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Message-ID: <57897asstr$1216123802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gymnopedies" <gym@SoftHome.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} My Girlfriend's Brother (1/6) (m/t)
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Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 08:10:02 -0400
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Copyright of this story is retained by the author and it should not be
reposted to any newsgroup or website without permission. Any form of
commercial use is strictly prohibited without the express permission of
the author. The author can be contacted at gym@softhome.net

The usual disclaimers apply: don't read if you are prohibited by
location, are under legal age, or if you are likely to be offended by
explicit descriptions of gay sex. The story is pure fiction and is not
based on any actual events.


My Girlfriend's Brother - Chapter 1 (of 6)
by
Gymnopedies



I sure do know how to pick 'em. Why do all of my relationships seem to
be destined for disaster? I do alright for myself in other areas. I
have a great job, working in TV; no, you won't see me on the screen, I
work behind the scenes. It does come with a pretty good salary though,
enough to allow me to get my own place, a flash car, all that sort of
thing. It certainly puts me above the average 25-year-old. However,
when it comes to relationships, forget it.

Emma dumped me earlier this evening. Well, she didn't exactly dump me,
but we had a blazing row which ended with her telling me to go fuck
myself and never come near her again, which I guess amounts to the same
thing as being dumped. It's perhaps for the best really. To tell the
truth I don't think Emma was really all that interested in me. What she
was really after was my bank balance. As long as I was buying her
presents and taking her out to clubs and things like that, she was
happy. It was a shallow relationship between two extremely shallow
people. Yes, it's time I faced the truth. I knew how things stood
between us. I knew she couldn't give a toss about me and, if I'm
honest, I felt pretty much the same about her. I let things continue
for as long as they did because Emma was a looker. When she was dressed
to kill, everybody noticed, and having her with me gave me one hell of
a boost. How shallow is that?

We'd had rows before, of course. What couple doesn't have rows? They
usually happened when Emma didn't get her own way about something. In
the end I'd give her what she wanted and everything would go smoothly
again. This time, though, it was different. This time it was really
over.

The trouble started a few days ago when I went round to Emma's house to
pick her up and found she'd already left. Her mother was home and
invited me in. Like a complete moron, I accepted the invitation. Emma's
mother had obviously decided that she wanted a taste of the sort of
life her daughter was enjoying, and the woman practically threw herself
at me. I suppose, for a 35-year-old, she was quite attractive. But I'm
not into older women, period. I tried to point this out to her in a
nice way, but she was having none of it. As soon as she was sure that
she had no chance with me I suddenly became a pervert who was only
interested in young girls. Suddenly Emma was an innocent little
seventeen-year-old, and I had used my money to brainwash her into going
with me. Innocent? Yeah sure. Emma had told me herself that she had
lost her cherry at twelve and had been screwing around ever since then.
Anyway, the scene was rapidly turning ugly so I came to the conclusion
that the best thing was to get of there, and quick.

I decided it was probably best not to mention this little scenario to
Emma. However, her mother was obviously not happy about me repelling
her advances, and if she couldn't have me, then neither could dear
little Emma. When I went to collect the girl earlier this evening, she
almost had my eyes out. She was blazing mad, accusing me of trying to
get it on with her mother. I tried to put her right, telling her that
it was really the other way around, but she refused to even listen. The
row got louder and louder, and then she physically came at me, her hand
flying at me face. Those bloody nails could have done serious damage.
Luckily, all I got was a couple of scratches. That's when I decided I
didn't want to hang around any longer, and as I left she told me, in no
uncertain terms, not to come back.

Yes, I think it's probably fair to say that me and Emma are no longer
an item.

Following our fight, I needed a drink. I took the car home, quickly
doctored up my damaged face, and then walked round to my local pub,
which was just a couple of streets away. I knew a few of the people in
the pub, and made some attempts at chatting, but it soon became
apparent that I really wasn't in the mood for socialising. The alcohol,
instead of relaxing me, was simply making me feel more depressed. I
decided I may as well head home and get some sleep.

It was an impulse to walk through the park; it isn't something I
normally do. For one thing, it's not the safest place to wander alone
after dark. But I needed to try to clear my head. It was a mild night
and there was something therapeutic about walking through the darkness,
looking up at the stars and realising that, compared to the vastness of
the universe, my own problems were fairly insignificant; I should
mention that after a little alcohol I tend to become an amateur
philosopher. I'd only been walking for a few minutes when I noticed the
crumpled heap lying across the path a short distance ahead of me.

I'm almost ashamed to say that at this point my first reaction was to
turn around and walk the other way; I'd enough problems of my own
without worrying about some drunk, passed out in the park. But my
conscience got the better of me and I felt I had little choice but to
make sure that the person was alright. I'd go and check, and if he was
indeed a drunk, I'd leave him where he was to enjoy his temporary yet
blissful release from this cruel and unforgiving world. Not just a
philosopher but a poet as well; the small amount of alcohol I'd
consumed really was working overtime this evening.

Cautiously I approached the shadowy heap. "You alright, mate?"

There was no response.

Now my imagination kicked in, big time. Supposing this wasn't a drunk,
but a dead body? The last thing I needed at the moment was to get
involved in a murder enquiry. I took a few tentative steps closer,
telling myself not to be so stupid.

"You alright mate?" I repeated.

This time there was a mumbled response, more of a grunt than anything
else. At least he was alive.

"You need any help or anything?" Silly bloody question. Of course he
needed help. The real question was whether I was prepared to give it.

"Leave me alone." Even though the words were slurred, the message was
clear enough.

Normally, under circumstances like these, I wouldn't need telling
twice. However, there was something familiar about the voice. Surely it
couldn't be. "Jez?"

"Leave me alone," the figure repeated, an arm flopping out aimlessly.

Now I was almost sure. Sure enough to want to confirm my suspicions,
anyway. I knelt over the figure to get a look at his face and managed a
quick glimpse before I had to step back, reeling. "Christ, Jez, you
stink." Trying to hold my breath so as not to inhale the foul mixture
of odours, I again knelt down and rolled the figure over onto his back.
It was Emma's younger brother.

"Oh, shit!" I muttered as I saw the state he was in. From the smell of
alcohol, he'd drunk himself almost into insensibility. Unfortunately,
that wasn't all he'd done. There was vomit down the front of his hoodie
and, from the strong smell of urine, it was reasonable to assume that
he'd also pissed himself.

"Leave me alone," the boy repeated, his words barely intelligible.

I turned my head away to draw in some clean air. What the hell was I
supposed to do now? Leaving him here was out of the question. The kid
was only fifteen, and God knows what might happen to him if I went home
and left him. I suppose the easiest thing to do was to ring the cops
and let them take care of him, but I didn't like the idea of leaving
him to the not so tender mercies of our "boys in blue". He'd certainly
end up spending the night in the police cells, and would probably even
get charged with something or other. I suppose I could have taken him
home, but there were a whole number of reasons not to do this. Firstly,
he lived a good couple of miles away and obviously would never be able
to walk there in this condition, and I certainly wasn't going to have
him in my car covered in piss and sick. Secondly, I had no desire to
show my face round at their house at the moment. And thirdly, it was
unlikely there would be anyone in anyway. Emma would be out with her
friends, no doubt telling them what a bastard I am, and her mother
would be out on the pull; there was no father around.

I'm too soft hearted, that's always been my trouble. I reached under
his arms and, with a struggle, lifted him upright. I was going to have
to take him home with me.

Since Jez showed no signs of being able to support himself, I had to
almost carry him. Luckily he wasn't especially heavy; even though he
was fifteen, he was extremely small for his age. Slowly, and with a
great deal of effort, we made the half mile journey to my apartment.

It was with great relief that I finally kicked the door closed behind
me. That had been the longest half mile of my life. It wasn't just the
effort of dragging Jez, but also the smell, which I was sure was
getting worse all the time. Almost exhausted, I hauled him the last few
yards, into the bathroom, and dumped him unceremoniously down onto the
bathroom floor. Then I stepped back to get my first good look at him.

If anything, the boy looked even worse than I had imagined. He sat up,
his back propped against the side of the bath. His face was pale and
his eyes flicked open and closed as if he didn't have full control over
them. An unpleasant thought occurred to me.

"Jez, have you taken anything, or is this just from drink?"

"Leave me alone."

"Jez, talk to me," I said, taking hold of his shoulders and shaking
him. "Have you taken anything? Any pills or stuff?" I pushed the sleeve
of his hoodie up past the elbow. There were no marks on his inner arm;
not that I really knew what I was looking for. Quickly I repeated the
procedure on his other arm. At least it didn't look like he'd injected
anything. "Have you taken any drugs?"

"Don't do drugs. Just drink. Now leave me alone."

That was a relief. Now I just had to decide what to do with him. I
could leave him like this on my bathroom floor until he came to his
senses and then send him on his way, or I could clean him up. It had to
be the latter, for my sake as much as for his; the smell was awful.

"Jez, I can't leave you like this. I'm going to put you in the bath,
then I'll lend you some of my clothes. Is that OK?"

The boy raised his head and looked at me. "Liam." A silly grin spread
over his face. At least he recognised me. "Liam," he said again. Then
the grin disappeared and he started to cry.

Now what was I supposed to do? If it had been a girl, I would have
tried to comfort her, maybe even put my arm around her; that's
assuming, of course, she wasn't covered in sick. But what the hell do
you do with a crying fifteen-year-old boy?

"Erm, you alright, Jez?" I tried, feeling uncomfortable.

He looked up at me, his face screwed up in that ugly way that people do
when they cry, the tears forming streaks down his dirty face.

At a bit of a loss, I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a
squeeze. "You'll be alright. Let's get you cleaned up and then you'll
feel better."

I made a quick visit to the kitchen and picked up a black, polythene
bin-bag. I had to have something to put his clothes in and I certainly
wasn't about to attempt to wash them or anything like that. I'd tie
them up in the bag and then it would be up to Jez what he did with them.

Back in the bathroom, Jez had slid down until he was now sprawled out
on the vinyl covered floor. He was mumbling something, but it was
impossible to make out what it was, and I doubt that it would have made
sense anyway. I managed to get him sitting up again, and then pulled
the hoodie up over his head. The T-shirt that he was wearing underneath
followed it up, so I just pulled both of them off together and bundled
the stinking garments into the bin-bag. The smell of vomit was as bad
as ever and I realised that I had some of it down my own front from
when I had supported the boy on the journey home. I sighed to myself,
pulled off my own shirt and tossed it aside. Only then did I turn my
attention back to the teenager. What I saw came as a bit of a shock.

I've already mentioned that Jez was small for his fifteen years.
However, now that he was bare chested, I could see exactly how
underdeveloped he really was. His baggy clothing had gone a long way
towards covering up his thin frame. From the looks of him, a few good
meals wouldn't go amiss. What shocked me the most, however, were the
bruises. Jez had dark bruises on both of his upper arms as though
someone had gripped him and squeezed, digging in their fingers. There
were also large bruises on the side of his chest; it looked like he'd
been either punched or kicked at some time in the recent past.

I lifted my eyes to the boy's face to find him smiling once more. His
upper body swayed backwards and forwards as he looked up at me with
what I can only describe as 'trusting' eyes.

"You look like you've been having a rough time," I said, smiling back.
"Have you been fighting with someone?"

He shook his head in a rather comical way. "I don't fight. I'm a good
boy." The he gave a short giggle. His mood changes were certainly
mercurial.

Jez watched me as I pulled off his trainers and then his socks. His
socks went into the bag with the other clothes, though I threw his
trainers over towards the wall, out of the way; he'd need something to
wear on his feet and it was unlikely anything of mine would fit.

"What're ya doin'?" the boy asked as my hands went to the fastening at
the front of his trousers.

"I'm taking these off for you?"

"Why?"

"Because you need get in the bath and you can't get in with your
trousers on." I didn't mention the fact that he'd pissed himself; I can
be quite diplomatic when I need to be. I grimaced to myself as I
fumbled with his zip, knowing I was getting his pee on my fingers; I
suppose there are worse things you can get on your hands. The trousers
followed the other clothes into the bag. This left Jez wearing just a
pair of filthy briefs.

Jez looked down at his underwear and ran his fingers across the front.
"They're wet," he observed.

"Yeah, they sure are."

"Do I have to take them off?"

"I think you'd better."

The boy gave another giggle. "Don't look," he said. He took hold of the
briefs at the sides and pushed down, though when he tried to lift his
backside up off the floor, he toppled over. "Oops!" he laughed.

Jez continued to laugh as I went to his assistance and pulled the
briefs all the way off, touching them as little as possible as I
dropped them into the bag. Quickly, I tied a knot in the top of the bag
to keep in the smell and then went to the sink to wash my hands. By the
time I turned back to Jez he'd curled up into a ball on the floor and
looked like he was going to sleep.

"Not yet," I said, pulling on his arm. "You can't sleep yet. Bath
first, and then you can sleep."

"Don't want a bath," the boy muttered, ineffectually trying to free his
arm from my grasp. "Want to sleep now."

I briefly considered letting him have his way, and leaving him on the
bathroom floor for the night. It would certainly be the easiest option.
But I knew from the condition he was in that he was going to feel like
shit when he woke in the morning, and spending the night dirty and
stinking on a cold, hard bathroom floor was, if anything, likely to
make him feel an awful lot worse. "Bath first," I insisted. "Come on.
It'll only take a few minutes."

"Don't want to." The smile had now disappeared and he was starting to
get awkward.

Changing my mind about the bath, I suddenly had a much better idea. I
bent and scooped him up, depositing him into the empty the bathtub. He
gave a moan and put up a token struggle, but he was in the tub before
he even realised what was happening.

While he lay there, complaining, I freed the shower attachment from the
wall and turned on the spray.

"Aaarghhhhh!" He let out a scream as cold water splashed down over his
body. It seemed that he was no longer quite so sleepy after all.

Now it was my turn to laugh as he made a completely uncoordinated
attempt to climb out of the bath, his arms thrashing wildly; this was
the most life he'd shown since I'd found him. His struggling eased as
the water quickly warmed up, until he was lying there passively,
allowing me to rinse him down.

I picked up the soap and handed it to him. "Here, rub that over
yourself."

He looked at me blankly.

With a sigh, I leaned forwards and rubbed the soap across his chest.
While I did this, he lay back in the tub, a picture of wide eyed,
trusting innocence. I moved the soap lower, onto his stomach, rinsing
as I went. "Open your legs," I instructed.

Obediently, he opened up his legs as far as he could within the
confines of the bath tub, revealing an untidy bush of pubes and his
teenaged dick and balls.

At this point I hesitated. Washing his upper body for him was one
thing, but touching him down there was a whole different ball game, if
you'll excuse the pun. I once more considered handing him the soap and
getting him to do it himself, but quickly dismissed this idea as a
waste of time. Instead I settled for directing the spray over his
exposed groin area, washing it as well as I could without actually
touching it. At least this should clean him up a little; he could do a
more thorough job himself when he came to his senses.

"That'll do for now," I announced, turning off the water.

Jez, made to get up, but slipped on the wet surface, banging his head.

"Hold on a minute," I said, quickly putting my arm behind his shoulders
and supporting him. You OK? Did you hurt yourself?" He blinked a couple
of times and shook his head.

Getting him out of the tub was harder than getting him in, and wasn't
helped by the fact he was now wet. Eventually, with a lot of pulling
and very little help from him, I got him sitting up on the edge of the
bath. He was swaying dangerously and I didn't dare let go of him in
case he lost his balance. Holding onto him with one hand, I dried him
as best I could with the other, running the towel over his slim chest
and back and down over his arms and legs. Soon all that remained was
the private region between his legs. Trying to get him to dry his own
groin area proved fruitless, and by this point I was starting to get
tired and more than a little irritable. To hell with it. With my hand
inside the towel, I rubbed it over his pubes then his dick and his
balls, and then leaned him forwards and reached around and dried his
arse.

"You'll do," I said, draping the towel over the rail. "Now let's sort
out where you're sleeping."

"Need to pee," he said, the words coming out as little more than a
mumble. He looked up at me with those big trusting eyes.

"Shit!" I muttered, looking up at the ceiling and counting to ten. I
was starting to wish I'd left him where he was. Though even as I had
this thought, I knew I didn't mean it. Even in this condition, there
was something about Jez that I couldn't help but like. "Hold onto it a
minute. You do it on my bathroom floor and I'll put you out of the door
exactly as you are."

He gave another little giggle as though his drunken mind found this
idea amusing.

I helped him over to the loo and sat him down on the seat. "Right, go
ahead and pee." I held onto his shoulders, just to make sure he didn't
fall over, at the same time praying that he didn't do anything else.
The idea of standing here holding him while he took a crap was one that
I didn't care to dwell on.

"Done," he said.

I let him sit there a little longer, just to be sure, and then half
carried him through to my bedroom, where I dumped him on my bed. "Don't
get too comfortable," I warned. "That one's mine. I'll sort something
else out for you."

I did have a small guest room, but decided against putting Jez in
there. If he were to be ill in the night, I wanted to be on hand to
deal with it. Instead, I dragged the single mattress from the guest bed
into my own bedroom and threw on a sheet and a duvet. He'd be able to
manage on that. It was certainly better than the path in the park.

Jez was sprawled out on his back, apparently asleep. He was, of course,
still completely naked, and I wondered whether to root out a pair of
shorts for him. Though getting them on him would be a struggle, and if
he needed the loo again in the night, he was easier to deal with as he
was. He moaned and complained as I dragged him from my bed to the
mattress, but once in place he immediately settled down and appeared to
be asleep again almost straight away.

"Goodnight, Jez," I grinned, as I looked down at his sleeping form. I
stripped down to my shorts, made a quick visit to the bathroom, and
then gratefully climbed into my own bed.

**********

I awoke with a headache. I must have had more to drink the previous
evening than I'd thought. Oh well, at least if was Saturday, which
meant I wasn't due into work until after lunch. With a groan, I forced
myself up out of bed to check on my guest.

It looked like Jez was still asleep; not that I could see much of him,
since only the very top of his head was visible.

"Jez, you still alive?" I asked, smiling, as I poked the duvet, roughly
in the vicinity of where his shoulder would be.

There was soft moan followed by a muffled "leave me alone".

"C'mon Jez, let's see what sort of condition you're in this morning." I
peeled the top of the duvet back to reveal the boy's face. "Jesus! You
look rough." This was an understatement. The teen's face was pale with
a greenish tinge and the black patches around his eyes would have put a
panda to shame.

Jez blinked up at me with a complete lack of comprehension. "Liam?" he
groaned. "What the hell...? Where am I?"

"You're in my flat," I told him. "When I found you last night you were
pretty far gone, and it was the easiest thing to bring you back here."

He looked confused for a moment, then dropped his head back, his eyes
closing, as if trying to work it all out was too much trouble. "I'm
dying," he croaked.

I tried to stop myself grinning and failed. "I'll get you a couple of
paracetamol and a glass of water. It won't stop you dying, but it might
help you feel a bit more comfortable while you do it."

"Urgh!" He rolled over.

"What's the matter?" I asked, expecting the worst.

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

Just as I'd suspected. I grabbed his arm, hauling him up. "Not in my
bedroom you don't. Let's get you to the bathroom."

I managed to get him to his feet and started dragging him to the door,
at which point he suddenly realised that he was naked, and reached back
for the duvet.

"No time to worry about that," I snapped. "You throw up in here and
you're the one who's going to have to clean it up."

By the time I got him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom he was
already retching and had his hand pressed tightly over his mouth. He
lunged for the toilet, dropping to his knees in front of it. I left him
to it.

I was in the kitchen, still in just my boxers, making toast and coffee,
when Jez resurfaced. He'd wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in
the kitchen doorway, holding onto the doorframe as though it were the
only thing keeping him upright.

"How're you feeling?" I asked, trying to hide my amusement and look
suitably sympathetic.

"Like I died. Where are my clothes?"

"Did you see that black bin-bag in the bathroom?"

"Yeah?"

"Well that's where your clothes are. Believe me, the way you are
feeling at the moment, opening that bag would not be good idea."

"Why, what have you done to them?"

"Don't look at me. It wasn't me who threw up all down your front and
pissed in your trousers."

"Oh shit!" He looked mortified.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Come and sit down before you fall
down." I indicated one of the kitchen chairs and he made his way over
to it.

"So you undressed me?"

"Yep. Someone had to sort you out and clean you up."

"You mean you washed me?" he asked, looking even more mortified.

I gave him a grin. "You really don't remember any of it do you? Mind
you, I'm not surprised, considering the state you were in last night."
I placed a couple of paracetamol tablets and a large glass of orange
juice on the table in front of him. "Here, take these. Drink the juice
slowly and try to keep it down."

"I don't want it."

"Drink it. You need the liquid inside you."

He looked up at me, his head supported on his hands. "Did I say
anything last night?"

"About what?"

He looked embarrassed. "About anything at all?"

"Nothing that made any sense," I said, shaking my head. "You did quite
a lot of giggling." I decided not to mention the crying. I took a bite
of my toast and he pulled a face and looked away, lowering his head
onto his arms.

"Don't you dare throw up in my kitchen," I warned.

I finished my breakfast then had a quick shower and put some clothes
on. When I returned to the kitchen Jez was still in the same position
at the table. The paracetamol were gone and he'd managed about half of
the glass of orange juice, but there was no other sign that that he'd
moved at all since I'd left him.

"Do you want to go back to bed for a little while?" I suggested, taking
pity on him. "Then you can get up again in an hour or so and have a
shower and I'll lend you some clothes to put on.

He raised his head just far enough so that he could look at me. "Yeah,
I think so," he said, gratefully.

"Do you want to ring your mother or anything first?" I asked, as he
slowly got to his feet.

"Why? She wouldn't care."

"If you say so," I shrugged. I followed him as he tentatively made his
way back to the bedroom. He really was in a state; such is the price of
too much drink. When he reached the mattress he sheepishly glanced back
at me, then, removing the towel, he climbed under the duvet.

**********

It was coming up to lunch time when I next went to check on him. Once
again, all that was visible was a lump under the duvet.

"Time to get up, Jez," I called. There was no response. "Come on, it's
almost lunch time and I have to leave for work straight after lunch; I
want you out of here before then. If you're going to get a shower and
get cleaned up you need to be moving now."

There was a muffled a groan and what sounded like "I don't want to."

I reached down and took hold of a corner of the duvet, yanking it away.
"I haven't got time to mess around, so get yourself up."

"What the hell you doing?" he complained, curling himself into a ball,
but not fast enough to hide his rampant erection. He glared up at me.

"I'm getting you up," I said, grinning at his discomfort. "Come on,
Jez. I was good enough to let you stay here, and I even let you have an
extra couple of hours in bed, so don't mess me about now. If you're not
in the bathroom in thirty seconds I'm going to tip a bowl of cold water
on you." That was, of course, a bluff, but he couldn't be sure that I
wasn't serious.

"Can't I stay here while you go to work?"

"Not on your life."

He muttered something under his breath and rolled onto his stomach
before reaching for the towel that he had discarded earlier. He tried
to keep his back to me as he wrapped the towel around himself, but
there was no hiding the prominent bulge in the front of the towel as he
passed me on his way to the bathroom.

While Jez showered, I sorted him out some clothes. He was much smaller
than me, so anything I lent him would be far too big. Though most of
the teenagers these days seem to wear stuff like that anyway, so he
wouldn't exactly look out of place. He reappeared about ten minutes
later. He was still wearing his towel, but drops of moisture on his
chest and shoulders indicated that he'd had the shower. He did look
much better than he had earlier that morning, and he even managed a
sort of shy smile.

"How you feeling now?" I asked

"Rough. But not quite as bad as earlier."

"If you get yourself into the sort of condition you were in last night,
you're going to have to pay for it. Was that a one off or a regular
thing?"

He shrugged.

"Sorry," I said. "None of my business. Though it's not a good idea to
go passing out in the park. There are all sorts of weirdos out there at
night." I indicated the small piles of clothing I'd placed on the edge
of my bed. "Here, I've found you something to wear."

"Thanks."

As he passed me to get to the clothes I again noted the bruises on his
upper arms and chest. "You look like you've been involved in some rough
stuff."

He immediately froze, his face reddening. "It's nothing," he muttered,
not looking at me.

"OK, if you say so." I can take a hint; this was quite obviously
something he didn't want to talk about. "I'll be in the kitchen. Would
you like something to eat before you go?"

Jez shook his head. "Don't talk about food," he said, his hand going to
his mouth.

I hid a smile. I knew how he felt: I'd been there.

I was right about the oversized clothes not looking too out of place.
When Jez appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later he looked like a
typical teenager.

"Feel's funny, wearing someone else's clothes," he said.

"Well, if you prefer, you could always get your own out of the bin-bag.
Make sure you take that with you, by the way; I don't want it."

"Yeah I will." He stood for a moment looking uncomfortable. "I suppose
I'd better be going."

"OK."

"Thanks for, you know, bringing me back and cleaning me up and stuff."
His eyes briefly flicked up to meet mine and then he quickly looked
down at his feet.

"No problem," I laughed. "Don't worry about the clothes. They're all
pretty old anyway, so keep anything you want and dump the rest."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

There were a few moments uncomfortable silence, and then he turned for
the door. "I'll be going then," he said, back over his shoulder.

"Bye, Jez. And the next time you drink yourself insensible, find
somewhere safer than the park to do it."

**********

Feedback is encouraged and always much appreciated. Email me at
gym@softhome.net or visit my discussion board at
http://www.gymnopedies.info for more stories, news and previews.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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