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The Face of God

by The Scholar

Under normal circumstances, having a pile of boys on top of me might have sounded like a fantasy come true, but I was feeling a bit sick at that moment. I knew that once they all got off me, I would be in real pain. I prayed they would stay there and then there would be no pain, but I had already started to feel it and it hurt. The pain was intensifying and, as the last boys broke free of the mass of bodies, it kicked in. I prayed again, only this time I prayed for God to take me. I couldn't move. I felt physically sick and dizzy. If I stayed where I was I was okay, I thought. If I move, I die.

I hated PE - the gym held no fascination for me. I hated climbing ropes, wall bars and any other thing Benson, our PE teacher, could find for us to climb. I hated jumping horses, using the trampoline, or anything else Benson could find for us to jump or bounce on. I hated running around the gym, doing press-ups, doing sit-ups and anything else that Benson could find for us to tone our muscles. I hated five-a-side football and I definitely hated that medicine ball that we had to throw around.

I hated Benson, too. God, how I hated Benson! Even more at this moment as I lay on floor of the gym feeling sick and dizzy and in pain - God, where are you?

I know it was my own fault, I don't deny it, but I wasn't the only one messing about, even if I was the only one to get caught. All I did was to swing a rope and as I had it had caught one of the other boys on the back of his neck. He let out a shout of pain - I would have done, too, they're pretty heavy those ropes and I knew I'd been caught when I heard the booming voice of Benson.

"Carter! What do you think you are doing?"

It didn't really seem in order to reply that I knew what I was doing, so I said nothing. Wrong answer. He pushed it.

"Dunno, Sir."

"'Dunno, Sir,'" he repeated. "Dunno? Well, I know, Carter. I know exactly what you were doing, because I saw you do it."

"Yes, Sir."

"'Yes, Sir,' indeed. So, I ask again, Carter, what do you think you were doing?"

"Having a laugh, Sir; I didn't mean to catch him."

He turned to Mike McKenzie. It was Mike whom I had caught on the back of the neck.

"You okay, McKenzie?"

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir, I'm okay, Sir."

Three bags full, Sir, I thought.

"Here, Carter, catch."

Benson threw a medicine ball towards me - a big, heavy, leather ball. It wasn't the easiest catch I'd ever made, but catch it I did - I was quite pleased with myself, actually.

"Now go and stand in the centre of the gym."

"Why, Sir?"

"Don't argue with me, Carter, just do it."

I did.

"Okay, I want half of you at this end of the gym, the rest of you at the opposite end."

There were four classes of boys in the gym and that amounted to nearly forty people; and I watched as they spread themselves into two halves, near as damn it, as they separated to opposite ends of the gym.

Benson blew his whistle.

I heard the whistle and I heard the pounding of feet as I realised that the whole class was charging towards me.

I panicked - wouldn't you?

I threw the medicine ball into the air and dived to the floor, covering the back of my head with my hands. The ball came down first, straight onto the small of my back and then the class of boys all dived on top of me in an attempt to retrieve the ball. That's when I began to feel sick.

I didn't dare to move. Well, to be honest, I couldn't - not at that precise moment and I knew that when I could I would throw up. I lay as still as I could, eyes closed and hoped the sudden pain I had felt would go away and then I heard Benson's voice - more pain!

"Carter? You okay, Carter?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. I heard his voice again.

"Carter? Come on, boy, get up."

I couldn't. I knew I couldn't.


The voice was louder, but it seemed to be distant and anxious. I still couldn't answer. I never heard it again. Instead, I heard a softer voice, a kinder voice, a sweeter voice and it wasn't referring to me by my surname.

"Paul, are you okay?"

I still couldn't answer, though I did try. I felt my mouth working, but heard nothing come out. I tried again and again and decided that all I was doing was poor imitation of a goldfish, so I stopped trying to talk and made an attempt to open my eyes. The brightness was too much, so I decided against that particular manoeuvre, for the moment, at least.

"Paul, can you hear me, Paul?"

The voice again, but I still couldn't answer; nor could I look to see who was speaking. I tried nodding, but that didn't work, either. What was wrong with me? I still felt sick and I had a headache, but I felt safe and warm. Perhaps I was dying - maybe even dead. Maybe it was God speaking to me, ready to welcome me into Heaven. Sorry, God, but I feel unwell. Forgive me my rudeness and I shall answer when I am able. I hoped he could read my mind, I'd heard God could do anything.

Another voice - no, the same voice.


My eyes flicked open and I saw God. He had a concerned look on his face and I tried to smile to let him know I was okay. It must have worked, for His face softened and I stared into His eyes - God's eyes - blue and hypnotic, yet soft and gentle, beautiful eyes. They smiled back and I felt happy and contented to be in the presence of God. Death was beautiful; God was beautiful. Beautiful eyes, beautiful blonde hair falling across them, beautiful smiling lips. God looked just like my best friend, Simon. I liked Heaven. I loved God.

"We were a bit worried about you." God was speaking to me and I thought this time I really ought to answer.

"Sorry." It was all I could manage.

"How are you feeling?"


"Okay, you rest then and I'll come back tomorrow."

"I think I will. Thank you, God."


"I am dead, aren't I?"


"You are God, aren't you?"

"Hardly, Paul - I'm just Simon. Remember me? Your best friend."

"Simon? I thought you were God."

"Get some rest, I think you need it."

"I do, too."

And that was the last thing I remembered until I woke the following day. I wasn't in as much pain, but apparently that was the drug they'd given me. I liked that drug - I don't know what it was, just some sort of painkiller, but whatever it was, I liked it - I felt good at that time - it was when it started to wear off that the pain came back and I wished that God would come back.

He did, early that evening, only this time I recognised him as Simon and he smiled at me a big, beautiful smile. No one had a smile like Simon, it made his whole face light up and as he brushed his hair from his eyes and sat at the edge of my bed, he took my hand and said:

"How are you today?"

"Much better, thanks - for the moment, at least. I'm on drugs!"

Simon laughed.

"Thought as much when you thought you were dead and that I was God yesterday."

"Well, I may have been mistaken about being dead, but I certainly wasn't about the latter," I said.

I saw Simon's face turn red and I laughed, wincing slightly as I did.

"It's okay, I'm delirious - ignore me."

"I'd rather not," he said as he leant over to kiss me on my forehead.

"Simon, there's a ward full of people here," I said, feeling myself turn red.

"Sorry, but when do I get the chance to catch you, unable to move, lying on a bed?"

"You are incorrigible."

"I'm what?"

"Go look it up."

"Yeah, well, whatever - what you are is tied to a hospital bed with a back injury. Nothing too serious, by all accounts, but serious enough for you to be kept in here for a few days."

"I remember the medicine ball and the pain and that's about it."

"You should have seen Benson's face - he thought you were dead."

"Is he on drugs, too?"

"No, silly - but he was worried. I don't think he'll be doing that to anyone again very soon."

"Good! I don't recommend it."

"Your folks were going to lodge a complaint with the School Board, but as you're going to be okay, they've decided against it, though I reckon Benson will get a bollocking."

"Lucky Benson," I laughed.

"Now who's incorrigible? Anyway, the Doctor says you've got a bit of bruising and you may get the odd twinge, but other than that, you'll soon be back in the gym with the rest of us."

The obvious look of dismay on my face made Simon laugh again and I couldn't help but laugh with him.

"It's good to see you laugh," said Simon.

"It's good to be able to, but I don't think I should have done!"

"Has the pain come back?"

"No - I need to pee!"

"I'll fetch a nurse."

"No, wait..." but it was too late, he'd gone in search of someone to help relieve my situation.

Simon returned a few minutes later, a nurse behind him carrying a bottle.

"Can you manage, or shall I help you?" she asked.

"I can't go in that, can't you get me to the toilet, or something?"

Simon stood behind the nurse, a big grin on his face - only this time I wasn't smiling.

"Sorry, Paul," said the nurse, "but I can't move you - I'm afraid it will have to be the bottle."

"Then, I'll manage fine, thank you."

The nurse pulled the curtains around me so no one else on the ward could see what I was doing and I called out in a loud whisper, "Simon, get in here."

Simon crept in behind the curtain.

"Need a hand?" he asked, starting to laugh again.

"Actually, I think I do, but it's a bit embarrassing."

"Why, what's up?"

"I am!"

Simon looked puzzled and I winced with pain as my back started to ache as I moved and Simon's face lost its smile.

"What is it, Paul, do you want me to fetch the nurse?"

"Good grief, no, that's the last thing I need."

"Well, what is it then?"

"I can't use this bottle."

"Sure you can, look I'll help."

Before I had a chance to object, Simon moved towards me and pulled back the sheet of my hospital bed. He began to laugh and I looked at him with anger.

"Sorry," he said, noticing my face. "But I can quite see why you can't use this bottle - and at least there's no damage done down there!"

He started to laugh again as the erection that had built up pointed upwards, flat against my stomach.

"I still need to pee," I said in alarm.

"Well, you'll just have to think of something that will make it go down."

"Such as?"

"I don't know - kissing your Grandmother, or something."

"Be serious!"

"I am being serious. Of course, I could always place the bottle on your stomach, see if that would work."

I thought about it for a moment and decided that it was the best option I had.

"Okay," I said, "let's try it."

Still trying to suppress his laughter, Simon picked up the bottle and placed it on my stomach.

"Okay, lift your dick and place the end into the neck."

"I can't manage it."

"Jesus, Paul, do I have to everything?"

At that, Simon took hold of my dick and lifted it slightly, moving the bottle towards its head - I was almost afraid it wouldn't fit, but it did and the rest was now up to me.

Simon could no longer suppress his laughter and I guess it did look rather odd. I just hoped the nurse wouldn't return just yet. Simon's laughter was infectious and started me laughing, which seemed to do the trick as I began to pee into the neck of the bottle. I didn't need to release too much before I felt my dick softening and I was able to reposition the bottle without spilling a drop in order to complete the task a little more comfortably.

What an embarrassment!

"Thank you," I said, when I'd finished.

"Any time," he said.

"Hopefully not," I replied.

"Well, how about a bed bath?"

He moved towards me and placed a kiss on my lips.

"Any time, " I said.

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