't so sure about his father, who never gave Andrew a reason to believe he loved his only child. At the moment, his father was frowning slightly, unhappy with Dayna's coddling of the boy, and he motioned for Andrew to sit up straighter and pay attention. Alan never seemed to be happy with Andrew, though the boy wanted more than anything to please his dad. It just seemed impossible to do. One reason was Andrew's mouth. He often said the first thing that came to his mind, which his dad said was disrespectful. Andrew didn't intend to be rude, but he embarrassed everyone with his brash comments, so his dad was constantly reminding him to control his tongue. Andrew also let colorful words slip out every now and then. He honestly tried to keep the earthy language to himself, knowing he shouldn't curse, but he couldn't seem to stop. He wanted to stop, so he was trying something new. Every time a foul word slipped out, he tried to remember it so he could confess it to the priest. That was embarrassing, so he hoped the shame of it would help him to stop cussing so much. So far, it didn't seem to be making much difference. Other than his language, there was only one other sinful thing he thought he should share during the confessional, but he couldn't say it out loud to anyone, especially to a priest. It would be too embarrassing. He couldn't even imagine whispering it ... Father, forgive me, for I get boners all the time. No! How could he ever admit that? Andrew's face turned bright red. It was probably a sin for him even to be thinking about boners during the homily. He sat up straighter and struggled to pay attention. He was a good boy, after all. *** As a 12-year-old attending a Catholic academy in Amarillo, Texas, Andrew knew what boners were and what you were supposed to do with them. Some folks might think the good little boys who attended the Academy of Saint Thomas Aquinas would never discuss something as scandalous as erections and masturbation and ejaculation. They'd be so very wrong. Andrew knew all about what you did when your cock got hard. It was the favorite recess topic of his gang of pre-teen acquaintances, whispered about in sniggering huddles behind the gymnasium. His buddies often bragged about their sexual interests and the girls who fueled their jack-off fantasies, fondling themselves openly as they speculated about which girl would be the first to succumb to their horny schemes. Andrew listened and learned quite a bit, though he sometimes wondered about the accuracy of the information his friends shared. They were all 12, after all. What could they really know? Brent Williams claimed to be an expert, having two big brothers who had taught him everything there was to know about girls and pussies and tits. This, naturally, made Brent the center of attention when it came to revealing the mysteries of sex, so all the boys in Andrew's group listened eagerly as Brent dispensed forbidden wisdom. It sounded ridiculous, some of the things Brent described, but it had to be true because it gave them all throbbing boners during recess and fueled their jack-off fantasies after school. Except for Andrew. He tried to think about girls when he jacked off. He even pictured some of the girls naked, but his cock just didn't care for that. Then he pictured Brent Williams naked, putting his boner inside a girl as he had described that very day, pushing in and pulling out and making girl juices flow down onto his cock and balls. It was a weird image for Andrew, but it did make his cock fill up nice and hard. Andrew closed his eyes and pulled his tight foreskin down so the sensitive cap was exposed. That always made it grow even harder! If he let the skin slip back up again, then kept pulling down and sliding it up, the tingling sensations would quickly bring a drop of slippery fluid out. He rubbed the tip with his thumb, smearing the droplet around. That felt better yet! Andrew began rubbing faster, sliding the skin up over the cap, while he pictured Brent sliding in and out of a girl. He could imagine Brent's balls wiggling around each time Brent slipped inside. Andrew grabbed his own balls with his other hand, pulling and tugging on them until they began to hurt in that oh so wonderfully painful way. Then he stopped and put both hands around his cock and began tugging quickly. His cock was long enough he could use both hands. His friends at school bragged about how long theirs got when they were boned up; Andrew didn't join in the boasting, but if they had all compared, they would have found that Andrew was easily the biggest of the group, having already started puberty. When fully erect, his cock was almost five inches long. He also had a thin patch of curly black hairs above it, and although his balls were hairless, they were round and heavy, stretching his scrotum. He was more of a man than any of his friends, though none of them knew that. When Andrew rubbed his cock with both hands like this, it never took long for the tingling to grow and grow until he couldn't hold back the spurting. That was the FUCKING AWESOME part! Three ... no four, big watery splashes soaked the tissue he held over the end. And then a bit more trickled out. He wiped himself carefully, wincing at how tender it was now, and tucked his thick cock away. As he tossed the tissue into the toilet and flushed, he glanced at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were red with a combination of embarrassment and excitement. He wasn't sure if thinking bad words was the same as actually saying them, so he might have to confess about the `fucking awesome' stuff, but then the priest might want to know what was so `fucking awesome', and there was no way Andrew was going to tell him about that. Not about jacking off. Nor about picturing Brent putting his cock inside a girl. And especially not about the very most serious problem of all: that Andrew was beginning to think that boys were far sexier than girls. That, of course, was the one thing that made Andrew think he wasn't a very good boy after all. He could easily imagine the priest forgiving him for cussing and maybe even for boners. But there was no way he could be forgiven for thinking boys were sexy. That was an abomination. Andrew wasn't exactly sure what an abomination was, but his dad made it clear that all the `disgusting homosexuals' on television were `an abomination before God'. The way his dad said it made it clear that an abomination was one of the worst things you could be, not just in this world, but in heaven too, when you had to go before God and explain yourself. There were some things you could get away with before God, but other things were unforgiveable. Andrew didn't get that part, wondering just how God went about deciding what was and was not forgivable, but his dad made it clear that homosexuals were headed for hell, so that was that. Andrew knew he was in trouble. He didn't think the girls at school were sexy, no matter how much he tried, but his cock got hard when he thought about Brent Williams getting naked and some of the other guys at school, too. Andrew didn't know if that meant he was a homosexual, but it sure did worry him. What could he do about it? Every day that went by, it seemed to get worse. Until he came up with an answer, there was really nothing he could do except try to be a good boy in every other way, starting with his mouth. No more cussing and no more thinking `fucking awesome' even though spurting really was about the most awesome thing you could do. *** A week went by. On Sunday morning, the Wright family was once again sitting in their regular pew for Mass. Father Murphy was speaking. He was gray and wrinkled and sour. So were his homilies, sour that is, not gray or wrinkled. How could a homily be either gray or wrinkled, Andrew asked himself? That thought made Andrew want to laugh, so he squeezed his lips together and struggled to hold inside the giggle he felt in the back of his throat. A wrinkled homily! His sides began to hurt and his face turned red. A puckered old homily with gray hair, that's what Father Murphy was. Andrew snorted, causing his father to glare at him with a stern frown. Andrew pretended to cough, pointing at his throat and making a face. His father shook his head slightly. Andrew cleared his throat and stared straight ahead, trying his best not to think about old Father Murphy. Sitting in front of the choir was Father Downing. Father Downing was neither old nor wrinkled. He appeared to be a little younger than Andrew's father, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes and glasses that made him look very wise. Father Downing must be a smart fellow, because he taught mathematics and music at Andrew's school. Naturally, he was also the choir leader for Mass. All the kids liked him, because Father Downing was friendly, not sour like Father Murphy. At school, Downing was a popular teacher. He never raised his voice in class, but he knew how to get the class to pay attention. One time, a group of boys weren't listening at the beginning of class. The bell rang and they kept talking. Father Downing said, "Young people, your attention please." The boys kept chattering, so Father Downing raised his voice slightly and said, "Little children, I require your attention." There was sudden silence in the classroom. Father Downing smiled and said, "Thank you. In the future, I would prefer to speak to young adults, but if you behave immaturely by not coming to order when I ask, I shall refer to you as little children, as that seems to be more appropriate." Looking around, Andrew had seen several bright red faces. It was the last time they interrupted class with their chatter. Wrinkled, old Father Murphy didn't teach any classes. He only conducted Mass and heard confessions. That was fine with Andrew. Mass was only once a week, but school was Monday through Friday. He'd much rather have Father Downing for a teacher. Even though Downing demanded respect in class, he was really, really nice. Andrew was in Father Downing's math class, and next year, Andrew wanted to take choir. Then he'd have two classes with Father Downing. Math and Choir. Choir would be a fun class. No homework. Just a lot of singing. Andrew knew most of the boys in the choir. Some were in his classes at school. There was one boy on the end he especially liked. Dallas Anderson, a tall young teen with dark red hair and a dusting of freckles. Dallas lived across the street, and Andrew wished they could be friends, but Dallas was two years older than Andrew, so they didn't have much in common. Dallas had his friends and they were into sports and girls and stuff Andrew didn't care for. Still, Dallas was always nice to Andrew and said hello when they crossed paths at school. Everyone stood up, surprising Andrew. He hadn't been paying attention, so he didn't notice that the Mass was over. He hurried to stand with his parents. Father Downing turned to the choir and led them in singing Benedicamus Domino. Then Father Murphy raised his hands and intoned, "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord." Andrew joined the rest of the congregation in responding, "Thanks be to God." Finally, it was over. Alan Wright turned to his wife and said, "Give me a minute, Dayna. I need to speak with Judge Stanforth before we go. I'll be right back." Andrew's mom nodded and sat back down. Turning to Andrew, she said, "We might as well make ourselves comfortable, baby." Her voice was cultured, but with a faint Texas drawl. She'd been born and raised in west Texas, attended college at Texas A&M, and then married Alan and helped him start up his business selling furniture to the good folks right there in Amarillo. When she wasn't inviting all her girlfriends to come buy a new sofa or kitchen dinette, she was making their sprawling home the envy of the block, while raising Andrew to be a good Catholic boy. She was a Texas girl, through and through, and quite content with her life. Andrew nodded and giggled, "Yep. Dad says he'll be right back, but we know that ain't never gonna happen." Andrew's drawl was even more pronounced than his mother's. She glanced down at Andrew, frowning. "Did I hear you correctly, baby?" "Sorry, Momma," Andrew said, "I know I ain't ... I mean, I'm not supposed to say ain't. I'm tryin' to remember, Momma, but it just slips out sometimes." "A young gentleman does not use that word, Andrew. People will judge you by the words you use." "That don't seem fair, Momma. Shouldn't they get to know me before they start judgin' me?" "Fair or not, it's the way it is, baby. That's why your father and I always correct you. We want everyone to realize just what an intelligent and accomplished young man you are." Andrew nodded, smiling at his mother. He believed she wanted everyone to think he was a smart boy, but he wasn't so sure about his father. Sometimes, it felt like his father corrected him because he enjoyed finding fault with Andrew for the least little thing. "Hey, Drew. Hello, Mrs. Wright." Andrew and Dayna looked up to see Dallas Anderson standing at the end of their pew, still dressed in his red choir robes with the white satin collar. "Dallas, you look so handsome," Dayna said, standing up and ruffling Dallas' red hair. "Are you enjoying being in the choir?" "Yes, ma'am," Dallas replied. "Father Downing makes it great fun." "Wonderful. Are your parents here today?" "Yes, ma'am. Over there." Dallas pointed toward the east side of the sanctuary. "Andrew, I think I'll go speak with the Andersons. Will you wait right here, please?" "Sure, Momma," Andrew replied, hoping Dallas would stay and chat. Otherwise, he'd be bored out of his mind. Fortunately, Dallas seemed to understand how Andrew felt. Dallas squeezed into the pew next to Andrew, pushing slightly to get Andrew to move over an inch. "What are you doing today?" Dallas asked. "Dunno," Andrew replied. "The `rents haven't said." "You think you could come over and go swimming with me? The pool's clean. I spent all day yesterday on it." Andrew tried to keep his excitement in check. "Dude, that would be awesome! I'll hafta ask first, but I'd love to go swimmin'!" "Great!" Dallas said with a big grin. "We'll have a great time. You know how to swim, don't ya'?" "A little," Andrew admitted. "I can float okay and even swim around some, but I ain't that fast." Dallas shrugged. "No big deal, Drew. I'll teach ya'." Andrew grinned at Dallas, having a hard time sitting still. He couldn't believe his good luck. Dallas Anderson was actually inviting him over to go swimming and, not only that, had also promised to help him learn to swim better! Alan Wright walked up and looked down at Andrew, frowning. "Where's your mother?" "She's talkin' to the Andersons." Andrew pointed. "Over there." Alan grimaced. "We don't have time for this. Judge Stanforth invited us to lunch at the Clubhouse. Come on, Andrew. We need to get going." "Dad," Andrew interjected, "can I go swimmin' later with Dallas?" Alan shook his head. "There won't be time for that. We'll be busy most of the afternoon." Andrew sighed and bowed his head. He knew what that meant. A long, tedious day spent listening to adults talk about stuff he wasn't the least bit interested in. He followed his dad, his chin on his chest, dreading the hours ahead. Dallas watched them go. He felt sorry for the kid and wished he could do something for him. "Maybe another day, Drew," he shouted. Andrew turned and gave Dallas a sad smile, waved in a halfhearted fashion, and turned to follow his dad. *** Monday at school, Brent Williams gathered all the guys together behind the gym, teasing them with the news that he had some especially juicy information to share. Urging them to huddle together, Brent glanced around first to be sure no adults were near. Then he bent over and whispered, "Guess who's prego?" Surprised whispers spread through the group, several boys speaking a little too loud, "Did he say prego? Someone's pregnant? Who?" Brent motioned for them to keep it down. Nodding, he grinned and said, "Yep. She's in ninth grade. She goes to our church. And she's knocked up good!" "Who is it?" several boys demanded to know. Brent waited, dragging out the suspense, before finally saying, "Marilyn Michaelson." "What? You're full of shit, Brent!" one of the boys exclaimed. "Yeah," another agreed. "No way is the Virgin Marilyn prego." "Her dad keeps her locked in her bedroom when she ain't in school," added the first boy. Brent grinned wickedly. "She ain't locked up when she's at church?" "Now we know you're full of crap," one kid said, shaking his head in disgust. "How's she gonna get knocked up in church?" "Well ... it's real easy, if she goes in the storeroom at the back of the attic. You know, where they keep all the costumes for the plays and stuff. The door don't lock, but you can hear if anyone comes up there `cause the stairs creak really loud." Several of the boys agreed, having climbed those stairs a few times in the past. Brent continued, "If she went up there with a boy, she could drop her panties and he could stick his cock inside her pussy and screw her right there. It would only take a minute and he'd be squirting his jizz inside her. Then they could have their clothes back on and get out of there before her dad or anyone else even knew." "Is that what happened?" one boy asked, squeezing the boner that was now tenting up his pants. Andrew noticed and his own cock started swelling up, not because of Brent's story so much as seeing the boners in the pants of his friends all around him. "Yep. Three times!" Brent exclaimed, laughing. "And now she's knocked up, and her parents are shipping her off to stay with her aunt in Arkansas." "No shit!" one boy exclaimed. "Hey, how come you know all this?" "Well, `cause the guy who knocked her up told me," Brent explained. "Who was it?" one boy demanded to know. Brent smirked. "I can't tell ya'. He made me promise to keep it a secret." "Come on, Brent." "Yeah. Tell us who it is, Brent." "Nope," Brent said, shaking his head. "Not gonna say. He be pissed if I did, and he knows where I sleep--" Brent gave them all a knowing leer. "--'cause his bed is next to mine." "Holy fuck, Brent!" one of the boys exclaimed, feeling the situation warranted a special curse. "It was your brother?" Brent shook his head slightly and smiled. "I didn't say that, did I?" The bell rang and the boys scattered. Andrew hurried to his locker to get his Math book. His mind was spinning. Brent's big brother got a girl pregnant. He actually put his cock up inside her. Three times. And squirted in her and made her pregnant. Holy fuck, for sure! *** "Andrew, sweetie, your father and I have something we want to discuss with you." Dayna stood in the doorway to Andrew's bedroom. She didn't look mad, so Andrew decided he must not be in trouble this time. He put down the dog brush he had been using to groom King, his Rottweiler. After scratching King once behind the ears, he followed his mom into the living room. King trotted along behind them. Andrew's father Alan was standing in the middle of the room. He pointed at the sofa, indicating where he wanted Andrew to sit. Once Andrew was seated with King at his feet, Alan cleared his throat and said, "Andrew, we've just spoken to Father Murphy. He is looking for help from young men in the congregation, and he asked us if you would be willing to assist." Andrew waited, knowing his father wasn't asking him to volunteer. Rather Andrew would be told what his parents had decided, and that is what Andrew would do, because he was good boy who did as he was instructed. "You'll begin this Saturday," Alan explained. "Cleaning the Church grounds." "Yes, sir," Andrew replied. "Father Murphy will be in charge. He'll give you your assignment, and I expect you to work hard for him and do your very best." "We know you'll do a good job," Dayna added. "Of course, he will," Alan stated, staring down at Andrew. "It's what everyone expects from the son of Alan and Dayna Wright." Andrew nodded. He wanted to ask his parents if he could go swimming with Dallas on Saturday, but now he wasn't sure there'd be enough time. "After I work for Father Murphy, do you think I could go swimmin' at Dallas' house?" Alan frowned. "It will take most of the day, so you won't have time. Besides, Dallas will be helping too." Dayna smiled sympathetically. "Perhaps another day, Andrew." Andrew bowed his head. Another day. Sure. It was always another day. "May I be excused now?" he asked, disappointed. "Of course, baby," Dayna replied. Alan grimaced. He hated it when Dayna called Andrew that. He picked up his phone and punched in a number. "Father Murphy, it's Alan Wright. We spoke with Andrew. He's agreed to help you this weekend. You should know he's delighted to have this opportunity to serve the Church ..." Andrew glanced over his shoulder at his parents. They were both smiling and happy. At least THEY were pleased. He sighed and wandered down the hall to his room with King at his heels. He sat on his bed and stared at the panting Rottweiler. "At least you care when I ain't happy," Andrew whispered, leaning forward to hug King around the neck. King pulled away slightly and licked the boy's ear. "Don't drool on me," Andrew giggled. He picked up the dog brush and began grooming King again. *** Saturday morning, Alan drove Andrew to the church. Standing on the front lawn was Father Murphy, Father Downing, and three boys. Dallas Anderson was one. Andrew smiled and sat up a little straighter in his seat. He hoped he would be able to work with Dallas or Father Downing. That would be great. Alan stopped the car and turned to Andrew. "Remember, son. Your mother and I expect nothing but the best from you. Work hard and do what you're told. Call us when you finish and one of us will come pick you up. I may be busy at the store. We have a load of new furniture arriving today. But your mother said she'd come get you if necessary." "Yes, sir," Andrew replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door. As his father drove off, Andrew walked over to where the others stood. Father Murphy seemed as grumpy as ever, but Downing was smiling, apparently happy to see Andrew. Murphy grunted and said, "Andrew, you and Dallas will be helping Father Downing on the outside. He'll let you know what to do. Michael and Jimmy will be inside with me. Come along, boys." Murphy turned and walked inside the building, motioning for the other two boys to follow. Andrew's heart gave a little lurch. He was going to get to work with BOTH Dallas and Father Downing. How incredible was that? Downing placed one hand each on Andrew's and Dallas' shoulders. Smiling he said, "We have a nice cool day to work, so let's get started. That last storm tore some leaves off the trees. We need to rake them up and clean out the flowerbeds too. Ready, guys?" Dallas and Andrew nodded, so Downing pointed out rakes leaning against the building and sent them to different sides of the lawn. He headed for a flowerbed beside the church entrance and kneeled down to remove stray leaves and a few late weeds. As they worked, they chatted and joked. At one point, Downing and Dallas sang one of the songs they had been working on for the sabbath service. Andrew was amazed to hear their voices blending so beautifully, and he admitted he wished he could sing so well. Downing asked Andrew to sing something, anything, and when Andrew sang an old hymn he knew by heart, Downing paused and listened attentively. As Andrew finished, Downing smiled encouragingly. "Very nice, Andrew. You have a lovely tone and a warm vibrato. I can't wait to get you in my choir next year!" Dallas agreed. "You sing great, Drew. We should do a duet together!" Andrew blushed and thanked them both, but he couldn't admit how much he would love a chance to sing next to Dallas. Thinking about that gave him a boner, so he quickly turned and began raking leaves faster, hoping neither of them noticed the growing lump in his jeans. They said nothing and went back to work themselves, so Andrew carefully moved his boner to a more comfortable position. With all three working diligently, they finished the front lawn in no time, bagging the leaves and carrying the full bags around to the alley behind the church where the dumpsters were located. Father Downing clapped them both on the back, thanking them for their hard work and suggesting they take a short break. They eagerly agreed, following Downing into the church kitchen where they sat down and gulped tall glasses of water. Father Downing smiled at the them both as they drank, which made Andrew a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't used to the attention, especially from someone he admired. Keeping his eyes down on his lap seemed to help, because then he wasn't catching Father Downing's eyes so much. Dallas wasn't sure how to feel about what he saw. Father Downing kept staring at Andrew, in the same way he had once stared at Dallas, with that soft but hungry look. When Downing looked over at Dallas too, he smiled gently, his eyes silently promising a reward later on. Dallas was looking forward to that, but he was bothered to see Downing looking at Andrew just as much, maybe even more. Dallas studied Andrew carefully. What did Downing see in him? Sure, he had cute eyes. They were so blue, brighter than the summer sky. And his face was really cute too. But he was such a skinny little kid, no muscles yet, not like Dallas. Dallas was getting bigger every day, with strong arms and legs from all the swimming he did. And it wasn't just his arms and legs that were getting bigger. Dallas smirked when he thought about the part that was growing the fastest. What would Andrew have down there? Probably not all that much, although Dallas had seen a bit of a lump earlier, so there could be enough down there to make playing around fun. If he could just convince Andrew's parents to let him come swimming, he'd find out for sure. As for Andrew, he was unaware of Dallas' glances because he was paying closer attention to Father Downing. Every time he looked over at the priest, he caught Downing staring at him. Each time he caught Downing staring, the man would look away, blushing slightly, as if he was embarrassed. Andrew looked at Dallas and saw Dallas smiling as he lifted the glass of water to his lips for another drink. Andrew took a sip and looked down at his lap. Why were they both staring at him? He glanced sideways and saw Downing watching him again. Downing blinked and looked away. It became a game for Andrew, and he began to giggle the fifth time he caught Downing staring. Dallas snickered, apparently finding it silly what Andrew and Downing were doing. When Andrew looked up and met his gaze, he rolled his eyes at Andrew and smirked. Andrew wondered why Dallas found it all so funny. Maybe he'd have a chance to ask him later. Father Downing cleared his throat. "Have you boys had enough to drink?" "Yes, sir," Andrew replied, setting his glass on the counter. "I have," Dallas said, placing his glass next to Andrew's. "Then let's start on the side courtyard. I think we'll tidy up over there and call it a day." The end of MISUNDERSTOOD, Chapter One