Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a gray day, with clouds smothering the atmosphere over the city of Liverpool, England. What seemed to be a normal afternoon suddenly shifted, with a commotion beginning on an asphalt street in the old hometown of the famous men.
In another failed attempt to just fit in, the Beatles were randomly discovered by a group of fans, engulfed in the wild frenzy of madness people would immediately develop upon meeting a celebrity.
Frantically, the group was being chased down through the winding streets, doing all they could to lose their devoted followers.
On slippery cobblestones, the four ducked through the main roads into the alleyways of lesser-traveled spots. Passing empty buildings with boarded windows, while wildly traveling through narrow brick passageways, John’s keen senses noticed a small opening behind an overlap between two structures.
Silently, the lead singer pointed in its direction, which his companions followed. This random maneuver briefly gave the chased the ability to slip by the passing crowd. Still, the lads were seeking further shelter, as no spot was safe for long. It was only a matter of time until they would be spotted again by those seeking them out.
While scurrying through the smaller passageway, the smell of stale rain permeated the air as the men, who were natives to this town, sought shelter from outsiders deliberately seeking the Beatles. Dodging puddles was as difficult as avoiding being seen by strangers in these narrow back alleys.
The Fab Four were on the opposite side of most businesses, revealing these shops’ less appealing backways, which were lined with rubbish bins and inhabited by stray cats.
Aware that if discovered they could be overwhelmed by mobs of people, the group made their way down to the other side of an open walkway, praying the area would be deserted.
Unfortunately, they were granted no such luck. Upon arriving at the narrow opening, the Beatles found a stream of average people steadily walking past, simply going about their business.
Still, caution instinctively forced the famous musicians to remain hidden. Any of the men, women, and even the small children could quickly become overcome with hysterics. So together, the famous group watched random folks stroll by as the young musicians clung tightly to the brick wall.
Eagerly, they waited for a break in the crowd. The lads couldn’t just idly walk through the open space, knowing all it took was a single glance at any of their faces for someone to immediately flip into a frenzy of madness.
Cautiously, the four traveled through the alley in the opposite direction, but it wasn’t long before another group of fans was looking for them, visible from around the corner. Thankfully, the young people of both sexes had their backs to the rock and roll stars, oblivious to how close they were to their idols. Yet, where was there left to go, as neither end of the street was safe?
Realizing they needed to find a way out, the four searched for a break between the buildings to escape. It was then that Ringo noticed an inconspicuous shop, suddenly appearing as the only refuge in sight.
Quickly, the drummer mutely drew his friends’ attention and directed the other three toward the only building without a wooden board covering its window. Strange, as none of these men had seen the open business before when they hurried by.
Approaching the brick building, a purple sign above the display window read, in black calligraphy, “The Lost Is Found.”
Then, glancing at the large front window, the first item that caught the men’s attention was a mannequin wearing a wedding dress from the 1940s, standing in front of all the other items. Behind the mock bride was a Victorian-style bureau, with an array of domestic items from bygone eras, but nothing that would interest men of their age and status.
These weren’t rare collectibles, but junk that would have been thrown away if someone couldn’t make a dime off it.
Still, the items appeared to be in good shape, but clearly used and old. There was also a large green vase in the corner, obviously just filler, as it wasn’t that pretty or impressive.
“It looks like an antique shop,” George Harrison observed, looking over the building, which had suddenly appeared in such an unlikely location. Still, the fear of discovery quickly dissolved all doubt, as the youngest of the group returned his gaze to the many passageways where the famous musicians could be discovered again at any moment.
“Well, it’s the next best thing to a rubbish bin!” John Lennon remarked, unsatisfied with this option. Yet he approached the door, realizing they had no other choice but to enter the store, which sold junk he didn’t care about.
“I thought I saw that shop front boarded over!” Ringo mentioned at the bottom of the two steps John had climbed. He was talking about the building’s display window.
“Well, obviously you were mistaken,” Lennon asserted, silently unsettled by the drummer’s point.
“Let’s go in!” he further commanded, looking both ways for the crazy fans.
Without hesitation, the party followed, with each man entering the building as quickly as they could to avoid detection. Safe inside the business, the prestigious men were surrounded by old items from decades past. To be honest, it was junk! Bookshelves held random items, from dishes to novels, old-style cookware, lanterns that everyone from their grandmother’s generation owned, and other old, outdated stuff no one really wanted.
The aroma of aged clutter permeated the air, with a mixture of must and decay. Still, the place was dry, and more importantly, it shielded the famous four from the outside world.
“May I help you lads?” said an unseen male voice in the sea of forgotten rubbish scattered about the famous four.
Startled, the musicians swung their bodies around in unison toward the direction of the spoken words. There, the Beatles discovered, from behind a counter, an elderly couple sitting together with a cash register in front of their rustic sitting space.
The man stood taller than his female companion. Naturally, the shopkeeper sat on a tall wooden stool to reach the high checkout shelf.
Yet, despite the furniture’s height, the top of the aged man’s head was most observable, with a wad of loose white hair, which he wore a bit long for his advanced years. Even more peculiar was what was behind the odd fellow. There, crouched in the corner, was a woman who seemed to physically resemble the man in feminine form.
Quietly, she sat back in a proper chair below the high checkout shelf. She would have been overlooked if it weren’t for her white hair, which brightly contrasted with the dimly lit space.
For the wealthy patrons who had just barged in, it was rather obvious the pair were a little eccentric. Both had long white hair and wore matching hand-sewn outfits, connected with crooked stitching, made from old-style woven fabric, though the woman wore a skirt, compared to the man’s simple trousers.
“We’re just browsing,” Paul McCartney answered, noticing the two were just under five feet in height.
“They’re hiding,” the old woman suddenly hissed from under a mop of white hair, which was wildly scattered upon her head. She followed her statement with a little chuckle that sounded more like a crackle, which seemed to echo across the shelves, as if the items themselves were laughing.
Upon looking at the aged female face, the lads saw her eyes were void of color. She was blind, yet stared right at them.
“You’re safe here, boys,” she declared with a smile of missing teeth. It was a warm welcome from a terrifying character, like a witch from a fairytale.
“Stay as long as you need,” the man with elf-like features then assured. His nose was a bit bulbous in the middle of his round face, with a distinctive line along the jaw. Like a marionette made of wood, he seemed to have no neck under his round head. What was even more peculiar, his ears were slightly pointed, giving off that mythical feel about him and her.
This further study caused the unwitting patrons to wonder if the eccentric pair created elixirs. It was uncanny how the strange duo resembled a mixture of fairy tales from ancient Irish lore these lads grew up with, along with gypsy songs describing the same creatures.
“Look around, enjoy yourselves,” the male shopkeeper added, as he spread his short arms with hands that adorned stubby fingers.
Now the Beatles were at a loss for words, but humbly nodded as they took the elders’ suggestion. A little stunned but certainly willing to comply, the young men divided up, looking at different items that caught their eye. The shop was bigger than it appeared from the outside. There were multiple rooms, and the building seemed to never end.

Chapter Text

While innocently traveling down a narrow corridor formed through long rows of bookshelves, Paul McCartney found himself admiring a landscape oil painting of a farm scene. The old artwork hung on a real wall at the end of the passageway the Beatle traveled.
Underneath the framed picture were some attractive crystal dishes, displayed nicely inside the open cabinet. With a wide view of the exposed lower shelf, the patron could see an array of fine china, laid out in a mixture of patterns and styles. The blended items were set up for an empty meal, in their mutual arrangement.
As the wanderer casually glanced at the flat top of the furniture holding the dishes, he noticed a pair of fine white gloves. The silky garments rested like two lifeless hands overlapping one another, partly dangling at the edge of the display.
Normally, the man of wealth and prestige wouldn’t bother, but these little hand coverings were high quality, holding up beautifully despite their age. Upon a closer examination, Paul realized the pair had to be at least from the 1920s—he judged, drawing on his knowledge of his father’s youthful style from that era.
They were in spectacular condition, the Beatle noted, as he observed the intact lining and found not a single loose stitch in sight. If it weren’t for the buttons fastening around the wrists, Paul would have sworn they were brand new. Possibly never worn, as even the fingertips revealed no natural markings.
Curious, the bassist suddenly found the items in his grasp and proceeded to dress himself in the old pair. Upon doing so, Paul could feel a perfect fit! Each one melded to his hands so nicely, it felt like these little articles of clothing were made just for him. The white, silky accessory held each of Paul’s digits so snugly, it resembled an extra layer of padded skin.
After dressing himself, McCartney’s view moved from his hands to its natural posture. When doing so, the musician discovered he was in a completely different room altogether.
Catching his balance on the smooth linoleum floor, Paul could feel his mouth dry. After dropping his jaw at some point in complete shock, he stared into the sudden, wide space, not believing his own eyes. Scattered bright fixtures from the high ceiling lit up this grand room, unlike the dimly lit antique shop the band had scurried into earlier.
As the Beatle looked around, his heartbeat pounded like a drumroll. Absolutely nothing made sense! Despite the laws of physics, Paul found himself surrounded by tables covered in white tablecloths. There were two to five people occupying each of the scattered round furnishings, surrounding a confused McCartney.
Feeling like he must be going mad, the displaced musician tried to grasp the situation.
Where were the rows of bookshelves he’d just traveled down? McCartney silently wondered.
What the hell? The lad then thought, questioning his sanity. Yet he managed to get a hold of himself enough to realize he could hear a live musical performance not too far away. Even with his back to the sound, Paul could tell by the clear and loud rhythm that this couldn’t be a recording.
Being a musician himself, McCartney turned toward the source of the sound. On the opposite side of the large space, Paul found the band.
It was a big musical ensemble—like in the old days—with at least twenty members. McCartney silently noted the talent: a pianist, trumpet players, multiple drummers with different drums, a sax player, and several lads playing the clarinet.
With the saxophone in the middle of its solo, the man of prestige found himself dodging waiters as he stumbled out of place.
Examining the clothing more carefully, Paul realized the style was from about forty years ago. He noted the men wore button-front pants with their tuxedos, and the women adorned dresses dripping with fringe, along with old-style hats that shyly clung to their faces.
How the hell did he end up here? The unwitting time traveler wondered as he watched servers transport champagne to different tables.
This couldn’t be real! The round-faced singer thought, circling in his own sea of confusion. Through blurry glances, the bassist observed people conversing in all directions. The crowd drowned out individual voices amid the multitude and the ever-present music.
Where the hell was he? The 1960s man wondered when he noticed a woman fixated on him.
The attentive lass appeared a little older than Paul—possibly in her late twenties or early thirties.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the beautiful yet invasive woman stood before the Beatle.
From his uninvited, upfront view, Paul saw she was blonde with a wavy bob cut and a gray dress dripping in fringe.
“You’re late!” the lady bitterly scorned, standing tall and aggressively placing her hands on her hips.
Poor Paul was still in shock over the sudden change in scenery and time; he simply stared at her.
“Uh… I’m sorry,” he managed, unsure what to say.
“Oh, don’t give me excuses, Cliff!” she said dismissively.
The band began a new song.
“Dance with me!” the woman ordered. Before the musician could protest, the bold woman led him to the middle of the dance floor.
The music was upbeat, and the dancers were all performing the same moves in unison. Trying to figure out the steps of a dance long out of fashion in his day, Paul struggled to keep up with the pace.
“What is wrong with you?” the lady complained at her partner’s clumsiness. “You got two left feet?”
“Well, I’m left-handed,” Paul managed to reply honestly, which caused the woman to laugh suddenly.
“Figures I’d end up with a bloke who was backwards!” she told him bluntly while crossing her arms over her chest.

Chapter Text

Having wandered into another room in this strange antique shop, Ringo Starr was following a line of shelves that had items which sparked his interest. However, it was a row of beautiful green-bordered books that first really drew the drummer's attention.
They appeared to be about a hundred years old, the man observed as he quietly strolled by the row of leather-bound text taking up an entire bookshelf for its display. The ancient aroma from the hard bound boarders was quite potent, and lingered heavily in the air.
Yet, this wasn’t enough to hold the lad’s interest to stop and open one up, so Starr simply moved forward, not sure what to do with himself.
This entire business was a sensory overload with the variety of items in every direction.
Old trinkets from around the world, and throughout time were scattered about shelves, tables, and any other kind of flat surface.
Even without lingering long, Ringo couldn't help but notice every piece he had happened upon, had been in excellent condition. Despite the age of the clutter, it all seemed to ranged from a few years to many hundreds of years old.
Like a display of ancient tiles, from somewhere in the middle east, was possibly thousands of years old. Still despite these beautiful clay museum pieces advance millennia, there wasn’t a crack or a single chip from any of the six individuals. They had aged to some degree, but not nearly as damaged as one would expect.
However, Starr wouldn’t know what to make of all this. Perhaps the red clay pieces were well preserved and then just well maintained after. Or more likely they were replicas. Ringo wasn’t an expert on that sort of thing, yet he studied the line of this centerpiece to its end along the wall.
Then it occurred to this one from a party of four, that he hadn’t seen or heard his friends for quite some time. However, this building wasn’t very big, so obviously they couldn’t be far.
Without haste, the shortest Beatle continued his wanderings at a slow pace, passing paintings, including one of a ship out at sea.
The average size canvas was surrounded by a wooden frame, hanging silently upon a faded brick wall. It appeared to be an old oil painting, with dull skies, and gray clouds lingering over the wooden vessel.
Then turning around towards the open space, Starr found a single couch, with an old wooden globe on one side, and a spinning wheel on the other. Naturally none of these items captured the drummer’s attention much, but the shine from the brass metal in front of the antique lounge did.
It was an old brass telescope which suddenly enticed those blue eyes.
For some impulsive reason the curious musician found he couldn't resist, as he placed his sight to the end of the old device, and innocently looked through the object.
To the drummer's surprise, he saw what appeared to be a real wooden ship floating upon the blue waters of the ocean. At first Ringo thought he must have somehow gazed towards the painting on the wall, despite the slight drifting movement he saw of little waves crashing into the ship.
Denial seemed to work, until Ringo pulled the eyepiece away. It was then Starr was startled to find he was outside, instead of within the walls of the old antique shop he and his mates scurried into.
Now Starr was standing on a dock, surrounded by seafaring folk, wearing colonial-style garb.
Midst Ringo’s confusion, a tall bearded man approached the shocked Beatle in a manner of a familiar friend.
"Ain't she a beauty?" the brawny-looking companion asked, standing over six feet in height.
Despite the friendly man's welcoming disposition, Starr couldn't help but observe his companion's unappealing smell. To be honest, the man reeked of booze and body odor. It literally smelt like this person hadn't bathed since the previous year!
"She's all ours, Cap'n!" the rancid body in colonial garb explained while patting Starr's shoulder.
Poor Ringo was too stunned to answer. He just stared out at the sea, and watched the ship come closer, until it drifted to the port where it silently docked.
Then the bearded man whisked his unwitting companion into the old-style vessel, with a familiar connection of that of a close friend.
Taking a step upon the wooden floor board, Starr discovered a stronger movement from the water, than the modern boats he was accustomed. It was clear, this wasn’t a holiday cruise!
Standing upon the quarter deck, Starr watched in disbelief as the crew members assembled on the main level of the ship. Men ranging from adolescent, to senior citizen, stood without uniform’s, but instead wore battered and tatted rags, pulled together for hard work, and no show. These men were the unseen laborers who made the world function.
In a mass pile of human bodies squeezing in tight on the one level floor, stood silent and still, fixated only upon Ringo, their captain!
The bewildered time traveler and the strange man who stood Ringo in the center of the audience view, resided at the helm. Together the pair were facing the crew, as if they were expected to announce something to the workmen.
All the Beatle could do was stare out dumbfounded at the sight before him, trying desperately to see straight with the glare of the sun.
Meanwhile, the man with a beard saw the confused look being worn upon the face of his companion, chose to suddenly speak up.
"Now men!" The rugged but friendly man stated, as he railed his voice across the condensed crowd of sweaty bodies. He did so most effectively while standing beside the supposed captain.
"We're set off on a two-year journey 'cross the Atlantic to the Pacific Waters. We will port in two months at the Hudson, where we drop our first cargo and collect the next batch." Then for a second, the man gave Ringo a unpleasant glance, but continued his speech, despite the obvious disapproval.
"Our cap'n runs a tight ship, but is fair. Do yer job well, and ye will fare well. Any crew who doesn't pull his weight will be left at port." He further added, which caused the men below to laugh.
"There be plenty o' eager sailors willin' to replace thee everywhere we go. Now, let's get this ship loaded! We sail at dawn!" the clearly experienced sailor yelled out, as he dismissed the men to begin their duties.
Immediately the crew cheered, but then quickly went about their work, though some lingered stares upon the silent captain.
After the laborers disbanded, the man with the beard turned to Ringo, gazing into the drummer's blue eyes, with a serious expression behind the burly beard.
"Ye're gonna need to speak up, mate!" the taller man spoke wisely as another two crew members gave a distrustful look at Starr. "The crew won't follow no mute captain!" he warned.
"Where am I?" Starr finally develop the courage to ask. He was exasperated as the 1960s musician released his shock through his words. Ringo didn't know what to say, or what the hell was going on.
All he knew for certain was this wasn't his life, this wasn't his time, he wasn't supposed to be here!
Seeing his companions unhinged expression, the man from this time looked his supposed friend over suspiciously.
"Dost thou have the fever?" the giant-sized one of the two inquired.
Ringo then felt a massively calloused hand pressed up against his forehead upon hearing those words.
"Ye don't feel sick, or look it." The true sailor observed.
"Who are you?" the drummer wanted to know. The poor man was just so confused. How could any of this be real?
Yet it was.
The waves were really crashing into the wooden vessel they were on. Salty sea air permeated the atmosphere, with live seagulls squawking in the background.
Now the bearded fella just laughed suddenly. He tilted his head back, and roared his jollies out into the midday sky.
"Ah, Phillip!" he said, collecting himself after a moment. "Ya always know how to pull off a joke." The bearded man replied, while swinging his hand across the Beatle's back, and clasping the confused time traveler’s shoulder.
"Come, let’s gits yer settle into yer quarters!" the taller one advised, shifting his companion down the steps to the main deck, and immediately through the entrance of the captain's apartment.
Starr was at a loss for words, but found himself complying, while following this man, who called him Phillip, into the cabin under the helm they were just standing above.

Chapter Text

Following a brick wall with a multitude of items arranged in different displays, the youngest member of the Beatles, George Harrison, innocently wandered into a clearing in the strange antique shop.
This uniquely designed building housed an abundance of random items, creating a musty scent accompanying the old crap. The array of different odors blended together with the dampness, which would naturally seep through the bare brick walls, adding to the aged aroma.
Quietly, the lead guitarist passed a mock library scene of old texts with a sitting area, and a spot displaying used toys placed on low shelves for children.
Clearly, there must be a market for such things, but not with this man. In fact, there was nothing to entice Harrison at all, as he aimlessly strolled through this peculiar business with such eccentric owners.
Then George wandered into a setting with old furniture that hadn’t been popular since he was a small boy. There were other mock rooms in the distance, however this spot seemed to draw the musician near.
It was just a display of an outdated parlor set, laid out in the old-style arrangement, with all the sitting furniture circling the rectangular coffee table. The style was quite popular in his home town when George was a mere tot, but it had long gone out of fashion, for more modern designs.
Even though the furniture was terribly dated, Harrison couldn’t help but reminisce about his childhood as he viewed what parlors looked like before there were television sets in every home. The entire setup was a literal piece of nostalgia from the early 1940s.
Yet what drew the musician’s interest was what was on the table, not the furniture surrounding it. There, on the short wooden shelf, the lad discovered a chess set made of jade.
This unexpected discovery piqued the young man’s interest. Coincidentally, Harrison was learning how to play chess and was trying very hard to master the historical art.
As the lad silently approached the object, he couldn’t help but notice that this unique piece was very old; in fact, it appeared to be ancient, as if it were meant to be in a museum.
Silently pondering, George began to wonder if he should buy it.
While seriously considering this purchase, the man of renown knew this museum-quality item would be a nice conversation subject for dinner parties. The Beatle could even visualize where he would display such a find in his house. Then suddenly, George felt compelled to move a pawn from the game. The desire to do so increased until the slender fingers of the strummer were lifting the little stone figure to the square in front of it.
When the strange desire was satisfied, George removed his hand from the item, then was awestruck as he lifted his gaze. With the lad’s mouth gaping open, Harrison suddenly realized he was outside instead of within the walls of the confining shop.
Startled by the abrupt change of atmosphere, the lad instantly stepped back, finding the thin carpeting of the shop had been replaced with a stone ground beneath him.
Unable to comprehend what had just happened, George suddenly noticed a man standing in front of him, opposite a tall table. The furniture between the pair was made of wood, which held the chessboard along with its jade pieces.
From Harrison’s quick observation, he saw that the stranger’s race was Asian, possibly Chinese. The famous man made his conclusion based on the traditional clothing the elder was wearing, along with the physical features from that region.
In just a frightened glance, the unexpected time traveler observed his new companion adorned a beautiful gray silk shirt, which looked hand woven, completing the outfit with matching silk trousers.
Meanwhile, the game was waiting to be played, as it was fully set up between the odd pair. Each player stood on their respective side, ready to engage in metaphorical combat. As the two sets of eyes met, Harrison could see his reflection in the other player’s gaze.
Still struck by the bizarre circumstances, poor George just gawked in confusion over the wild change in scenery and wondered what had just transpired!
While the youth’s distraught must have been obvious, the old man gave no reaction and said nothing in response. Instead the stranger simply moved a pawn from his side of the checkered board, continuing the game as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Observing this odd lack of reaction, George took a moment to recognize that he was in the middle of a game of chess.
It just seemed obvious he should play the next move. So he did, and then was instantly checkmated by the other player.
“Try again.” The old man ordered in a soft voice, as he returned his pieces back to their rightful place.
Eagerly, the Beatle set up his side, and felt ready to engage.
Early on in the game, George used his bishops more than he should, and soon lost them both.
In panic of defeat, the lad relied heavily upon his queen, yet one by one, his pieces were removed from the board, and the elderly man worked his way to Harrison’s king and checkmated him.
“You move too impulsively,” the sunken face of the senior remarked, void of expression.
“Try again,” his soft voice quietly instructed, with his brown eyes staring into George’s bedazzled orbs of sight.
“Where am I?” the bewildered youth from a different time finally asked his fellow chess player.
As Harrison uttered his grievance, he happened to glance around at his surroundings.
The abrupt change forced the lad to give himself a breath of scentless atmosphere, as he finally took everything in.
While in shock, George’s eyes widened in disbelief. With a limited view, the musician did manage to see that he was in the open air of a courtyard.
However, the space also possessed a rock wall, which encompassed the garden around the area of stone tiles and tall tables for standing games.
In just a brief look, George could see the edges of flowering trees with pink blossoms. It was absolutely beautiful from what the time traveler could see of it while he was entangled in the game.
Harrison just adored exotic plants and found he was longing to leave the game and explore the botanical area outside the gray stone barrier blocking his view.
Then, without warning, the British man felt a painful smack upon his outer hand.
Instantly, George drew back his limb and examined the red mark forming on his skin. The small wound was already a swollen welt.
Returning his gaze abruptly to the old man who had just assaulted him, the musician found his companion was holding a thin stick of bamboo.
In a wild flash, George vividly recalled his old days at school, with the even older schoolmasters and their beloved switch.
While the wounded musician was nursing his outer hand, the chess master took it upon himself to slap the knuckle of the confused player once more.
“Pay attention!” the elder ordered. “Do not let yourself be distracted!” his soft but dominant voice directed.
Frightened, George returned the pieces to their proper place and nervously began to play again.
Too absorbed by the abrupt change in his situation, Harrison managed to lose a game where he only used his pawn pieces and was very quickly defeated.
“Still so impulsive!” the master proclaimed while shaking his head, his eyes fixated upon the board.
“It is a struggle for the youth,” he added while lifting his gaze up towards the other player. “Stop and think before you move,” the strange man ordered.
The Beatle wasn’t the greatest at chess, and was clearly no match for this obvious expert. What could he learn from simply being defeated over and over again?
Yet, undeterred, George made another attempt, still determined to win!
Then one by one, the different jade pieces of both players scattered about the board. Soon the student became proud of himself. He even went a little further in the game than he had before. Still being challenged, but finally going somewhere.
This sudden improvement was beginning to stir up the repetitive loser’s confidence, only for George’s king to be cornered and defeated.
Frustrated by the sudden end of the game, Harrison glared at the victor, giving him an angry expression, ready to burst out screaming. The old man just smiled as their eyes met.
“I see improvement,” the master simply stated to the disgruntled face in front of him. He then set up his pieces. “Again,” the elder ordered.
Within moments, the Beatle was defeated yet again, which raised his heartbeat.
Then again, during another round, which made the newly transported time traveler’s patience drain.
Then again, and again.
Soon the stress wore on George’s expression after being defeated so many times over. He was gripping the tall table holding up the game by now. Sweat soaked the roots of his hair as the lad could feel the temperature of his face beneath the mop top rise, while his skin flushed with pent-up rage.
To be honest, George was ready to toss the damn board off the table!
Sensing the obvious stress radiating from his student, the winner gave the lad a stern expression.
“Come with me,” the soft voice of the man spoke as he turned suddenly.
Instinctively, George followed as the old man walked towards one of the gates leading into the garden.
A thrill suddenly replaced the rage, with the delightful thought of finally having his desire fulfilled. So eagerly, Harrison expected to soon be in the midst of the foreign trees, and brightly colored flowers behind those obstructing walls.
There was also a hint of honeysuckle being carried by the light breeze toward the very opening George was eagerly approaching.
The unwitting chess player had only seen the tops of tall branches from small glimpses he managed with a side view while playing the game.
Then, without warning, the elder stopped at the entrance, which nearly caused the excited youth to collide into the man in front of him.
Quickly halting his step, George gazed on, dumbfounded, while his companion remained standing still.
“Aren’t we going into the garden?” Harrison impatiently inquired.
“Impulsive,” the chess master simply replied.

Chapter Text

John Lennon was really disinterested in all the old junk laid out before him within the shop he and his band sought shelter.
This certainly was not the type of business John would ever interact with. The secondhand crap people like him buy is usually worth more as the item ages. Like fine art, which the newly wealthy man was encouraged to collect.
Definitely not an ugly design some hobbyist would slap together and call a painting; Lennon harshly judged, as he briefly scanned a flat still life image of some daisies in a blue vase on a table.
Observing the unframed oil painting, John saw it was embarrassingly underdeveloped. The shadows were like blotches of black, with little success in blending. Its entire design screamed amateur; the Beatle snubbed as he moved on.
Continuing his walk, John just gazed across the multitudes of rubbish. He happened to notice a familiar item, an old silver tea kettle. The unpolished dish was identical to the one his Aunt Mimi used to own until she gave it away to charity.
Yes, that’s where this shit belonged! The poorhouse, where the underprivileged could find use for some of this crap!
Lennon felt dirty just being near such rubbish!
While surrounded by mundane objects tainted heavily with age, the prestigious man became bored with seeing ugly paintings, smelly old clothes, and broken gadgets with forgotten uses. So full of energy, John darted himself forward, aiming to reach the business end.
However, the Beatle soon discovered the building was clearly larger than he assumed. While Lennon made his way through the space, he found no hint of a finish line. It seemed like the establishment just stretched from room to room with a few narrow corridors in between.
Obviously, the shop had to end somewhere! John silently assured himself, despite the never-ending number of rooms and rubbish in every direction. Clearly, there had to be a backside to this structure, and perhaps another door in which he and the band could leave without being noticed.
Then suddenly, a loud gong noise caused the musician to jump. Turning in the direction of the disturbance, Lennon was briefly greeted by his reflection in the glass of a very old grandfather clock.
“Bloody hell!” John just scoffed at the oversized timepiece, even though it scared him for a moment.
Undeterred, the musician continued, just waiting for enough time to pass so he and his mates could get out of here!
However, the spark of energy the musician had to search out his environment was gone. With each step, the young man’s pacing legs began to feel tired. Glancing about the sea of rubbish, Lennon spotted an old cream-colored parasol, a ceramic music box, and then a rocking chair.
Well, the rest of this crap was utterly useless, but at least the wooden rocking chair could be of service.
Approaching the seat, Lennon could tell from its craftsmanship that this chair was old but seemed sturdy and sound. It appeared to be handcrafted and held together well, despite its age. The damn thing was probably close to a hundred years old; the rock star figured.
Still, the age of the chair really didn't matter, as long as it could hold his weight. John didn’t care about anything else at this point.
So the lad carelessly plopped himself onto the furniture to wait out the time.
As the man's body shifted back in the rocking motion, Lennon closed his eyes, only to open them to find a woman holding him.
It was the strangest feeling. He wasn't a man any longer!
Lifting his hands up, John was stunned to find two chubby balls of fists, reminiscent of an infant's. Then, fixating his gaze up at the woman, he found his sight saw her face was fuzzy.
Instinctively, the man reached for the glasses he was wearing, at least when he entered the strange shop.
But when John managed to bring one of those uncooperative hands to his face, to his great shock he found that his eyewear wasn't there!
In confusion, John tried to study his surroundings, but there was a large soft cushion-like lump of flesh blocking one of his eye’s view. That's when the Beatle realized he could feel he was chewing something without teeth.
Holy shit! It was a large nipple, and Lennon was instinctively nursing on it. Licking what was in his mouth, he found a sweet substance coming from the tit he was suckling.
Unable to believe that this was at all real, the adult man in a baby's body closed his eyes, hoping to wake from a wild dream!
Then suddenly, two long fingers lightly pinched his nose, forcing the baby or man to open his newly formed eyes.
"You need to stay awake until you finish." A woman's voice gently explained, as more milk shot into the lead singer's mouth.
There was nothing John could do, except swallow the nursing milk down his throat.
"That's a boy." The feminine voice added. "You drink it all up."
Lennon could only reply by grunting with the nipple in his mouth. The man trapped in an infant’s body found he could do nothing else but eat his unintended meal, while he and the woman swayed back and forth in the rocking chair.
"My precious baby." The sweet motherly woman then whispered in her child's ear, causing John to feel her warm breath and flutter from her lips grazing the side of his cheek.
With an up-close view of the mother's face, John could see it was a bit plump and round. Likely weight that had remained from the pregnancy.
"Stephen..." she began to sing. "My darling little boy." The lady continued in a sweet, loving voice, rocking in her chair.
Then her singing continued with the famous little lullabies, while poor John could do nothing but lie there helplessly, as the grown man was basking in the motherly affections.
Realizing he was completely at the mercy of this woman, John found himself studying her, as she was literally the only thing his newborn eyes would let him see.
First, he noticed her hair was brown and tied up in a very old style. In fact, that high bun look hadn’t been popular since the beginning of the century.
Carefully, John could somewhat make out the color of her eyes, either green or blue. It was hard to tell. She just kept rocking back and forth in the old chair, though it wasn’t as old when Lennon sat in it.
With the feeling of being loved and fed, John found it hard for the infant's body to remain awake. Despite having the mind of a man in his twenties, the tiny baby drifted off to sleep. John was still completely confused, but what else could he do?

Chapter Text

Standing before the edge of the great temptation, George Harrison silently struggled as he waited for the chess master to allow him entry into the garden.
Meanwhile, the elderly man seemed to be intentionally using his body to shield the musician from the sanctuary.
Despite Harrison’s frustration, he was given no explanation for this deliberate delay.
All George could do was stare from behind the shorter man, who stood perfectly still as an effective barrier.
Through Harrison’s taller perspective, he saw the elder’s clothing dangled loosely from his small, thin body. The lad could also look down the Master’s head. He saw it had strands of thinning hair hanging past his collar, but not by much.
Without the slightest expression or a single word, the human wall silently remained in front of the opening.
Past the old man’s shoulder, George could see the luscious greenery but couldn't make his entrance for a long time.
The wait was driving the young man mad, just like during the chess game.
Yet the chess master didn't move a single muscle. Hell, the elder didn't even blink, as his body was the barrier between the Beatle and what the lad truly longed for.
Then a fly suddenly fluttered from the garden and flew around the chess master. The buzzing sound broke the silence as the wild insect swirled in the air but didn't land.
After leaving the elder, the black dot with wings decided it liked George for some reason and twirled around the student relentlessly.
Irritated, the Beatle tried to shoo the annoying pest away, but the damn thing kept returning. It was constantly trying to land on Harrison’s person, which he tried to avoid at all costs.
The little bugger did eventually manage to land on George's forehead, causing the time traveler to swat himself as he failed to strike the fly.
"So impatient," the chess master uttered, never once turning around, to see the chaos which was unfolding.
Hearing his master speak, the lead guitarist found his patience waning.
The elder’s words caused the youth to reflect upon the criticism he received. George quickly observed the point and grew quiet and submissive.
This wasn’t an easy task, because when the youth closed his eyes, roars of screaming fans would suddenly appear. A plague of images flashed in his mind. In a second George could see moments from his concerts, then the band’s arrival at every train station and airport. Young girls crying out for him, and the rest of the group, dominated his mind.
It was a frenzy of madness, which was a natural, response from their fans had when seeing people at their level of fame. Still it was terrifying and traumatic to George and his bandmates!
Oh, the beauty of the garden would set him straight. The cool quiet of nature surrounding the man of fame and renown was so comforting, so soothing. The very thought seemed to calm the frustrated youth down.
With the fantasy of the trees, and flowers he envisioned the garden would possess, Harrison instinctively bowed his head, hoping to find solace despite the increasing anticipation.
Even when the fly was still buzzing near, it no longer mattered to George any more. It will come and go away eventually.
At first the insect seemed up to the challenge, but despite the bug’s efforts, George was able to clear his mind of all his wants and simply accepted the moment in time he was in.
Upon the change of the student's behavior, the fly swirled around the young man's body without landing. Once satisfied, the buzzing insect changed its course and departed.
"Very nice," the older man told the Beatle, while standing in front of him, never once turning around.
How the hell did the old man know what happened? Harrison couldn’t help but wonder.
Now with the departure of the annoying little pest, the man in front decided to walk slowly into the garden, much to George’s relief!
At last, his reward.. was finally to come!
Together the pair emerged from the walkway and through a small canopy, when without warning, the chess master upped his pace.
With the sudden speed, George found with each step it was like flying through the sanctuary. A single glance, and the master would be far ahead, forcing the student to run to catch up.
Poor Harrison found himself struggling to maintain the unexpected speed, without abandoning his efforts to see the garden.
The exquisite scenery was enticing as the luscious plant life was everywhere. Yet it seemed the musician wasn't allowed to appreciate any of it. Everything was a blur as Harrison did all he could to catch up.
Then coming to a crossroads within the stone walkway, the master made a sharp right turn. George had actually run by, instinctively going straight.
The turn led to more shading overhead. Presumably from trees, but there was no time to even look up to notice what was above. Clearly George couldn’t take his eyes off his leader.
Disappointed, the unwitting student followed the teacher as he made a beeline through the rest of the garden, coming to an exit. Now both men were standing before a compound of small huts.
Together the pair then reached the section that appeared to be the living quarters. A little taken aback from the brisk stroll, George gazed about and saw men in robes, like himself. This little congregation was a monastery of some sort.
Wondering if he could get a glance of the garden, Harrison attempted to look back the way he came, but it was all in vain. As soon as his companion ceased his pace, the elder began to speak.
"I hoped you enjoyed the garden as much as you enjoyed our game of chess," the chess master informed his disappointed student.
This silenced any objections the Beatle might have had.
"Now go, and reflect on what you have learned," the teacher instructed.
Completely dumbfounded, the Briton became humbled by this sudden observation of his behavior.
With the surprise lesson laid out before him, the lad instinctively bowed. He meant it too. Harrison felt bad for how he behaved while playing chess. Then he turned to walk away and explore his new environment.
At the moment, George was alone, wandering the porch of the little dwelling he stood outside of. Carefully, the Beatle cleverly peeked in the open doors of the minimally designed establishment, a basic four-wall structure made of bamboo.
Upon seeing the interior of the simple houses, the famous musician wasn't at all surprised to discover straw beds on the floor. It made sense that only the most limited of accommodations would be offered in such a place.
There was no other furniture or décor within these dwellings. It appeared these little homes were made to sleep about four people, judging by their size.
Curious, Harrison explored a walkway until he saw a shrine where other men were in the process of their detailed meditation.
Each of the men were wearing simple robes and appeared to be in a different stage of the ritualistic movement for this group's particular method.
Studiously, the Beatle watched from behind as the others participated in their spiritual dance, in awe of the discipline of the complexity of the movement.
George quietly studied the pattern of bowing, kneeling, and the hand positions of these dedicated men. The devotion of these other students was most evident, with each detailed step carefully performed. In an attempt to replicate the others, the time traveler found the efforts were demanding, and required all of his attention, to keep up with the others.
Feeling obligated to join in, the man outside his realm repeated what he saw and tried to reflect on what he had just learned from the chess master.
George figured this strange occurrence had to be a dream of some sort. Although the Beatle didn't recall falling asleep in that strange antique shop, he couldn’t imagine what else this could all be. Harrison found himself rationalizing as he joined in the space with the other men meditating.
Obviously, something of value was meant to be learned through this experience.
Was he so impatient? George thought to himself as he began to follow the patterns he was observing.
It didn't take much time shifting through his memory for Harrison to conclude he indeed needed work in this area. Flashes of his many outbursts played in his mind's eye so vividly that a pain of guilt struck the man's consciousness.
George resolved he would use this unexpected opportunity for self-improvement!
In silence, the musician perfected the moves he learned and found peace of mind from the exercise. He kept to his meditation until the men in his company chose to suddenly arise from their positions and leave.
Feeling self-conscious, George stumbled as he quickly arose to join them. The lad was embarrassed that he lagged behind the well-organized group.
The stranger to this world did catch up with the others and tried to blend in. The youngest Beatle lowered his head, gazing at the ground --- an act of humility the others in his company seemed to have mastered.
Walking away from the shrine, George was in the back of a line of these men when the imposter was approached by a boy. The lad looked to be about ten or twelve years old, whose head was shaved bald and adorned a simple cloth folded over his body as a robe.
Upon reaching the out-of-place time traveler, the boy bowed respectfully to the elder student, and Harrison returned the respects by bowing back.
"Master said you worry too much about time," the young child told the musician upon standing up straight. Then the boy presented the man with a tiny box. It literally fit in the palm of the lead guitarist's hand.
Lifting the small lid from the paper-mâché structure, George discovered a tiny cricket, which immediately leapt out from the enclosure, flying from the Beatle's palm.
Surprisingly, the boy caught the insect with one hand as the creature had launched itself in mid-jump.
"Master said you live like a cricket. Bouncing through your short life," the lad explained as the bug chirped in the smaller hand. "So you must keep this cricket free and follow it to where it leads you."
Then the child's arm stretched out, and the insect exchanged hands between the two.
"The cricket will lead to your fate if you continue on this path." Then the boy bowed again. George could feel the bug hopping in his closed hand, as the child silently left --- leaving the Beatle with his cricket companion.

Chapter Text

In a thick cloud of cigarette smoke lingering just above the dance floor, Paul McCartney figured out, through some strange circumstance, he was somehow transported back in time, to the 1920s.

The Roaring Twenties!

That's what this decade was referred to, in which Paul's parents would be younger than their son's current age, as he danced with this woman he had just become acquainted with.

Gazing around in utter disarray, the famous Beatle quickly discovered men and women draped in the vintage fashions of forty years ago. It was a mind-blowing experience for the bassist, having suddenly gone from an old antique shop to a swinging club, of decades long past.

The lady Paul happened to be in the company with, who also referred to him as Cliff, found dancing with the younger man unbearable with the lad's "two left feet," as the blonde-haired woman asserted.

Poor Paul just didn't know this outdated style of dance, but that didn't seem to matter to his beautiful new acquaintance, as she pulled him away from the dance floor.

While the blonde woman guided her younger companion, McCartney saw she was directing him through the dining hall of the grand establishment.

Waiters quickly dodged by with their trays raised up, holding plates of hot hors d'oeuvres, and champagne in tall glasses. Every table seemed occupied with at least two or more people. Most with at least one attractive companion.

There were men of all ages, seated with stunning ladies, often much younger by decades, than their male companions.

However, there weren't only male patrons with the traditional sexy lass, but a rather eccentric group of people of all sexual preferences. To the Beatle's surprise, he soon discovered there were also quite a few older women with younger men.

The youthful lads in such pairings were polished and refined, with fit bodies, and a highly groomed appearance.

With a closer glance around, Paul also observed tables with two men, with one being much younger and attractive than the other.

The trained entertainer also noticed the female couples, as he focused more carefully around him.

At an exclusive female table, one woman would be in a suit, with the other lady adorned more traditional attire for her gender.

Then suddenly the woman who seemed to be in charge of the man from the 1960s, stopped, and tapped Paul's shoulder, to get his attention.

"That's Mister Jack Preston." She began, denoting her gray gloved hand towards a wealthy older man, seated like the rest of the patrons.

Fixated upon the limb's direction, the Beatle observed the only male at the small circular table was also dressed and refined.

Everyone in Paul's eye view were exquisitely clothed in their finery. Mister Preston was no exception, and like a few other tables the Beatle noticed, there were three very young and attractive women, surrounding the man.

Each beautiful lass was smiling, and flirting, while suggestively clasping their cigarettes, with luscious painted lips.

The musician understood what was going on. These were obviously hired professionals, for the man's pleasure. A position McCartney and his group had been in the exact same scenario that was playing out before his eyes.

"He loves to talk big, but he's a cheap bastard!" The blonde-haired lady added with a scorn.

Taking advantage of the still moment, the woman in her gray flapper dress, used her large green eyes to fixate on her male companion. She seemed to be looking him over, for some purpose.

"Did they tell you my name?" The lady suddenly asked, as if Mister Preston no longer existed.

Paul found himself in an utter loss of words, as he had no idea who "they" were.

With a completely dumbfounded expression upon the baby face, the lad simply shook his head in response.

"I'm afraid not." He replied honestly.

This news seemed to annoy the woman quite a bit.

Instantly she scowled, flinging her hands with loose wrists in an unforeseen upheaval of agitation.

"Christ! You can't find good help anywhere!" the female companion snapped, with a heavy amount of stress in her words.

"I'm Vanna," the woman then sort of formally introduced herself. "I'm the one who gives you your assignments, who you will surrender the money after every job and most importantly," she emphasized, "pays you your cut at the end of each night!" The lady named Vanna told him while taking a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by.

Then she drew Paul's attention to a balding older man sitting at a table alone, indulging in his meal.

"That's Norman Turner," she told the unwitting time traveler, with a hiss to her voice.

"I want you to stay away from him." Vanna further warned

Judging by her tone, this was a serious admonition.

"He's not allowed to use our services!" The feminine voice of authority conveyed. "Not after what he did with our last lad like you." She ambiguously stated, then took a swig of her drink, and directed her subject further into the hall crowded with human beings.

"What happened?" The soft-spoken Beatle inquired, nervously as he listened further to her story.

"That fat-balding-bastard took advantage of the kid," The lady blurted out, accompanied with the curse under her breath. "The poor boy was even younger than you." She noted, with a bitter tone. Like a scorned mother.

"He was just a lad of eighteen years," Those green eyes from under the blonde hair explained, as the pair continued their journey through the sea of people, either seated at a table, or dodging around them, like the waiters, who were everywhere.

"And that monster burned the beautiful kid, all over his exquisite body." She further elaborated while making sure Paul could see her face, as the woman emphasized her warning.

"For hours!" with those cigars!" She said, finishing her tale of horrors, while taking a final large sip of her drink.

Then she casually passed the glass to a server scurrying by, on his tray of dirty dishes.

With the grace of a cat, the woman of average height turned and drew the Beatle's attention towards a third man at another table. With the same gloved hand, Vanna indicated a tall gentleman in his forties with salt and pepper hair, sitting alone with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"There's your date of the night." Vanna said with a smile. "Since you're new, I arrange for you to be with Kurtis Sheldon. He would like you to call him Kurt or Kurtie if he asked you. Kurt is an artist; he's even done work in Hollywood in the States." The woman elaborated.

"He knows Charlie Chaplin personally." She further boosted the human subject.

"Our lads like you, say he is a delightful client!" the feminine voice then concluded with a pleasant ring in her tone.

"Wait!" Paul responded immediately, realizing where this was leading. "I'm not a queer!" he stated clearly, darting her green eyes, with the brown seriousness of his own orbs of sight.

"What!" The lady angrily shrilled. Then after a brief pause to collect herself, the woman continued. "This is the last time I have a normal man procure me queer whores!" the blond head shook in annoyance.

With her green eyes, she looked her male companion over again, while folding her arms.

"So, what do you do, old women?" she inquired, trying to figure out what to do with him.

"I do have a repertoire with the ladies." McCartney answered confidently.

This comment caused Vanna to roll her eyes, as this appeared smug to her.

"Well, I want you to sit with him," She seemed to have suddenly decided. "And entertain him for a few hours, until I can phone one of my backups."

"I don't know if I can do this!" The man confessed, not hiding the fear this brought.

The Madame of the queers just gave him an understanding expression upon her delicate face.

"Kurtie is a charming gentleman through and through," Vanna soothed, in a more motherly like tone. "And doesn't do anything you don't want him to." She further promised, along with a gentle smile to reassure the heterosexual man's concerns.

"Just keep him company!" The Madame instructed. "He loves to talk and drink, and get attractive men like you drunk. But don't worry, he might make suggestions, but is still respectful." The Madame insisted.

"I'll try to get someone to replace you as soon as possible." Vanna continued, as she directed Paul towards his client's table.

"Then I'll find you a widow or bored housewife for the night." She added and gave her new employee a kind smile. "Don't worry, you'll still make money tonight!" Then she stopped suddenly, just to brush off some dust off his suit, and corrected a rogue black lock of hair, which had been dangling over McCartney's brow.

"God!" the feminine voice gasped, while briefly clasping the cheek of the round baby face. "You're so attractive Kurtie might pay you just for the company!" The professional woman noted, giving the young man another once over, before bringing him over to the paying client.

Having never been in such an awkward position before, Paul was silenced by her statement. As a man of wealth and means, McCartney just couldn't fathom what he was hearing.

The bassist had played along so far, but this was too much!

Yet despite his inner objections, the musician helplessly found himself allowing Vanna to guide him towards the table, where the prestigious client awaited.

Once at their short destination, the Beatle noticed his "client" had adoring blue eyes, like the drummer in his band, but he gave both a very professional yet sweet aura not unlike his manager, Brian Epstein.

"Why Vanna!" The homosexual man of means, playfully flirted as the lady approached with tonight's order.

Immediately Mister Sheldon stood up, like a gentleman of the finest quality, to greet the approaching pair.

No wonder the Madame praised this man so highly. He was so well dressed, and wore a distinct cologne of refinery, which emulated from the very pores of this man's skin.

Mister Sheldon, or Kurtie, as she affectionately referred to him, brought a huge smile to the Madam's face. Especially as he took hold of her gloved hand into his and proceeded to kiss her wrist.

He did so in the timeless fashion of the highest class! If he weren't a strict queer, Vanna would obviously visit this man for free. She found him to be her dream in all ways but one! Yet he was such a delight, she enjoyed procuring him the sexiest men she could find.

"You have out done yourself as always!" The queer artist proclaimed, as he fixated his sights upon the young man standing behind the Madame.

"My god! He's gorgeous!" Mister Sheldon observed, smiling with enthusiasm.

Instantly Vanna pecked each of this man's cheeks, then gazing into the wealthy patron's blue eyes with her green ones, she explained the situation.

"There was a mix up with the handler, and they sent me a square lad for the old bitties instead of a queer." She bluntly stated as the woman pulled out a cigarette and the gentleman lit it with a gold lighter, while chuckling at the situation.

"Oh!" he said smiling at Paul, obviously still enjoying the view. "Would the young man be offended if an old queer buys him a few drinks and flirts a little?" the artist humbly asked.

Before Paul could answer, Vanna interjected.

"Of course he wouldn't!" The Madame answered so directly Paul was speechless.

"Cliff here is a nice guy and loves the attention!" Vanna added while she elbowed her employee. "Don't you Clifford?" Those green eyes instructed, rather than asked.

"I don't mind at all." McCartney calmly found his voice, and politely, spoke for himself. Instinctively the bassist began flashing his charm, with an effortless smile, as he met his new acquaintance eyes.

Whether he was in the company of women or queer men, Paul knew how to play the game.

This appeared to relieve his employer, as Vanna smiled easily after the round-faced youth played along nicely.

"Delightful!" The older man stated while glowing. "Have a seat." Mister Sheldon directed, as he pulled out the chair beside the one he was sitting.

Naturally, this would be proper etiquette for a date, Paul observed, as he fully absorbed the awkward moment.

The Beatle was taken off guard by the sudden change in his circumstance. It was always Paul who would be pulling up a chair for a woman.

As the famous musician wasn't accustomed to being in the position of the receiving end in these arrangements, which were extremely demeaning for a lad from Liverpool to follow along.

Mister Sheldon must have noticed the slight apprehension of the attractive youth, because the gentleman placed his hand on the rented companion's shoulder, while pushing the chair in behind him.

Submissively, the lad sat down, while hearing Vanna sigh in relief. She could tell the new boy knew how to behave!

"Wonderful!" The Madame proclaimed. "Sorry for the mix up! Your bottle of champagne is on the house." She then joyfully promised the wealthy client.

"Thank you!" The artist replied to the woman's offer, while admiring the view beside him.

"Would you like me to call Walter or Andre, to see if either are available tonight?" Vanna sweetly suggested, as a solution to the square lad's rejection.

"I know you've had them before and it's newbie Friday," The feminine voice lamented, "but at least you'll have someone."

"Possibly Andre if he is free," the client agreed to the offering. "but let's see how this one turns out first." He said with a little wink, in which Vanna just kept her smile, as she left the pair to themselves.

Chapter Text

In a black abyss, John Lennon awoke, and realized he had forgotten where he was for a moment. The confused Beatle found himself staring dumbfounded into the void of no light, which encompassed his much smaller figure.
All the man from the 1960s understood was he was aroused by a pain he felt in his stomach, causing him to wake from a deep slumber. Upon lifting the lids of his sight, the musician discovered everything was dark.
John quickly learned that it didn’t matter if his eyes were opened or closed, nothing was visible to him.
In vain the Beatle tried to arise from the cushion which nestled the baby warmly, but the man trapped in an infant's body soon realized he didn’t have the muscle strength to do that.
Naturally, John attempted to speak, but only chaotic sounds escaped his toothless mouth. The articulate words developing in the man’s mind spewed from the baby’s lips in the form of wails and cries.
Desperate, the lead singer tried to find his limbs and move them, but he couldn’t get either of his arms or legs to work correctly.
“Awwww… Stephen.” Said the woman’s voice in the blackness of the night.
That’s when John realized his new mother was laying beside him on a bed the musician couldn’t see. The devoted maternal figure kept her babe close to her bosom and cupped the infant’s head while bringing it towards her chest.
Soon a warm nipple entered Lennon’s mouth. Or the babies mouth? At the moment it didn’t matter, as John noticed the pain went away almost instantly as he swallowed what shot down his throat.
“Will you take that thing out of here!” A man’s voice suddenly snapped in the darkness behind John’s new mother.
John felt an immediate dislike and fear when hearing the unknown person in the room.
Although the grown man from the 1960s was unfamiliar with the man in the room, the baby's body he inhabited knew it! It knew that voice very well, as the small body trembled with the grown man’s disgruntled complaint!
“Yes dear.” The mother replied to the masculine voice, belonging to her husband.
There was a little bit of moonlight visible in the room to John, as his devoted caregiver arose from the squeaky metal frame bed, all while still nursing her baby.
It was without a sound, except for the door creaking, the woman and child left the small bedroom, to the only other room of the apartment.
Once the woman lit the oil lamp, John could see the small kitchen with a simple two person eating area, combined with a parlor, all within the small space.
The open area with a large window lit up the section because of a streetlamp just outside the flat.
With a strain to his infant eyes, John could see the tiny kitchen. The simple room had the old water pump sink, from decades past. There was also an old wood burning stove, and John’s new mother lit a fire, which warmed the whole section. Including the parlor, which existed as one room with the kitchen.
While still feeding her baby, the Edwardian woman pumped some water in a kettle, and moved the iron pot to the stove.
A sigh of exhaustion escaped the tired mother’s lips, but that was her only complaint. In utter muteness she performed her task, with a compliant manner of the fate of her existence.
The man’s spirit residing in this unnamed woman’s son’s body, figured she was making tea.
After setting up the water, the lady carried John a few feet, and sat in the rocking chair, which the musician carelessly parked his arse in the coming decades of the 1960s.
Swinging back and forth, John’s new mother began singing sweet lullabies as she rocked her baby in her arms.
The grown man trapped in the infant's body found himself cuddling in her bosom, as she devotedly nourished him from her tit.
Soon the delicate feminine fingers played with the curling lock over the baby's brow. Warmly the mother smiled at her child, while doting over him so sweetly.
John couldn't help but find this woman to be a most loving and adoring mother he had ever seen.
With great difficulty, the modern man struggled to see the round silhouette of her face in the dim light. Everything was so fuzzy, the man longed for his glasses.
Yet, while straining himself to examine this woman, Lennon found he was able to observe the same features this lady possessed, just as before. He managed to see some semblance of her brown hair, tied in a braid.
Then there were her eyes, which drew both the man and child to fixate upon. The Beatle still couldn’t make out if they were blue or green, but her orbs of sight were wide, and the pair were intensely staring at him.
While studying this woman feeding him from her breast, John lamented about where he was.
What the hell happened? The Beatle thought to himself as he consumed the constant flowing of warm milk.
Could he have suddenly died in the smelly old antique store and somehow was reincarnated in the past? John wondered to himself, as another chorus of “Hush-Little-Baby” began from the mother’s lips.
This made no sense to the Beatle. He could still very clearly remember his old life but was fast learning about this new one.
He was John Lennon, leader of the Beatles. A household name, known around the world over.
Yet how could he be in the past, when the new life was supposed to be in the future? The Beatle wondered in silence, unable to articulate a single word.
Yet despite the musician’s limited communication, he felt strongly that he should be living on the moon with his futuristic family in the twenty-first century, not in some dark apartment from the turn of the dismal century where he was born.
As much as Lennon tried to think on what he used to know, the famous rock and roll star found himself drawn to the voice of his new mother, as she sang him those classical lullabies everyone knew.
The woman’s voice was obviously not trained, and clearly not show worthy, but in that moment it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard.
In this body that was true. She was this baby’s only link to the art.
Suddenly a tear escaped the baby's eye, but it was not from Stephen himself, but John. Here he had the opportunity to finally have a mother’s love. Isn’t that what he always wanted, but painfully could never fully have….
Until now?
Obviously, this woman wasn’t Julia, John’s real mother, who died when he was only seventeen.
However, this new mother of his was both sweet and loving. Clearly John has himself a very loving new maternal figure, devotedly giving him her attention, and doted upon him as if he were the center of her world.
But could he love her? Did he love her already? John wondered without a word, while being held in this woman’s arms.
Then suddenly the woman bent down her head and kissed the baby's brow. Her lips were like gentle feathers, but warm, and soothing.
This simple action caused a whirlwind within the Beatle’s soul.
Inside the baby, the man felt the intensity of her soft caressing lips. The infant’s entire body tingled with the kiss. At the moment, John’s soul filled with the feelings of safety and trust, which radiated from the very skin of this lady.
Good feelings came with this woman and that’s when John realized, he already did love this new caring nurturer, fate has somehow brought to him.
After the baby ate, the mother straddled John on her shoulder, as the woman paced in circles around the small room.
Then as she circled her way to the kitchen, the woman removed the kettle from the heat before it boiled. Right afterwards the mother carried her baby to a section of pictures on the wall.
With the light of the oil lamp, John’s tiny body was lifted up close to the wall, so he could see the photographs. The little black and white images were difficult for the newborn eyes to make out, but being so close to the wall, gave the baby, as well as John, a better view.
Staring at the first little photograph in the little silver frames, John could make out what appeared to be a baby. Then the next picture was of an even younger baby.
The third picture was of a box with something in it, but it was hard for the infant's eyes to make out right away.
As John struggled with his sight, he found himself able to focus just enough to make out the closest picture. To the man’s horror he saw it was an open coffin with a dead infant.
The image was grim, and terrifying to behold.
“This is your oldest brother” The feminine voice suddenly spoke.
“Robert Daniel Arnold Smith.” The mother added, while pointing at the picture of the deceased baby, surrounded by flowers in the frozen still image.
“He was born already in heaven.” She explained in a broken voice. As if the tragedy were recent. Then the mother brought John over to the second picture.
“That’s your second older brother, Benjamin Allen Michael Smith.” Her finger tapped the glass of the picture twice. “I had him for two months before the fever took him.” The lady’s voice uttered in a heartbreaking whisper.
Afterwards she brought her son to the third and final picture, in which John had the infant’s view.
“This is your elder sister,” The lady said, as her teary eyed became level with the frame. “Mary Catherine Louise Smith.” Was the name the woman spoke, of the gray tone daughter, standing on her own in the grim little picture.
“I had her just over a year, but pneumonia took her away to Heaven.” She followed, trying to hold back the streams of water pooling in her eyes.
There was a melancholy ring in her tone, which matched the shadows in the room, and the gray in the black and white photographs along the wall.
Soon John felt a hand cuff his tiny infant head. It was his mother in this strange mix up in time, grasping her child like mothers often do. Gently she cradled Lennon’s head, as she drew the baby near.
“Oh God!” The mother suddenly cried. “Please let me keep my Stephen James Owen!” She begged with her head angled at the ceiling, while she pleated with God.
John couldn’t see the woman’s face but could tell she was crying. Her entire life seemed so tragic; it was impossible not to feel her pain.
In an effort to comfort the mourning mother, John tried to kiss her. It wasn’t as easy of a task as the grown man was accustomed.
His little face became lost in her lose strains of brown hair, and the man discovered, the infant's mouth instinctively opened, like a reflex. So instead of a light kiss, the baby ended up just nibbling her ear. This caused his mother to lightly laugh. Possibly because he could be tickling her.
The woman pulled him off her shoulder, and held him at her chest, to gaze upon her sweet affectionate child. In a face drenched in tears, the mother smiled. Her wet round face leaned above John’s view, and then kissed him a few times.
“You are too good for this place.” She told her baby, cuddling him close.
Then John found himself carefully being laid down on the table. He was not expecting this, but he could do nothing but stare at the ceiling. Soon the woman’s fingers were carefully opening his nappy.
That’s when both the man and the infants body understood what was going on. John could hear the water, which was just heated up, being poured into a basin next to him. Taking a cloth, the tired woman proceeded to clean the infant in her care.
The warmed water she heated up, was tenderly cleaning the man inside a baby’s bottom.
There was never a cup of tea!
In the shadow of night, the mother patiently performed the unpleasant chore before the modern hot running water, the man trapped as a baby could recall having of his past life.
With a tired smile on her face, the Edwardian woman dressed her baby in the fresh cloth nappy, with all her attention upon the child.
Then she turned off the oil lamp, and carried her son in her arms, to the only other room in the apartment. John was already fast asleep before she made it back to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

The stars were shining brightly over the stretch of sea, with the sky and the soft waves matching in coloration of a dark nautical blue. It seemed liked calm waters were laid out before the colonial style ship, as it peacefully traveled its way to the Americas.
With the conflict of his true identity weighing heavily upon his mind, Ringo Starr was dumbstruck as he spent his first night at sea on board an old wooden sea vessel. Despite the calm surrounding, the out of place man was still trying to grapple with the strange occurrence in time.
Absorbing the idea that he was in the 18th century, the Beatle was currently standing on the deck at the head of the helm, just staring at the exquisite starry night. The man from the 1960s had never seen the ocean or the sky so clear and clean in his entire life.
The entire scenery was completely unspoiled from the pollution of the 20th century this man has always known.
During this far off time, there were no motor cars, trains or planes, to alter nature’s true beauty. The moon appeared in the cloudless sky, as large as it’s watery reflection below, and the stars sparkled finer than any diamond the man of means, had ever seen.
From this beautiful perspective, Starr felt the past was indeed better.
In the lateness of the hour the Beatle found his crew were sparse on deck. From what Starr could make out, there was a man in the crows nest, keeping a sharp eye out in the darkness around him. Then just a few sailors mingled about as the night crew prepared to change the sails whenever the wind turned in its direction.
Ringo was alone, gazing from the edge of the ships rail while glancing back at his men, but the blue eyes of the drummer were drawn to the breaking waves, and the clear sky before him.
Even though the time traveler was out of his element, he found himself enjoying the moment, despite all the confusion.
The displaced Beatle wasn’t alone long when the heavy footsteps of his first mate approached behind him. Ringo had heard a few crew members refer to this tall burley man with a long brown beard, as David or Davy, by the lower class workers.
“Ah the waters be calm tonight!” David informally announced happily, taking a heavy swig from a bottle. Immediately afterwards, the roughed sailor wiped the beads of rum from his hairy chin with the sleeve of his jacket.
Soon after his eyes met the musicians gaze, while Ringo was forced to innocently masquerade as a ship’s captain. Warmly, the rough looking man smiled, while passing the glass bottle of spirits to the Beatle, who was still confused about his surroundings.
Without much thought the time traveler accepted the offering, even though his apparent old friend had rotten teeth and breath that could kill a bird in mid air.
This was not what the man of fame and notoriety would usually submit to, but the musician still took a swig, despite his better judgement! In some ways, Ringo could see, he wasn’t fully himself.
The taste wasn’t bad, although the drink had a strong kick.
“These be the moments dat make life worth living.” The first mate joyfully acknowledged, while his bottle was returned.
As the larger man made his proclamation, a thin young colored boy appeared out on the deck, with a mop, cleaning the large space. He was a tall lad, but clearly young. Possibly as old as twelve, but obviously couldn’t be older with the baby fat barely clinging to his cheeks.
“Ain’t it a bit late for the lad to be working?’ The drummer wanted to know, as it pained him to see a child forced to remain up so late.
The 20th century man in a colonial style captains garb, could tell the boy was weary, as the young lad dragged the stringy mop along the main deck.
Meanwhile, David briefly fixated his sight upon the youth and nodded to his companions observation.
“Ah!” The true sailor replied. “That be Leo, the cabin boy. He is owned by the freight company.” David finished nonchalantly, as he was accustomed to this dreadful sight.
It suddenly dawned on the man from the 20th century that this poor child was a slave! An actual person living their existence as another person’s property.
Holy shit! The powerful realization of how drastically different the society he was now in differed from his own, slapped the man of privilege in the face, as he gazed upon the poor unfortunate soul in bondage.
“Who’s in charge of him?” The captain demanded to know. At that moment, a surge of authority burned in the drummer’s veins, as he observed the lad working hard while dressed in tattered rags, and no shoes upon his naked feet.
Starr’s stomach twisted and spun into intricate knots just seeing this injustice!
“Well, we are.” David said, answering his captains question.
“We are?” Ringo gasped as he repeated his first mates words, with a wild upsurge of power which seized the drummers core, as he found himself in charge of this human life in a manner unlike the others in his crew.
“Aye!” The bearded man replied.
“Then it is my order,” Starr stated sternly, “that all children are to be in bed no later than the twenty-second hour. This shall be the rule from now on, while on my ship!’ He boldly declared staring his first mate in his gray eyes.
Stunned, and a little taken back, Davy nodded to the order.
“All work for the younger ones ends on the eighteenth hour.” Starr further elaborated his command’s.
“Yer mite make da lad soft for hiz owners.” The first mate wisely warned.
These fret companies were connected with all the powerful countries around the world, and could easily squash two rebellious sailors like insects underneath their golden heels.
“Then I’ll buy the lad!” The Beatle sharply exclaimed.
This sudden strange behavior coming from what Davy saw as a colonial man of rank and authority, forced the true sailor mute, but only for a moment. Carefully the grey eyes of the burley first mate studied his old friend Phillip, as if he had never seen the man before.
“Can’t say I do't share yer sentiment matey,” The captains friend stated, with an uneasy expression that even his beard couldn’t hide.
Ringo responded to such hesitancy with a stern look. His blue eyes could be soft and gentle, but he could freeze you with his disapproval, and it was just as effective.
Even now!
Instantly Davy submitted. He wasn’t one to argue, that’s why he wasn’t first in command. His friend Phillip was always the one with a plan, and Davy always devotedly went along.
When the seas be choppy, Phillip always found them out of the storm. Both figuratively and literally.
“I will have the lad sent to bed and put him on the morning shift.” The tall burley man assured.
“Let him sleep in!” The captain then demanded.
The 20th century man recalled John’s wife Cynthia Lennon who was reading all these parenting books, telling Ringo when he was a new father, children needed ten hours of sleep.
“I want him to have ten hours of rest.” Starr elaborated his orders.
“Ten hours!” His first mate cried out in disbelief.
“The crew run on twelve hour shifts.” He further explained. “You’ll offend the rest of the lads giving a slave such privileges!” There was a real warning in the man’s voice as he stated the sense of the current time.
Ringo wasn’t in the 1960s anymore, which were far from perfection when it came to human rights, but this society was even further back than even the most segregated of countries.
Taking a deep breath, Starr made sure to articulate his words carefully.
“All members under sixteen years of age must be allowed ten hours of sleep!” He instructed the 17th century sailor.” It’s for the safety of the ship, because these young minds don’t work right without it!” Ringo explained his times knowledge to justify his own humanity!
David, who seemed to prefer the less formal Davy, appeared perplexed, but his loyalty to his captain and friend overshadowed any rebellious doubts. So submissively the bearded man nodded.
“Aye aye captain!” He obediently responded. Then the loyal companion turned to fulfill his order, but suddenly the large man spun his body around to face his friend and captain.
“You know Phil,” The grey eyes of the true sailor began. “yer can’t save them all. But yer gotz a good heart!” Davy said, with a gentle soul radiating from the burley exterior.
Then like he had began moments earlier, the taller man made his way down the steps to the main deck.
From his high position, Ringo watched as the big burley man approached the scrawny young lad called “Leo” and took his mop from the child’s boney hands.
Instantly the poor kid thought he was in trouble, as he posed his arm as if he were about to be struck across the face. The horrific sight broke the man from the futures heart!
Above the very floor this act of charity was happening, Starr watched with a shattered soul, as the frail looking child learned he was not going to be harmed.
The poor kid was just naturally skittish from years of cruelty and torment.
Gently, David tapped the child’s shoulder, softly assuring the kid, he wasn’t going to be hurt. It took a moment for the lad to put his defenses down to understand what was going on.
Then the first mate began to talk, causing Leo to look up at Ringo standing on the helm, watching the conversation in its entirety.
In the dimness of the lantern lights, David explained the changes in the rules to the cabin boy. The child seemed confused, but still nodded to the orders.
Like a person without ownership of themselves, the boy bent his head down and proceeded to go below deck, behind the guidance of the first mate.
“See to it that he has a proper bed!” Starr then demanded, when it occurred to the man of wealth and means, that this child might even be further neglected.
“Did he eat?” The Beatle suddenly inquired. The blue eyes turned their focus upon the child, who was utterly bedazzled by this strange interest in his well-being.
“Are you hungry young man?” Ringo gently asked, as if he saw the youth in his current state in the streets of his own country. There was also a noticeable sweetness in the captains voice, that made the whole crew in earshot stop and pay attention to this strange act of charity.
Meanwhile the slave child was just utterly startled to be addressed by the captain directly. That has never happened before!
Completely flabbergasted, the lad was at a loss of what to do. So, instinctively Leo stared at the first mate for instructions.
David was also dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed. This was not only unlike his long time friend, but queer for any white man the sailor knew.
Still with the responsibility to direct the slave in his charge, the bearded man gave the child a slight nod, while staring at the captain in the helm.
“Yes sir.” The child answered nervously. He had never directly spoke to someone of such rank before.
With the lad's affirmation, Ringo made his journey down the stairs, with a heavy foot, as he was boldly making his way to the main deck.
“Then join me in my quarters.” Starr could hear himself order. Not as a musician in a band, but as the captain of a sea vessel.
Obediently both the enslaved cabin boy, and the first mate followed their leader into the private quarters under the helm.
This entire experience was all too surreal for the Beatle to fully absorb. The whole ordeal was like someone else had taken over, not just the body Ringo inhabited, but the drummers very being.
Usually Starr was submissive to the will of the others in his group. The drummer had nothing to prove, and preferred going along with whatever everyone else wanted.
Everything abruptly changed at that moment. Not just the time travelers surroundings, but something within the core of his soul.
Ringo Starr was the captain of a wooden vessel during some point in the colonial era. He was on a voyage cross the Atlantic to the new world.
The man had never really been in a position of such power before, but seeing a slave child in his crew was something he just would not tolerate! There was a burn in his core, which ran deep. Not just as a modern man of the 1960s, but some kind of empathy he strangely felt for the young child, called Leo.
As if he could see himself in that boy, beaten down and drained of all hope. Ringo himself didn’t have such an experience, but the captain he inhabited did.
From what Starr had heard from his first mate David, the two had a hard childhood together in the dreary work houses for orphans.
In the mist of lantern light, Ringo watched Leo skittishly walk in last, behind the first mate. The slave child was scared, as he had heard tales of sadistic men and what they do to people who weren’t seen as people.
“Have a seat lad.” The mock captain motioned towards a chair at his sturdy wooden table nailed to the floor.
Naturally the lad was nervous as he approached the furniture and sat on a bench, unable to fathom being allowed in a proper chair. Starr noticed the child’s hesitancy, but realized this poor lad was likely traumatized by a lifetime of cruelty.
Kindly, the 20th century man gave the boy a warm smile, along with a full plate of food. There laid out before the malnourished child was a full plate of fish, a chunk of cheese, bread and beans.
Used to eating scraps from other people’s plates, for the child in bondage, this entire ensemble was indeed a feast to behold! The scrawny lad, who was clearly underweight stared first at the food, then the white men watching him, but then that tempting dish again.
Seeing the conflict the slave was having over the current circumstances and the normal way things were done, the first mate gave the lad a cup of wine. It was not the best for children, but considering there really wasn’t much better, Starr allowed it.
The child hesitated, obviously scared for his life. Kindness from white people was not something he had ever experienced, unless it was a cruel trick. Like offering him a cup of water on a hot day, only to dump it on the ground or to give him a sweet with maggot’s inside it.
However, the enslaved youth found the higher ups reframed from such minor trickery, but had the power to be crueler. They could have you executed, or do things that would make you wish you were dead.
“Eat up lad!” David, the first mate ordered, making the charity easier for the child to accept. “The captain and I need to have a word.” He further added, which Ringo nodded in silence in agreement.
As the two adults left to the sleeping quarters attached to the main room, Starr and his companion David, lingered in the doorway. Together the pair witnessed the lad become more relaxed, with the departure of the two white men.
Then they watch the starving boy first try a small bit of his food. Once nothing bad happened, the youth ravish the plate.
Instinctively Leo began to pocket bits of bread and cheese in his clothing. Oh god, it was heartbreaking for the 1960s Britain to witness! It was straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. Then Ringo realized, the great British writer he was thinking about hadn’t even been born yet!
“So what are your intentions with that boy?” David asked in the darkness of the unlit cabin, while standing behind Starr lurking in the doorway.
“I’m going to feed him!” Ringo immediately answered. “Then free him, educate him and give him a good life!” The captain told his first mate.
“And what do you want from the lad in return?” The burley old companion inquired, with an unpleasant hint in the tone Ringo did not like!
It was obvious David suspected less than ethical intentions behind his friends generosity towards a mere slave.
“Don’t be disgusting!” The drummer from the future snarked in response to such an offensive question. “He is a child and the decent thing is to give him what a child needs!”
Now David stroked his beard, while looking over his companion. These two men had known each other since they were both runaway lads who stowaway on a military ship bound for India. They shared many adventures together and rose up in the ranks of the sea fare folks they commingled.
“Ya know Phil,” David finally spoke after a moment of deep thinking. “men like us, we never settle down. We never keep one woman and we never gets to know the children we leave behind as bastards.” He began as thoughtfully as he could.
“So if yer looking to make Leo yer…” He stopped to scratch his head, as he tried to find the word in his limited vocabulary. “wat yer call it? Protégé. Yeah, if you want to make da lad like a son to yer, I can see no objections.” The husky size man concluded.
“Just don’t make a habit of it!” The first mate warned. “You can’t afford to buy every slave ya come across!”
Then David gave his friend a smile of approval, and Ringo found himself patting his first mate on the shoulder. They were indeed on the same page.

Chapter Text

John Lennon was unaware of the hour, when he again awoke as a baby called Stephen, in the early years of the 20th century.

No matter how much the musician desired, he couldn't seem to arouse himself from this madness, which he rationalized had to be a wild dream of some sorts.

Just an awful nightmare, of being trapped inside an infant's body!

Still frustrated over his unpleasant circumstances, John carefully observed his surroundings, with the natural light coming from an unseen window.

The man from the 1960's figured out he must have been sprawled upon the bed he shared with the woman, who was his mother, and a man, presumably the baby's father.

At the moment, John realized he was alone in his helpless condition.

The infant's body he inhabited had been propped between pillows to prevent the small tot from rolling off the mattress. Similar to what both he and his wife Cynthia have done with their own son Julian at home, in the 1960s.

Being by himself for the first time in this new body, John examined the room he was in. He couldn't make out much with the baby's eyes, but he managed to get a clear enough view of the wall across from the bed.

Above his head, the Beatle noticed a bouquet of dry flowers, hanging lifelessly upside down from the wall, with the top of the headboard just underneath.

With the intense focus of the newborn eyes, Lennon was able to make out that the mummified flora were old roses. The man inside the baby's body recognized the deceased flowers sweet aroma before he could decipher the view of the plant through the blurry vision.

Still, John found himself enjoying the light scent, which was sweetly radiating across the room with just a hint of the flowers lingering presence.

To the Beatles side, he realized there must have been a small night stand residing near the bed. John through the baby's point of view couldn't see the table itself, but there was a tall lamp which rested upon the furniture, making the oil lamp high enough to be seen.

The light was off, but daylight lit up the space. There must be a window next to the lamp, out of the view of the one or two persons rather, with limited mobility.

Feeling bored, John drew his sight as best he could manage, towards the wall facing the bed. It was a small wall, as the room clearly wasn't very large. Half of the barrier making up the room, was covered by an old wooden wardrobe which appeared as a brown blob with John's limited vision.

However, he was able to make out a simple wooden cross, directly aligned with his infant body. It was if the dangling item were watching over him, or Stephen rather.

Then the door opened, and the sweet caring mother popped her head in, before the rest of her came inside. Immediately the doting maternal figure went to her baby, as she sat upon the mattress John resided.

Warmly she gazed down at him with a smile from her plump round face.

"How's my precious baby boy!" The mother cooed as she stroked his fine locks of hair, and reached her hand inside his nappy to check if he were wet.

Despite the strangeness of the entire position, John found her touches soothing, and the scent of her feminine aroma instantly caused both the man and child, happiness.

The average woman radiated a sense of pure joy to both the musician and the infant existing together as one.

Still, this woman was not without any imperfections. She was clearly overweight from her recent pregnancy, her face appeared plain, and nothing spectacular was observed so far, to be associated with the lady caring for the famous man inside her child's body.

Yet, to John through the baby's eyes, she was beautiful. As majestic as a princess from a fairytale. Everything about his caregiver, Lennon found he adored, despite the grown man's own personal standards of perfection.

Unfortunately, the infant's happy moment ended in a sudden halt, when the sound of a man yelling came from the background.

With the blood leaving her face, the mother instantly ceased her attentions towards her child, and quickly scurried out of the room.

Soon after, John could hear the man screaming coming from the other room of the flat. The sound was alarming, and it frightened both the child and the grown man trapped helplessly together between two pillows upon the bed.

"I told you I needed you out here!" The man's unruly voice could be heard from behind the closed door.

It wasn't long before John could feel a tremble from the wall being hit. Then there was obvious sounds of items being knocked over, followed with the shattering sound of something breaking.

The entire ordeal was terrifying, as John realized he could do nothing to help his new beloved mother.

Yet, as the Beatle strained to listen, he found his caretaker never made a noise.

However what the man trapped in an infant's body did hear, was the distinct sounds of walls being struck by a fist and then, the indistinguishable clap of skin being slapped by an open hand.

The bastard was hitting John's new mother!

Forgetting himself, Lennon tried to call out in the woman's defense, but just as the night before, only an infant's wails came from his mouth.

"Stephen!" John could detect his mother calling out to him in response.

This was a mistake on his part, as John could hear his new mother running towards the bedroom. She must have reached the bedroom door in her vain attempt to attend her ailing baby, but was obviously prevented from going any further.

The musician intently listened as the woman made it close enough to the door to rattle its handle, only for the sound of the man pulling her away to follow immediately afterwards, aggressively overpowering the mother's physical body, and her voice too.

"All you care about is your stupid brat!" John could hear the man scream at the lady.

"The little shits gonna die like all the rest," He further added, as he pulled John's mother away. "so don't you be wasting time on that little bastard!"

All poor John could do was cry out for the desperate woman, but to no avail.

Helplessly the man of power and means could hear his mother being dragged out of the apartment, and the door slam close behind her.

Now John was alone. This baby called Stephen was by himself, and for how long, was an uncertainty.

As a baby John could do nothing but wait to see what would happen.

While laying there helpless, the man found there wasn't much to entertain himself in his current position.

The room was void of any distraction to stimulate his mind, as he remained trapped within the limited space, as a mere baby.

Bound by circumstance, the grown man in a baby's body found his only refuge was sleep. It was something the infant he inhabited instinctively knew to do.

Soon the eye lids of the baby closed, and tried to find comfort in the bedding surrounding his little body.

It was dark when Lennon suddenly arose from slumber, hours later. He could tell there had been a lapse in time as the room was black with the days end, and the lamp still off.

The Beatle also noticed the uncomfortable feeling of filth in his diaper, which was cold, wet, and heavy.

In desperation he began to cry but no one came.

No sweet gentle sounds of the devoted mother, ready to attend his every need.

Instead, he was alone, and powerless to do anything for himself! He couldn't even wash his own bum!

It was a terrifying feeling, being so helpless, and alone in the dark. Now there was a dreadful ache in the man's heart.

He wanted his mother.

He longed to be in her embrace.

He was also hungry!

Realizing the hopelessness of his situation, John let himself fall asleep again, with a cold soiled bottom, fearing his new mother may never come back.

The Beatle in a baby's body, inevitably did awake to his mother lifting him out of the bed. Immediately the scent of her feminine aroma identified the lady before John's blurry sight. Which was a relief, as the feeling of safety seemed to have returned….

For a moment.

Something didn't feel quite right. John noticed this, as his mother carried him out of the bedroom, and into the only other room within the flat.

In the dark the mother brought her baby to the kitchen area of the space, when she turned on the oil lamp. It was then John saw the carnage this woman's husband caused.

Even with his limited vision, John could see fist holes in the wall, broken dishes shattered upon the floor, and what seemed to be a pile of splintered wood, was likely an end table of some sort.

The entire place was a mess!

However, the battered woman seemed to pay the disaster no mind, as she stepped over shards of china littering the wooden floor.

In utter silence, the woman stripped the baby down to his bare skin.

John was relieved to feel his bottom being cleaned, and so carefully attended to.

Then the mother place the baby with a grow man's spirit residing within the immature body, into a tub of warm water, which was close to the oil lamp.

It took a moment for John to adjust to the brightness on this side of the flat, but when it did, John first observed the bewildered hair of his caregiver.

Wildly the mother's brown locks of hair had lost their place in her tied up style, and rebelliously sprawled in chaos around the tattered round face.

There was also a hint of a bruise upon the woman's cheek.

"That bastard!" John thought to himself, upon reviewing his new mother's disheveled disposition.

Yet the woman didn't utter a complaint, she just continued her chore with a blank expression.

As the mother bathed her child, she began humming instead of singing, and John could tell her demeanor had changed.

Something was different about her.

"You know baby," The mother finally spoke, as she dressed the infant in fresh clothing.

"No one believes I would do it," She further added, while wrapping the baby in a fresh nappy. "but that's because they don't know your mummy as well as they think they do!" Then the woman lifted the child in her arms and took him over to her chair, the very rocking chair that transported John back to this far gone time, and into this infant's body.

Yet, the chair didn't return Lennon to his time. It just seemed like a regular piece of furniture, as the tattered mother opened her blouse and proceeded to nurse the infant.

Rocking back and forth, the woman cuddled her son, who watched and listened to her attentively, as he nursed from her tit.

"Your father, Thelma, Herbert, and all of them don't believe I will do it, but I will!" She told the baby, as her rocking became somewhat aggressive, and her face stern. .

"They say I'm a coward! That I'm mad! That I'm an invalid!" The woman further explained.

John saw her eyes were focused on his, intensely. As if she could see the soul of the man that resided in her baby.

"But I'm going to do it!" The lady then suddenly swore. "No one is going to stop me either!" her feminine voice continued further, with the same conviction in her tone.

"and I'm taking you with me!' She said as she also began to cry. "This place isn't good enough for a sweet soul such as yours! Where we are going, we will never suffer like this again! I promise you! I'm going to take away all the suffering of this evil place!"

John didn't like the sound of that. She sounded ominous and scheming. Her voice was cold and distant.

While rocking him, the Beatle trapped in the infant could tell she was making a plan and he feared of what it might be.

For the first time, this sweet mother wasn't singing to the baby she adored. Instead, the battered woman fought back tears and trembled as she held the babe she nursed.

With a wild gaze in her eyes, the Edwardian woman zoned in and out, making no eye contact and muttering incoherent things to herself.

"You stupid lazy cow, can't keep a child alive!" The mother spoke wildly, in a mocking tone. "They say I should die, just like my next babe!" She added while looking down at the small baby at her breast.

John could tell she was referring to him, or her son Stephen rather which made no difference, as the two were one in the same body.

Disturbingly, Lennon could feel the entire atmosphere shift ominously, as the woman's eyes glared wildly in a chaotic gaze. As if she were going mad.

For the first time the Beatle could see a hint of cruelty on her face.

Now John was frightened!

Chapter Text

For four weeks, Ringo Starr found himself captaining a vessel, as the colonial wooden ship was slowly traveling to the Americas, while much of the Continent was still a British colony. The man could feel his face was scorched by the blistering sun, but he was used to it by now.
Dealing with these second-degree burns on a daily basis was beginning to feel normal to the time traveler. Much like the blisters on his thumbs when playing his drums, these work scars were expected and accepted by both the drummer and ship captain, cohabitating together as one person.
During the past month, Ringo's body was always being brutally exposed to the elements the nautical life had to offer, before modern inventions such as air conditioning and sunscreen were invented, making these duties far easier to withstand in the 20th century.
Hell, he and the rest of his band enjoyed recreational trips out at sea, on expensive motorized boats, with climate control, small kitchens, and even bathrooms with running water. Ah, plumbing seemed to be the most missed part of modern technology the drummer longed for. The man from a futuristic time was secretly going mad for a hot bath and any kind of deodorant.
However, despite its setbacks, being out at sea was definitely a more ideal option in this time period, the drummer found himself feeling. It made sense, as this career possessed a great deal of freedom compared to being locked on land.
Here a man could travel the world, even if he were mostly confined to the vessel. However, this was the only option one had before airplanes began to glide across the sky in the 20th century, to truly see the world. Being out in the sun, floating upon the rifting waves, on his way to far-off lands and adventures, seemed like the perfect way for one to live their life. There didn't seem to be much better opportunities in this distant time.
Starr knew his ship was just one week away from port, in which the time traveler was eager to be on dry land. From the helm, Ringo attentively studied his crew, as the strong lads set the masts and then watched in awe, the wind catch the sail. The drummer found this action just breathtaking to behold, even though he had seen it so many times over since being on this voyage. In the conflict of his current surroundings, and the memories in the time traveler's head, he began to wonder if what he thought was the future were just a crazy dream his mind had conjured.
The Beatles, the 1960s, his family, and the modern technology the 20th-century man remembered, seemed so far away, and almost delusional. Had Ringo dreamed up his glamorous lifestyle, of horseless wagons, talking picture boxes, and flying devices that could bring him to the Americas in a day?
Then the British man began to wonder if he should mention a troublesome revolution that should be stirring up in the colonies by now, to the crown? He then debated if it would happen at all. Should he say something? Was he sent here to change history? The Beatle sighed by the conflict in his head. Nothing seemed to lead him to the right conclusion.
Still unable to fully believe it all, Ringo returned to his quarters, to take a break from the sun, and the troubling thoughts he didn't wish to ponder any further.
Crossing the threshold beneath the helm and into his parlor, Starr first noticed his first mate David, leaning his large body over the young cabin boy, Leo. The child now was wearing shoes and proper clothes, at the Captain's insistence. They weren't fancy, and the lad still had chores to do, but his schooling was included as part of his day.
Being the Captain's adopted son, learning words would be deemed acceptable as part of his duties. This gave the child less labor to endure on his thin body, already suffering from a decade of hard labor. The newly declared father was only too glad to relieve some of the burden the poor child had in his daily routine.
"How is the writing coming along?" Ringo asked the pair who had their backs to him. While the ship's captain stood five-eight in height, the burly first mate stood a half foot taller than his companion in charge.
With a heavy step of his boot, Davy turned his large body around to face the captain.
"Leo here is a natural!" David instantly answered, while proudly patting the lad's shoulder. As the first mate's hand gently touched his back, the boy responded by first looking up at his teacher, then spun his head towards his newly adopted father, with a large smile on his face. It was something the child began doing naturally on his own, since he became used to the improved treatment and quality of life.
Unfortunately, the poor lad was still skittish and shy, but seeing these little glimpses of happiness warmed the time traveler's soul, along with the boy's healthy weight gain.
"Show yer new Pa!" the first mate told the student gently. Turning around in his chair, Leo lifted up the paper he was writing on and proudly displayed it glowing by his success!
"He's got long fingers and a talent with the quill. He'd be a good scribe!" the first officer proudly boasted!
"The lad could author novels one day, if he wishes." Starr countered the first mate's praise, with even higher expectations. The new father did so, while giving Leo a fatherly gaze. He wanted the lad to be prestigious, not a common worker. Starr found himself feeling rather strongly that Leo deserved only the most noble of duties of renown, especially after the hell the child must have endured as a slave!
The boy still hadn't opened up much about his life. He never knew his parents, only that as an infant, Leo was named after the constellation sign he was born under, by the sailors who sold him separately from his mother. During Leo's infancy, he had been fed by various wet nurses of color, until the lad was weaned, and then began working.
"Aye sir." David responded to the captain's silent command, which he had been observing this past month on this voyage. Then the bearded man turned to his student.
"Keep up wit da 'k's'." he told the pupil at the desk. "I's gotz to have a word wit yer new dad!" Leo nodded as he eagerly continued his studies, at the little table set aside just for the boy's lessons.
Meanwhile the two adults retreated to the sleeping quarters, lingering in the doorway. Devotedly, the adopted father watched over his new son, now no longer hiding food, but writing letters. Soon the thoughts of this lad could be cemented in time.
Starr felt certain there was something special about his new son. He could feel it in his bones. It could just be the feelings of love for a child you are responsible for, but whatever the cause was, the parent was determined to provide this lad with the best life he could ensure for the boy. A boy considered a mere slave, had become very special to this man, over the course of twenty-nine days.
"The crew ain't happy!" the first mate interrupted the father's thoughts, from behind the Captain's back. Turning abruptly, Ringo fixated his sights to the bearded man towering over him in his sleep quarters.
"They don't like ya took a negro under yer wing." Davy wisely warned.
The pecking order was most clear in this society. It was devotedly deployed in the social structure, so the underclass workers had no one beneath them, except the slaves they were encouraged to abuse.
The unholy method was devised to keep the social order at bay. As long as there was someone beneath these dirty, illiterate, and poorly fed masses, they could be trusted with weapons, tools, and precious cargo.
"They're jealous." Ringo answered his companion, wearing his concerns like a coat.
"Aye! Da green-eyed monster be lurkin'." The taller of the two noted, as he swayed a little from his toes to his ankles.
"Do you believe the crew would mutiny against us?" the Beatle masquerading as a captain wanted to know.
"Not a violent one," David replied, pulling at his beard. "But they could all choose to stay at port and be hired elsewhere. And day be spreadin' word dat we be treatin' da negro betta dan dee white man." The larger man was now shaking his head with his long brown locks flying loosely about his wide shoulders, as the first mate continued his warning.
"No crew will want to assemble wit a captain wit such a reputation." the experienced sailor further advised.
"How many members of our crew is literate?" asked the drummer in a ship's captain's garb.
"Ah…" uttered the first mate, as he had to think about that question for a moment. "Most mark their name wit an X on da ship's log." He concluded. "You know dat!" the burly man exclaimed.
"We only learnt to read, cause of dos missionaries we transported to Africa, agreed to teach da two of us in secret." The bearded man further filled in, with the memory Starr didn't have.
"Brilliant idea of urs to bribe da Father Francis wit de bottle of whiskey." Davy fondly recalled.
"I did that?" Starr uttered in disbelief. His first mate didn't take it as the sign of confusion his companion's words really were.
"Ah Phillip!" Davy responded warmly. "Don't cha be all humble wit me. You knew reading and writing would rise us up da rank. Them pompous arses in charge don't want no literate folks in the crew. We came offices on our next voyage!"
"Then we will offer to teach the men to read and write, if they agree to stay on with us." the man from the future then concluded!
"If we do dat captain, dan da crew would start becoming officers" the man from this time pointed out. "Day could also go to any port dey like, and find better paying work. Work dat's less dangerous than dis."
"So we will be able to teach more people to read." The Beatle quickly noted, feeling strong in his convictions against such injustice.
Yet, this didn't feel like him. Ringo himself never was interested in politics. In fact, he usually avoided the topic. Controversy could hurt the group's reputation, and the subject was almost always depressing and boring. Sure the 20th-century man despised cruelty and unfair treatment, but the man of fame and fortune was perfectly accepting of social orders and happy to rise up in its ranks himself. He even pulled a middle-class girl up with him, his wife Maureen.
However now the drummer had these opinions and feelings from experiences he never had.
The surges of these convictions were wild, and who Ringo once was, was swiftly changing. For the past month, the unwitting time traveler did all he could to improvise on his new character. However, as time passed, Starr found himself experiencing this strange behavior. Words which weren't his own, but Phillip's. As if the real ship's captain lay dormant mostly, but would suddenly take over.
“Wat’s gotten into ya mate?” David spoke up, returning Ringo, or Phillip rather, back to the moment.
The first mate’s eyebrow arched up above his eye, as he fixated his sights upon his old friend.
“Rank aside.” The true nineteenth-century sailor finally confronted the captain with the strange orders. “As Davy and Phil, what’s happenin’ to ya?” he bluntly inquired, staring his captain down with light brown hazel eyes.
“First yer wants to make Leo yer son and now yer wants to school da crew?” The taller man noted by gesturing with his right hand, then his left.
“Wat next, takin’ orphan beasts from the sea?” David pressed, with a hint of sarcasm as well as exasperation in his voice.
Ringo couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, upon hearing his friend’s criticism.
The 20th-century man might very well help save a seal or dolphin, if he had to and could. He did like animals after all, but Starr saw his friend’s point.
“I want there to be more to my life than just being a captain of a ship.” Ringo suddenly found himself saying, unsure where this was coming from. But as he uttered these words, he found himself agreeing with them.
“Could an old scallywag, who lived all of his grown life upon the seven seas, have a moment to recollect upon his purpose of being here in this life?” the ship’s captain stated, while turning to look at the boy in the other room.
“Would a soul who started his life by being left at da doorstep of an orphanage with the cord still attached to his belly, ever feel a sense of value?” a man’s voice suddenly came from Starr’s mouth.
Phillip seemed to know how to speak properly, but with only Davy in his presence did his true accent come out, during these random slips.
“Is dare really any difference between me and dat lad with da quill in dare?” a heartfelt feeling came from these words, as if they were Ringo’s genuine thoughts.
Yet, this wasn’t Ringo himself.
“I got us out of the workhouses, and brought us to India, then Africa, and soon we were sailing the high seas….”
“It weren’t nothing learnin’ how to read, and rising us up in da rank. But in the end, what has all dat got us?”
Suddenly a tear slid down the drummer’s cheek, but it wasn’t his tear, but Phillip’s.
“I want to leave my mark on this world in a meaningful way.” The words from the drummer’s mouth continued. “Saving Leo from a lifetime of bondage, and helping the crew to learn to read, well that makes their lives a little better!” the polished language returned.
“So why not?” the futuristic man concluded, surprised of his new convictions.
“Dis a noble venture, but yer gonna be stirring trouble for us.” Davy warned. “Da freight company ain’t gonna like any of dis!”
“To hell with them!” the captain boldly declared. Even Ringo was surprised by his tone, but he continued, unsure he had much choice.
“What is the point to have such a position if you cannot have a soul!” the Beatle pressed sternly, feeling those words, and believing them full-heartedly.
“Aye!” the large burly first mate replied, scratching the back of his head. “Those be some heavy words ya say there!” David replied, unable to think of any response.
Phillip was always the thinker between the two, causing the true sailor to submit to his companion’s wishes. His old friend never let him down before, no matter how wild Phillip’s plans were.
“When do ya think we ought to tell da crew of yer offer of schooling?” the first mate then asked his captain.
“Immediately!” Ringo answered firmly, as he barged out of his quarters and was soon at the helm, with his first mate right behind him!
Loyally David rang the bell at the helm, which caused all the crew to stop what they were doing and assemble on deck.
Even young Leo appeared from the Captain’s quarters, his hands blackened from using a quill to write. The lad obediently arrived as the call of the bell had been drilled into his bones.
Starr could see how instinctively the child followed suit like the rest of the crew, gathering together in the hot sun, which was relentlessly brightening its rays on the main deck of the ship.
Now with all the men assembled, Ringo found himself gazing out upon the sea of men, filling up the main deck. The musician found he couldn’t see a speck of the wooden planks which made up the floor, with all the lively bodies gathered about.
Each man stood out on the deck, quietly waiting for the captain to speak.
Every soul which made up the crew were all sweaty and dirty, as water was too precious to waste for washing. Even Ringo found it hard to keep himself clean, he was dying for a bath!
In a quiet gathering, the men looked up at the helm with blistering faces, and mouths of rotten and missing teeth. A rather raunchy bunch, Starr had to admit. Yet despite the foul aromas, these were hard-working men, and they did a job that cost more of their bodies than they were paid.
“Listen here!” David announced loudly. “Da captain wishes to address da crew!”
The men silently fixated their gaze upon Ringo their captain, their leader to cross them over the Atlantic Sea.
“It may have come to your attention,” Starr began, as he yelled out his speech loud enough for the entire crew to hear. “That I have taken in the Cabin boy Leo in as my apprentice and adopted son.”
Immediately the men gave way to scorn, but boldly the Beatle continued his speech.
“I’m aware many of you have suffered hardships in your lives and I and me first mate can relate to you all.” Ringo really couldn’t, but the body he inhabited did, and so could Davy, from the stories he recalled as a musician, acting as a ship’s captain.
“But a slave child is not the cause of your troubles!” the 20th-century man made clear. “Your situation you were born into is the cause.” He bravely noted, causing a gasp within the crew. It was as sharp as the wind suddenly catching the sail.
“Now I cannot rectify all of your problems, but I can give you all something of great value…” the drummer then paused to scrutinize the men looking up at him.
As the 20th-century man masquerading as a ship’s captain found he was suddenly experiencing flashes of concerts he played throughout his career.
Images of his performances before so many live audiences came and went before the Beatles’ eyes, as if were all just a dream.
Ringo wasn’t in the back behind his drums, he was center stage now.
The helm really did feel like one!
“I offer that during our voyage to the Caribbean Islands the entire crew will be offered the chance to learn to read!” the pretend captain courageously announced
There was a gasp from the entire crew again. This was just unbelievable!
“Don’t be tellin’ no tall tales!” a man in the back of the helm yelled. No one could identify him, as the voice was hidden within the crowd of sweaty faces.
“I have known da captain since we were scrawny lads, like Leo!” the first mate suddenly called out proudly.
“Let me tell you, there is no man I trust more wit me own life dan Captain Phillip Joseph Samuel Waters!” The burly tall fellow boasted, with pride and conviction.
“He is a man of his word! I have bet me life many times over wit dis man and I live here to tell you about his virtue!” He added, giving Ringo a look of affection.
“If any man would like to learn to read and write, then remain on this voyage.” The captain announced. “Any crew who doesn’t wish to remain, take your salary and move on. We will move on without you!”
To the two leaders’ surprise, the men cheered.

Chapter Text

In the 1920s, Paul McCartney found himself in an upscale club, with the main attraction being a large, glorious band, playing the music the 1960s man's parents listened to when they were his age.
The distance of the Beatles' old life seemed to be openly taunting him, as he watched the large musical group living their greatest moments in their life, with the dance floor between the performing musicians, and Paul with the rest of the diners, residing at a table.
As a musician himself, the Beatle was taken aback by the other band's quality, as it relentlessly played song after song, never missing a note.
Dancers cluttered the divide between the time traveler and the predecessors of his own profession, in which the bassist of the 1960s band painfully longed to return.
With energy that could electrify a city, bodies wildly swayed across the floor, pranced about in a manner reflecting upon the music being played.
Right now, the current little number was an early predecessor to swing, so naturally this caused the men and women to parade in a wild frenzy, within the space which separated the dining hall from the band.
Wildly, the dancers would set the floor on fire, with the music being the petrol fueling the flames.
Yet, when the song changed, the mood would instantly shift as well.
During a slow musical number, the couples would immediately press in close together, letting their bodies sway softly to the soothing rhythmic tone.
Openly the lovers would display their less than modest affections, which would abruptly end with the change of the next song.
It was as if the band were the puppeteers of the marionettes in motion, like how one would dangle a chain of keys in front of a baby.
However, Paul knew his perspective was a little jaded, as he saw the dance floor as a barrier between the Beatle and his real life!
Silently McCartney could feel the shared camaraderie within his aching heart for his own time of the 1960s, where the Beatle enjoyed such a privileged existence.
Being a lead singer, the bassist was usually in the front of the stage, widely visible to a roaring crowd.
Not only was the man normally the centerpiece of the four, McCartney had his name attached to all the songs the group released, and the baby-faced Adonis was the first choice of every girl, aching for a piece of the Beatles, but that wasn't his life now!
The famous man in his original time was currently a nobody in the 1920s.
From the little bit of information Paul could gather about his new self, he was living as a man called Cliff, and his duties of this chosen profession were most grim to say the least.
Just too disturbing to fully absorb at the moment.
The time traveler's skull was overwhelmed with these complex thoughts as he watched the performers of the past play so spectacularly before him.
Yet the baby-faced sex symbol of another era found himself not only out of his time period, but out of his natural comfort zone completely!
In some twisted hand of fate, the famous musician, who was a man of wealth and means himself, but now Paul McCartney, a household name of the mid-20th century, was in the awkward position of being a male prostitute.
Not only was he a sex worker for queers, but the celebrity was expected to service the very class of gentlemen from the elitist circle in which Paul himself was a part.
However, that wasn't his situation in this distant time before the Beatles' own birth.
Paul McCartney, a lead singer of the famous band, now resided at a table with a queer man, who was silently lusting for the anxious youth.
Mister Kurtis Sheldon, who randomly gazed with his blue eyes upon the young Adonis by his side, kept a respectable distance from his hesitant would-be lover, but clearly he would soon be expecting more.
Poor Paul was silently coming to terms with the fact that his situation in life was reversed.
Because now he was a man of wealth and some fame, belonging to this era, who was literally eyeing up the famous Beatle, now demoted to a sex worker, who likely was in need of money.
Unable to fully believe his surroundings, Paul fixed his attention on the huge band playing old music. These songs weren't foreign to the 1960s man as his parents introduced him to these once popular numbers when he was a boy.
Which would be twenty years later from the time he was trapped in!
Soon the mid-century man identified a little musical number his mother used to sing, and then an early Glenn Miller song played, and a bunch of other popular music of the 1920s Paul learned from the adults who raised him, followed.
The gentleman the Beatle was supposed to entertain, at first did nothing more than glance, but clearly was trying to sway the atmosphere of an awkward arrangement, to transform as natural as a friendship.
Mister Sheldon would smile warmly, and refresh the glass of the hesitant youth quite often.
Not unlike Paul himself and his colleagues, whenever the Beatles engaged with the professional ladies in these promiscuous situations.
"So do you find Vanna attractive?" Mister Kurtis Sheldon asked suddenly, breaking the silence between the pair, as the gentleman host refilled both glasses at the table again.
First the artist would casually top off his own slender vial, and then he would do the same for the young man he rented for the night.
The wealthy elder liked keeping the lad's glass full, and McCartney was inclined to drink up as he was instructed to do by his employer.
"Well, she is lovely," Paul admitted while taking a sip of the refined liquid, which was a status symbol in both this time and his own.
As an object of lust, Paul was already on his third glass, and beginning to feel the alcohol's effects.
"But I prefer women who are younger or closer in my age range, myself," the Beatle answered honestly.
Still, Vanna was indeed a stunning woman but was at least a decade older than Paul. Yet she was worthy enough in her wit and looks for sex, but knowing his old friend John's penchant for mature women, the other lead singer would likely snatch the blonde seductress up first.
The Madame was definitely Lennon's type, and nothing short of this woman's identical twin would have made such a pairing possible with the other members of the group.
"I can't say I blame you," the prestigious man responded while keeping his posture straight.
"I'm sure men like yourself become tired over such repetition with the older people lusting after you," the wise one of the pair observed empathetically. "We old folks have all the money, and you youth have all the looks," he continued warmly.
"Though I've met some men and women in your profession who prefer older. I can personally relate to you though; I rather have a gorgeous younger lover myself," he said, giving his current hired young man a flirtatious smile.
Paul could tell when someone found him attractive, and his table mate clearly was drawn to him.
"You are a stunning young man," the gentleman's voice added sweetly, and this made Paul blush a little.
“Thank you, Sir.” The Beatle responded, trying hard to not look too flattered by the compliments of another man.
"Please, call me Kurtie," the older man corrected charmingly.
Shyly, Paul gave Kurtie a smile as he accepted the compliment while drinking the champagne, like he was supposed to do.
"Well Kurtie," the Beatle spoke with a touch of flirtation in his voice. "Vanna says you're an artist," McCartney began with a slightly loose tongue from being buzzed.
The singer was attempting to engage in a friendly conversation, with a different kind of artist, but an artist still.
As expected, the gentleman's eyes twinkled upon the direction the conversation was leading to.
Like any creative mind of any circle, Mister Sheldon enjoyed talking about his work.
"Ah yes! I'm a painter," the still life creator proudly boasted. "I make backgrounds for movies, and portraits for those who are both rich and famous!" he gladly elaborated.
"I just finished a job for Harold Lloyd. He's been waiting for years for me to have the time to do his portrait," Kurtie openly bragged with a strong satisfaction the lead singer within the rock and roll band could relate to.
The Beatle himself had awards from around the world and knew many renowned people of his own time. Paul might have even met a few names this man would have been acquainted with.
"So, you are in high demand," the musician noted with a larger smile, as the conversation began to feel more natural, with the verbal exchange slowly maturing between the odd pair.
Immediately a soft laugh came from Mister Sheldon's side of the table, upon hearing the youth's statement.
"My lad, I am a staple of success!" The man who asked to be called Kurtie continued fanning the flame of his ego. "I've painted movie stars, royalty, presidents, millionaires, you utter a famous name and I've either painted them or they're begging me to find the time," he explained with a friendly but satisfied smile on his face.
"Everyone who is anyone has their portrait done by Kurtis Sheldon," the painter continued with the same pride and stamina as before.
Then he cast those bright blue eyes, twinkling in the chandelier's light, shyly down. Almost as if the man were suddenly embarrassed.
"I also paint beautiful men for free," those gentle eyes within the man admitted, which seemed humble suddenly.
Only for a brief moment, until the client carefully restored his gaze upon the youthful face, not hiding this boastful man's slight hesitation.
It was clear he was unsure how the Adonis at his table would react to such an offer.
"Are you offering to paint me?" the young man asked, helping the gentleman state his request.
"My dear young man," the painter gleefully began his reply.
"I've wanted to paint you since I saw you dancing with Vanna," he added with the pride restored to his voice.
"You caught my eye right away and not just as a lustful queer," the elder elaborated as he pulled a small book from his inner breast pocket of his coat. "…but as an artist," Kurtie admitted while he eagerly opened the little novel of drawings immortalized on parchment, towards the last few pages.
In restrained excitement, the current prestigious man flipped a few pages over, then gave the book to Paul at his side.
"You are an exceptionally handsome man," the pimped-out man could hear his client say, as he studied the penciled likeness of himself, and of the Madame he worked for.
"I had no idea Vanna was procuring you for me tonight," Mister Sheldon formally confessed.
"I figured she got lucky with you for herself," the gentleman further added.
"You have no idea how pleasantly surprised I was to find she was bringing such a gorgeous man for me," he said without hiding the excitement in his voice, while gazing into the fine leather-bound pad with high-priced paper.
Despite the awkwardness of it all, the time traveler couldn't deny that the rendition formed in haste was indeed stunning!
Upon the cream-colored parchment Paul saw his own likeness in the exact state of bewilderment he experienced while dancing with the Madame.
Immediately the musician noticed that the details were spectacular, almost reminiscent of a photograph.
As the time traveler examined the drawing, the Beatle couldn't help but observe the little touches in the penciled image, like the lines of his knuckles, as his hand grasped Vanna's arm.
The artist also so meticulously re-created the fringe on his dancing partner's dress, swaying in a jolted angle.
"You're quite the realist," the soft voice of the 1960s musician observed.
Indeed, the artist did more than perfectly outline his hair, but conveyed the confusion McCartney had experienced, just discovering he was sent back in time.
Paul noticed he was within the company of a perceptive man, able to pick up what is not said.
"Why thank you, my dear boy!" the older man replied as he gave another affectionate gaze over the man next to him.
Paul could tell his client was pleased to realize that his rented date was cultured, as well as gorgeous.
"Has anyone done your portrait yet?" the painter gently asked in an engaging manner. "I know the young are usually unable to afford such luxuries," he further noted of their current class and age difference, "but I can't imagine an artist meeting you and not being as eager as I am, to create your likeness."
"You must be my first real artist," Paul caught himself teasing, which delighted the older man to hear. However, McCartney was slightly embarrassed about his comment and bashfully shielded his eyes down in their vulnerable greenish hue.
"I would be honored to have my portrait done by you, sir," the stage performer continued, artfully directing his view upon his client.
Then the musician stopped himself suddenly. As if Paul had become conscious of a mistake he inadvertently made.
"Kurtie," he corrected himself, giving off an image he knew many queer men adored.
Being knowledgeable to a point, while still a little clumsy with minor details wasn't far from the truth but could be exaggerated a bit.
This innocent naive impression was most effective with the Beatles' queer manager, Brian Epstein, and so did this flirtatious manner work again, upon the client interested in purchasing the young man for the night.
The well-rehearsed script worked, as the mixture of some knowledge and youthful stumbling seemed to endear the older man, and even created a sparkle in the blue eyes of the actual queer at the table.
While always asserting himself as a strict heterosexual man, Paul had to admit, for his age, Kurtie was a handsome fellow.
He had soft features with those blue eyes, which complemented the older man's black hair as it grayed in a fashionable manner.
Mister Sheldon had an appearance one would call mature, rather than old, along with a dashing debonair presence.
With his long-fingered hands, the client retrieved a fancy cigarette case from an outer pocket of his coat.
"My dear beautiful lad, you have made my night!" Kurtie said delightedly, as he opened the silver cigarette case, offered one to his date, who accepted, then took another white stalk out for himself.
Immediately afterwards, the parade of wealth unfolded, as Mister Sheldon collected a gold lighter crusted with diamonds and other gemstones, from his other pocket.
The Beatle couldn't fault the man, the lighter was a beautiful piece to be admired.
Politely the artist used the expensive shiny jewelry to light the young man's cigarette and then his own.
Paul had never been so well attended to, by a man flirting with him. The heterosexual man found it was an odd feeling, but strangely, the Beatle quickly realized he was enjoying the attention as the Madame predicted.
He was being given expensive champagne from a brand that no longer existed in his time and being flattered to his delight.
The bass player figured he was being as pampered as any woman who was fortunate enough to have this sort of date with him.
Okay, perhaps better! The 1960s man silently admitted to himself, as the older man of the 1920s took a few drags of the slender white filter-less cigarette between his lips, then lightly ashed the tip into the decadent crystal ashtray.
"I have a car to take us to my home," the client then declared. "It's a mansion," Mister Sheldon explained, as well as showing off like a proud peacock displaying its feathers in his full glory!
Yet then the peacock suddenly closed its fanning tail, as the humbleness returned.
"I will not touch you, if you don't wish, but…" the client began the discussion on boundaries between a man and his rented companion. "Would I, perhaps, be able to possibly touch you a little?" he inquired gently. "Only where you are comfortable of course," Kurtie reassured the heterosexual beside him.
This was an awkward conversation, but considering the circumstances McCartney didn't hold it against the man who was paying for a good time.
The Beatle, despite all the women freely throwing themselves at them, would often take in professional sex workers.
Fans could be chaotic at times and sometimes it was good just to find a disinterested prostitute looking to be paid.
It was easier to deal with, and he had this conversation with many of the random women he had hired. Although Paul found the ordeal even stranger suddenly being on the other side of this business arrangement.
McCartney knew the ways of men and thought about his next sentence carefully. He indeed figured out he needed money, but he didn't want things to go too far.
"Well, I have never had an interest in men," the soft-spoken Beatle openly admitted. "I don't know how good I would be," he stated honestly but was desperately hoping to draw in some money without having to commit to any physical activities.
Mister Sheldon didn't seem deterred, he simply smiled to see the young man was both gorgeous, honest, and sincere.
"I think you'll be fine," the wealthy man assured. "I would never go too fast, or far with a lad like you. I just want to touch your chest and…" he then paused for a moment, trying to create an ending to his sentence. It was obvious the man was about to make an embarrassing request of the sex worker. "… Your feet," Kurtie finished his request, while nervously awaiting his companion's reaction.
Despite the prestigious man's best efforts, the rose color arose from his pale dermis, while he was bravely asking his question.
It was rather sweet for a man, Paul concluded. He was seeing the hint of vulnerability upon his client's face, which made the request seem all the more harmless.
Further thinking about it, the musician found the painter's desire completely passive.
It really wasn't asking much in the grand scheme of things, especially when he didn't know how dire this man Cliff's finances were.
"I guess that would be alright," McCartney agreed, which thrilled the entire mood of the atmosphere.
Feeling the sudden change around him, Paul then noticed the song the band he had been silently admiring, was playing in the back of his mind's chaos.
The music must have been slow, which caused the dancers to draw in close to their partners.
With the soothing sound of the clarinet, the men and women upon the dance floor had allowed their bodies to lightly sway like leaves in the wind, resting peacefully on their branches.
Then suddenly the beat went up, and the floor exploded with swinging bodies moving to the new tempo.
"I will compensate you well," the Beatle could hear Mister Sheldon say over the music.
Those words returned Paul's attention to his client, as he had momentarily lost himself in the spell-binding dance floor.
"I promise you; you will leave with a full pocket!" the artist gleefully declared with a warm chuckle in his voice.
"Why look what Kurtis Sheldon got for the night!" said a sinister tone from behind both unsuspecting men.
Paul just had to look up from his seat, to see it was the man Vanna had warned him about, Norman Turner.
The slimy looking character gazed downwards at the pair at the table, in his brown suit, which clung tightly around his round frame. He was also smoking a cigar, which made the Beatle flinch just thinking what the sick man likes to do with them.
"Norman," Mister Sheldon responded immediately to the rude intruder.
It was obvious to Paul, his client was clearly aware of the uninvited man's reputation.
"You know I don't like you, why are you here?" the artist demanded to know.
"Oh, can't three queers find camaraderie together in a world that doesn't want us?" Mister Turner uttered sarcastically, followed by a sinister laugh. "Cute toy you got there," the devil with the cigar acknowledged Mister Sheldon's date.
"Have you fucked his feet yet, you freak?" the disliked third party rudely inquired.
"My apologies Mister Turner," Kurtie formally stated, as he abruptly arose from the table. "But not all of us have your penchant for sadistic cruelty," Mister Sheldon said, straightening his body up to the vile creature. "I will never forget what you did to Thomas!" the artist replied, while revealing himself to be quite taller than the maleficent patron interrupting their conversation. "He was just a boy! You're a monster!" The gentleman told the rude man taunting him and his date.
Mister Turner just laughed in a wicked manner, with the ash of his cigar dropping to the floor.
"The lad couldn't take the heat!" The unwelcomed man said with a hearty laugh, then fixated his gaze over to Paul. Even tipping his cigar at the young man still sitting down. It was just disgusting.
"You tied down an eighteen-year-old young man!" Paul's client snapped back.
"A beautiful one at that," the true gentleman proclaimed the deviant man's list of controversies.
"And tortured him for hours with those disgusting cigars of yours!" Mister Sheldon further stated of this man's grotesque past deeds!
"Oh, I paid Vanna out the nose for that night," Mister Turner so smugly dismissed his confession to such cruelty. "The most expensive whore yet, and he wasn't even that cute, or that young for that matter," the gruesome voice followed with an even more gruesome statement.
Mister Sheldon seemed to be shaking, not in fear, but with a wild rage pulsating through his veins the normally gentle man could barely contain!
"You better hope I never find you alone!" the artist warned, with both of his hands now balled into fists. One most noticeably holding an opera cane, with a solid brass handle.
Suddenly the band playing in the background gave its drummer a solo performance spot, as Kurtie's expression revealed he fully intended to make good on his threat.
The artist even appeared eager to engage his antagonist in a brawl.
Which was a vast contradiction of the gentle soul Paul was introduced to.
With an obvious threat to his personal safety, the balding man just bit his cigar, gave Paul another once over, and left.
Relieved to see the sinister beast of a man take his leave, Mister Sheldon took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wiped the sweat beading on his brow, while he allowed his body to return to the comforts of his chair.
"I'm so sorry you had to witness that," the artist acknowledged the passing moment.
McCartney couldn't help but admire the elder's courageous stance, where the client so valiantly defended his honor.
Yet the Beatle now witnessed that tough persona melt away, revealing the true natural sensitivity the gentleman usually maintained.
"Thank you," Paul encouragingly praised his courageous table mate.
The young singer had to admit, his companion was quite impressive as a protector. It was like a combination of security guard and parent, securing him from extreme danger.
Being a bit shaken up, the Beatle felt he had never been saved like that before. Not from a man who would be so cruel to him.
"I must confess, you were quite heroic," McCartney caught himself saying, slightly embarrassed by the moment of weakness.
"You stay away from that sicko!" Mister Sheldon strongly advised.
"Thomas is still a beautiful man," the elder then spoke of the ill-fated youth who had been brutally attacked, by the very deviant that was just dismissed. "Although that bastard ruined his chest and legs with those awful cigars," he added, wiping his face with the same handkerchief as before. "I hired Tommy for my staff after he recovered, and occasionally he joins me in my bedroom," the wealthy client included.
"You're a good man!" Paul stated to the artist's generosity.
Then to his own and his companion's surprise, Paul found himself taking the other man's hand in his.
It was an informal interaction, outside the normal bounds of masculinity.
Yet, this was an act which seemed appropriate to the man from the 1960s, who also had a queer manager, regularly involved in his band's life.
However, Paul soon regained his senses to the standard norms, and quickly went to move his gloved hand away, when the artist rested his much larger hand on top of the musician's.
"It's okay," Kurtie kindly assured the younger man beside him, while stroking the well-dressed hand in his grasp.
It appeared as if the painter didn't want to release the limb.
"Norman is a scary man," he further added, with those blue eyes appearing to be in a trance, as the elder gazed out about the dance floor of the couples dancing to a more moderate tune than before. "An evil one at that," the prestigious man added as a tear slid down his cheek.
Within seconds the strength melted from the stern stance which fought off a monster, to the sensitive petals of a blossom being roughly handled himself.
"He raped Thomas after that," Mister Sheldon informed his companion, while trying to regain his composure.
"It took a long time for the lad to recover," he continued, while drying his face.
Instinctively the artist proceeded to wipe his cheeks, as the subject was most dismal to perceive.
"It took him more than a year to allow another man to become close again," the painter explained as he wiped his face repetitively, as he tried to hide a stream of tears.
Then in silence, the elder carefully studied the hand he was holding.
It felt like the studious observer was going to undress the limb, but instead simply he held tightly the outer side, as if he were to hold onto the limb forever, especially with those blue eyes.
"I imagine your hands are beautiful," he said, focused on the gloves that transported Paul into the roaring twenties, as this decade was referred to.
"You have such long and delicate fingers," the artist went on, as he examined each digit dressed snuggly within the fine white material.
Suddenly the elder released the youth's hand entirely, which Paul instinctively drew in.
"I bet your feet are even prettier," Kurtie then flirted with a rather alert smile upon his face.
Those blue eyes seemed to be taking the younger companion in, as if they only just laid eyes upon each other.
Then the smile softened on his face, as the prestigious man relayed this hopeful desire. Clearly this was the man's highlight of his pleasures.
However strong the desire, Mister Sheldon composed himself in a proper manner, but also warmly conveyed an innocence in his request.
Feeling his guard down, the Beatle returned the affectionate gaze, in a lighter manner, but seemingly willing to allow this man his simple interest.
"I'm honored to be your date tonight," Paul spoke up, while playing along. Flattery was definitely important with men of such renown, as the Beatle was of such renown himself, just not now.
"I may not be a queer," the heterosexual openly confessed. "But I enjoy kind people, especially ones who are quite charming," McCartney admitted, still buzzed from all the champagne.
"You flatter me," the man from this time responded modestly again.
"Why don't you report to Vanna that you'll be leaving with me," Kurtie then suggested.
"And I'll have the car ready for your return?" he then instructed. Paul instinctively nodded.
"I'll meet you at the front door," the younger man promised, as he studied his surroundings in a different manner.
Now the time traveler was gazing through the large space for the Madame of the queers, who put him in this situation in the first place.
Immediately the client figured out what his hired date was doing, and gently gained the lad's attention with a soft tap upon the youthful shoulder.
"She'll be in the back, behind the stage, to the left," the artist informed the new employee.
In response, the Beatle gave a charming smile to his client, as the artist too rose from the table to leave.
"My lad," Kurtie then said, before making his way to his chauffeur. "You have no idea how much joy you have brought," he stated vaguely.
Paul wasn't sure how to respond, so he just politely nodded, and the two parted ways.
Carefully the time traveler made his way across the dining hall, and around the booming dance floor.
The music was going with a faster beat than before, causing the crowd to dance at a rapid rate. The excitement was intoxicating, as everything seemed more alive than before.
Likely due to the new number being performed, the 1960s musician had no doubt.
Making his way passed the stage, the popular performer experienced flashes of his old life with the band in the 1960s.
It lasted for a second, and the bassist was back in the 1920s, staring at the large band performing.
McCartney couldn't help but wonder if he had just dreamt up his life in the future, with imaginary friends, along with a fictitious glorious life as a famous person.
Maybe as a desperate man he was suppressing his dreary reality as a male prostitute named Cliff?
This certainly seemed like the case, as the baby-face observed his current surroundings of a far more dismal fate.
The musician and sometimes actor could tell the people around him were not pretending. None of the people the man could see were actors, simply playing a role to trick him.
However, upon reviewing his own memories, McCartney quickly realized he could only remember his name from his past life.
He was James Paul McCartney, publicly referred by his middle name Paul. That detail was important, he recalled.
The Beatle had no idea who Cliff, or Clifford was, other than what the time traveler had recently learned.
As the young man rattled his mind, he thought about his family.
His father was also named James, and his mother was called Mary. He had a brother too, called Michael.
Carefully reviewing all he knew of himself, like random important dates, the Beatle tried to grapple how the hell this all made sense. He thought about the date of his birth, then his girlfriend Jane Asher, followed by his family and then his friends.
Right afterwards other personal details would randomly pop in his head. Like where he stored his grooming items in his travel bag, and achievements he had made. Paul quickly concluded he didn't belong here.
There was something unnatural at play.
Then the bassist began questioning himself.
Why was he so willing to go along with the role he found himself thrusted into?
Instinctively the time traveler went along with both Vanna's and Mister Sheldon's request.
Yet the man in the wrong time, kind of already understood why.
The idea of rebelling just didn't seem appealing. Paul figured it would be easier and more natural to go along with what was expected of him, than to fight, or run away.
McCartney had also been around the block a few times and was well aware that any rebellion against the organizations running this business could be dangerous.
As a man of means himself, at least in his correct time of the 1960s, the Beatle understood all too well that these underground businesses were powerful and not above violence. So far, he had been treated quite well despite being tossed into such an undesirable role.
It wasn't hard to conclude that the best course of action was to go along with his orders.
The heterosexual man realized, other than some minor touching, the musician wouldn't have to have sex with his current client.
As the new employee of this brothel approached the backstage, he found a large wooden door with a gold plaque at eye level, engraved with the name "Vanna Wallace," across the shiny plate.
Seeing he was in the right place, the time traveler cautiously tapped upon the enclosed barrier.
"Come in," the Madame's voice instructed from behind the door, in which Paul instinctively obeyed, without much thought.
Upon passing the threshold into the smaller space, the young man found his female employer behind her desk, in a regular business setting.
Lingering by the door, Paul was able to examine the Madame's face more clearly.
With just a simple glance of the blonde woman reclined in her large swivel chair, leaning back as far as the furniture would allow, the man who had slept with hundreds of ladies in his life, could tell something was up.
Upon her face was a relaxed expression, but not exactly resting.
It wasn't long for the cute Beatle to figure out that the woman was in a state of arousal.
Vanna appeared to be alone, until she suddenly gasped with those flustered lips, while she caught sight of her new employee, and gestured for the new lad to enter.
"Come on in Cliff!" she said with her voice in a pleasant tone, as she so casually relayed her instructions.
Paul took a single step inside when her eyes suddenly rolled to the back of her blonde head, followed by a high pitch squeal from her rose colored lips.
The Beatle didn't know how to react, until a handsome younger man crawled from under her desk.
In shock, Paul was further surprised to find the Madame's skirt was untouched, despite the sounds the lady made.
Instead, the fellow from under the desk had been suckling her toes, which were void of both shoe and stocking.
Without an ounce of shame, Vanna remained lounging back in her large chair, as the man humbly dressed her foot in both her lace leg cover and her silver high heel.
The young client silently paid the blond seductress in cash, and then bashfully passed Paul, with his head down as the young lad who was barely twenty years old, departed the office in haste.
Not even looking up, the woman studiously counted her money, at her large oak wooden desk.
"So, am I calling Andre?" the Madame so casually inquired as if nothing just transpired before the employee's eyes.
"Or," the blonde seductress suddenly ceased her activity, and boldly gazed upon the man at the other side of her desk.
"Will you be going home with Kurtie tonight?" she inquired with a fixation upon the young man, reminisce to a bird of prey.
Unfortunately for McCartney, he didn't have to utter a single word. The experienced Madame could immediately read the answer upon the Beatles round baby face.
With her conclusion the woman smirked while lighting a cigarette, as she simultaneously rested her feet upon her desk.
"I told you he was charming," she simply stated, as her blonde head reclined back in her large chair.
"I can't say I don't envy you," Vanna further added, inhaling her cigarette from a long black stalk.
Reviewing how the Madame so casually stretched out her firm thin body, Paul found he couldn't deny that Vanna was indeed a sexy woman and knew how to draw a man's attention.
"His house is gorgeous and so is he!" the woman then declared, puffing smoke circles from her throat.
"Go have a good time! And don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Vanna playfully assured her employee as she gave him a wink.
"He'll arrange a car for you to come back here in the morning," she explained as Paul turned away, only forced to twist his body around from the door as the Madame continued her statement.
"Unless he decides to keep you for the weekend," Vanna teasingly added. The woman then giggled.
Unfortunately, Paul wasn't exactly sure if the Madame was laughing at her own comment, or her new employee's expression.
"You lucky bastard!" the feminine voice playfully mocked afterwards.
Dumbfounded by all that had suddenly transpired from the antique shop in the 1960s, to this elaborate club of the 1920s, the unwitting time traveler managed to study over the lady, who was this man Clifford's boss.
Considering the profession he found himself in, the man of means realized how lucky he was to have such a kind employer.
Knowing he was new the Madame of the queers, gave him the gentlest of gentlemen as a client.
Even more surprisingly, the lady was openly willing to allow the heterosexual prostitute to back out of a well-paying patron's request.
Something Paul had heard too often, was not common in this career. It didn't take much to realize Vanna was indeed a powerful woman.
Obviously this underground organization was larger than even the Madame's personality, but she was in a position of power and authority, which was rare for any woman to possess, even in the mid 20th century.
The beautiful seductress wasn't the one in charge of the entire operation, but Paul realized she was high up enough in the ranks, to be in such a position of power.
She was the highest-ranking person the time traveler had seen from the organization she was entangled.
Before dismissing her young employee, Vanna pulled out a line of cocaine and indulged in the substance.
However, before putting the vile away, she offered Paul a line on her little silver snorting platter.
The Beatle had experienced the white powdery substance many times before, so the young man figured he would take the lady up on her kind offer.
He might as well, the bassist was already about to spend the night at a queer artist house and possibly the whole weekend!
With just a nod of the head, the 1960s-man part took in the classic drug, and quickly left to return to his wealthy client.
Even though the new employee of the establishment had only entered the Madame's office a moment to go, the Beatle was unaware that he was being followed.
Lurking in the shadows as Paul innocently began to travel back to the front of the building, in an inconspicuous area behind the stage, a man was waiting for the whore Kurtis Sheldon procured for the night.
Ignorant of the buildings design, the Beatle vulnerably wandered into a trap.
A large arm came from behind the young lad, but just a second before the scent of old lingering cigar smoke overtook the bassist first, right before the small handkerchief of chloroform.
Within seconds the time traveler became limp in the large man's arms, but his hearing was still sound.
"Let's see if Mister Sheldon still wants you after I'm through with your feet," the sinister voice echoed in the drifting mind of the unsuspecting victim.
In a haze McCartney could see the outline of a man, and the glow of what he thought was an orange rose, but was really the light of the cigar, bitten firmly by the teeth of one Mister Norman Turner.

Chapter Text

    Somewhere in the east, possibly in ancient China, George Harrison found himself in a peculiar situation. 
    From what the musician had observed so far, he was in some sort of monastery with a group of monks from a distant time in Asian history. Perhaps more than thousands of years from the 20th century! 
   As an unwitting traveler through time, George observed he was residing in a quiet little community of hut-like sleeping quarters and a stone building in the center of the sanctuary, where the entire area itself was surrounded by a wall. 
    Naturally, only the humblest of accommodations seem to be offered in such a place. In the brief time Harrison had to explore his new environment, he quickly found both the clothing and sleeping quarters were extremely basic.
     Using his fingers to examine the cloth that was draped over his body like a large coat, George observed what he was wearing. 
    It was just a simple brown robe, which had been constructed from a rather coarse material that had been handwoven and stitched together. 
   Oddly, the western stranger that no one seemed to notice saw people in both the outfit he was wearing and other kinds of robes, which came in their own set of colors. 
   After attempting to participate in their group meditation method, the musician from the distant future was approached by a young boy, who gave Harrison a cricket, of all things! Unsure about what to do, George tried to study the little creature he kept imprisoned in his cupped hands. 
    While trapped, the insect rapidly pounced across the skin of its prison, and George could feel it bounce against his palms, as one hand was the creature's footing and the other its ceiling. 
   How the hell was he going to keep a wild bug? The 20th-century musician wondered to himself as he tried to see the cricket held captive in the cradle of his palm. 
    Carefully, the lead guitarist lifted one of his long slender hands, just a tiny bit, to take a glance at his prisoner, only for the little bugger to suddenly seize the opportunity to make its great escape. 
     With the slightest separation of the two hands, the insect pounced on the time travelers' eye and made its leap for freedom. 
    Once on the ground, the bug bounced on the stone walkway leading to the garden. The little wild creature hopped indiscriminately in its direction, narrowly being crushed by a passerby! 
     There was nothing George could do but cringe at a few close calls while he followed the little bug in its chaotic journey. 
   It did not take long for the insect to make its way into the garden, and like the master before, the crickets leapt from stone to stone.
    Wildly hopping about with its own unknowable mind, the tiny bug decided to take refuge in a cluster of tall grass in the botanicals section along the walkway. 
    Poor George was beginning to feel frustrated, as he was forced to desperately search for the literal insect in the long stalks of green. Then suddenly the cricket appeared, by bouncing off the face of the strange human following it, landing gracefully upon the path it had come. 
    All Harrison could do was make chase and follow the bug throughout the entirety of the paradise the Beatle still hasn’t been able to appreciate.
     Instead of admiring the botanical view, the consistent chaser was only able to feel the shade of shelter from the overhanging tree branches from the sparing amount of random plants tall enough to cast such shadows in the evening light. 
     Again, there was no time to take everything in, as the tiny creature moved rapidly about a world of giants. Then, without warning, the insect decided upon a condensed bush along the walkway to randomly jump into.
    Foolishly reaching his hand inside, the time traveler was instantly stabbed by something. The youngest Beatle could hear himself cry out for a moment, only to stop his incoherent response when he saw he was drawing attention from the few random men within earshot.
     In silence, Harrison examined his wound, which was bleeding but a mere prick. 
    Still, despite the size, the little injury fucking hurt. Then reviewing the assailant, a mere shrub the 20th century man originally thought, until he realized he just shoved his hand into a bare rose bush. 
    Shit, that little prick hurt a lot! 
     Especially as the muscle throbbed in his pointing finger! Instinctively, the lead guitarist cleaned the wound with his mouth, with pouty lips, eager to go home.
     Turning his head away from the shrubbery that housed his rebellious cricket, the musician gazed upon the open-night atmosphere. Only then did the Beatle realize this was the first time he dared look upon the sky in this world. 
   Chasing the bug, as well as the detailed meditation and the humble way these monks walked, George realized his sight was always directed downwards, but now he was gazing up above the world itself. 
   From the man’s view was a clear day with a blue atmosphere above, yet the day was ending and night was approaching. 
    In the twilight mist the sight above, George witnessed nature blend its palette with the strokes of pink light, mixing with the blue, turning into a brilliant lavender, moving towards a deepening violet. 
    Soon the sky was a beautiful purple. 
    Then dark navy blue, and finally, black! 
    Stars began to appear above in the raven-colored sky, as speckled diamonds in the massive void of color. The sound of chirping in the distance increased its volume and intensity as the light departed. A cool breeze brushed the man’s head, and the hint of honeysuckles followed with the little breeze, carrying the pleasant aroma. 
    Sweet gentle chimes radiated their sound from the windows of the huts, and then the chirping of a cricket came closer. 
    As this little moment seized hold of the man, George found his mind flooded with flashes of screaming fans, hounding reporters, and fights within the band. 
    The jumble of memories gave the lead guitarist a headache! 
    How long has it been since he truly had peace? The youngest Beatle had to wonder while staring into the oblivion, above and all around him. 
   Everything was just so quiet and peaceful.
   Then suddenly the cricket leapt into Harrison’s lap, causing the lad to jump. The bug just randomly returning to him was all unexpected to the man who had lost himself for a while.
 George had forgotten about the cricket and where he was for the moment. 
    The rebellious little black dot in a dark atmosphere chirped as it rested in the folds of the dark brown robe the famous man wore. 
“There you are,” George managed to utter in surprise. 
“You came back!” The Beatle cried relieved.
   With longing in his heart, the musician, who was also a botanist deep down, tried in vain to make out the garden that surrounded him. 
   Tragically, it was difficult for the man to see because the darkness of night had cast its shadow, smothering the clarity of the foliage. The lad was indeed disappointed, as he was never able to see the living paradise. 
    Then the well-known stoner realized he had completely spaced out for at least an hour without any aid of his usual pharmaceutical recreations, and that was trippy to say the least. 
   Now a little disoriented, Harrison gazed around the area outside the garden and found the huts were lit up with basic oil lamps in windows. 
   The view was so simple but beautiful, George silently admitted to himself in the darkness around him. 
   As the night sky reached its completion, a bell interrupted the moment with a loud gong sound from a tower by the entrance. 
    One by one, the Westerner from another time watched as the other members of this queer order stopped what they were doing at the call of the gonging in the night. 
    Quietly, George noticed men of all ages, from old men to young lads, left their simple huts, others ceased their meditation or chores, and wandered in a single direction in complete unity. 
     The Beatle just sighed, as he lifted the compliant cricket in the palm of his hand. 
“I guess we better join them,” he said to his companion, who seemed to be obediently still.
     Surprisingly, the creature didn’t make a noise but allowed George to follow the other members of the order in both their direction and their mannerisms. 
   With his head down, Harrison mimicked the walking style of keeping close to walls and lifting his foot completely off the ground so not to scrape the stone. Cautiously, the Beatle tried hard to blend in.
    Everyone the time traveler saw were either men or young boys. He hadn’t seen a single woman as of yet. 
    The entire male order clearly had some semblance of a uniform, which symbolized status.
      Brighter robes of a reddish hue were worn by older men, who were revered by the younger members as they all bow to those with such status. George’s robe was a dark brown, made out of coarse material. 
     He was clearly still a novice of some sort. 
      Meanwhile, the lone Westerner observed children who wore mostly yellow, silently and in a well-disciplined fashion, taking their place in their own line of short bodies. 
    Soon Harrison found a group of young men, who were dressed in the same brown robe as him, in which the time traveler attempted to blend in. Although, he seemed to have succeeded in his goal, despite the difference of his European features.
   Carefully, the Beatle tried to mimic the tune the other men dressed like him were all singing. The harmony came from deep within one’s throat. 
    With the combination of the many voices, separated by age, the men assembled in a great hall made from gray stone, as the song continued with the multitude of singers.
     Inside the grandest structure of this little retreat, the famous man had immediately noticed he was in a dining hall, with long rows of tables, raised only a few feet from the ground.
    They were all nearly to the floor! 
    George then observed that the line he was walking in, followed an intricate pattern where each person sat in the order of the single file row, leaving a new leader to go to the next table. 
     Fortunately, the musician masquerading as a monk found his place towards the center of his low table and was relieved he didn’t have to lead at the front of the line to the next rectangular piece of furniture made of basic wooden beans. 
    Before the 20th century man was a room full of crude and handmade items. Everything was handcrafted and made from natural materials from the area. 
    Like all the others, the Beatle stood in before a place setting, which included a bowl, a cup, and a basic wooden spoon. 
    The bowl was just a turtle shell, which had been cleaned and waxed over. Everyone had a cup made of red clay that wasn’t glazed. 
    No one else seemed to have better, the secret intruder noticed as George passed the table settings. 
    Shortly after all the others in the many separate single file lines, divided by a rank based on age, gathered where they belonged, a loud gong was struck by a boy. Then the men and children bowed in unison before their place setting, so close to the floor.
      Immediately upon standing straight, a chant was then led by the child who rang the iron disk and who also gave George the cricket. The singing, although quite pretty, were mere sounds to the British lad, who couldn’t decipher the language. Still, he tried in vain to repeat the chant back along with all the others. 
     Impressively, the harmony lasted nine verses, and the small boy, about ten years old, recited them perfectly. 
    George actually admired the child’s voice because it was indeed beautiful, and so was the chanting back from all the others. Then the child stopped his performance, bowed ceremoniously, and took his place. 
     With the ending of the music, the large wooden doors at the front of the building opened as if on cue. Women then suddenly emerged from behind the barrier. George observed the ladies were of all ages, from elders with gray hair to young prepubescent girls, entering the single-room structure. 
    These had to be peasants, as they wore tattered clothes that didn’t go together. The women brought with them cauldrons of soup, baskets of fruit, and pitchers of water. In the strictness of order, the ladies served the men quietly and respectfully in a structured manner. 
     It appeared to be an honor to serve the monks who resided here, as the female arrivals behaved in a respectful and dignified manner.
   Then suddenly a pretty young girl gave George a wink as she poured his water into the little red clay cup. Something inside the famous man realized he was forbidden fruit to the pretty young lass.
    These men didn’t seem to have much contact with the opposite sex. In fact, these were the first women the Beatle has seen since he suddenly appeared here. 
    An old woman gave out fruit to Harrison’s table, and a middle-aged woman poured a soup from a cauldron being held up by two other women. 
    When the food was passed out in a fast and well-organized choreography of structure and discipline, the women assembled in a perfect line in the middle of the grand hall, surrounded by the low-level tables.
    Once assembled, the ladies bowed in every direction, to the men in the room. Then the kneeling men bowed in return. Immediately afterwards, the women turned in a single direction and walked out from the doors in which they came. 
    Not a word was uttered, not even a giggle. All their work was done in silence. 
   After the women departed and the doors were closed, the gong was struck again. This time by an old man wearing the same kind of garment that the chess master George was playing with had worn. 
“You may sit down,” the elder ordered, in which everyone kneeled on the floor before their setting.
 “You may now speak to your neighbors,” he announced with a hoarse voice, then bowed and returned to his place. Instantly, people eagerly began conversing right away. 
    In fact, George hadn’t really heard anyone speak, except when given instructions. As the people around him began to openly chatter, Harrison chose to remain silent. Instead of speaking, the quiet Beatle naturally decided it would be wiser to listen more than talk, in hopes of learning about his strange situation. 
“I see the water girl likes you.” A man’s voice suddenly spoke to George. 
    Gazing across the table, the Beatle saw a man, perhaps a little older than himself, with his brown eyes fixated on the mock monk. 
“Doesn’t matter," said another man sitting beside Harrison’s left, who appeared to be closer to George’s age. “We made a vow of chastity. He could never take her as a wife,” he studiously noted. 
“I wasn’t thinking as a wife.” The older man chuckled. 
    Hearing the brazen monks' words made the men in ear shot laugh. George just smiled at the thought while he silently consumed his food. 
   The meal was extremely simple. Stirring his soup, Harrison found the main coarse consisted of rice, cabbage, beans, and carrots. There were no spices or any flavor at all in this entree. 
     In the clay cup was just plain and simple water. Although it was cold and fresh tasting, the Beatle was used to more options than this, but humbly ate what was provided! 
   Right after receiving his beverage, a piece of fruit was placed beside his turtle bowl. Delightfully, George saw that he was given a purple plum, which was quite inviting considering how bland the rest of the meal was. 
“She shall make a lucky man a pretty wife.” The man to George’s right responded to the comment of the man sitting across the table.
 “I know her brother.” The man on the other side of that man replied. “He says she talks too much.” The third man’s comment caused the other men in ear shot to laugh. 
“Maybe her husband will grow tired of her and run away here!” The man who started the conversation boldly stated.
    Again, the men at George’s table found the idea amusing. 
   Meanwhile, the man across from the time traveler, who began the conversation, picked at his food as he still laughed over his own joke. 
“So, I see you have the cricket,” he said to George directly in the eye. Not trying to draw attention, the Beatle nodded in response.
    Surprisingly, the insect was docile at the moment. The little black creature remained still by George’s bowl of food, under the watchful eye of the musician. 
    Harrison, trying to blend in, responded to the man’s question with a silent nod. 
“Did you make a vow of silence during meals?” Inquired the time traveler's neighbor to his right.
    The silent intruder shook his head while smiling.
 “No,” he answered shyly. “I’m just focused.” 
“What are you focusing on?” The man sitting across from the Beatle inquired. 
    As the man asked his question, George noticed all the men in ear shot were looking at him, putting the quiet man in the center of the table's attention. 
    Nervously, the stranger in a strange land glanced about, seeing all the eyes of the men gazing upon him with curiosity. 
“Master,” the unintentional intruder began with a bit of bitterness in his mouth. As a man of wealth and means, George found referring to someone else as master to be so undignified at the status he achieved for himself. 
     At least he did, in his old life in the 20th century. 
     Now he was some kind of novice monk, with no women, and bound to an insect, for some sort of lesson Harrison still hadn’t figured out.
“He says I need to work on my patience.” He answered honestly, as the westerner looked about everyone sitting at the shared table. 
   The Beatle figured these men must be spirit guides, of some kind, during this strange adventure in time. In response to the quiet man’s answer, all the people nodded. 
“It is a struggle,” the man to George’s right admitted, repeating the same words the chess master had said to the Beatle during their game of chess together. 
“Master once made me water the entire garden with just a spoon.” The man to his left informed his neighbor. 
“What was that like?” Harrison wanted to know, while staring at the small utensil he used to shovel his soup. It was quite obvious that the little handmade tool didn’t hold much.
 “Exhausting.” The last man who spoke up confessed. 
“But I learned the value of putting time into my work,” George's neighbor explained. “And that all work is important,” he added, scooping up his small portion with the little wooden spoon from his bowl, and into his mouth. 
    Then suddenly, without warning, George’s cricket leapt from the table and into the bowl of the man across from the Beatle, who began the conversation to begin with. Immediately afterwards, the little bug chose to further its journey out of the bowl and onto the man’s neighbor's arm.
    Eagerly, the tiny creature crawled up the man's shoulder, and then it launched itself to the floor behind him. 
“You better go follow your cricket,” the man to George’s right advised. 
   Harrison immediately agreed without saying a word. He just abandoned his seat and food to make chase after the rebellious insect. 
“Here comes your lesson in humility.” The man who started the conversation cried out laughing.
    Soon everyone in the hall was in a roar of laughter at the young man chasing a cricket who was suddenly full of energy. The bug hopped to the other side of the room, but the Beatle managed to corner the creature and catch it in his hand. 
“You cannot contain the cricket,” a boy’s voice behind the Beatles back told him. Turning around, Harrison found the young boy who gave him the cricket in the first place.
    He was sitting at a table with other young lads, dressed identical to him and close to his age. 
“You need to release the cricket and follow where it goes. Only then will you learn your lesson.” The child relayed the message he gave George before. 
“The child is right.” An old man followed the boy's instructions. The old man had been sitting near the table of boys, while wearing the silk gray clothes the chess master wore when George first arrived at this strange place and time.
    It was obvious that the current elder was of the same status. 
Hearing the authority in the man’s voice, Harrison felt he had no choice but to comply and opened his hand to release the insect. 
   Instantly the little black dot in George’s hand leapt from the open grip and eagerly hopped down the length of the large room. 
   As the time traveler followed the cricket, he could see and hear the laughter of the others in the large space, laughing at him some more. 
   This was beyond embarrassing, for the Westerner from notoriety felt as he and the damn bug became the focus of everyone’s attention. In a sporadic adventure, the cricket then made its way to a door that was the entrance to the outside. 
   Which unfortunately did open as an older man walked in after returning from the lavatory, nearly stepping on the bug as it made its grand escape. 
   Poor George sighed in frustration, as he could do nothing but follow the creature to wherever it wanted to go! 

Chapter Text

      It was night fall when Ringo Starr’s ship reached the soils of the northeastern side of the United States. A land which had been its own country during the drummer's former lifetime.

    Rapidly, Starr could feel his old life was steadily moving away from him. This contradiction of what he could recall in his mind, and what he saw with his own eyes, caused the memories of his former existence to feel as fleeting as a dream!

    Naturally, as the 1960s man’s life continued in this far-gone era, he found the future he thought he knew was almost too fantastic to be believed!

   Yet, despite his doubts, the striking juxtaposition of periods caused its natural effect upon the time traveler.

   As a famous musician, Ringo’s recollection of his first visit to America was that of a beautiful land of wealth, technology, and prosperity. Now, the blue-eyed Beatle gawked in silent horror at the abhorrent sight before him as a ship captain during the colonial era.

The land, currently a proud British colony, appeared drastically different from the vibrant cities of the independent country the drummer of the Beatles would later experience with his band.

    On this visit, Starr was struck by the dilapidated conditions, foreign to the Beatle’s expectations of the new world’s soil.

   Now his first reintroduction to the once familiar destination was lines of muddy unpaved roads between a small city and wide-open spaces. Even worse was an alarming lack of sanitation which was grotesque beyond imagination to the only man around who knew of indoor plumbing.

    Despite the unpleasantness of it all, this brief stop offered a holiday for the crew upon the British vessel, allowing the enclosed sailor’s a week to freely gallivant about on dry land.

  However, first, there was the matter of duties which still needed to be done before anyone could go on holiday.

    While adhering to their tight schedule, the laborers of the crew emptied the wooden vessel of its cargo and then filled the ship back up with new imports to replace the items hailing from England.

   Still, at the end of their duties before a break, the laborers were in high spirits as they anticipated their seven-day holiday from the ship.

    The freight company, recognizing the psychological toll of prolonged time at sea, acknowledged the necessity of this break on land, to prevent madness and mutiny among the crew.

    Consequently, the businessmen of power had agreed to a minimal amount of the time off, from their cost-benefit analysis.

    For the lower-class workers led by Ringo, reaching port represented the pinnacle of their journey to the New World. The joyous crew had been eagerly discussing their plans for land adventures for weeks now, amongst their peers and the seasoned sailors in their rankings.

    As for the more experienced laborers, they weren’t much less excited than their younger counterparts. In fact, the elders eagerly made suggestions about the city and its many services.

   Everyone who had been to the new world before were openly sharing tales of past explorations, both thrilling and sobering with the younger crew members.

    The combination of the youthful boasts of adventure and the veterans’ realistic assessments created a vibrant atmosphere filled with restless anticipation.

    Once freed from their responsibilities, the lower-class workers wasted no time in indulging in the fruits of their labor.

   Instantly, the men gathered their earnings and quickly plunged into a whirlwind of gambling, drinking, and fleeting encounters with prostitutes, fully embracing the freedom of the brief relief from the sea and all-male company.

   It wasn’t long before one of them ended up in the stocks upon the day’s end.

   Ringo couldn’t fault the lads. He knew they all had worked long and hard these many weeks and felt they all deserved better for the strenuous labor their career at sea demanded of them.

    As the Captain, Starr diverted from his crew in the way he chose to spend his money.

    While still a man from the 1960s, the Beatle had very different priorities than his 18th-century crew and even his first mate.

    Ringo knew upon reaching land that he desperately wanted to clean himself up! So, the time traveler gratefully paid a pretty penny for his and Leo’s clothing to be washed.

    A warm soothing bath was also a must for the man who was used to a more pampered life, who insisted his new son bathe as well, which frightened the poor lad of the very thought.

   The act of washing in Leo’s grim experience usually consisted of being doused by cold salt water, and then lye powder being tossed from the slave child’s head down.

   Those sadistic sailors who often volunteered for the chore of bathing the slaves, did not spare the lad's face, always successfully burning his eyes.

    Unaware of this detail, Ringo found it took a bit to persuade the cautious lad, but once the child who has only known the harshest of life, sat in the short tub of soothing water, his fears melted away.

    The new father watched the boy close his eyes, and lean back, as the slave child learned rather quickly, to love the feeling of warm water soaking his aching body.

    Being from a different time, but also class and race, Ringo found himself fully absorbing the wild contrast from his life in the 20th century, to the sadistic cruelty this child had endured, who was now in his care.

    The man of wealth and prestige had taken so much for granted with the privilege he had earned, but to see someone in bondage receive their first real bath, deeply moved the man from the future.

   More than he would fully comprehend, until decades later in his life.

    Dotingly Starr found himself focused more on his new son than his usual priorities.

   Where in the 1960’s, Ringo and the rest of his group would immediately intermingle with the ladies of the area, but the Beatle didn’t participate in the sexual enterprise that was all around him.

   Which wasn’t really a sacrifice upon the futuristic man, as he found the local brothels to be dirty. Bathing was not a regular occurrence in these people’s lives. The ladies were no different! Ringo immediately noticed many of the women were with obvious signs of disease.

    Tragically even the younger lasses had rotten or missing teeth, as they smiled when the ship's captain walked by. The entire view of these women were flat out unappealing, even for a man with half of the musician's standards!

    Ringo did however approach the freight company to purchase the cabin boy, whom he intended to raise as his son.

    To the Beatles surprise, he was given a good price to purchase Leo, as his own personal property, but could legally free the lad from that change in the position.

    Being a boy of the tender age of twelve, the cost was minimal, and the freight company representative was disinterested in the entire scenario, past the sale of the human being, sold as if the child were mere livestock.

    The representative of the business was merely relieved they wouldn’t have to add another lad to be the cabin boy, as Leo would remain with the captain. Yet, that was the entire transaction. Little Leo was now Ringo’s property, technically, but was already the time traveler’s son in his heart.

    It was also made clear that the new father was expected to pay out of pocket for the boy's food and care. Which Ringo Starr didn’t hesitate to take on.

   Sure, it could have been cheaper to wait until after the voyage, but Leo had been enslaved his whole life, so the man from the future would not allow this child to remain that way a second longer.

    During the pairs evening supper, in their simple rented apartment for the week, Starr informed his new son of the news of his freedom.

   Immediately the youth who had been owned by that freight company all his life, dropped his utensils, and stared wide eyed at the conveyor of such news!

    The former slave and now son, took an unexpected moment to fully absorbed the sudden change in his life, and Ringo watched as this thought danced in the boy’s head.

   Suddenly the lad shuttered, taken back by something too unbelievable!

   The moment was beyond touching. Soon tears filled the boy’s eyes, and the grown man arose from his chair, and drew the weeping freed slave into his arms.

   It was then, the man of fame and fortune, realized he had a new son, forever! Starr still loved his baby Zak in the future, but the musician was questioning if that child was even real.

   However, the solid flesh of little Leo in his arms was indeed the blood and bones of a human being, and all for the new father to adore and care for.

    Weakly, Leo called his captain “Father,” in the sweetest muffled voice, while buried in the warm embrace.

   If the drummer of the Beatles ever questioned his own affection for this boy weeping in the man’s arms, they were all silenced by that powerful moment.

    The white father of a colored child was from the twentieth century. Almost two hundred years in the future. The rock and roll star masquerading as a ship’s captain, couldn’t possibly fathom this young lads experience, but the relief Ringo witnessed at that second, edged forever in his soul!

   He didn’t know how little Leo would fit into his life, especially if he returned to the future, but regardless, the man was permanently changed, just by knowing this young lad.

   For most of Starr’s time on land was spent simply walking around the city with his child. It was nice to move about an open space of grass or a dirt road, just to see something other than the ship and the ocean.

    Houses and little shops existed in what would one day be skyscrapers and paved asphalt highways, from Starr’s vague memories of the future. Right now, he was breathing cleaner air than ever before, and seeing the natural structure of this land, before concrete would reshape it forever.

   Despite the unintended trip back in time, Ringo discovered this change to be quite refreshing. The lack of smog and loud noises this city would one day encompass, didn’t exist now, which the time traveler found peaceful.

   Casually the adopted father would watch little Leo run and play, letting the lad’s lungs empty out from the freedom of wide-open spaces. The boy was just like any child would be at that age.

   Moving around in the large area was good for the lad, along with the warm three meals a day this child received.

    Ringo even had to encourage the child to eat more than the lad would sparingly consume. Leo was a growing boy, and once coaxed, would finish two plates full. The lad was gaining weight, but in a healthy manner, as his young body matured.

    Yet the father easily observed there was lasting damage from the boy's old life. This became obvious with the most innocent of gestures from the doting parent.

   Trying to give the twelve-year-old some semblance of a childhood, Starr bought his new son a few toys. He proudly presented his gifts to the child in his life, after the pairs’ evening meal.

    Eagerly the proud parent laid out the humble collection of items. Well, humble to the man who was a millionaire in the future, but these items were not cheap being handmade, and with Starr’s notably lower salary.

    Little Leo just stared at the toys in confusion. The former slave didn’t understand the nature of these objects.

   One toy was a leather ball, that couldn’t be played with indoors, obviously. There was also a set of wooden boats the father intended for the pair to float in the creek. Unfortunately, it would be unwise for the two to venture out during this late hour.

“Here,” The musician said as he gave his son the third item upon the table. It was a box of tiny tin soldiers.

   The miniature dull gray replicas of the military figures had been poured from a mold, making the price lower than the items crafted individually by hand.

“Let's play with these.” The father more decided than suggested, as he dumped what looked to be about twenty little gray men carelessly upon the table.

“What do I do with those father?” Leo asked while staring perplexed upon the strange items, which seemed to serve no practical purpose.

    Still, the boy was always curious, and he soon picked up a tiny tin cannon and examined it carefully.

“You pretend they are real,” the father informed his son. ”And are your soldiers for a battle.” Ringo continued to explain.

“Pretend?” the child inquired wide eyed. It was tragically obvious the poor lad didn’t even know the word.

    Taken back at this realization, the Beatle just shook his head at the sadness of this reality and then proceeded to show the boy how to play with the toys.

   The grown man felt ridiculous at first but found himself engaged in the battle with the metal men with his new son. Starr’s own inner child seem to slip out, as the two played together.

    Leo eventually figured out how to participate. However, this innocent act revealed even more darkness within the lad, and soon the cabin boy was repeating some of the most disturbing sentences of profanity with his tin men.

    It was a window into his life, and it was shocking.

“Argh! You scoundrel!” the child cited with the British seaman accent. “I will slice yer throat in yer sleep and put ya corpse in da locker wit da dead whore!” Little Leo recited through the tin toys.

   This wild language shook the father, as he stared bewildered at his twelve-year-old child.

“Do people really talk like that around you son?” the man from the twentieth century inquired.

    The boy just briefly glanced upon his new father, and nodded, then eagerly continued his efforts to “play.”

“Where’s me money yer bastard!” the lad said with a scuffled voice. “I will skin ya alive wit das rusty razor!” Leo mimicked his disturbing life among literal sailors.

“You know you shouldn’t speak like that.” The Beatle told his son gently.

    Submissively the boy then focused up attentively at the white man, as his adoptive father spoke.

   An awkward silence stirred in the air, as the line between father and master seemed to be disturbingly similar.

   In the full light of the indoor setting, Ringo could see the child’s brown eyes shimmering beautifully in the lantern light.

    The blue-eyed musician took in how Leo was quite a good looking boy.

    Carefully examining the lad's face, the adoptive father noticed that the youths eyes were slightly larger than most, but in a way that brought out his features more, rather than appear strange.

    He also had a bit of red to his skin and his hair was looser than a full blooded African.

    Clearly the boy was a little mixed within the races, and that was likely the result of a terrible coupling. Starr couldn’t help but shutter just thinking about this young lad's life and his unfortunate mother, who will never know the fate of her son and he will never know hers.

    The cruelty was just criminal!

“As my son you should be better spoken,” the father instructed patiently. “And look at things differently.” He further explained as gently as he could, determined to stay within the line of father.

    Starr knew Leo had lived a much different life than the time traveler could ever imagine! He had never seen this cruel institution in his existence in the 1960’s, so the elder in the room wanted to respect that when addressing this child.

“How?” Leo asked, staring up at his new father with those piercing brown eyes locking onto the adult's blue ones.

“Well,” the Beatle began, reviewing his and his mate's behavior sometimes, and feeling a bit of a hypocrite, as he relayed his advice. “You must remember that they are all human beings and they all have a soul,” he continued.

 “All men will have their own stories of pain and suffering.” The father reminded himself, more than he was instructing the child.

 “You must be mindful of that. Even if others speak in such low regard, you shouldn’t. You must keep your words eloquent…” Ringo was saying, when Leo interrupted him.

“El-wat-it?” the boy asked, trying to say the unknown word. This was the boldest the lad ever spoke. Especially to a white man.

    However, the youth didn’t cower from this indecisive action but attentively awaited an answer.

   Ringo was silently struck by the change in the relationship between the two. The boy was indeed his son and was gradually coming out of his shell.

   Now realizing he was going too fast and using vocabulary that surpassed even his first mate, the doting parent simply smiled.

“It means I don’t want you cursing or wishing ill upon others.” Ringo instructed the youth sweetly while giving the lad an affectionate pat on the head.

“Yes father,” Leo then obediently replied, seemly to revert with the correction.

   Seeing the signs of a slave’s submission and not just a child obeying his father, Starr chose to change the subject.

“You know when we return to England,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to have you baptized so you can be completely freed.” The white father elaborated his intentions to his son. “Where, when you are grown, you will be able to go about as you please, and do whatever you want with your life!”

“I ain’t no slave no more?” the lad asked, wanting to be reassured.

“I bought you from the freight company.” Ringo explained. “On paper, you are my slave, but in my heart, you are my son!” he further added.

“We have to return to England to officially change your status.” Starr went on. “We will finalize your freedom by having you baptized at the Anglican Church.” The father elaborated the requirements to free the boy from bondage.

 “Do you want to keep the name “Leo”?” Starr then inquired. “You may pick any name you would like.” The elder assured.

“I want to keep the name Leo.” The lad asserted proudly

“You like that name?” the parent asked.

“Yes sir!” Leo responded immediately. “I like being named after the constellation.” The lad elaborated.

    This surprised the musician.

“You know about the constellations?” the Beatle uttered in shock that child had been permitted such an education.

“Yes sir!” the child answered. “Captain Flanders made all da crew learn.” The child informed his father by mentioning a former captain of his past voyages.

   Ringo was impressed.

“Well, we will call you Leo of course,” he assured. “but the church will have you baptized as Leonard.” The man explained.

“Leonard?” the cabin boy scorned, clearly not impressed with the proper name.

“It is the name Leo comes from.” the parent told the lad.

   Now the child thought about it for a second, with his young face suddenly becoming stern and serious.

“But day will call me Leo still?” he then asked, with those brown eyes resembling an owl’s.

“Of course!” the father promised.

   This pleased the boy, as he smiled large enough to show his teeth.

   Seeing the large smile upon the youthful face caused Ringo to reflect upon his old life in the future. The man lived in a mansion he referred to as a house, with his wife Maureen and their baby, Zak.

    Starr and his family in the future were living in the life of luxury and indulgence.

    The Beatle had the strong desire to return to his time bringing his new son with him.

     Leo would first see a doctor! God knows what a lifetime of imprisonment has done to his body!

    Then to a good dentist! Everyone the Beatle came across from this era seriously needed one!

   The child would go onto to getting a nice hair style and new clothes. Starr’s wife Maureen would certainly see to that! She would also make sure that Leo was dressed in the latest fashions, and they would send him to one of the top schools in England.

   Inside the Beatle’s grand home in the 1960’s, Ringo thought about how easily he and his wife could convert the room down the hall that is currently a guest room for visiting family, into the perfect bedroom for their new eldest son!

    Leo’s new room would be painted blue, given a fresh new carpet, and those glow in the dark star stickers on the ceiling!

“You’re gonna need a second name lad.” The parent brought up in the mist of his daydream. ‘Do you have any idea what you would like to be called?” he then asked the boy.

“Phillip!” was the youths answer, immediately!

   Ringo was instantly touched that the child wanted to be named after him.

“And for my third name I wants it to be Davy!” the lad proudly exclaimed.

“Well, the proper name is David.” The father informed the youth. This did not deter Leo, as he nodded in acceptance. “Leonard Phillip David Waters, that’s a nice name. Do you like it, son?” Starr asked.

“Yes father.” The son responded sweetly. “As long as day call me Leo.” The little boy insisted.

    Ringo found the little man’s assertive position to be cute and couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course.” The father assured, with another loving pat for the child.

     The pair continued with their play, and had a wonderful night.

    They made up little battles with the toy soldiers and the father lovingly corrected foul language and negative actions. Leo quickly learned and was happy to oblige his first ever parent.

     This was a new existence for the child, and he was naïve enough to trust it. The man caring for him was determined not to betray such childhood innocence. Leo deserved to feel loved and protected, and the new parent did all he could to silently convey that message throughout the evening together.

    After a certain hour the father made the son go to bed, and to the child’s surprise the man who was his caretaker, laid a blanket over his body in the bed. He then turned the oil lamp light off kept by the side of the lads bed upon a little nightstand.

   The ritual continued with the father bending down and kissing the brow of the child’s head. Leo didn’t understand this at all. He simply found himself going along as he had never been treated so well or shown such kindness. Yet he still wasn’t sure he could trust this man.

   Suspiciously in silence, Leo watched Ringo exit the room, closing the door behind him.

   In the darkness of night, the cabin boy didn't go to sleep right away. Instead, the boy tried to understand what evil could be lurking behind the kind demeanor.

   Little Leo, the negro boy who spent his entire life on different sea vessels, had always had to rely on himself, because he had no one else. He never knew his mother nor met a single soul in the world who cared about him.

   He was always treated like property, until now.

   In the wisdom of his twelve summers alive, the lad concluded he would ride out the generosity but always keep his eye out for what was next. If this were just another cruel trick it be the cruelest of them all.

    The boy felt an attachment to this captain and his first mate, but it was all too good to be true.

    Then looking through the window, the boy could see the town and the starry night above. The sky was beautiful, like the waters of the Caribbean’s.

    Silently the child wondered if God heard negro prayers.

    The white man always displayed the omnificent being as also white, so the boy figured God couldn’t be trusted. He had also heard tales from other negros about the strange gods from Africa, but the enslaved child never really believed in any of that.

    However, the lad knew that the stars and moon would never lead you a stray. The cabin boy learned this long ago, in a time past what the boy could remember.

   All he knew for sure was this wisdom had been engrained in his bones, from the short lifetime at sea.

   So little Leo began praying to them, and found they yielded better results.

     Because the boy figured, if there were a God, it would be using the sky to communicate with man. The child had witnessed the stars steer a lost ship back on course and clouds tell you a storm is coming.

   Clearly, if there were a God, it’s messages came from the sky.

   So, he prayed to the sky. It was the biggest thing man could ever fixate upon, as the atmosphere literally encompassed the entire world.

    Gazing out the window, and into the blue night above, the child who has spent his entire life in bondage prayed for the kindness to never end or to kill him fast after it does.

    A full belly, warm clothes and shoes were too much of a luxury to go back to scraps, rags and naked feet. Plus, he was being touched in ways that didn’t hurt. Light pats and gentle strokes on his head and back were becoming more frequent.

   Now he had a kiss on his forehead, by a man who called him son.

   No one has ever done that for him before!

   Everything was moving so fast, and so much in his life had changed with just one voyage. With these overwhelming thoughts dancing in the newly freed slave's mind, the child who once no one loved, huddled into the fetal position upon the mattress of the softest bed he had ever laid in, and fell asleep.

  Only time would tell where the wind would take him, as the child placed his faith in the sky above, which shimmered in the moonlight, and the bright stars above.

    For the Captain and his crew, time on land was painfully short. A week on land was indeed a treat, but soon the men were assembling on board the ship again.

   When doing so, the seamen learned of some changes from this eccentric captain of theirs.

    Most notably was the order of a mandatory salt water shower for all members of his ships crew.

   The men grumbled upon hearing the news, but David naturally stepped in to raise the men’s spirits.

   In his usual charming manner, the first mate made a few jokes, causing laughter amongst the crew. Afterwards the burly sailor bravely stripped nude before the masses and openly chose to bathe first in front of the men.

    He even used soap, made of fat and herbs.

   The crew laughed even harder, and soon the men followed “good old Davey’s” lead, and lined up for the showers.

    A regular weekly bathing and clothes washing were implemented into the crew’s schedule.

   Despite the captain’s peculiar tendencies, most of the original crew from England returned. A few had planned to stay behind, some joined other crews, but more than ninety percent were the same men they left homeport with.

   A few new hires were added to replace the handful of crew members who left, the last of the new cargo was carefully loaded up, and the ship took off.

   They set sail for the Caribbean Islands, their next port.

   It was anticipated to be about an eight-week journey, and the Beatle looked forward to seeing the tropical surroundings.

   Little Leo was learning how to steer the ship from another crew member, Chuck, an old timer with a white beard.

   Smiling faces were everywhere!

  The sky was clear, and the winds were strong. This day was perfect for what they were about to do.

    Everyone looked refreshed and excited. Especially the little boy, whose new life was just beginning.

   At first, the trip was uneventful for the most part.

   Sadly, a week into the journey, Chuck died in his sleep.

   The old sailor was found in his hammock cold and stiff. His hands clinging to a bottle of whiskey, which was half full.

    Somberly the crew wrapped their comrade in a cloth, and Ringo led the eulogy aboard the deck, with the body on the edge of the ship, and watery grave, which was meant for them all one day.

    After a few words and a passage from the Bible, the men who referred to the dearly departed as their friend surrendered the body to the sea.

   Then David led a funeral toast and poured the rest of Chuck’s bottle into the open waters.

   Even after the ceremony was over, the Beatle had the unfortunate duty to write a letter to the man’s surviving family.

   The old sailor who spent a lifetime at sea only had a single living sister alive.

   A Mrs. George Lahey, who resided in a colony in Pennsylvania, at least that was word of mouth amongst the crew. So, Starr wrote a heartfelt message when conveying the loss, and spoke well of the old timer, the ships captain hardly knew.

   During a brief unofficial stop, Starr dropped the letter off at port in South Carolina and had it to be delivered to the appropriate location.

   Life was returning to the normal routine of the ship, and the trip seemed mostly quiet and pleasant even. That is until the old style wooden vessel came closer to the equator.

   As Ringo and his crew paralleled Florida, the waves became choppy. Suddenly the sky was turning gray as clouds smothered the atmosphere!

“Arrr…” grunted the first mate. “We be heading into a storm.” David observed, as he gazed his large bearded face upwards.

“Do you think we could make it to Florida before it hits?” the drummer who has been masquerading as a ship’s captain asked the actual experienced sailor.

   Unfortunately, the burly man just shook his head.

“Naww…” the first mate glumly replied. “Da storm is coming too quick for dat!” he cried, aware of the severity of the situation.

   Immediately, without a word from his Captain, the first mate struck the bell at the helm.

 “All hands to stations!” the bearded man screamed with his powerful lungs. “All hands to stations, we have a storm coming lads!” He further called out his warning.

   In rapid speed, the men scurried in what appeared to be a wild chaotic mess, but it was rather organized.

   As the men scattered towards their assigned duties, each one completed their task in the symbiotic connection they all shared.

   Instantly the sails were released from the mass, to avoid the wind catching.

  Jacob, a young lad of eighteen, from Liverpool, literally flew up the large wooden poll to do the task. The youth made the laborious chore seem effortless, as the fellow Liverpudlian returned to help fold the limp sailcloth, as rain began to pound on them from the sky.

   The entire crew worked bravely and hard to keep the ship afloat, but luck be a sadistic mistress, as lightening soon followed the rain.

   Loud noises of the thunder sounded like the roar of a train to the man from the future. It was one of the most frightening experiences of his life and all he could think about was his son, who he insisted upon keeping close to him.

   However, the boy was eager to work and wasn’t as afraid as his Captain.

    Leo had been trained his whole life for this, but the father wouldn’t let him go.

   Flickers of light lit up the sky, with stabbing bolts shooting down from black clouds, followed by roaring thunder.

   Then a lightning bolt struck the mast and lit the ship a flame. The yellow glow sparked the wooden vessel as if were a mere match to the time traveler.

“Abandon ship!” Davey immediately cried. “Abandoned ship lads, the ship is on fire!” The first mate screamed out, as loud as he physically could. He was too far to reach the bell and feared for the crew members below.

   That’s when little Leo broke away from his father and ran to the helm despite the spreading danger. A life upon the sea had prepared the youth for this very moment, as he struck the bell, alerting the crew below who were trying to prevent water from leaking from the ship's hull.

    Lives were saved by this action, with the fire ravaging the ship, causing the crew to fill the life boats.

  Then Ringo suddenly grabbed his son, lifting the lad who was nearly as tall as him off the ground and into his cabin. David the first mate joined them, right behind his best friend.

“The ship is going down, so I must go down with it.” The Beatle stated bravely.

“Aye!” responded David. “I’s be stayin wit ya! We been through too much together for us to die apart!” the season sailor relayed full heartedly.

   This was so touching to the man from the future. He could truly say this man was really his friend!

“Me too!” Leo suddenly added, breaking the moment between old friends.

   The lad figured his life would return to the drudgery of his past if he remained alive and he certainly would rather die, than return to that miserable existence.

  To the newly freed slave, Leo figured these last few months were life’s one kind gift to him before he goes down to Davy Joneses locker!

   In silence, the boy found he was at peace with that. It was far better than he had ever anticipated.

   Now the two men gazed upon the boy, who was so young and innocent, and was sincerely ready to die. No this wasn’t right. Both men knew it, as the pair matched each other’s gaze.

“I need you to go on that boat and take my son with you!” Starr ordered.

“No!” cried the child, but the first mate silenced him with a simple hand gesture.

   Ignoring the boy's pleas, Ringo kept on speaking.

“I need you to raise Leo and have him baptized when he gets to England, so he is completely freed!” the Captain relayed to his first mate.

    David understood what was happening and was taken back by the consequences of this commitment. The man was a proud drunk, gambler, and loved the ladies at every port, and never intended to take on the role of parent.

   Not for even his own seed, which he was sure he dropped quite a few along his many travels.

   However, what was far worse, was the thought of losing Phil!

   The captain had been his friend nearly his entire life!

   Phillip was the only person David had in his life. No one else remained. Not his parents, the people in charge of the workhouses, or any woman who had seen him naked.

   As lads the pair had run off as orphans and lived their lives as two drunks wandering the seas. They had never been apart since they met in the workhouse for boys, in the slums of London.

    The two companions always planned to go out as they lived. Drunk, in the sea and of course, together!

   They always envisioned as corpses, being two pickled bastards, sinking to the sea floor while intoxicating the fish who ate them.

“Raise him as if he were your own son!” the captain said full heartedly, with water in his eyes. Then Ringo’s gaze went from his best friend in this life, to the son this time period gave him.

“I’d do ya one better matey,” replied Davy, whose scent had greatly improved with his weekly shower. “I’ll raise him like he’s yours.” He said with a large tear running down that burley sun scorned unkempt face.

   He almost looked like an old worn-out teddy bear for a moment.

   Overwhelmed with emotion, the two adults hugged close, to say goodbye.

 “I’ll see ya over on da other side Phil!” Davy confessed. “I love ya!” the seasoned sailor humbly cried in his best friend’s ear.

“I love you too matey!” Ringo said in the embrace, and the pair kissed lightly upon the lips. This was goodbye in the deepest manner, and nothing less than a peck upon the mouth was appropriate.

   Then Starr turned towards his son, whom the father only had briefly.

“Davy is gonna take care of you.” The adoptive parent promised.” He’s gonna have you schooled and see that you are truly free. I’m sorry our time together was short, but I’m thrilled to leave this earth with you as my son.”

The child threw himself into his father’s arms.

 “I love you Leonard Phillip David Waters. My Leo.” Starr admitted crying, while touching his son’s face, as he slowly let go.

“I love you too father!” the young man said, piercing into the Beatles soul with those beautiful brown eyes.

   Leo was such a handsome boy and would grow up to be a gorgeous looking man.

   Then as the final hug broke away, water began to puddle at their feet.

“You both need to get out of here!” the captain ordered.

“Make sure you look through the telescope!” Leo said suddenly, changing the entire mood of the atmosphere.

“Aye!” said the first mate. “It's wat will’s bring ya home Mister Starkey.” David said looking into Ringo’s soul.

“Wait!” Starr uttered in shock. “You knew about me?” the time traveler uttered in complete surprise.

“You aren’t the first to look through the telescope.” The child explained.

“Make sure you find it, or you will never return home.” He further explained to the white man now .

    Then the two from this time turned to leave, but the first mate tilted back for a moment.

“Don’t forget us matey!” he told the man inside his friend.

“I won’t.” Ringo promised both of them and sincerely meant it. He could never forget this adventure, and truth be told, he would treasure its memory, if he could indeed return to the 1960’s.

    Leo was waiting by the door, but the lad smiled, now assuring Starr that he would survive this ordeal.

“Goodbye Mister Starkey.” Leo’s childish voice rang. “You did better than most.” He further added, with pride in his voice.

“Thank you.” The time traveler said to his close friends from the past, then the two were gone.

   Ringo was now alone and began to look for the item that brought him to this place to begin with.

   After frantically searching for the old telescope in drawers and shelves, Starr recalled he left it on top of the helm.

   Upon coming to this realization, the mock captain noticed the water making its way up the ship, nearly to his knees when he opened the door of his quarters.

   When reaching open air, Ringo found the fire caused a thick black smoke, forcing the Beatle to feel his way up the steps to the helm of the doomed ship.

   Being slightly higher up, Starr was able to see out into the open waters, from the side of the wooden vessel. Gazing overboard the captain saw two of the life boats, one with Leo and his first mate, safely aboard and away from the sinking ship.

     Relieved to see they would make it to Florida, the Beatle continued his search for the telescope.

    Searching in the dark of the black smoke, Ringo was forced to crawl on his knees. He began to cough hard from his lungs. Gasping for air, as he struggled to take a breath.

Apparently, he still had asthma.

    In the black he searched with his hands, until he finally found the brass telescope in the darkness of smoke.

   Standing up, the last man aboard the ship quickly placed the device over one of his eyes. Looking through the artifact, Ringo suddenly felt his body falling, as the wood floor gave out beneath him.

    Still, he focused his eye to the lens, then the time traveler saw the bookshelf of green books he was examining earlier.

  Now taking the item from his eye, the man found himself falling backwards, just a foot away from a couch.

  He was back in the old antique shop.

“Shit!” Ringo muttered frustrated from the floor.

Chapter Text

Upon opening his infant eyes, John Lennon found his first view was that of the ceiling of the parlor in the tiny apartment he shared with his new parents, sometime in the early twentieth century.
The man trapped as a baby couldn’t see much, but it appeared he was in some odd box to contain his infant body.
Staring at the two walls he was angled to see, Lennon immediately noticed they looked bare compared to what the old plaster wall space used to look like.
Upon thinking about it, John realized what was missing were the photographs of the baby’s dead siblings. The pictures of the three children who came and died before this child he inhabited, no longer graced the wall in their tiny silver frames.
Soon upon waking John could hear someone moving around but saw nothing at first. Then he smelt the scent of the woman who was his mother in this strange mix up in time.
She had her own feminine odor, along with a mix of rose oil that the mother of the child the Beatle was inside of, used as a perfume. The man could hear her coming closer, then the lady’s face suddenly popped into existence, gazing down at the tiny infant.
To Lennon’s great shock, she appeared different than she had before.
Wildly different!
With the most noticeable change being that all of her hair had been crudely chopped short. The long brown locks the doting mother once wore in a bun, had been replaced with this sporadic haircut, nearly reaching her scalp!
Yet despite her strange appearance, she knelt beside him on the floor, with her head leaning over the box John was enclosed. Then she gave her baby a sly smile. An expression John had never seen before on her face.
The grown man in a baby’s body could tell, she was up to something. Something extreme, and likely reckless was this woman’s plan.
“Today’s the day we’re going to be freed from this hell!” the mother told the infant, with a twitch to her nose and mouth.
It was obvious, she was trying to be strong for her child. Teary eyed, she stroked the baby’s cheek, losing herself while looking in her son's eyes.
“You look just like your father, but I won’t hold that against you. He was a good-looking man before the drinking took that away.” The woman told the child with a smile that was crooked at this point.
“We’re going away.” She went on, seemly less stable with every word she uttered.
“Far, far, away. Where they can’t get us!” Her words insisted, as the lady’s long fingers were combing the baby's hair lightly, but faster than normal. Almost as if they were in some sort of hurry.
“No more beatings, yelling or drunken fits.” The mother began to promise.
“Where we’re going is…” her voice was heavy with emotions as she seemed to almost be wishing upon a star. Then she lifted her head up to the ceiling, trying to hold back her crying.
“…is heaven!” John could hear his caretaker say, as he studied her long neck stained with old bruising peeking through her collar.
Then the woman tilted her head back down, her gaze returning to her son as she pulled out a tiny glass vial with a suction syringe attached to the lid.
It had a black rubber plug and she used it to measure this yellow liquid. When the measurements were correct the mother took the tip, and shoved it into the infant's mouth, forcing its contents down his throat.
Poor John tried in vain to avoid taking this unknown substance, but she hushed him.
“Shush…” Lennon could hear her whisper, as she performed this action, gently but forcefully.
“You’re just going to sleep. You’re just going to sleep.” The mother repeated in a haunting tone, with a soft voice.
“You’re just going to sleep my baby.” The woman chanted, almost singing to her child.
With the strange liquid already in his system, John felt tired immediately and found his infant eyelids weighing heavy.
He made a strong attempt to fight what was happening to the body he inhabited, but all efforts were in vain.
As the grown man limited by an infants physical agility, found himself closing his eyes, while the baby's mother closed a lid over the box both John and the child were in.
At least his death would be painless, Lennon grimly thought to himself as he succumbed to the will of the toxin.
Suddenly John heard a noise, and he realized by his cold diaper, he must have been asleep for quite some time.
Judging by the dysphoria lingering in his adult mind, he had to have been out for several hours, as he inhaled the musty odor of the little enclosure he was trapped in.
Now everything was dark, except a line of light in the crease of the lid to his box. The Beatle also realized by then, there were air holes on each side of his container.
Then John heard the sound of metal clicking, like a suitcase or trunk being unfastened to be opened.
Right afterwards one side of the box broke free from it’s seal, bringing fresh air to the baby’s lungs! Along with the newer air, the sunlight rained in, and then his new mother’s face appeared, leaning over him.
Her smile came more easily, and her strange hair was covered by a hat.
“There’s my boy!” the lady said smiling sweetly again, then she wrapped her hands around the infants body, removing John from his confinement.
Carefully, she lifted the baby’s body out of an old trunk and laid John on a blanket spread out upon a bed of grass.
Immediately the mother kissed the top of the baby’s head with her soft lips, as her long fingers made their way up the infant's skirt. Then opening his nappy, she proceeded to clean him up and freshened his clothes.
“Mummy’s sorry I had to hide you in that old trunk.” The woman explained as she wiped his bum with a damp cloth.
“I couldn’t afford the train ticket for both of us, but I gave you a tiny amount of tonic just to keep you sleeping long enough until we made it to London!” She further added, with her face lit up with confidence.
John had never seen her look so happy before, and felt an immediate relief for himself, while being full of joy for both the mother and her child. In fact the grown man was not only grateful to be alive, but even was ashamed of himself for doubting this woman at all!
“We did it baby!” the lady chanted as she carefully rose from the ground, with John in her arms.
Her expression was that of excitement, but more noticeably, she was happy. Genuinely filled with joy with her actions. She even swirled around in a circle as she stood on her own two feet.
John could hear a baby’s laugh, and then he realized it was him. His mother responded by rubbing his nose with hers and kissing the baby’s brow again, as she freely lavished him with her affections.
“We did it.” She repeated in a quieter tone, clearly absorbing all she still had to do!
When the doting mother finished dressing her baby, she filled the trunk which once contained her tiny child, with other bags and belongings.
It was a heavy and encumbering load, and it was obvious the woman would have to manage all of this hassle by herself.
Yet she masterfully arranged her body to carry all of these items. First, she gathered her baby up, and grabbed the trunks straps, dragging it behind her.
Now leaving their secluded place, the mother made her way from the back side of a few buildings, to a walkway down ab urban street. All around the pair were shops, people in Edwardian clothes, and even early motorcars.
It appeared as an old photograph straight out of a history book, to the man from the 1960s. This was such a frightening feeling for John, being forced to go along with whatever happened to him, and no ability to voice his own will. It was wild going from a wealthy man of power and independence to a helpless baby in a poor battered woman’s arms.
Yet John realized he could be in no better hands! He was sorry he doubted her. This mother didn’t give up her life, or the life of her baby, instead this battered woman with three children in the ground, moved forward with her plan, whatever that was.
Now the doting parent wandered a long way with the trunk dragging behind her, until they came to the shop she was looking for.
It was a dirty little place, with industrial equipment, used for melting and molding metal. Upon large wooden shelves were random metallic items which ranged from steel shovels to fancy silver boxes.
The place was dark, and dingy, but the wayward woman approached a young man behind a wooden counter, and laid John as a baby, upon that very table before her.
After securing the infant safely, the tired woman knelt to the floor and opened her trunk to present the objects she was selling.
First a metal toolbox filled with wrenches, pliers, and other industrial equipment, was placed beside John on the counter.
Instantly the man examined the tools and began to haggle the price down to the woman with a baby. However, the mother held her ground and received most of what she was asking for.
Next the Beatle trapped in a baby's body could see the lamp from the bedroom, the picture frames that no longer held the photos of the deceased children, then a small metal jewelry box, and the wayward woman’s wedding ring (which she couldn’t take off fast enough,) and a few tiny bits of jewelry… all were sold without the slightest hesitation.
“I inherited this from my mother.” The mother then said to the man making a purchase from her.
“Her employers were wealthy, and when they bought new silverware, they gave her their old set.” She explained, while pulling out an old folded blanket.
Upon opening the parcel, she revealed a newly polished set. It was old, but solid silver, which pleased the man but he still tried to drive down the price.
The two adults haggled for a while, until an agreement was made. She was quite the shrewd, businesswoman the famous man noticed. He even smiled at her wit and strength, as she made the deal. Then she gazed upon her glowing infant, and smiled back as her eyes fixated into his, as if she could see the man inside her son.
Soon the woman was paid, then left with a baby, money, and a trunk of clothes and empty bags.
As the shop door slammed closed behind his mother while she was dragging her much lighter trunk out of the shop, she giggled as her gaze fixated on her baby.
“I just sold all your father’s tools!” the woman told her baby, laughing.
“Consider that his only gift to you baby!” She further added, seemly quite delighted with herself. “You’ll never see him again. I’m getting us a ticket to the United States!” The lady announced, then she excitedly kissed the round cheek of her baby.
“We’re going to New Jersey and stay at the Methodist home for widows and children of coal miners!” The feminine voice elaborated the details.
Saying this forced the woman to laugh, but it was a combination of happiness and fear. The adult in her baby could see it, especially in her eyes.
“Mummy has agreed to help wet nurse other mother's babes, while they work. Soon I’ll save enough money, and we’ll get a nice home in the country, so you can breathe better and not get sick!” This last part made her emotional, as she squeezed John’s body a little tighter while uttering those final words.
John simply smiled at her, knowing it was the only encouragement she had, and that he could give. It seemed to be enough, as his mother in this time bravely marched forward to her next destination on her itinerary.
Which was an old brownstone business building. However, the mother had to walk up six flights of stairs, to the less expensive real estate in a building without a lift.
It would be quite the workout for even the most athletic, which the poor mother of a infant just a few months old struggled but managed. Even with a baby in one arm, and her trunk dragging behind her, this woman was determined to make it to the top floor.
Upon reaching the high up destination, both mother and child noticed a large window, with a view of the city, and in the distance the harbor. It was a remarkable sight to behold, especially after all that work to reach this high level of the building.
“That’s where our ship will meet us!” the exhausted woman pointed out, with her finger in the direction of the water.
However, turning from the glass, a dingy corridor brazenly stood before them. On each side were doors to low-class offices, with numbers beginning with 600 laid out in a zig zag order.
Cigar smoke lingered in the air, along with the scent of liquor, and the echoes of moaning through some of the doors.
Rather shadowy looking from John’s perspective. Yet, the mother continued her journey forward, reaching her destination, as she dropped the trunk in front of one door, and pulled out a small note from her pocket, with an address written on it.
“Suite 608.” She read aloud, while matching the numbers to the door. Eagerly the woman knocked and returned to holding the one end of her trunk, as the door swung open.
A slimy looking man met John’s mother and offered her a chair in front of his desk. Gratefully the exhausted woman welcomed the gesture, unfortunately that is where the formalities ended.
“I have the tickets, and the identification passes you asked for.” The man explained while shamelessly smoking a cheap cigar. Rather rude behavior in front of a woman and her small child, the 1960’s man thought to himself from the infant’s view.
Reaching across his desk, the short plump hands of the slimy man gave the woman with a baby a bill of sale.
The mother was in shock.
“Sir!” she said sternly. “This was not the price we agreed upon in our letters,” Which she immediately presented.
The man just laughed at her, as he leaned back in his chair, and puffed his cigar.
“Inflation honey!” he told her smugly.
“Well, I only have what you asked for!” John’s mother pointed out.
The man responded by simply eyeing his client up and down. Not even discreet in his motions.
John instantly knew where this was heading. If he could punch anyone, it would be this bastard at that moment.
His mother had his keen senses. She resisted the urge to reveal her disgust, and like a statue speaking she coldly asked.
“Do you have somewhere I may place my baby?’ The woman didn’t blink, or move a muscle in her face, as she stared at the last barrier to her escape.
“I keep a basket in the closet for women with infants.” He responded with a smile that could turn your stomach.
Poor John found himself in that basket and in the closet, while his mother was being abused. It made him sick, and it wasn’t right!
Yet like the beatings, his mother never made a noise. John didn’t know how long he had been in that dark place, but he didn’t make a sound. He resisted the urge to cry, which the baby wanted to do, but the adult inside didn’t want to make this any harder on this woman than it already was.
Eventually the door opened, bringing the light into the enclosed space. John could see the shame in his mother’s eyes, as she lifted him into her arms.
“Let’s go baby.” The woman whispered humbly. Then dragging the trunk behind her, the mother and child left the nasty office.
As the woman marched down three flights of stairs, she took a moment to drop her trunk on the midway section of the stairway and sat down. Holding John close, the woman cried.
This entire ordeal was just so much for one person, and finally she took some time to shed a few tears. She held her baby for comfort, in which the infant nestled in tight.
Then John used the infant’s hand to successfully wipe away a tear trail lingering upon his mother's face. This forced the mother to turn her head to look at him, and then shower the little face with kisses.
“I love you.” She said standing up, and regaining her composure. Then while taking hold of the trunks strap, she bravely continued her journey down the rest of the stairs.
Outside in the fresh air, John’s mother walked aimlessly about, seemly confused about where to go next. Reading her face, John realized she was absorbing what she had just done and was about to do.
This woman had been as strong as steel, but she was alone with a baby, ready to leave her country and everyone she knew. John could tell there was no going back for either of them.
“We best find a place where I can feed you.” She spoke her first words since leaving the building where she was violated. “Our ship doesn’t dock for another hour.” The woman further stated, as she passed lines of shop windows.
Walking down the street the mother found herself admiring an old mirror in one of the many grand displays along her travels. An old butter churner, and spinning wheel were in the business window as well, from what John could see.
“The Lost is Found.” The mother read the sign above her head, which the adult trapped in the baby’s body wasn’t able to make out.
“Hello dearie,” said a female voice, John had heard before.
Turning his head in surprise, the man in a baby’s body found looming in the doorway, was the old couple from the antique shop the Beatles took refuge in, in the 1960s!
The old man smiled at the baby, but Lennon could tell, the man knew who he really was.
“Hi there Johnny!” the old male witch said to the baby in the woman’s arms, confirming Lennon’s suspicions.
“His name is Robert.” His mother formally corrected, which was a surprised to John. He had been referred to as Stephen since he suddenly arrived in this distant time in the past.
“That’s his new name.” the old woman, who was still blind taunted slightly. “You named him Stephen, but with your new life he will forever be known as Robert. Which he will live a long and glorious existence upon this Earth, thanks to you.”
“You’re the travelling gypsies I sold my furniture too.” The mother recognized, as the couple approached her and her baby from the entrance of the business.
“Don’t forget your hair.” The old man reminded her.
“How did you know what I was up too?” the mother inquired, instinctively holding her baby close, while clasping John’s head in her hand.
“It’s alright child.” The old woman assured her. “We could tell when someone was in trouble. Please come in and rest awhile.” The female witch offered, as her white eyes glared blindly but oddly facing the woman with her child.
“I’ll make some tea.” The old man offered sweetly, with his gray eyes fixated upon the mother.
For the first time the woman running away from a bad marriage and home, relaxed her shoulders a bit.
Not a soul has helped her, until now!
Graciously the mother accepted the old couple's offer.
As she began to make her way through the door of their shop, the old man took her trunk dragging behind the exhausted woman.
“I will put this on my wagon and drive you and the babe to the dock when it’s time.” He assured her kindly.
“Thank you.” The younger woman said full of gratitude, while being guided by the blind woman inside the facilities.
John studied the shop as best he could from his limited direction. He could see this was a different building from the shop he and his mates ran into while seeking refuge from their fans. There were much older items going to the colonial era and beyond, but it was definitely the same atmosphere as before.
“Why don’t you sit in your old chair.” The blind woman suggested, motioning in the direction of the very chair John sat in that brought him to the past and into this baby’s body.
The suggestion pleased the exhausted mother, who was thrilled to accept the offer. Like she had done countless times before, the woman sat herself in the old chair, appreciating the last bit of familiarity of her old life, right before her new life begins.
As she rocked back and forth, the mother opened her blouse and began feeding her baby.
Now there they were again, back when they first met. John was suckling on her tit, and the mother began to sing.
Just like before, the maternal figure sang the same classical baby numbers that seem to surpass time. Rock-A-Bye-Baby and Hush-Little-Baby were again being sung to John as this woman’s baby, as she doted over the child.
“We did it baby!” the mother finally spoke, with a spark to her voice.
“We’re going to New Jersey!” She thrillingly announced with a huge smile. “Far, far away from that awful place! Oh, it’s going to be heaven!” the woman further assured.
Then while playing with the baby’s hair, which was something she seemed to enjoy doing, the wayward woman felt the need to explain further.
“I guess I should tell you, your name is Robert Benjamin now.” The mother further explained. “And I’m now Mary Catherine O’Neal, a widow of a coal miner.” The woman now called Mary elaborated, then bent her head down and kissed her nursing baby’s brow.
Those kisses made the baby’s body tingle, and John could feel it too.
“Your brothers and sister will live on through us!” she declared. Then her expression and demeanor changed. Mary, as she was now called, John never learned her old name, gazed deeply into his eyes, seeing his very soul inside the infant.
“I hope I didn’t frighten you too much Mister Lennon.” She said suddenly, causing John to drop the nipple from his mouth.
This made Mary laugh, as John’s expression must have been a sight to behold!
“It’s quite alright sir,” the newly named Mary assured with a giggle.
“Go on, enjoy. It’s the only way you can eat after all.” The lady chuckled, putting the breast back in his mouth.
“This is where we part.” The woman kindly explained. “The chair will bring you home. Though I must say you were one of the kindest men to sit in this old thing.” She told the Beatle while patting his head. Then the woman who had been caring for John during this entire trip back in time, whispered at the side of his head.
“I love you son.” Her sweet voice echoed in his ear, but reached his heart. After saying this, Mary gently reached her head down to kiss the baby’s brow again.
Lennon instinctively closed his eyes, while feeling her warm soft lips on his forehead, like a kiss from heaven.
When he opened them again, he saw the ceiling of the modern shop he originally entered for sanctuary from the fans. Then he found himself leaning back in the chair, further than he would like, until he came tumbling backwards from the old furniture.
“Fuck!” he uttered in confusion.

Chapter Text

George Harrison was in some spiritual compound somewhere in Asia. The youngest Beatle figured he was near or in ancient China, judging by the people and clothes he saw.
What was stranger still was that he had been given a cricket to follow, as a kind of lesson, by a man he referred to as “Master.”
The insect had forced the Beatle to leave the dining hall, abandoning his simple meal prematurely.
Now hungry, the time traveler followed the bug into the courtyard, careful not to step on the blasted thing as it jumped from stone to stone. George stumbled as the creature made its chaotic journey, and then the crafty insect jumped into the tall grass of the garden.
It was too dark at night to find the tiny thing in the long green vegetation, where the Beatle’s sight tapered greatly in the darkness of night.
Fucking great! Harrison thought to himself as he sat beside the grass and waited, hoping the little shit would return as it had before.
While the lead guitarists remained in the dark, he found himself both bored and tired. With the sun being down, the garden may not have been visible, but it was indeed peaceful and quiet.
It didn’t take long for the weight of the world to weigh upon the Beatle’s eyelids, as the lack of stimulation was exhausting.
Poor George tried to fight the temptation of slumber and made a good effort at it. He hummed a few tunes, but that slowly died down. The desire wasn’t there.
Not fully aware of what he was doing, George leaned back against a nearby stone wall. His lazy eyes gazed at the night sky, which was beautiful, but not very engaging.
Soon, a yawn escaped his lips, and Harrison was fast asleep, with a cricket chirping in the distance.
Harrison didn’t realize he had been sleeping until the cricket chaser was awoken by the very man the Beatle was playing chess with when he first arrived in the past.
“Good morning, my son.” The old man said to gently wake the sleeping student.
Upon opening his eyes, the Beatle saw the Master wearing a long yellow robe, like he had seen last night during dinner.
The confused time traveler tried to figure out where the hell he was again.
Then the musician realized he was in the past, living as a student monk, ordered by this very man to chase a cricket.
Holy shit, the cricket! George thought in a panic!
“My cricket!” Harrison cried as the lad leapt up to his feet, carelessly passing the Master in pursuit of the bug.
Frantically, the Beatle searched for the insect he lost the night before! George couldn’t believe he foolishly slept for all that time, without watching the bug he was supposed to be following.
Fuck! Harrison thought, worried about anything that could happen which could harm the mere insect!
Ugh! This was a debacle!
In an act of sheer desperation, George tried in vain to find the blasted thing. He frantically checked every rock and bush he encountered, including the ones with thorns.
While searching, the time traveler began to hear chirps. Harrison was confused by the noises of the little creature, as its direction seemed further than expected. That’s when the Beatle realized, the cricket wasn’t in the garden.
George followed the bug’s noises as he walked the stone slabs of the botanical section of the compound out of the floral paradise to the dirt road that led to the outside world.
The wooden doors of the grand wall bordering the monastery were open, and commoners were entering the holy place as casually as they would go to the shops. These people visited the temple for various reasons, such as to pray or work.
There, Harrison found the cricket, navigating around the masses on the busy street. Again, the tiny black dot evaded trampling feet by only the narrowest of means, causing the lead guitarists much anxiety!
Through the rows of human bodies flowing in, a simple wooden cart pulled by an ox made its entrance from the outside world. A local farmer was bringing fresh hay for the beds of the compound members, completely oblivious of the insect and its value.
Naturally the bug was almost crushed by the wagon wheel, as the cricket seemed suicidal in its erratic behavior. Harrison was nearly struck himself by one of the large wooden wheels but was quick enough to avoid shattering his foot.
This entire ordeal was utter madness, and then the cricket leapt through the wide-open threshold of the compound doors.
Now the blasted thing was in the outside world, leaving behind the protection and sanctuary of the monastery.
Unsure about what to do, George stood by the opening of the barrier that had kept him from the peasant class and glanced over to the “Master,” who nodded his head in silence.
Poor George realized he had to follow the cricket, even out of the safety of the compound walls. This religious order was quite committed to their lessons.
With a heavy sigh, George followed the bug by crossing the dirt road with a lot of traffic outside of the holy wall of safety!
The Beatle then chased the cricket to a grassy field, which the road circled around. Poor Harrison was forced to shadow the insect through the uneven grass, worried about what other creatures could be lurking beneath every step!
Naturally, the bug would choose to perch itself on a cow pie while it seemed to wait for the chaser to catch up.
Seeing where the insect decided to rest, the lead guitarist could feel the rage in his chest toward the tiny creature. Honestly, he would have loved to stomp down on the bloody thing; it was such an aggravating nuisance!
Why the hell was he doing this? the musician asked himself, screaming in his mind. Oh, Harrison wanted to wail out, but it would only draw more unwanted attention.
Sighing heavily, and taking a moment to center himself, George reviewed the situation.
He was in a bloody field, off the road, beside a pile of shit, because this blasted bug decided it wanted to perch there!
Even if he were allowed to, the time traveler didn’t want to pick the insect up, as it stood completely still on the literal crap!
“Asshole!” the Beatle let slip out.
The cricket just chirped at him as if it were taunting the human.
Apparently, shit is comfortable because the damn little thing remained there without any indication of moving. So, the tired man was forced to sit beside the pile of cow dung, until the bug chose to continue its adventure.
Ironically, this was rather poetic, George was forced to lament. Sometimes he could be quite negative about life and his current circumstances. Especially when he felt trapped, like with the large crowds of fans and press hounding his every move.
The price of fame could be as confiding as a prison cell. It was painfully difficult for George, where he and his other bandmates’ lives were hidden behind walls, enclosing the sunlight with window shades to have privacy from the masses. Nature’s noises, like birds and flowing winds, were drowned out by screams from strangers who constantly surrounded him and the group.
Now the world-famous Beatle was chained to a cricket who was totally free. The invisible links forced the musician to hop around like this bug's pet dog.
It was through this wild experience could this man understand this living creature’s point of view, which was connected to his fate somehow.
This was an odd conundrum to be in, and the time traveler had played along so far, but he could feel his patience waning with the lack of control he had over the situation.
Leaning down to try to get the insects eye level, Harrison noticed the direction his bug owner was facing. There, George observed the patch of long grass the creature was looking at.
Tall grass seemed to be the crickets favorite hiding place.
Then suddenly; the bug leaped up towards the untamed plants, but Harrison snatched it with one hand in mid-air.
Gross, yes, because the little creature had been standing on shit for all this time, but at this point, it didn’t matter. George just knew he didn’t want to go digging for it again.
“Consider me life little bug!” The Beatle told the cricket. “Because I’m changing your direction!” he said this into his hands while the cricket catcher turned towards the road, intending to return to the safety of the compound.
However, the little black dot had other plans, as it found a space between the long guitar playing fingers and leapt across the field in a frenzy.
“Fuck!” George cried in frustration, as the insect rapidly hopped away!
With no other alternatives available, the man made chase, with the bug leading the human again in its wild journey.
Aimlessly the cricket pranced over a large grassy hill and soon they were on the other side, with the view of a humble village.
The small civilization was obviously preindustrial, with the most basic bamboo structures for houses, tents for shops and a local water well in the center.
Everywhere there were peasant folks, mostly farmers, and fishermen, along with women and children going about their busy day.
This simple community were of humble means. Silently George viewed people weaving nets, carrying jugs of water, trading goods, and children running around playing.
It was a lot like the main street of Harrison’s hometown of Liverpool, and the lad even felt homesick suddenly.
Oddly, the cricket was still, and seemed to give Harrison a moment to examine the landscape, which the man did in awe.
After a short break, the creature began to move along the edge of the village, forcing the human to follow it.
Uncomfortably, Harrison found himself behind people’s homes which concerned the time traveler.
He worried about trespassing, and the harsh punishment this culture might have for such an act.
Desperate, the man attempted to sway the bug away from the houses.
Carefully, the Beatle used his foot to try to direct the hopping insect towards the field again, but the creature leaped into the alley way between lines of these humble structures.
Indiscriminately, the leading bug bounced across a small walkway, to another alleyway between another set of home’s. The confused man was forced to keep his focus towards the ground, while following the tiny black dot. A single glance away, and he could lose the blasted thing again!
While devotedly keeping track of the bug, George accidentally ended up pulling down a clothing line with freshly washed laundry.
Realizing his mistake, the Beatle tried to repair the damage he caused. Quickly, he reconnected the line, which he felt terrible as these clothes were hand washed, and he knew that was a lot of work.
After he fixed the damage, the time traveler began looking for the insect, but the blasted thing had disappeared, again!
Frantically, George searched through a the alley and into the small courtyard.
God damn it! The little bastard was being quiet.
Alone and feeling defeated, the young man felt he was again forced to sit and wait for the bug to reappear, if it will again.
So the time traveler crossed his leg’s, and chose to meditate.
Sitting up straight on the ground, and with his eyes closed, George’s mind immediately filled with images of screaming fans, fights within his family and the constant movement he experienced in his life as a famous musician.
Here in this distant place, in a far off time, the Beatle could finally stop and be still, but his mind flooded with the chaos from his old life. How could he ever hope to achieve peace?
Then opening his eyes to escape his own madness, the time traveler found a young woman standing before him.
First the man on the ground noticed her dirty bare feet, and the girls simple clothing appeared to be worn and tattered, but Harrison soon realized, he had seen her before.
From under a mop of raven black hair, was the young round face of the pitcher girl!
The brazen lass who flirted with him inside the dining hall.
Then George noticed in her hands, she was carrying a large clay jar filled with water, even bigger than the dish she carried before.
Her long black hair fell freely down the back of her thin body, but her expression gave a tomboy like charm.
Clearly she wasn’t working for the monastery, but doing her regular chores for her own family.
“I did not see you at breakfast.” The young peasant girl said to the man who was supposed to be training as a monk.
Upon studying the young lass, she appeared to George to be about sixteen years old.
“I know.” The female youth continued, as she turned her gaze downward.
“You are not allowed to talk to me and I’m not allowed to talk to you.” She recited humbly.
“I won’t tell.” Harrison let slip out.
The girl smiled from his words, but wearily looked both ways so not to be seen, then sat down in front of the forbidden fruit.
“Are you thirsty?” she asked suddenly, as she placed the jar filled with water to her side.
This surprised the Beatle, as he hadn’t thought about it or realized, he was indeed both hungry and thirsty.
So the thirsty lad nodded in response, and the girl pulled a small cup made from a turtles shell that she kept attached to her belt and poured some water in it from the jar.
“Here.” She told the man while presenting the cup of water, as the pretty lass bowed to the ground, with the cup raised up in both her hands above her humbled head.
George was surprised by the ritualistic fashion in which he was served, but graciously accepted the cold drink.
“Thank you.” He told her after emptying the little turtle shell of all its contents. Then the time traveler returned the cup in the same fashion he had received the item.
His kind gesture made the girl in his company giggle in her young feminine voice.
George realized he must have done something outside the norm of this culture.
“I have never been given something so respectfully.” The pretty lass explained while accepting the tiny shell cup back.
“Why?” Harrison asked, forgetting himself and the situation he was in.
The young man was genuinely curious about this girl, as she seemed to be the only one willing to be rebellious in this place. She flirted with a man who made a vow of chastity, but was she just a temptress or did the universe have the cricket lead him here for something more?
“You men feel you are the only ones who deserve respect.” The young woman stated simply.
“Every day since I can remember, I have carried water for my family, and I walk a different way each time.” She began, brushing some hair out of her face.
“My father yells and says I never come back at the same time. He says he will catch me talking to my friends, but he never knows what route I take. I know he looks for me, but I always keep a look out for him.” The girl went on, clearly glancing around for her father.
“So you live like a cricket.” George observed of what she told him.
The girl just laughed at his analogy.
“When I have to.” The water carrier admitted honestly.
“To live like a cricket, hopping through life, is an old saying.” She explained. “Yet crickets bring luck, so I don’t take it as an insult.” The girl stated proudly.
This knowledge was rather enlightening about this culture and about this young lady. The youngest Beatle was not oblivious to the supernatural element in which encompassed his existence at the moment, and he began to ponder if the universe would reveal this girl to be the cricket.
“I’ve been following a cricket since yesterday.” The man informed his companion, who seemed to remain human.
Again the girl laughed.
“They really make you do that?” she asked, trying to gather herself. “I have heard rumors about your training, but you're the only student who has ever talked to me.”
George let a smile appear on his face, though he realized he was likely breaking a bunch of rules of the group he belonged to, by interacting with the young girl, alone.
However, he figured he was on some sort of spiritual journey and clearly this girl was a part of it. Why else would some outside force would orchestrate this experience, unless it was to bring him to this girl, Harrison assured himself.
Plus she was rather nice looking, and it seemed this rebellious lass would be the fun person in this village of rigid rules and traditions.
“Please don’t tell on me.” He slightly begged of her with a tease in his voice.
This made the young lass study the time traveler with her deep brown eyes, as a large smile adorned her face.
“We’re even.” The water carrier told the Beatle, which made her giggle some more.
Harrison was realizing this concept of equality between the sexes was rather taboo in this place and time.
“The only time a woman here receives respect is when she has a son.” The young woman explained her society's custom somberly.
“Because a son must always respect his mother. It works out in the end.” those brown eyes peering through the black hair went on.
“So my mother tells me. She has five sons.” The girl explained as the teenager released a heavy sigh.
Then she sat up straight and formally looked into the man’s eyes boldly.
“I wish I could be you.” The water carrier admitted honestly.
“Why?” The time traveler inquired. The younger person just shrugged her shoulders as the weight of the world seemed to be burdening her in some way.
“I want to learn to read and know the ancient chants and stories.” She told the man, honestly.
“I must have fetched the water a thousand times, but I can not write down the stories in my head, which I dream up every day I perform my chores.” The peasant admitted.
“You have stories?” George inquired, curious. In which the girl nodded.
“I’ve been dreaming of a tale of a turtle and monkey, trying to figure out who has the most fortunate life.” The young lass began.
“The monkey, because he can climb trees and see more of the world, or the turtle who never travels far but lives much longer.” She told him.
“That’s an interesting story.” Harrison observed, staring into her brown eyes, which had a spark.
“Sometimes I change it to a bird and a tree,” the pretty girl went on. “but the turtle just seems more interesting than a tree.”
“In my story about the tree in the bird,” the female story teller began. “The tree laughs at the bird because her family had lived in him for a hundred generations, and he would see a hundred more generations after her.”
“Well tree’s live for hundreds of years.” George noted, in which the water carrier nodded.
“So the bird told the tree that she will travel around the world and would return to tell him of her adventures.” The young woman explained. “But the tree laughs at her, and tells her she could never live long enough to fly around the world.
“However, the bird is determined, and fly’s north, promising to return coming from the south.
“The tree laughs as she fly’s away, and he never sees the bird again.
“Then a hundred years go by, and one day a bird flying from the south, perches upon the tree’s branches.
“Are you the tree who told my ancestors she couldn’t fly around the world?” the bird asked the tree.
“A little bird told me she would fly around the world, and come back to me, to tell of her success.” The tree tells the bird.
“However, that was a hundred years ago. She must have died long ago.” It further told the bird.
“But the bird laughs at the tree.” The girl recited, explaining her story.
“She was my ancestor, and she made it to the mountains, and her children flew across the great waters to new land.” The bird said. “We mated with the new birds, and kept traveling. We have flown over jungles, deserts, snow and rocky mountains. We just kept flying, until we found you, to tell you, that not only did we travel the whole world, but are now apart of it.”
“That is interesting.” Harrison agreed, taken back by the significance of her tale.
“Maybe you need a story where the turtle and the tree talk.” The Beatle suggested with a smile. She was indeed both pretty and clever but also insightful.
“Or maybe the monkey and the bird.” She said with a tad bit of mischievousness in her eyes. This girl was a firecracker desperate to be set off. Her face sunk in her long raven black hair, but her eyes peered from the dark strands, revealing a free spirit, eager to escape her current life!
“You relate to them?” The musician observed of the young woman’s nature. The girl responded by nodding again.
“I want to be free more than to live a long life.” The water carrier said as her gaze went up towards the sky.
In a way, George could see her as both a monkey and a bird. Swinging through the trees then setting sail for the sky. Soaring above the rest.
“Alas it is not meant to be. I’m rooted here. I’m a tree in the forest.” The lass sadly reported, seemly depressed by the very notion.
“Or you’re a bird who thinks she’s a tree while living as a turtle who is dreaming of being a monkey.” Harrison simply stated, not thinking about what he was saying too deeply.
The water carrier just gawked at him wide eyed, as if this were a serious revelation in her life.
“Thank you.” The teenager responded bowing gratefully.
Suddenly the Beatle heard the chirps of the troublemaking cricket, and that is when the girl stood up, still looking around for her father.
“I need to go back.” The young lass stated, while watching every corner of the space the two shared.
“My father is probably looking for me now. I have to attend the animals, so I must go.” She acknowledged.
When the young girl turned to leave, she first gave George another bow.
“I won’t forget you.” The girl told him.
“And I won’t forget you either.” Harrison replied, meaning every word.
The two locked eyes, as if there were a deep understanding between them.
Both were living under someone else’s control. The girl had her father and the society she was born into, where George had to live in the public eye, continuously being held to it’s ever judgmental standards.
Then the lass lifted the large jar in her arms, keeping her eyes wide open for her father, and scurried off out of sight.
After she left, George arose to his feet, feeling proud of himself in how he advised the girl. She definitely made an impression upon him, and hopefully he managed to help her in some way.
She was too much of a free spirit to remain in this village all of her life.
However, the water carrier’s presence only existed for a few minutes, but now the Beatle had to return to his task, which was finding that damnable insect, and return them both to the safety of the monastery.
So George began to search out for his cricket.
The chirping of his lost bug owner increased, so the Beatle instantly began to look around the area, with his eyes glued to the ground.
The little monster had caused so much trouble, that George was aggravated by the very noise the creature naturally made.
Yet the cricket led him to the water carrier, and the Beatle did find talking to the girl refreshing.
So the man’s tolerance for the insect had been renewed to some extent. Like he didn’t desire to stomp on the little thing.
As Harrison tried to focus on his task, he suddenly realized he never got that pretty little lass’s name.
Thinking on it further, the time traveler didn’t even know his own name in this world. Yet it really didn’t seem to matter as he has gotten by while not learning a single person’s name in this far place in both land and time. Then again, other than the pitcher girl, he really hadn’t had the chance to talk to anyone.
Now back to his initial task, the man quietly listened for another chirp from the insect.
It inevitably came and Harrison found the bug cornered against a wall to a house and a wooden bench that was up against the dwelling.
Easily the Beatle gathered the untamed creature and trapped it in his hands, making sure it was closed tight.
Meanwhile, the cricket pounced feverously against the palms of both of the human hands, but there was no escape this time.
Feeling satisfied and vindicated, Harrison then quickly found a passage way leading to a dirt road and he eagerly travelled in the direction of the compound.
As the musician returned to the monastery, he discovered the walk by the road was longer than going through the grassy field. In fact there was quite a noticeable distance, but the Beatle didn’t care, he was just relieved to be returning, even if he was cheating a bit by bringing the bug back.
The outside world was filled with dangers, and George longed for the safety of the sanctuary of the walls, to protect his cricket.
Upon reaching the entrance to the compound, the time traveler began looking for the “Master,” to return the bug to the old man.
Harrison honestly wanted to be rid of the blasted thing. He was tired of being forced to go where this bug wanted, and was eager to be relieved of the responsibility.
As a returning student monk, George began his efforts in search of the old man he had played chess with, when the Briton noticed the garden.
The beautiful luscious green foliage, with the sporadic sighting of a random flower, pulled at the Beatles heartstrings.
Oh, how he just wanted to see the plant life but never had the opportunity to do so, because of the asshole cricket imprisoned in the guitar-playing hands.
Seizing the opportunity, the musician chose to search for the master in the garden. It was as good of a place as any, so the man from the future did so. Hell, he just chased a cricket into town, and now the time traveler felt he deserved this little luxury!
Walking in the botanical sanctuary, George took refuge in the vegetation surrounding him. Plants pleased the guitarist, and he blissfully lost himself in the beauty he had been longing for.
Yet the lad’s peace was disturbed by the prisoner in his hands
Chirps rang between the Beatles palms, as well as the frantic scampering.
Harrison was not sympathetic toward the insect, because he wanted to enjoy this garden, god damn it!
Then it suddenly dawned on the man, that the creature in his hands had no idea why the human was following it.
The poor thing likely just wanted to escape danger, and George had never considered that point of view. Not until he was forced to follow the cricket.
Now thinking on the perspective of the small creature, the musician realized the sheer size difference between the two, had to have made the Beatle appear as a huge giant to the little bug.
Which was a rather terrifying perspective, to be a literal insect with a human on its shadow.
Now feeling regretful, George opened his hands, and the little bug leapt out. However, the cricket had no idea of the man's revelation but, upon instinct, searched for shelter.
First, it landed on the walkway, then perched on a decorative rock in the garden, and then bounced onto the soft black soil in a garden patch.
“Very nice, my son.” a man’s voice said from behind Harrison’s back.
Startled, the time traveler turned around, where the old master stood in his gray clothes as when the pair first met.
“Master,” George responded by bowing and then straightening up.
That’s when the cricket decided to hop into a section of plants.
Nervous to see the insect disappear, George immediately went to inspect the location, only to find the black dot entangled in a spider’s web.
Immediately the Beatle reached in to save the bug, but a black spider leaped from a corner and quickly snatched up it’s prisoner as a meal.
Harrison was ready to go after the eight-legged predator, but a hand upon his shoulder stopped his attempt.
“Let it go.” The master told his student from behind the youths back, forcing the younger to turn around.
“It made its choice, now it must live, and die with by the decisions it had made.” The old man told his student.
“But I forced the cricket back here.” George protested.
“And it chose to die rather than to be held captive.” The old man replied in the same soft voice. “Why did you force the cricket from it’s path?” the elder then asked.
“Because I thought it would be easier to keep its safe in here, rather …” the time traveler trailed off, lost in thought.
“Than letting the creature go where it wanted to be.” The Master told the student.
“Should I have let it be crushed by the wheel of the cart on the road?” the Beatle inquired.
“Why was the cricket running in the road?” the wise one pressed his student.
“It was running from me.” The musician admitted with his head down. He tried to control the crickets will and as a result, it died.
“The cricket still, foretold your fate.” The elder informed the time traveler. “If your instinct was to capture what you should be following, than that is how you are being handled by those with more power than you.” He explained, his voice consistent in its pitch and tone.
“If you let those who are greater in size control you, you will be trapped and die in the web of a predator.” The old man elaborated.
This was a powerful realization for George. One he had never thought of before.
“How you treat those who are smaller than you in life, reflects how you have been treated.” The master concluded. In which George instinctively bowed.
The Beatle knew he would need to meditate on these words for a long time. Maybe even years, but he found the concept as profound as the water carrier found his words to her.
“Thank you, Master.” He said with another bow, grateful for the lesson he learned.
Then, the Master returned the bow.
“Come play a game of chess with me, Mister Harrison.” The Master seemed to both suggest and order, so kindly.
Hearing his name shocked the time traveler! He hadn’t seen any suggestion that any of the people in this strange place from the past, saw him as an outsider.
The British lad had convinced himself he had done well passing off as a novice monk in this monastery.
However, the time traveler noticed the man smiling while gazing upon the aged face.
“We’ve always known George.” The old man replied, now with a friendly ring in his voice. “You are not the first to touch a piece from the chessboard, my son.”
“Are you with that witch couple?” the time traveler inquired.
“They have a piece of me through the chess set,” the elder informed the musician. “and through the chess board and it’s pieces, the old couple have access to the memories and experiences of the students I taught with this set. “ the Master informed the younger man.
“The chess set was discovered long after my body died and was traded as payment for the library.” The apparition of the past relayed.
“Library?” George asked confused.
“You will understand soon enough.” The ancient man assured.
As the pair conversed with each other, George realized they were walking on the outskirts of the garden, where the chess board resided.
“The chess set will return you home, just touch the piece that brought you here.” The wise one explained.
George fixated his sights upon the board of the game, and all it’s little jade pieces.
Tragically, he couldn't recall which piece he touched.
“Relax my son,” The Master’s voice suddenly disturb the confusion in the younger man’s mind “you may touch them all. It’s not meant to be difficult.” The elder patiently explained as each man took their place at the chess board.
“So while you try to figure it out, let us play.” He suggested.
Harrison couldn’t help but smile, and found he would rather enjoy a game. Even if he was destined to lose. The garden, which consumed the cricket, had lost it’s appeal.
Together, the pair began their game and as predicted very quickly, George was defeated.
Without a grumble or a hint of stress, the younger man instantly began to reset his pieces back into place, and the old man did the same.
“How was talking to the girl?” the elder suddenly asked, breaking the silence between them.
“Did she share her stories with you?” he further inquired.
“About the monkey and the turtle?” Harrison replied back, while playing the game. “Or the tree and the bird?” the last part seemed to have amused the teacher, as he lightly smiled.
“The student you are living through, left the order to marry her.” The Master explained, making his move.
“Did they have a happy life?” George wanted to know, moving a pawn, then his brown eyes left the game to study the other player, as the Master carefully chose his next move.
The old man nodded lightly.
“She refused his proposal, so he married a more docile woman.” The aged man answered bluntly.
“Instead of marriage, she ran off and started her own female commune.” The man said as he checkmated George again.
“So I would say they both lived happy lives, just not together.” The wise one concluded.
With the end of the game, the two players set up the pieces again.
“Her order lasted almost a hundred years before it was disbanded.” the elder went on.
“However, a handful of Buddhist monks discovered her work in a cave. Some of her stories still remain in your day.” The Master told his student, as they began to play again.
“As for the student you are living through,”' The apparition of the past went on. “he lived to have many children, and died of old age.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” George replied, as he was not expecting that ending, but the Briton figured, their outcomes, although very different, was good for the student and the water carrier. However, Harrison was really happy for the rebellious lass who carried stories in her head.
The little bird flew!
Then George casually moved a pawn and patiently waited for the Master to make his move.
After a moment, the Beatle lifted his eyes up from the game, and discovered he was no longer in the past, but back in the present day of the 1960s.
The lead guitarist had returned to the antique shop, who housed the chess board which brought him back in time, and to ancient Asia.
Fortunately for the youngest Beatle, he had been standing playing the game, so he wasn’t too disoriented to fall backwards.
However he very quickly heard two crashes followed by a…
“Shit!” Then…
“Fuck!” in different areas of the shop.
Clearly Ringo and John had gone on some kind of past adventure as well.
Yet Harrison noticed the lack of a third curse.
Where was Paul? George thought to himself, looking around a city of items with countless potential lives hidden beneath the surface, just waiting for a touch from a living soul.

Chapter Text

For Paul McCartney, the only thing he could see was an endless black void, in a dreamless sleep.
Rendered unconscious by the liquid soaked in the handkerchief, the musician did not feel his body being carried by the rather large Norman Turner and carelessly tossed into the trunk of a Rolls-Royce.
No, Paul only knew there was darkness, and nothing more. The poor lad saw nothing, heard nothing, and appeared to be numb.
Unbeknownst to the victim, his body was flung carelessly as if he were mere luggage, into the dark confinement, before the metal hood closed him in, with the significance of slamming down the lid of a casket.
There were no witnesses to this crime. The kidnapper was alone, without even a driver to accompany him.
Ever the tyrant, Mister Turner drove himself to the “club” and anywhere else he needed to go. He would often comment that he preferred to drive. However, the truth everyone knew was that the lonesome man despite his riches, had a difficult time holding onto staff.
No one would be employed directly by him, as his history with his long-gone employees, made the task impossible. Even immigrants learned of his dastardly way shortly after arriving to town.
Mister Turner’s family had a prestigious title for over two hundred years. They were proudly the product of aged old nepotism; however Norman had a reputation amongst the lower classes, which resemble that of villains in fairy tales.
Almost too fanciful to believe, and too cruel.
For his home’s cleanliness, the prestigious Norman Turner, hasn’t been able to use anything more elaborate than a middle-class maid service of rotating staff.
There was also a special Mister Turner rule, he couldn’t be on the premises while the housekeepers were there.
Ignorant of all this, was Paul McCartney, as the Beatle’s body lay limp while the unsuspecting youth sank into the darkness about to consume him.
Deliberately avoiding the sight of the other patrons of the business, Mister Turner made a habit of parking in hidden areas. People tended to retaliate their disdain for this hated man through his vehicle.
Yet despite the necessity of this behavior, it always bothered the staff of the club.
The disliked patron was unaware that part of the ritual of seeing his unwelcome presence inside the establishment required an employee to go out to find where he hid his car.
The man was neither liked, nor trusted.
Still the wealthy investor and heir was no fool and realized he could not appear missing along with the boy. He needed to linger around for a little while, to avoid suspicion.
Better to ask for forgiveness than to be turned down, was the deviant man’s motto.
By forgiveness, he meant money.
Sure, Vanna would be pissed, but she can’t undo the deed. There would be no turning the law on him either, obviously. The organization the witless blond belonged to, tolerated the disliked customer as he was too wealthy to deal with over queer whores.
As long as he was paid up, the Quincy brothers who operated this brothel masquerading as a high-end club, didn’t care. However, Vanna wasn’t above gathering a posse to show up at his house.
That stupid bimbo would have her goons damage property, and even have him dragged from his home, before the police could be summoned. So cautiously, the malice figure returned to the building through the back door he used before.
Slithering from the side of the stage and through dancing couples and then the dining area, the man hiding a hideous secret casually took a seat at his alone table.
There was nothing wrong, as far as the wealthy patron sitting alone acted, as he relaxed from his ill intentions. Casually Mister Turner drank his champagne, as he looked out across the hall.
For a brief period, there used to be a hint of danger when a young Norman began his sadistic deeds. Because deep down, some semblance within this twisted child, knew what he was doing was wrong.
At first, he thought he had to hide his behavior from his parents, but he quickly learned they would turn the other way.
To the boy's surprise, his mother did become upset when he began dissecting live mammals.
In fact, the woman was horrified by what she saw and called his father in to kill the beast in its brutalized state, with his gun.
So, the understanding prepubescent Norman learned from this incident was kill what unfortunate creature was in his grasp, before any adult discovered the mutilated beast. He rather enjoyed snuffing out the little life himself.
However, as a grown man, Mister Turner had gotten out of any trouble or serious threat by covering up his tracks, or in the worst case, be forced to pay extra for the damage he caused.
Danger used to be part of the thrill, but now just the act alone was enough.
Norman loved the trouble he caused from the moment someone realized something was wrong.
The kidnapper found it amusing seeing that clown Kurtis Sheldon, looking for his whore, after noticing the length in time of the lad’s disappearance.
Laughing to himself Mister Turner watched the flamboyant queer wander about the building, not yet concerned, but perhaps suspicious.
First the fairy of a man was searching in the men’s room, and then predictably to Vanna’s office.
Soon the blond mop with the freak, were out and about together looking for the lad in the trunk. This amused the older man, as he watched the chaos he orchestrated unfold.
Like ants running from the ray of light through a lens, the hidden staff exposed themselves, as other whores both male and female left their dates, who were also of either sex, to casually join the search.
Meanwhile the sinister man remained at his private table, until he was confident Vanna saw him sitting by himself, therefore disregarding him as a suspect.
Underneath the bob cut of blonde hair, a scowl appeared, as if this lad's disappearance was personal.
Because it was. Vanna was a bitch, and Kurtis Shelton was useless in the eyes of the vindictive patron. However, good luck in proving it bitch echoed in the privilege mind, as the man felt sure of his dastardly scheme.
Trying not to appear to be laughing, Mister Turner finished his bottle of champagne, as the madam stopped her hateful stare and continued to search for the lost lad.
Feeling on top of the world, Norman gleefully made his way toward the front door. He was eager to play with the lad trapped in the trunk, and he didn’t want to stay around to be questioned by one of Vanna’s thugs!
While making his journey across the sea of bodies, the disliked customer noticed the workers were giving him disgusted looks with curled lips and eyebrows bent down when he approached.
Even more so than usual.
Then Charles Quincy, the second oldest Quincy brother was standing tall in front of him, as Mister Turner was attempting to cross the threshold of the front entrance.
“Norman,” Mister Quincy said looking down at the older man. The lad towered over the patron and was built like a brick house.
All six of the Quincy brothers were freakishly large like that. Charles was known as the most reasonable of the motley crew, but he could still be brutally violent.
“We have a missing lad on our hands.” He told the “gentleman” staring the man down with hazel eyes that changed with his mood. They were currently dark brown, which meant Charlie was angry. “Have you seen the new boy?” the giant younger man wanted to know.
Seeing this beast of a specimen naturally shook the deviant attempting to escape, but Norman always managed to disguise his fears as mere awkwardness of his eccentric character.
“As you can see, I’m by myself.” The wealthy investor began to speak to the mobster, as calmly as he could manage. Yet the man of privilege was shaken by what this large ape evolution designed for hard labor, could do to him.
“I see that.” Charles observed, “but I’m giving you this one chance Norm,” the lower class yet wealthy man remained in eye contact. “If you have the boy, give him up and I will forget about this, just like with Tommy. However, if you don’t…” the mobster said in mid warning, before Norman smugly interrupted him.
“Clearly I’m innocent!” Mister Turner exclaimed, taking a firm stand. “The lad probably ran off.” He dastardly suggested, trying to add the thought to this chimpanzee’s mind.
“Maybe he did,” The younger man replied, “but I will find out what happened. I promise you that!” Those dark brown eyes darted with an obvious warning.
Then, graciously the larger man stepped aside, and allowed the patron to take his leave.
Now feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise, Norman walked a little bit faster than he normally would, when leaving the club. Something felt wrong, and his instinct was to escape.
Swifter than usual, he arrived at his car and the middle-aged man made haste as he left.
Driving out of the parking area of the establishment, the wealthy investor was figuring out what he was going to do with the lad in the trunk.
Burning the prisoner’s feet was out of the question now.
Too obvious! Especially with his more recent actions with the disposable youth from the club.
Yet never fear, Norman knew other ways to fulfill his sadistic fantasies.
Possibly breath play. He did enjoy that and had everything he needed in his “study.”
With a slimy grin across the round face, the sinister man envisioned lifting the boy kneeling on the ground with the noose around his neck.
Slowly getting tighter and let go suddenly and then choke him again!
He knew how to perform the gruesome act without snapping the subject's neck. The young Norman as a boy had plenty of experience with strangling cats in this manner, before he finally had a human subject.
Oh, the deviant could do that for hours, as delight spiraled in his heart.
Then the idea of the scrawny lad blindfolded and hanging from his wrist popped in the defective one’s mind.
The opportunities were endless in his dark encyclopedia of terrors.
He had an array of switches to use on his subject. Norman often found whipping his unwilling partner’s to be a nice warm up for his vicious itinerary.
Burning the lad in this position would be the most ideal but damn it Charlie changed everything!
Okay, so no marks that didn’t look like a brawl could be found upon the boy's body.
Still there were other ways for the sadistic man to find entertainment from his captive.
Visualizing the pale thin body of the scrawny lad, dangling like linen on the line, was an open canvas of possibilities, limited by the unfortunate circumstance.
Fire was out of the question, but ice was just as effective to a frightened blind man.
This idea thrilled the driver, and he further elaborated his plans with his new toy.
The wealthy man had an array of insects he collected throughout the world. Creepy crawlers known to have painful but not deadly defenses. Beetles that pinched through skin, spiders with low levels of venom and other unpleasant creatures most people avoid!
He could cover the lad in his hobby, and hear the youth scream in horror, as Mister Turner sadistically removed the blindfold.
This would cause the boy to wail out of control, triggering the vermin clinging to his naked skin, to unleash their primal defenses.
The agonizing pain would only cause the victim to struggle harder, where the creatures will go in full defense, and battle the lad, even after he passes out from the pain.
However, as brutal as his collection could be, they weren’t deadly.
The lad would likely be a bit scarred, but alive.
Still the boy would have to die.
Charlie’s threat made that a necessity, but Norman knew he already pegged this lad for death.
“So sad,” Mister Turner thought out loud to himself, as he daydreamed of passing conversation after the body was found.
Meanwhile the thought of the mobster's threat echoed in his ear, as he subconsciously began driving faster than he usually did home.
“Another poor young boy dies from taking too much heroin again.” The deviant rehearsed out loud, trying to calm his nerves.
“He must have chickened out with being with the ugly queer!” Norman practiced, laughing a little at his joke.
“The ill-fated boy probably ran off and accidentally killed himself.” This self-uttered phrase made the driver laugh. “However, dying like that, rather than fucking Kurtis Sheldon, would be the decision I’d make,” he continued, finding himself amusing.
Tonight was going to be entertaining, to say the least!
With a mind filled with delightful details, Norman drove his expensive vehicle upwards to his home. The road to his large house was at the top of this winding path, but along with sharp curves against a high drop.
Approaching one of these abrupt turns, the driver instinctively stepped on the brake to slow down. However, his speed remained the same.
To the man’s horror, he found the brake pedal gave no resistance, as it easily went down to the floor.
Frantically the driver turned the wheel sharply, narrowly missing the bend, but he struck an old oak at the edge of a steep drop.
Stunned by the sudden impact, and a bit banged up in the chest, Mister Turner was alive but was bleeding from his head.
At a loss to what he was doing, Norman studied his reflection in the mirror dangling at hand. Immediately the injured man noticed a large lump had formed rapidly upon his forehead, like a horn protruding from his skull.
The driver was confused but instinctively sat up and shifted his gears in reverse. He had forgotten about the steep fall behind him, and carelessly backed himself off the short edge, to a steep drop.
Carelessly landing, after flipping in the air, the ill-fated vehicle shattered upon meeting the asphalt path.
In shambles, the expensive car was scattered upon the lower road of the hill Mister Turner was driving, alone.
Instantly the marvel of technology was a mangled mess across a black strip, shadowed in the night, void of light.
The steering wheel shattered the malice man’s chest, but despite the fatalness of his injuries, the privileged owner did not die immediately. He lived long enough to choke to death on his own blood, as he gazed upon the wreckage of his own car.

As Norman Turner’s soul approached the gates of Hell, Paul McCartney opened his eyes, with a headache of epic proportion.
The effort was painful, with the lad’s vision being a bit blurry at first.
Yet, as the bassist focused, he saw a young man leaning over him, touching his head with a soft terry cloth.
Upon looking a little more carefully, Paul noticed the lad wearing a suit and adorned short hair, was really a woman. At the angle she sat next to him, he could see large breasts, hanging down behind a man’s shirt.
In utter muteness the masculine woman said something to him, while looking in his eyes.
Poor Paul couldn’t make out what the butch lady was saying, so he just stared at her in bewilderment.
His expression must have concerned the manly female, as she turned her boyish head away from his gaze and started to speak again opposite McCartney’s view. Although now the Beatle must have been more alert, as the reclining lad could now hear and understand the sounds flowing from her tongue.
“Vanna, he’s awake.” The crossdresser called out, with a voice that could pass for a woman or a young lad.
Right afterwards the caregiver then got off from whatever cushioned McCartney was laying and disappeared from her patient's sight.
“Thank you, Marla.” the Madame could be heard saying, but Paul couldn’t see his blonde hair employer just yet.
“You can go back to Mrs. Sanders.” Vanna simply stated, as she dismissed the manly woman.
Marla, as McCartney’s employer called her, responded with a flirtatious clicking noise.
“Feel better Cliff.” The ailing man could hear her say, along with the closing of the door, as Vanna took the other queer woman’s place beside him.
“Rough first day? Ah lad?” the blonde hair woman noted sweetly, while patting his head with a cloth. “Don’t you worry. We took care of that bastard for you!” she ambiguously stated, as her ungloved hands tended to his wounds.
“What happened?” the time traveler uttered, completely oblivious of what took place after leaving her office.
To only enhance the conundrum the displaced Beatle was entangled, he was further confused about being Paul or Cliff. The poor lad needed a moment to fully absorb his surroundings.
Despite the impossible situation the musician found himself in, he fully concluded now that this wasn’t a dream, as McCartney awoke from his unintended slumber to the long past decade of the 1920’s.
Disoriented, the injured youth attempted to arise from his makeshift bed, only for his efforts to cease, by the will of his employer.
“Easy!” Vanna told the boy in her care as she was gently pushing him back along her personal chase lounge.
“That bastard must have used chloroform on you.” The woman stated as she was playing with his hair affectionately.
“He knocked your head real good too.” Vanna observed, as she studied her patient carefully with her large green eyes.
“Probably when Norman put you in the trunk.” The feminine voice lightly remarked, with both hands examining his scalp.
“I was in a trunk?” Paul cried upon hearing such news! This was all too unbelievable for him to fathom, along with this new life and change in time, it seemed maddening to think about.
“So, this is the kid from York?” said an unseen strong authoritative voice.
Instantly Vanna rose from her seat at Paul’s side and disappeared from his view.
Soon afterwards a large tree of a man was shading the light of the lamp above the recovering Beatle.
“So, you’re Clifford Garrison?” A tall mobster wearing a black suit inquired, as he gazed upon the reclining younger man.
This was the first time Paul had heard of the name and hometown of the person he was inhabiting inside of.
Unfortunately, McCartney really couldn’t answer, as he was conflicted about his very identity.
“Yeah, that creep knocked you on the head good.” The boss looking fellow further noted. “You’re lucky Vanna has the instincts of a cat.” The man in charge, above the Madame, elaborated the wild happenings while the Beatle was unconscious.
He smiled slightly as he was glancing at the blonde woman, as she stood in front of Paul’s temporary bed.
“She called me right away and had Norm’s car searched before I even got here.’ Her employer proudly praised her.
“One of the boys found you and brought you to safety, before sending Norm on a special trip.” The man elaborated as he pulled up a chair and sat beside the chase lounge Paul was resting on.
Once comfortable, the ginormous man took out two cigarettes from his inner jacket pocket and offered one to the lad by his side.
Immediately Vanna helped the wounded employee sit up, so he could accept the smoke, from a man who radiated power from his pores.
In a mind in a blurry haze, Paul inhaled the cigarette to feel a sense of calm. Thankfully the bad habit worked, and in the cloud created by two smokers gathered into a more intimate space, McCartney silently studied the large body sitting boldly before him.
The big fellow, despite his massive appearance, was spectacularly groomed.
He was clean shaven, his nails neatly manicured, and the time traveler observed this man was wearing an expensive cologne.
Upon examining his features, McCartney observed a head of light brown hair that could pass for blond, a facial structure that was large, but in proportion to the obvious mobster's unusually large size.
Humbly gazing upon the massive figure's eyes, the time traveler saw that they were a golden brown and despite his rough edges, the man was exceptionally well groomed.
Yet even just glancing at the man’s hands, one could tell they could crush bone.
This person was solid under his suit and rather intimidating to the average height McCartney fell under.
“Thank you.” The confused man uttered, grateful for some relief. He certainly had a lot to be thankful for, from the little bit of information he had heard.
“Vanna says you’re not a queer but agreed to entertain Mister Sheldon for the weekend.” The boss stated, looking over Paul.
“I’m not going to sleep with him!” McCartney immediately insisted.
“That’s fine.” The man agreed, with a calm voice.
“Whatever deal you made with Kurt is between you and him.’ The obvious mobster assured, without seemingly judgmental.
“I wanted to thank you for helping us out of a mix up and being a good sport about it.” The boss told the injured employee. “I like that.” He explained as he kindly gave the male whore a polite smile. “Mister Sheldon is one of our best clients.” The tough looking businessman went on, in a very direct fashion.
“Not only is he frequent and spends a lot, he also pleases my staff, especially Vanna.” He gave the Madame a nod as he again acknowledged the woman’s sharp leadership skills. “So, you flattering that old queer puts you high in my book.” The man concluded, inhaling his cigarette.
“Well, he seems harmless.” Paul admitted, gathering the pieces of his mind together.
“He is.” The mobster promised, biting the filter of his smoke.
“The man is as nice as they come. I don’t usually like queers. Norm being the highlight of what I hate about them, but Kurt, he’s alright. He knows his place and knows who to do that too and there’s never a complaint.” The man described the client Paul was expected to go home with.
“Kurtie has offered to take you in, while you recover.” Vanna told her employee. “If you want him to.” The woman assured the option of the suggestion.
“You’ll be better cared for by him, than you would at the boarding house,” the man told the lad, as he stood up from his chair.
“Look he’s got a nice place. I won’t say nothing about your arrangement, and we’ll set you right with the ladies next week.” The humongous being further promised.
“I’ll go with him.” Paul agreed, with less hesitant thought than he would care to admit.
A nice mansion sounded a lot better than a boarding house, in the wealthy musician’s less than humble opinion.
“Good lad.” The well-dressed boss exclaimed.
“Kurt will be happy to hear it.” He elaborated as he gave a look at Vanna.
“Fetch Mister Sheldon.” The mobster told the Madame, who obliged immediately, by exiting the room.
After the lady left, the man arose from his chair and pour two drinks of scotch.
Kindly, the building of a person gave one of the glasses to Paul, who accepted the beverage without any thought.
“I want you to know, Norman Turner will never come near you again.” The tough guy voice came ever so strongly from the makeshift bartender.
“He’s been dealt with. You saw nothing and you never met him.” He told Paul with a serious look.
Upon hearing this news McCartney just accepted his drink and nodded to the large man’s statement. Clearly, he didn’t want to know what happened but was grateful how protected he was.
“I like to run a good place, Mister Garrison.” The mobster continued as he drank his golden liquor from a crystal glass. “No one here is forced.” He elegantly explained, giving his glass a little spin with his wrist. “We pay well, and our people are happy to work. They make more in a night than most people do in a month.” The mobster explained. “I like that. It’s easier, less drama, less heat. Plus, the community appreciates all the money we bring into this old rundown town, so we’re left alone.” The figure further noted, as he casually finished his drink. “This is our smoothest operation, so when I have to come here, I deal with shit right away.” Those hazel eyes darkened as he said this.
“It is a nice place.” McCartney quietly admitted.
He could imagine the entire group loving a place like this. John would be all over Vanna, and even their manager could get a queer date for himself.
“It is.” The tall man agreed. “And it will stay that way.” As he was saying, when Vanna walked into the office with McCartney’s client behind her.
Noticing the well like patron, the brick house of a man turned his muscular body towards the door to face the newcomer.
“It's good to see you Mister Sheldon, as always.” The boss said with a warm smile, and he seemed to have a genuine respect for the artist.
“Good to see you too Mister Quincy.” Paul’s client greeted the mobster.
Mister Quincy smiled hearing his name. “The lad said he’ll go with you tonight.” He told the gentleman. “I know you will treat him appropriately as he recovers.” The tallest man in the room, eyed the shorter, but still above average height, Kurtis Sheldon.
“Of course.” Mister Sheldon assured.
“Well considering the circumstances,” the mobster continued. “You can take the boy on the house for the weekend. You and Vanna were right about Norman, so I’m giving you that. But pay the boy for his time.”
“I certainly will.” The gentleman promised formally. Then those blue eyes glazed down at the injured youth on the chase lounge.
“Poor lad.” The artist said sympathetically, as he walked over to Paul and sat beside him.
“I will set you up in the guest room tonight. You’ll have everything you could possibly want for a weekend.” Paul’s client assured.
The mobster smiled hearing this.
“You know Kurtis, your decent fella, for a queer.” Mister Quincy remarked, but had to add the last part for appearance's sake
Being a product of the era, the patron understood and appreciated the sentiment, with a respectful gaze towards the large man in charge of this operation.
“Well now that everything is settled, I shall depart.” The largest man in the room proclaimed.
“Thank you for helping us with this lad's care Kurt. You’re never a problem and I like that.” The boss told the patron, with a warm voice.
Then he turned his sights to the beautiful Madame.
“Vanna, good job as always. Your quick thinking avoided a big mess.” The mobster said to the woman, who smiled with pride, however, it appeared a little more intimate than just a platonic relationship.
Paul could tell the pair had a closer affection for one another than what was being displayed here, but it was clearly none of his business.
Finally, Mister Quincy swung his huge body around to face the wounded man on the chase lounge.
“Sorry about what happened tonight, Cliff.” The man in charge spoke for his underground organization. “Mister Sheldon will compensate you well.” He then exited out of the office.

Chapter Text

Inside the strange antique shop during the modern day of the 1960s, George Harrison followed the crashing noises and cursing, as a guide to navigate around the walls of items which were in every direction the youngest Beatle turned.
Careful not to even brush against a single object, George soon found the leader of the band, John Lennon lying on his back in a fallen rocking chair.
The sight was so ridiculous, the standing lad couldn’t resist laughing lightly to himself as he approached his fallen comrade.
“Are you alright?” George asked, while offering his fellow bandmate a hand up.
Naturally John was quite bewildered, but grateful as he graciously accepted the help and was lifted from the ground.
“A little bruised,” the lead singer admitted, adjusting to having a man’s body again. It felt like he hadn’t used his legs in about a week or so, as Lennon regained his balance and the independence he had longed for during his unintended trip back to the past.
In his current state, John was forced to lean onto Harrison for a moment. He was a bit unstable at first, as his former body as a baby was so different than the grown man he now was. Yet he could walk and more importantly talk, which was an incredible relief.
“But I’m alright,” John casually replied, with the lingering memories of being a small infant in a runaway woman’s arms, only minutes ago.
Instinctively, the singer dusted himself off, then brought his focus upon his companion, who came to his aid.
“Thank you,” Lennon then acknowledged, as he regained his balance with his natural adult form.
George just nodded at his friend’s gratitude and together the pair wandered through the shop, looking for the other members of their band.
While aimlessly maneuvering between rows of cluttered shelves, John inconspicuously noticed a wig of real human hair resting on a faceless mannequin’s head.
Seeing these familiar long wavy locks, falling lifelessly downward past the shelf holding the display, forced Lennon to wonder if that was Mary’s hair.
Could that old wig really have been created all the way back to the turn of the century? He had to wonder to himself.
John’s sweet Edwardian mother, usually held up her feminine mane in a bun behind her head, looking gentle and kind, with her plump face smiling down at him.
Now the brown hair, which once sprouted from the woman’s scalp, was condemned to dangle carelessly upon a blank wooden mannequin without a body, while remaining frozen in time.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” the motherly voice echoed in John’s mind, with the lady’s feminine aroma invading his nose, as if she were there.
He could almost taste the milk from her breasts, before he banished the thought!
Despite John’s immediate dismissal, a pain struck the lead singer’s heart as he tried to banish such love from his mind. The bad boy of Liverpool found he was already longing for the comforting embrace of the adoring motherly figure he had unwittingly experienced, when he sat upon the rocking chair.
Even though the strange trip back in time was fresh within the two Beatles’ minds, neither man brought up their experience, as they focused on finding the rest of their group.
Nothing needed to be said, the friends could read the air between them, and devotedly set about their search.
Within a short distance of their travels, the duo came across a row of green books on a shelf. Neither musician thought about the find, but found behind the wooden furniture a clearing housing a sofa, with a brass telescope, and Ringo Starr, about a foot away from one another, scattered upon the floor together.
The drummer was rubbing one of his ankles, as he had twisted it from his fall.
Ringo seemed preoccupied at first, but upon gazing upwards, he immediately recognized his friends approaching him.
As the duo approached, Starr stared dumbfounded in their direction, with an expression of relief, which could come from having experienced some kind of recent terror.
Even the slightest glance at that blue-eyed face radiated a sadness that could almost be seen, and definitely felt.
“Are yer real?” the man on the floor asked, with desperation in his voice.
Immediately John and George could tell their friend had experienced something traumatic during his trip through time.
As the pair nodded in unison, the mist build up against the windows of Ringo’s soul, seeping past their barriers, and gliding down gently upon both sides of the man’s face.
“Oh god!” Starr cried, as he accepted both of his bandmates’ hands off the floor, then immediately threw himself into George’s arms.
“I thought I’d never see you lads again,” the smaller man uttered as he clung to his dear friend.
“Was your experience that bad?” Harrison inquired of the cowering lad leaning in his chest, as George warmly folded his thin upper limbs around Ringo’s back.
“No,” the drummer admitted, thinking of Leo, Davy and all those men who relied on him. Starr’s mind lingered in the seventeen hundreds, while the rest of him had returned to the 1960s. “But it was really hard!” Starr admitted in his ambiguous confession.
“Mine was too,” John followed the sentiment, gently touching Ringo’s shoulder in camaraderie.
Lennon found he really did love his new mother of the past and felt the anguish of missing her.
“Did I really go back in time, matey?” the ship captain’s lingo suddenly emerged.
“I know I did,” John replied. “Matey,” he repeated with a touch of irony in his voice.
“Have you seen Paul?” George suddenly brought up, interrupting the verbal trip back in time.
Starr just shook his head, somberly. His mind was still thinking about the son he had to leave behind. The poor drummer hadn’t even thought about the lack of the bassist’s presence.
“No,” the blue-eyed man told his taller friends. “I’ve only seen you two!” he added, while remaining deep within his own thoughts.
This news rattled them all, causing the trio to stare at one another.
“Well let’s keep looking,” John advised, as he circled the area with his eyes.
There seemed to be an endless amount of old rubbish, which could potentially send any of them back in time.
Could Paul be lost in the past? A thought which was too terrifying to consider just yet.
“He must be here somewhere. Right?” Lennon was nearly begging George and Ringo, as if they had the power to grant his wish.
Neither of the other two men wanted to acknowledge the possibility that Paul might be lost in the sea of old items, surrounding them from all around, in every angle.
“Paul!” the longing friend called out first, desperate to hear McCartney’s voice.
Soon the three remaining Beatles began to cry out together for their missing friend in the antique shop, which seemed to have no ending.
“Don’t touch anything,” Harrison advised, remembering what the chess master from his experience had told him about the witch couple, and the items they collected.
Together, the three silently realized that each artifact of the past was carrying a whole world that could take them away, with just a touch!
So, the three of the Fab Four huddled in close as they searched for Paul, unsure how they would find him.

Chapter Text

While still in the 1920’s, Paul McCartney was whisked away to the limousine hired by his client, Mister Kurtis Sheldon.
After the younger man made his entrance into the luxury vehicle of its time, the gracious host poured the boy a drink from a tiny bar, and then took one for himself, before sitting beside the injured lad in the far seat.
“How’s your head?” the artist inquired sweetly, as he gently placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. This seemed rather personal, but the touch felt innocent, so McCartney didn’t withdraw.
“Better, thank you.” Paul humbly replied, accepting his drink, and any kindness this man would offer him.
Instantly the lad with a head injury took a sip, then silently studied the glass, before turning his sights upon his generous companion.
“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked his host rather boldly, while looking at his client directly in those blue eyes.
Yet it was a fair question after all. McCartney was no fool! He himself has hired professionals sex workers, and he couldn’t see his generosity extending past a few extra dollars.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you just met me, yet you’re taking me in and paying me without the promise of sex.” The round baby face observed the peculiar behavior of a paying client.
With the question in his mind, the older man downed his drink, then looking into the mouth of the glass, the artist filled his young date in.
“It's my fault that you were attacked.” Kurtie began. “You see, Norman and I have been feuding for years.” The gentleman explained, with a lingering sadness in his voice. “He attacked you to get at me. It’s why he did what he savagely did to Tommy.” A heavy sigh came with this confession, as the man continued his story.
“Norman was a spoiled child, the only son of a wealthy family. When his father died, his three sisters married as quickly as they could, just to get away from him. I heard tales, one of his sister’s was queer like him, but married a bloke to escape her brother.” Mister Sheldon concluded.
“So, he’s just evil.” Paul noted, realizing how much danger he was actually in. His headache was better by now but still there, throbbing at the thought of being in the clutches of such a villain.
“He never had been told “no” growing up. The man’s family turned him into a menace.” The painter analyzed of his former nemesis.
“Why does he want to go after you?” the Beatle wanted to know. The poor lad was rubbing his head by now to sooth the tenderness, but still curious about the story.
“He has been after me since I refused to do his portrait.” Kurtie admitted. “I only paint those I like, or who are rich and famous. The bastard might be rich, but his fame is abusing boys and servants. Not someone I would ever immortalize on a canvas.” He elaborated while the painting hand squeezed Paul’s knee.
“It's my fault this happened to you.” Those blue eyes from the patron softly acknowledged. “So, I will make it right. I just hope you’ll still let me paint your portrait.” The artist slipped in.
This made the Beatle smile.
“But of course.” The injured lad assured more warmly than before. “However, forgive me for not being up for it tonight.”
“Naturally.” The host agreed with a smile, as the limo slowly made a stop.
“Please excuse me, my lad. I need to talk to someone for a minute.” The gentleman politely informed his date.
Paul simply nodded, feeling the lack of power and control he currently had in this life. Those thoughts danced in the time traveler’s mind as he watched the elder of the pair quietly remove himself from the car and walked up to a wooden cabin pressed against the darkness of night.
Staring through the limo’s window, the Beatle saw it was a beautiful little structure, appearing to be rustic on purpose, while clearly modern for this time, with electricity. This was easily observed by the bright lighting in the windows.
Curious, McCartney saw a barn next to the wooden home, and the rest of the view was a wide-open field, with a wooden fence lining its border.
It appeared to be a set up to keep horses, the musician noted, as he studied the second building.
He also watched Kurtie enter the home, walking right through the front door. The patron was gone for a while, curtains obstructed the inside view.
However, the client did eventually emerge from the house, but now with a taller man in his arms, as the pair lingered in the doorway. Lovingly the two men held one another, with their faces close together, merging their silhouette in the dim light.
It wasn’t a surprise to the lad in the car, when he saw the queer lover’s kiss, like any man and woman in such a position would do.
Paul realized this new man must be Thomas, as he watched the same sex couple in the dark express their affections. Yet the pair lingering in the doorway didn’t remain like this too long, and soon the host returned to the car, waving towards his lover before entering the vehicle.
“Was that Thomas?” McCartney softly inquired, as the limo began to move.
Mister Sheldon immediately nodded to the lad's observation, while appearing to be deep in thought.
“Yes.” He answered softly, as if he were a bit embarrassed. “I’m sure you won’t be offended if I see him tonight.” The host filled in.
“Of course not,” the guest assured. Then looking Mister Sheldon over, Paul realized the gentleman was noticeably aroused from being with his lover.
Shyly the good man did what he could to keep it under control and bashfully closed his legs to hide the bulge in his pants.
Sensing the awkwardness, McCartney smiled gently to lighten the mood.
“So, you like horses?” the Beatle inquired, trying to distract his client from his embarrassment.
The inquiry was sincere, as Paul happened to love these animals too.
However, to the young man’s surprise, Kurt shook his head.
“Not really.” The graying elder admitted. “I fell off one once in my thirties, trying to impress a youth.” He confessed with a sheepish grin of his past mistakes.
“I’m actually afraid of those creatures.” The host freely stated, seemly fine with his relationship with these animals. “However Thomas grew up on a horse ranch, and I thought if he was around familiar surroundings from childhood, he might recover better from what was done to him.” He further answered, in a protective tone.
Thomas was clearly more than a toy or a fling to this man. There was something between the queer pair that surpassed the guilt of what was done to the younger man.
“Did it work?” the time traveler asked, as his client was deep in thought.
“Well to a point.” Mister Sheldon replied with his body jolting slightly, while his mind was suddenly forced to return to the moment. “The lad is still uncomfortable in big houses like mine. However, I believe the time he dedicates each day to those majestic beasts, has opened him up.
“Those gentle creatures have allowed the lad to trust again and has brought us together.” There was a fatherly texture in the older man’s voice as he elaborated his relationship with the ex-whore, and now rancher.
“You love him.” The time traveler observed forwardly, and the man beside him nodded.
“I do,” the host didn’t deny this fact. “Tommy is very dear to me!” he went on, his blue eyes looking away from his companion. “However, he and I have other lovers,” the homosexual revealed that he and Tommy were indeed still men. “He’s young,” Kurtie casually went on. “And, well, I have a straying eye.” He added while returning his gaze to Paul, and gave the younger man a smile, as the gentleman wrapped his arm around the boy.
Despite the change of position, Paul could find a sense of camaraderie with this queer fellow. As he and the rest of the band, were all tied down to women, but that never once stopped them from furthering their escapades.
It was just strange being the subject of lust in this scenario, rather than the one doing the lusting.
“I hate what was done to you.” The host was saying as the car stopped, and the prestigious gentleman exited the vehicle first with his chauffeur opening his door.
Then like any man of his class, Kurtie assisted his guest, as if McCartney were a delicate bird wearing high heels.
Upon gazing at the grand property, Paul realized Mister Sheldon’s home certainly reflected his good taste and class, as it was indeed glorious. Even in the darkness of night, the well-lit garden in the front of the long driveway was well manicured, decorated tastefully with an array of sculpted bushes in symmetrical patterns laid out as far as the lad’s eyes could see.
However, the Beatle didn’t have long to study the stunning view, as he was whisked up the stairs of the grand home before him.
Arriving through the door, the pair were greeted by the staff. The butler properly approached the pair at the threshold first, clearly alerted that someone was arriving to the front door.
“Doctor Fisher is waiting in the parlor.” The bald elder servant informed the master, as he received the hat and jacket of his employer.
“Excellent Glenn.” Mister Sheldon replied respectfully to the employee. “Please have a bath drawn for the lad after the doctor leaves and then tell the kitchen staff to be ready to make the boy something to eat.” He further instructed.
“Very well sir.” The servant replied. Then the host turned to his guest.
“Doctor Fisher is my personal physician and friend,” Kurtie explained to the injured man. “I called him from the club. I want him to look you over, especially your head.” He informed the youth in his care.
“I’m going to spend the night in Thomas’s cabin, but the servants will care for your every need. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” the host so graciously asked.
“No,” Paul said honestly. “You’ve done more than I could expect. Thank you.”
With the lad's assurance the gentleman smiled and took his leave.
As his client left, Paul was ushered upstairs to his own private suite.
It clearly wasn’t the Master’s room, but it was definitely not a servant's quarters.
The beautiful private space was covered in wallpaper, with stylish paintings on every wall. Paul’s feet sank in plush carpeting, as he stood in front of a four-post middle size bed, and found he had his own bathroom too!
Shortly upon entering the room, there was a knock coming from behind the white double doors of the grand space. Opening the barrier, McCartney found an older frail looking man, dressed in a middle-class suit.
This ended up being Doctor Fisher. The much older man arrived in the luxurious quarters, with a pleasant mood, and a warm smile. The aged physician examined Paul’s head carefully, checking first for cuts and then bumps, with his fingers exploring the entirety of the lad’s skull.
He gave the boy a pain killer for the headache, but according to the old 1920s physician, McCartney was otherwise fine.
After the doctor left, Paul accepted the warm bath and a satisfying chicken dinner. A pair of beautiful blue silk pajamas were given to the guest to wear for the night, and the evening clothes gathered to be laundered.
However, the 1960s man wouldn’t let the servant take his gloves. The lad instinctively understood that these white hand covers were his only possible way to return home.
So cautiously the Beatle tucked the items which brought him back in time, under his pillow, feeling better to keep them near, especially as he slept.
Now exhausted from his injuries, and nearly being murdered, Paul carefully slipped under the covers, laying on his stomach, his arms folded under that very pillow which held the gloves, and buried his face in the forgiving cushion.
Finally alone, and with some semblance of peace, the time traveler closed his eyes, finding his well decorated bed to be extremely comfortable.
McCartney’s body ached from the abuse he had received earlier that night, and was falling asleep quickly. Then in the abyss tunnel of his closed eyes, the man fell into the darkness of slumber.
Soon Paul found himself in a dream, which felt so real, the Beatle forgot he was asleep.
His minds vision placed the musician back in the 1960s. He was in a large room he didn’t know well, while casually playing with his band. This had to be the real world, he insisted in his silent voice, relieved to have returned from this unexpected trip through time. Perhaps being a male sex worker in the 1920s, was just a dream.
It had to be! McCartney’s mind rationalized, as the lad eagerly plucked his bass, and gazed at each of his friends.
Everything felt natural and right.
Paul rationalized he was just at a rehearsal, but couldn’t help feeling relieved to see the band again.
Naturally the bassist went with the flow of the familiar scene, ignoring little obvious signs, such as John and George suddenly being left handed, like himself.
The slight change went unnoticed, as John was goofing off at times and George was joining in, causing all of the front men to laugh, as the drummer couldn’t see their faces.
Then suddenly the man in the back spoke.
“I miss Paulie.” Ringo said of him from behind the drums.
“I’m right here!” Paul laughed, innocently assuming his friend was joking.
“Yeah, things have not been the same without him.” George agreed, much to the bassist surprise.
“Are you bloody daff?” McCartney called out, instinctively raising his voice. Then he walked over towards Harrison, waving his hand in front of the lead guitarists face.
To the unknown dreamers shock, George didn’t flinch or respond to the bassist being there.
“At least we were able to find a replacement.” John pointed out optimistically, seemingly just as unaware of Paul’s presence, like the other two.
As Lennon made his statement, a white chicken appeared and walked over to a tiny toy piano.
There the bird then proceeded to play “God save the Queen,” in the jumpy way chickens perform.
This was too unbelievable for Paul to believe, as he watched all three of his bandmates stand over the feathered creature, looking down at it, as the bird continued it’s little melody.
It was then George gazed up in Paul’s direction, but spoke as McCartney were not there at all.
“I find her more agreeable.” The youngest Beatle noted, as the other two nodded in unison.
In utter bewilderment, Paul could do nothing but stare in disbelief, while the bird repeated the song in an endless cycle of torment.
The dreamer would have stayed there forever, but he felt someone touching him.
First it was his head, then McCartney shot up with a scream when he realized someone was clamping their hand around his dick.
“Calm down.” A woman’s voice ordered him to do.
Turning his head towards the other side of the bed, the Beatle saw a pretty brunette laying next to him.
Her hair was long for the time period, but it looked nice on her. She had dark brown eyes and wore a lace negligee, that was see through.
Paul found he had a lovely view of her pink nipples through the garment, which were hard, and pointed up upon her small breasts.
“Kurtie invited me over to entertain you, for a change.” The woman in McCartney’s bed told him, while straddling the newly awoken man’s lap.
“Who are you?” Paul asked, while checking her out. God she was hot.
The Beatle was quite selective when it came to the women he brought to his bed. He had a standard that he himself lived up to, and this lass certainly fit within his demands.
She was perfectly fit, flexible, and clearly adventurous. The famous man could see it in her eyes!
“I’m Lydia.” the attractive lady answered him, smiling down at the baby face with a flirtatious grin.
“Kurtie hires me to entertain his boys who go both ways.” Lydia explained, as she began to unbutton the Beatles shirt. “Oh he always has the cutest lovers!” the feminine voice declared, as her long fingers played with the dark locks of hair within her reach.
“He said to be extra nice for you.” She further stated, while making progress with his shirt. “You must have made Mister Sheldon very happy.” The seductress concluded, as she theatrically pulled open the silk pajama top.
Then the brown hair girl began nibbling his ear and shit it felt good.
“Don’t be shy,” she sweetly assured, as the soft lips whispered in his ear. “Even whores deserve great sex.” The girl gave him a smile, and Paul immediately rolled her over, kissing her deeply.
His prick pressed against the furry muff, but he wasn’t going to plow in just yet.
First he tossed off the top Lydia had just unbuttoned, and it flew to the floor instantly. To return the favor, Paul undid her fancy negligee and buried his face in her breast.
Oh to be in a woman’s embrace felt so good! So natural to the man who saw himself as a heterosexual.
Desire boiled in his blood, as Paul took his time with each of this woman’s nipples, causing the young lady to squeal in delight.
Her soft moans and high pitch squeaks thrilled the man, as he played with her body gently, but relentlessly.
Then Lydia rolled on top of her client, suckled his neck hard, but released the skin before giving him a mark. The adventurous lass slowly worked her suctioning lips, down, down, down, the Beatle, until she found his swollen package.
As the eyes rolled to the back of his skull, Paul was consumed by the pleasure caused by the lady’s oral magic.
Eagerly she bobbed her head below his waist until completion, giving the time traveler some much needed relief. The adventurous lass swallowed too, which surprised the relieved man.
Yet despite his orgasm, the Beatles dick was still hard, as the pretty woman sat in his lap, riding his number, while pulling herself up and down.
“Just relax “ her sweet voice instructed the man she was on top of. “Its your turn to be entertained.” The girl assured her client, lifting herself in the motion.
Stunned by the strangeness of it all, McCartney helplessly watched the lass pleasure him, as she promised. For a professional, she was rather tight and she squeezed his organ hard every time she slid down his swollen organ like a stripper gliding down a pole.
“You like that “ The seductress noted, as Paul succumbed to the pleasure. Then the musician surprised the adventurous nymph by flipping her over and plowing into her wet pussy, wildly and strong.
Lydia responded by wrapping her long legs around the man’s torso, while her body bobbed like a fish out of water. Biting her neck in the heat of passion, Paul caused the girl to cum with a high pitch squeal.
Wildly and unabashed, the woman freely shook beneath him, reassuring the lad, she was indeed pleased.
After sliding in and out of a wet port, the Beatle suddenly yanked his organ from the female body and popped all over her chest. His aim was impressive as a little seed struck the lady’s face a bit, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Well, I see I made you happy.” Lydia said smiling down at the mess splattered across her body.
Paul just lifted himself off the girl, and sat on the side of the bed rubbing his head.
“Thank you.” McCartney told his most recent lover, and meant it. God he needed that!
Lydia said nothing in response. She just arose from the bed, and casually went to his private bathroom and closed the door.
Within moments, Paul could hear water running, as his entertainment cleaned herself up. She wasn’t very long, because soon the brown haired lass emerged from the private bathing space, wearing a simple blue dress.
The time traveler noted she appeared to be just a plain and normal girl, not the wildly adventurous prostitute the musician just experienced.
“Would you like a smoke?” the pretty lass offered, as she pulled a tin cigarette case from her shell purse.
Silently Paul nodded while accepting the offering.
Conveniently, Lydia lit his cigarette with a match, and then used the same flame to ignite her own.
Now the two people whom just shared a romp in the sheets, but knew nothing else of the other, casually sat together on the same side of the large bed, with only a crystal ashtray between them.
“So do you work at the club?” Paul suddenly inquired of her, really not sure what to say. At least it broke the disturbing silence between them.
“No.” the girl answered, surprising the man by her side. “I only do this for Kurtie when he calls me. I work as a telephone operator in the city.”
“So this is a side job for you?” McCartney further asked.
“When I first agreed to do this, sure.” She admitted. “But to be honest Kurtie always has the cutest and nicest men, so I enjoy it.” The woman stated with a smile.
This answer was surprising to the Beatle, but it made sense, considering how open and free the girl was in her sexual escapades.
“Well,” Lydia stated. “that was nice. I’m gonna go.” The pretty telephone operator told her last lover as she stood up, gathered her things and turned to leave. Only to stop at the door, and return her gaze towards Paul before opening it.
“Oh Kurtie asked me to tell you that after we’re done, he’d like you to join him for breakfast.” She chuckled, looking at her watch. “Its one o’clock.” The girl told him giggling as she made her exit.
Feeling renewed, Paul found himself in the shower, bathing the smell of sex off his body. Afterwards, he discovered a fresh hygiene set that included razors, shaving cream, aftershave, deodorant, toothbrushes and toothpaste, even dental floss.
Thankfully this time era had reasonable hygiene with indoor plumbing becoming more common. So appreciating this fact, the time traveler groomed himself properly and used the white bathrobe hanging on the door for him, to return to the bedroom.
Upon opening the barrier of his private suite, the Beatle found his bed made and with a completely different set of bedding.
Immediately Paul panicked for a moment, thinking about his gloves, but to his relief, the maid left them neatly folded on the nightstand beside his bed.
Also visible to the house guest, was a fresh set of men’s attire awaiting him on top of the bed spread, that were about his size.
The clothes did fit, and looked rather nice, while being reasonably comfortable. After a moment of enjoying his reflection in the full length mirror within his room, the Beatle casually exited his private space, only to find a maid waiting for him outside his door.
“Ah.” The chubby middle aged woman said smiling at her employers company. “Mister Garrison.” She addressed the man before her.
Paul answered with a nod, and the woman turned to her side, and gestured towards one end of the long corridor.
“Come this way please.” The maid told him as she began guiding the guest to his host.
Of course the time traveler followed the woman, but allowed his eyes to glance about. He was not surprised the beautiful house was so exquisitely decorated.
Paintings and sculptures going back to ancient cultures adorned appropriate spots in a home such as this. In the brief walk, the Beatle saw Roman and Greek statues, Renaissance paintings, artifacts from tribes all over the world and some new more modern impressionist work.
Yet there was no time to admire museum piece’s as the short woman paced briskly down a grand staircase, and to the front of the house on the first floor.
A large bay window surrounded a circular table, with a spread of fruit laid across the linen. There the Master of the house sat, clearly still eating his early meal. However, ever the gentleman, Mister Sheldon stood up as the young man approached, with a welcoming smile.
“Clifford,” the gracious host addressed his guest, while politely kissing each of the lads cheeks. It was very proper, but clearly a bit flirtatious.
As in accordance to British courting , the older man pulled out a chair next to him and pushed Paul in like the woman of a date.
It was a strange dynamic, not only being in the feminine position, but here he had someone with wealth to impress him.
“How are you feeling lad?” Kurtie immediately inquired, as he took his seat.
“Much better, thanks to you,” The Beatle admitted with a smile, as a servant laid a plate of eggs in front of him and poured his coffee. “and Lydia.” The guest added with a look of gratitude.
Hearing this pleased the host, as he responded to his guest with a grin.
“I’m glad.” Mister Sheldon kept his happy expression upon his gleeful face, as he sipped his coffee while fixated upon the youth. “I want you to know, I respect your attractions, as you seem most tolerant of mine.” The homosexual man noted with admiration.
“I don’t see anything wrong with it, I’m just not that way.” Paul replied, not sure of what else to say.
“And I will respect all of your boundaries,” the host promised. “however forgive my forwardness, but I would like to know, one particular detail about that if I may?” those blue eyes seemed bashful, as the man spoke.
The time traveler felt a pit in his stomach, as he recalled his own boundaries conversation with his rented female dates. Knowing where this was likely going, McCartney just nodded in response, in which the gentleman continued.
“If I’d be able to nibble where I’m allowed to touch?” he sheepishly asked, appearing concerned of the lad’s response to such a request.
“Just the feet and chest?” Paul wanted to confirm before making any agreement.
“Anywhere you allow me.” The older man assured.
McCartney could feel the awkwardness of it all, but he was there as a prostitute, and he had to remind himself of this often. He also understood the openness of “Anywhere you allow,” really meant.
Like any red blooded man, Mister Sheldon was going to push in as much as he could get away with. Yet the Beatle felt he could keep his position firm, while adhering to his clients request.
“I guess it should be fine.” The heterosexual man agreed blushing nervously at the arrangement he found himself in. However, this mansion was definitely better than a boarding house.
Then the lad felt a warm hand upon his leg. It was indeed intimate, but not going too far.
“You can always tell me to stop and I will.” The gentleman promised gently. “I am not oblivious to the difficulty my request is for men like you” he further acknowledged.
“I confess this is all new to me.” McCartney stated, trying not to appear uneasy over the topic.
“Well don’t worry about it.” The host instructed. “Let’s enjoy our meal, perhaps have a swim, then we can set you up for your portrait.”
Suddenly the man servant appeared with the local paper, by the master’s side. Mister Sheldon took the news booklet from the attendant, and opened the paper to a particular section.
“I read an interesting article earlier this afternoon.” Kurtie announced, showing the young man a story that was booked marked. “Here, I thought you should see this.” he told the boy by his side.
Reviewing the inked paper, Paul found the hairs across his body stand straight, as he reviewed the black and white portrait of Norman Turner.
The savage beast who kidnapped Paul, and brutalized Thomas, Kurtie’s main lover, had a full page story in the paper media booklet.
In the crudely printed photograph was of the deviant about twenty years younger, as he had more hair in this image, than when McCartney saw him at the table.
The time traveler never saw the monster after that, as the Beatle was unconscious the entire time of his capture.
Examining the page closer Paul viewed the large attention photo of a mangled Rolls-Royce on a road. It was awful!
“That bastard will never hurt anyone else again.” The host declared. “Thomas broke down when I brought him this news. It is a relief to us all!”
Further reading the article the bassist learned that Mister Norman J. Turner, 46, was driving too fast when he struck a tree and backed up off a high drop, killing the only person in the car.
The death was deemed an unfortunate accident and that Mister Turner must have been careless. He was survived by “family” the article stated, but no one was named, nor a relation mentioned.
“Thank you.” McCartney stated, folding the story closed, to rid it from his mind. He didn’t want to read further of neither the villain or his gruesome death.
Mister Turner was loathsome as they come, but the Beatle was aware, this was no accident. It was a shaking reality being in this profession, that you always live on the edge of a blade.
Paul simply ate his breakfast, trying to figure out how to engage in better conversation.
After the early meal, in the afternoon, Paul was invited to use the pool, but he would have to bathe nude, so he declined.
Instead the bassist found himself in the parlor, with a white grand piano. The musician in the time traveler couldn’t resist and benched himself in front of the instrument.
Soon he began to play, just a basic tune, to warm his fingers up.
Kurtie was pleasantly surprised upon hearing his dates musical abilities. McCartney could feel the eyes upon him, as he played his parents favorite music for the gentleman’s pleasure.
Another three or four songs flew from his finger tips, when Paul gazed up, to find the artist dutifully drawing in a pad.
It was a bigger one than the one he had in his breast pocket at the club. It literally covered the man’s top half.
“Keep playing.” Mister Sheldon ordered from behind the pad.
“You truly glow when your fingers dance on those keys.” The host observed in awe.
So dutifully, Paul played another number, but this time he chose a classical song, which impressed the prestigious man.
“Why didn’t you tell me you are a talented musician?” He asked, pulling out a fresh page to draw his gorgeous subject at a different angle. “Please keep playing, you’re so beautiful when you do!” Hearing the excitement in his client’s voice caused the time traveler to genuinely smile as he played another song.
McCartney was able to complete a few more songs when the musician felt a hand on his shoulder, causing the lads body to stiffen.
Paul knew what this meant, and his entire being shuttered as he absorbed what he agreed to do.
“It’s alright.” The older man soothed, rather warmly considering the position of being a paid sex worker the Beatle was in.
He was here to pleasure this man, it’s what he was paid to do.
“I just want to hold you.” The wealthy patrons voice assured.
Being a fellow man, Paul didn’t believe him for a second, but the time traveler nodded his head, because what choice did he have?
Mutely the playboy who could have any girl, allowed his male host to guide him to what must be the master suite.
It was as big as a grand apartment!
Upon waltzing through the double doors, the musician found himself in a huge parlor, with a luxurious bar, with lots of lighting and seating for company.
A large white couch was the centerpiece of the space, which matched nicely with a white loveseat and a beautiful glass coffee table in front of the sitting space.
Chase lounge’s were underneath every window, with different styles, from classic Victorian, to modern deco.
Through another set of double doors was the Master’s chamber. It was larger than the room Paul was given, and had windows on three of the four walls of the space. There were other sections within this “room,” but McCartney reminded himself why he was here.
He tried to bravely go forward, but froze as he reached the bed.
That’s when it all became real.
Then a hand touched McCartney’s shoulder. It was reminisce in how he himself used to seduce virgins.
Shit! The shoe was certainly on the other foot, as one player accurately predicted the next players move.
Gently the gentleman was rubbing his hesitant dates shoulders, a move he himself knew naturally to do in this exact circumstance.
“I promise to not betray your trust,” the mature man assured, drawing the young one in for a lover’s embrace.
Paul tried to go with the flow, but could hear his own breathing as he leaned against another man’s chest.
“You’re trembling.” The lead in this role noted, as he squeezed the youth in close.
Oddly, this affectionate action from the client, strangely helped.
The warm embrace felt like receiving a hug from his own father, or even his close friends in the 1960s. Yet, McCartney knew, it wasn’t just a friend’s squeeze.
He was being warmed up. Prepare to go forward with this sexual arrangement, in the most gentlest way possible.
Silently, the heterosexual was grateful for the man’s intentions, but sadly found his companion had used many of the same seducing arts on him, as the cute Beatle had maneuvered upon large numbers of young star struck girls.
However, despite the strangeness of the position, the lad found he did appreciate his client being rather understanding. Especially considering the relationship between the pair.
“Has anyone hurt you in this way?” a gentle fatherly voiced asked, in a very warm manner.
Lifting his head from the hug, Paul stared up a bit to shake his head.
“No.” he answered simply.
“How is your relationship with your father?” the elder inquired, clearly examining the lads psyche.
“I am quite fond of me father, and he and I are close.” McCartney told the patron.
“I’m glad to hear that.” The client noted, giving the round face a stroke.
“So this is just first time jitters?” he asked, now holding the lad at the base of his skull.
“It must be.” The Beatle guessed, rather unsure himself.
Graciously, the host led the hesitant one to the bed.
Embarrassingly Paul’s legs shook with every step. Yet, the heterosexual laid himself on the queer man’s bed, fully absorbing what he was about to do.
This was really happening. However, the anxious lad first pushed himself over to one side of the large mattress, allowing his companion to recline beside him.
Soon the young man could feel the large arms of his client wrap around his body, just like before. They were warm, and soothing, despite the situation.
“Watching you play the piano was breathtaking.” The painter said to the musician.
Paul just let himself rest his head against the chest before him and allowed the large hands to explore his body, which the man was respectful about.
“You can touch my rear over the pants.” Paul allowed, figuring it would give the queer man a thrill without too evasiveness. What harm could that do? The Beatles honestly thought, as he relayed the message
Kurtie didn’t hesitate to explore the region, while keeping his lower half apart from his bedmate.
Yet despite the good manner’s of his client McCartney felt a sense of obligation towards this man.
He was treated better than any girl in the same position with him. This generosity was unheard of, but the host was riddled with guilt over what was done to the man in his arms.
Then there was the reality in this world, he wasn’t Paul McCartney, the popular rock star of the world famous Beatles. Instead he was one Clifford Garrison of York, a male prostitute.
This man he was living through, may indeed be a queer himself and Paul just wasn’t. Regardless the time traveler knew he would be living in a boarding house when he was returned, and that he likely needed money.
Kurtie was very generous and he would clearly give more. If the straight lad agreed to allow him to do, more. The very thought was intimidating, yet a very real fact of this life!
Swallowing what was in his throat, the Beatle mustered up the courage to do what he felt he simply needed to.
It was then a light kiss was given to the anxious lover on the top of his head.
The older man had lost himself in the moment, distributing affection lightly to the inexperienced one in his bed.
Nervously the musician leaned up and returned the kissed to the painter on the mouth. It was a light and sweet brush against the two mouths as both men’s soft lips met for their first embrace.
Paul anxiously expected the queer lover to take over and have his way with him, however, the homosexual client had more self control than that.
Upon receiving the unexpected kiss, Kurtie stroked the beautiful face of the exquisite lad in his arms.
“Are you curious?” the queer man asked his gorgeous date, with those blue eyes eager to do more.
Now Paul blushed again, clamping his eyes closed. He wanted to say yes and make sure he could leave with as much money as possible, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“No.” the straight lad confessed. “I just feel indebted to you for your kindness.” He further admitted, ashamed of himself for not following through.
It was then large fingers were exploring the lining of the round baby faces cheek, only to lift the chin of the honest youth.
“You are simply radiant,” the wealthy patron told his hired date, affectionately. “but as much as I would love to take you up on your offer, I can’t. You see I need my lovers to enjoy it as much as I do.”
Paul just returned his gaze downward again.
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I can.” The raven haired beauty acknowledged his failings.
Then fixating upon the hazel eyes of the heterosexual youth, Kurtie revealed a devilish smile.
“Don’t be so sure.” He said playfully. “May I prove this to you, by opening your shirt?”
The time traveler nodded, and soon the shirt was opened. Being a good sport, Paul tossed the garment off and let it fall to the floor, allowing accessibility to his exposed chest.
“Now close your eyes.” The stronger lover told the youth, stroking the soft dark hair on his head.
Naturally the musician couldn’t avoid the suspicious look he gave the artists making such request.
“I won’t do anything past our agreement.” The prestigious man assured affectionately. “Just remember, a mouth is a mouth and a hand, a hand. Trust me. Close your eyes and you’ll see.”
Paul did what he was asked to do, but still he was nervous as his windows of sight were block by the shades of his eyelids.
With the lack of sight, the straight man felt warm soft lips graced his neck, tickling at first until the persuasive lover found a tender spot and a moan escaped the anxious ones lips. Hearing this sound coming from his own mouth, Paul forced his eyes open, finding the man who did this to him gazing down at him.
“See.” The host told the newly enlightened lover, looking proud of himself. “May I go a little further?” he offered.
“Yes.” Paul agreed in a small voice.
This was unexpected, as the consent traveled from his tongue.
While the new agreement was made, warm tingles radiated from the nervous youths chest to his stomach and Kurtie hadn’t even made his way to the nipples yet.
The Beatle found gasps escaping from his mouth, as he hid behind his eyelids. Lydia could be doing this to him, he silently assured himself and then he felt his organ swelling, causing the heterosexual to jump.
“Easy.” His client soothed. “Its just a normal reaction to the pleasure.”
This was true, but still disturbing. Paul couldn’t help but be shaken up, by this suddenly happening to his body. He never had a stiffy caused by a man before.
“Were you thinking about a girl?” Kurtie inquired gently at the lads erection.
Paul responded with just a nod, too afraid to open his eyes.
“Keep doing that. You’ll enjoy it more,” the experienced one assured.
Then the giving lover nibbled the side of the sexy young chest before him, making the Beatle cry out in unexpected pleasure.
“The sound from your lips is as sweet as the music from your finger tips!” the elder man’s voice declared heavy in arousal. God this man was smooth, McCartney couldn’t help but think about of this bloke’s method of seduction.
“I told you he was charming.” Paul could hear Vanna’s voice suddenly echo in his head.
Another cry from the anxious youth, lasted even longer, as the gentleman found his young lover’s nipples, giving each nub equal amount of attention, which drove the straight lad wild.
Inadvertently the young man was worked into a state of nirvana and ecstasy. The Beatle was forced to acknowledge to himself, he was being handled better than he had been by any woman.
“Oh my god!” The younger man suddenly cried from the constant stimulation.
“May I go lower?” Kurtie offered in a light whisper.
“Yes.” uttered the meek voice of McCartney, embarrassed by how aroused he was. Which only increased as the warm lips grazed his shaken stomach, making the nervous man squeak, just like he made Lydia sound earlier that day.
The man who rented the straight lad, seemed to get a thrill from the noises the youth was uncontrollably expressing. Paul’s meat was fully erect and the pleasures he was receiving was causing him to desire more.
Instinctively his hips swayed upwards, desperately seeking friction to release the pressure. The older man was well aware of this and was enjoying the lad’s fresh approach to queer affections.
“I’d like to alleviate that for you, if you'd allow me.” The more experienced lover offered to help the youth pop his cork. “I will not expect you to do the same. I know that would be asking too much.”
“You won’t tell anyone?” the receiving man begged nervously, as he asked the question.
“Of course not.” Kurtie assured and the Beatle nodded yes.
The build up was indeed intense, as the sensation, along with rationalizing what he was doing with a man, overwhelmed McCartney’s body, causing random spasms.
Not believing his own actions, the heterosexual was clamping his eyes behind their protective barrier of their lids, and his mind tried to change the reality the younger man was experiencing.
Desperately, Paul kept thinking of the adventurous lass Lydia, who only pleasured this same man, hours ago. Then Vanna, the beautiful Madame, appeared vibrantly in his thoughts.
Even that boyish woman Marla, who nursed the wounded male prostitute from his head injury the night before, was appearing in his vision away from this queer reality. At least she was a woman!
Yet as the Beatle visualized the short haired lesbian wrapping her lips around his dick, her face transformed into McCartney’s best friend, John Lennon.
The sight of his closest mate sucking him off was too wild to believe, forcing the Beatle to sit up straight in shock, as he popped his load inside another man’s mouth.
Happily the oral giver, let out a satisfied moan while accepting the salty gift, and swallowing it without hesitation.
McCartney just laid back in shock, trying to absorb what he had just done, and what he saw as he exploded.
Then suddenly the strong arm of the mature lover held the young man close, using only one limb to usher the nervous lad into the embrace.
“You did very good!” the experienced lover assured his date, who just had his own maiden voyage with a man. Not something the rock and roll star ever expected he would do!
The Beatle had indeed been like a virgin before this wild romp in the sheets, and now his thoughts filled with fear of discovery, and the shame of what he had done for money!
With the struggles of conflicting morals, instilled in the lad from Liverpool’s upbringing, Kurtie was kissing the top of the youths head.
“Thank you, I guess,” the musician gasped, hiding his face in shame.
This was all too much, but he did it. He definitely earned more capital than he would have before.
It was then Paul noticed the patron was pleasing himself, which caused McCartney to fulfill the obligation.
Surely this was his job! So he took the other penis from it’s owner and proceeded to rub the organ, much to Kurtie’s delight.
“You beautiful boy!” the artists gasped as he edged so close.
Then to the heterosexual man’s surprise, he found himself kissing the queer in the bed. His eyes were closed, but his bed partners lips were so sweet,.
In fact he found kissing this man enjoyable, as long as the heterosexual couldn’t see who he was locking lips with, of course. The kissing lasted for a while. Their lips locked and Paul was the first to put his tongue inside, and only then did the queer follow suit.
It wasn’t long before the older man exploded, covering Paul’s hand in another man’s cum, for the first time ever.
Thankfully the sticky mess didn’t remain long, as the gracious host provided the guest a towel to clean himself up, while Kurtie did the same.
Suddenly the artist leapt out of the bed and pulled out an easel with a canvas from his dark closet.
“Stay just as you are!” he told the young lover. “I have to paint you!” Kurtie declared naked, as he set up his paint.
The artists inside the man was clearly inspired, as he eagerly prepared for his craft. He frantically took to outlining his subjects body, who was sprawled out over the bed.
“My boy, you have exceeded past my expectations.” The gentleman announced, with his blue eyes focused on his work.
Seeing this as the easier part of the deal, McCartney laid on his back, completely nude as he stretched out upon the comfortable mattress.
Without much to do, as the painter lost himself in his skill, the Beatle found himself nodding off to sleep.

Chapter Text

John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr were wandering the floors of the very strange antique shop. They each had returned from different places and time periods and now were looking for Paul McCartney. The trio searched between parallel hallways of shelves, with old items from the past. Some of these old things were familiar from recent times, while others date back hundreds, maybe even thousands of years!
The men had rationalize that just a single touch of any of these objects, could cause them to disappear back in time and possibly even to another country. Though most of the stuff was from England, there were things from other places and even other continents. A long thin Japanese sword covered in it’s sheath hung down the length of one shelf, and an Egyptian clay jar stood on the floor, as it was too big and heavy for the wooden cases to hold. Soon the three Beatles reached the end of one section and discovered an opening leading to another room.
“I think we should go back.” suggested Ringo, looking around, finding nothing familiar. “We should look for Paul towards the front of the shop.”
“I thought that’s where we were heading.” John sincerely replied. Nothing looked the same in this never ending maze of old crap. The group then went to returned from where they came, but to their shock instead of the rows of shelves, the lads found a brick wall. The new blockade was littered with décor of nearly anything else you could hang up. There were paintings, photographs, masks and tapestries, dangling before the group against the brick and mortar.
Most notably a large portrait of a Noble from the middle ages, hung directly in front of them. A young woman, dressed in a French thirteen century blue gown and a beautiful pearl headdress, was immortalized in oil pigments. The ancient lady stared back at the men with haunting blue eyes. Almost as if this woman in the canvas could actually see the frightened young men staring back. George jumped, as he almost touched the gold framing around the detailed work of art. “careful lad.” warned Lennon. “you almost had another trip back in time.”
“how did this happen?” George asked in shock. “there was just an open room here a minute ago!’ he could hear his voice was rising in pitch, as he was exasperated.
“How did we go back in time?” inquired Ringo. His head was spinning by now. He was just so confused. The remaining Beatles had turned around at this point, facing the entrance of the room they were being directed towards.
“I don’t have the answers,” John admitted. “but something caused us to travel in the past and something wants us to go through that opening.” Then suddenly an Aztec mask that hung near the painting of the girl, fell from it’s spot. It nearly landed on Ringo, but George had pulled him away right before the wooden face cover bounced off the floor.
Shaken, Ringo huddled in his saviors arms. After losing a boy he loved as family, he couldn’t bare what another item would put him through.
“I gotcha!’ the youngest Beatle soothed his friend.
“these things want us to touch them!” the drummer cried. “there is definitely magic here!”
“what do we do?” George asked frightened to his core. He almost ended up in the middle ages and he really had no desire to go through another trip to the past.
“Clearly, we need to go in.” John observed, looking at the opening to the other room. So the group entered into the section with Lennon bravely taking the lead. It was his decision to go into this shop in the first place after all. Passing the threshold, John jumped with a scream. He thought he saw someone, but it turned out to be a nude mannequin from the 1930s. As they entered the room, they saw no way out. Besides the mannequin, there were dolls of all kinds. Some were obviously children’s toys, dating back from many different eras, but everything in this room resembled people but obviously weren’t.
A lamp with two lovers kissing, clearly from the decade prior, was on a nightstand surrounded by tiny toy soldiers and a chess set with the pieces shaped like human beings. In the corner of the room was a bust of some man, with a pointy chin, that was made of stone, resting atop a mantle. One of the walls was dedicated entirely for marionettes hanging by their strings. Upon close inspection, the lads from Liverpool found many of these old toys dated back centuries. Tiny statues of people made from material of clay, wood, cloth, tin and much more, littered tables and wall shelves. All the eyes of the items that had them still, seemed to be staring at the musicians. It was like the souls these objects contained could see the three men in the room.
“lets get out of here!” Ringo uttered, seeing a faceless doll that still seemed to be looking at him.
“yeah this place is freaking me out.” Harrison backed. John nodded in agreement, but turning around and walking out that room, a doll near by almost fell on top of the lead singer, from a shelf on the wall.
“mama!” The old baby doll from their mothers childhood uttered as it landed on the floor. Quickly the remaining Beatles past the passage way they came, only to discover, another new room they hadn’t been in before. There was different crap throughout the area, but with three openings to leave from.
“something wants us to separate.” John observed, as the trio clasped each other’s hands. With Ringo in the middle, they chose a single path and together, continued to look for Paul. 

Chapter Text

Paul McCartney awoke from his sleep while in the 1920s. He was in a grand master suite of an exquisite mansion, belonging to his client, Kurtis Sheldon. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the Beatle found the sun was setting from the large window of the gargantuous bedroom. The time traveler was naked in the bed, alone, so he got up to look for the clothes he had been wearing earlier. He searched the floor, but realized his former outfit must have been gathered and taken away. He did however discover a housecoat on a chair and put it on, along with a pair of slippers that must have been left for him.
After making himself decent, the Beatle wandered into the parlor of the humongous bedroom, and was greeted to a haunting view of multiple portraits scattered about in a disorganized fashion. The incomplete piece’s on the easels and drawing pads laid about the table, were of him, in different early stages of development. The structure of his body was well formed in its position, his face and shadowing completed, but oil would be lathered over the led marks to give color to each likeness. This was a fact Paul had no doubt. Several drawings were of him playing the piano, but the one going on a large canvas was of him nude on the bed. A painting like this could take months to finish. Would he need to stay in this time period that long, until the work of art were completed? McCartney wondered about this in fear.
He missed the 1960s, especially the technology and music. Could he be trapped here forever and never see his friends and family again? Well, maybe that is a tad dramatic. He could go look up his parents and friends in time. But it would not be the same as before and they would never know who he really was. Thinking on it further McCartney realized he would be in his sixties in the 1960s if he remained in this time and would probably not live to the new millennium. Paul would be an old timer, while his friends would be young. Hell he would be older than both of his parents! The time traveler knew he needed to find a way back, but while he was here in the 1920s, he tried to make the most of it.
Further exploring the paintings he saw over and over, the musician found the painter created multiple paintings of young men with exquisite bodies. Some very well built, others were slender like him. When the Beatle found the completed works he saw they were realistic, detailed and the subjects were usually nude. Multiple men in an array of art scattered before him, throughout the room. His host Mister Sheldon clearly was a busy man. There had to be at least a hundred different models. These must be other prostitutes McCartney figured, as he kept examining the many works of the disorganized gallery. There was another set of paintings of a golden hair lad with large green eyes adorned an equestrian attire in every painting he modeled. More rugged and American cowboy like, than the upper class style. The man would often be seen wearing denim trousers, boots and a cowboy hat.
There were paintings of the man on a variety of different horses, near horses or in a barn. He was very muscular and Mister Sheldon clearly loved painting his arms. Then he found this man’s nude frontal portraits and they were revealing. Not only by the exposure of private areas, but displayed on the young man were the circular scars on his chest and legs. The realism created the image, but the lovers emotions was powerfully raw. The heavy uses of warm colors and rose hues in the shadowing was rather striking, but the scars on the bare chest not only reflected the subjects pain, but the creators. This was Thomas!
After snooping around for a while the musician left the room to try and find his host. As the Beatle made it to the first floor, he found Mister Sheldon in the great room sitting in a chair, having a drink and listening to a radio program.
“you’re awake!” the gentleman said standing up to greet his guest. As Paul approached, his client gave him a hug and lightly kissed his soft blushing cheek. Kurtie then changed the radio station to a relaxing jazz song, that serenaded the moment. It was casual, warm and relaxing. “are you hungry?” the gracious host asked. Paul nodded and the devoted older man proceeded to ring a servant and request a meal be brought to the parlor. Then Paul was offered both a seat on the long couch and a drink, which he accepted both.
All his needs were met he found, yet it came with a price . The time traveler pondered this as he watched the handsome older man turn his back to him in front of a small bar. Then he began to reflect on what transpired between the two. Hell he was nearly walking around naked, in just a robe and slippers. Obviously this man wanted him this way. It was both sweet and demeaning, while also being comfortable. The material of the lush clothes he was wearing, were soft and fluffy on his skin, but it was still control. The Beatle himself realized he was recognizing behavior similar to his own, with women. Paul wasn’t above dictating such demands of his lovers. Not just with their weight, but what the girl he was with was wearing and how she kept her hair and makeup. Being put in a robe and slippers seemed rather mild in comparison, but he understood this mans mindset, and now the position Paul himself had put many ladies through.
Then there were the flashes of his first queer experience and shit that was difficult to adjust to. He let another man see him naked, even draw him that way! There was also touching and kissing! Paul had started the kissing. McCartney couldn’t blame his client for going along with what he allowed. Then there was the blow job he received and it was good. He couldn’t even try to deny it. The heterosexual man had focused heavily on the last woman he fucked, Lydia, and that helped. Then as things got more intense, the acting male prostitute thought of his own Madame. Though Vanna was definitely attractive and worthy of sex, the Beatle never thought that boyish lesbian woman Marla would do it for him. But he figured, being a normal man, he was just attracted to her, because she slept with other women, and that is hot.
However, the image that replayed in his mind the most was Marla’s face turning into John’s and that’s when he came. Right into another man’s mouth, but he was supposed to be thinking about a woman! This was fucking with his head and the younger man was trying to justify this to himself. Mister Sheldon seemed to recognize the young persuaded lovers conflict in his mind. The prestigious gentleman sat beside his guest and put his arm around him.
“How are you feeling about what we did?” the older gentleman asked. His blue eyes looked into Paul’s, who was compelled to lower his view. “Talk to me. It’s okay.” The host said kindly.
“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t troubled over what I did with you.” The guest shamefully admitted with his head down. “Its nothing you did. You were very respectful and kind, I’m just bothered.”
“This is quite normal.” The older man assured. “You enjoyed a physical act and your body reacted. Are you religious?”
“No.”
“Then there really is no reason to be bothered by a physical reaction.” The host smiled playfully. “May I show you something to prove my point?”
“what is it?” McCartney inquired, looking up for the first time.
“swing your legs on my lap please. I promise, I will behave myself.” Mister Sheldon patted his knee and Paul complied. He had agreed to allow his client access to his feet, before they left the club together. The Beatle nodded submissively and swung his legs on the couch and his feet on top of the legs of the queer man with a foot fetish. Kurtie clearly was restraining himself, though he did lick his lips. However, he removed a single slipper, placed it on his other side and proceeded to rub Paul’s foot.
McCartney didn’t realize how good this would feel. It actually made the young man lean back on one of the decorative pillows, with his pupils retreating to the back of his head. Then the masseuse found a tender spot and a moan escaped the receivers lips.
“Careful lad.” Mister Sheldon teased. “You’ll get me too excited with noises like that.” This actually caused the Beatle to laugh, as it was a great release of the awkwardness of it all. The older man enjoyed seeing his guest happy. He hadn’t seen the lad express such emotions like this before and he liked it.
“Thank you.” Paul stated, feeling better.
“my point here, is that what I’m doing is a physical act.” The client explained. “it feels good and it doesn’t matter if it is done by a man or a woman.”
“Yes, but this isn’t a sex act.” The musician began, but realized by the arousal the other man was suppressing, how foolish of a statement it was.
“you have a gorgeous foot!” Kurtie professed. “I bet his twin is lovely too.” Seeing his client easily pleased by such a nonintrusive act, the time traveler slipped off his other slipper. Paul could feel the adjustment of the mans erection against his foot for a second, but Kurtie quickly corrected this error. The homosexual client was always so respectful. Something everyone else had said about this man and so far, this seemed to be true. Then his other foot was being rubbed and the masseuse orchestrated motions of such intensity, moans and surges of ecstasy protruded from the receiver.
“I see your point.” Paul admitted, blushing a little. Then he heard a tray being placed beside him. This startled the younger man, as the servant came in without a sound and with him in such a position. He was immediately embarrassed, though the young female staff paid him no attention and scurried off after completing her duty. It took Paul a moment to gather himself to get up. Mister Sheldon wrapped his arm around his guest and kissed his cheek gently.
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
“she saw me!” the Beatle cried. She wasn’t bad looking either and now she thinks he’s a queer.
“So?” the gentleman soothed. “I screen all my staff myself, to make sure they don’t gossip or even have condemnations against my lifestyle. This is a retreat from the outside world. Just relax and enjoy it.” Yet the older man could see something else was troubling the youth so he figured he would pry a little further. “Did something happen when we were close?” he inquired, adjusting the lads hair in his face. He could feel the boy tremble at this suggestion. Then Paul felt his body being pulled in, as the other arm of his male “lover” folded around him. This man was still a stranger, but in this world he was the closest person the Beatle had. He found himself burying his face in the man’s chest just because it was familiar. “What happened in your head when I was sucking you?” Kurtie asked, realizing the more intense sex act was likely to bring out more subconscious feelings.
Paul looked up shocked by the older mans keen senses, but realized it wasn’t something difficult to figure out. Especially with a man who has implied he has played with heterosexual men before. McCartney knew he was out of his league and just submitted with a nod.
“When you were doing…” he began with a stutter, but seeing his companion understood, he continued. “I thought of Lydia and that worked for a while.”
“That’s perfectly fine. I want you to enjoy it.” Mister Sheldon assured. “I have no delusion that you fancy me.”
“then I saw Vanna.” The Beatle continued.
“Well Vanna is a beautiful woman.”
“Then I saw Marla.” The confessor said with his head down. Marla, the kind woman who helped nurse him after he was injured, was assumed a lesbian, by her extremely boyish attire and style. Her hair was short enough to join the army and could pass off as a young man in his youth, while in her mid twenties. Kurtie didn’t speak right a way this time. The experienced queer knew the path his guest was leading him down.
“Who appeared after Marla?” he said gently, after giving the lad a quiet moment.
“A good friend of mine.” The heterosexual man admitted bitterly.
“and I assume this friend is male?” Kurtie wanted to confirm, making sure, as it was possible the boy might still be talking about a girl.
“His name is John.” Paul just blurted out. He didn’t want to drag this on. He had no one else to tell and he knew he needed to confide this in someone. The man holding the Beatle stroked his black hair affectionately.
“calm down.” He soothed. “there is no cause for panic.” The bigger man pushed the boy back so they could see each other. “it must be hard, being a lad from York, all the way out far from home. You might simply be longing for a familiar face, especially when going outside the norms of your sexuality.” This was indeed comforting to the musician who nodded with relief.
“thank you.” McCartney sighed with a sense of assurance, that was all it could be. Naturally he would be homesick, especially for his time period and friends. However the wise man wasn’t finished.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss the other possibility.” He continued this time. “you’re young. You’ve never done this before. Our little affectionate moments might reveal some level of queerness in you already.” This is what Paul was afraid of. It would be so easy to just be homesick. “I’ll understand if you don’t feel comfortable going further.” There was his way out, the time traveler couldn’t help admitting to himself, silently in the verbal exchange in his head. He tried it and wasn’t comfortable. No shame in that. Clearly he was not a queer and he can move on.
Yet, he did enjoy the affection and he still saw John of all people. Could there be more and was there no safer place than here, before he is ever famous to find out? Should he find out? Did he want to know? Would this nag at him in the back of his mind? The feelings he was experiencing were intense and caused him to feel panic. Should he explore this possibility? Then he reminded himself, he still needed money.
“I need to think about it.” McCartney stated. He knew he was going to go through with it, but figured the older man would be more generous after if it seemed less of a sure thing. Shit he really was thinking like a whore. Realizing how far he had fallen, he decided to stop pondering on it and eat his meal. Reviewing the plate placed before him, was a steak smothered in Indian curry, with mushrooms and peas laid over long thin rice. It smelt delicious! “thank you.” Paul humbly told his client. How many ladies ate one of the nicest meals they ever had, from him? The once rich and famous man started to think. Shit being the woman was hard!
After eating, Mister Sheldon wanted to continue painting the young man’s portrait and Paul agreed. As the subject disrobed, he noticed the artists looking away to set up his paint palette and brushes. There was a smock laid out to cover the carpet. Paul spread himself across the middle of the bed, as he was before.
“may I turn around?” the respectful gentleman inquired.
“Of course.” Assured Paul. The man had already seen the youth naked, but the sentiment was appreciated. The older man did instruct the younger on how to position himself and lights were adjusted.
“I want half of you covered in the shadow, like you were in midday.” He explained. The scenario felt different. Kurtie started telling jokes, making Paul laugh and easing the discomfort of being nude. The subject found himself telling jokes as well and the process was rather enjoyable.
“why are you so kind?” the time traveler wanted to know.
The gentleman seemed to understand the question. Why was such a wealthy upperclassman being so empathetic to whores? Mister Sheldon face casted it’s own shadow, as the man pondered in how to answer the curious lad with a valid question.
“I detest cruelty and I understand loneliness.” He admitted. “you know, I don’t know my own date of birth.” The artist was cleaning his brushes. “I was abandoned at the doorstep of “Our Lady of the Snow” orphanage in Ireland. The good sister’s judged me to be about six weeks old. I was a big baby or possibly older. They weren’t sure.” The painter was now drying his brushes, checking for any pigment in the cloth.” I was born somewhere between February and March. At least I know the year. I lived at the orphanage until I was eight, when Father Pierre noticed my artistic skills and had me sent to the Vatican.” He stood up right in front of the easel and continued to perform his skills. “I stayed there for eight years and I loved it. I was given art lessons from some of the greatest teachers I could ask for.” Then he chuckled. “I was also studying to be a priest.” This news made Paul laugh as well.
“so what changed your direction in life?” inquired the subject of the artist.
“Well I was painting an inspirational work on the Ponte Sant’Angelo, The Bridge of Angels. It was there I first laid eyes on “him.”” The storyteller paused for a second, his face fixed in the memory. “I met my benefactor there on that afternoon on the bridge. He was a well dress gentleman and he watched me work the entire time I was there. Then he approached me. He could tell I was queer and I knew nothing of sex. I was being prepared for a life of celibacy, believing simply I would never have a wife. Yet this gorgeous man in his thirties began to distribute compliments. First it was my work, but then he started to compliment me. He said my eyes matched the sky, my fingers as delicate as a spider creating a web and he said I was sexy. I honestly didn’t know what that meant at the time, but he fascinated me.”
“so you left the church to be with a wealthy queer man.”
“I did.” He admitted. “Francis was the son of a wealthy French ship merchant and he seduced me. I never had any kind of affection like that before and it was quite an awakening.”
“So what happened?”
“I was his lover and kept boy. He had me taught by the finest of teachers and he introduced me to a lot of affluent people.” Then the artist sighed heavily. “it was wonderful, for awhile. I had to live under his rules and demands. If he wanted sex, I wasn’t able to refuse. When I wanted to go to Paris for further training, he simply decided I wasn’t to go and that was that.”
“Was he cruel to you?” McCartney inquired.
“I didn’t see it as cruelty back then.” The older man stated. “beatings within the church we’re not unheard of. So when he would beat me, I saw it as just the stronger pulling it’s weight over the weak. That was life as I saw it.” The painter stared at the canvas as he spoke, not once did he stray from his work. “he only lived ten years after we met and he left me his entire estate and I had all his connections. I live off the interest of my inheritance, which as you can see, was a lot.”
“how did he die?”
“Francis was always taking some kind of new medicine. He went about looking for something new and traveled the world to try the most exotic and most exciting substances he could find. One day his powders we’re laced with something else. He suffocated on his own blood in his sleep. I was the one who found his body and it was a mess.” The Beatle didn’t know the flashes this man saw or how he originally thought the blood on the bed was his.
“we you in the bed with him?” the younger man gently pried. The old man nodded.
“I was drunk because he would be rough when he had his way with me, on that stuff.” His face was blank as he relayed this information. “ I would drink myself unconscious sometimes, like I did that night.”
“that’s terrible!”
“It was.” The gentleman agreed somberly.
“Did you love him?” McCartney wanted to know.
“I did.” The homosexual replied. “It hurt a lot, as I had to live under his will, but he was kind, mostly.”
“You didn’t deserve that.” The subject asserted. “he took you in, that was his choice, he shouldn’t have used his money to control you.”
“Well I try to be better.” The gentleman told his guest with a smile.
“You are.” Paul informed him. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your kindness.”
“My sweet young lad, you have been a sight to behold and a personality to match.” The artist said, reviewing his work and then his subject. The gentleman seemed satisfied with what he had completed and began to put away his supplies. Outside the window, the sky was black and a white crescent moon smiled in the middle of the sky.
“would you like some help?” Paul offered but the host shook his head. “I’m quite peculiar in my organization and I do not even allow the servants to assist me. Though I appreciate your offer lad.” He completed his chore and returned to his bedchamber to find his guest in his robe and slippers. Naturally the lad was likely going to retreat to the guest room and the older man understood. The lad did more than was asked or expected, so the paying man was surprised when the beautiful Adonis offered to remain in his room.
“I’ll stay if you want.” The Beatle said looking into this man’s eyes, trying to be as convincing as he could.
“You don’t have to.” Kurtie assured. “I’m touched, but I don’t want to cause you further distress.”
“I can’t promise how far I can go, but…” the guest trailed off. Because a part of what he was going to say, was the truth. Kurtie sat besides his rented date and took his hand.
“Go on, it’s alright.” Mister Sheldon soothed.
“I need to know.” McCartney confessed with his head down.
“tell me about this John fella.” The older man instructed the lad, while wrapping his arm around him. Paul leaned in, he might as well. This was going to be a real experience.
“he is one of my best friends.” Paul began.
“How long have you two known one another?” the elder pressed.
“since we were teenagers.”
“Do you love him?” the artist asked.
“Well as mates I know I do.” The Beatle explained. “we both lost our mum’s around the same time.”
“And through that tragedy you two formed a close bond.” Mister Sheldon pointed out. “its sounding more like you miss home, than have a thing for this friend John of yours.”
“I popped my load when I saw his face.” Paul said in a blank stare across the room. “its all I see now.” He stated in a dysphoric voice.
“that doesn’t make you a queer.” Kurtie told him gently.
“I need to find out.” the musician uttered softly in defeat.
“tell me lad,” the homosexual was becoming quite fatherly and Paul ached for his actual father. Then he realized, here he could see his mother again! He could even prevent John’s mother Julia from dying if he remained here. This thought shattered his mind as he gazed submissively to the older man. “did you like what we did.”
“yes!” the younger man blurted out in a blind response. He didn’t think on it being true or not. The answer was yes, because he had made up his mind and was going through with it. Whether it was curiosity, a secret lust for John or just the need for money, the bass player was going to do it. Yet despite his courage, he trembled and the older man rocked him gently.
“This is very brave.” Kurtie told the nervous man, lifting his chin and the two mutually kissed. It was warm and passionate. Paul kept his eyes closed, but as he kissed the man he discovered that lips felt the same with either gender. Their chests pressed against one another, as the older man unfasten the line of buttons of his shirt and Paul helped pull it off. “Here.” The gentleman took both of the young man’s soft hands and laid them on his chest. “try exploring. It makes it easier.”
McCartney examined the chest blind, his fingers gracing the skin, while he hid behind his eyelids. Paul let his mind go where it wanted and John instantly appeared. The kisses were John’s kisses. The chest he touched was John’s. They were deep in an embrace of the two mouths, when it happened and both men could feel it. Paul’s dick was up and hard.
“were you thinking about John?” Mister Sheldon gently asked, already knowing the answer when looking into the young man’s face and seeing a tear slide down his cheek. The time traveler was pulled in and rested his head on a loving shoulder. “Don’t fight it.” He soothed. “accept who you are.”
“John is not going to love me!” Paul gasped. Holy shit! These emotions ran deep and he was trying to contain himself.
“There is nothing wrong with what you’re experiencing.” The stronger lover assured. “Even if he doesn’t want you, you now know this about yourself.”
“I don’t know what to do.” The Beatle confessed, then he was kissed. It was the first time the older man initiated the oral embrace.
“You’re in luck,” Kurtie told him sweetly. “I do.” Paul was then swept up and laid down on the bed, with the older man on top of him. The two kissed and the other man’s erection pressed against Paul’s, as the trousers were slipped off. McCartney gave into it and found the affection nice and his partner careful and gentle. Feeling a nudes dick touching his caused the Beatle to jump. “easy,” his lover soothed. Then took the lads hand to his manhood. “here. You control it.”
“You’re not going to bugger me?” the man underneath inquired. That was really all he ever heard about when it came to two men. However the artist just shook his head.
“you are no where near ready for that.” Mister Sheldon explained. Then he kissed the youthful neck, making way for nibbles and love bites, that did feel good. Paul stroked the penis in his hand, unable to fathom of what else to do. He knew he wasn’t ready for sucking dick, yet…. As these thoughts danced in the confused man’s head, the more confident lover sat up and took hold of one of Paul’s feet in his hands and proceeded to suck his toes. McCartney could see his client was enjoying himself, but holy shit! He wasn’t expecting this. The Beatle had seen Vanna roll her eyes when getting her toes sucked that one time, he had also frequently seen John and Ringo play with women’s feet, and their ladies always did the same. Now Paul was in the same position and what a fucking head rush.
When Mister Sheldon finished nibbling ever inch of his lovers foot, he worked his way up the ankle, the leg and thigh, with licks, nibbles and some epic love bites. Reaching the groin of the bottom lover, Kurtie buried his face in the private area, causing Paul to shrill as the mature man discovered tendered spots no woman had pointed out to him before. Then Mister Sheldon worked his way down the other leg. Same as before, only going down. More squirms, from the time traveler, as Kurtie took a chunk of his inner thigh in his mouth, forcing the lads knees to buckle. The giving lover took his time, savoring the moment. He was enjoying the entire experience and Paul was in for the ride. Mister Sheldon found his reward at the end of the ankle and again seemed to go into a trance as he worshipped the other foot.
The youth was overwhelmed by pleasure, but he wanted to participate more. Paul used his other foot to play with the other man’s prick, even managing to jerk with his big toe a little. This caused the homosexual with a foot fetish to glow. He heavily sucked on the big toe attached to the foot he was playing, while watching Paul’s foot get him off.
“you beautiful, beautiful, beautiful lad!” the host uttered, as he enjoyed both the view and the feeling. Paul wasn’t aware how excited he made his partner until he suddenly popped his cork, while engaging in his adored other foot. Quickly afterwards the older man was on top of the young lover who thrilled him more than he could have expected. Then Paul felt the other man’s organ thrust against his erection and the Beatle found himself thrusting back. McCartney cried out, as he had never thought he would enjoy this so much, but he let go and went with it. His long thin legs wrapped around the older man on top, who attacked Paul’s neck with his mouth.
The time traveler’s head was in a never ending cycle of pleasure, and his body trembled uncontrollably, while he moaned, gasped and finally cried out. His mouth was invaded by the other man’s tongue, when he peaked and felt himself explode In the middle of their sandwiched bodies. As the gentleman removed himself off his young lover, Paul threw himself into his lovers chest.
“please don’t tell anyone!” McCartney cried in the soothing breast. Warm arms circumference the thin young body, and the fingers of the artist combed his hair.
“Your secret is safe with me lad.” Mister Sheldon promised the youth gently. “Did you like it?” He asked while playing with those stunning dark locks on the lads head, who cuddled in his chest. Paul nodded in the breast he was hiding. He was trying to work it out in his head. Then he was being kissed, as the older man seemed to notice his distress. “Don’t let the shame consume you.” Light kisses followed, along with a little pet of the soft round cheek in front of him. “can you really see anything wrong with what we have done?”
“I guess not, but I just want to hide.” Paul confessed. He couldn’t believe he did it or which of the three reasons why. “I liked it “ he admitted still scared to look at the homosexual. “I liked it with you.”
“Awww… my boy!” the host smiled as he petted the lad. “I like you too! I like you a lot.” Then the man was quiet, as if something was on his mind. Then he continued. “how would you like to stay?” Mister Sheldon offered suddenly. This made the Beatle look up in surprised. “well do you really want to return to the club, stay in a boarding house and have sex with fat old women? Or you can stay here, you could study under the greatest musicians of our time. You can explore this aspect of yourself and still be with women. Beautiful women you want to sleep with. I could have an entire career for you set up and you could acquire your own fortune. I don’t expect you to stay with me, but I will set you up, if you will let me?”
“I assume I would have to be your lover?” Paul pointed out. The older man nodded
“I would hope you would want to be.” He explained. “I would never force myself on you, but I thought you enjoyed what we did.” The host went on. “I could help you develop the confidence to confront John and if he rejects you, we could find you someone else.” Kurtie smiled warmly. “ I also won’t judge if you wanted women. We will arrange for female visitors and in time if you seek a wife, you could just consider me your benefactor. No one needs to know this about our business. Your musical talents would explain it all. You will be popular throughout the world my boy!”
“that is quite an offer.” The conflicted man admitted. Living here wouldn’t be so bad and this offer was greater than he could dare hope, all alone in this world. “I guess will accept to stay with you instead of the boarding house.” McCartney agreed Playing music was definitely better than being a prostitute, but then again he kinda still was. Shit this was so morally corrupt, yet it really was his best shot.
“Excellent my lad!” the host drew him closer. “I will make the arrangements tomorrow with Vanna.”
“Thank you.” Paul said with a yawn. He was tired and this whole ordeal was an emotional rollercoaster. For now he had the best of luck and found himself asleep in the man’s chest. Like Francis used to say, the spider like fingers of Mister Sheldon weaved it’s invisible web around the unsuspecting time traveler as he innocently slumbered.

Chapter Text

The remaining three Beatles, John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr huddled close as they decided which doorway to go through. They were in a hunter green room with three archways leading down a hallway of shelved books. Above each opening was a taxidermist head of a stuffed animal. The one in the middle was a moose’s head and it was huge! On the right passage way was of a buck deer, though smaller, had an impressive set of antlers, which sadly led to the creatures demise. The left side had the head of a white ram.
“Which way should we go lads?” John asked, unsure what to make of the options. Clearly whatever sorcery was lurking, intended for the trio to separate.
“they all give me the creeps.” Said George, gazing over the dead animals above. Ringo stared down the three different hallways made up of shelves, lined with books as far as his blue eyes could see.
“Lets go this way. “ Starr suggested, at the opening of the hallway with the dead ram above it. It really didn’t matter where they went, as long as it was together.
“It’s a good as any.” The youngest Beatle agreed and carefully the musicians walked in the middle of the hallway. They avoided touching anything, as these items could transport them back in time. Magical objects of the past seem to throw themselves at the men in other rooms and this area was no different. Soon an olive green book leaped from the top shelf.
“Dante’s Inferno.” It read, though the copy looked to be only a few decades old. Then another book dropped and it was a first edition of Nietzsche “Morgenröthe” nearly struck George’s head. As the men continued down their path, they were forced to step over the fallen literature. An old hand written Bible in Italian dove from the shelves, onto the carpeted floor. Then a faded blue diary of someone who wrote in Yiddish that looked worn and tattered, stumbled down to the ground, just ahead of the trio. A telephone book from the previous year caused a thud sound, nearly striking Ringo’s foot. Out of nowhere an owners manual for a Corvette, only five years old flew across the section, bouncing off the other shelf.
They barely made it to the end, dodging a Victorian copy of Grimm’s fairytales, a math book from a high school, a ladies magazine from the 1950s and an old copy of the “Art of War,” seemed to relentlessly attack the lads, before they reached the end. The hallway finished with three black passage ways for them to choose. Again the magic wanted them to separate.
“Which way do we go?” asked George, frightened for his life. Then a brigade of books shot at them. Ringo dodged an old copy of “War and Peace.” The giant book was aiming at his head, when he leaped in the opening in front of him. George wanted to follow his friend, but a copy of “the Prince and the Pauper,” forced him backwards into the other black passage way. The same thing happened to John, when a high school yearbook from 1944 soared at him, forcing Lennon to jump in the third option. As each man found himself in another room alone, they turned around, to find the opening they came in, was a wall.

Ringo Starr saw a wood panel wall instead of the row of books he came from. Examining the room he was in, it appeared to be the nursery section of the shop. Cradles, cribs and little beds, were spread about. Toys of all sorts, littered the area in a typical fashion for a display, but there was something ominous about it all. All about we’re racks of children’s clothes, for both sexes and all ages before becoming a teenager. Then a noise came from the far corner of the room, causing the Beatle to jump. It sounded like a child’s cackle.
“you’re not my real mum!” yelled a little boys voice almost right next to the drummer, forcing him to nearly run into a shelf, where a little box opened up and a clowns head popped out! Looking over to where the voice came from was a little red wagon, beaten up and missing a wheel. Then Starr noticed a child cries were coming from one of the little beds, but no one was there! Suddenly a squeaky noise came from a section of toys, where a little wooden duck pull toy began to move. The petite man could hear the faint voice of a child quacking as the toy moved about.
In every direction a sound just protruded through the air. Surrounding the man in a sense of panic and fear. Then a movement can from a corner, in which the drummer immediately ran to investigate. To his surprise, the Beatle found another opening, leading to a dark backroom.
“George?” Ringo called out, hoping to reconnect with his friends. “John? Paul?” he continued, desperate for this person to be one of them. Turning sharp corners of a narrow maze, Starr searched around towers of boxes and walls that had bends but no rooms. Then someone was running in the distance. “Stop!” the musician yelled and the person became still, giving Ringo a chance to catch up. To the man’s surprise, he found a child standing before him, facing away. “Who are you?” the adult ask the younger person.
The child was a girl, with blond hair and a Victorian style dress for preschoolers. Turning around, the girl couldn’t be more than four years old. She was sucking her thumb, with a bow in her hair and an apron over her clothes.
“Would you tie my shoe, sir?” She asked, lifting her left foot forward, revealing a flat laced shoe, with the strings falling on each side. “I don’t want to fall.” The little girl told the drummer, who stared in fear. He shook his head.
“no.” he told her. It was just wild to think he would refuse to help this small child, but due to the circumstances, it had to be a trap.
“please…” she pleaded.
“No!” he told her again. Suddenly she was gone, except for her shoes, that remained. Ringo found him studying what was left behind, from a distance. Two tiny shoe stood abandoned by it’s owner, with the untied shoe a step in front of the other.

John Lennon discovered the opening he came through become a brick wall. He saw the black tunnel turn into the red stone barrier right after landing on the floor. Getting up, the musician reviewed the room he was now in. He saw three mirrors of a dressing area and a platform. All around him were used ladies clothing and accessories.
“Coffee, light and sweet.” Said a woman’s voice, relaying an order, coming from a rack of used clothes from different time periods.
“I’ll do anything for him to love me.” A younger female echoed across the room.
“She’s expecting the little bastard in June.” An old woman’s voiced hissed from an old ladies hand bag.
“I will love you until death do us part.” Another woman made her vows from a wedding dress dating back to the Edwardian days.
“I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, but we will have to hold Danny back another year.” Uttered a pair of green high heels, in an authoritative female tone.
This creeped John out. It was little random sentences of these women’s lives. Wearily the man approached the section of mirrors, as they were the focal point of the room. They were oval shaped and quite feminine, with an ivory colored boarder and gold fleur de lis graced the head of each matching looking glass.
However instead of seeing his own reflection, he saw the inside of a bridal shop from ten years ago. Lennon was judging by the style of the bridal attire and the regular clothes the patrons and staff adorned. One by one he saw different women trying on different dresses, looking mostly excited. It was beautiful in a way, to see these lost moments in time, but it also felt like an invasion of privacy. He caught two female staffers making out when they were alone in the shop. Shit John was already a baby, the last thing he wanted to be was a woman.
Stepping away from the glass reflections of the past, John looked around, when he saw something red moving about in the distance.
“Paul?” he asked hopefully. He scurried behind racks of dresses and hand bags. “Rich?” he called out again. “George?” still no response, but he came to a clearing where he saw a door of a free standing room closed. It either had to be a closet or a changing room. Seeing the door, the Beatle feared touching it would shove him back in time, same as before, but his curiosity got the better of him.
Opening the crude structure John discovered a beautiful woman inside. She was sitting on a bucket, smoking a cigarette. She wore a red floral dress, with a close fitting hat, that held snuggly to her face. Her hair was short, but curly. It was dark enough brown to pass for black. She looked to be in her late thirties and from the 1930s. Her make up was old fashioned, naturally, but it looked gorgeous and Lennon was indeed drawn to her.
“You like my hat?” she asked John. Puffing her cigarette seductively. She gave him a flirtatious smirk. The Beatle knew that look. The look so many smug women wear, when they assume he is easily manipulated through sex. He hated that and found himself pulling back. She continued her attempt of seduction, but John simply closed the door. Then curious to see if he could find any information from her about his friends, he opened the door again, only to find the woman gone and just her hat on the bucket.

George found himself in another hallway, lined with mirrors. The black opening had disappeared and was just a regular wall with dark blue wallpaper that covered the area. The long hallway went down so far, the young man could not see it’s end. As he walked past the mirrors he noticed none of the looking glasses showed his reflection. Some of the mirrors had frames, some were attached to bathroom medicine cabinets and some were just free standing pieces of glass hanging by a wire.
Looking through the wall hangings, the Beatle viewed mirrors of different shapes and sizes. However he was shock that none of these mirrors would show his face or hand when he waved it in front of the different glass pieces. In one mirror, he saw a man shaving. Another he could see a teenage boy picking his face. A naughty little girl was drawing on her side of the mirror with lipstick, in what looked to be in her parents bedroom. Then in a simple rectangular mirror attached to a medicine cabinet, George saw a man through the open door of the bathroom into a bedroom, pull out a gun and shoot himself in the head! This caused the young man to scream as he ran down the hallway, seeing glimpses of faces in the glasses he passed in a hurry.
At the end of the hallway was a mirror to a dresser, where a couple could be seen having sex on the bed. The woman was on top, bobbing up and down, with her breasts bouncing in the air. George wasn’t really interested, after seeing someone kill themselves. Looking up, another mirror showed the back of an alley that just had a stray orange cat, hanging out, licking itself. Another mirror was just a compact, where a woman put on some brown lipstick and then the glass became black.
“play with me.” Said a child’s voice. Looking down, just a man’s length away from the Beatle, was a boy dressed in clothing from his childhood. He wore a jacket from a rival school of the one he graduated from. The small boy had a leather baseball mitt in one hand and a baseball in another. The child gave George a smile.
“No.” George told him. He knew the child was trying to take him back to the past again.
“It will be fun.” The boy promised.
“I don’t want too!” the lead guitarists said firmly. It felt so strange, talking to a boy, about ten years old, while a man and woman were having sex right behind him. The child gave him a pouty face, as the rejection clearly upset the boy. Then suddenly the boy swung the ball at the man, forcing the Beatle to the floor to avoid being struck. It shattered the mirror of the fucking couple and the ball penetrated a black void the glass was hiding.
Returning to the direction of the child, George only found the baseball mitt laying flat on the ground. Getting up, he saw the opening, void of any light, through the area of the shattered mirror. He figured it was better to go into the unknown than to remain where he was, so he past through into the dark.

Chapter Text

Paul McCartney awoke in the first time in his life, in the arms of another man. It was a strange feeling, but disturbingly nice. It was hard for the man who fancied himself a ladies man, to admit he enjoyed being with someone larger than him in the bed. There was a comfort to this different position and the change of the power dynamic with his lover. He found it interesting comparing the difference between the sexes and realized this was sort of a perk of going both ways. The Beatle saw different benefits between being with a man and woman.
Women were soft, lighter, delicate and flexible. Men were strong, heavier, encompassing and secure. This was like comparing a blanket to a house. It was all a head trip. Suddenly the large arms closed around the inexperienced lover, drawing the smaller man towards the mature gentleman. Paul just gave in and let himself go. It was warm, affectionate and it felt nice. He had to admit cuddling with a man was indeed a pleasure he had never let himself experience before, but was glad he did.
His lover was both gentle and patient with him, which for a paying client, is unheard of in the nature between a man and his whore. But Paul was being rescued from that lifestyle. He was going to be a kept boy and though sounded demeaning, was actually a nice offer. The musician reminded himself of this when warm lips graced his forehead, moving towards his neck.
McCartney realized his client wanted sex and this would be a part of his existence in this world. It wasn’t terrible, but the power role was there and he knew it. Mister Sheldon was gentle and mindful of his weight, as he laid upon the younger man. They kissed and pressed up against one another until both peaked. Paul’s legs were in the air, as he climaxed between himself and his male lover, who thrusted against him on top. The act was rather demeaning, but it was sex and it did feel good, so he couldn’t complain.
“good morning gorgeous.” Kurtie whispered on top of him. It was intimidating, though that wasn’t the older mans intent. Kisses then graced the time traveler’s neck and mouth, that were soft and sweet.
“good morning.” The Beatle uttered underneath another man. The artist played with the loose locks that circumference the baby face.
“you’re loosening up.” The queer man noted, while freely distributing kisses across his lovers neck. Moans escaped the youths lips, as the affection was thrilling, even though it was from a man.
“Well you are good to me.” Paul assured. He felt obligated to acknowledge this man’s generosity and to make sure the promise of the previous night was more than wishful thinking. The wealthy gentleman seem to understand his lovers inquiry and gave the lad a smile of assurance.
“I will call Vanna today.” Kurtie promised. “to let her know if you ever return to the club it will be as a patron.” He nibbled the youths ear. “they were going to need to obtain a new queer whore anyway, and they already have plenty of lads who entertain the ladies. I don’t foresee this being a problem.” The older man then exited the bed and obtained a luscious velvet housecoat for himself, which was the color of red wine. He adorned fur lined slippers, causing him to silently move around the carpet. “you should go to your room and get ready. After we deal with the business with the club we’ll go out and celebrate. Then we can talk to my music friends and begin setting up your career.”
McCartney nodded at the suggestion that was clearly more an order. He was going to have to mind the older mans demands. They weren’t forceful or unreasonable so the Beatle chose to comply. He rolled off the bed and found himself his house coat and slippers scattered about the floor. Mister Sheldon made his way towards the bathroom as Paul left the Master suite, tying his housecoat closed. Walking down the large hallway he saw statues of Greek gods in an array of poses. These were replicas, but masterfully carved.
As the time traveler admired the art, he crossed paths with the butler Glenn, who shyly nodded at the young man, as he scurried away. Turning the corner to the wing where his room was, Paul saw the chubby older female maid looking up at him as she dusted the hand carved frame of an ancient painting of a landscape. She let her eyes graze over him for a moment, then quickly returned to her work. Nearly to his room, Paul saw the young servant girl who brought the guest his dinner last night, was freshly dressed in a different uniform, carrying clean linens in a basket to their rightful place. Paul nodded at her and she nodded back, while continuing on down the hall.
Shit! This was embarrassing! Even though the staff were clearly polite and too busy to stray from their business, Paul couldn’t fight off the fact, they knew. They knew where he spent his night. They know he had done queer stuff! But Fuck it, he also thought right after. He’s not cleaning toilets or living in a boarding house. This wasn’t a bad deal and the man he had to entertain was gentle and kind. So Fuck it! If he had to be a whore, then at least he found success in this taboo career! Apparently he was good at it and was capable of making a name for himself in the past, like he did in the 1960s. This was good, encase he couldn’t go back, but he wanted to. God he wanted to go home! However at least staying here wouldn’t be that bad! There was also the pride in himself of being able to make it big in two different time periods.
Upon entering his bedroom, he noticed a fresh set of clothes waiting for him hanging on the bathroom door. It was a nice white suit. Classy and fitting for the occasion. The Beatle quickly made his way to the bathroom, in which he promptly bathed and groomed himself down to every detail. He dressed in his new clothes and admired himself in the vintage three piece suit. It was a nice look after all. Seeing himself in the three way mirror and loving what he saw, the young man chose to check on his gloves, to make sure they were safe.
These were the magical devices that transported him through time, so he left them on the nightstand of his room. Yet to his shock, the fine white hand coverings were gone. Panic struck the musician, who frantically searched his bed, tearing the sheets from the mattress. He crawled under the sleeping furniture, praying they must have fallen over, but not only were they not there, the carpet was freshly vacuumed. Shaken to his core the Beatle searched the closets, pulled out draws, checking every nook and cranny of the large guest room. He left the guest quarters and approached a maid he never met before. A woman in her thirties, who wore glasses was going from room to room to open the drapes.
“Excuse me ma’am,” McCartney called her at the far end of a library. She was pulling a chain to open a grand window that provided a view of the front yard and it’s perfect symmetrical pattern. The woman looked at his direction, while continuing her work. It took awhile to pull the thick green heavy cloth over. The young man walked over to the staffer, who stared at him in surprise.
“what can I do for you sir?” she asked with a thick Irish accent.
“Have you been in the guest room I have been staying?” Paul asked trying to remain calm. The woman shook her head.
“Only Agnes goes in there.” She explained. “Is something the matter sir?”
“I can’t find my gloves.” The guest explained. The woman looked him over with a motherly expression.
“Oh, is that all?” the maid asked with a smile. “Mister Sheldon plans on purchasing you a new wardrobe today. I heard him order the car and his talk with his banker. You’re in luck lad! The master will take great care of you!” then she began to leave.
“how do I find Agnes?” The Beatle still wanted to know. The woman stopped as he spoke and turned around to answer after he was done.
“If you insist,” she stated with a blank face. “Agnes dusts the art on this floor at this hour, if not there, she would be in the laundry.” Then the servant politely took her leave. McCartney immediately made his way to the chubby maid dusting another frame.
“Are you Agnes?” he called to the older woman doing her work. She stopped working and awaited for the master’s guest to approach. Paul scurried down the long tunnel between the great rooms, to the woman dusting the frame of a painting of the front of the house and it’s garden.
“How may I help you sir?” the woman called Agnes replied when the lad stopped his pace.
“what have you done with the white gloves I left on the nightstand in my room?” the guest asked the maid.
“I have not been in the room since the morning I changed your bed.” She explained. “you didn’t return there,” Agnes pointed out, reminding Paul of his humiliation, though he could tell that wasn’t what she was implying. “so I haven’t gone in since.” she pour some wood polish on a cloth and wiped the wooden table under the picture. “But you needn’t be worried about some old gloves.” The woman in her fifties assured. “Master Sheldon will take right good care of yeah.”
Paul turned immediately and ran back to the Master suite. He knocked but no one answered, so he turned the crystal doorknob, only to find the barrier locked. The double doors were practically glued together, forming a wall from where he wanted to be!
“Mister Sheldon has gone out.” The voice of Glenn the butler said from behind the time traveler. This startled the Beatle, as he looked at the taller man.
“Where has he gone?” the guest demanded to know. The servant didn’t flinch and kept his face still.
“To meet with a Mister Quincy and Miss Wallace about arranging your permanent stay.” The bald man answered the bewildered guest. “you’re a very lucky man Mister Garrison. Now if you follow me, I will bring you to the breakfast table for the morning meal.”
“I’m not hungry!” Paul told the man servant in stormed down the long passage to the guest room to continue looking for his gloves. The desperate time traveler spent hours trying to find them. Were they thrown away, he wondered. Paul demanded the butler have someone look for them in the trash bin and he was assured they weren’t there. However the usually reserved man became enraged when he was told he would not be permitted to search the waste bin himself. Glenn had to forcibly lock the unruly guest in his room, until the master returned. The room was becoming disorganized, but the Beatle didn’t care! He had to find those gloves! Yet the room had been so well maintained there wasn’t much to look through, nor disturb. Hours must have past and the guest felt every second in a grueling period of uncertainty.
Then the door to his room opened. It was the master of this exquisite castle the Beatle felt trapped in. Paul furiously remained facing away from his host in the doorway.
“Where are my gloves!” McCartney demanded to know. No matter what his kind gentleman host did for him, those gloves were his property and no one had the right to take them!
“come with me James.” Mister Sheldon told the surprised time traveler. Paul McCartney turned in both horror and shock at the revelation that his client in the 1920s knew his real name.
“How did you learn my name?” the Beatle demanded to know, getting up from the bed, facing the man’s silhouette in the door. The gentleman wore a black suit to Paul’s white one. An indicator of their relationship and each of their status within the coupling.
“We’ve all have always known about you Mister McCartney.” The host explained. “or should I call you Paul?” this was just wild, the time traveler, didn’t know what else to do, but to go with the man who knew his real name, before he was even born!

Chapter Text

John Lennon was wandering around the ladies section of the antique shop. In the backroom, where it looked to be more storage than the store itself, the Beatle tried to find a way out. He noticed after the wedding attire the clothing moved to maternity wear. Thinking about the previous owners of these pregnant woman’s clothes, John put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to touch any of it, especially if it could end him up as a pregnant woman! That had to be the worst of the worst!
Passing through racks of oversized outfits, the Beatle began to see baby buggies and infant attire as he moved further throughout the section. Then the Beatle saw some movement behind a row of boxes nearly as high as the ceiling. Expecting to see another apparition from the past, John braced himself and tried to direct his mind on questions he would ask the spirit. Following around sharp bends and more towers of boxes, the Beatle upped his pace. He could hear footsteps that were both from him and from the ghost he was chasing. The race was on as the two moved faster, then Lennon finally had the shadowy figure cornered in this odd shaped hallway, or room. It was really hard to tell.
“Don’t touch me!” yelled the cornered person, who turned out to be a man. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness, John saw Ringo Starr backed almost against the wall. It took the two a second to recognize each other and the end result was a hug between the pair. “have you seen George?” Starr inquired as they broke away from the embrace.
“no he fell from the other doorway and I went through the third black hole.” Lennon responded.
“this place is ghastly!” cried the drummer. “lord knows what’s happening to George.”
“Or Paul.” John reminded his companion. The two huddled together, turning their heads about, trying to find either of their missing companions. Yet all they saw was more old crap and not a soul in sight! “Paul!” Lennon called out. “George!” he followed up, but still no answer. Then a thud sound came from around the bend. The pair made haste and found themselves in a room full of furniture. In a large open area were a an array of couches, chairs, sofas, radios, a couple of televisions, dressers, coffee tables, dining room sets and everything else that you could imagine that was big, heavy and bulky to carry.
Both men’s legs ached and they longed to sit down. The cushioned seating seemed so inviting, but the lads knew better. The magic was drawing them to the furniture.
“George!” Ringo called out, looking at the sea of living rooms and dens. “Paul!” the petite man gazed out at the display. It was a chaotic view of unmatched items that didn’t go together. Then in a distance, a sound of static echoed across the room. It was a radio and some invisible hand must be turning it’s dials.
“Today King George spoke at the grand …” a British newscaster began, but was cut off by the movement of the wooden knob.
“Ivory soap, leaves your skin feeling smooth and clean …” a woman announcer stated in an old advertisement.
“Then Goldie Locks said “this porridge is too cold…” said a man reading a children’s story, came from the brown wooden box. Then the station changed to the Glen Miller band playing “the Mood,” on a vintage station. The two Beatles examined the electric device in wonder. It was old, dating back to the decade before they were born.
“We need to get out of here!” the drummer stated, shaken by fear. Simultaneously they turned around, only for something to jumped at them from atop a bookshelf. Both men fell back. Ringo however kept his footing, but John fell on top of the radio and found himself in a living room of someone’s home. It was a dated space, with vintage furniture from the 1930s, all anew.
“Doug!” said a woman’s voice. Then from the hallway to what looked to be a ranch style home, a woman in her forties emerged. She wasn’t impressive in her looks, but she kept herself in good shape and well groomed. “There you are!” she remarked as she approached the man in the room.
“cut the crap!” John told her. “I know you know who I really am! So stop with the charades and get me back to my time!” he demanded. The woman folded her arms, with a defiant face. Like she was ready to argue John’s point, but then she sighed, relaxing her shoulders, bringing down her folded limbs and eased her expression.
“very well!” the lady said. “Go in the closet by the front door. The floor board on the right is loose. Open it and you’ll find a box.” John did as he was instructed and found an old shoe box in the place she told him to look. “hand it over to me.” The woman told Lennon as he examined his finding. He just wanted to get back to the shop, so he obeyed. Taking the box, the woman opened it and it revealed a stack of letters. “these are the love letters Doug sent me during the war.” She explained, a bit emotional. It was rather touching, John had to admit.
Then a crashing sound came from another room. Together, John and the woman went down the hall to the master bedroom. Opening the door, George Harrison was on the floor in front of the dresser, with a mirror on top of it.
“Wilbert!” the woman cried. John immediately ran over to George’s aide and helped him up. George looked around confused. He was glad to see John of course, but he found himself studying the woman. She was the same lady he saw having sex through the mirror. Looking past her on the nightstand was a picture in a frame, but with a different man the Beatle saw her fucking earlier. Lennon looked at the woman who called him Doug and George, Wilbert.
“whats his mission!” John demanded to know of her. “we both need to get out of here!” she rolled her eyes and bent down to the floor at the foot end of the bed. The lady wasn’t down long and as she stood up she presented a wedding band to the younger man.
“this is what Wilbert was looking for.” The woman explained. “put it in your pocket and it will disappear when you go back.” she said. Then the men gave the adulteress a disapproving look. The lady noticed this but didn’t show any shame. “What can I say, I have a lot of stories.” She smirked, then suddenly there was a knock at the door.
“Joanne!” cried a man’s voice.
“Be right there Stanley!” she called out to the door. “lots and lots of stories.” The cheating wife continued as she turned back to the Beatles.
“you could write a book!” John told her as the trio walked down the hall.
“I could,” The lady replied. “but it wouldn’t be as long as yours.“ she darted back. This point forced Lennon to smile and George to chuckle.
“You know about us?” the lead singer inquired.
“We aren’t completely oblivious to your world.” She answered as the phone rang and she picked it up immediately. “Hello.” The woman called Joanne said into the rotary device. “oh hi Ed!” She said happily. “I’m a bit busy now. How about tonight?” a smile adorned her face, then Stanley started knocking again.
“Joanie” The man behind the door cried. The woman covered the mouth piece of the phone.
“Be right there baby!” she said, then returned to her call. “that was just the delivery driver. I have to sign for something. I’ll see you at eight?” then she was quiet for a second, clearly letting “Ed” say his goodbyes. Joanne seemed to know what she was doing, as she juggled her lovers, like a circus clown would with colorful balls. “Okay. Bye now.” She hung up the phone and turned her attention to the two men in her living room. “Now you,” she said pointing at John. “…need to change the radio station back to “the mood”. It’s always your third attempt!” Then turning to George, “…and you need to go back in the room and go through the mirror. If you leave together, you should find yourselves in the same place.”
“Joanie!” called Stanley. “Come on! My wife will be home in an hour!’ he whined.
“thank you.” Said George, as he made his way to the bedroom.
“you keep yourself busy.” John said to her as he turned the radio on.
“Only because Doug leaves me with time to fill.” She stated bluntly, while pulling out a cigarette. John turned the station and the male voice was in the middle of another advisement for the Ford motor car.
“I’m not judging you.” Lennon said as he turned the dial for the first time. An Opera singer was singing with a powerfully high pitch. Then John turned the dial a second time. He could hear George climb the dresser in the bedroom, as the weather man called for rain tomorrow.
“Your friend is trapped.” Joanne told him while smoking her cigarette.
“George?” John said looking up. She shook her head as smoke emulated from the white stalk between her fingers.
“no.” She said. “the other one you and the short man were looking for. You can’t help him. He has to rely on his wits!” John turned the dial and Glenn Millers “the mood” began to play. Looking up, John saw he was back in the antique shop with Ringo staring at him in shock.
“you were gone!” he uttered. “then you just popped and came back!” the petite man looked like he was seeing a ghost instead of his friend. There was another thud sound from another section of the room and the men went to the area to investigate. Behind a sofa sitting on top of a wide dresser was George Harrison with a dazed expression on his face. Seeing Ringo caused the youngest bandmate to jump off the high spot he sat and run to his companions. He was greeted by a three-way hug.
“that was wild.” Harrison stated looking at John. John nodded in agreement.
“yeah that was.” He agreed.
“Where did you guys go?” Ringo inquired.
“we’ll tell you later.” Lennon said dismissively. “what jumped out of us?” he asked looking in the drummers face.
“a cat.” Starr replied. “a big fluffy white one!” he described, adding the that detail.
“where did it go?” John wanted to know, as he looked around the huge room of outdated crap.
“I don’t know.” The smaller man was shaking his head. “the little beast took off, while you disappeared and reappeared in just a few seconds.”
“We were gone longer than that.” George pointed out.
“clearly time doesn’t work the same here and in the lives these objects possess.” Lennon observed. “It was hard to tell, but when I just took off the first time I was gone about a week. Or so it felt like to me.”
“I felt like I was gone only two days.” Harrison stated. He was really there just a little more than twenty-four hours when he thought about it.
“I was gone for months.” The drummer lamented, his eyes looking off at a distance and the pain of missing those people, mostly Leo and Davy, burned deep in his soul. His companions stared at the smaller man in surprise, but he took no notice. He didn’t want to talk about it. Then another noise came from the other side of the area. Looking on the floor of the aisle between the squares of stuff was the white cat. “that’s it!” Starr cried, pointing at the animal.
The cat seemed to notice them as it began to move towards the end of the room where it was facing. The three remaining Beatles made haste and followed the feline through another set of rooms. The first one had clocks of all sorts, clanking and clicking as these devices often do. They ran through the dark green room of time and reached to what looked to be the men’s clothing section, but they didn’t get to stay long as the beast ran faster through the sea of men’s attire. The cat turned down a narrow passage way and disappeared into the darkness.
With nothing better to do, the men walked in the direction the cat took off. It’s purring could be heard every now and then for a second or two, as they navigated around in what seemed to be another storage room. Then the sound of a harp having it’s keys stringed down it’s cords, echoed through the dimly lit area. Then the pitch went up to down, and the pattern repeated as a guide. The Beatles followed the noise until they came into another room and found the harp. It was wooden, very old and void of strings. The sound dissipated as they entered the room. Then a banjo was being plucked. A tap of a single military drum sounded off without it’s sticks moving.
Then a pan flute play back and forth in a lovely tune. An old tavern piano started to move it’s keys, suddenly a clarinet played along. Soon all the instruments were an orchestra performing a song neither man had heard before. It was haunting, but beautiful and they were enthralled as much as they were afraid.

Chapter Text

Walking through the hallway of the grand house belonging to the beloved artist of the rich and powerful, Mister Kurtis Sheldon, the famous Beatle couldn’t help but feel humbled. Statues and paintings lined the aisles between the rooms like displays of a main street. Paul McCartney was literally held prisoner and he was absorbing the fact that all of this was an illusion. Sure everything felt real and solid, but it was all a ruse to keep him in this cage. A beautiful one, but still a place he would be confined to, regardless of his will.
As the pair traveled the long paths between rooms, Paul noticed none of the servants were around. Every time he left his quarters, he had always seen a maid or the butler. We’re they sent to spy on him during all this time? The Beatle began to wonder as everything seemed different, while being the same. This place was an inviting rose with poisonous thorns. Mister Sheldon appeared as a friend, however now McCartney saw him as a snake.
He seemed to slither to Paul, as the older man walked ahead, never turning back. He was posturing the authority he had always had over the Beatle, though he kept it thinly veiled. This was as much of a betrayal as much as it was all a lie. Reaching the master suite, the “gentleman” opened his bedroom door and had the guest walk in first. Still in the effeminate position, but like before, the Beatle submitted and went in as expected and his host followed.
“Would you like a drink?” Mister Sheldon offered. The younger man answered him with an unfriendly look, still the older man poured two drinks and handed a glass of scotch on the rocks to the disgruntled youth. Begrudgingly the musician accepted the glass from the artists and followed him into the parlor where they sat across one another on two separate white couches. Mister Sheldon sat down and gave a heavy sigh. It was clear this sort of behavior was not his normal demeanor, but obviously something he was capable of. “I should start by explaining, this world is a tiny bubble stuck in time, repeating it’s loop.” He took a swig of his drink. “each item in the antique shop you and your friends wandered into is linked to at least one bubble, most have several. They are rather common.” The host began to wipe the sweat off the bottle with a white napkin. “Those gloves you had, belonged to a beautiful young man named Clifford Garrison of York.”
“yes, I learned who I was from the mobster.” Paul pointed out and then he thought about it for a second. “did that large man know I was from the future? Did Vanna?” the musician wanted to know.
“everyone knew.” The gentleman stated simply. “you are not the first one to try on the gloves.” Paul stared at the man who went from a close friend to a villain so quickly. The Beatle sat back to listen. “as I was saying.” The host continued. “Clifford was a bright young man, but sadly came from a poor family. He was bastard born and needed money to attend university and figured with his charm and good looks, he could rent himself to older women.”
“So Clifford was never queer?” McCartney wanted to confirm. The older man shook his head.
“The mix up was caused by the handlers accent.” Explained the host. “he asked if the lad was queer and Clifford thought he ask if he minded queers, because being in such a profession it was common for both types of male whores to cohabitate. Which he said he didn’t mind them.” Paul found himself nodding and could understand the confusion.
“so how did he end up at your house?” the time traveler inquired. The elder man who had brought the bottle with him poured himself another glass and topped off his guests drink without being asked.
“Cliff never made it that far.” Mister Sheldon explained. “you see Clifford rejected my offer.” Kurt sat back and took another hard hit of his golden beverage, swirling the liquor in the transparent container. “I was not surprised by his refusal. He was rather uncomfortable with the idea, so when he went to the office he was telling Vanna to call Andre. Whom I went home with that night.”
“so you didn’t know to look for Cliff when Mister Turner kidnapped him.” The man from the future filled in.
“unfortunately.” The prestigious man said in a small voice. “Norm didn’t realize the young man wasn’t going home with me. Ironically I learned from Vanna he was to join Mrs. Sanders who was with Marla, in a threesome for the night.” This made Paul’s eyes widen at the thought of him ending up in that scenario. “however the poor lad never made it. Norm scooped him up and he died in that terrible accident.” A tear rolled down the elders face as he recalled the tale. “Clifford was trapped in the very trunk you were put in.” the gentleman wiped his face with a handkerchief.
“But how did Norman have an “accident” if no one knew to sabotage his car?” the Beatle inquired suspiciously.
“because in every single scenario I’m the one who cut that bastard’s brakes!” Mister Sheldon said coldly. “I didn’t know the young man was trapped inside the trunk.” He began to weep, but got a hold of himself.
“the first time, what about all the others?” Paul stated coldly.
“when you are in the story line, your brain is in a fog.” explained the admitted murderer. “you follow the script, just conscious enough to handle any diversions of the original situation. However the larger the diversion the more focused your mind becomes again to the present situation rather than the past. I managed to divert the storyline ever so slightly by not removing the gloves from my partner's hands at the table.” This caused McCartney to raise an eyebrow, as he recalled the older man admiring his hands in this manner. “You see originally I spooked Cliff by removing his gloves to appreciate those beautiful long fingers of his. He got up right away, without putting them back on to tell Vanna to call Andre. When Andre arrived and the other boy hadn’t returned, I gave them to Vanna to give them back. After he died, she gave them to me for me to keep. She figured out I cut Normans brakes. She didn’t say it directly, but she knew why. That bastard brutalized Tommy and there would be no justice!”
“that’s no excuse!” McCartney replied coldly, crossing his arms.
“You’re right and I’m sure the rest of my soul burns in hell at this moment for it!” the apparition of the artist admitted. “however Vanna said something interesting.” Paul stared into the blue eyes to see the answer as well as hear it. “she pointed out Norman was going to kill Clifford any way, but he would have raped and tortured him first. I don’t take solace in this fact, but it is true.” Then he finished his drink, poured another just for himself, as Paul hardly touched his glass and continued. “by leaving the gloves on the visitors they disappeared and return to their time before the accident. You can die here, but by diverting this one act, no one dies, other than Norman! Who I would gladly share a room in hell with!” suddenly the man got up and face the window, turning his back to Paul. “you changed everything by saying yes to my offer!” Kurt admitted. “you woke everyone up.” He turned around, looking at his guest with a small smile. “You gave us more than the bittersweet story of the death of a monster and an innocent man. We all were glad the visiting lads were spared death and grateful the monster died, but we have to relive the sadness of the young man’s loss of life. Norman comes back every time someone puts on those gloves, along with a new young man playing the roll as Cliff.” His smile went away suddenly. “it has become a torture to us all. However if you stay, we can move forward. We can trail a new outcome in time.” This surprised Paul. He had considered this possibility before. The old man continued. “if you stay I could give you a career even greater than the one with your friends.” He walked over to a picture in a gold frame and handed it to the Beatle. McCartney looked at the photograph and was surprised to see Mister Sheldon next to a colored man, then the 1960s musician realized who that person was.
“That’s Louis Armstrong!” the rock and roll singer was impressed. He returned the black and white picture to the host, who then returned it to the small table where it belonged.
“I told you,” explained the prestigious man, “I have a lot of connections.” He sat back down. “I could set you up big. You could be the face of that new music of yours. Imagine, you could be the hero Elvis and your mates look up to.” This blew the time traveler’s mind.
“I never thought about that.” He admitted, heavy in thought.
“Well I know you have thought about seeing your departed mother again and saving your friend John’s mother from an avoidable accident.” The older man pointed out. “you may not be able to save your mother’s life, but with you being your families benefactor you could give her care prolonging her life a few more years. Being richer than Elvis, you could give your family and younger self a better life.” This time the gentleman added to Paul’s glass as he opened the liquor bottle. The younger hadn’t realized he had been drinking, but he felt the burn down his throat and concluded he must have. “then there is the matter of John. You fear he will reject you and from what I have learned of him through the radio and television that eccentric couple relentlessly play, he doesn’t seem the type to accept you. Yet if you truly love him, you would want him to be happy and you can do this by saving his mother.” The man paused for a moment to let Paul fully absorb what he was saying. “John is likely to reject you, but you can still be his greatest love by that selfless act alone. Now if you stay here you can explore your sexuality, with both genders if you want. It doesn’t have to be me. You don’t have to sleep with me again and I don’t blame you.”
“why did you sleep with me, when you knew who I was?” McCartney wanted to know, feeling both betrayed and violated.
“well you have had prostitutes yourself.” Mister Sheldon stated matter of factly, “if I didn’t make a move or accept your offers, you would have realized something was up a lot sooner.”
“why did you lie to me?” Paul cried rather upset.
“because we all want you to stay, so we can move forward in our lives.” The host pulled out a cigarette and gave one to both the Beatle and himself. After lighting the white stalks, first to the guest then his own, the gentleman continued. “the visitors are always prone to follow along. They share a similar status as the rest of those in the bubble, but are more likely to detract simply because they don’t know the storyline. That gives them the edge to make more free base decisions. However the longer they remain, the more absorbed they become into their new life.”
“So you thought if you could keep me here long enough, I would just go along?” McCartney pressed.
“Is it not the kinder thing to do?” asked the gentleman. “you could have a glorious life and all those people who suffer every time the gloves are worn, can finally move on with their lives.” Then he sat next to Paul, looking him in the face. “I didn’t create those feelings you have for John. Deep down, they are the reason you said yes to my offer. I told you, I would never force myself upon you. Your talent would pay back all my investment and more. I can always get other men. I was simply letting you explore at your own request.”
“I felt I needed money.” The time traveler stated as cold as ice.
“I know.” The prestigious man admitted. “that is part of the experience of the white gloves.” Paul looked up into the blue eyes of the man beside him who continued. “you are to experience the existence of a prostitute. The need for money to sell your body and do things you normally would never do. However, you wanted to explore further in your own sexuality and your own feelings for John,” Bringing this up caused the Beatle to turned his head away in shame. “were combined with your concern for money, led to your decision to explore further.” Then the elders hand rested on the lads knee. “that is the story of the gloves, that of a male prostitute, and now you have this perspective.”
“So you had to sleep with me?” McCartney was dumbfounded.
“I would have stopped with the chest and feet, but I offered to go further and you said yes.” The elder reminded him.
“I was vulnerable!” the youth could hear his voice crack.
“aren’t we all during sex?” asked the host. “you wanted to explore your feelings and I was the only person around for you to explore them with.” he touched Paul’s shoulder. McCartney wanted to smack him away, but the older man was right and the memory of what they did together flooded his mind with contradictions. He was betrayed, but what choice did the man before him have? “I had to go along with the tale of the gloves, even if there was a diversion in the original way things happened. I treated you like I would have treated any of the men in your position, weighing out insecurities verses money. I gave you the choice and the control.”
“you would have kept me as your sex toy!” Paul accused the older man. He recalled that morning where Mister Sheldon wanted sex and McCartney gave it to him.
“I would have never forced myself on you. All you ever have to say is no to me and I will respect that.’ Kurt pointed out. “I said this to you many times.”
“I felt sex was required in the offer.”
“of course not. I said I would hope you would want to be my lover. You seemed to enjoy what we did and wanted to explore.” The artist touched the long fingers of the musician, causing the younger man to look back at him. “you had your eyes opened the last two times we were intimate. I thought you were starting to like me.”
“well you killed any chance of that by stealing my gloves.” The Beatle stated pulling back.
“I understand and that’s perfectly fine.” The elder agreed. “I assure you that sex will have nothing to do with your career or living here.” Then he pulled away. “I can arrange for you to stay somewhere else if you prefer. You can just accept my checks.”
“so you are forcing me to stay.” Paul stated standing up. “you’re stealing my life! I want to watch colored television! I want to listen to rock n roll! I want to see my dad and my friends!”
“If you left we would all be forced to relive this hell!” Mister Sheldon stated. “Do you know what it is like to relive this pain over and over again.”
“its your purgatory for what you did.” The time traveler observed, staring his capturer down.
I would agree with you, if this only effected me.” The apparition from the past explained. “but I’m not the only one who suffers. Vanna and Thomas have to relive this hell as well. They did nothing to deserve this.”
“I find it hard to believe that you did this for them.” McCartney snooted
“if I could release them from this trap, while remaining in it myself, I would.” Kurt assured.
“Isn’t the bubble broken by my acceptance of your offer?” the Beatle folded his arms.
“I honestly don’t know.” The artist admitted. “I know every time the person returned, the story plays out with Vanna giving me the gloves, then we mingle in a state of limbo, until the gloves are used again. We want to move on.” Paul began to shake his head violently!
“I can’t stay here!” the musician cried. “don’t you see, you’re just taking another innocent man’s life away to replace the one you took!”
“I’m sorry.” The gentleman said somberly. “I know this is hard for you, but I will gladly give you any comfort you want. Just stay in this time. I can set you up in London, Paris, New York! Anywhere you want to go I will arrange it. Become a star or live a private life. Take a wife or have as many lovers as you want. I’ll give you anything to make you happy!”
“except the gloves!” McCartney snarked. “except John! I’ll have to wait another twenty years for television and another ten more for it to be in color! I’ll miss out on the new millennium!” then the Beatle just walked out of the parlor and through the door to the hallway. A maid walked passed him and he upped his pace. He found himself soaring down the grand staircase and out the front door. Looking out in the late afternoon sky, he saw the garden of symmetrical bushes and just began to run.
Moving his legs felt so good and as he made it to the end of the long driveway, he just kept running. He didn’t know where he was going and couldn’t careless if he got lost. After a long distance, the time traveler felt winded and saw a field with horses. The sky was beginning it’s twilight phase and Paul thought about how happy he had been when he woke up that morning, in the arms of a snake! This was just too much. McCartney thought about how accepting he was of his fate of remaining here and thought he had gotten lucky twice at life!
Now his perspective was vastly different from the intimate memories that danced in his head. Kurtie was right, Paul did have his eyes open when they fucked and yes he enjoyed it too! He also agreed John would never want him as a lover! John loved women and was prone to violent fits at the suggestion. Maybe the gentlemen’s offer was worth considering. He could scoop up his friends when they just started out and be the rock hero they all admired. They would all dress like him and cut their hair to match his style. Hell even Elvis would admire him! The king of rock and roll would idolize him and beg the British singer to collaborate together! It was all so tempting!
But just seemed so unfair, and not right! As he continued down the road, he noticed the wooden cabin that Thomas resided. Knowing he had no where to go, the Beatle sighed heavily as he entered the property through the wooden gate. He approached the door and gave it a knock, but no one answered. Feeling lost and with no where to go Paul glumly began to return to the road, trying to figure out where the hell he was going to go, when he heard a sharp whistle. Turning abruptly at the unexpected distraction, the time traveler saw a young man about twenty years old sitting on a golden horse, with a blond Maine. He wore denim trousers and a plaid shirt. The equestrian topped the image off with a white cowboy hat and brown cowboy boots.
“so you’re James.” The man on the horse remarked, looking Paul over. Thomas looked exactly like his paintings. Golden hair, green eyes, very well built and a warm smile. “let me guess, you’re sick of Kurtie’s shit?”
“something like that.” McCartney replied, dazzled by the beautiful horse.
“Well follow me into the barn, I have to put Summer down for the night.” Thomas said indicating his horse. “Then we’ll go inside, have a beer and compare stories.” He gave Paul an understanding smile.
“You won’t tell him I’m here?” The time traveler wanted to know. The equestrian just shook his head with a smile.
“hell no!” he answered with a laugh. “and he can’t do nothing about it, it’s my property! I own all of this!” the younger man exclaimed. “come on, I’ll hear you out.” Not able to think of a better option the Beatle followed the man on horseback to the barn.

Chapter Text

John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr watched in awe at the spectacular concert being performed by invisible musicians. They had found themselves in what must be the music room of the magical antique shop the band stumbled into. Instruments just began to play. Some of the musical devices moved, like the keys on the upright piano, but others simply made sound, even if broken. It was simply lovely, but haunting as well. The tone was sweet but melancholy.
The men were hushed silent by the gracious noise that protruded from every direction. Then the song finished and the music stopped. The trio felt compelled to applaud to the ghostly apparitions that played such a number so flawlessly. Though it was like clapping to an empty room, because it really was.
“Hello!” John called out, hoping someone would answer. Yet no one did respond. Then Lennon looked at his companions. “I’m thinking about touching an item, and interrogate the apparition I see to find out about Paul.”
“won’t you have to undergo another adventure?” Ringo inquired, thinking of the long experience he had.
“I have learned if you call them out that they know who you are, they fess up pretty quick.” The lead singer explained.
“that’s how you got that lady Joanne to cooperate so easily?” George wanted to know. John nodded.
“during my first time around, the lady I was with, fessed up to the whole charade at the very end.” He explained.
“the man I was with did that too!’ Harrison backed up with his own experience.
“The people I was with did the same.” Starr also supported.
“It’s like they tease you at the end.’ Lennon concluded.
“mine was more understanding than that.,” the youngest Beatle stated.
“When I fell on the radio,” John continued. “I just told the lady I knew what was going on and to just lead me to the conclusion of the story. Which she did for both me and George. Then she told me Paul was trapped.”
“how would she know?” asked the drummer.
“I don’t know.” John replied to the question. “but I’m going to try it.” He let his eyes graze the room to find something to touch. He didn’t want to go too far back in time and the man born in 1940, kinda wanted to avoid a war or two. Then he saw a children’s violin that couldn’t be more than ten years old. John walked over to the instrument, sitting on a table next to a flute and ukulele, while the other two followed.. “This should do.” The Man in glasses stated.
“be careful.” George replied.
“Good luck Johnny!” Ringo stated, not sure what to think of it all. Lennon took a deep breath and thought of Paul, then turned to see his friends a final time before touching the item. He smiled bravely as he laid his hand on the wooden instrument, knowing he was about to disappear. Suddenly John was in a pink room and wearing a lacey pink dress. He was half his height, as he held the violin in position.
The Beatle realized he was in a little girls room in the 1950s. A set of matching twin beds stood side by side. A pair of metal crosses adorned the head of each bed over the wall of the matching white bedding with pink ribbon trim. There weren’t many toys for a children’s room, but something about the atmosphere showed a lack of regards for childhood and an order of training in replace of nurture.
Then the door to the bedroom opened and a woman in a yellow dress walked in with a stern look upon her face.
“Susie!” the woman said in an authoritative voice. “I didn’t say you could stop playing!”
“I’m not Susie and you know it!” John said hearing a high pitch squeaky voice escape his mouth. The woman was taken back and even twitched a bit.
“Oh my God!” she said in a different voice. She was more relaxed and her shoulders eased. “come with me.” The lady told him and John followed. They stepped out of the girls room and across the hallway into what appeared to be the boys room. It mirror the feminine room in a masculine way. Where there was pink in the girls room there was blue in the boys! Twin beds and crosses were the focus point of the area. Very simple. “my eldest son Christopher started smoking grass around this time.” She went through the dresser draws and pulled out a beaten up pack of cigarettes that revealed to possess four joints. The woman smiled at the find. “come on.” The lady told the Beatle who was half her height, as she exited the room. They walked into the living room together and she dumped out some hard candy from a crystal bowl to use as an ashtray.
John sat on the couch, while she kicked her shoes off and took her place in the arm chair.
“Thank you Mister Lennon.” She told John as she lit the joint with matches that were in the cigarette pack. “I was such an uptight bitch before my kids started slipping weed in my food. They did it for so long that by the time they told me I was completely chill about it.” This made the Beatle laugh as he accepted his hit of the joint. “I hate coming back to this time. I hate the person I was.” She confessed. “I was so hard on my children and demanded so much!”
“Well your not like that anymore.” Lennon pointed out. This made the woman nod.
“you’re right.” The lady agreed. “in fact I gave away that old violin to show Susanna that I had changed. I made that poor girl practice every day for six hours and she hated it. I was forcing her to live my dreams. Now I relive this horrible time every time someone touches Susanne’s old violin, Christopher’s math book, Patricia’s dance shoes or Howard’s flute.”
“I’m sorry to hear that but I think you know why I’m here.” The Beatle didn’t want to stay long. The woman got up and went to the far end of the couch and bent down as if she was looking for something. Then she stood up with a bottle of whiskey in her hand.
“My husband’s stash.” The woman replied. Then she left for a moment, but returned promptly with two glasses. She didn’t speak until she was pouring the drinks on the coffee table between them. “your friend is in the 1920s.” the apparition explained. “he touched a pair of white gloves but you won’t find them in the shop.”
“why?” John pressed.
“Because they were taken and hidden.” The older woman returned to the chair.
“I have to get to my friend!” Lennon exclaimed excited.
“I want to help you but you have to understand, there are a lot of soul’s here!“
“How can I help my friend?” the musician asked calming himself down.
“I don’t think you can.” The woman stated simply. “all I know is he’s in the 1920s and he’s trapped.” Taking the joint they had been sharing, the woman looked John over. “I know he’s in England and with a rich man. So if you’re trying to find him, I suggest touching expensive shit from that time period.” the lady remarked bluntly while lighting another joint. The modern man watched her as she puffed the white stick and sat back in the soft cushioned chair.
“Thank you.” He replied, still hearing that girl’s voice.
“well I hope you know how to play the violin.” The woman told him. “because to leave you have to master the national anthem.” This made the Beatle roll his eyes. The woman just smirked. “I told you I was a bitch.”
“I think I can figure it out.” The pair finished there drugs and alcohol, then returned to the bedroom of the little girls. The Beatle plucked a few strings and figured out how to make the sounds he wanted. He played his countries national anthem and found himself playing the instrument in front of George and Ringo.
“you’re back!” George exclaimed. Though for John his trip took a about a half an hour, but to his friends he was gone and back in a blink of an eye.
“What did you learn?” Ringo inquired.
“Paul is in England still.” Lennon relayed what he heard from that woman who he never got her name. “he apparently is in the 1920s and with a wealthy man. So we need to look for items that would be in a rich mans house forty years ago.” The trio gazed around the section they were in and decided to wander further. They found a room of all kitchen ware and quickly scurried out in fear they could end up as women. Pregnancy, periods and overbearing men were things they negatively associated as the other genders troubles and that secretly frightened them.
Then they found a hallway with photographs lining the green wallpapered walls. Some of the photographs were recent. They even saw modern pictures from the 1960s. To their great surprise, there was a photo of Paul and George, on stage in the USSR. It was a snap shot taken by a member of the audience. They weren’t the only famous people on the wall either. There was a professional portrait of the King of rock and roll, himself with an autograph for a woman named Ulma.
There were both professional and amateur images along the walls. Most were not famous, but average people, places or things. Intimate photographs of vacations, art projects, lovers, babies, and much more went on and on, with no end ever in sight. The men looked around, trying to find a picture that fit their qualifications. Then George found a black and white image of a beautiful woman dressed up as a flapper.
“John,” he called to Lennon who walked ahead examining other photos. “I think I found something.” Both of the band mates ran over. Ringo had been studying pictures on the other side of the hallway. An old black and white photograph from the previous century, of a wooden ship had caught his eye. The drummer studied each picture along the wall, but he broke away from his memories of a lost son and friend, to join the rest of his party.
As Lennon approached the picture George wanted them to see, he saw a medium size portrait of a woman in her thirties, adorning a short dress dripping in fringe, with her blond hair in a bob cut. She was smoking a cigarette from a black cigarette holder, in what appeared to be an expensive living room. There was a name in black ink written on the bottom. “Vanna Wallace, 1924.”
“well at least she’s hot.” John stated. If sex with this woman was part of the story, he was inclined to go along, but he needed to find Paul.
“I’ll go.” George offered. John darted him an annoyed expression, but realized the lead guitarists was right. This was no time for play. So Lennon nodded in agreement. Harrison looked over at Ringo who was clearly concerned.
“let me go with you.” The blue eyed man offered.
“no.” John stated authoritatively. “only one of us should go.”
“Yeah you should only go in if I don’t come back.” George agreed.
“Be careful.” The drummer said meekly. This led to the two men embracing.
“You’re going to tell me what happened to you,” the younger man told his friend, as they broke away from the hug. “when all of this is over.” The smaller man nodded and Harrison bravely turned towards the picture.
“Now remember, when someone tries to talk to you like your someone else,” John began. “tell them you know they are aware of who you are and that you want to asked them questions. Then find out what you have to do to get back.”
“alright.” George replied as he braced himself. Then he touched the pictures glass. He found himself in a modern teenage girls bedroom. There were posters of the Rolling Stones all over. Images of the other famous British band nearly wallpapered the room in it’s entirety. Looking around, George found the photograph of the flapper on a dresser with other pictures. The rest of the pictures were more modern. Like a family in a living room with a color television. There was also a picture of a young couple dressed for an evening social wearing modern fancy attire, in front of a car less than five years old. Then the bedroom door opened and a teenage girl about sixteen entered.
“Scott!” She yelled. “get out of my room or I’ll tell mum!’ George was taken back, as he wasn’t used to being yelled at.
“I’m not Scott.” He uttered meekly. The girl folded her arms.
“What game are you playing now?” the girl demanded to know. “are you high? If you are, you better share with me!”
“I’m not Scott and you know it!” the Beatle told the girl more sternly. This time the girl stood back and twitched for a moment.
“Okay.” She said in a different tone. “what do you want?”
“My friend is trapped in the 1920s.” he began.
“and you thought if you touched the picture of my grandmother you would go back to the 1920s to find him.” The teenager finished for the Beatle. “You see I found an old roll of film in my dad’s birth mother’s house when she was moving to a smaller apartment. She wanted to throw it away, but I took it from the trash bin and developed it and printed it myself and bought the frame.”
“So I ended up here instead of the 1920s.” George concluded.
“Exactly.” The girl said.
“Tell me about your grandmother.” The Beatle pressed.
“well…” the young woman said with a sigh, as she walked over and took the picture from the dresser and sat on her twin size bed. “It’s a complicated story.” She began. “she was an orphan growing up and ended up as a prostitute by the age of sixteen.”
“That’s tragic.” the musician said sympathetically as he sat respectfully beside her.
“yeah it was.” The girl replied staring at her grandmother’s picture. “she was nineteen when she got pregnant by her pimp, and place my dad up for adoption. My dad had to hired a private investigator to find her. She didn’t want to be found at first, but she came around. Although she doesn’t like talking about her life. She did well for herself and is leaving our family her entire estate, but because of her profession she is clouded with shame.”
“Did you know if your grandmother ran into my friend?” Harrison lightly pressed. The girl nodded.
“She might have.” The teenager answered. “I heard your friend is with a wealthy man from the 1920s.”
“how did you hear about that?” George inquired.
“whenever a mortal soul enters the shop we all pay attention.” Explain the apparition. “We can see and hear all that goes on and we do communicate with each other.”
“You do?” the man was surprised.
“well what else can we do while we wait to be woken up by a touch?” the young lady replied. Then getting up and placing the picture face down on the dresser, she continued. “if you want to find my grandmother the only link to her here is a gold locket that has the Italian word “Amore” engraved in front of it. That’s the only item that belonged to her in the shop.”
“How did the picture and the locket end up at the shop?” Harrison asked curious.
“my dad’s adopted mother found them in my room and took them. She did the same to Scott and my father. Grandma Vanna gave me that locket. She said Amore was Italian for love.”
“That’s going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.” The Beatle exclaimed.
“Well it’s not going to be easy.” She said. “you should look for a man named Kurtis Sheldon. I don’t know much about him, other than he was rich, a painter and my grandmother still talks about him to this day. He died in the late 1950s and some of his belongings are here.”
“like what?” the lead guitarist asked.
“well when he died, whatever didn’t sell in the estate sale was thrown out and that’s how that couple got a hold of his stuff.” The girl walked across the room, looking at her poster of Mick Jagger. “I know about the gloves and Mister Sheldon took them. However I also know he had a lot of paintings in here.” Then she turned to George as she said this. “They were all of naked men.” The girl giggled. “I reckon he was queer. Though I know my grandmother wanted to fuck him.” This caused the musician to blink a bit. He had never heard of anyone talk like that about their grandmother.
“How do you know that?” Harrison inquired.
“Because she looks at him the same way I look at Mick Jagger!” she said running her fingers down the poster along the image of Mick Jagger’s chest. The other famous man saw her point.
“So what do I have to do to get back to the shop?” George realized he got all the information he could get from this girl and wanted to get back so his friends wouldn’t worry.
“no problem.” The teenager remarked. “all you have to do is put the picture right up again. Scott was being a dork and knocked it down.”
“that’s all? The Beatle said relieved as he got up and made the short walk to the dresser. As he was reaching towards the picture that was shyly laying against the wood, the girl spoke up.
“By the way, the Beatles suck!” Harrison could hear her say laughing as he lifted up the frame. He then turned to face the girl but he saw Ringo staring back at him and then John to his other side.
“you’re back.” John observed. “how did it go?”
“well apparently we can’t go by pictures because I got this woman’s granddaughter instead.” George explained.
“shit!” John cried frustrated
“Hold on!” the youngest of the group injected. “she told me her grandmother might have met Paul.”
“But how are we going to find her?” Lennon asked with frustration in his voice.
“Well her grandmother has a gold locket somewhere around here, with the word “amore” engraved on it.” Harrison explained. “she also told me the name of a queer rich man who was an artist her grandmother knew. A man called Kurtis Sheldon, who died in the fifties.”
“Kurtis Sheldon?” John said a loud, deep in thought. “I think Brian has one of his paintings.”
“Where is it?” ask Ringo.
“Oh you two wouldn’t have seen it.” Lennon admitted blushing. “lets just say it’s in a private place.”
“is it a naked man?” George stated more than asked.
“Completely nude and nothing hiding.” The lead singer answered.
“Well that’s the sort of painting the girl told me to look for.” The youngest Beatle remarked as he looked down the row of pictures in the great hallway that showed no end.
“Which way did we come down?” asked Ringo. Then turning to the wall he had originally been examining, he noticed the ship photographs were gone and replace with a farm scene, with an obviously higher grade camera. “what the bloody hell!” Starr cried realizing that both sides of the hallway appeared to never end and now they couldn’t tell which way they came.

Chapter Text

The sky was pink as Paul McCartney walked along side a golden horse his clients lover, Thomas was on top of. The majestic animal moved gracefully into the barn, then the rider hopped off, giving the reins to a young girl who other than a pair of twin braids, was dressed like a man. The girl silently took charge of the majestic creature and brought Summer to her stall. Paul found himself admiring the row of animals in the structure. Horse’s of all sizes and colors lined each apartment. Most of them had their head’s out their window, looking for food.
“You coming?” Thomas called from behind. This startled the time traveler, who turn abruptly and met up with the equestrian just outside the barn. Together as the sun made its journey down, the two walked towards the cabin. Inside, the host removed his boots at the door. He went to the refrigerator and handed Paul a beer. “go have a seat in the parlor.” He ordered. “I’m going to take a fast shower and then join you.” McCartney nodded accepting the beer. He made his way to an open area with plenty of places to sit and a radio as the center piece of the space.
While waiting for Thomas, Paul turned on a jazz station and soft sounds serenaded the atmosphere. It was nice and pleasant. The cabin was cozy, but well put together. It honestly looked like a hunting lodge he had seen from some of his high class friends vacation homes of “roughing it.”” Thomas didn’t take long and came out dressed in more relaxed clothing. Taking a beer from the refrigerator, the younger man sat down on the arm chair next to the chair Paul was sitting.
“So Kurtie took your fancy gloves.” Thomas said sitting back after taking a swig of beer. Paul was surprised to hear this.
“Did he tell you?” McCartney wanted to know. The lighter haired man shook his head.
“No.” he answered plainly. “but I figured he would. He was so happy the first night when you came. “We no longer have to relive this hell,” he told me.”
“How did Clifford’s death effect you?” the time traveler wanted to know.
“I never met Clifford myself.” The equestrian answered. “Knowing Norman was alive again always bothered me, but Kurtie was devastated over what happened.”
“and what he did.” The guest stated firmly. Thomas nodded to his point.
“I had to stay with him in that huge house, so he wouldn’t kill himself.” The large strong hand twitched at the memory. “The man suffers because he was defending my honor. I will always love him for that and all he has done for me.” The atmosphere was most somber as the mood radiated from man to man. “Those gloves stayed with him longer than Clifford lived his whole life. They are Kurties gloves, which is why the story centers around him.”
“how did the gloves end up in the shop?” the Beatle inquired, looking into the green eyes of the young man.
“well…” Thomas scratched his head. “I stayed Kurties lover throughout his life. He would get another boy toy protégé for a while here and there, but they always left and I stayed, so I inherited his estate. Though he did leave some money to a few others. Vanna Wallace, the Madame at the club, inherited a nice little nest egg from him. But when he died, I sold off most of his stuff. As you can see, I really have different taste than him.” The young man acknowledged by spreading his arms out.
His home was indeed simple, with minimum décor. It was a stark contrast to the large mansion Paul ran out of. The cabin walls were more for practical storage than anything else, but there was a collection of dry flowers hanging along the walls, and fresh bouquets of wild blossoms, graced both the kitchen and coffee table. This man maybe rather rugged in many ways, but clearly had a hint of a feminine nature.
“I saved most of his paintings,” the host continued. “but I also sold a lot of them and threw a handful out. Mostly because he had so many nude portraits, it was embarrassing to hire someone to handle it just to take it away.” He rubbed his head. “I threw those gloves out too!” the blond head shook back in forth in regret. “Kurtie would look at them every day for the rest of his life. Sometimes he’d even whip himself like he did at the Vatican, after thinking about that kid. I hated when he did that, and I hated those gloves.” The green eyes fixated to Paul’s hazel eyes, that would also turn green. “I couldn’t wait to get rid of them!” then he downed the rest of his beer. “I should have burned the blasted things!” Thomas lamented bitterly, studying the bottle he just drank. “That strange couple whom run the shop, went shifting through the trash and picked up the gloves and a few other things.”
“so you remember life after he died?” asked the guest.
“Kurtie died in 1958.” The rugged man answered. “diabetes and kidney failure. It wasn’t pretty. He has those memories too. I’m still alive and so is Vanna.” He stood up, went to the refrigerator and returned with two more bottles of beer. “I now live in Texas.” He opened both beers with a bottle opener and a smile on his face. “The dry heat is good for my old man knees.” Then he sat back after giving Paul his beer. “I have a lover who’s the same age as I’m, named Juan. The two of us live on a five hundred acre horse ranch. We raise horse’s together, though our staff does most of the work. We spend nearly all our time riding together. It’s just me and Juan, our two horses and Chihuahua Daisy!”
“Sounds nice.” Paul admitted.
“It is.” Thomas replied to the Beatle. “I kinda experience it, without experiencing it. Like my real self is asleep right now, but will be getting up soon. If I think on it, I can feel the bedding I’m laying on and Juan’s arms around me. I can even see the dream I’m having if I want.” He silently laughed a little, leaning his head back, up to face the ceiling with a large open skylight. The first stars of the night were starting to appear. “It’s crazy, because I’ll remember it after it’s over. The whole process is wild, but it’s my only window of time. Through my real self I know what is happening in the world.” Then he looked his guest over. “hell I even know your music!” the young man laughed. “Juan and I love your bands version of “shake it a baby.”” This made the musician smile. “but once I’m dead, this part of me will remain and I will be blacked out of the world.” His hand shook. “I will still be here, with Norman coming back to life every time someone touches those gloves.”
“So you agree with what Kurt did?” McCartney inquired. Thomas shook his head.
“Not at all!” he said. “our crappy fate isn’t your problem!” the man with heavy calloused hands drank his beer and accidentally burped. “excuse me.” The younger lad uttered. For a queer, he definitely came off as very manly, which was rather surprising for the man from Liverpool to fathom. Mister Sheldon fit the queer stereotype. He was effeminate in many ways, much like his manager Brian Epstein, but Thomas could pass for one of the fellas. “Look, Kurties heart is in the right place. He truly means well. Vanna and I are the only people he can call family. He’d do anything to get us out of this hellish loop!”
“I’m sorry for you all,” Paul replied somberly. “even Kurt, but I can’t stay here.”
“I know.” The younger man agreed. “As much as it pains me to go back to reliving those two days of hell, you don’t deserve to loose your life. I was a broke whore. Hell even my mother was one! I grew up on my grandparents horse ranch and had no where to go when they died. My uncle took the farm and threw me out.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Kurtie was always a fun client and...” he paused for a second, trying to hide his emotions. Paul knowing this man’s awful history, reached out and touched his hand. This act seemed to allow the man to shed a few tears but he quickly got a hold of himself. “well you know…” he wiped his face with a do-rag and continued. “Kurtie was my savior. He built this house for me. Held me every night, through every nightmare. He touches my scars and tells me I’m handsome. Don’t get me wrong he can be a controlling dick, but he has been a lover and father figure to me. Even when I wouldn’t have sex for over a year, he stayed with me.” Then looking down at Paul’s hand, still touching his. “thank you.” The man whispered. McCartney pulled his hand back as Thomas collected himself. “My point is I was down and this man saved me. I needed saving. You’re Paul McCartney, you live a great life, you don’t need him to save you.”
“Thank you.” The time traveler replied, while taking in all he had heard.
“The thing with Kurtie is,” Thomas went on. “he is always trying to save someone, because he feels he was saved by Francis. That man was a sadistic bastard, almost to Norman’s level. Kurtie keeps trying to save young lads because he sees himself in all us queer youths who live hard lives. In a way we are more his substitute children than lovers.”
“I see that.” Paul agreed. “he tends to be very nurturing.”
“that’s also what was left over from the priesthood.” The blond hair man pointed out. McCartney nodded, as Mister Sheldon possessed many of the qualities of the clergy. Then Thomas stood up, put on a button shirt over the white undershirt he wore casually. “Well let’s go to the big house and get you your gloves back.” He remarked, walking towards the door.

Chapter Text

The three remaining Beatles stared down the corridor with framed pictures coding the wall. John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr were in an endless hallway, taunted by images of the past. In every turn they saw a face looking at them. Moments in time froze in their haunting gaze, from the earliest style of photographs to even a few modern colored framed pictures, dangled from the walls, which continued with this relentless tunnel. Then a sound came from the distance in front of the men.
Eagerly the trio ran towards the disturbance. The three Beatles knew it was likely an apparition, but they didn’t care. As they approached the noise, they saw it was the white cat they had seen in the furniture section. The all soft fluffy animal was scratching with it’s front paws at what first the humans thought was just part of the wall, but to their surprise it was a door. John reach down to grab the feline, but the creature disappeared before the Beatle could touch it. Normally this would surprise the group, but they were use to supernatural beings randomly appearing and disappearing by now.
“at least we have a way out.” Ringo stated, looking at the door. His companions nodded and John bravely went ahead and opened the barrier to the next room. The new room was composed of a variety of objects. The only similarity amongst the abundance of items, was their high value and good condition. Expensive decorative furniture from all over the world was spread out in a beautiful arrangement throughout the room. The earliest models of man’s technical advances littered the area in their out of date glory. Clothing fit for royalty dressed mannequins so well them men kept mistaking them for apparitions.
However what drew the wanderer’s were the paintings and the jewelry cases. John immediately headed to the first display case that adorned gold. George decided to search the paintings on the walls and he had Ringo help him. Mostly because he wanted to keep his friend nearby, who seemed to have been through some ordeal with his experience in the past. The pair wandered along the walls, finding more photographs, but also lots of artwork created by a variety of mediums.
The two Beatles together saw a painting of the sun in an ocean horizon, fruit in a bowl and then a row of some early modern day impressionist expressions.
“That actually looks like a Picasso.” George pointed to a painting of what appeared to be a woman who had a face upside down in her stomach and her neck adorn the back of a head. Her hands could also look like feet and her feet could look like hands. It really was confusing and trippy to view. John meanwhile spent a detailed amount of time examining the jewelry. He saw rings adorn every single rock known to man. The tiny bits of metal was so cluttering to look at, but Lennon was determined to find that locket.
Ringo was admiring a painting of a Victorian woman with her five white toy poodles. While John was on his knees, shifting his eyes through strings of necklaces on the bottom shelf, when George called out to them.
“I think I found something,” the youngest of the group yelled from the far end of the room. Both of the oldest members of the band cease their actions immediately and ran over to see what George wanted to show them. John arrived by Harrison’s side first. His jaw nearly hit the floor at the view that fixated his eyes.
“Whatcha got there?” the drummer asked as he approached, not yet seeing the item his mates were focused on. Then looking up at a painting out of reach, was an oil picture surrounded by a hand carved wooden frame, with gold trim. The subject was nude and male as expected, was laid out on a blue chaise lounge, with dark wood legs. The model was Ringo Starr. “bloody hell!” escaped the drummers lips.
Silent struck the trio mute for a moment. There was no question this was Ringo. The canvas was large, the image nearly life size and the artist made sure to include every surgical scar the smallest Beatle had. It almost seemed to be the focal point of the painters passion. The smaller man trembled from the humiliation and exposure the ghostly pigments portrayed.
“Well this is definitely a Kurtis Sheldon piece!” John remarked finally ending the noiseless period that tortured them all.
“that’s definitely me!” Starr cried, shakened by not only the exposure of his genitalia, bit the parts of himself he saw as disfiguring and repulsive. He felt George’s hand on his shoulder, drawing him in for a hug. Embarrassed, the smaller man took refuge in his friends embrace. “how…?” he uttered, hiding his red face in the taller man’s chest.
“I don’t know,” John said standing behind George, looking over the shoulders to the blue eyed friend. “but you’re going to have to go in.” Hearing this forced the older man back and he gazed up at the picture that was at least ten feet high in the air. It made sense, since he was the subject of the painting he realized this foretold the past, or the future. It was all so confusing! The drummer shook his head in disbelief.
“What do I do?” he asked. He had only been shifted to the past the one time and wasn’t sure if he could go through with this, but he knew he had to.
“you let whoever greets you know you are aware they know who you really are.” George explained. “that’s how you wake them up.”
“Then you begin questioning them about Paul.” John added. “ask if they have seen him.”
“then when all of the questions are through, find out whatever mission you have to complete the story and to get out.” Harrison continued. Starr nodded and looked up at John. Lennon was going to have to lift the smaller man up, as they couldn’t touch anything to climb on. With George’s help, the smaller man was able to reach Lennon shoulders. From the sitting position, where the drummer could easily touch the painting and suddenly disappeared.
John felt the weight of the other man off is upper body and knew Ringo was gone. He looked over to George. It was so strange being the one waiting. Usually the person comes right back, but he was gone for more than a minute. This began to stress the younger man, as he worried his friend might be in danger.
“I’m going in after him!” the lead guitarist declared. Suddenly the white cat leaped from a very expensive curio, made from mahogany and frosted glass, knocking a shiny object down from the top of the furniture. George impulsively followed the animal, but John felt himself drawn to the item that laid carelessly on the ground.
“George!’ he called. The youngest Beatle was halfway through the room when he ceased his pace and turned back to his friend. John had knelt to the ground, staring at a gold shaped heart. George pulled his grandfathers old pen from his pocket, to flip the piece of jewelry over. The brave young man was nervous he might still be effected by it’s magic. He wasn’t thankfully, as the front of the hollowed heart turned over reading the word, “Amore.” “that’s it!” John cried. “I’m going in!”
“yeah but Rich isn’t back yet!” George pointed out. Lennon stared into George’s eyes, as if he were deep in thought.
“I need you to wait one hour for Rich, Paul or myself to return.” The lead singer explained. “If none of us come back, you need to find a way out of here and get help!” he stated the instructions clearly.
“I can’t leave you all!” the younger man cried at the thought. Suddenly Lennon shook his companion by the shoulders.
“Get a hold of yourself!’ he told the younger man. “One of us needs to get out of here alive!” This rattled George deeply by the very thought. Seeing this, John chose to go a little below the belt. “If we never return you need to be there for all of our families!” this silenced any objections Harrison might have had. The younger man nodded to his point. Then the pair hugged each other.
“be careful.” George uttered as they broke apart from each other’s arms. This time Lennon nodded, then he knelt down and lifted the little heart shaped pendant off the floor. As he stood up he found a black velvet box in his hand, in place of the locket. Opening the box, the gold heart that transported him back in time, glittered brand new in the fancy container. Looking around, he discovered he was inside the lavatory. It was very fancy, but out of date.
“Vincenzo,” called a woman’s voice from the room behind the door. “don’t leave me hanging forever darling. What’s this surprise you have for me?” Lennon knew this game. Opening the door, a blond haired lady was sitting at the make up vanity, looking at her own reflection in the mirror. The Beatle waltzed his way across the room, to behind the woman wearing a light blue satin nightgown. From behind the angelic creature, John dangled the heart from it’s chain in front of the woman’s neck. He then clasped the latch, connecting the gold string. The heart rested beautifully between her perky breasts. Examining the gift, the lady turned and smiled. “oh you charming gentleman, you!” she cried, standing up elegantly, allowing the gown to cling to her body. Her nipples were pointing out the fabric. God that look turned John on!
She gave him a smile with lips already flushed and ready for love. This may be a professional set up, but clearly this woman was attracted to him, or Vincenzo really.
“my dear, you look gorgeous.” The time traveler stated. He wasn’t lying, she was sexier than Jayne Mansfield. Yet, he could see in her green eyes, she was clever. This was a woman who had lived three lifetimes in three decades. This lady was a survivor while still able to enjoy life no matter what! Suddenly she kissed him and rubbed herself against his chest and groined. Oh God! He so wanted to lift her small body into his arms and carry her to the bed, but Paul was more important than this seductress of the past. Gently he broke away from her embrace.
“I’m not Vincenzo.” He told the lady. “you know I’m not, so stop pretending.” The woman’s demeanor changed. The flushness from the blushing folds of her mouth quickly lost their bright pink color, to a more subtle tone. She stood up straight and adjusted the strap to her gown, that had traveled down her shoulder. Turning sharply, the lady walked over to the bottle of champagne and ice and poured two glasses. She gave one to John and he followed her into the parlor, where she took her place on the arm chair and the Beatle found himself on a couch again.
“Well Mister Lennon,” she said taking a cigarette from a gold case on the table and lighting the white stalk with a match. “You want to know what happened to Paul?’ John was taken back by her frankness of the situation. At least he knew he found the right person.

Ringo Starr was transported from John’s shoulders to a large dressing room, with a stand and three mirrors. He was wearing a housecoat and when he opened it, he discovered he was naked.
“shit!” he cried, looking at himself, then quickly closing the garment. The time traveler found another set of clothes. They looked rather ragged really. Pants with patches, a shirt with missing buttons and a hat that looked like it had been dragged through the streets. Suddenly there was a light rattle at the door.
“Nicolas,” Said a man’s voice. “are you ready?” Flashes of the painting the apprehensive model was expected to pose for, danced in his mind! His body trembled at the thought. “I understand you are nervous.” The man continued in a sweet tone. “But I want you to know, you are beautiful, even with your scars and I want you to see that.” This threw Starr off, as he wasn’t expecting anyone to ever say that about him. Nervously the Beatle approached the door and slowly breached the barrier. Leaving the dressing room, Ringo saw he was now in a parlor where the very chaise lounge he was to model on was in front of a large window and an artist’s easel. Before him was a tall man who had salt and pepper hair and blue eyes, much like his own. The gentleman dressed causally for a wealthy man, but his demeanor was saturated with elegance. He wore an under shirt and relaxed slacks, held up with suspenders.
“You clean up nicely.” The man told the musician with a warm smile. Touching his hair, Ringo felt it was damp, like he just had a shower. The artist stepped away, giving the model space to move. The younger man found himself walking to the cushioned furniture. Chaise lounges were strange, being half chair, half couch and really comfortable. The older man went behind the canvas on an easel, setting up a few things before getting started. Ringo stood in front of the blue seat, holding his coat closed, even though he had a belt. “whenever your ready,” the older man told the man in the housecoat. Ringo felt his knees buckle and his body trembled. He never let any man see him completely naked before. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and comforting. “I can imagine this is difficult for you.” The artist said softly.
“I’m sorry sir.” The drummer replied, wrapped up in the moment. He knew he was supposed to declare who he was and demand answers from this man, but the warm presence was so inviting, it was a struggle not to go along.
“Mister Sheldon,” The man stated his name. “but please call me Kurtie.” He gave the Beatle a kind smile. “I know my being queer makes you uncomfortable.” He sat his guest down and then sat beside him on the blue cushion. “I respect that you love women and I will do nothing to cross that boundary.”
“Why do you want to paint me naked then?” the smaller man inquired. The man’s face changed, from warm and gentle, to the exposure of pain. He shifted slightly and released a sigh.
“Someone I love was horribly mutilated by a cruel act.” The artist began. “A gorgeous young man I know and love, struggles with the pain of his scars. I have painted him many times, highlighting his beauty with his marks, but I realized he is the only one of my models like that. So I as an artist’s issued myself a challenge, to find lads like you and him. Beautiful men who’s bodies tells stories. Stories of struggle, of pain, of courage and of survival.” Then the mans gazed at Ringo’s chest that had been exposed through the relaxing demeanor of the model, unknowingly loosening his housecoat. He saw a hint of a scar on the young man’s breast and fixated his eyes there. The Beatle realized this and tried to hide his old wound, but the apparition stopped him. “that scar is beautiful.” Kurtie told him gently.
“How?” Starr uttered, finding the notion hard to believe.
“because of it, the life of the beautiful young man besides me is still with us now.” Mister Sheldon answered sincerely. “your scars are a testimony of a man who faced the possibility of death and fought through pain and anguish to survive it. I can appreciate those of you who battle illness and go on living, despite the twist of fate. To fight an act of god and survive. When I saw you shirtless working in my garden, I knew you had been to hell and back with the unnatural lines in your skin. Your body speaks of courage and I would like the honor to immortalize such bravery as not only as strength, but beauty and dare I say, sexy.”
Ringo could feel his eyes ready to pop from their sockets as his mind was blown by this notion. Being less than perfect was deemed flawed. You hide your flaws so not to disturb the masses. For the first time, someone recognized not just his suffering while being gravely ill, but also his strength as he faced death head on. No one ever acknowledged this part of his story, not even him. As a small boy, suffering in the hospital from his many different aliments, the drummer always saw that position as defenseless and weak. He wasn’t strong enough to do a lot of things boys his age could do. His mother, along with all the older women, doted over him as if he were made of glass. Yet here this man saw him as strong and his scars a testimony of his survival. The man from the 1960s couldn’t fathom such a concept as he felt himself being guided down in a position and the robe removed.
“Stay as you are!’ the painter instructed. “you’re gorgeous!” he then declared as he began to outline his models pose.
John Lennon stared at the gorgeous woman in his company, as they sat in the parlor, drinking champagne and smoking their cigarettes.
“Where is Paul?” the Beatle cut to the chase. The woman laughed as she puffed her cigarette.
“what if I told you, Paul doesn’t want to be found?” the blond asked with a smirk.
“I’d say you’re a liar.” The man darted her a look of the seriousness of it all. The lady finished her drink.
“Well if you’re looking for your friend, you’ll find you’re in the wrong country.” The woman chuckled. “We’re in Italy.”
“Shit!” John cried. He got up and began to pace around in frustration.
“relax!” said the feminine voice. “We can take the train back tomorrow. It’s only a days trip.” This seemed to calm the Beatle down a little.
“What happened?” Lennon wanted to know. “me mates and I wander into this shop..”
“I know.” She replied. “we all knew you were coming. We knew because that couple knew. They had been expecting you.”
“why didn’t Paul come back?” the man pried.
“Maybe he didn’t want to return.” The woman got up and retrieved the bottle of champagne. “he’s with an extremely wealthy man!” she brought the beverage to the seating area and proceeded to refresh both of their glasses.
“He is an extremely wealthy man!” the Beatle shot back.
“Kurtis Sheldon is richer!” the prostitute returned fire. “and his offers are impossible to refuse.”
“I know my friend!” John replied getting up. “he would never want to leave us!”
“what makes you so sure?” She walked over to John, still incredibly sexy. Her face looked lustful again, and the Beatle wonder if due to her profession, she could manipulate arousal at will. “both money and Kurtie are intoxicating.”
“and you think you’re intoxicating.” The musician observed. The lady smiled and changed her direction to the bedroom.
“I already agreed to take you to your friend.” She confirmed, as she pulled the bedspread down from the bed. “I was just preparing you that he may not want to go back.”
“your name is Vanna Wallace?” Lennon wanted to confirm.
“yes.” Vanna answered. “I know your friend talked to my granddaughter.”
“then why did you pretend I was Vincenzo?” he was standing in the doorway of that room, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Vanna sat down on the side of the bed, facing the time traveler.
“You follow the memory as it happened, just mindful enough to divert any changes with the new person.” She pulled out another cigarette and offered one to John who found himself walking in the room to accept it. He remained standing though.
“So that’s why calling you out wakes you up.” John lit his own cigarette before she could offer. Vanna nodded, paying no attention to the man’s dominant stance.
“You rattle the story hard enough we can break away from the pattern.” She was making circlets with her smoke. “in this story I meet up with a gorgeous client of mine. He’s a doctor and has gentle hands. Like me, he was trapped in life. Him to a loveless marriage and me, a loveless life. Yet I get to relive this beautiful moment and that makes me happy.” the lady laid her upper half against the pillow, while keeping her legs down. “he dresses me in this locket and tells me he loves me and that I’m beautiful. We talk about running away together, abandoning our lives and make love like while beast on the run.” She laughed. “Of course, neither of us would. It’s all a fantasy, him and I and even you and me.”
“how so?”
“Your music is a fantasy, just like the love I make with my clients. None of it’s real.” This struck a cord with John, and in a way he felt a connection with this woman who was indeed wise. She seemed to notice his inconspicuous gaze upon her. “in reality, I’m in my seventies. I live in a one bedroom flat near my only child and his family. I spend my days doing crossword puzzles, watering my plants, feeding stray cats and watch the University rowing team work out from my back window.” This made the pink lips smirk. Even John caught himself chuckling, as he pulled up an arm chair by the bed. “I maybe old, but I’m not dead,” she inhaled her cigarette. “yet.” A puff of white smoke formed a cloud above her head. Lennon was admiring the way her breast perked up in the position she was in. “We all died eventually, but this part of me will remain, trapped in the endless cycle.”
“well at least it’s a nice one.” John pointed out.
“it is.” She said while sliding one of her low heeled open shoe’s off without her hand and pulled that leg up, while lazily dangling the shoe off the other foot. “but none of it’s real and it never changes.”
Lennon couldn’t help but notice her feet. They were small, thin, with long toes. Her toe nails had a coral glaze, that peeped from the loose slipper. Then she began to scrunch up the sheet with her toes on the sheet of the bed. Okay now this was starting to cause arousal and the man shifted in his chair to cross his legs. A smirk appeared on Vanna’s face. The seductress was doing this on purpose.
“Are you able to see us as we are?” he asked.
“yes.” She answered. “but we can turn it off and see the person of the original memory, if we want.”
“How do you see me?” the time traveler inquired.
“As you are.” The seductress answered in a puff of smoke, then turning her eyes to him. “you’re attractive and I figured since the train won’t arrive until tomorrow, we might as well enjoy ourselves.” Then she sat up, and smudged her coffin nail in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Oh you can sleep on the couch. It’s up to you.”
“I don’t think it would be wise.” The man said, resisting temptation.
“What if I told you, your friend has been getting laid since he arrived here “ she snarked.
“Did you sleep with him?” Lennon asked curious.
“No, but I know who he has been sleeping with.” This caused Vanna to laugh. “I can assure you, your friend has been well cared for.” Her shoe was dangling from her big toe and this was silently driving him wild. She then began to rub her toes on her other foot which had John’s attention.
“you have pretty feet.” He confessed.
“I know.” She replied with a flirtatious smile. “You may sniff my shoe. I know you want to.” Lennon’s dick instantly jolted up! Before he could stop himself, the Beatle dropped to his knees from the chair and pull that dangling shoe off. Putting the small slipper to his nose. He inhaled the sent of her heel. He heard the woman giggle at his delight. Then her toes were climbing up John’s cheek causing the man to clasp her small foot and stuck his nose between her toes.
After breathing the sweet aroma of her soft clean soles he grinded his teeth from the ball of her foot too it’s heel. She moaned as she brought the other foot to his face. The lead singer was in heaven as he finished with one foot and then went to the other! Once he nibbled his way to her ankle he climbed his way up her leg and she let him. Crawling up her gown, he found her furry muff and to his surprise, the carpet matched the drapes.
He latched his mouth to her wet Venus and her thighs pressed the sides of his face. Her long fingers ran through his hair as she cried with unbashed pleasure. The barrier of the gown lifted and Lennon climbed up to explore her body. Long fingers separated the buttons of his shirt, while his teeth found her neck. Light scratches slid down from his shoulder to his back.
Rolling on top Vanna teased his nipples while working his way down his stomach to undoing the buttons of his old fashion trousers. The man helped pull them off as she latched onto the Beatles cock with her throat. This forced Lennon’s eyes to travel to the back of his head, as she worked his meat, like a literal pro. She pleasured him close to his edge, but then climbed on his face, while arching her upper body back to suck his dick from a rather unique angle.
When her pussy sprayed his face soaked wet, she slid her saturated twat down his torso, to his dick. She bounced freely on his cock, her perky tits bobbing in the air. John sat up to draw her close and kissed her deeply. She smiled when their lips parted, then returned the oral embrace. He felt himself explode inside her and her pussy clamped hard on his member, sucked him dry. John buried himself deep in her chest, feeling her arms around him.
“The train comes early.” Vanna told him, while petting his brown locks.
“Thank you.” He told her, realizing he had forgotten about Paul for the brief moment.
“you love your friend.” She stated, looking down at his face on her chest.
“he’s my best friend!” John replied, feeling foolish for doing this, but it was too late.
“Maybe you could stay with him?” the lady pointed out, reaching over to the nightstand to retrieve two cigarettes.
“Why would we want to stay?” the time traveler asked, finding the idea preposterous.
“To be bigger than Elvis?” she lip both of the white sticks.
“what?” the Beatle couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The woman nodded smoking her cigarette.
“If you two remain, you and Paul could be the faces of that wild music you all like so much.” She finished her smoke prematurely, while John quickly finished his. “Think on it.” Vanna told him as she brought the comforter over their bodies and snuggled into her pillow for sleep. Then she switched off the lamp and cuddled in his arms and nodded off into blissful rest. This what she must have done with Vincenzo over forty years ago, John thought to himself. So he held her and joined her in a state of slumber.

Chapter Text

Paul McCartney followed the equestrian known as Thomas behind the house, to discover an old Velie motor vehicle. The Beatle hadn’t seen one of these old things since childhood! Yet it was less than a decade old. The muscular man hopped in the driver’s seat and Paul took his place beside him in the front. Driving over a dirt road, the pair made their way to the luxurious mansion to confront Mister Sheldon. As they traveled, rather slowly due to the vehicles outdated speed, a strange red coding encompass the sky and the atmosphere around them. The time traveler could see a layer of pink over his companions skin, and his own.
“Looks like a time shift.” Thomas remarked, unfazed by the happening. “one of your friends must have touch something else from that shop that belonged to Kurt.” Looking out the window, Paul saw the lushes green trees of the summer weather change to the multicolor leaves of autumn. It was fascinating to behold, as the Beatle stared in awe. Together they arrived at the large home and parked in front of the door.
The two got out and Thomas just walked in causally and even held the door for Paul, but more as a courtesy than an act of dominance. As the pair entered the grand foyer, they saw the maid Paul had seen in the Library, walking down the stairs with cleaning supplies in hand.
“Hello Kate!” Thomas called to her politely as the were close to meeting up.
“nice to see you Tommy.” She said with a smile, taking no notice of Paul, as she past by. This confused the Beatle and his companion noticed his dumbfounded expression.
“You aren’t part of this story.” The equestrian explained.
“So she doesn’t see me?” Paul asked, kinda surprised. He thought they would be confronted by the staff.
“She saw you, but you weren’t supposed to be here so unless you initiate the interaction they will not respond.” The blond man upped his pace a bit, ahead of Paul’s. Thomas shifted through the home casually and freely, as if he owned the place. In a way, he did, the Beatle realized. “I just hope this isn’t the time Kurtie slit his wrists!” The blond haired man replied, moving even faster.
“he did that?” McCartney was shocked, upping his speed.
“about a month after Clifford’s death.” Thomas answered. “he was plagued with nightmares and even claimed to see the lads ghost, telling him to pay his debt.” The two were running down the hallway to the master suite. “I was the only one who could take the knife from him. Thank God for Doctor Fisher!” Now Paul felt awful, even though none of this was his own doing, he fully understood the severity of it all. They reached the room and Thomas tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Kurtie!” he yelled, banging on the barrier. There was no answer. The equestrian walked across the hall, directly in front of Mister Sheldon’s room. “looks like I’m going to have to break the door again.” He said preparing to run and use his entire body to bash the door in. Then to the surprise of both men, the room opened and Kurt stepped out smiling.
“Tommy!” he cried and hugged his regular lover. Even kissing him deeply, unabashed by the third man who was watching. He took no notice of Paul, just like the maid. “come in, I need to show you something!” the man was practically dancing. Paul followed as Mister Sheldon brought Thomas in the room, arm to arm. Walking in the parlor Paul saw by the side window was a canvas on the easel. It appeared the artist had been working for weeks on the project. Thomas walked over to the project and was surprised.
Kurt had wandered off somewhere. Neither man was paying attention, as Paul approached the work in progress. The Beatle couldn’t believe his eyes. He literally rubbed them, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. The model on the canvas was his bandmate Ringo Starr. Then Kurt appeared again, but he wasn’t alone. Ringo was wearing a housecoat, standing next to the artist, ready to model again.
“Rich!” Paul cried. He was so happy, he ran over and gave his friend a hug! However, the drummer was apprehensive and pushed back quickly.
“Kurtie!” Starr said in a heavy Scottish accent. “Will yea tell yer friend here I ain’t no queer.” Then looking at Paul, he continued. “Me name is not Rich, neither! I am called Nicolas MacDowell.” Then he went over to the chaise lounge, disrobing himself, revealing his nudity and posed for his portrait.
Mister Sheldon proceeded to paint his subject, as McCartney watched, unable to process what was happening. Thomas approached Paul, appearing to be as confused as McCartney.
“This never happened!” the equestrian said shaking his head.
“Rich doesn’t recognized me!” Paul pointed out, rather upset.
“I’ve heard of this happening from others in the shop.” Thomas told him. “where the guest fully absorbs their character.”
“That’s what Kurtie tried to do to me!” the bass player realized. The blond man nodded.
“Hey Kurtie!” Thomas called out. The artist stopped to look over, as if he had forgotten there were other people in the room.
“Oh Tommy!” The oldest man cried joyfully. “Come take a look at the new collection I’m starting.” Both stunned men walked over to the painting again. “I saw Nicholas working in the garden. As you can see by his scars he had many surgeries.” He was highlighting the scar on Ringo’s breast. “I’m determine to show the world that scars do not detract from beauty!” Kurtie said with tears in his eyes. “I’m doing this for you!” then the large arms encompassed the artist and the two embraced.
“Do you remember Cliff?” Thomas asked his lover. The man in his arms twitched for a moment, then looked over towards Paul.
“Clifford,” Kurtie cried. Then blinking a few times, “Paul!” he stepped out of the hug and gave one to McCartney as if nothing negative transpired between them. After learning about his past suicide attempt, Paul allowed it. Then breaking away the gentleman turned back to Thomas. “He did it!” Mister Sheldon told the equestrian. “he broke the bubble! Clifford went home with me, we found him in Norman’s trunk, and I sent him to London to go to University! Now I’m going to start this new collection. I found a one legged soldier from the war and I will begin his portrait next week!” He was so happy and excited. “I’m nearly finished with this one!” gleefully, he continued his work.
“what about my gloves?” Paul asked, wanting to go home.
“Are you sure you want them?” The artist asked, not looking up from his work. “Your friend is here.”
“He needs to go back too Kurtie!” Thomas told him sternly.
“What if I told you, John is with Vanna?” Mister Sheldon informed them. “They’re in Italy and two years from this time, but the good madam will deliver your friend as soon as tomorrow.”
“Johns here?” Paul couldn’t believe it! Kurtie just nodded.
“we could get your third mate to join you and the four of you could be the faces of that rock and roll music you like so much!” he told him. “Imagine, Elvis Presley will be admiring the Beatles as he grows up!”
“No!” Thomas told his lover. “you need to return these lads back. They deserve their own life in their own time.” Mister Sheldon stopped painting, while shaking his head.
“but Tommy,” he cried. “I don’t want to kill myself! I don’t want to be numbingly drunk! I have no desire to gorge myself with boxes of chocolates!” Thomas was frozen by this thought. He remembered this time and how it lasted the rest of this man’s life. The body of the man who rescued the abused whore, and healed so much of his pain, was swollen, bloated and covered with scars. Kurtie abused himself for three decades until his body couldn’t take it anymore! The coroner said his mouth reeked of vinegar from all the wine he had consumed. Seeing this different timeline seemed so much better, how could he take this away from this man? Then he looked at Paul beside him. Paul knew he was conflicted. Then he took a glance at the other Beatle on the couch, completely oblivious of who he really was. Shaking his head Thomas went with the old values his grandfather instilled in him as a boy.
“you can’t keep these men here Kurtie.” He said softly. “look at the lad on the couch.” Ringo was digging through his ear, oblivious to proper etiquette. “this man is a great musician and here he will be a poor gardener!”
“I’ll pay to give him a better life!” the painter protested. “I’ll buy him a house, put him in university. Hell, I’ll buy him a drum set today!”
“he’s married!” Paul pointed out. “and a father.”
“could you really steal from this man’s family like that?” Thomas asked, pleading with his lovers moral compass. This did have an effect on the man who once aspired to be a priest.
“John is married and has a son too!” McCartney continued.
“could you really destroy two families?” Thomas pressed. Kurt was crying at this point. He wiped his face with a handkerchief.
“Very well.” The artist said tearfully. “but first, let me finish this painting. Please, let me live this one moment of happiness.” Thomas and Paul agreed together. He was clearly almost done. Delighted, the painter performed his craft and the magic of the brush enhance the image that was already established. It wasn’t long, when the artist declared the painting finished. Then suddenly, Ringo disappeared. This shocked Paul, causing him to gasp, but Thomas placed his hand on his shoulder.
“He’s back in the shop.” The taller man assured him. Then turning to Kurt. “give the lad the gloves.” Kurtie nodded somberly.
“Very well.” He said with his piercing blue eyes. Then he left the room and returned, though he took his time. With his head down, Mister Sheldon gave back the gloves to the young man.
“thank you.” Paul told him. He realized this was asking as much from this man, as this man asked of Paul.
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused you.” He said sincerely. The artist was holding back tears and Thomas held him.
“Its going to be okay.” Thomas told the weeping man. “no matter what, I will be here for you, just as you were here for me!” He then kissed the crying artist.
“I love you!” Mister Sheldon cried.
“I love you too!” his lover held him close. “I will live through this with you, over and over again! No matter what!” This was a beautiful display of a love stronger than the Beatle had ever seen. No couple he knew ever had to go through anything like this. McCartney felt regretful putting on those gloves, but he desperately needed to go home. The queer couple turned, to bid farewell to the musician. Paul smiled, despite feeling the sadness of the situation.
“Goodbye Paul.” Kurtie said remorsefully. “You are truly a beautiful man!”
“Take care!” Thomas called after. “Don’t forget about us!”
“I won’t!” the Beatle promised. Then he slipped on the gloves, one by one. A shade of red suddenly appeared, like when Paul was in the car with Thomas. Then Thomas disappeared as if he was never there, as a white flash shuttered the entire room.
Paul then found himself, naked on the bed of the master suite. He looked at his hands and saw the gloves were gone!
“What the bloody hell?” McCartney uttered, just so confused.
“relax.” Said a familiar voice. Looking up from the bed, the musician saw the artist behind the canvas that rested on the easel. “I’m almost done.” Mister Sheldon was using his brush to ad some extra details. “ahhh…” he wiped his face, smearing white paint along his cheek. Then after taking a few steps back to admire his work, he turned the canvas around to show his model. There before the Beatle was is likeness masterfully portrayed. Nude, but beautiful. “thank you Mister Garrison!” the artist acted within the script. “now that this is complete, I will send you off to London tomorrow morning. You have made this old man very happy.” He smiled. “Thank you Paul.” And like that, Paul found himself on the floor of the antique shop.

John Lennon awoke in the bed of a hotel room in Italy. He had traveled to the 1920s to retrieve his friend Paul. To his surprise, he was alone as the light of the morning penetrated the room through the window. The Beatle leaped out of the bed to find the woman he was with the previous night was gone, and so we’re her belongings. The man quickly dressed himself. He gave no mind to freshen up or pack.
He ran down flights of stairs and out the lobby, with only a single thought in his mind. Looking around outside, John could see the train station was just up the road. Frantically he scurried down every block, until he reached the platform for the train. He found Vanna right away. She was wearing a gray trench coat and carrying a single black bag. She wore a hat, that capped the top of her blond hair and sunglasses, as if she were hiding.
“Thought you could go off without me?” He told her.
“It’s the script.” She said. “I didn’t want to disturb Vincenzo, but he awoke and ran all the way to the station to say goodbye.” Suddenly the train pulled up and the pair, along with other passengers stepped inside the cart. The two found a secluded spot and sat across from one another. To the man’s surprise, his female companion appeared depressed.
“what’s wrong?” He inquired.
“It’s Vincenzo,” she answered sadly. “I never saw him again.” She looked out the window as the train began to move. “the last time we were together, we were on the platform as the train was about to depart. He kissed my necklace and said “Amore,” to me.” She gave a sad smile as she shared it. “it was one of the most romantic moments of my life, as pathetic as that sounds.”
“its not pathetic.” The Beatle assured her. John got up and knelt in front of her. “if this will make you feel better.” He took the golden heart in his hand and kissed it, just like Vincenzo did. “Amore.” He told her. Then he let go of the locket, only for it to fall on the floor. Looking up, he saw he was again surrounded by old crap.
“John!” he heard Paul’s voice in the distance.
“Paul is that you?” John could hear Ringo cry.
“Rich? Paul?” is that really you?” George’s voice followed. John sighed with relief. At least they were altogether now!

Chapter Text

The four Beatles found themselves together, in the magical shop! John and Paul saw each other first and the pair instantly embraced, in a manner that was deeper than either man dared to admit. George and Ringo were discovered together, holding one another in the same way. Their reunion was sweet and blissful. Each man secretly realized, they were more concern about each other than themselves. The fab fours gathering was powerful, as hugs and tears were exchanged between them
“you’re back!” announced the old woman’s voice and the musicians found themselves turning in the direction of the checkout shelf.
“I hope you had an enriching experience.” The old man called to the mere mortals attention. The four lads from Liverpool were now at the front area of the shop and ecstatic that they would be departing from this madhouse of junk, time travel and apparitions.
“Nice little antique shop you have here.” Paul uttered, trying to be polite. He really just wanted to leave and forget about this place, but he knew he never would. The couple laughed, but the old woman’s crackling overpowered her partner. Were they a couple or siblings, the young men began to wonder.
“We are not an antique shop. Oh my poor poor confused sons of Adam!” the old woman’s mouth uttered under the white mop of hair, responded in a blank stare.
“We’re not even a shop!” the old man replied giggling at the thought.
“Then what is this?” asked Ringo Starr, still adjusting to his own existence, while having the memories of both Nicolas MacDowell and Phillip Waters in his head.
“A Library!” the witch like creature stated.
“A Library of souls.” The male partner to the witch elaborated. “each item here draws the right person to the experience they need.” The Beatles were dumbfounded as they absorbed what was being said, but what they had been through they couldn’t deny this was indeed a fact. Each man running from those who love them so, even if it were just a delusional fantasy, had a renewed appreciation for their life. It was far from perfect and a great deal more trying than they had expected, but was a better life than most people’s and a sense of gratitude came upon them. Being a famous Beatle had it’s problems, but nothing to what they encountered. Neither man needed to explain their experience, they all understood this point silently.
“did you learn something?” the woman asked. The four men without looking at one another, nodded in unison, as they all agreed. Ringo kept touching his face, George had a spaced out look in his eyes, while John seemed to be depressed and Paul bashfully couldn’t make eye contact with his three other bandmates.
“I guess we have.” Ringo stated deep in thought.
“good!” said the man, “now let us discuss payment.”
“How much?” John inquired, eagerly willing to pay these people and leave!
“The penny!” exclaimed the blind one.
“Just a penny?” Lennon asked, ready to hand over a any coin from his pocket. They could keep the change.
“no not just a penny.” She explained. “I want the penny, “he,” gave you for good luck, when “he,” found it in front of the shop.”
“He who?” Paul inquired, feeling protective over John suddenly. The old woman stood up, with her cloudy eyes opened wide.
“He who is no longer alive.” She answered plainly. “the artist!” Suddenly John knew what she was talking about. He had kept a penny his departed friend Stuart Sutcliffe gave him long ago, hidden secretly in his breast pocket. The lead singer felt a pang to give it up, but he realized that here it would retain magical qualities and could even bring a part of his beloved friend to life. The Beatle found himself sighing while relinquishing the small copper coin on the wooden counter. The old man picked it up and a green light flashed around the circular currency.
“Ah this will do nicely.” He said, then handed the payment to his female companion.
“Powerful love in this one.” She said holding the penny in the palm of her hand. Then the coin disappeared in a puff of grey smoke. “nice indeed.”
“What do you want from me?” the drummer asked bravely. He was coming to terms with loosing a son. The blue eyed man was in no condition to acknowledge the fact he also posed naked for a portrait.
“The broken bracelet.” The blind old woman answered.
“broken bracelet?” asked the drummer confused by what she meant. He had a few bracelets on, but way more ring’s. Why not ask for one of them?
“the one in your wallet.” The old man clarified.
“The one you wore when you almost died!” the blind one explained to him with an ominous tone. This rattled the drummer so much, he nearly jumped when he felt John’s hand touch his shoulder.
“Easy lad!” Lennon said kindly. He knew his friend had been sickly growing up and had a collection of hospital identification band’s at home. The bracelet they spoke of was the first of many the drummer had started to collect. It reminded him when he was small and his mother was told he was fated with death while battling peritonitis. Very few adults survived this condition, let alone a small boy. He had been extremely sick and was in a lot of pain. His mother sat with him day and night, cherishing what she thought were the last moments she would ever have with her son.
Much to the surprise of his doctor’s and nurses he pulled through and his mother saved that bracelet as a form of superstition. She gave it to her son when he left home to be with his first band, for good luck and he’s carried it with him ever since. Drawing up these painful thoughts, the blue eyed man pitied the poor soul who finds this article of suffering.
“It tells of your strength and endurance.” The witch creature told them. “and of course, another mother’s unconditional love.” The milky eyes moved towards John as she said this. The small man nodded, then pulled his wallet from his coat pocket, and took out the little bracelet hidden behind some cash.
“Here you go.” Starr uttered glumly, placing his payment down on the counter. The old man lifted the bracelet and smiled, while George gave the drummer a slight side hug. He knew this wasn’t easy for his friend.
“Mortals leave such an impression on things they wear, when they believe they will die.” The elder male said. The bracelet lit up with a purple hue. Then handing the item to the old woman, she touched it to her face.
“Strength and endurance!” the woman was smelling the identification band at this point. “and a mother’s love! Delightful!” then this item too disappeared in a puff of gray smoke. “Who’s next?” She asked.
George bravely stepped forward to take his turn. He just wanted to get this over with and get out of here! This made the matching couple chuckle in unison.
“The pen!” replied the aged man.
“one that belonged to the police officer!” clarified the woman behind him. George understood what they were talking about! They wanted his grandfather’s pen! The departed elder Harrison in life was a police officer. His family held onto most of the dead man’s belongings, but George napped the deceased relatives writing device for practical reasons. The lead guitarists used it to sign autographs mostly. It was his way to honor his family. Harrison liked to think of his fans receiving a little something more with every signature. The added significance suddenly meant more to him than he realized. The musician squeezed the silver stick in his pocket before taking it out and relinquishing it to this library.
“Ah!” the witch man cried, when lifting the new item up to his face. “so many tales within this one! Many dark tales!” The pen lit up in red in the mans hand. Just as before, the man gave his female partner the silver pen and she examined it further.
“darkness indeed resides in this silver device!” she said with a hiss. It disappeared in the smoke like the rest. Seeing the pen was gone broke George’s heart, but he saw letting it go as part of his journey, so he sucked in his disappointment. Nothing last forever and sacrifices sometimes had to be made.
Knowing he was inevitably next, as all his mates came before him, Paul McCartney stepped up to pay his library fee.
“what do you want from me?” he asked.
“the kiss.” The man informed the Beatle of his required payment. This made Paul jump a little.
“you want me to kiss you?’ he inquired uncomfortable. The pair behind the counter just laughed.
“no silly boy!’ the woman teased. “don’t think so highly about yourself. You are rather boring.”
“But the red lips on your handkerchief is rich with stories!” the old man informed the bass player. McCartney realized what he was talking about. He had a girl the previous night. A groupie, who was wild in the bed, the Beatle could only hazily remember. She was a little redhead, with a sharp wit and said lot of inappropriate things. There was clearly something deeply disturbing about that girl, who’s name was Cathy, Candy, or something! Regardless, he was glad to get her away, after he was done of course. Before going away with security, she kissed his handkerchief somberly, leaving a red imprint. She then left disappointed, as if she were expecting to stay.
“her name is Cassandra.” The woman replied, reading Paul’s mind. “and she, unlike you has had a very interesting life.”
“give here.” The old man had his hand out to receive the payment. The Beatle shrugged and handed it over, but as he gave it to the “librarian” of some sorts, he had a quick vision of Cassandra curled in a ball screaming in some rather upsetting surroundings. “this one is rich in tales.” The handkerchief glowed a rose colored pink in the hand with stubby fingers. Then he passed it to the old woman, who brought the cloth to her face.
“Rich indeed.” She said. “rich in sadness.” Then this item too puffed away in the same gray smoke.
“Well son’s of Adam,” the aged man stated. “you have paid your dues.” The Beatles stared at the wild looking pair and curiosity got the better of them. John felt compelled to ask what they were all thinking.
“Are you two a couple?” he inquired. “or brother and sister?” The male and female pair laughed hard at the question.
“my dear boys.” The old woman stated. “we are neither of those things.”
“then who are you to him?” Starr inquired, feeling scared as he talked. Suddenly the woman went up in a puff of white smoke that encompass the entire counter area. Once it quickly pulled through, the woman was gone and the white long haired cat with blue eyes were on the table before the man.
“She’s my cat.” The strange old man answered nonchalantly. This freaked the musicians out! Together the group flew out of the library as the male witch said this. The lads could hear the old man’s laughter as the door slammed behind them. The group ran across the alley, but as they turned around, the shop was gone. Only a bordered up building remained in its place.

Chapter Text

In 1978, John Ono-Lennon was searching through the obituaries of a New Jersey newspaper. A beloved family housekeeper, Rosanna had worked for the family for the last few years, retired only last summer to live with her daughter in the state over in New Jersey. Tragically, the sweet old woman died earlier in the week and this news saddened the family she once took care of. Rosanna made their coffee, even better than how he and Yoko liked it. She would have a habit of freshly ironing underwear on cold days and baked the most delicious cookies from her native Puerto Rican culture. The sweet elderly woman was like a grandmother to Sean and she would sing to him, teaching the child Spanish. If her health wasn’t failing, Rosanna swore she could work another twenty years. She understood this family and the parents quirks and they still missed her, especially in the morning, when she used to show up.
At the breakfast table, John searched to find the beloved motherly figures written memorial, when he stumbled on another name he knew. Drinking his coffee, he almost sprayed himself and the paper by simply turning to the right page. Taking up an entire corner space at the top of the section, was the obituary for a Doctor Robert B. O’Neal. A pediatric surgeon at St. Jude’s hospital, who died at the age of seventy-eight of natural causes. This rattled the musician. It had been over a decade since his experience at the strange library and this came completely unexpected. Yet, he read on.
The newspaper informed him that Dr. O’Neal was married for fifty-five years to a woman named Sally. They had three children, Robert Jr. (Gloria), Michael and Mary Pelton (Luke.) He had seven grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. He was also survived by two half sisters. A Catherine Green (Walter) and Stephanie Brewster (Isaac), were the product of their mothers second marriage.
His death was proceeded by his mother Mary C. Williams and his stepfather Michael J. Williams. There was no mention of his biological father and nor should there be. Not even the made up story of him being a coal miner. Though the good doctor likely never knew the truth or his mother’s sacrifice and humiliation. John was happy for this man, who clearly lived a full life, but he was happier for his mother. She got what she wanted. Her son lived, her efforts were not in vain. Not only that, but Mary found a new husband and had two more children. If anyone deserved a happy ending, was a woman willing to anything for her child. John saved both obituaries, in honor of two strong women he adored.

Chapter Text

It was a chilly morning in Ontario Canada, during the month of November, of 1980. It was particularly cold as the father pushed his two year old son, in one of those convenient fold up buggies. The child was bundled in blankets and warm clothes, while George Harrison battled it out in jeans and a jacket. He of course had a hat and mixed matched gloves, because a certain short little person likes to hide them around the hotel separated. Dhani just flashed his chauffeur a mischievous grin while taking their little trip.
The father didn’t care as he took his child for a walk to run some errands. He first bought some cigarettes at a small stand and the days newspaper. Then wandered the streets, searching for a restaurant to grab some breakfast. However what ended up catching the ex-Beatles eye was a brick shop. The musician discovered a quaint little bookshop, with the classic image of such a place. Large shop windows, with gold lettering. “Mains Street Antique Literature,” was one of those specialty stores that only sold a particular type of book. In this case it was antique novels and other literature. It advertised it had more first editions of books over a hundred years old, than any public library. George wasn’t aware how true that was, but enjoyed finding rare books, so he lifted his son’s stroller up two steps and into the small shop.
Inside the building, it was still a little brisk, even the clerk wore his coat.
“Sorry folks.” An old man with gray hair explained. “but we keep the temperature lower to help preserve the products.” George nodded to his point and glanced around a bit. He saw a first printed edition of “the Great Gatsby,” “Huckleberry Finn,” and “A Christmas Carol,” displayed behind glass with gold framing. Clearly these pristine first editions we’re the highlight of the shop. Slightly more used novels like “Leaves of Grass,” “Heidi,” “Frankenstein,” and an 1900s of “Mother Goose, Special Edition,” were also displayed, but this lower glass case had a silver lining, instead of gold.
The more accessible books were either newer, less popular or in bad shape. Though it was interesting seeing Shakespeare’s books from his school days, he hated seeing books in pathetic shape. However less popular meant obscure and that was something Harrison liked. He had a special interest in Asian philosophy, especially of lost spiritual movements. These were of course translated by either Catholic or Buddhists monks, in most cases. Yet despite the many years and the many books the man obtained, he was always searching.
“Do you have an Eastern philosophy section?” Asked the patron.
“Far left corner, to your left, all the way in the back.” The clerk instructed. That’s were it usually resided in these places. The father strolled the child down the walk way of wooden shelves and the musk of aged tales. Dhani his son was being extremely well behaved for him. Mostly because he was tired and was fighting off sleep and was too distracted to ask a million questions about everything.
Finding the spot, the former Beatle was glad to see the books were set in some kind of semblance of order and he glanced at each shelf going up to down. A small yellow book caught his eyes, as it was wedged between two much larger neighbors.
“Daddy!” cried the little boy. “I’m hungry!” George couldn’t help but acknowledge, how something small and cute could always get your attention.
“Give daddy a minute and then we'll go to the restaurant.” The father assured, handing the toddler a baggy of sliced apples. Then Harrison returned to the shelf, looking at the book that caught his attention. Pulling it out, the year 1775 was on the cover in the yellow coloring as the rest of the book was highlighted by a rectangular white background. The cover yielded no title. Opening the little novel, the first page was blank, with the exception of a name written on in black ink.
“Property of Pr. Howard P. Davis of Toronto Canada, 94. Department of Philosophy, Toronto University.” That must mean 1894, George observed. He loved finding stuff like this in books! Turning the otherwise empty page he found the title in print.
“A collection of fables from the lost Eastern female philosopher.” It wasn’t really a title. According to Father Dominick, of the order of Saint Joseph, who translated these tales to English, he was given copies of the ancient text by a Buddhist monastery on the boarder of India and China. Legends within the village told of a rebellious or free spirited girl, who ran off from her father’s home to the mountains. Taking girls and wives with her, this unknown woman taught them to read and the ancient stories of their now non-existent culture. She had her own philosophy and even ran a school for a brief period of time.
The unknown philosopher had a lengthy list of tales, but most were destroyed by time. Then in the sixteenth century a band of monks seeking shelter from a storm sought refuge in an open cavity within the mountains. A few scrolls of her writings we’re found that night and taken in by its discoverers with great interest. Further excavations of the cave revealed a few belongings, dating to the second century, but the scrolls were clearly copies. The original author is believed to existed hundreds of years prior.
The first text was a poem, as the author described herself as the Water Carrier. That she flowed in steps like the small waves of the river. It was a lovely poem but it sounded like something was missing in translation. Flipping through the old book, he saw the story of the bird and the tree. Though in the story the bird challenged the tree that it could fly around the world! There were illustrations, created by the monks and priest replicating it’s style.
There was a picture with a turtle and a monkey, and there the pair discussed who’s life was better. But what nearly made the musician faint, was the illustration of a bald man in a robe, chasing a cricket. This made George laugh! He had found her and he still didn’t know her name! He was just delighted to know she was real! The story talked of a student who fell in love with a girl, but to win her heart you had to catch her magic cricket. The cricket story was nearly the same, except when the insect was trapped in the spider’s web, it turned into the girl, who chose to be eaten by the spider than be confined to the man.
“daddy!” cried the toddler just a foot above the floor. “I want mommy!” this made the father smile.
“We’re going now son.” He promised. “daddy just wants to buy this book.” George made his way to the front of the shop and purchased the little collection of tales, from an author he affectionately referred to as, “Cricket.”

Chapter Text

It was May of 1987 and Paul and Linda McCartney were in Texas, when they were invited by their friend Elton John to an estate sale. Linda had arranged these plans for her husband, but neither of the pair fully understood why they were here. They arrived at a large ranch style home, in a secluded town not far from Austin. Professional-grade stables for horses could be seen from the distance at the door of the grand home. As the couple looked out of the sea of green fields, they couldn’t find a single horse.
“Looks like they’re going to be closing this place up.” Paul observed. It was a shame, as this property seemed to be rather glorious, especially in it’s hay day. Clearly that was over, as construction machinery could be seen, parked near the barn.
“Its all going to be torn down.” Said a man’s voice behind the newly arrived guest. The McCartney’s were startled, as they abruptly turned to the man who invited them. Their was a moment of embraces with hugs and light pecks to the beloved friend, John . “I’m glad you both could make it.” The colorful musician remarked as the trio traveled through the rooms of the home. The house was lovely, but outdated. It could be restored and given a facelift as they say, but people purchasing this much land, usually want to build their own dream home. This place was clearly someone’s perfect house come to life and now it was to be destroyed for another person’s idea of that.
“You knew the owners?” Linda inquired. Elton nodded in response, looking at a lovely waterfall with a fishpond. It was all empty by now.
“this place was so lovely, they had Japanese gold fish and water lilies in here.” The greeter stated somberly.
“This was a gay couple?” Paul was guessing, though with his friend, that could likely be the case.
“Yes, Tommy and Juan were wonderful friends of mine.” The man with glasses explained. “I stayed here many times when I visited Austin. They were so much fun! So sad about Tommy. Juan was heartbroken and decided to sell the place and purchased a condo in California to be with his sister and nephew.”
“How did Tommy die?” Linda inquired gently resting her hand on his shoulder. The Rocketman singer just shrugged, though accepting the comforters hand.
“old age.” He replied. “both Tommy and Juan are in their eighties. However, I’m relieved to know, he died peacefully in his sleep.” He smiled as they reached the backyard with an old style saltwater pool. Chlorine was the style for pools nowadays!
“how long were they together?” Linda pressed, trying to be considerate of the man who lost a friend. Elton had to think about it.
“god, like over twenty years!” he answered, pulling out a flask. “they were in their late fifties when they met. Juan was married to a woman until he came out. Thomas had an older lover who left him his entire estate.” Suddenly Paul felt his heart flutter! Memories of the past flooded his mind of not only the scandalous affairs he had with his mates, but before John ever touched him.
“Kurtis Sheldon.” The former Beatle uttered before he could stop himself. Elton was taken back.
“Did you know Thomas Milford?” the other British man inquired, looking the supposed straight man in the eyes. Elton knew about his past with his bandmates and he treaded lightly around Linda. Mrs. McCartney wasn’t filled in, unlike John’s second wife, Yoko.
“Brian had one of his paintings.” The soft spoken man saved himself immediately. It was true, he had seen the picture himself in a private room his former manager had, in which the lads were tasked with emptying out when he died. John took the painting and Paul never knew what his departed friend did with it. Death was hard. Noticing the change in mood, Mister John asked Linda if he could have a moment alone with her husband and she of course agreed.
Walking in an office, the home was nearly barren from furniture and décor. An old couch from the 1970s remained in one of the sitting rooms and a few folding chairs here and there. The pair walked across the house and into a room with wood paneling and an old desk.
“I met Tommy and Juan through their lawyer, Clifford Garrison.” Explained Elton as he guided the other musician inside. Paul was doing all he could to contain himself, but he was never the greatest actor, especially when stressed. “Cliff died in the seventies and they took on one of mine.” The host checked to make sure the door was locked. “I received a call from my lawyer asking me to bring you here to show you something.” He sighed, because it was hard to believe. “it was a breech in protocol to have me involved, but due to the nature of the find, he felt that I as your gay friend should be the one to show you this.” He then went into a closet and retrieved a large rectangular object covered in a cloth. He placed the work on a chair and motioned for the other man to sit down. Paul could feel the sweat in his hands and the back of his neck. Pulling the black covering, Mister John revealed a large picture of the Beatle in his twenties, laying on a beautiful 1920s style bed, wearing nothing.
The first thing Paul noticed was the artist painted his Willy up and hard. This made the musician feel modest and he blushed.
“now Gary, my lawyer had this painting tested and it dates back to the 1920s.” the still standing man exclaimed.
“and because the model shares my likeness, it was decided I should decide what happens to it?” Paul added in.
“Thomas requested it.” Elton explained, pulling a piece of paper from the desk. “it was in his will, that you received this painting, because as he stated “it looks like Paul McCartney, therefore, I shall give it to Paul McCartney of the Beatles.”” The acting lawyer read from the league document. Then looking at the Beatle, he asked. “did you know Tommy?”
“I think I may have met him, a long time ago.” Paul answered honestly, feeling the emotions for both John, Brian, Thomas and a pang for Kurtie. He hadn’t thought about this lover who was easy to forget. Elton seemed to accept the answer, but could read something was wrong on the delicate man’s face.
“Do you want the painting destroyed?” asked one of the few outsiders who knew his dark secrets. John Lennon had filled in the “betty and the jets” singer of the depths of their love. Lennon confessed this to McCartney, the last time they made love. This had enraged McCartney back then. The thought of anyone else knowing he and the rest of the band and manager had what is now referred to as gay sex, was devastating! However, after John died, Elton came to fill in for the late shared friend and lover. They never had sex, but this other singer knew enough to help him through the difficult patch. Paul knew he was allowed to cry in front of Elton, he was allowed to be vulnerable. With this man the ex-Beatle could talk about the secrets. He was always silently grateful for this gift from both John’s. Paul shook his head.
“No.” He said looking down. “it’s a work of art, it should go in a private collection and the date on the frame to disassociated from me. I would like it not be displayed publicly.”
“Would you liked me to keep it for you. I’ll just have it in storage.” Mister John offered.
“that would be lovely of you.” McCartney agreed with relief. He didn’t want Linda to see it.
Elton took his hand gently, pulling a chair beside him.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. A tear ran down the soft cheek.
“I just miss John “ the bass player of the lost band confessed. Elton held him and Paul wept. Yes he missed John terribly and it always hurt, but at that moment, he missed Kurtie. The gentle man who was his secret first in a few ways. Yet as the two men embraced, a ghostly figure silently felt this view was worthy of being immortalize in a painting.

Chapter Text

Christmas 2030
The Caribbean Islands

Ringo Starr loved spending the holidays in the tropics! He adored the warm weather and the beaches with blue water. The ninety year old musician had a delightful day with his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and he learned he just was about to be a great-great-grandfather! Not bad for a sickly boy from Liverpool, he had to admit. As the family elder he was doted on lovingly, but he felt he had to sneak away for a quiet moment.
Barefoot, on a private beach of white sand that illuminated under the large moon, the old man just gazed at the wonder of it all. The crystal blue waters were now a navy shade, blending it’s horizon with the black sky. So many loved ones were in heaven now and new ones being born. Ringo wondered how old the little babe due in the summer would be, when he died.
Would the old man live long enough to be remembered by the new member of his family? He asked himself, while admiring the dots in the sky. A Starr looking up at stars, was a reminder he was still so small, no matter how big his name. Then a memory struck his mind. One he had not had in years! An old Antique shop, a crazy old couple and the surprise trip back in time, were hard to fathom. Still the images in his mind of a son he once loved sank his heart, like the ship he was on, out at sea. In a way being with his family, Ringo always felt Leo’s empty space. Was the cabin boy even real?
A Leonard Phillip David Waters was baptized at Saint George’s Church in London, around that time. However, he could never find a trace about the lad after that. Sadly, due to the prejudice of the time, records about people of color were rarely kept or maintained. Deep in thought and bitter sweet memories, the elderly gentleman chose to break a rule of his families, and waded his feet in the drifting foam of the waters edge. Feeling the sand slide from beneath his feet, a flash of light struck his vision. When it cleared, he saw his home was gone and the beach extended several feet from where he was.
“Hello father.” Said a man’s voice behind him. Turning around, the former Beatle saw a young black man in early nineteenth century garb. He was quite a good looking gentleman and Ringo could see in his eyes, this was his Leo! The younger man, but was probably about forty, embraced his adopted father and looked down at him. The son was almost a foot taller than his father.
“am I dead?” Ringo asked. Heaven wouldn’t be so bad if it was his time to go. Sad to miss the new baby, but how much longer should one live? However the tall man shook his head.
“no father,” the former cabin boy replied. “I’m dead, but for years I came to this very spot and thought of the man who gave me my freedom and life!”
“you did well for yourself?” the fathers blue eyes stared into the dark brown eyes of the son he never had. The man smile and nodded.
“Aye!” Leo told him. “Davy sent me to school in France. I only saw him a few times a year, because he said he was a bad influence on children.” This made both father and son laugh.
“Sounds like Davy!” Starr admitted while chuckling.
“I became a teacher and an astronomer.” Leo continued. “I taught negro students here on these islands. I secretly updated star charts and wrote down my discoveries. I had to use a white alias but I’m a published author like you predicted!”
“I’m proud of you my son!” the old man was crying.
“I took a wife, had children, and we cared for Davy in his dying days. He died at my home and was buried at sea, over the same waters that took you. That was his dying wish.”
“You’re a good lad!” the drummer exclaimed. “I couldn’t be more proud! I’m just sorry I couldn’t be there to watch you grow up. I wanted to bring you back with me. You could have been a child for a few years!”
“Father, you were one of the few who touched the scope to notice me,” The apparition explained. “and you were the only one to call me son!”
“I love you.” The adopted father whispered, as water began to collect at his feet.
“I love you too!’ Leo told him, but his voice sounded distant. Then the image faded and things were as it was. The house he snuck out of had lights being turned off, as the last of his family prepared for bed. Did he just have a stroke or some medical happening, caused by old age? Or is there more than just this life out there and Leo was apart of it? Then so was David, Brian, John and George! He decided, wise or not, to see this moment as the supernatural gift it was. If the musician died, he was just being called to heaven.
Starr did die on Christmas day, but eighteen years later. He was able to see his great great grandchild grow up, before being reunited with a son he had never had but never lost, in a place he called heaven.

Chapter Text

John Ono-Lennon kept the obituary of the doctor he once embodied for the rest of his life. His widow held on to most of his belongings after he died, but she had no idea who Doctor Robert B. O’Neal was to her late husband. The Beatles never talked about this wild experience, except with each other. Yoko never knew who Mary was either, as she tossed the little scrap of paper out. If she had kept it, someone might have recognized the picture on the mantle, when visiting the home of Dhani Harrison and his new bride Mariah O’Neal-Harrison.