Richard

by Jolyon Lewes

Chapter 3

My experiences in Mistral with Frederic fed my loins with lust for many weeks. My bedside locker now had a few more photographs of him, the best being those of him wearing one or other of his short-trousered suits. A press photograph taken at that reception in Monte Carlo showed a side-on view of the two of us together, talking to some millionaire or other. A concerned look played on Frederic's sweet little face and his brow was well and truly knitted. Despite his being sixteen, a year older than me, he looked younger by virtue of being shorter than me and having entirely bare thighs. His shorts were only just visible below his jacket, whereas you could see that at least my shorts had legs on them, albeit only two inches in length.

A month after we'd returned to England, my mother sent that wretched concert suit of mine to Oxfam and was I pleased to see it go! I pitied the poor sod who'd have to wear it next - unless it was some child of ten, the age for whom it must originally have been designed. From now on I had my dinner jacket for posh dinners and my school suits for the theatre and so on, meaning I was at long last in long trousers for formal events. I'd forgotten there'd be a nice new concert suit for me in time for Glyndebourne in August, when we'd see Frederic and his family again, this time as our guests. I was dying to see him again.

The summer term at school began and I played hard and worked hard. Dad's computer had internet and when I visited home he let me use it to exchange e mails with Frederic. We had to be careful about what we said but there was no doubt we were dying to see each other again. Our friendship pleased Dad as the merger between his company and Frederic's father's was looking certain.

" We're really going to push the boat out in August and make Frederic and his family feel at home," said Dad, one day. "We'll eat French food, too and I hope you'll join in the spirit of Frenchness. There'll be Glyndebourne as well, of course. I wondered if you'd like to take Frederic away for a couple of days beforehand, just doing boys' things. What about going camping?"

Why did Dad suggest that? Did he know how Frederic and I felt about each other? Had he peeped into my bedside locker? No, he wasn't that sort. He'd been to public school, so I thought he might have guessed something but if he had, he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. Instead, he made it seem the most logical thing in the world for Frederic and I to go off together and sleep in a little tent, which was exactly what Frederic hoped we could do. That night I had three epic wanks.

School finished for the summer and I spent a lot of time playing tennis - we had a court in the garden. Some of my friends from prep school days turned up to play and the rest of July seemed to be tennis just about every day. Hoping that really short shorts were a thing of the past, I'd managed to get hold of some longish shorts that came nearly halfway down the thigh. All my other tennis-playing friends - including some of the girls - seemed to be growing hairs on their legs which made me shy because my legs remained as smooth as glass.

I took the opportunity, when I had a free day, of working out where Frederic and I could go camping. Surrey isn't exactly noted for its areas of wilderness and the campsites near us looked rather tame and sanitised. I thought Snowdonia or the Lake District looked much more interesting but both were too far away for just a couple of days so I looked at places on the South Coast that we could reach by train. Then Dad came up with a solution.

"What about Seaford? You can get there by train, it's a nice seaside resort, not too big and not too stuffy and it's only a short train ride from there to Lewes, which is close to Glyndebourne. We could meet you at Lewes Railway Station after your couple of days and go straight to the hotel and we could have all your smart clothes with us so all you'd have to take camping is your tent and stuff and maybe some beachwear. How about it?"

One day Dad drove me to Seaford for a recce. There were all the usual things, like funfairs, cafés, a shingly beach and plenty of places to walk to get away from any crowds. I even saw people pitching their tents on the beach, well above high-water mark, which looked fun. I was really excited about going there with Frederic, just the two of us, with nobody else to answer to. Dad bought two sleeping bags and two rucksacks and I already had cooking stuff and a tent, which I pitched in the garden, just to prove I knew how to do it. That afternoon a chilly wind blew up and, looking at the wind rustling the tent, I pictured two boys inside, huddled together for warmth. It provided the theme for the glorious wanking session I had that night.

Well, the big day arrived and Dad and I drove to Heathrow Airport to meet Frederic and his parents off their flight from Paris. I wished I hadn't gone, though. A car full of parents is not the place to get cosy with the boy you've spent the past year dreaming of in the most carnal of terms. Frederic and I sat on the back seat, with his mother between us and all we could do for the fifty-minute journey home was make polite conversation. The boy of my dreams was within grasping distance but I had to keep my hands to myself. I could at least look at Frederic. He hadn't changed much in the past four months: still pale, beautiful and somewhat shorter than me. He hadn't lost his habit of knitting his brow and he seemed slimmer than before. Oh, how I wanted him to myself and to see him unclothed again.

With five bedroom suites in our house, there was one for Frederic so I couldn't suggest he had the second bed in my room, or even the little room next to mine that shared my bathroom. At the hotel near Lewes, though, we were to share a twin room. "Do you think Frederic would mind sharing a room with you, darling?" Mum had asked months before, when she'd booked accommodation.

Dad hadn't even let me reply. "Don't be absurd, sweetheart!" he'd said. "Of course the boys will share a room - imagine how bored they'd get in two separate rooms! Boys that age have things to talk about that grown-ups wouldn't understand. Isn't that true, Richard?"

"Yes, Dad, probably," I'd replied, blushing and then adding lamely "You know, sport and stuff."

Then Dad had given me a wink. Did he know something about Frederic and me or was he remembering what he'd been like at fifteen?

As soon as we arrived home I took Frederic for a tour of our garden and we could have our first proper chat. He was still in his travelling clothes, which included chinos tight enough to emphasise the contours of his heavenly little bottom. I supposed the first time I'd be able to see him even half naked would be inside my tent in a couple of days' time. I could wait.

Far more important now was to make sure we still liked each other. I'd been dreading his telling me he had a girlfriend or, for that matter, a boyfriend. I sensed he might be thinking along the same lines for one of his first questions was to ask whether we'd be meeting any of my friends.

"Oh no," I said. "My school friends all live miles away and I don't really know any of the local boys."

"What about girls?" asked Frederic.

I shook my head and felt myself reddening because I didn't know any local girls either. There were those who came to play tennis but none was exactly what I'd call a friend. Surely Frederic would have some female friends? He was looking at me with his brow furrowed.

"So, nobody special, then, Richard?" he said, beginning to smile. "Nor me. Just acquaintances. Except for one and he is walking beside me!"

I almost fainted in shock. I led Frederic to the summer house and as we entered, his hand brushed mine and a sensation of undiluted joy shot round my body. Once inside, we could talk without fear of being overheard and I was able to tell him how I'd thought of him every day since we'd last seen each other in Antibes.

"And I've thought of you every night as well!" beamed Frederic. We were right back at where we'd left off!

We had a lot to talk about but it won't interest you, dear reader, so I'll just say that I eventually got round to telling Frederic what we'd be doing for his week's visit.

"We're having a barbecue on the terrace tonight, so no need to dress up smart. No short-trousered suits necessary. Mine's gone to a charity shop, thank God. I don't suppose you still wear them, do you?"

Frederic blushed. "Unfortunately, yes, I do. Not by choice, of course. I even had to bring one with me; the grey one I messed up in Mistral that night. Do you remember?"

"Yes," I said, giggling at the memory. I put my hand on his thigh and patted it. "I don't think you'll need to wear it here. We'll be in dinner jackets at Glyndebourne."

I now had a full erection and Frederic spotted it. He began to giggle and told me it was on that first night on board Mistral in Antibes, back in April, when he'd first seen me in my concert suit, that he'd begun to like me. I thought we could have a little cuddle in the summer house and shifted along the bench to be closer to Frederic - just in time for my dear little sister to appear with a tray of cool drinks.

"Hey, boys, don't get too cosy! I've brought some lemonade."

The rest of the day was spent in company with other people and Frederic and I could chat only about mundane things and give each other little looks when we thought we could get away with it. After tea he put on new jeans that redefined the expression 'skin-tight' and set them off with a black sweatshirt. Oh God, talk about sexy!

When he'd seen our piano I admitted I could play some basic stuff but hadn't practised for ages so I asked him to play something. He began some Chopin and then stopped because he needed the music. We had only basic sheet music I'd used in my lessons so he decided to improvise and played some cool jazz.

His playing was like a magnet for soon everyone had come into the drawing room to listen. Dad said it was time for the first drink and produced some champagne with which we all toasted our wonderful house jazz pianist. The barbecue was fun and afterwards Frederic was persuaded to return to the piano. He played a slow, dreamy piece that lasted seven minutes and sent me into rapture. He later said it was called Peace Piece and that Bill Evans had made a famous recording of it. It wasn't just me that the music affected; Frederic's mother had tears coursing down her cheeks.

At bedtime we were obliged to go to our own suites but you can be sure that only one topic was on my mind when my head hit the pillow and I like to think it was the same for Frederic. Roll on the day after tomorrow!

The following day was mostly spent doing what our parents wanted us to do but we did have a chance to assemble the kit we'd need for our camping break. There was my tent and cooking stuff and the two rucksacks and sleeping bags Dad had bought so that just left clothes to think about. As all our smart clothes would be coming down in the car with our parents all we needed was shirts, jeans, trainers, a fleece, a waterproof, a few bits of underwear and some socks. I packed two old pairs of denim shorts and hoped Frederic could be persuaded to wear one.

Again, we simply had no time to be by ourselves. That evening we all went to some friends of my parents and it was a relief to Frederic that we didn't have to dress formally, because I'd told him that in England no boy of sixteen would be seen dead in a short-trousered suit. I noticed that my dinner suit had been taken from my wardrobe by the housekeeper, whose duty it was to pack all our smart clothes for Glyndebourne. I smiled as I thought of Frederic and me, each looking impossibly elegant as we attended the opera. Before that, however, there'd be fun together in the tent and I just couldn't wait for the next day to dawn.


Dad drove us to Gatwick Airport to catch the train. It's under an hour from there to Seaford with one change, at Lewes. Before looking for a train, Frederic and I went to the airport concourse, to have a milk shake and to look at the exotic places you could fly to.

"What about Caracus?" said Frederic, with a bit of foam on his lips. Out came that tongue of his to lick it off. I hoped it wouldn't be long before that tongue had a little wrestle with mine.

"We might get sold into slavery," I replied. "What about Los Angeles?"

"No, been there; too much traffic. I'd like to go where the sun isn't too hot. How about Vancouver?"

"I know where the sun isn't too hot," I said, looking into Frederic's lovely eyes. "Seaford. I might persuade you to take off your jeans! Let's go and get the train."

We arrived at Seaford in mid-afternoon and found the sun not at all hot. In fact, I was glad I had my jeans on as bare legs would have been rather chilly. Apart from a few hardy souls on the beach, most people were well covered. We had a snack in a café and Frederic was introduced to the delights or otherwise of English seaside cuisine. As we walked along Marine Parade, towards the campsite I'd spotted when Dad and I did our recce, I began to wonder whether this was such a good idea. I was expecting Frederic to recoil at the heady smells coming from a fish and chip shop but he sniffed deeply and said "Mmmm, tasty!"

A little further on I noticed Frederic looking with interest at a blond lad of about seventeen cavorting about on a skateboard. The boy wore kneepads but his legs were otherwise entirely bare, his torn-off jeans unable even to cover his bottom properly. Frederic whispered in my ear "Mmmm, tasty!"

We entered the campsite and went into the office, paying for a pitch for two nights. It wasn't easy to find anywhere to camp that wasn't close to other tents but we settled for a spot near a corner of the site. The beach was just fifty metres away. We dropped our rucksacks and erected the tent. As I was going round adjusting the guy-ropes I spotted the blond skateboarder coming our way and went to give Frederic a discreet nudge. The boy walked past and made for a larger tent two along from ours. I whispered to Frederic "Mmmm, so tasty!"

He giggled and nudged me back and said "You're trying to make me jealous!"

We watched as the boy dropped his skateboard and was greeted by a hairy man in his twenties wearing jeans. Followed by the man, the boy crawled into their tent, showing a delightfully generous glimpse of bare, white bottom.

"Don't worry," I said. "I think he's spoken for." Frederic giggled again and I felt an erection coming on. I wanted us to be in my tent, having a cuddle. I suggested we unpack our sleeping bags and roll them out.

Seconds later we were in the tent. "You're my guest," I said. "Which side of the tent would you like?"

Without hesitation he replied "The west side, please. I want the first thing I see in the morning to be sunbeams striking your golden hair!"

That made me giggle and in a trice we were lying on the groundsheet, snogging. Our lips met and the tips of our tongues met and then we were having the first French kiss of the holiday. I hoped there would be many more to come. I was in ecstasy but that quickly turned to fear when I realised we hadn't closed the tent flaps. Anyone could have seen us! I pulled myself away from Frederic and zipped the flaps together so that we'd be private. Then I wriggled back alongside him and put my arms round him. "I've waited so long for this!" I whispered.

Once again we engaged tongues and this time kissed as if our lives depended upon it. Frederic was on top of me and I could feel his rigid cock pressing into my tummy through two layers of denim. After some of the best minutes of my life I came up for air. Frederic rolled onto his back and I looked at his adorable, smiling face. His eyes were shining but through a veil of tears.

"Mmmm, so tasty!" he murmured, happily. And so was born our catch-phrase. We used it liberally for the rest of Frederic's stay and in correspondence thereafter, when it was abbreviated to 'MST.'

"We'd better bring our gear inside," I said. "There's room in the tent for all our stuff and the two of us, so long as we lie close together." Frederic responded with a dreamy 'Mmmm...'

On opening the tent flap I saw that less than five metres away and directly opposite were four grown-ups, sitting under the awning of their tent, drinking cups of tea. I felt myself blushing as I imagined them wondering why two boys would want to zip themselves into their little tent so long before bedtime. Deliberately loud enough for our neighbours to hear me, I said to Frederic that now we'd checked the integrity of the tent we ought to get all the gear inside and then go and explore the town.

And that is what we did. Back along Marine Parade we strolled, until we hit the town. Ahead of us were the chalk cliffs which lead to Beachy Head; I thought they'd be a good place for a walk the next day. We looked in at a couple of amusement arcades and spent most of our coins without any material gain but we had a good laugh. Then we wandered about on the beach looking to see if there were any nice boys but there weren't. At seven we went to the café and had a milky drink but one look at the menu made us want to leave and see if that fish and chip shop was still open. It was and Frederic declared the fish ' so tasty.' He'd never had batter like that before. The chips, however, he pronounced disgusting and he did so with his brow tightly knitted.

We trailed back to the campsite with some chocolate and cans of coke, as well as a carton of milk for breakfast. It still wasn't dark. We were enjoying each other's company but I wished the time would fly so we could be snuggled up together in the tent. Tomorrow we'd get away from the crowds and just be ourselves. Back at the tent, we went in turn to the wash house to visit the loo, have a wash and clean our teeth.

Frederic went first and nodded to the old people opposite, who were still sitting outside their tent, chatting and having a smoke. He passed the blond skateboarder's tent but of him and his hairy mate there was no sign. I sat in the tent and wondered if this trip had been a big mistake. Frederic and I were alone together and yet we weren't alone. All these strange people were around us and within earshot of whatever we might say or do together. As these thoughts were flitting through my head there was lots of female chatter and I looked out to see four girls, somewhat the worse for wear, making for the tent between us and skateboarder's.

I couldn't make head or tail of anything they were saying and assumed they were totally drunk but then I remembered the car beside the tent had an NL plate. So they were Dutch girls. No wonder I found them incomprehensible. If they were going to shriek to each other in Dutch all night it would mean Frederic and I could make all sorts of noises without being overheard. Every cloud has a silver lining.

Frederic came back and crawled into the tent. He gave me a little kiss and I could smell his toothpaste. I said he wasn't to go and flirt with the Dutch girls or I'd get really jealous. At that he grabbed my head and began to nibble my ear. I put my hand on his crotch and felt his erection.

"Go and make your breath smell sweetly, my beautiful Richard," he said, "and I'll be waiting for you. Alone."

I trotted off to the wash house with my sponge bag and towel. I performed the necessary functions and before cleaning my teeth took off my shirt and washed under my arms. I certainly wanted to smell sweet for Frederic. I looked in the mirror and wondered what Frederic saw in me. He'd never before called me beautiful. Then I cleaned my teeth extra well and departed for the tent. It was past ten and the sky was at last nearly dark.

I savoured the walk. How often in my life would I be able to say I was walking to spend the night with the person I loved most in the world? I somehow knew I'd never get married so I must truly savour moments like these. As I approached our tent I could hear the Dutch girls chattering and laughing and then I saw skateboarder coming towards me, his hairy mate in tow. They were arguing. The hairy one was trying to put his arm around his mate.

"Oh come on, Troy - please! "

"Gerroff, you bloody poofter!" grumbled skateboarder. "You can bloody sleep in the bloody car! I'm not having your creeping bloody hands anywhere near me!"

I let them pass and a thousand thoughts filled my head. First and foremost: Frederic and I must never argue like that. I got to our tent to see Frederic lying on his sleeping bag, watching me as I crawled in. He'd clipped the lamp to a tent pole and was in T-shirt and very tiny blue briefs. I zipped up the tent flaps and undressed to my boxers. Then I rolled over to face Frederic and told him how nice it was to see his legs again, after all these months.

"And I would say the same to you Richard but your legs are covered with those funny shorts. Please take them off." He switched off the light. "Now it's nearly dark so you needn't be shy!"

The noise from the Dutch girls made it impossible for us to be overheard so we could talk away happily. I pulled off my boxers and unzipped my sleeping bag, sliding one leg inside it and letting the other one curl over Frederic's hip. I felt his arms drawing my face close to his and we kissed, our tongues sliding over each other and our groins pressing into each other. My hand confirmed his skin to be as blissfully smooth as ever.

When we'd finished kissing I felt I had to tell Frederic that skateboarder's name was Troy. Frederic snorted with laughter. "What else could it be?" he giggled. "I suppose you've arranged to meet him tomorrow."

With that I slapped Frederic's mostly bare bottom and drew him close again. Then there was a shout from outside and we both froze in terror. It took us a moment to realise it was one of the oldies yelling at the Dutch girls to keep the noise down.

Within a few minutes silence reigned and we realised we'd now have to talk in whispers. I apologised to Frederic for bringing him here but he said it was much more fun than going to dinner parties with our parents.

"In your suit with incredibly short trousers," I whispered.

"Don't mention those horrible things!" he whispered back, giving my bottom a playful slap. And another.

"Ssshhh! People will hear us!"

A car door banged shut. Was it Troy's hairy mate being banished to sleep in the car? The sound of the sea advancing and retreating on the shingle beach lulled Frederic and me to sleep in each other's arms.


There were no sunbeams to dance on my hair when we awoke because it was overcast and when I poked my head out I saw it was drizzling. What on earth were we going to do? The Glyndebourne Festival suddenly seemed very appealing. Even better, we'd have a plush hotel room to ourselves, a world away from snoring Dutch girls, coughing old people and Troy arguing with his mate.

The smell of wet grass, coupled with the aroma of other people's breakfasts cooking contrasted with the cold, dampness of my jeans as I dragged them across the clammy groundsheet. These memories would last a long time. Many months after Frederic had gone home I'd still savour these smells and sensations and recall the moment his lovely eyes opened to see me gazing at him.

His beautiful face creased into a gorgeous smile. "Bonjour , Richard . Ça va?"

We indulged in another French kiss and his juices were sweet and his hands moving in my hair were better than any massage money could buy. Afterwards I told him it was drizzling and that our jeans would get soaked so it might be better to wear shorts today with our cagoules.

"But I have no shorts with me, Richard."

"Ah," I said, pulling the two pairs of denim shorts from my rucksack. " Voila! "

Picking up the shorter pair, Frederic grinned and said "In these, Richard, you'll look even sexier than Troy!"

It was then I realised I hadn't got any briefs with me and I must have looked panicky because Frederic said I'd better wear the slightly longer denims because how stupid I'd look if my boxers showed. He gamely pulled the shorter pair over his tiny briefs and stayed in them for the rest of the day, causing me to have a virtually permanent hard-on.

We made breakfast, of sorts, and then set out to walk to Beachy Head. We didn't get there, of course. Frederic said he felt tired and in any case it was too far. But we did get to see the famous cliffs called The Seven Sisters and had a delicious lunch at Cuckmere Haven. The drizzle had stopped but it stayed overcast so Frederic had no fear of the sun burning the skin on his precious legs and nor did he need to keep the hood of the cagoule over his lovely head. An unpromising day turned out to be a time of wonderful companionship. Knowing we had three nights in a hotel room to look forward to, we had no need to indulge in unseemly sexual antics on the cliffs so we just chatted, laughed, touched hands and relished each other's company.

We talked about the merger of our fathers' companies. Would we one day be joint chairmen? Would it mean we could live together? Perhaps because he was older than me and therefore wiser, he said we'd better not look too far ahead. I didn't tell Frederic but I had this wonderful feeling that I'd never have to try and find a girl to marry because I could live with him instead.

I was so proud to have Frederic as my friend. Everything about him was beautiful. I could see why he caught the eye of people we passed and it made me even prouder. Back in Seaford he wanted to visit the chippy again but this time he had the battered cod and no chips. The sky had cleared when we walked back to the campsite and who should we see but Troy, performing daring skateboard stunts in a car park, watched by his hairy mate and a few other people. We paused to admire his skills. His shorts were badly torn and totally indecent but it didn't seem to bother him. His buttocks were very white compared to his long, well-tanned legs.

A black-garbed priest was one of the spectators, watching avidly. When Troy had finished I saw the priest looking at Frederic in a way I didn't much like and I wanted to hurry back to our tent. As we walked on, Frederic put his arm round my shoulder.

"Did you see that priest looking at you, Richard?" asked Frederic. "He looked like he wanted to eat you!"

Back at the tent we changed into our jeans and as there was going to be a lovely sunset, went and sat on the beach. We chatted happily away until dark. When it was time to turn in, we agreed that the showers in the washroom were disgusting and looked forward to using a rather better bathroom the next night. Not to mention a luxurious bed. As we lay snuggled together in the tent, I thought Frederic smelt impossibly sweet, despite by now being slightly grubby. As for me, he told me I smelt 'Mmmm, so tasty.'

Our long walk in the fresh air had tired us out and we slept well. I was briefly awake a couple of times and savoured the sensation of Frederic's soft breath on my face and the dear little squeaks and moans he made in his sleep. I wondered if he was dreaming of me.

"I saw them!" announced Frederic as I awoke on a lovely, sunny morning. "I saw the sunbeams dancing on your golden hair!"

As I lay there, blinking in the strong sunlight, he gently stroked my hair and I thought I'd gone to heaven. We enjoyed an hour or more of cosiness before deciding to get into T-shirt and jeans and to face the day. We couldn't be bothered with breakfast and dismantled the tent and packed up all our stuff. Troy sauntered past, carrying his skateboard and giving us a cheery smile. Following him was his hairy mate, positively leering as he enjoyed the view of his indecently-exposed young friend.

"I wonder if we'll see them at Glyndebourne?" said Frederic, starting one of his delicious giggles.

Two hours later we'd met Dad at Lewes Station and he was driving us to the hotel, Frederic next to him in the front and me in the back. We told him of all the things we'd done, sparing him only the more delicate details of what we'd done in the tent and of Troy's tendency to indecent exposure.

"Well, boys, I'm glad you had fun. You wouldn't have enjoyed being with us boring grown-ups. But we've got more fun lined up. Tomorrow, as you know, we're going to see Cosi fan Tutte . There's some unfunny jokes but I guarantee people will dutifully laugh," (Dad gave an impression of a posh person laughing at one of Mozart's feeble jokes), "and the music's great. The next night it'll be The Queen of Spades , a story by Pushkin and music by Tchaikovsky. Russian soldiers, gambling, love and loss, a couple of deaths and for good measure, a ghost. Awfully sad ending. Look around and you'll see half the audience in tears."

Frederic gave a polite laugh and I sniggered. I was about to tell Dad I expected to see him weeping buckets but he got in first with "Especially the loving couples!"

Frederic's little chuckle rapidly faded and I saw the back of his neck turn pink. I, too, felt myself blushing; did Dad think we were a loving couple or was I being too sensitive?

Dad told us the plans for the rest of the day. "No Glyndebourne tonight. We're having lunch and a lazy afternoon, time to settle in. Then at six we're all going to a reception and then dinner in a super French restaurant near Lewes. It'll be a chance to wear your new concert suit, Richard. Frederic's mother had it made for you in France and your mother's thrilled with it so try to look pleased, old chap."

I felt a stabbing feeling in my chest.


Our room in the hotel was magnificent. There were two beds, each big enough for two adults, so I was sure we wouldn't be using both. In the bathroom were two washbasins - one each - and only one shower but it was a walk-in one and certainly big enough for two to share. Which is exactly what we did, washing away the grime of two days' camping by soaping each other and giggling and letting our dancing dicks dally with each other under the jets of hot water. We didn't have time for any sex as we had to be down for lunch but as we were putting on clean shirts and chinos Frederic asked me if I'd like him to give me a head massage the next time we took a shower.

"Oooh, yes! I've never had a head massage. How come you learnt how to do it?"

"My hairdresser showed me," said Frederic. "He always does it to me when he cuts my hair and last month he taught me and let me practise on another boy."

A little frisson of jealousy surged through my body as I pictured this hairdresser getting a hard-on as he massaged my Frederic's lovely scalp. I wondered what else the wretched man had wanted to massage.

At lunch my mother told me she'd be giving me my new suit afterwards and asked me to thank Frederic's mother for having it specially made in Paris. "You and Frederic are going to look a real pair of poppets!"

I thought we'd look more like a real pair of wallies, as my chest tightened again. Or a pair of overgrown ten-year-olds.

Up to our room went we two boys, to be joined shortly by our mothers. Frederic's Mum gave me the new suit, in a plastic cover. I began to sweat as I unzipped the cover and my heart was palpitating as I saw the suit was made of dark blue tweed.

"Just like the one Frederic wore in Monte Carlo, darling," said my mother. "The one you admired so much! And just as beautifully tailored. We must be very grateful to Madame Dupont."

Of course, it was shorts, not long trousers and of course they were very short indeed; yes, really short. Instead of loops for a belt they had buttons for the attachment of braces. I'd never worn braces. The thick cloth felt heavy and very prickly. My manners only just overcame my revulsion and I tried to smile at Frederic's Mum as I thanked her for going to so much trouble. Frederic put his hand on my arm and said it was a good thing he hadn't got his tweed suit with him or we'd look like twins. I tried to smile at his comment but felt faint and had to sit down.

"See you both at five thirty," said Mum, "all ready for the evening."

Frederic and I now had a couple of hours before we had to dress for the evening so I left my new suit on a chair and tried to ignore it but he told me I'd soon understand why he hated his own tweed suit. We watched a bit of TV and chatted, neither of us looking forward to putting on our suits and not in the mood for any sex. When I suggested the hotel's gym he said he didn't go to the gym any more. In fact, he looked tired and listless, bucking up only a little when I said we could make up for things later, after we'd come back from dinner and torn off the suits, never to wear them again, at least not on this visit.

When at last the time came to change I saw the housekeeper had packed some of my tiny briefs; my boxers would certainly have shown below the legs of the new tweed shorts, which were no longer than those on my late and unlamented, grey concert suit. Frederic looked embarrassed but incredibly sexy in his grey suit, his knitted brow giving him a look of vulnerability and I'd have got a hell of a hard-on if I'd been allowed to wear long trousers but instead, I had to put on the tweed shorts. The wretched things extended barely three inches below the jacket but were a little longer than Frederic's shorts, which hardly extended below his crotch. We both looked like ten-year-olds. Before we went down to join our parents we indulged in a leisurely French kiss, partly for fun and partly to give us the courage to exhibit our bare thighs to polite society.

It was a tedious evening, both of us forced to be on best behaviour and to mix with the other guests. I saw waiters staring at me and gazing long and hard at my bare legs. My little sister, only fourteen, was in a long dress. How do you think that made me feel? And that wasn't the only irritation - when sitting in the taxi and at the dinner table I felt the rough tweed scratching uncomfortably at the front of my thighs. It was quite painful and I wondered why on earth the jacket was generously lined with some kind of smooth material while the shorts were entirely unlined. I found myself pulling the legs of the shorts even further up my legs in an effort to reduce the area of skin being rasped by the hairy tweed. I wished I still had my old concert suit - it was equally revealing but at least it didn't cause physical pain!

As we travelled back to the hotel, Dad promised me we'd seen the last of short trousers for this visit. Back in our room, Frederic smiled at me when I said I wanted to get that suit off without delay.

"So now you understand why I hate mine, Richard; so damned itchy! I have some cream you can rub in at the top of your inner thighs, which I find the most painful part. I'll do it for you, if you like. But first, I want to look at you properly and get some memories to store away. Take off your jacket, please."

I flung the jacket onto a chair and stood looking at Frederic. At last it was safe to have a hard-on and it didn't take many seconds to appear. The boy was utterly beautiful! He looked at me and knitted his brow. He advanced and I was expecting an embrace but he put his hands on my chest, on the adjustment buckles of my braces.

"Naughty Richard," he breathed into my ear. "Braces must always be tight. Let me...."

As he tightened the braces I winced as I felt the rough tweed pulling hard into where my legs join. He told me his father made him wear his braces as tight as possible and took off his jacket to show me exactly what he meant.

Frederic stood back to inspect me and to murmur "Mmmm, so tasty!" His cock was making a tent in one leg of his shorts and looked like it might pop into view without warning. "I love your concert suits, Richard. If you'd worn long trousers in Mistral while I was in these bloody shorts I would never have wanted to speak to you."

Then he went over to one of the beds, slipping his braces off his shoulders and letting his shorts drop about two inches. Before sitting on the bed he hitched his shorts up again and a few seconds later was lying on the bed, his knees drawn up, affording me a delicious glimpse of his beautiful, creamy bottom. I took hold of one of his knees and waggled it slowly from side to side. 'We've been here before,' I thought, as I gazed down at him with love in my eyes. He returned my gaze just as amorously. I knew what was going to happen next. The head massage would have to wait until morning.

"Mmmm, so tasty!" I said, rather breathlessly, as his lips parted enough to let the tip of his tongue escape and to flick sexily about in invitation.

After a five minute French kiss and some writhing together of bare thighs, we had the sense to pause in our love-making long enough to discard all our clothes. "Can't afford to mess up those shorts again," said Frederic. "Might have to wear the damned things again."

"No, my darling," I whispered, "all plain sailing from now on! Three days of happiness!"

"Call me 'darling' again, Richard."

"You are my darling," I said, unashamed for once of my nakedness. "The darlingest boy in the whole wide world!"

"And you are the most beautiful boy in the world. Je t'aime! "

It had been impossible to enjoy such luxurious intimacy at home in Guildford, impractical in the tent at Seaford and now, in this gorgeous hotel room near Lewes it was not only possible but entirely appropriate and there was no time to waste. Naked between the white linen sheets, we cuddled and chuckled and kissed and giggled. We were in complete harmony; we were enchanted, delirious with joy and gasping for sex. Our love-making that night went way beyond my wildest dreams. Frederic was mine and I was his.

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