Date: Wed, 13 Sep 2023 23:46:08 +0100
From: AP Webb <pjalexander1753@gmail.com>
Subject: D'n'M Part 6 Chapter 11

All the characters and events in this story are fictitious.  Any
resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely
unintentional.

The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the
express permission of the author who can be contacted at:

pjalexander1753@gmail.com

PJ

From Chapter 10:

Nico's head was throbbing.  This was a lot to take in, a lot to think
about.  His need to pee had completely disappeared.  He closed the door and
walked across the room and lay on his bed, not even bothering to switch off
the game.  His brain hurt.  Was he going to have to totally re-think every
bad thing he'd been told by his mum?  Everything he believed about his
uncles?  Was he going to have to let go of the anger, the one thing that
gave him a sense of being in control?  Maybe even give up on the silent
treatment?  So many questions but so few answers.  And as for the idea of
spending the weekend with his grandfather and Dan's parents, he certainly
didn't have any head space for that right now.  So he did the only sensible
thing he could think of -- he went to sleep.

**********

Chapter 11:

Nico's weekend went by in a sort of blur.  After all the weeks of hardly
leaving the apartment, except for his twice-weekly visits to Margelles &
Associates and the occasional enforced walk around the block with one of
the `Nico Minders' (yes, he knew what they called themselves), he'd seen
very little of the town where he was now living, not since that first day
when Dan and Milo had shown him round some of the local sights.  Just about
all he remembered from that trip was how unimpressed he'd been and how
small-scale it had seemed compared to Buenos Aires.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to go outside during those weeks, to
breathe fresh air, to explore this unfamiliar town, this new country.  Many
times it had been suggested to him that he should get out more and that the
Minders would be more than happy to take him out and about, but he had
pretty much always refused.  It wasn't that he'd enjoyed staying rooted in
his room with nothing except Penalty Shoot-out 3 and a few soccer magazines
for company.  But more important to him than giving in to his boredom and
frustration by taking the opportunity to get out of the apartment had been
his determination not to do anything with `them', his new, so-called,
family, this bunch of people who were just biding their time until the
necessary paperwork was all signed and sealed and the social worker guy,
Hamza, had made his last visit.  Then, without having anybody looking over
their shoulders or checking up that he was okay, they could start profiting
from their new-found asset by pimping out his tight, young body to whoever
came along with enough cash.  And that, he felt sure, wouldn't be the end
of it.  These days there was shit-loads of cash to be made from on-line
stuff.  Stuff like solo sessions.  In those he'd be expected to tease and
titillate unknown numbers of pathetic losers in their own anonymous and
lonely bedrooms by displaying himself, opening himself, jerking himself,
while the dumb punters clicked up tens, hundreds, maybe thousands of hits,
every one of them adding to the family bank balance.  And there might be
scenes of `daddy porn' too, played out on screen with Milo or Dan.  Though,
thinking about it, would they risk that?  No, probably not.  They'd bring
in some has-been model who'd play the part of the older athletics coach
with tight shorts and bulging jockstrap who takes full, and most likely
brutal, advantage of the naïve and vulnerable young high school
athlete.  And the possible variations were endless -- the nerd, the
unsuspecting runaway or the pool boy (not that Dan and Milo had a pool, but
he didn't suppose that would be an insurmountable problem).  So, until he
had no choice but to do whatever perverted thing he was made to do, then
his way of maintaining a sense of control, of self-worth (not that he
thought about it in so many words) was by refusing to co-operate with
`them' or by spending time with `them', or even by speaking to `them'.

If someone had asked him why he included Shania Margelles in with `them'
but not Mrs. Bolton, he would have said that he didn't trust the therapist,
not one bit.  She was trying to get inside his head, trying to find out
what had happened in his life in BA so she could report back to `them' so
that they'd have even more power over him.  But that wasn't gonna happen --
no way Jose! And that was a joke, her being from a Spanish family, but she
could barely speak the language, although it meant he could have some fun
at her expense (there wasn't much fun in his life these days) by sometimes
answering one of her stupid questions with a made up weather forecast or a
description of one of his favourite soccer matches.  Fuck knows what she
thought he was saying and the expression on her face, trying to look
knowledgeable and concerned, only helped make the situation even funnier
from where he sat, staring at the ever-changing display of random pictures
on the walls of her office.  And don't get him started on the number of
different colours she dyed her hair.  So no, he didn't trust her one inch
and because of that she deserved to be included with `them'.

But the teacher, old Mrs. Bolton, she was different.  She wasn't one of
`them' and wasn't looking to take advantage of him in any way.  She was
nice and comfortable and reminded him a little bit of a woman at Our Lady
of Flowers who had once given him an old but clean T-shirt at a time when
his mum was too far gone on the drugs to realise how small and filthy his
own one had become.  But most importantly, Mrs. Bolton didn't treat him
like a little kid, even though a lot of the learning stuff she did with him
was way below what he should have been studying at his age.  The very first
time she'd come to the apartment she'd sat him down and explained that,
because he'd missed such a lot of school, that meant she'd have to cover
topics with him that would usually be done with much younger kids, but she
promised that she'd never treat him as anything other than a growing
teenager, and that if he worked hard at the little kid lessons it wouldn't
be long before they could move on to other stuff ("More age-appropriate
material, you know.").  And she'd kept to her word, never talking down to
him and finding lots of ways to make the lessons interesting and fun for,
what she quickly realised was, a naturally able student.  The result was
that he was soon eating up anything and everything she put in front of him
and he never once considered giving her the same silent treatment that he
used on everyone else.  One day she told him that she didn't think it would
be long before he could start lessons at Greenside High ("It's about time
you started mixing with people your own age, you know."), a prospect that
filled him with a mixture of relief, excitement and anxiety.  Not that he
thought it would ever happen, not once he legally belonged to `them' and
was spending all his time selling himself in order to make money for
`them'.

And that's how Nico was with all the various characters who now peopled the
story of his new life, right from day one of his time with Dan and Milo (he
refused to think of them as D'n'M as that would be too much like accepting
them as a normal couple).  Later, a long time later, when asked to sum up
how he'd behaved during those first few weeks in the country, he had no
difficulty in replying, "Wary, silent and defiant," he said, grinning.  "I
must have been such a pain in the butt."  The grin turned to laughter.  "If
things hadn't started to turn around that first weekend I spent with Gramps
and Dan's folks, I'm pretty sure that one of the uncles would have killed
me.  And the other one would have helped get rid of the body!"

But, day in, day out, before he began to get his head on straight during
that very important weekend, he got used to waking up every morning,
expecting the worst but also refusing to give up without fighting back,
protecting himself with the wall that he'd built up right from the time
when he was four or five years old and had begun to realise that, without
it, he wouldn't survive to see six.

But he was long past being six years old on the morning that Milo dropped
Nico off at the Reed house as Helen had organised.  She and Roger were both
in the kitchen, where he was constructing a gigantic pile of pancakes and
she was half way through her third coffee of the morning, reading the
newspaper on her tablet.  The two of them, along with Gerry, had spent a
lot of time planning how the weekend was going to go.  The most important
thing, they'd all agreed, was to carry on as normal and treat the boy as if
he was any other teenager.

"Let's face it," Gerry had pointed out, "We all know of kids who've gone
through the silent and surly phase.  In that respect, Nico's no different.
The fact that he doesn't speak ..."

"Won't speak," corrected Roger.

"The fact that he doesn't speak," Gerry had continued, "Shouldn't mean that
we treat him any different.  We've got a shed load of stuff planned for
these two days, so we just need to get on with it.  Nico will either join
or he won't.  Either way, we treat him as normal.  Yes?"

Not surprisingly, as the whole weekend thing had been her idea, Helen had
been in full agreement.  "100%," she replied.

Roger, more sceptical right from the start, had simply nodded.  But now,
after having had several `persuasive' discussions with his wife,
emphasising how important this weekend was for D'n'M, possibly for the very
survival of their relationship, Roger had come around and was fully on
board and committed to its success.

"Good morning."  He smiled at Milo and Nico as they walked into the room.
"You staying for breakfast, M?"

"No thanks, I ate first thing."  He turned towards Helen.  "D said this
weekend is your idea.  Thanks.  It'll be good for Nico to get out of the
apartment for a couple of days."  Helen glanced up from her tablet and
wished he both looked and sounded more convincing.

"It's our pleasure.  The poor boy must be sick of the sight of the same
four walls every day.  And of your two sad faces," she added with a grin,
turning towards Nico, who didn't reply, either with his mouth or his
overall expression.  In truth, he was still trying to work out what was
going on.  Why was he suddenly having to spend time with these people, The
`Nico Minders'?  The old man, Gramps, was turning out to be pretty much
okay and, so far at least, harmless.  He certainly hadn't tried anything
on.  And Helen -- she'd told him that he was never to call her Mrs. Reed --
well, like he'd told himself before, he didn't believe she could have
anything to do with selling him off to anyone and everyone who had the
money.  That just left Roger.  Nico didn't know about Roger.  Of the Nico
Minders, he was the one who had spent least time at the apartment and, when
he did, never tried to get him to leave his room or to talk.  In fact, Nico
thought, as he stood there in the kitchen, not really listening to the
boring, grown-up conversation going on between the other three, Roger was
the one of the adults who showed least interest in him, seemingly content
to just leave him alone.  He wished the others would do the same,
especially Milo who, he suddenly realised, had already left.

"I bet you won't refuse a second breakfast, eh Nico?" Roger asked.  "I've
never yet met a fourteen-year-old boy who wasn't hungry 24/7.  And I've got
this pile of pancakes here that won't keep.  So sit yourself down and tuck
in."

And that's how the time rolled by for the next two days.  Once all the
pancakes were gone (Nico was hugely impressed with Roger's ability to eat)
they set off for the mall where they met up with Gerry and set about, what
Helen described as, "Some serious shopping."  The day's list focused on
clothing for sports.  The first stop was for soccer kit at A&R Sports.  As
far as Nico was concerned, it was like stepping into his very own, personal
Aladdin's cave.  But then it looked as if his excitement was going to be
short-lived when Helen explained that he would need two sets of regulation
Greenside High kit and that there was no choice about that.  Bummer!
"But," she said, "We know that's not very exciting, so you can pick out two
more outfits in the colours of any team or teams you like.  That sound
okay?"

Okay?  Was she joking?  It wasn't just okay, it was totally awesome.  A
smile erupted onto Nico's face.  He hadn't been this happy since he'd first
arrived in the country.  In fact, he was so overwhelmed by what he was
being offered that he almost forgot about his self-imposed silence and half
opened his mouth to speak, a reaction that didn't go unnoticed by Helen.

With two Greenside High outfits in the bag, along with one each in the
colours of the Argentine national team and another for Real Madrid, Roger
and Gerry led Nico over to the far corner of the store.  When Helen made to
follow she was told, very firmly, that this was "boys' stuff" and that her
input or opinion weren't required.  She remembered similar `boys only'
shopping trips in the past and smiled inwardly to herself.  It was good to
see the tradition being maintained she thought.  It would help Nico feel
accepted.  So Nico found himself in the area of the store devoted to items
designed to be worn by men and boys under their sports kit, including
jockstraps, cups and other types of athletic support and protection.  Lined
up in front of him were racks and racks of Under Armour, Gladiator and
Decathlon compression shorts, along with Pump, Skuda, Calvin Klein and any
number of unbranded jocks.  There was every size and colour you could
imagine, and every one of them screamed "Danger!"  Nico was instantly on
his guard, his hackles raised.

`So, this is it,' he thought.  He knew it had been too good to be true.
`Finally.  They think they've softened me up, buying me all this soccer
kit, and now we get to the serious stuff, like what they'll make me wear to
appeal to the punters.  And they've kept Helen away so she doesn't see what
they're doing.'  He felt his shoulders stiffen.  He knew there was no point
in trying to resist, in the end they had control, he knew that, but he
wasn't going to make it easy.  No way.

Just then they were approached by a tall, strikingly handsome man dressed
in the distinctive green A&R Sports corporate uniform.

"Hi.  My name's Ty.  I'm the manager of this department.  How can I help
today?"

"We're shopping for my grandson here, Nico," replied Gerry.  "We've got
lots of kit for soccer and now we're looking for the sort of boy stuff that
you wear underneath.  If you get my meaning."

"Yes, sir.  Perfectly.  Nico, here, looks to me like a growing boy and
likely to be in need of some proper support when he takes part in sports.
Well, you've come to the right place.  As you can see, we have a good range
and variety of the type of product you're looking for.  Is there anything
in particular that you ..."

Ty didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. Roger, who hadn't said
anything up to this point but who had been looking Ty up and down,
interrupted.

"I'm sorry to butt in."  He turned and looked at Gerry first and then Ty.
"But I think I recognise you, Ty.  It's going back a few years now, but I
used to come in here quite a lot, buying sportswear for my son, Dan Reed,
and his friend, Milo.  Milo de Beer.  Do you happen to remember them?"

Milo?  Oh yes, Ty remembered Milo.  He was a very memorable young man from
what, twelve, fifteen years ago?  Nicely hung for his age and an impressive
shooter.  It was a very sweet memory, but definitely not one to be shared
with any of the three customers standing in front of him today.

"Yes, sir, I remember you and your boys.  I was a young trainee here at the
time.  As I recall, they were both of them very keen on their sports.
Soccer and gymnastics wasn't it?"

"Swimming," replied Roger.  "My son Dan was soccer and Milo was swimming.
Vice-captain of the Greenside team."

Nico's ears pricked up.  Dan was into soccer?  Wow!  He didn't know that.
He wondered what team he might support.

"And my grandson here is Milo's nephew, and, maybe, he'll follow in his
uncle's footsteps, so we'd best add a couple of swimsuits to the list."  Ty
nodded, still thinking back to that time with Milo, just the two of them in
the room at the back.  He looked at Nico who appeared to be wearing an
attitude that was somewhere between terrified and belligerent.

"The thing is, Ty, Nico's only recently arrived in the country having spent
his entire life so far in South America.  I think he's finding this whole
experience pretty difficult, especially this particular part of it.  If you
get my meaning."  Roger put one hand down and cupped his junk, tipping his
head towards Nico as he did so.  "How would it be if me and his grandpa
went and found my wife and had a coffee at the stall across the mall from
here, while you help Nico get sorted with the items that he needs?  That
okay with you both?  And with you, Gerry?"

Gerry nodded.

Ty noticed that surprise had been added to the mix of emotions on Nico's
face.

"Leave it with me, Mr. Reed.  You go and enjoy your coffee.  We'll soon get
this young man sorted with everything he needs."  Ty smiled in Nico's
direction in an attempt to help him feel more comfortable than he clearly
did at that moment.  It didn't work.

"Fine," Roger replied.  He turned to go.  "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Nico doesn't speak."  And with that, Roger joined Gerry before they both
went to find Helen, leaving Nico and Ty together.

`Doesn't speak?' thought Ty.  `Doesn't or won't?'  He looked directly at
Nico.  A good-looking boy, a couple of years into puberty, give or take,
was Ty's assessment.  `Yes, he'll certainly need something to keep his
growing junk under control, and not just when he's doing sports.'

"Okay, Nico, let's go take a look at what we've got to offer and see what
you might like to try for size."  He led his customer back to the range of
merchandise.  "See anything you fancy?  Take your time.  We're in no rush."

Nico was having trouble keeping his thoughts and emotions under control.
Had he just been handed over to his first punter?  Maybe all this talk of
jockstraps and swimsuits was a clever trick to get him out of his clothes
so that this Ty guy could break him into his new life, like a foal being
broken ready for riding.  Whatever, he knew better than to make a run for
it.  Where would he go?  And anyway, if this was his inevitable future, he
might as well accept what fate had in store for him and get on with it.
For a first john this guy could be a lot worse.  At least he wasn't old and
fat and oily like so many of the men who'd fucked him back in BA.  He
randomly pointed to a couple of pairs of compression shorts.

"Okay, so you prefer the shorts.  If I remember correctly, your uncle Milo
was exactly the same.  I think those are probably a bit on the big side,"
said Ty, smiling, as he picked out two other pairs by the same manufacturer
but in a smaller size.  "I estimate that you're probably a 28 waist.  Maybe
even a 26.  We'll know better when you try these on."  He led Nico to a
curtained changing cubicle off to one side of the department.  "You go in
there and try them for size.  I'll be right outside.  If you need any help
or advice, just shout out."

As he stood outside, not too close but within easy earshot, Ty thought
about Nico and about Milo and about how he'd be very happy to `serve' the
nephew in the same way that he had the uncle.  Oh yes, the boy's
newly-developed dick and balls would, he had no doubt, handle very nicely.
A decent handful, he guessed.  And could he produce the same large quantity
of jizz as Milo had that memorable day?  Ty would very much like the
opportunity to find out, and Nico was perfect.  And, let's face it, Ty told
himself, the boy had been more or less handed to him on a plate.  Not to
mention the fact that it had been three or four days, at least, since he'd
hooked up with anyone.  All he had to do was wait a minute or two and then
`accidentally' walk into the cubicle, saying he'd come to check that Nico
was okay.  Easy.  But Ty was no pervert, not to mention the fact that he
must have been, what, twenty years older than the boy?  There was no way he
was gonna risk spending years staring at the inside of a prison cell, no
matter how tempting the boy might be.  No, but he'd definitely be making a
visit to the staff rest room just as soon as Nico's shopping trip was over,
and visiting one or two of the local gay bars later that evening.

Meanwhile Nico removed his basketball shorts and underwear and waited.  And
waited.  And waited some more.  After several minutes, when Ty didn't
appear, a very confused Nico put his clothes back on and stepped outside.
What the fuck was going on?  Why hadn't the guy come into the cubicle and
taken up the offer of being the first to sample Nico's body?  It made no
sense.

"How was that?" asked Ty, walking towards where Nico was standing.  "Did
they fit okay?"  Nico nodded, even though he hadn't tried on any of the
stuff he'd taken into the changing cubicle.

"Good, that means you can choose a couple of swimsuits in the same size and
then you'll be good to go as soon as your grandpa and Mr. Reed get back.

And that's exactly what happened, Nico leaving the shop some fifteen
minutes later with two bags full of soccer kit and another with a
collection of compression shorts and swimsuits which might, or might not,
be the right size.  Anyone walking by would have seen those bags and known
that some serious shopping had taken place that morning.  What they
wouldn't have seen was the serious thinking that Nico was doing, all
through lunch at the mall's very good Chinese place and during the journey
to their next destination, which turned out to be the town's soccer
stadium.

Once they'd parked up, and as they walked from the car to the ticket booth,
Gerry put a hand gently on Nico's shoulder and explained,

"We're gonna watch a real crunch match between our local town team and the
guys who are our main challengers for this season's title.  We've been
pretty much even all year and whoever wins today will be in pole position
to win the league.  It won't be anything like the standard of the English
Premier League or the Bundesliga, but the guys out on the pitch will be
playing like it is."

Gerry continued to chat to Nico as they queued for their tickets and all
the way to their seats.  The boy listened carefully to what his grandfather
had to say, surprised that he seemed to know so much about the sport.  Once
they'd found their seats he looked around.  He had thought that A&R Sports
had been great, but now he was in heaven.  A proper soccer match.  Between
two teams of professional players.  He'd never been to an actual match
before, only ever watched on TV.  It felt unreal.  This was exactly what
he'd dreamed about for so many years, what he hoped would be his future
career.  Sitting between his grandfather and Roger, they explained that the
teams they were going to be watching maybe weren't in the top league, not
even the second, but that it was likely to be a very competitive and
hard-fought match nonetheless, between sides that had been rivals for
decades.  Nico listened to what the two men were saying but gradually his
attention shifted.  He became totally wrapped up in the excitement of the
moment, in the noise, in the colour, in the whole
`this-is-as-good-as-life-gets' moment.  Nico was in a world of his own,
imagining that he was down there on the pitch, weaving his way through a
forest of opposition players before letting loose with a tremendous
right-footed volley and watching the ball gracefully sail past the goal
keeper into the back of the net.  Of course, the crowd went wild and he was
lifted up onto the shoulders of his team mates in celebration of the best
goal of the season.  It was only once the half-time whistle was blown and
he had subsided back into his seat that Nico began to listen again to what
the two men were saying.

"You know, Gerry, I really miss this.  I always used to go down to the
school to watch Dan's games.  I miss it."

"Yeah, your Dan was a good little player in his day," agreed Gerry.

"And he really loved it, too.  It's a crime that he had to stop playing.  I
think he had a chance of really making it to be captain of the team."
Roger's voice sounded something between angry and wistful.

"But you can't blame the boy, not after what that bastard Coach Roberts did
to him.  And to all those other boys."

"True.  The only good thing to come out of all that mess is the fact that,
thanks to D and the support he got from your boy Milo, those abused boys
finally got some sort of justice."

"Yeah, Roberts is still rotting in jail."

"Good thing too.  The longer the better."

Nico didn't notice the players returning to the field, he was too busy
trying to make sense of what he'd just heard.  Dan used to play soccer?
And he was good at it?  And who was Coach Roberts and what had he done?  It
must have been big, that was for sure, if he was still in jail for it years
later.  Roger had said something about abuse.  Could that mean that this
Coach Roberts guy had been a paedo and that Dan had been one of his
victims?  Shiiiit!  That was big.

Nico was feverishly trying to add together all this unexpected and
startling information when he was shaken out of his thoughts by a huge roar
as everyone around him leapt to their feet.  Gerry and Roger were both
grinning like idiots and slapping each other on the back.  The home team
must have scored, and he had been too much inside his own head to even
notice.  But if he was right and two plus two really did make four, then
whatever was happening down there on the pitch just didn't matter any more.
If Dan had been abused, if Milo had helped him through it, if they had made
sure the abuser got put in jail, then how did that add up to a scheme to
make money by renting him out?  So many ifs.  So many questions.  So much
to think about.

The match ended in a 3-0 win for the home team, and Roger and Gerry spent
the entire journey back to the Reed home celebrating the result, almost as
if they'd actually been playing for the winning team themselves.  Nico
couldn't help smiling as the two men dissected every accurate pass, every
successful tackle and, of course, all three "incredible" goals.  But mostly
he spent the time going over and over in his head the ever-growing puzzle
of his new life.  Sitting there, in the back of the car, he realized that,
since day one, no-one had been anything but kind to him, or said a
threatening word, or raised an angry voice, or lifted an aggressive hand.
A lot of money was being spent to bring his education up to speed and to
kit him out with clothes and sports gear and electronic stuff.  And now, if
his adding up of two plus two was correct, he'd found out that Dan had,
himself, once been the victim of some sort of abuse -- probably sexual from
the sound of what Roger and Gerry had said -- and had given up the sport
he'd loved and been good at as a result.  He knew that his uncle Milo was
struggling with the on-going silent treatment and that Dan was increasingly
frustrated with the upturning of their previous, settled lives.  Dan's
parents seemed very willing to give up a lot of time to fill the gaps left
by Dan and Milo's time at work, and Gerry, his gramps, was endlessly kind
and thoughtful and patient.  And all of this, everything that was swirling
round in his increasingly confused and unsettled mind, was nothing like how
his mum had described it to him, over and over through all the years of his
childhood.  It just didn't add up.

Confusing thoughts continued to fill his head all the way through their
arrival at the Reed house and the congratulatory banter that followed and
through the dinner that was waiting for them.  The adults had got used to
his silence so it was easy for him to go through the automatic motions of
eating without speaking, but all the time his thoughts were desperately
trying to untie the knot that they'd got themselves into.  By the time he
arrived at Gerry's house Nico was exhausted, partly by the day's events but
mostly by the amount of mental energy he had burned through.

Gerry led him up the stairs to a large room at the back of the house.  It
looked and smelled newly decorated and furnished, though he was really too
tired to take much notice.  He just wanted to sleep. "This," said Gerry,
"Is your room, son, yours to use whenever you want.  You'll always be
welcome in this house and I want you to think of it as just as much your
home as the apartment with your uncle Milo and D."

Nico mustered a half smile in his grandfather's direction which was
returned with a warm and comforting hug.

"Goodnight, Nico, my boy."  And, as Gerry turned to go, "We're all good
people, you know.  We're not the enemy and I hope you soon find a way to
believe that and to start to trust us."

With that Nico was left alone as Gerry closed the bedroom door.  He toed
off his Nikes and fell onto the bed.  He was so tired that he couldn't be
bothered to take off anything else.  He needed to sleep.  But sleep
wouldn't come.  Like a little child he'd become over tired, but unlike a
little child it wasn't his body that was worn out and couldn't relax into
sleep, it was his brain.  Round and round and round went his thoughts,
chasing each other in what seemed to him to be a non-stop race to trap him
in an impenetrable mental maze of his own making.

Pictures of his old life lit up the inside of his closed eyelids.  Of the
dark and dangerous back alleyways of Buenos Aires.  Flash!  Of `that room'
in Los Sueños.  Flash!  Of Tori standing outside the door of the
slum room in Villa 31.  Flash!  Of countless disgusting fuckers.  Flash!
Flash!  Flash!  Of Su Excelensia's engorged cock.  Flash!  Of the creepy
home of Señor and Señora Roja.  Flash!

Then, without warning, the images changed.  There was Mrs. Bolton telling
him how well he was doing.  Flash!  Helen hugging him when he first arrived
at the apartment.  Flash!  Racks and racks of stuff to choose from in A&R
Sports.  Flash!  Flash!  The crowded soccer stadium.  Flash!  His
grandfather with a gentle hand on his shoulder.  Flash!

Laying there with his eyes still closed Nico was completely spent.  He felt
as if every ounce of energy had been drained out of him, but still be
couldn't sleep.  What he wanted, no, needed, more than anything, was his
mum.  He needed the simple and basic reassurance of her presence.  Yes, he
knew, better than anyone, what a worse-than-useless mother she'd been, but
she was the only mum he'd ever had, would ever have.  And he needed her to
answer his hundreds of questions about these people who she had bad-mouthed
and raged about his entire life but who had turned out to be the complete
opposite of everything he'd been expecting and preparing himself against.
But most of all he wanted to stop feeling so sad, so adrift, so, so ... so
lonely.

He climbed off the bed, stripped off his clothes and pulled on his sleep
shorts and T.  He made sure the cord in the shorts was securely tied and
then opened the bedroom door.  He walked down the dark hallway trying,
first one closed door and then a second.  Neither room had what he was
looking for.  Then it was third time lucky.  He quietly walked in and, by
the moonlight shining in through a gap in the slatted blinds, made his way
across the room.  He reached his destination, lifted the covers and eased
himself into the bed.  He felt the comforting warmth of the body that was
already lying there.  Within seconds of his head hitting the pillows he was
fast asleep.

**********

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