Chapter Eleven - 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 guesthouse, 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 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 his shoulders, and pulled the boy 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?"

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?"

Amar recounted the story Firas had told them when they were living together with Burhan. He explained how Firas was 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 arrived, and how they escaped from Syria. By the end Jordan knew their whole history, from the time at the camp, until now.

Jordan was shocked. It was difficult to believe what they had been through, but he didn't for one minute doubt the truth of what Amar 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?" 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; 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 spoken for the first time in who knew how long, and a third who was in love with the other boy. Jordan felt overwhelmed, 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 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, Amar was fidgeting around. "Hey, 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 probably had 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, 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 they had really been lucky to come across Jordan. He knew this American was a good person, and 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 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 the place was usually packed with tourists, but it was not the season now. Jordan told the man, Mehmet Ali, 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 he had been working for Christian Aid and 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 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, 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, 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, had two old double beds. “Fadil sleeps here, 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 guesthouse, Jordan stopped at one of the many small shops and bought a cheap mobile phone and SIM cardSIM card ("<strong>SIM card - a smart card inside a mobile phone, carrying an identification number unique to the owner, storing personal data, and preventing operation if removed")  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 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 knew 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 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 that one night at Burhan's house. They slept together, they snuggled up and cuddled, but that was it. Amar didn't know how he 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.


Samir had his own ideas, he 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 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 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.

Samir felt Amar's body twitch with the shock. Samir's lips touched his neck as he climbed half over his upper torso. His hand found it's way slowly towards Amar's 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 and his finger moved over the head. Amar turned to face Samir. His lips found Samir’s, they touched gently, Samir's tongue pushed between his lips and they wrestled with each other. He gripped Amar's cock and placed it underneath his balls, holding 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 deeper between Samir's legs. He felt the boy's erection hard against his stomach and his balls on top of his cock. His hand lay 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 he was fucking the boy made him push 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.

Amar’s hand slid across Samir's buttocks and his finger followed the line until it rested on that most intimate spot. With a circular pressure, he 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 which 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. 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 seemed to give them a curious look, but he never said anything about what 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 things would work out. "I'll call when I get to Bodrum."

Now everybody had everything, they left the guesthouse to make their way back to the restaurant, then Jordan had a bus to catch. He would need to find a hotel in Bodrum, because the ferry to Kos was at 9.30am, 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 yesterday in the restaurant, 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 them.

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. 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.