Old Cyril sees an 18-year-old boy sitting on a park bench. The boy has a black eye and looks like he's been crying. The old man discovers that the boy has been beaten up and tells the boy about a special remedy for black eyes, a certain cream you couldn't get from the chemist. All characters and terms including 'boy' 'lad' and 'girl' refer to people age 18 and over. This book contains explicit sexual material and is for adults only.
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OLD MAN LOOKS AFTER BRUISED 18-YEAR-OLD BOY
© 2014 Robbie Webb
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Adapted from a story from the book Let Me Kiss You
Cover Image © Creatista/yaymicro.com
This story is not attributed to the cover model. The cover is an illustration for viewing only and there is no association with the cover model and the story.
All characters and terms including ‘boy’ ‘lad’ and ‘girl’ refer to people age 18 and over.
Old Cyril was walking through the park one sunny afternoon when he saw this lad sitting on a bench. It looked like he’d been crying and when Cyril took a closer look he noticed the lad had a black eye.
“Who’s done that to you?”
At first the boy didn’t want to talk to him. He bowed his head.
Old Cyril wasn’t going to leave him like that; he just wasn’t that kind of person. He sat down next to him. The boy stood up but Cyril pulled him back down again.
“Are you not going to tell me what happened then? Been fighting over a girl, have you?”
The black eyed boy looked at the caring/interfering old man.
“Got into a fight with these Greenwood lads.”
The old man put his fingers on the boy’s forehead and took a closer look at his eye.
He put his hand in his jacket pocket and took out a packet of mints.
“I’d rather have a can of lager,” the boy said.
“I don’t think I’ve got any of those on me. Anyway, you’re not old enough to drink.”
“Oh, well I still haven’t got any cans on me. Mint imperial?”
“Go on then.”
The boy took one out of the packet. The old man gave him the whole packet.
“Here. Have the lot. I can’t stand mint imperials.”
The boy gave him a funny look, took the mint imperials off him and stuffed them in his pocket.
“So you’ve been fighting, have you?”
The boy sucked on his mint imperial.
“If I’d have been there,” the old man continued, “I’d have given ‘em what they deserve. The bastards.”
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