Alex sat on the early bus to Patra. His decided plan of action was going off to Corfu and then to Italy and France. The bus journey allowed Alex to sleep for three hours. He bought a telephone card in Patra. He phoned Steve. It was an interesting conversation, the rumour in the village was Alex had gone off the deep end. Leaving a note with his desire to kill himself. Alex laughed and then told Steve he was off to relax at the beach. Steve finished by asking Alex where he was. Alex put the phone down. Maybe the note to Nigel had been a bit brief - Just found out my godfather died - bastard shot himself, which totally sucks. I am a bit upset. Maybe see you back at Loughborough maybe not. Alex.
Alex rang Nigel and got his answer machine. Alex was tired and stated "Look Nigel, its Alex... I'm sorry about bailing but I need to get my head straight. I just feel ... destroyed about my godfather topping himself. I wrote to Ash in the summer asking about visiting Oz. I wanted to know more about my birth parents. I never expected him to kill himself. Now, I want no reminders of my old life so I'm going to loose myself for a bit. I'm not coming back to Athens, so Cheerio."
The ferry was that evening. Alex found a bench on the boat and slept fitfully. It was early morning as Alex wandered slowly into Kerkira, a large bustling port and main town on the Island of Corfu. Alex's plan of action was to eat breakfast, rest in a local hostel or pension then travel to a small resort to relax in a couple of days.
Richard Warren was frustrated. All the models he hired did nothing to stoke his creative fires. He was in a rut. His compositions dull, lifeless and boring. He had even stopped taking commissions. Seven years since his last exhibition. He had retreated to his Kerkira villa and was almost a recluse. He needed a inspiration. He strolled along the town quay on this bright warm Autumn day and sneered at the few tourists wandering about, all too loud, brash and happy. Then he noticed the teenager with the intense face and old, old eyes, sitting on the quayside reading. Eyes like Richard's father, who had served in Burma and the Far East in the Second World War and who never talked about what he had seen and experienced. For the first time in several months Richard started to sketch. After 40 minutes the youth got up stiffly and shuffled off. Richard stayed sitting on the nearby bench. He'd been half tempted to follow the blond haired mystery, but he decided to take his usual route home.
The young man was sat down at Richard's favourite cafe drinking greek coffee. Richard sat in the chair opposite his potential muse.
Alex looked at the man who'd been watching him earlier and had now sat next to him. The man was dressed like a local with a tanned lined face and salt and pepper hair with matching beard and clear intense blue eyes "You were sketching me. Are you an artist or just a talented amateur?"
"I'm an artist, Richard Warren." Richard held out his hand.
Alex shook the offered hand and then introduced himself with a wry smile. "Alex Fletcher-Smith, student".
"What are you studying, Alex?" inquired the artist politely.
"Languages." Alex lied, he was studying happy people knowing it was a code he was unlikely to crack.
The waitress turned up with another greek coffee for Alex and Richard's usual Earl Grey tea.
Richard sat and stirred his tea, observing the young man across from him. Young, still a teenager, he'd bet but with a hard edge. A mystery on what had created such a strong, interesting person. "I'm looking for a new model. Are you interested?"
"Me?" Alex almost choked on his coffee. "I'm not model material."
"Really. You have an interesting face. Intense.". Richard did not add 'Sad or pained' to his statement
Alex looked directly at the artist, completely serious " I may have an interesting face but my body is another story."
"I think I'll be the judge of that. Could I persuade you to sit for me?" Richard tried not to appear desperate.
"Nude?" Alex asked half in jest.
"Ideally." Richard was now sure this young man would refuse.
Impulsively Alex smiled and finished his coffee "Sure, why not. I've got nothing better to do today."
Richard's home was a large secluded villa with a beautiful well tended garden. The rear ground floor was his studio with its glass bifold door opened onto the garden. Alex wandered in taking in everything, the bed, a sofa and several chairs surrounded by piles of canvases, pads of paper, shelves of art materials, three easels and jars and jars of brushes. Alex went over and pulled two chairs together and started to remove his clothes without being prompted. Richard watched as a finely muscled torso and arms were exposed. Alex was obviously very fit with broad muscled arms and shoulders, slim waist and a six pack too die for. Faint scars were visible in a strange network, if you looked very carefully. Sparse blond hair on his chest and a line of hair on the young man's stomach. A natural blond. Then Alex dropped his jeans and boxers in one revealing a fine cock, uncut, beautiful balls and muscular thighs. Alex sat to remove his jeans and revealed his prosthetic legs. Finally pulling the black metal lower legs off to show a short left leg with stump just below the knee and the lower right leg ending just above the ankle.
"There you go. I'm a cripple. Not model material. So I bet you're completely disappointed now." Alex stated as a bold challenge.
Richard just chuckled and picked up a new large pad and started to sketch the young man sat defiantly in front of him with absolutely no shame in his nakedness.
They did not talk. Alex moved to sit on the bed wearing his prosthetics. Richard continued to sketch. As the light began to fail Richard swore. "Are you staying locally?"
"The hostel by the bus station. Nice and cheap."
Richard knew the place, an absolute flea pit. "I'll get your stuff. You can stay here."