Date: Mon, 19 Dec 2005 20:18:57 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nathan Marks <nathan7new@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: James Chapter 3

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This story contains material of a sexual nature and describes sexual acts
between adults and children. If you find this kind of material offensive,
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My stories may contain some factual or autobiographical elements, but
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I hope you enjoy this story.


James: Chapter 3


As James fell, his head met the stone slab of the pavement, causing him to
loose focus, but not consciousness. He felt the weight of the man fall
across him, the man's shoes scrapping across his ankles. It took a moment
for James to refocus, but already he was trying to offer a garbled apology
for tripping the man up. His head still spinning from the knock, he tried
to stand up too quickly and fell back against the photo booth, sinking once
more to the ground in an untidy heap of boy and now very wet clothes.

The man had put out his hands to break his own fall and in so doing made
sure that his full weight did not crush the young boy that had fair flown
out of the photo booth. The palms of his hands stung where the wet gravel
that accumulates in the uneven crevices of paving stones had cut shallow
but bloody gouges into his flesh. His knees had also taken much of his
weight and as he rolled over to stand he saw that one trouser leg was
torn. He looked across at the boy who was trying, unsuccessfully, to stand
up. The boy collapsed into a heap of child and wet clothes. He looked about
11 or 12, had dirty blond hair, made darker by the rain, and grey blue eyes
that were bloodshot, as if the boy had spent his life crying. He wanted to
scream at the boy, severely chastise him for his carelessness, but looking
at the wet clothes and the sorry state the child was in, well, he hadn't
the heart. In fact it was several moments before he realised that he was
just sitting on a wet pavement staring at the child.

James sat trying to control the sobs that had started again and trying to
focus on the man. Was he going to hit him, scream at him? No: the man just
sat there staring at him. James' sobs came from so deep inside that he
could no more control them, than bring his mother back to life. He let his
head sink to his grazed knees and cried, again. It was a while before he
realised that the man was talking to him. He had stood up and was trying to
pull James up too, all the while talking softly to him.

The man took the boy by the arm and pulled him up. He realised that the
child was very upset and had tried to garble some sort of apology; but
something else was going on here. He sensed a deep anguish in this boy, and
what on earth was a young boy doing out, obviously by himself, at this time
of night and without a coat in this weather? Things just did not add up.

"What's your name?" The boy did not answer. He merely continued to
sob. "Where do you live?" Still no answer. "Where are you parents?" If
anything this seemed to make the boy howl louder and now people were
starting to look at the odd couple, standing in the rain, the boy
crying. At 23, Tom had little experience in dealing with distraught
children of any age. He had recently bought an apartment in Great Portland
Street with the inheritance he had received when his grandfather, who had
brought him up since his own parents died when he was seven, had died
peacefully at the age of 81. His usual fights were with his builders and
interior designers, not 12 year old children. His degree and current job
were in international finance, not psychology or childcare. Tom's initial
instinct had been to find a Policeman to hand the boy over to, but the
longer they stood there, the more he felt that was the last thing this boy
needed.

James was beyond caring what happened to him now. In fact, he wished he
were dead. Obviously this man would find a Policeman and hand him over and
he would be taken back to that horrible children's home. The man's
questions started to break in on the boys' consciousness, but he didn't
have any answers to these questions. He just stood and sobbed. After what
seemed like ages, the man took a firm hold of James' arm and started to
pull him back up the slopping pavement towards the Strand. He neither
wanted to go, nor had any reason to stay, so he just went with what was
happening. Once at the top of the bank the man pulled him round towards the
station, through the arch, past the board displaying all the train
destinations and times and to a seating area beside a burger bar. He sat
James down, still talking to him, but James had still not said one
word. The man walked away. Was that it? Had the man decided that putting
him here in the dry station was all he could do? James felt a deep
disappointment, as if this was one more person abandoning him. Then he felt
guilty. It wasn't his mother's fault she died: life was just crap, so
unfair.

Tom left the boy seated at a table and walked up to the burger bar
counter. He ordered two cheeseburger meals with cokes. He hadn't a clue if
that was what the boy would like, but as there seemed to be no way to get
the boy to speak, Tom had decided that as food always made him feel better
when he was upset, so maybe it would work with the boy. In fact, although
Tom was six feet tall and had always had an athletic build, since he had
moved into London he had put about 12 pounds on because he was constantly
under pressure and so ate more. He would have to watch that: start working
out more to control it. He paid for the food and returned to the boy who
was sitting exactly where tom had left him.

James watched the man return with the food. He stared as the man took the
white and red wrapped burgers, the fries overflowing the little envelopes
they were stuffed in and the cokes in tall red cups with white plastic tops
that were pierced so a straw could be pushed through, off the tray. He
couldn't believe how hungry he suddenly felt. He hadn't eaten all day. He
could smell the burgers and fries. Looking up at the man, he wondered why
the man was doing this for him?

"Go on then, tuck in." Tom opened his burger and took a bite, hoping the
boy would follow suit. After a moment where the boy's eyes darted almost
manically from the food to Tom and back again, he reached out and grabbed
the burger like he had not eaten for a week. He devoured the burger in
barely three mouthfuls and then noisily drank the coke. Tom drank a little
of his own coke and then finished off his own burger, coming a late second
in the food eating race. He stared at the boy. Even through the wet hair
and clothes, he could see that this was an attractive child. The clothes
were brand names so someone obviously cared for him well. So why was he so
upset and out here all alone? He decided to try again with some questions
while the boy finished off the fries. Smiling deliberately he said, "Well,
you looked like you needed that. Was it O.K.?" The boy nodded. Step one:
communications established. Step two: get him to say something. "I think
I'll have another burger. What would you like next?" Open question: can't
answer 'yes', or 'No' to that.

James was starving and the first burger had just made his stomach painfully
aware that it had been neglected. "Really?"

"Yes. What would you like?"

"Can I have a quarter-pounder with cheese and some more fries?"

"Yeah, no problem." Done it. It seems the way to a boy's heart is through
his stomach, just like any man. He got the food and sat and watched as the
boy devoured it.

"Thank you. I'm sorry about your trousers." James, with some food inside
him, was beginning to feel more like himself and couldn't help but be
polite.

"S'OK. They're an old pair anyway." They weren't old at all, but there was
no point making the child feel worse that he obviously already did. "I'm
sticking to old clothes at the moment 'cause I've got the builders in doing
work. Everything gets covered with dust and I'm reduced to living in just
two rooms at the moment. The rest are like a bomb site!" Right, rapport
established, now for the introductions. "I'm Tom. What's your name?"

'BEWARE adults trying to make friends with you. DON'T talk to strangers!'
All those warnings flashed through James' mind, but surely, they couldn't
apply in these circumstances, not with this man? James was unaware that
during this brief moment when his mind was debating with itself, his mouth
had opened and then closed again, like a goldfish.

Tom couldn't help but laugh as the boy did a fair impression of a
goldfish. He seemed to be deciding whether to trust him. Or perhaps he
didn't have a name. No, stupid, everyone has a name. Perhaps he was going
to make one up?

"James. My name is James."

"Glad to meet you James. And what are you doing in the city centre so late
and all alone?" The boy's eyes welled with tears, but none fell. They just
glazed the surface making his eyes look like pools, reflecting the station
lights. At that moment something happened inside Tom that he had never
expected, never realised he even had the capacity for: a warmth began to
grow that when asked later what had happened, he could only describe as the
seeds of love.

MORE TO COME.