Refugee Part Two - The Land of Promise
by William King
Chapter 2
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 guest house, 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 that 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 him, and pulled him 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?" he asked.
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?" Jordan asked.
And so Amar recounted the story Firas had told them when they were living together with Burhan. He explained how Firas had been 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 had arrived, and how they had escaped from Syria. By the end Jordan knew their whole history, from the time at the camp, until now.
Jordan was shocked and emotional. It was difficult to believe what they had been through, but he didn't for one minute doubt the truth of what Amar had 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?" he asked, as 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, and 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 just spoken for the first time in who knew how long, and a third who was in love with the other boy. Jordan felt overwhelmed and 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 had 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 on him and Amar was fidgeting around. "Hey," he continued, "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 had probably 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, and 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 that they had really been lucky to come across Jordan. He knew that this American was a good person, and that 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 that 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 that the place was usually packed with tourists, but it was not the season now. Jordan told the man, Mehmet Ali, that 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 that he had been working for Christian Aid and had 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 some 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," he replied, "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," Mehmet told him. "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, but had two old double beds. "Fadil sleeps here," he explained, "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 guest house 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 that 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 felt 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 also 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 the camp back in Syria. They slept together, they snuggled up and cuddled, but that was it. Amar didn't know how he had 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.
However, Samir had his own ideas, he had 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 had 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 that 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.
Amar felt a shock that made his whole body twitch. His cock sprung upwards against the material of his underpants, which were becoming damp. He felt Samir's lips touch his neck as he climbed half over his upper torso. The hand found it's way slowly towards his 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 of his penis and the finger moved over the head. Amar moved to turn around and face Samir. The younger boy moved backwards.
Now they were face to face and Amar's lips moved to find those of Samir. They touched gently, Samir's tongue pressed between the other boy's lips. Their tongues wrestled with each other. Samir's hand gripped Amar's cock and placed it underneath his balls, gripping 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 between Samir's legs. He felt the boy's erection hard against his stomach, and his balls on top of his cock.
The younger boy felt his whole body tingling and a sort of slippery wetness between his erection and Amar's stomach. Amar's hand was gliding down his back and came to rest at a place just above his arse. The older boy moved his hips, thrusting between Samir's legs. Samir felt Amar's cock moving beneath his balls and he started to move his own penis sliding it against the bare skin of Amar's stomach. It slid up and down massaging the underneath of the moist head.
The hand 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 that he was fucking the boy made him push his cock 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.
The hand slid towards the crevice of Samir's arse cheeks and a finger followed the crack down until it rested on that most intimate spot. Samir's body was now hyper sensitive, he was lost in a whirlwind of emotions. He felt a charged sensation starting in his feet, working up the backs of his legs.
The finger circled around his rose bud, then 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 with such force it flew right over Amar's head and splattered against the wall behind the bed.
His cock jerked and jerked with what seemed an endless amount a white splurge that gradually diminished in intensity and 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.
Amar felt the younger boy's arse muscles contract around his finger. He saw the stream of milky white cum shoot over his head. It was at that moment his own cock jerked between Samir's thighs as he shot his load between the boy's legs.
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 did seem to give them a curious look, but he never said anything about what had 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 that things would work out. "I'll call when I get to Bodrum."
Now everybody had everything, they left the guest house to make their way back to the restaurant, then Jordan had a bus to catch. He'd need to find a hotel in Bodrum, because the ferry to Kos was for 9:30 AM, 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 last night, 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 the boys.
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 to leave. 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.
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