misunderstood-8

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Subject: Misunderstood, Chapter 8 (Gay Adult/Youth) MISUNDERSTOOD By Wes Leigh This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting fty/. Chapter Eight Surprisingly, Andrew's parents didn't blink an eye when Dallas asked permission for the two of them to go to the park. Apparently, they felt he was good influence on Andrew. As the two boys walked to the park, they chatted like the good pals they were becoming. Andrew finally felt hopeful that things were going to get better. He now had a friend--other than King. A friend who seemed to understand just what he was going through. Someone who knew all the nasty stuff he'd done, didn't seem to care, and for some unknown reason still had his back. It didn't hurt that Dallas was real cute and sexy too. If everything worked out the way Andrew hoped, Dallas might be someone he could share his deepest secret with. They entered the park and passed the basketball courts. A bunch of kids were playing there and stopped to watch them walk by. Andrew and Dallas didn't pay much attention to the basketballers, for they were deep in conversation. Dallas knew there was one particular issue they needed to clear up between them. "Listen, Drew. About Father Downing and the stuff that happened. Well, ummm, I've been an idiot lately. I shouldn't have been jealous of you. That was stupid." Drew leaned over and bumped shoulders with Dallas. "Nah. It wasn't. Ya' can't help how you feel, dude." Dallas threw his arm across Andrew's n. "Maybe not, but it wasn't your fault, and I kinda saw it that way for a while. It was like you were taking my friend away from me, you know?" Andrew stopped and turned to face Dallas. "That's how it felt to you too?" "How what felt?" "Like Stephen, I mean Father Downing, was your friend?" Dallas nodded. They both began walking again. "He was more than my teacher and choir director. He was really cool. He knew how to listen to you, and he cared about the stuff you told him." "Yeah. I know exactly what ya' mean, Dallas. Everybody keeps sayin' he was a monster, and I suppose the stuff he did was wrong, but he ain't some kind of demon or nothin'. He was always real nice to me." "Yep. He was." Dallas fell silent, lost in his thoughts. Andrew was younger than him, but in so many ways they were alike, and Dallas felt the connection between them growing. He wanted to share more with Andrew. He wanted to tell the kid about all the things he'd done with Stephen, so that Andrew would know he wasn't the only one, but Dallas also wanted to do some of those things with Andrew, so that neither one of them would have to be alone. "Andrew," Dallas said, summoning the courage to finally speak, "there's something I wanna tell you--" Heavy bodies crashed into Dallas and Andrew from behind, knocking them to the ground. Sweaty shirts were wrapped around their heads, preventing them from seeing their attackers. Fists punched their faces, sides, stomachs, groins, doubling them over in agony. Knees smashed into the back of their skulls, knocking them out. Then the shirts were pulled off and the attackers disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. With blood seeping out of broken noses and torn lips, Andrew and Dallas lay senseless on the grass, unmoving. *** The Wrights and the Andersons stood together, just outside the Emergency Room entrance, talking quietly. They were neighbors and friends, but now they had been thrust into the unwanted fellowship of victims of a violent crime, perpetuated on their children for reasons they were just beginning to learn. The police had little to share. The assailants were unknown. There were no witnesses. There was nothing to explain why the boys had been attacked, although everyone had their suspicion that it was connected to the sexual abuse by Stephen Downing, because there had been an anonymous call to 911, letting the operator know that "the fag and his friend got what they deserved." It was the only thing the police had to go on and they didn't expect to learn much more, but they were actively investigating it. The Andersons didn't blame the Wrights, not openly. Dallas had befriended Andrew for reasons none of them understood, and might never comprehend, but they all agreed he was the hero in all this. Especially so considering that he had been badly beaten simply for standing up for a boy who was being bullied. That Andrew was a confused and traumatized child, they all could agree. The Andersons were sympathetic but reserved. Alan knew why. He was beginning to suspect that his son was indeed `the fag' everyone said Andrew was. It made Alan's stomach churn. He wanted to throw up, knowing that everyone in town would look at him and think he couldn't produce a man for a son, but instead had a disgusting pervert living in his house. Alan excused himself and walked a short distance away, pulling out his phone. He punched a number and waited for the answer. "Hello." "Father Murphy, it's Alan Wright. Have you made any progress on what we discussed?" "The Monsignor and I agree, Alan. The Retreat is for priests who want to change their behavior. Not for victims of that behavior. We don't believe it is the right place for Andrew." "He needs help, Father." "I'm certain he does, Alan, but there must be other options you're considering." "There aren't. The Retreat is the only choice. They will understand Andrew's perversion. If they've helped priests, they can help him. And Andrew will be far enough away that it should help things settle down here in Amarillo." Father Murphy fell silent, obviously considering what Alan had just admitted. "You can't make the problem go away by shipping the boy off, Alan." "No, I can't," Alan admitted, "but I can give us all the space we need to fix this mess." "There are better ways to do that." "Father Murphy, I didn't want to mention this, but I do contribute a great deal to God's work here in Amarillo. I would hope that would mean I could count on a little help when my family is in need." More silence. "I understand, Alan. I'll see what I can do." *** Pain. Bright lights and noise. A fuzzy head that wouldn't let him sleep and kept him from waking up completely. More pain. Agonizing pain. In his face and his side. Oh shit, and in his head. It hurt so bad. Voices asking questions. His lips too dry to speak and words struggling to escape. Voices again. Finally blessed darkness falling and the pain disappearing as sleep welcomed him into its comforting embrace. *** Dallas was bruised all over. Sore but no serious injuries. He was released to his parents after an overnight stay for observation. They quickly ushered him out and away, taking him home where he'd be safe and endure lectures on being careful about who he befriended. Andrew wasn't so fortunate. His concussion had been aggravated by a severe blow in almost the same spot he'd been injured before, causing some bleeding inside his skull and pressure on his brain. The blood had been drained and he was being monitored carefully, but it was now considered a serious brain injury. To be on the safe side, the doctors decided to keep him sedated. His other injuries were serious, but not life threatening. The cracked ribs were now broken, though fortunately there were no internal injuries. His nose had been broken too, but it had been reset and should heal completely. There were bruises and scrapes, but those had healed for the most part when the doctors finally felt it was safe to allow him to regain consciousness two weeks later. Dayna was waiting at Andrew's side when he woke up. She held his uninjured left hand, waiting patiently. There were no more tears to cry. She'd shed plenty, worrying over her baby boy, who wasn't a baby anymore, who she apparently couldn't protect like she once had. It had seemed so simple once. Teach him to walk and catch him when he falls. Watch him when he learns to run and warn him to be careful. Guard him as he grows up, protecting him from strangers and cars and dogs. She brushed his dark black hair to the side. His face was so pale, always had been. Except for the bruises that marred batman escort (http://www.bayanmap.com/k/batman-escort) the white skin. Who would do such a thing to her sweet child? She sobbed. How do you keep your child safe from hate? What had he done that was so wrong to earn such vicious treatment? Andrew's eyes fluttered. He opened them slowly, squeezed them shut, and opened them again. He looked around the room, then looked back at his mother and tried to focus on her face. His eyes locked on hers. His gorgeous eyes. Ocean blue. So bright and beautiful. He was such an adorable boy. His lips were chapped and dry, but no longer swollen. He tried to speak but found it difficult. Dayna shushed him, taking a wet cloth and wiping his lips gently with one corner. Alan Wright and Father Murphy stood at the door, watching Dayna minister to Andrew. "She has shed many a tear for him," the Father whispered. "It's what women do," Alan replied. "And you haven't?" "I'm his father. I care for him in a different way." "By arranging to have him shipped away for therapy?" Alan nodded. "If that's what he needs." Father Murphy watched Dayna feed Andrew a spoon of ice chips. "It wasn't your threat that swayed us, you know. It was her devotion." "What do you mean?" "Her tears convinced me. We have to try to help Andrew, and perhaps the Assemblea di Goretti can achieve what no one else can." "I hope so. I want my son back. Untainted." Father Murphy nodded slightly. "We shall do our best." He paused, then asked, "Have you told her?" "Not yet. I'll tell her tonight." "She'll be upset." "She'll understand." Alan stiffened his back. "Our son's immortal soul is at stake." *** Three months later ... It was supposed to be a religious haven, but it looked more like a military compound. High walls surrounded the grounds, with entry through a solid metal gate where visitors were required to push an intercom button, state their business, and wait for the gate to roll out of the way. Once inside the compound, it was slightly more pleasant. There were grassy lawns with shade trees here and there, gravel paths, benches, and flowerbeds. The buildings were simple adobe structures with light brown stucco walls and turquoise wooden shutters and wrought iron on the windows. A monument in front of one building held a statue of a young girl. Underneath was a plaque reading, "The Retreat, Assemblea di Maria Goretti". Standing next to the monument was a slender man in black robes and another man in a simple white tunic and pants. Alan Wright parked the car and glanced over at Andrew. The boy had been sulky and silent the entire trip. But then, he'd been that way since he'd been released from the hospital. The only time he'd shown any animation was when they'd left Amarillo. That had been supremely embarrassing for Alan, seeing his son weeping like a six-year-old as he told his mother goodbye. Alan had held his tongue. He could understand the tears, somewhat, but when Andrew had knelt down to hug the dog, the sobbing had been ridiculous, so much so that Alan had finally called a halt to it and ordered the boy into the car. They hadn't spoken since. "We're here. Let's go." Andrew turned and stared at his father. It seemed impossible. Andrew hadn't believed his dad was serious when he'd described the Retreat and told Andrew he'd be staying there for a few weeks to finish healing. And yet here he was, in a strange place far from home. Deep in his heart, he still held onto a slim hope that it was all a big joke and his dad would laugh and say, "Just kidding, Andrew. We're headed home now." Instead, he heard, "Hurry up, Andrew. I need to get back on the road as soon as possible. I have a long drive ahead of me." Sighing, Andrew pulled the door handle, wincing when pain shot through his right wrist. It was much better but still ached every now and then. He got out of the car and slammed the door just a little harder than necessary. Alan started to say something, but decided to ignore the boy's defiance. He was the Monsignor's problem now. Alan got out of the car and walked around to shake hands with the man in the black robes. "Good afternoon. I'm Alan Wright, and this is my son Andrew." The man nodded. "I am Monsignor Dominic Albez, director of the Retreat. This is Penitent James. I've assigned him to assist Andrew during the check-in process." Alan motioned for Andrew to join them. The boy was obviously stalling, standing by the car and waiting. Albez nodded at James, the man in the white tunic and pants, who walked forward and shook Andrew's hand. "Hello, Andrew. My name is James, and I'll be showing you around. Come with me," he said. His voice was gentle and kind, so Andrew hesitated only a moment before following. Andrew looked back one time and pleaded with his father silently, but his dad clenched his teeth and turned away. Andrew dropped his eyes to his feet, turned, and trailed sadly after James. Albez turned to Alan and said, "We will take good care of your son. If he works with us, I am certain we can help him to overcome this spiritual sickness that has taken root in his life." "I hope so," Alan replied. "His mother and I want to see him healed." Albez nodded gravely. "We understand." "Is there anything we can do to help?" "Pray, my son. Pray for God to cast out the evil influences and restore your son's sanity. We will do the rest." Albez gestured at the car. "I understand you planned to return home right away?" "Yes," Alan admitted, now nervous about leaving. "Then I won't delay you any longer. I'm sure you want to be on your way." Albez made the sign of the cross in front of him and said, "Go with God, my son." Alan nodded, climbed back into the car, and drove away. *** "This will be your room," James said. The room was small, holding a bed, a table, and a small dresser. A plastic bag and a course brown robe had been left on the bed. James pointed at a smaller bag on the dresser. "Here are your toiletries. Soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, and tissues. I removed the razors and shaving cream. I don't think you'll need those." He smiled gently, and Andrew found himself grinning shyly in response. "You won't need your street clothes. The Retreat provides all your clothing." James held up the brown robe. "This is the smallest applicant robe I could find. You'll wear it with nothing underneath. No t-shirt. No shorts. Just the robe." "No underwear?" Andrew asked. "Applicants wear only the robe," James explained. "There are reasons we do it this way. Take off your shoes and socks too. You'll be wearing these sandals. Put your personal clothes and shoes in this bag. I'll wait outside while you change." James stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. Andrew walked to the bed and picked up the robe. The fabric was coarse. He wrinkled his nose, thinking it would be incredibly uncomfortable. Shrugging, he undressed quickly and slipped the robe over his head. It sagged on his body, much too big for his short, thin frame. And it scratched him everywhere it touched his skin. He didn't know what material had been used to make the robe, but it felt like he was wearing one of those rough sacks they sold potatoes in, with holes cut out for his neck and arms. James spoke through the closed door, asking, "Are you dressed, Andrew?" "Yes, sir," Andrew answered. The door opened, and James looked in. He frowned. "The robe's too large, but there's not much I can do about that." He took a long cord and wrapped it around Andrew's waist, creating a make-shift belt for the robe. It helped pull the robe into place a little better, but that brought more of the scratchy fabric into contact with Andrew's sides and legs. Andrew looked down and saw the front of the robe poking out where his cock was. "Are you sure I can't wear underwear?" Andrew asked. "Absolutely not. Applicants are never permitted to wear anything but the robe." "But ...," Andrew pointed down at his groin. He didn't have a boner, but with no underwear to hold his cock down, it was pushing out the robe in front. It looked like he was getting a boner, which he wasn't, especially with how itchy the robe was, rubbing against the end of his cock. James realized this might be a problem. The boy was apparently better endowed than most 12-year-olds. It would be almost obscene to have him walking around with his robe poking out in front like that. "Andrew, I'll show you a trick many applicants use, but you have bayburt escort (http://www.bayanmap.com/k/bayburt-escort) to promise not to tell anyone I showed you. Okay?" Andrew nodded. "I promise." James walked to the dresser and opened the toiletries bag. He took out the package of tissues, turned, and knelt in front of Andrew. "Lift your robe for me." Andrew blushed but did as he was asked. James pulled out four or five tissues and folded them in half. "Hold your penis so that it's pointing straight up." Andrew did as he was told. James placed the folded tissues over Andrew's cock. "Hold these in place." With Andrew holding the tissues, James pulled the robe down again, then slid the cord as low as it would go, tightening it back up so that that it wrapped around Andrew's body low enough on his hips to hold his cock in place. With the tissues as a buffer between the itchy fabric of the robe and his sensitive skin, it actually felt quite comfortable. "Thanks, James." "Remember. It's our secret. Let's see if the sandals fit?" Andrew sat down on the bed, grimacing when the rough robe touched his naked rear. He wished he could put tissues between his butt and the robe too. Kneeling down, James removed Andrew's shoes and socks, then slipped the sandals on his feet. They were a little big, but they'd work. James gathered up Andrew's clothing and shoes, placed them all inside the plastic bag and explained, "These will be stored for you until it's time for you to leave." He carried the bag to the door and motioned for Andrew to follow him. "The restroom for this wing is down the hall." James led the way, stopping to push open a door. Andrew peeked inside. He saw sinks along one wall, toilet stalls along another, and individual shower cubicles at the back of the room. "Please shower every morning before breakfast. I'll explain how we handle laundry later. The dining hall is this way." James walked down the hall and turned left at the next intersection. They passed through a double doorway into a large room with long tables lined with chairs. "Breakfast is at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at five. You are expected to be here five minutes early and standing at your seat." Andrew frowned. "Is there a problem?" James asked. "I ... ummm ... I don't have a watch." James nodded. "That won't be a problem. I'll be escorting you the first week, so I'll make sure you get where you need to be on time." James glanced at his wrist. "Speaking of time, we need to head for the lecture hall for daily instruction. Do you have any questions so far?" Andrew hesitated, then said, "Just one. What's a penitent?" James motioned for Andrew to begin walking with him back down the hall. "A Penitent is a title for men who have been here at the Retreat for some time and demonstrated progress in their healing. As such, they are expected to mentor and guide others, like yourself, who are new here. You are considered to be an Applicant. There are twenty-two other Applicants here at The Retreat. There are eight Penitents, including me, each one assigned to a different wing of the dormitories. We also have staff members who operate the kitchen and laundry, and the classes are taught by ten Jesuit priests who have special training dealing with our particular issues. Monsignor Albez, whom you met earlier, oversees everything." They turned a corner and entered an auditorium with rows of pews and a raised dais with a podium at the other end. The pews were mostly filled with men wearing brown robes like Andrew's, although there were several others wearing a white tunic and pants, like James. James led Andrew to sit in one of the last empty pews. The others stared curiously at Andrew, making him duck his head to avoid the unwanted attention. No one spoke. They seemed to waiting for something, or perhaps someone. Andrew was still staring at his knees when he noticed the other men rising to their feet. He looked up, surprised, and stood as well. Monsignor Albez was entering the auditorium through a door at the back of the room. Three other men, all dressed in similar black robes, followed. When they reached the center of the dais, Albez led the men in a chant they were apparently accustomed to repeating. "Hear our prayer, O Lord. Sovereign Lord, may the purity of Sainte Maria Goretti guide us as we seek to be perfect, as you are perfect. Amen." The men crossed themselves and sat. Albez spoke. "Before Father Simeon brings the instruction for today, I have a brief announcement to make. We have a new Applicant joining us today. Applicant Andrew will be under Penitent James' care. I remind all of you that Applicant Andrew's situation is unique to our assembly, and your understanding and patience with him will be expected. Thank you." Andrew felt his face heating up. It was worse than being the new kid in school. Albez moved to one side and one of the other men in black stepped forward. He placed a notebook on the podium and studied his notes briefly before speaking. "Our instruction today is found in Paul's letter to Collose. `Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature; sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry.'" He glanced up. His frown seemed to demand more attentiveness. "Idolatry! Can it be any clearer? The lusts of the earthly nature are idolatry to God. They are false gods, drawing our devotion away from the One True God ..." Andrew was too scared to daydream. This was certainly nothing like the homilies old Father Murphy shared at home. He sat as straight as he could and tried his best to understand the words Father Simeon spat at them, but to honest, he understood almost none of it. All the same, he did his best to sit still and listen carefully. *** Dinner was odd. Raw vegetables. Fresh fruit. Bread and cheese. And water to drink. It certainly seemed healthy enough, but Andrew found himself hankering for some of his mom's fried chicken with a thick slice of chocolate cake for dessert. After dinner, James led him into a room that felt much like the sanctuary in his old church. The lighting was subdued, with lit candles all around. The smell of incense filled the air. Soft hymns played in the background. Several men sat in the pews or kneeled on the prayer benches. No one talked. James led him in, and they sat in a pew. James bowed his head and said nothing more. Andrew looked around cautiously, taking care not to disturb anyone. After ten minutes or so, a black-robed man walked slowly to the front of the room, turned and spoke. "Tonight, you are invited to meditate on the words of Pope Pius the Twelfth: `Young people, pleasure of the eyes of Jesus, are you determined to resist any attack on your chastity with the help of the grace of God?'" All the men slid forward at that point and knelt on the prayer benches. Andrew slid down and knelt next to James. James' eyes were closed and his lips moved slightly, as though whispering or praying silently. Andrew didn't know what he was supposed to be praying for, so he sighed and thought about his home. What was his mother doing right now? Probably cleaning the kitchen after putting away the leftovers. His dad was undoubtedly watching the news or reading the paper. King was probably--. Andrew felt tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them away, refusing to cry. King was probably sleeping in the floor next to Andrew's bed, waiting for his human to come home and wondering what was taking so long. Despite Andrew's efforts to stop them, the tears came unbidden, pouring down his cheeks and dropping on the scratchy fabric of his robe. When would he see King again? And what would be the first meal his mother would fix him when he returned home? And his father--why did he feel nothing when he thought about his father? He didn't miss him, didn't want to see him again, didn't really care what his father was doing right now. Why was that? And why wasn't he sad about it? A deep voice spoke from the front of the room, "Amen." Everyone else echoed him. "Amen." Then they stood up and waited quietly. The black-robed man glanced slowly around the room and said, "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord." Without even thinking about it, Andrew joined the rest of the men in responding, "Thanks be to God." They slowly filed out of the sanctuary, heading for the dormitories. James walked Andrew to his room and reminded the boy that he would be waking him up around 6 for a shower and then breakfast. Andrew nodded, bebek escort (http://www.bayanmap.com/k/istanbul-escort/avrupa-yakasi-escort/bebek-escort) walked into his `applicant's cell', and closed the door. He fell asleep eventually, thoroughly soaking his pillow with tears first. *** The morning shower was wonderful, though Andrew found it very distracting to hear showers running on each side of him and the faint sounds of others bathing. He used extra soap on his cock so it would be nice and slippery. It plumped up almost immediately; it had been weeks since he'd played with it like this. It was a little distracting hearing men in the showers next to him, but he still managed to make the wonderful tingles shoot up and down his cock until he squirted against the wall. James called out to him outside the shower, reminding him that they needed to be in the dining hall soon. Andrew hurried to finish washing, rinsing off his soapy cock and the wall where he'd squirted. He turned off the shower, dried his hair and body, then slipped the horribly scratchy robe back on. After the warm water and soft towel, the robe felt worse than ever, almost like a physical attack on his skin, but he gritted his teeth and put it on anyway. James helped him position new tissues over his cock, retied the cord around his waist, then helped him slide into his sandals. Andrew couldn't be sure, but James seemed to be amused by something. Andrew wasn't sure what was so funny. Being so young, he didn't know that others could tell what he'd just been doing when his cock was still slightly plump and a drop of cum was leaking out. Breakfast was hot oatmeal with fruit, freshly baked bread smeared with butter, and milk to drink. It wasn't as good as his mom's waffles, but Andrew ate everything James put in front of him. After the meal, James escorted Andrew into a small room where Monsignor Albez waited with several other men. Albez invited everyone to be seated, then said, "Applicant Andrew, your situation is unique. Our mission here is to help priests of the Church who are struggling with sexual sin. Never before have we been asked to aid the victim of sexual sin." Andrew blinked. At first, he wasn't sure what Albez was saying, but as he thought about it, he realized that he must be the `victim' Albez was talking about. That confused Andrew. He didn't feel like a victim, not of sexual stuff. He was a victim of hatred and bullying, but Albez hadn't mentioned those. Albez noticed Andrew's confusion and grimly continued, "This may be puzzling for you, initially. We will try to help you to understand how you were manipulated and harmed. That will be the first step in your healing. In time, with our help, you will be a healthy, happy boy, able to return home to your family." Now Andrew was perplexed. He'd spent weeks in the hospital healing. Once he'd returned home, his mother had given him medicine every day to help him get better. The bruises eventually disappeared and his ribs stopped hurting so much. The doctors said his head healed perfectly, and they took the cast off his arm after two months. So as far as Andrew knew, he was healed already. Why were they talking about more healing? Albez continued. "The most important thing for you to remember now is that the healing process can be quick or slow. If you work with us and do everything we say, you will heal rapidly. That is what we want. Is that what you want, Applicant Andrew?" Andrew nodded, unsure of exactly what he was agreeing to. But he did know he wanted to be done with this place and return home as quickly as possible. Albez nodded. "Excellent. The first step will be to make a few assessments. It will take a few days to complete. I've asked Father Timothy to conduct them." Andrew began to panic. A few days? And that was just to start? He didn't want to be here that long. He wanted to go home to his family. A few days? "Remember, Applicant, cooperate with us in every way. That is the only way to find true healing." *** Father Timothy never smiled. He seemed to dislike being there, and he acted bored at times as he asked Andrew question after question, writing down everything Andrew said. Most of the questions made no sense, so Andrew's answer was usually, "I don't know." When did you first experience unwanted sexual desires? I don't know. When did you first act out on unwanted sexual desires? I don't know. What emotional events trigger unwanted sexual desires? I don't know. Eventually, Father Timothy put down his pen, glared at Andrew, and said, "Wait here." He got up and walked out of the room, returning a few minutes later with Monsignor Albez. Albez towered over Andrew, staring down at him. "Father Timothy tells me you are being uncooperative, Applicant Andrew. Is that correct?" Andrew shrugged. "I ain't tryin' to be. I just don't understand the questions he's askin'." Albez glanced over the questionnaire Timothy was using and then took him aside. They whispered for a minute, then they returned to Andrew. "We're going to try a different approach. Can you tell Father Timothy when you first started having sexual feelings?" Andrew blushed. He looked over at James for support. James nodded at him and smiled. This was way worse than confessing about boners and cussing, but he wanted to get home as soon as possible, so he told them what they wanted to know. With a bright red face, he told them about when he first started getting hard and the good feelings he got when he jerked off. He shared about the good feelings he got from hugging Father Downing and the exciting things Downing showed him. And, even though he was scared saying it, he even divulged his deepest secret of all, that he might like boys more than girls. The frowns on their faces grew deeper by the minute, but Father Timothy dutifully wrote down everything Andrew said. Finally, Albez said they had enough to work with and dismissed them for lunch. Andrew wanted to crawl in a hole and hide. His legs were shaking with anxiety. His stomach was tied up in knots. They must think him a horribly wicked boy, he decided, and he would have to agree with that. James put his hand on Andrew's shoulder. "Come with me, Andrew." James took Andrew back to his room and told him to wait there. A few minutes later, James knocked on the doorframe and entered, carrying a tray loaded with sandwiches, fresh vegetables and fruit. "I thought you might want to eat lunch in privacy today," James explained, setting the tray on Andrew's bed. James poured water into a glass and handed it to Andrew. "I'll stay and eat with you, if you like, or you can be alone." Andrew took the glass and gulped half of it down. He was so thirsty. He glanced at James and asked, "Would you stay with me? Please." James nodded. They each took a sandwich and munched on it. Neither said a word, but James' presence spoke volumes to Andrew. He wasn't alone. He was horribly embarrassed, but he wouldn't have to face this by himself. As they finished the last of the fruit on the tray, Andrew timidly spoke. "Thank you, James. I mean, Penitent James. Sorry if I ain't usin' the right titles and stuff." James smiled. "When we're alone, I don't mind if you call me James. You should probably remember to call me Penitent James in front of the others, though." "Yeah, I'm used to callin' people different names at different times," Andrew said, thinking about how, when they were in school, he called Father Downing by his title and last name, but when they were alone, he called him Stephen. James wondered what Andrew meant by that comment, but decided not to pursue it. "This afternoon, we're going to work in the gardens for a bit. Monsignor Albez and Father Timothy want to review their notes from this morning, so they thought you might enjoy some fresh air and sunshine. Sound good to you?" "Heck, yeah!" Andrew exclaimed. "I mean ... yes, sir, that sounds great!" If it meant he wouldn't be asked any more embarrassing questions, he was all for it. *** "I'm concerned, Monsignor." Father Timothy shook his head sadly. "As am I," Albez agreed. "He is deeply entangled in sexual sin." Albez nodded. "He was struggling with homosexuality even before he met Father Downing." Timothy sighed. "And all the sexual experimentation with Downing made the situation much, much worse." Albez tapped his fingers on the desk. "That is definitely true, but I am more concerned about the emotional attachment he has for Downing. It could hinder his healing. You will need to take that into consideration when you devise a treatment plan." "Certainly." "If he doesn't respond properly, be prepared to suggest stronger treatment options." "Yes, Monsignor." "You have my prior approval for whatever you deem necessary." The end of MISUNDERSTOOD, Chapter Eight