Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2008 12:44:37 +0100
From: Gymnopedies <gym@softhome.net>
Subject: My Girlfriend's Brother 1

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 Emma earlier this evening, the girl 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 hands 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 decided that 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 and
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, so 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 weirdoes 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."

**********

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