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William King

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  1. Latest Story Updates

    I posted chapter 12 today, in exactly the same way as always, without any problem. It appeared on the list of Latest Story Updates immediately. When I posted chapter 11, awhile ago now, it did not appear on the list. INFO: Pasted chapter to GA, add new chapter Edited to centre section breaks Saved without publishing Checked for errors Published chapter This is what I always do, nothing different. Using a Samsung Tablet running Android. As I said, it is working normally now. I did receive a message from a reader telling me they found GA was not working for a time, "The site has been a bit buggy for me the last few days with access down a couple days ago as well." Hope this helps.
  2. If you are reading my book Refugee, the chapter updates are coming online more frequently, but are not always showing up in Latest Stories. So keep an eye out, follow, and don't miss out or miss chapters. 


    Chapter 10 was posted Friday, chapter 11 on Saturday, and chapter 12 (the latest chapter) today.


    Happy reading!

  3. Chapter 12

    Chapter Twelve - Kos. The ferry from Bodrum left right on time at 9:30 the next morning, it was a short crossing. Just over an hour later, Jordan was walking along the road from the harbour in Kos. The sun peeked through rolling clouds that tumbled over a calm sea. He stopped on the deserted promenade, sitting down on one of the wooden benches beneath the tall palm trees. A bicycle approached; then glided almost silently behind him on the cycle path. Looking out to sea, he could easily make out the dark grey shape of the Turkish mainland. He took his phone from the pocket of his jeans, studied the screen a moment, thinking what he was going to say. Then he found the boys' number and hit call. There was a short gap before it rang, once, twice... Jordan looked out across the path and railings at the gently moving waves. "Ello...," the voice at the other end answered. "It's Jordan... is that you Amar?" he asked. "Yes, Mister Jordan. How do you doing?" It was difficult not to smile; he didn't recall that Amar dropped his Hs. Always the joker, perhaps he was laying on the foreign accent a bit thick. "I'm doing fine, Amar. I'm in Greece." "Good for you, Mister Jordan. We are all still here." "Is everything okay there?" Jordan hoped there hadn't been any problems. "Everything is good. Don't worry. Hey, Firas wants to say hello." "Jordan," that was Firas' voice, "it is so good to hear from you. Did you have a nice trip?" "Yes, Firas," Jordan liked the boy a lot. Despite all the stuff he'd been through, he always seemed cheerful. Always willing to help people, never one to put himself first. "And you? Are you okay?" "Yes, yes, everything is okay. Mehmet is kind, Fadil is also kind. I'm helping in the kitchen sometimes." "Okay, good," Jordan replied. "And Samir?" "Yes, Samir too. He is good. Don't say much, but a word sometimes. He's got Amar. Those two... you know." Yes, he did know. Jordan could easily recall those two having sex in the hotel room. He'd not said anything, but it hadn't escaped his attention. That incident and the way the two of them were with each other all the time. "Well good," Jordan told him. "I'll call again tomorrow. I'm off to meet my uncle now." "Goodbye, Jordan." The line went dead. As he replaced the phone in his pocket, he kept thinking about Firas. He was he supposed the one on his own, but then the three of them were a tight knit group, even if the other two had something going on between them. He stood up and continued on to the marina. Once there it was easy to find Uncle Ted's yacht, even though he'd never seen it before, the marina was not very big, and he'd got precise directions. Ted and Jordan had done quite a bit of sailing together back home, but that was a few years ago and on a different boat. It was his uncle who more or less taught him all he knew about sailing, and it was his uncle who pushed him to get qualified. Which he had, at least as far as coastal navigation. That was after all what they had done back in Virginia, but they had done quite a few weekends and some holidays sailing the Chesapeake Bay and even up the Potomac. Uncle Ted was a long time member of the Virginia Yacht Club, based near Deltaville at Dozier’s Marina. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Jordan smiled at his uncle standing at the other end of the gangplank. "Jordan!" Uncle Ted exclaimed. "Come onboard, lad, we've been waiting for you." As, of course, he didn't have his boat shoes packed with him, he just removed his shoes and came aboard carrying them. Martha was right behind Ted, she must have been below deck. "Jordan! Jordan!" Martha had him bound between her arms and was hugging him somewhat embarrassingly into her ample bosom. "Well it's good to see you too," he was saying whilst trying to extricate himself and shake Ted's proffered hand. "Come along, Martha, leave the lad free. Let's get his gear stowed. There'll be plenty of time for catching up." Just as he'd freed himself from the exuberant Martha, and was about to follow Ted, a rather striking black haired young man appeared. This stopped Ted and Jordan on the spot, "This is Pierre," Ted made the introductions. "Pierre, meet Jordan, our wonderful young nephew." Now Jordan really was embarrassed, if he was used to Martha smothering him, he was not expecting to be introduced as the 'wonderful young nephew' to such a strikingly handsome guy. The whole situation, however difficult it may have been for Jordan, just passed over Pierre like a sea breeze. He jumped around Martha and offered his hand along with a broad white teethed smile. "Very pleazed to meet you," he said with an unmistakable French accent. "Likewise," Jordan replied feeling the firm grip and thinking Pierre kept hold of his hand just a little longer than was customary. 'Perhaps that's how they do it in France, at least he didn't kiss me.' Ted snapped him out of his thoughts as he started down the steps calling, "Come on, Jordan. Follow me, lad." He walked behind Ted, through the small lounge and galley. His uncle opened the door to a tiny cabin in the bow of the yacht. There was barely room for him to squeeze past Ted and into the cabin; they both had to bend their heads. "You and Pierre are in here, Martha and I have the aft cabin. Get your gear stowed and come back on deck. We'll have a little drink before lunch... to celebrate." The four of them managed to squeeze onto the bench seat that curved around one side of the little table. This was not a big yacht, with four adults there was a lot of squeezing past each other, but nobody minded, it was part of life onboard. Jordan was seated in between Martha on one side and Pierre the other, he was acutely aware of Pierre's leg resting against his. The physical contact made him glance to his left to catch a glimpse of this young man, he wondered how old he was, twenty something, maybe? "A beer, Jordan?" Ted had brought drinks over, which he was setting down on the table. "Or something stronger if you prefer." "You know I hardly ever drink, Uncle Ted," Jordan smiled. "Special occasion," Ted replied handing him a beer. "Yes, we haven't seen you in a good while," Martha added. "You were in Turkey?" Pierre asked, whilst accepting a beer from Ted. "Yes, near the Syrian boarder. Working for Christian Aid," Jordan told him. Now everyone had a drink, Ted interrupted to propose a toast. "To Jordan, and his safe return!" They all clanked glasses and sipped their drinks. Martha passed snacks around, and at the same time asked Jordan, "How were things there?" "Oh, Martha it's a terrible situation. The town is flooded with thousands of refugees fleeing the war." "And what exactly was your job?" Pierre asked him. "I basically helped wherever they needed someone. In the clinic, walking the streets collecting orphans, anything and everything." "Collecting orphans?" Ted asked curious about what exactly that meant. "Yeah," Jordan replied, "there are loads of kids without any family. Kids working in run down workshops twelve hours a day to earn enough to eat. Living in slums. Doing whatever to survive. And of course it's not safe." "But, are there no places for them to be looked after?" Ted sounded concerned. Martha too was listening intently. "Yeah, there are, but they are pretty full. And then it's a question of finding the kids, and getting them to go there." "Ah, I see," Ted replied. Jordan thought maybe this was the time to come right out with his story about the boys. "There are three boys in particular, Ted," Jordan launched into a brief telling of their story. "I took them with me when I left Gaziantep, and I've left them in Antalya. I promised to find a way to help them." He glanced at Martha who covered his hand with hers in a sympathetic gesture. "I just can't abandon them, they're teenagers, fourteen, fifteen, and seventeen." "And what will you do for these boys?" Pierre asked. "Yes," Ted chimed in, before Jordan could reply, "you can't take on everybody's woes, Jordan. Even if they are children. You know the first thing they always tell you when you start working in these places, is 'don't get personally involved, keep your distance'." "Yes, I know, but it's not so easy. And sometimes it just doesn't work out like that. Sometimes things just happen, and you find you are involved." "Jordan, dear," Martha was gently squeezing his hand. She no doubt sensed he was upset. Martha could always see the sensitive nature of Jordan, even if her husband never noticed it. "I don't really think that there is much you can do." "But there is, Martha," Jordan insisted. "We could go get them out of there." "Now, Jordan," Ted was addressing him a bit like he was the child he used to take out yachting. "You can't seriously think we can go sailing off to Turkey on some sort of rescue mission. Come on, think about it." "Yes, Jordan," Pierre joined in the argument. "They issued a notice to all private boats in this part of the Med, it's very clear, anyone who’s taking refugees will be arrested as a criminal. If you see refugees you must call the coast guard." Jordan felt disheartened, as if they were all against him. He wondered now what he could do. "Jordan," Martha was talking softly. "Don't worry about all that now. You need a good night’s rest and things will look better in the morning." That was one of those expressions mirrored by his mother, but he wasn't at all convinced 'things would look better in the morning.' However, Martha was being her usual motherly self, and if Pierre's information was correct, well there wasn't much more to be said. No, he knew his uncle; Ted was a very level headed person, not someone to throw caution to the wind. Best he thought to let it drop, for now. He'd have to rethink his plans. "Well, how about a spot of lunch?" Ted jumped up. "I thought I'd take us all out for lunch today." Pierre smiled as he extricated himself from the seat; Jordan followed him out, sliding across. They stood together on the dock waiting for Ted and Martha. "I might have a way to help you," Pierre told Jordan. "We can talk later, maybe." Jordan looked at him, he definitely was an attractive guy, and nice with it, he thought. Jordan gave him a little smile as first Ted, then Martha joined them. "It's not far," Ted said. "We can walk." They set off, Ted and Martha ahead of Jordan and Pierre. The sun was casting rays through the clouds, it was quiet except for the distant screech of a seagull, and actually felt warm in the sunshine. There was no wind, just a faint sea breeze. As he glanced over towards the sea, Jordan couldn't help wondering what the boys were doing now. ***** Firas had been helping in the kitchen; Amar and Samir had gone out, saying they needed a change. Well it was Amar who said that, Samir just went along with him, and Firas didn't object, because he felt a bit like the third wheel. Now lunchtime was finished and Firas had stacked the dishes after doing the washing up. He went back to their room, leaving Fadil sweeping the floor. Not long after, he was surprised to see Fadil enter the bedroom. He hadn't really got to know the older boy, for one thing there was the language, but that wasn't the main reason. No, though Fadil seemed nice enough, maybe it was just sharing a bed. Somehow it felt a bit odd, Firas was lonely, and it felt strange having the older boy in the same bed, but being scared to do anything. He didn't want to mess things up. Jordan had told them, before he left, to be on their best behaviour. Fadil sat down on the bed and looked over at Firas who was moving around half staring out of the window. "You like me?" Fadil asked, talking to the back of Firas' head. He turned around and smiled back at the older boy. Standing now with his back to the window, his gaze moved to focus on some imaginary point on the floor between the two of them. It was not how you would usually see Firas, but with this boy he was shy. Fadil stood up and crossed over to him. He reached out with his arm and took hold of Firas beneath his chin, raising his head to look into his eyes. "I think you do," Fadil told him. The feel of that touch and the controlled assuredness of the older boy started a fire in his loins, he felt himself respond. Fadil moved closer, so close their bodies were almost touching. He was taller than Firas by maybe thirty centimetres or more. Firas didn't move away as the other boy pulled him into a tight embrace. His now rigid cock strained against his jeans, he felt the hardness repeated in the boy who was hugging him. Fadil's warm breath was near his ear, one hand was resting on his arse. "I can fuck you. You like it?" Those words sent a shiver through his body, his cock pushed harder against the boy holding him. He felt the moisture seeping from the tip of his erection. He desperately wanted to be naked. "Yes," he managed to answer, his heart pounding at the idea. Fadil released his hold and took a step back. He brushed a hand gently, like a feather, across Firas' cheek. With deft fingers, he undid the younger boy's jeans, pulled down the zipper, gripped the sides, and slid the jeans and his underpants down below his knees. His cock shot straight out and pointed upwards, glistening and bouncing in its newly found freedom. Next he knelt down in front of Firas, he ignored his bobbing erection, instead, carefully untying his laces. As Fadil stood back up, Firas kicked off his sneakers and squirmed his legs out of his jeans. Two hands brushed through his hair and then down to his t-shirt, taking hold and pulling it up, he raised his arms as Fadil lifted it over his head. Firas was now completely naked in front of the other boy. He felt the older boy's eyes on his body, it excited him, anticipation sent jolts of energy through his body, his cock twitched. He wanted Fadil to touch him; he wanted to be held by those strong arms. Fadil untied his own laces and removed his shoes. He undid the button and zipper of his jeans. Bending down he removed his jeans and underwear. Firas' heart was thumping against his chest. He watched the older boy stand up and pull his jumper off. He too was now naked. Firas' eyes travelled down the older boy's body. There was a line of dark hair leading down from just below his navel to his genitals. A super hard, thick and long penis shot straight out with neat rounded testicles hanging tight below. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to caress that super hard rod, to suck it and pass his tongue over the tip. Fadil rested both hands on Firas' shoulders,; he leaned in and kissed his lips. With a gentle pressure, he pushed the younger boy down. Firas knelt in front of Fadil, he opened his mouth and closed his lips around the boy's manhood. Fadil gripped the younger boy's head with both his hands. He gently moved his hips as Firas gazed up to look into his eyes. He reached under Firas' arms and lifted him back up onto his feet. His eyes rested on the younger boy's bouncing hard on. He knew the boy wanted him. His hands gripped Firas' shoulders and turned him away from him. He pushed the boy's shoulders down. Firas put his arms out resting his palms flat on the cupboard in front of him. Fadil looked at the boy bent over in front of him. His cock jumped. Firas gasped again as Fadil penetrated him. Fadil gripped Firas with both hands on his hips, and slowly, then quickening, started to fuck him. It was really incredible. His mind was detached, his body assaulted. There was no way he could control it, suddenly his whole body was wracked in spasms. Fadil was very close, fucking this boy was amazing, he was slamming his cock all the way into that cute little arse, and his balls were bouncing up and down against him. He felt the younger boy explode. He ploughed his cock deep into him as he came inside the boy, pumping back into him several times until finally resting, hugging his back, and kissing his neck. They separated and moved to collapse naked together on the bed. Rolling to face each other, to touch and plant soft kisses on naked flesh. Their lips once more found each other’s and touched in a gentle embrace. Sometime later, they got up, showered, and dressed. Fadil would be working in the restaurant tonight. Firas might also help again. He thought it would be nice to live here with Fadil, but he knew that wasn't possible, just as he knew, even though Fadil was gentle, he wasn't gay. Don't ask how he knew, he just did. There was something about the older boy that said one day he would be married with his own family. It was the same with Jordan. Firas had wondered about having sex with him, he would have, if Jordan had wanted, but he knew Jordan was not gay either. He hoped he would see him again; he wasn't certain about that. ---
  4. Chapter 11

    Chapter Eleven - Hope. It was a long walk to the place recommended by the young guy in the cafe, but they found it. The Pansiyon Sibel did not have the stature of a hotel, but was a smart looking guesthouse, which turned out to be a great recommendation. Jordan and the three boys were given a large room on the first floor overlooking the garden. The spacious room even came with a little balcony. There were two single beds on one side of the room and a double on the opposite side. In between, a couple of armchairs had been placed each side of a little table below the window. The bathroom was fully tiled and modern. When the boys stepped through the door behind Jordan, they were very impressed. The contrast between where they had come from and where they were now could not have been more pronounced. Such was the effect Firas sat down on the edge of one of the beds, buried his head in his hands and started crying. Jordan sat next to him, put an arm around his shoulders, and pulled the boy close. When the tears subsided, he gently lifted Firas' chin with the palm of his hand. Looking into his tear stained face Jordan spoke softly, "What's wrong?" Firas burst into tears again and gripped Jordan tightly with both arms around his neck. Jordan brushed a hand through Firas' hair, pushing it back from his forehead where it hung over his eyes. Amar and Samir sat down on the bed the other side of Jordan. There were tears and hugs, until eventually Firas' crying abated. It was Amar who spoke. "He was treated very badly in Gaziantep," he told Jordan in almost a whisper. "What happened?" Amar recounted the story Firas had told them when they were living together with Burhan. He explained how Firas was beaten and abused, thrown out on the street, and found the old man, who was sick. He told Jordan how he worked in a factory twelve hours a day for fifteen lira. He explained how he and Samir arrived, and how they escaped from Syria. By the end Jordan knew their whole history, from the time at the camp, until now. Jordan was shocked. It was difficult to believe what they had been through, but he didn't for one minute doubt the truth of what Amar said. "Why can't Samir speak?" he asked Amar, but at the same time looking past him towards the younger boy. "He can speak," Firas told Jordan, "I heard him once." "You heard him speak!" Amar was shocked. He turned to face Samir. He held him, looked directly into his eyes as if trying to see inside his head. "When?" "It was when Burhan died. He told me he was in paradise." Firas buried his head against Jordan's chest. Amar spoke quietly to Samir, "Can you talk?" a tear fell from the corner of his eye. "Leave him alone, Amar," Jordan told him. "He will speak when he wants to, if he wants to." Amar let go of Samir; a sullen silence filled the room. Jordan rested his chin on top of Firas' head and held him close. He didn’t, however, stop looking at Samir. The silence was finally broken by one word. "Yes," Samir said. Amar wrapped his arms around the boy. He kissed his cheeks, kissed his forehead, tears came to Amar now. "I love you," he told Samir, who had his own arms round Amar. Jordan didn't know what to do, or what to think. He had one abused boy in his arms, another who had spoken for the first time in who knew how long, and a third who was in love with the other boy. Jordan felt overwhelmed, out of his comfort zone. "Listen." Jordan broke the silence. "I'm going to go and meet my uncle." The boys were watching him, Firas lifted his head from Jordan's chest. "I told you he's in Greece, not so far from here, and that's where I'm going... to see him." Jordan felt Firas tighten his grip, Amar was fidgeting around. "Hey, I'm not gonna abandon you, but I will have to leave you alone." He looked over at Amar and Samir, "We'll sort things out... before I leave... and I'll come back." The boys didn't say anything, but were hanging on his every word. Jordan felt like he'd made a promise when he told them that he would come back. Sorting things out in the immediate he could do. Thinking about it, he probably had enough cash to get them some accommodation and to make sure they could eat and look after themselves, but would he be able to come back? He wondered how he could really help them, what could he do to change their situation? ***** Again, silence pervaded the bedroom. The sun was streaming in through the window, the yellow glow reflecting the warmth they were feeling for each other. But mixed with that warmth was apprehension. Amar thought to himself they had really been lucky to come across Jordan. He knew this American was a good person, and he genuinely wanted to help them. He had done a lot already. Even as he reflected on all this, on everything that had happened, Amar had a doubt. He wasn’t sure Jordan would come back. His innate instinct told him not to rely too much on someone else. He needed his own plan. ***** Later that afternoon they all went out together and ended up at the seafront. Their guest house was actually not far from the port. It was not a run down area like the slums where they had lived with Burhan in Gaziantep. The four companions ate a meal in a little restaurant set back in a side passage from the main road. It was a family business with the husband and wife doing the cooking and serving; helped by their son who must have been about the same age as the boys. They spent a while in the restaurant. It wasn't crowded, with just a couple of other tables occupied. Jordan got talking to the owner, who spoke very good English. He had been a tour guide, and he explained the place was usually packed with tourists, but it was not the season now. Jordan told the man, Mehmet Ali, he was looking for accommodation for the boys because he had to go away for a few days. "But what are you doing with these refugees?" Mehmet asked him. Jordan explained he had been working for Christian Aid and brought them here from Gaziantep. He tried not to give too much detail, because he didn't know Mehmet, and it was quite a long story. Besides, maybe being a Turk, he wouldn't be too happy about more Syrians being here, in his country. "You are a too kind man," Mehmet told him when he'd finished explaining their story. Jordan smiled. “Not really Mehmet, it just happened." "Yes, but you didn't have to get involved. Most people would not, I think." Mehmet excused himself a minute to deal with a customer. Before returning to their table he went to have a word with his wife who was serving a couple at the back of the restaurant. Jordan caught her glance as she looked over at them. When he came back Mehmet looked at the boys, and then addressing Jordan he said, "We have enough room so they could stay here when you leave." "Really, are you sure?" Jordan was somewhat taken aback by the unexpected offer. "Sure, they won't go hungry either," he smiled. Mehmet beckoned Jordan to follow him back into the kitchen behind the counter. He introduced his wife, he had to be the translator because his wife didn't speak English. He showed Jordan the bedroom, it was basic, had two old double beds. “Fadil sleeps here, but he can share with the boys.” That was arranged. Jordan told the boys they would be staying with Mehmet, and to be on their very best behaviour. He told them to stay here so he'd know where to find them when he came back. On the way back to the guesthouse, Jordan stopped at one of the many small shops and bought a cheap mobile phone and sim card. That way, he explained, they would be able to keep in touch. When they were back in their room, Jordan sat the three of them down on the bed opposite his. He told them he would try to sort things out when he met up with his uncle, but he didn't know exactly what he would do, or how long it would take. There should be no immediate problems and he'd leave what money he could. Finally, looking at each of them in turn, he said very seriously, "I hope... I can get you to safety. I can't promise. I can only tell you I will do my best." All three of them got up off the bed and in the next minute, he had three boys with their arms around him and each other in some kind of tumble down group hug. Jordan enjoyed the feeling as he let himself fall backwards onto the bed whilst they jostled for position around and on top of him. That night was kind of special. Jordan only hoped he would be able to keep his promise. Even if he hadn't said the actual words, in his heart he knew he had pledged himself to help them. How he got himself into this situation, he wasn't sure. One of the first things he had been told, shortly after arriving in Turkey, was keep your distance, don't allow yourself to get personally attached, but he'd done just that. ***** Amar and Samir were lying together in the bed on the other side of the room. Amar wanted to talk to Samir. Now that he knew the boy could speak he wanted to learn his story, and he wanted to know if Samir felt the same way about him. During the time they had been together Amar had fallen for the boy. They had done nothing together since that one night at Burhan's house. They slept together, they snuggled up and cuddled, but that was it. Amar didn't know how he remained chaste, but he had. Only tonight, after all the things with Jordan, he felt relaxed, almost safe. Being in the same bed with Samir, Amar had purposely turned his back to the boy. He wanted to turn around and speak to him, but it scared him. It scared him to start talking and he didn't want Samir to know how hard he was. ***** Samir had his own ideas, he had his reasons to remain silent. Just as he had his reasons to be with Amar. The first night with the older boy in the camp had been a shock. It was not how he imagined things would happen, but it would be a lie to say he had not thought about it. He knew Amar had strong feelings for him and liked being with him. Samir felt the same but he wasn't sure he would tell him. Tonight he was certain Amar had climbed into bed first and was facing away because he didn't want to show his excitement. It made Samir very hard thinking about this, and about how he was now in control. He shifted his body near to Amar, being careful not to touch the other boy with his erection. It was not easy, because when Samir was hard it stuck straight out, so he was now lying at an angle, their heads next to each other. Samir's arm went over Amar and he moved a little closer still. He traced his hand along the older boy's side, gliding gently down to his hips. Amar shivered, but otherwise remained still. Samir moved as close as possible, snuggling his face into Amar's neck, his hand moving over the boy's hip. Samir felt Amar's body twitch with the shock. Samir's lips touched his neck as he climbed half over his upper torso. His hand found it's way slowly towards Amar's manhood. ***** This was so exciting, Amar thought he might just explode. He tried not to move, not to push out with his hips, he wanted that hand to grip him. A finger traced his tented underpants, moving in the dampness around the tip of his penis, which jumped at the touch. This was too much for Amar. He reached down with his free arm and pulled the band of his underpants down over his cock, squirming halfway out. Samir's hand brushed against the tip and his finger moved over the head. Amar turned to face Samir. His lips found Samir’s, they touched gently, Samir's tongue pushed between his lips and they wrestled with each other. He gripped Amar's cock and placed it underneath his balls, holding it between his legs. Amar broke the kiss and his hand moved over Samir's body. Samir was naked; he'd stripped before getting into bed. As Amar realised this, he also knew the boy wanted sex; he wanted relief probably just as much as Amar did. He pushed forward with his hips pressing his cock deeper between Samir's legs. He felt the boy's erection hard against his stomach and his balls on top of his cock. His hand lay on the small of Samir's back, glided across to cover and gently squeeze the rounded orb of his buttock. Both boys were thrusting against each other with an increasing speed. Their breathing was hot and rapid; they held each other's gaze. Amar's mind shifted to the thought of the younger boy's arse, the idea he was fucking the boy made him push between Samir's legs with more urgency. Samir tightened his thighs to hold the demanding manhood firmly. At the same time, he vehemently moved his hips pushing his cock over Amar's stomach. Amar’s hand slid across Samir's buttocks and his finger followed the line until it rested on that most intimate spot. With a circular pressure, he gently pushed inside. ***** The current streamed from the backs of his legs around his hips, his balls contracted like two tight little nuts. The energy shot through his penis, he leaned away from Amar, arching backwards, he shot a huge stream of curling white liquid which coated Amar's chest, with splotches on his face and in his hair. He screamed a loud curious wailing sound as he emptied his body for the first time in his life. Samir's eyes rolled up in his head, he'd lost himself. He came around clasped in Amar's arms, as the older boy gently brushed a hand across his cheek. ***** If they had intended to be discrete they had definitely failed. Both Jordan and Firas were looking in their direction. Whether Jordan was embarrassed or not, he did nothing. Seeing everything was fine, he turned over, allowing them to clean up the mess with some privacy. Firas, on the other hand, turned and watched a naked Samir slip out of bed, followed by Amar. He rolled over to lay on his back, pulled the sheet down to his thighs, quickly followed by his underpants. He grabbed hold of his stiff cock and started beating off. It was just too much having his friends across the room doing stuff not to get off himself. He was rubbing his fist up and down his erection, gliding his finger across that sensitive spot at the back of the head. He used some spit to lubricate things, but it wasn't really necessary. He turned his head to watch Samir across the other side of the room. Looking at the naked boy bent over cleaning the bed was all it took for Firas to shoot his load. As he relaxed in the wonderful feeling that followed his release, he wondered just what it might be like to have sex with Samir or Amar. ***** The next morning Jordan seemed to give them a curious look, but he never said anything about what happened that night in their bedroom. But that was Jordan, he always played things cool, got on with his life, and tried to avoid conflict. "Okay come on," he was telling them. Firas was ready, but Amar was still putting clothes in a bag, not that there was much to pack, but he'd lost a t-shirt. It was Samir who found it, pulling it from under the bed, holding it up in the air with his arm outstretched and wrinkling his nose. "Yeah, you guys will need to do some washing after I go," Jordan told them. "That should keep you busy this afternoon." Amar grabbed the t-shirt and shoved it scrunched up into the bag. "You will be back?" Firas was looking at Jordan, with a sad expression. "I said, didn't I? Don't worry." Jordan wanted to be reassuring, but he wasn't convinced himself things would work out. "I'll call when I get to Bodrum." Now everybody had everything, they left the guesthouse to make their way back to the restaurant, then Jordan had a bus to catch. He would need to find a hotel in Bodrum, because the ferry to Kos was at 9.30am, there were only two boats a day, and not everyday. Mehmet was just about to go out when they arrived at the restaurant. He left Fadil, his son, the boy they'd seen helping yesterday in the restaurant, to get them settled in. Jordan told him the boys needed to wash some clothes, and Mehmet spoke quickly to Fadil, then he was off. Fadil showed them through to the back of the restaurant and off to the right where the bedroom was. He stood next to one of the beds and pointed, "Me bed," he said, which surprised Jordan, because he didn't know the boy spoke any English. That should make things easier between them. Amar dumped his bag on the other bed, Samir followed him doing the same. Firas just stood looking at Fadil. The other boy smiled, took the bag from Firas and dropped it on the bed. "Me," he pointed a finger at his chest, "you," he pointed at Firas, then put his two hands palms together against the side of his tilted head. Firas returned the smile, understanding that they were to share the other bed. Now that was sorted, Jordan gave each boy a hug and picked up his own bags. Fadil grabbed Jordan's arm, "I show get bus," he said. "Oh okay, great. You guys take care," he told the boys, and turned to leave. There was a strange emotion floating in the air as Fadil left with Jordan. The other three just stood watching. Amar put an arm round Samir when they'd gone and he told them, "Let's sort out the dirty stuff to wash." Fadil left Jordan only when he saw him climb aboard the bus. "Başarılar!" he shouted, smiling. Jordan turned upon hearing Fadil wish him success. "Teşekkür ederim," he replied. He knew how to say thank you in Turkish. ---
  5. Latest Story Updates

    I added a new chapter to Refugee this morning, around four hours ago. Doesn't appear on the Latest Story Updates? Chapter Eleven
  6. Chapter 10

    Part Two - The Land of Promise. "When I thought that I could go no further, I took one step, and then another." Anonymous. Chapter Ten - Antalya. It was early evening when Jordan pulled up at the hotel. Maybe hotel was too grand a name, but no one was complaining. They were just wondering how they'd pay Jordan back. A meal in a restaurant and now a night in a hotel. The boys followed Jordan inside and waited while he registered then got the key. They were thrilled as they climbed the winding staircase to the first floor. Firas was bumping shoulders with Samir, while Amar was talking to Jordan. "This is really good," he told him, "hard to believe I'm not dreaming." Jordan looked at him and smiled, at the same time he couldn't help but notice how excited the other two were. He put the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door. Stepping aside he nodded. There was a mad rush as they all tried to squeeze through the doorway and then just stood there looking. Jordan followed them in, closed the door and stood behind them. Two large beds were separated by a little bedside table, an armchair was placed in one corner by the window, and a little dresser with a mirror stood against the opposite wall. It looked to Jordan like the stage set from an old black and white movie, one ravaged by the passage of time. "Well, I guess one of you will have to share with me," he stepped over to the bed, sat down, and dropped his bag on the floor. He looked up, watching them decide. There was no real decision to make. Amar went and sat on the bed opposite and Samir joined him. Firas took a step towards Jordan. "Oh come on." Jordan smiled patting the bed with his hand." I ain't gonna bite you." Firas sat down beside him and as he did so Jordan grabbed him and tickled his side. Which immediately relaxed Firas, and made Samir giggle. Jordan stopped tickling Firas, who was half-heartedly pushing him away to escape the playful onslaught. Although he didn’t really want to, because he too was enjoying the moment. ***** Amar thought this was the first time he'd ever seen Samir so happy. "Okay, so I'm sure everybody's hungry. Right?" Jordan glanced at Amar and Samir. Samir smiled shyly, but Amar stared down at the floor. He was finding this difficult. Amar had conflicting emotions. He was happy for Samir and Firas, he wanted to enjoy everything they had suddenly been given. Somehow though, he just couldn't help thinking it would end badly. For one thing, even if Jordan was one of those very rare nice guys, like Ayberk, and didn't want paying, it would all end soon. Tomorrow, or the day after, Jordan would go to the airport to catch his plane home. ***** Jordan knew that mixed with their excitement and obvious happiness there was something wrong. He decided to ignore whatever it was. "Come on." He stood up." Let's go find something to eat." That was probably the best thing to do, because the boys simply followed his lead. They left the room, walked out of the hotel, and down the street towards the busy main road a few hundred meters further on. At the first street side café, Jordan stopped and looked at the variety of food displayed behind the glass counter in front of them. It was an explosion of colours and aromas, delicate exotic flavours hovered in the air. The boys surrounded him, a pair on one side, and Firas on the other. Without asking them, he ordered lahmacuns for each of them and three ayrans for the boys, a beer for himself, and then turned to find a table. Arranged in a long row, the tables led away from the street into the back of the cafe. They took their place at the first empty table, nearest the entrance. Firas sat next to Jordan, with Amar and Samir opposite. They weren't kept waiting long before the food and drinks arrived. Lahmacan is a kind of Turkish pizza, mincemeat and thinly chopped vegetables on a doughy bread usually topped with parsley. To eat it you roll it up to make a sort of sandwich. Ayran is a cold yogurt drink. Needless to say, the boys lapped it up; Jordan couldn't help noticing the speed with which they ate. It was almost as if they thought it might disappear off the table before they got to eat it. The cold Ayran was a good choice as it contrasted nicely with the spicy meat. With their stomachs full, they headed back to the hotel. Amar and Samir following behind Firas and Jordan, who had his arm over the boy's shoulders. Once back in their room Jordan suggested they take a shower. He handed out one towel to each boy and then held his arm up with the bar of soap, "Who's first then?" he asked. Amar piped up. "Samir and me." Jordan thought it was kind of cute the two of them wanted to shower together. But not wanting to be left having to share the shower with Firas, he suggested, "Why don't you all go together. It's at the end of the hall." He handed the soap to Amar. Jordan lay on the bed propped up on the pillows, with his hands folded behind his head. He wondered what he could do to help these boys; for the moment, he had no idea. Never in his life had he been in a situation like this. ***** Jordan was the first to wake. He found Firas had snuggled up next to him with one arm lying across his side. Looking over to the bed opposite, the other two boys were asleep together. Amar was facing away from Jordan; his back uncovered and the sheet resting halfway down. For a minute, he just took in the scene, which was somehow very peaceful and beautiful. It put him in a good mood for the day. Carefully, he removed Firas' arm and slipped out of bed. He'd slept in his boxers, but like usual they did not really cover his morning wood. It crossed Jordan's mind that it might be embarrassing if the boys were awake. For some reason he had a sort of guilty feeling, even though it seemed perfectly normal. He grabbed his toothbrush, towel and soap, then closing the bedroom door as quietly as possible made his way down the corridor to the bathroom. On his return, he opened the door to find all three of them up and getting dressed. "Hey, morning, guys," he said, closing the door behind him. "Morning, Jordan!" That was Firas smiling at him. "Good morning, Mr. Jordan," That of course was Amar, laughing at his own joke. Jordan sat down on the bed next to Samir, who looked up and smiled. "Look, when you're ready, we'll head off and we might actually make it to Antalya by lunchtime. What d'ya think?" It was Amar who answered. "Head off," he said. "No, no, Mr. Jordan. I want my head on." The other two joined in his laughter. Jordan stood up, grabbed Amar in an arm lock round the waist, and pulled him down on top of him on the bed. "You really are the joker this morning," "What me?" Amar said in between his giggles. Jordan let go of Amar, stood up again, and smiled. "Yeah you, mister." Why was everybody so excited Jordan wondered? Never mind, it was good they were all in a happy mood. "Okay, come on then. Get your stuff and let's go." Ten minutes later, they were in the Jeep heading out of town on the main road to Antalya. Firas switched the radio on and found a station he liked. The sun was out and it felt like a perfect day. The female voice from the speakers undulated in that typical fashion of eastern music. Jordan smiled looking at the text display on the radio, which announced Yanki - Simge. Firas swayed from side to side in rhythm with the song and the other two waved their arms above their heads. 'Brilliant title for a song,' Jordan thought, even if he couldn't understand the words. By early afternoon, they had covered the remaining distance to Antalya and Jordan got Firas to navigate to the address where he had to deliver the Jeep. It took a few wrong turns, lots of arm waving on the part of Firas, and lots of laughter coming from the back seat, before they finally found it. "You all wait here for me," Jordan told them as they stood in the street in front of the building. "I shouldn't be too long, then I'm coming back to get you and we'll find a room for tonight." Samir gave him a beautiful smile, which for some unknown reason made Jordan just want to hug him. Instead, he put a hand on the young boy's shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze. Turning to Firas and Amar, he repeated, "You wait here." They both nodded and he disappeared into the building. The address was on the first floor, so finding the staircase he climbed up quickly to a corridor, then followed the sign pointing left. It was a frosted glass door with black lettering that announced 'Christian Aid'. Once inside he faced an empty desk and a room filled with cardboard boxes piled everywhere. There were three doors, two to the rear and another glass door on the right, which was half-open. He heard voices from beyond the door, a man and a woman. Just as he was deciding whether to enter, a woman emerged, stopping short when she saw him. "Uh, sorry," he apologised, seeing that he'd startled her. She had a pile of files in her arms. "I'm Jordan, Jordan Mason." The woman observed him a moment before moving across to the desk and dumping the files on top. Quickly recovering her composure, she addressed him, "And what can we do for you, Jordan?" The woman was quite stunning, a little dishevelled, probably from carting stuff around, but that only made her more attractive. He realised that he was looking at her just a little too long when she smiled and repeated, "Oh, Jordan?" That was his wake up call. "Yeah, I... I uh," he stuttered and felt the heat in his face, he was sure he was blushing. If she noticed, the woman gave no hint, but just maintained her smile and nodded. "I have a Jeep outside that I'm supposed to deliver here. I've come from Gaziantep." "George!" she called in the direction of the office. "Jordan is here with the Jeep, from..." She turned back to him. "Where did you say you were from?" "Gaziantep." "Oh yes... From Gaz-nan-tap!" she added for the benefit of George. A man with greying hair and glasses appeared at the inner doorway, walked over and held out his hand. "Welcome to Antalya young man. I'm sorry, but as you can see things are a bit chaotic. Would you be so kind as to give the keys to Mandy?" Jordan reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Jeep. Mandy took them from him. "What am I supposed to do with these George?" she asked somewhat annoyed. "You just keep them in your desk for now," he replied sympathetically, as if he was very used to smoothing her ruffled feathers. "Come in, Jordan," he turned back into his office. "Move those," he indicated more files on a chair in front of his desk. "Sit down." Jordan did as instructed, looking around with the pile of files in his hands for somewhere to put them. "Just dump them anywhere," George said. Then added, "On the floor." Jordan disposed of the files and sat down, whilst George took his seat behind the desk and opened a drawer. He removed an envelope, which he pushed across the desk to Jordan "This is your ticket," George announced, "There has, however, been a change of plans." “But... I am supposed to be on a plane home tomorrow!” "Your Uncle Ted contacted us. He is apparently on a cruise of the Mediterranean and is presently moored somewhere on a Greek island. Anyway, all the details, and some money, are in there." George tapped the envelope with his finger. “So instead of going straight back home, your uncle thought it would be nice to see you, and we've changed your ticket for Greece." Jordan couldn't say anything, it was a fait accompli. He needed a minute to let the news sink in. He knew his Uncle Ted had a yacht, but he hadn't seen him in well over a year. Still, they always got on very well together and he thought it could be quite nice relaxing on a yacht. "It's not too far then?" Jordan asked. "No, a short hop on the ferry I think." George told him. "It's all in there, telephone numbers, directions, everything. Now if you would excuse me." George stood up and stretched out his hand. Jordan shook hands for the second time in ten minutes, stood up, and picked up the envelope. As George showed him back out, he glanced over towards Mandy at her desk, but she didn't even look up. The boys were waiting for him outside, exactly where he'd left them. It was then he remembered George had never given him time to ask about a hotel, somewhere he might find good but cheap accommodation for tonight. 'Oh well,' he thought, 'never mind.' "Right let's get something to eat," Jordan announced to the three of them. After ten minutes walking, they turned onto a busy street lined with shops and street side cafes like the one from yesterday. "Great," Jordan said expressing out loud what he was thinking. The boys followed him into the cafe, which this time was quite crowded. They took the last table right at the back. Firas accompanied Jordan to the counter, leaving the other two guarding their seats. With assistance from Firas, they chose Gozleme, a delicious flat bread filled with lamb, goat’s cheese, herbs, and spices. Jordan ordered tea to drink, although he saw Firas eyeing the cans of soda. Whilst everybody was busy eating like starving animals, Jordan looked on, trying to think about what would happen next. When they'd finished and were drinking their tea, he removed the envelope George had handed him, from his pocket. He flipped it open and peered inside. There were two wads of bank notes, Turkish Lira and Euros, and two sheets of folded paper, a letter. Removing the letter, he replaced the envelope and money in his pocket. He opened it and started reading. None of this went unnoticed by any of the boys; although they could not have seen the envelope contained money. Whilst sipping their tea, they observed Jordan as he read the letter. By the time he'd reached the end, all eyes were on him when he looked up. "Ah ha!" He smiled. "I bet you all want to know what's going on?" Amar was the first to speak. "Only if you want to tell us... Mr. Jordan." Firas who was sitting next to Jordan, nudged him with his elbow. "Yeah, only if," he said looking up at him and smiling. "You're terrible boys. You know that?" He looked at Samir who stared back at him, with a big grin on his face. It seemed to Jordan that in the short time they had been together, the youngest of the three boys, Samir, had opened up. "We'll talk about things tonight, after I find us somewhere to sleep. But for now, I'm not flying home, I'm going to see my uncle who's in Greece, which is not so far away." "Your uncle," Firas replied. "In Greece," Amar chipped in. "That's next to Turkey," he added. "It's Europe!" Firas exclaimed excitedly. "Yes, I know that," Amar replied. All the while Samir just looked on smiling; turning his head to watch first one boy then the other, finally back to Jordan. "Yeah, yeah, okay," Jordan stood up. "Let's find a hotel." Before they left Jordan went over to talk to one of the guys serving behind the counter. He thought he might be able to give him directions. He was in luck, because the Turkish guy was a student who spoke enough English to converse. Jordan got the name and a roughly drawn map to the recommended establishment. As he was leaving, directions in hand, the young Turkish student asked him, "What is this story with these boys?" "Good question," Jordan turned back smiling. "I don't know how to get rid of them.” As he stepped out into the busy street, the guy called after him, "Good luck!" ---
  7. Page Views

    It seems that page views per chapter may not be working correctly? I noticed a low page view for one chapter of a recently posted story of my own, which I put down to people missing out the chapter or going to the last chapter, which had higher page views, to find their place in the story. Anyway, that is not what prompted me to pose the question. It did prompt me to take a look at other stories and notably Unwilling, number five in the best sellers, top books, list. Looking at the page views per chapter, which are in the thousands, around 2k to 3k, until chapter nine, which has 26k page views! That is very unlikely, I think. Therefore, leaving aside accuracy of page views, I suspect something is going wrong with the count?
  8. Gay Shifters - Why?

    A renascence which we might have left serenely interred with our teenage years, but exquisite twists of language are always a joy. The only vampires and zombies I knew, except for Dracula, died with Michael Jackson, that was a thriller!
  9. Overworking a Story

    Here you touch upon a very important point. There exists, let's use the label, the amateur writer (photographer), who wants to publish a good, well polished story, wants to develop and improve, and give their best. And there is the road to becoming a professional writer, that some authors are embarked upon, which carries with that ambition, perhaps more serious consraints. Then again, just to throw a spanner in the works, there is publicity, getting yourself known, which Comsie talked about in a previous blog. Even a totally unpolished book, and or author, can become extremely popular, perhaps a best seller, simply through promotion.
  10. Overworking a Story

    You make a very valid observation Comsie... even if you're a bit long-winded about it, haha. Christofer Jeschke echos these same thoughts in his blog on writing: Insight is insight, whether it’s brought through broken English or angelic prose. He writes: I’m a writer. I’m not perfect. My writing is flawed. But that’s okay. Because at least I write. There are many people who call themselves writers, but instead of writing they’re editing, perfecting, reading and re-reading. And I’m sure they’d laugh at me calling myself a writer. And I’ll let them. They’ll laugh, I’ll write. Works for me. There you go, he says exactly what you just said, and possibly what a lot of writers might forget - inspiration counts for a lot. Read the rest of what he says here: What I lack in perfection, I make up for in action...
  11. WKW - William King Writing

    I decided to put these links in here. Anyone who is reading, or has read Refugee, might wonder how the story got written, what is the reality. Although in the intro I said the story was referenced from various sources, here are some of those I researched. I'm not telling you to read them all, unless you are interested, but it gives an idea of what went into writing this story and where the facts came from. Wherever possible I cross referenced accounts, a means of verifying their veracity in a world of fake news, lies, and outright propaganda. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/04/19/turkish-town-at-centre-of-syrian-refugee-crisis-says-were-full/ https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2016/may/08/gazientep-turkey-tamkeen-quest-to-rebuild-syria https://www.theguardian.com/society/2002/feb/27/voluntarysector https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/oct/09/migrants-asylum-seekers-tell-of-journey-calais-to-uk-lorry-trains http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-30460929 http://www.politico.eu/article/eu-leaders-should-feel-the-agony-of-the-syrian-people-turkey-syrian-refugees-angela-merkel-donald-tusk/ http://m.spiegel.de/international/world/a-1102610.html http://www.asylumineurope.org/reports/country/greece/asylum-procedure/procedures/registration-asylum-application
  12. Chapter 9

    Chapter Nine - A Sad Beginning. Roger Morrison spotted Jordan in the clinic and called him over. Finding a little corner as much out of the way as was possible in that busy place, so they could talk. "Well, your two months are up," Roger smiled. He was a likeable guy and very good at his job of running the Christian Aid Clinic. "Yeah, I guess I'll miss the place," Jordan replied, returning the smile. "Really? All this chaos and disorder." 'Yeah really,' Jordan thought to himself. "It kind of grows on you," he replied. "Maybe. I suppose that's why I'm still here." Jordan knew that was not why Roger was there, it was much more a case of dedication to the task, and a desire to make a difference. For a boy from Virginia, being in Turkey for two months had been one almighty change and not all that easy, but Roger had helped ease him into things. "I have a Jeep for you to take to the coast. It needs to be at our office in Antalya on Friday. They will give you your ticket to fly home from there." "Okay, that sounds good," Jordan replied. He already knew about the Jeep, but he didn't bother to say. "Come and see me later and I'll give you the address." Roger turned around and went off towards the crowded dispensary. Jordan watched him go, now realising he'd soon be on his way home. The journey from Gaziantep would be a long one, he reckoned it must easily be a day to the coast, but he didn't need to rush. He could even make a stopover on the way. That evening, when he'd finished work at the clinic, he had time to reflect on things. During the last month or so he had been delivering supplies to a Christian run refugee camp, and he'd also walked the streets in the slums of Gaziantep, part of an initiative to round up and help orphans. Jordan had never really questioned his Christian upbringing, he had followed his parents and family through the church, joining in everything that was going on. It was a way of life. Turkey had opened his eyes, how could it not? But he was surrounded by his fellow Christians and he had his faith. Only Jordan, strange as this sounds, never really had any faith, he just went along with everything. That had more or less worked out fine. He didn't really know Firas very well, but he seemed like a good kid. The two other boys he'd only met that one time at the clinic, but he figured that if they all wanted to go with him to Antalya, well why not? There was space enough in the Jeep. He wondered what the kids would do when they got there, but thought it couldn't be any worse than staying here. ***** Amar knew Firas would not leave the old man on his own. Although he had told him they would stay, he wasn't sure. He'd had plenty of time to think about it, and it seemed too good an opportunity to turn down - a free ride to Antalya. He didn't really know where that was, except it was a long way further west, and a step closer to Europe. As things turned out, no one would need to make that decision. Perhaps it was only Firas who was really aware of just how ill Burhan was. Firas and Burhan himself of course. The old man never complained; he even seemed to pick up with the boys around. Amar would catch him smiling at them naked in the shower. Over the month leading up to their departure, they had all got to know one another quite well. There was a routine of work, home, supper and bed. Burhan was always in bed immediately after supper, but they talked whilst waiting to eat and during the meal. One night they had even talked together lying in bed, before falling asleep. That night Burhan had recounted an adventure he had with a young man he'd met, someone who was visiting a relative in the town where he lived. They met at a party given in honour of a birthday, where there was nearly one hundred guests. By chance, or so he said, Burhan found himself alone with the young man, and seduced him with his charm. The young man was reluctant at first, wary. Not wanting to get caught, or make trouble for his hosts. But as Burhan described it, the touch of his hand on the young man's thigh melted his resistance. That was an amazing story Burhan recounted in exquisite detail. So much so, both Amar and Samir, although tired from work and from staying up later than usual, needed to quench the desire Burhan had aroused. The two boys had hardly made love at all, but they had grown very close, and that night was different. In the darkness lying next to each other, Amar reached his hand towards Samir's face. He felt the warm breath on his skin as he gently stroked the young boy's cheek. They looked at each other, their eyes locked in an unbreakable trance. Amar watched his friend smile and his fingers touched those beautiful lips. The chill of the night could do nothing to douse the heat from his body. In unison, their arms wrapped around each other as their bodies felt the warm contours of the skin beneath thin garments. The arousal of both boys was intense. Their hard erections pressed into each other as Amar moved his hips, and Samir responded. A hand slid over Samir's back tracing the curve of his spine, coming to rest on those exquisitely rounded orbs. Amar squeezed and gripped Samir, pulling his body into an even tighter embrace. Samir moved his hips, pushing his aching penis against Amar's own erect manhood. It was Amar's hand that slid inside Samir's underpants and gripped his erection. Then Samir had his own smaller hand wrapped around Amar. Both boys were hot and excited. Amar's lips found Samir and his tongue licked the boy's bottom lip. Samir opened his mouth and their tongues touched. So began a dance of lust and love making, a night full of passion, a night destined to change things forever. ***** Dawn broke to reveal Friday morning with a clear sky and a hint of warmth to come with the rising sun. Samir was woken by the muffled sounds of stifled crying. It was not from Amar who was still lying asleep next to him. He looked across the room and was drawn to the shape of the boy sitting up next to Burhan. Firas had his legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his head buried. Samir noticed the tiny movements the boy made as he sobbed. He stood up, careful not to disturb Amar, and crossed the room to kneel down next to Firas. The other boy must have felt his presence, because he raised his head. Although Samir did not look directly at Firas, he could still see his tear stained face. Instinctively, Samir moved closer, put an arm around the boy's shoulders and hugged him. This action by Samir caused tears to flow once again. Firas turned his head towards Samir and nuzzled his shoulder. Samir brushed a hand through the boy's hair, he looked up and over towards Burhan. His own eyes welled up with tears. They hugged each other as the tears flowed freely. Burhan lay next to them on the mattress, he was still. When Samir looked, it seemed to him the old man had a smile on his face. Samir could no more stop his tears than could Firas. They gripped each other tightly. Samir's mouth was next to Firas's ear when he whispered, "He's in paradise." ***** The previous evening had been so special, in so many ways. Burhan had been happy recounting his youthful adventure, the boys had all somehow felt part of the same odd family they formed. The night culminated in amorous bliss for Samir and Amar: something changed in their relationship that night. The following morning Burhan was gone. Only his body remained as his spirit had flown. Samir felt close to Firas—a closeness he'd not felt since the loss of his family. The three of them slept together on the floor after Burhan had been buried, the other side of the room remained empty. It was odd in the house, they all felt it, and it was forgotten by Firas that Samir had spoken. ***** They packed up what little they had. Two small bags with some old clothes, the battered little saucepan, the gas ring, and of course the teapot and glasses. What didn't fit in the two bags went in the plastic shopping bag Samir was carrying. They had arranged a time and place to meet Jordan, who had been at the funeral, which was quite a surprise. He was waiting, standing next to the Jeep. When he saw the boys arrive, he smiled and couldn't help thinking, 'What will I do with these kids?' In the immediate, there was the two-day journey to Antalya, because he planned on stopping overnight. But what about after they arrived? Jordan was having difficulty imagining pulling up on some city street and watching the rag tail bunch of kids get out. Leaving them at the side of the road like hitch hikers, as if they had some place to go. "Okay get in," he grinned and gestured. "You understand English?" he added looking at Amar and Samir. They both wore a blank expression, but knew they had been invited to get in the Jeep. Amar turned back to look at Jordan, returning his grin, and he said, "English mister, very good." This made Jordan chuckle, he reached over and placed a hand on Amar's shoulder. "Yes, very good." Amar and Samir sat in the back, with Firas in the front with Jordan. "How long will it be?" Firas asked, turning towards Jordan. "We will stop overnight, about halfway. So we'll arrive tomorrow afternoon, I guess.” Jordan turned the key and the engine came alive. He looked in the mirror at Amar and Samir. "Alright in the back?" he asked. "Yes," Amar answered in English. "Very good." Jordan had to smile at the boy, but he wondered about the younger one, who seemed very quiet. "The little guy doesn't say much, does he?" Jordan addressed Firas as he pulled away down the street. Firas suddenly remembered the morning he was crying over Burhan. "He doesn't speak," he told Jordan, but he knew that wasn't true. "You mean he's dumb?" Jordan was steering the Jeep out onto the main road, heading west. "He's not an idiot," Firas replied defensively. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant he can't speak... dumb like deaf, no speech." Jordan reflected on how easy it was to get misinterpreted. You really had to make an effort here to be sure you got the right meaning across. "He's not deaf," Firas told him, wondering why Jordan thought Samir couldn't hear. "No, no, I know he's not deaf... never mind. You want the radio on?" Jordan had found that sometimes things were easier if you didn't try too hard and just dropped it if it wasn't working. Firas leaned over, pressing the buttons on the radio. He skimmed through the stations until he found some music he liked. Then he had his arms in the air dancing up and down, and lifting his bum off the seat. He turned and laughed at the other two in the back. They of course joined in the fun, mimicking the same actions. Jordan thought it was hilarious watching them doing a sort of seated belly dance. Pretty soon they were leaving the city behind. The suburbs slowly gave way to countryside. The music on the radio had changed, and things settled down. There was calm, which was animated only by the music and changing scenery. Jordan checked his watch, it was around half past one, he was surprised they had been driving for a good three hours. He slowed, turned off the highway, and pulled into a large dusty car park that surrounded a restaurant. There were lots of trucks as well as a few cars. "Let's get some food," he told Firas. "Jordan," Firas looked back at him looking embarrassed. "We don't have money to eat here." "I know you don't," he replied, ruffling the boy's hair. "Don't worry about it. My treat." Jordan got out of the Jeep. All three boys just looked and didn't move. "Come on," Jordan made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Come on, I'm paying." Firas turned to Amar and Samir. "He's paying," he told them smiling. The next second they were out of the Jeep, and following Jordan to the restaurant. He turned and pressed the key, the lights flashed, the horn beeped. They headed over to the entrance. This was a wholly new and unexpected experience for all three of the boys. They found themselves seated at a table and were quickly served with a large bowl of soup the waiter brought over. Jordan served them using the large metal ladle. By the time he was finishing serving himself, the waiter was back with some bread. "Eat," Jordan said, while looking across the table at Amar and Samir. Nobody needed to be told twice, and the boys finished their bowls of soup and most of the bread in record time. Jordan noticed as he emptied his own bowl, they had left one piece of bread, which he presumed was for him. The main dish was mutton, in a thick stew with chunks of vegetables. Samir found it hard to remember when he had last eaten like this. None of them had eaten this well in a very long time. It wasn't that the food was any different, but it was really well cooked, seasoned and tasty. A small sweet pastry ended the meal and Jordan ordered tea for everyone. The waiter served the tea, which he did with the same style and panache as Burhan used to. Lifting the teapot into the air letting a long stream of hot tea pour down into each glass. Jordan paid the bill, as he nodded his thanks to the waiter. This was probably one of the best times they had had in more than a year. Certainly since before they all ended up in the camp. Both Amar and Samir stole glances at Jordan. They were both wondering if it was real, and what he would want in return. A free ride was one thing, but a free meal was hard to believe. ---
  13. Chapter 8

    Chapter Eight - Christian Aid. Early the next morning Firas was up before it was properly light. He shook Amar awake. "Amar, Amar," Firas spoke softly. "What is it?" Amar was still half asleep. Samir, disturbed by the commotion, opened his eyes. "I'm gonna take you two to the factory," Firas told him. "But I've got no clothes." Amar wasn't about to put his probably-still-wet jeans on. "I'm making some tea." Firas told him. He nodded towards a plastic bag by the bed. “Look in there.” Amar hunted through the old clothes and pulled out a pair of faded red shorts. They fit, the legs came down to his knees, but they were okay. Samir grinned as Amar pulled on the baggy shorts. It was freezing cold. The little gas burner Firas used to heat water in a dented saucepan, gave off little heat to warm the boys. Amar wrapped the blanket around himself and Samir as they sat crossed legged on the cardboard sheet. "It's terrible work," Firas was telling them as he poured the boiling water into the teapot. "All day from seven to seven, with hardly a break. But it pays fifteen lira and we need the money." He took three glasses and poured the tea, with none of the ceremony employed by Burhan yesterday. "Burhan is sick, you know. I need to buy medicine and food... and pay the rent for living here." He looked directly at the other two boys. Amar nodded, "I understand." "I'm really pleased you two showed up," he said. "I didn't know what we would do." "It's okay," Amar replied. "Samir and me, will help." Samir nodded his agreement. "We're glad to be here. To have somewhere to stay." They finished the tea, and washed the glasses and teapot. Then the three boys headed off, leaving Burhan still sleeping. The first rays of sunlight dispelled the darkness, but were too weak this early to offer any warmth. Firas led them off the almost deserted main street and into a small alley. He pulled open a metal door and they went down some concrete steps into a large room full of sewing machines. The machine operators were a mixture of boys and girls. A stark strip of neon illuminated the workshop. Samir and Amar followed Firas past the machines and up a wooden staircase. The glass door to a small office was half-open. Windows made up the whole of one side offering a clear view of the machine room. "Who have you dragged along with you this morning?" The speaker was a large man whose belly strained his baggy shirt. His voice was as deep as a contrabassoon. The man glared at Firas and the boys behind him. "My two friends need to work." Firas explained. Amar and Samir stood still as the large overpowering man looked them up and down. Samir shivered, feeling the man’s gaze, it felt like being in a cattle market, as the man gauged the quality of what he was buying. The owner’s hand went around his chin as he considered the new prospects. Then he walked back to a desk that had papers scattered all over it. Nobody moved or said anything. He turned back. "Ten lira," he said, "if they last the day." Amar was about to answer, but Firas raised his arm in front of the other boy. "Fifteen is the going rate," Firas interjected. "Fifteen and that's robbery." The man looked at the top of the desk, shuffled some papers. "Twelve for the older one, ten for his little friend." He addressed Firas directly. The negotiating went on for quite awhile, until finally agreement was reached by each side. Amar would get fourteen lira and Samir twelve lira. Mustafa, the factory owner, charged Firas with showing them what to do. Just as the three boys were leaving the office something caught the eye of Mustafa, who pushed past them, rushing down the stairs. He grabbed a boy, who looked to be about twelve, and whacked him hard round the head, and slapped another boy next to him. He ranted at them about the quality of their work, telling them that next time he’d kick the shit out of them. Firas led Amar and Samir quickly away. He introduced Samir to a boy about his own age, explained he was working with Iran, and should do everything he's told. He took Amar off to show him his work. The factory was more like a big workshop. Two rows of old industrial sewing machines, five on each side. They were making shoes. The children cut leather, then sewed the pieces together, and glued on the soles. Samir worked collecting the shoes after the soles were glued. He then stuffed in paper and card, packed them into boxes, finally stacking the finished products in the delivery bay. Amar was gluing soles to shoes next to Firas. They worked non-stop all morning until about one o'clock, when they got a half hour break. Firas shared some bread he brought with him. They ate that and drank tea or water. The only adult in that place was Mustafa, all the workers were children, and they were all Syrian. ***** It was dark when they got back home. That was how Amar thought of it, no matter it was temporary. They had had the good fortune to tumble upon Burhan and Firas, and found a place to stay. Over the meal that night, Burhan regaled them about his life and family before the war. They were farmers for generations, but his two sons received an education. One worked for the government as an accountant and the other for a big import export business. He never said what happened to them, nor to the rest of his family. As usual, Burhan went early to bed, leaving the three boys around the heat of the oil drum in the yard. "You got any plans?" Amar asked Firas. He considered things for a minute before answering. "I can't stay here forever that's for sure, but I'm not leaving Burhan." "What is it with you and the old man?" Amar asked. "He's been very good to me," Firas' voice betrayed his emotions. "Sorry," Amar said, "I don't want to pry." "No, it's okay. It's just like I told you, he's sick... and... he's old. He lost his whole family." "I'm sorry, Firas." Amar hated sad stories. It seemed the world was nothing but sad stories. Everything good had been destroyed and only sadness remained. It was getting cold, they were all tired, so they went inside to sleep. The next couple of days saw them following the same routine. The work in the factory was okay. It was a long day, but it was something you got used to. When Amar had time to think about it, he knew he needed a plan. It was like Firas said, 'you can't stay here forever.' ***** Friday was the one day of the week they had off. No one worked at the factory on Fridays. Mustafa was, despite everything else, a good Muslim. Friday was the day of prayers. But this Friday, Firas decided to go and find Jordan, a Westerner who worked for Christian Aid. Jordan could get the medicine Burhan needed and at a low price. It was Burhan who introduced Jordan when he first took Firas to the clinic. Now the old man rarely went out, except when it was absolutely necessary, and going to the clinic was. At least it was until Firas showed up. The Christian Aid clinic was quite some distance away. Amar wondered how Burhan ever managed to walk that far, given the state of his health. He supposed perhaps he had been healthier before Firas arrived. He must have done something to pay the rent and eat. There were a lot of people at the clinic. With no seats inside, it seemed a person stood in every available space. Firas told the boys they needed to find Jordan and would have to hang around for him. "But we don't know what he looks like," Amar told Firas, who smiled. "Yeah, I know. He's young, short cropped blond hair, tall, clean shaven. You will know it's him." Amar and Samir stayed together near the main entrance where most of the people were gathered. Firas went off inside to have a look around. There seemed to be some sort of queue around Amar and Samir, but it didn't move very fast. Occasionally a man or woman in a white coat, presumably a doctor or nurse, appeared. More people arrived and the entrance filled to over flowing. People were now waiting outside. Samir tugged Amar's arm. He had been looking outside at the people arriving, but turned back to Samir. Firas was back and with him was a slim, blond haired boy. Well a young man, but he didn't look that old to Amar. Firas spoke first. "This is Jordan," he said. Jordan gave a huge smile which revealed perfect white teeth. His face was tanned, smooth, almost gleaming. Amar looked up at the tall young man and stared into eyes a shade of blue he’d never seen before. Jordan offered his hand, and Amar, then Samir each shook it. He talked to Firas in English, Amar just watched him, but understood what was said. Jordan would be leaving here next month. Jordan smiled again, turned and left, disappearing back into the crowds. Firas held up a couple of boxes. They contained the medicine he'd come for. "That guy is beautiful," Amar said. Samir thought the same, the tall blond youth had an aura that attracted like a magnet. "Yes, I know." Firas grinned. "And he came through with the medicine." "Shall we go then?" Amar asked. "Yeah, let's get out of here." On the way back, Firas explained Jordan told him he would be leaving in about a month. "He's offered to take us with him," Firas said, "If we want." "We?" Amar asked. "Yes, all of us. Thing is though, I can't leave Burhan on his own." "Where's he going?" "Antalya. Then he's flying home. Antalya is halfway out of Turkey. It's a free ride away from here." "But if you can't go?" Firas looked sad. "Well, if I stay, it doesn't mean you have to." "No, if you stay, we stay with you," Amar told Firas. Samir nodded, he'd not missed anything that had been said. "What's he want in return?" Amar wanted to know. "Nothing." "Why's he doing it then?" "Don't be so suspicious, Amar," Firas replied. "Why did Ayberk help you across the border? Not everybody wants something. He's a Christian. It's why he's here helping at the clinic." They fell into silence for the rest of the walk back. Amar found it hard to believe someone would do something like that and not want payment. It was true Ayberk had helped them, but that was different. He'd known Ayberk some time. This guy Jordan, he didn't know at all. ---
  14. Chapter 4: The meeting

    It gets better and better, I really enjoyed this chapter, but who is Tom? Guess we will have to wait to find out!
  15. Rompecabezas Chapters Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen, are now online.

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