Oliver

by Jolyon Lewes

I'm Oliver and I'm a happy boy because School's broken up for the summer holidays and the weather looks good, at least for the first few days. It's 1974; I go to an independent school for boys in Hertfordshire. I was seventeen in May and in September I join the Upper Sixth. I want to get good 'A' Levels and go to university next year, to read astrophysics. I've got some brand new books on the subject which I want to start reading during the holidays, so it won't worry me if the weather's not perfect the whole time.

First, though, is the family holiday. I have two younger brothers, Graham and Julian and every August for years our parents have taken us for a fortnight's camping holiday. We all enjoy this but now I'm seventeen I feel like doing something else and not be tied to the family and having to play childish games with my brothers. Trouble is, we live in North London, quite a long way from school and I don't really know any local boys. I'd probably feel a bit lost in the house all by myself for a whole fortnight and my parents have persuaded me to come along just one more time, for the family's sake. This year we're driving to the Continent to camp in Germany and Switzerland. I've agreed to go, so long as I can take my own little tent and sleep in it while the rest live in the big family tent. There are nocturnal things a boy needs to do in private!

I'm taking some physics books with me, determined to do some reading and not waste the fortnight. That might sound ungrateful but although I enjoy travelling and seeing the sights, the thought of sitting by some lake for hours doesn't thrill me at all - unless I can pass the time doing something useful. Hence the books.

It's time to depart and the weather's dismal as we set off before dawn in the Peugeot estate for the Dover-Ostend ferry. We want to get as far as the Rhine Valley for the first night's camp. The rain continues all the way through Belgium, then Germany, to the campsite on the west bank of the Rhine, near Koblenz. Dad suggests I sleep in the big tent, with its fitted groundsheets and high headroom, rather than in my tiny, draughty pup tent and I immediately consent. We all huddle together, laughing at the way our customary wet and windy weather has followed us yet again. Last year's holiday in Scotland was a washout, which is why we're heading for the sun - ha ha! - on this holiday.

After we've had our meal, Dad and I walk through the rain to a nearby inn where we have a couple of beers.

"I'm really glad you've come with us, Oliver," he says. "I'll understand if you don't want to come when you've left school but these family holidays are precious. Mum and I know you're growing up and we'll respect your wishes but for now you're still a schoolboy and we want to cherish the memories of you and the boys - as boys ."

"Thanks, Dad," I say. "I'm glad I'm here. I'd have got awfully bored by myself at home." Upon which he buys me another beer. I'm not as stupid as I look, you know!

Next morning it's still raining and the Rhine Valley is virtually invisible through the steamed-up windows of the car as we head south. By the time we reach Baden-Baden the weather is beginning to clear and when we arrive at the next campsite the sun is out. We erect the sodden tent, which quickly dries, thanks to a warm breeze. The grass, however, is still wet and I cravenly ask to share the big tent again. Later, we enjoy a beautiful sunset from our elevated Black Forest campsite and we all cheer up. It looks like we won't have to wear sweaters and anoraks for the entire holiday, thank Heavens. I'm determined to use my own tent if the rain keeps away.

The sun's shining when we awake and as we eat our breakfast Dad declares that we should all dress for summer, so it's into shorts for all of us. Mum looks stunning for a forty-year-old and even Dad looks quite trendy. Graham and Julian both take after Dad in build, being short, stocky and powerful. They're looking sporty in their wickedly brief khaki shorts. My shorts are blue and much longer, reaching almost to mid-thigh, a more seemly length for a boy of my age and height. We spend a happy day doing some walks on a mountain called Hornisgrinde (1164 m) and having a jolly good evening meal at a friendly Gasthof beside a small lake named Mummelsee. I really love hill-walking and the outdoors life. Tomorrow we're off to Switzerland where we'll be camping in one place for a whole week, so I'll definitely use my own tent; I urgently need my privacy but the mountain air relaxes me and I sleep peacefully.

It's even warmer this morning and we pack all the gear into the car and set off on the five-hour journey to Lake Lucerne, in Switzerland. Sitting in the back seat next to my brothers, I look at our three pairs of bare legs. Although six inches taller than dark-haired Graham, I'm not as broad as him. I take after Mum, who has blonde hair and a slender, graceful build. I've always looked young for my age and many people think Graham is actually older than me, although he's not yet fifteen. My voice didn't break until I was nearly sixteen but his broke when he was fourteen and he has rather hairy legs, which worries me because my arms, legs and chest are still entirely hairless - all over. Next to me in the car, Graham's hairy legs and forearms contrast strongly with my totally smooth ones. All the other boys in my class have hairs on their legs. So even has Julian, who at thirteen is a junior version of Graham and catching up fast in the department of hirsute affairs.

It's the same with shaving. I was given a shaving set for my sixteenth birthday and I use it conscientiously every month or so but there's never anything on my face to shave off, not even on my upper lip. Conversely, Graham needs to shave every week and he's over two years younger! I've some blond hair under my arms and around my private parts and I'm certainly capable of having a juicy wank so I'm not worried about that side of things; it's just that I wish my body's appearance matched my age.

There was an embarrassing time a few months back when the biology teacher wanted to illustrate secondary sexual characteristics. He got me and a very hairy boy to stand close together on a bench, like manikins, in nothing but our underpants. The hairy boy wore boxer shorts but I was in my racy little briefs, which leave my bottom partly bare and I felt dangerously exposed. I'd have worn boxers if I'd known this was going to happen and if I'd had any. I've never had any boxer shorts. The class was instructed to compare and contrast our bodies, from head to toe but not including, thank Heavens, our private parts. Some of the boys touched or prodded us in various places and I'm sure I got more than my fair share of it. An unpleasant boy called Nick, who says he has a crush on me, repeatedly ran his hands up and down our bare legs, spouting pseudo-scientific tosh about the different coefficients of friction of smooth and hairy legs, before spending an indecently long time exploring my upper thighs, until stopped by the teacher. I felt horribly humiliated, especially when a couple of other boys discussed what they called my 'ultra-smooth arse' and began to tickle it. It's not as if they hadn't seen me before, in the changing room and in the showers. I felt my face tingling so I must have been very obviously blushing. As I tried to swat their hands away I noticed they both had erections tenting the front of their grey trousers. If the teacher spotted their antics he didn't say anything. Maybe he had a hard-on as well.

I'm lucky that I've never had many spots, while the other boy had lots of spots on his face and neck and even some on his back. He was obviously very self-conscious when this was pointed out. Schoolboys can be so cruel. I dare say girls can be just as cruel and for the past couple of years, when in mixed company, I've preferred to keep my legs covered because I don't think they look sufficiently masculine. Just one sarcastic comment by a girl would destroy my self-confidence. I don't understand girls. Anyway, as you can imagine, I now do all I can to avoid being seen in swimming trunks or particularly short shorts.

In the car, I instinctively keep the road atlas open on my lap to cover my half-bare thighs. Graham's chunky legs seem to get hairier every day - they're now as hairy as Dad's. Julian's not far behind. It's just not fair! If no little hairs appear on my legs by Christmas I'm off to see a doctor. Maybe there's a hormone I can take.


Dad decides we should stop for lunch at Rottweil, which is presumably where those big dogs come from, not that we notice any during our brief stay. Mum does some grocery shopping and then we carry on south but at the edge of town there's a big shop selling clothing. Mum sees a sign saying Lederwaren and insists we boys need some real German Lederhosen to wear on our holiday. We haven't much time so Dad just pops in and comes out with three pairs of extremely short leather shorts. They're just the basic shorts, thank God, not the elaborate Bavarian type with fancy decorations and a harness that goes over your shoulders. We speed on towards Switzerland and I'm fervently hoping the leather shorts will be the wrong size as I dread having to reveal even more of my legs than I'm already doing.

We reach our next campsite at teatime. It's at Vitznau, on the eastern side of Lake Lucerne, or Vierwaldstättersee. We erect the tents, one each side of the car, while Mum makes tea. The weather is lovely and my brothers change happily into their Lederhosen, which have 2½" legs. I'm not at all keen but bowing to pressure from two parents and two brothers, I crawl into my tent to try on the leather shorts Dad bought for me. Graham and Julian have 34-inch waists while mine is 30 inches, so mine's the smallest pair - in every dimension. The legs consist of nothing more than 1½" turn-ups! My belly fills with lead. I lie on the groundsheet and dutifully swap shorts. I have to wriggle about to pull on the leather ones, which are very tight around my hips but Dad cleverly got his metric conversion right because the waist fits perfectly. I lie in the tent, feeling under the turn-ups and convinced I'm going to look thoroughly indecent. The shorts don't extend down my legs at all! I hope my little white briefs aren't showing.

The family are calling for me and I've no option but to leave my tent. "You look absolutely lovely, darling!" says Mum.

I hope no strangers hear her as I do not want to be stared at by other people. We've always been a happy family and I don't want to make a scene but my brothers' shorts look so much longer and looser than mine. I'm so glad we won't be seeing anyone we know. What would the boys at school say if they could see me like this? They'd call me an exhibitionist! I can't wait to get back in my tent and take off these ridiculous things. Their incredible shortness is emphasised when I sit on the grass and feel the skin where my bottom begins being pricked by an evil little thistle.

Thank Heavens I have my own tent: at bedtime I crawl in and lie there in privacy for a bit of reading. It's too warm to get into the sleeping bag so I lie on top of it. These leather shorts are shockingly revealing but decidedly comfortable for all that. I slip my fingers under a turn-up to scratch my bottom where the thistle pricked it. It's a nice, slightly erotic feeling. I give up trying to read so I turn out my light. It's warm in the tent and I undress completely and lie on the cool groundsheet, beginning to feel aroused by my state of nakedness. Some instinct makes me pull on the shorts again and my arousal heightens. I stroke the soft leather and it feels good. I heave the waistband up, pulling the shorts tightly into my crotch and roll onto my front, cupping my leather-clad bottom with my hands. This is when I find the lowest part of each buttock, about three fingers' worth, to be entirely exposed! I stroke the smooth skin and a thrill surges though my body. Things are getting frantic and I roll onto my back. My engorged dick pops out of one leg of the shorts and I caress it, gently at first and then more and more savagely until I achieve orgasm. It's wonderful!

All my orgasms have so far been solo affairs and this one reminds me of my very first time. It was when I was nearly fifteen and I'd gone for a long bike ride alone on a very cold day. There were frequent flurries of snow and I was glad of my woollen gloves and thick pullover. When far from home I took off my trousers to reveal a tiny pair of running shorts, so tight that in order to squeeze them on I'd had to rip the outer seams along most of their length. It gave me a weird sense of excitement knowing that passing motorists could observe and possibly admire my bare flanks as I pedalled along. The icy wind put goose-pimples on my frozen legs. Oblivious to the cold, I was getting an intense thrill and my dick got really hard and seemed to enjoy its rhythmic tickling from the front of the saddle. One car, instead of overtaking me, drove right behind me for half a mile and then slowly overtook, the driver closely scrutinising me as he went past. He was smiling. I was an exhibitionist. Suddenly I felt this overwhelming, warm, buzzy feeling taking over my whole body and I had to dive into a hedgerow, springing off my bike and sinking onto a snow-covered bank to have my first ever ejaculation. Only afterwards was I aware of the intense cold and I put my trousers back on and cycled home feeling guilty. I hoped nobody had seen me on that bank. Or did I? Was there - is there - a latent tendency to exhibitionism in my normally discreet and orderly personality?

I'll sleep on it.


Back to the Swiss holiday. The morning is warm and sunny so I'm expected to dress like my brothers in our new Lederhosen . I keep expecting someone to comment on my long, bare legs but nobody does so I've reluctantly consented to wear the leather shorts as long as the weather stays warm - unless we see any British people, in which case I'm straight back into jeans or, if I must, my sensible, blue shorts. Oddly enough, as the day wears on, I sometimes hope people are looking at me. That's to say I hope men are tempted to look at me, not women. I'll feel terribly ashamed if I see a girl staring at my bare legs. She might even be jealous because Nick, my horrible admirer at school told me - in public and to my huge embarrassment - that I've got sexier legs than any girl he knows!

We spend the day doing a bit of exploring in the village and on the lakeside and make some plans for the next few days. When we return to the campsite at teatime two young men drive up in a German-registered Volkswagen Beetle, park nearby and erect their tent quite close to mine. It's rather smarter than mine and looks easily big enough for two. Mine's nominally a two-man tent but two occupants of adult proportions would need to be extremely friendly if they chose to squeeze inside together. Once the Germans have set up their tent they drive off in the car and don't return until well after dark.

It being another sultry night, I'm lying on my sleeping bag trying to do some reading. Once again, I'm wearing nothing but the leather shorts and with one hand I'm fondling myself. Mum and Dad have their radio playing softly but I'm aware of other noises and these ones are coming from the Germans' tent. It sounds like muffled giggling and the occasional sharp slapping noise, which could be a hand striking bare flesh. Intrigued, I switch out my light and listen carefully. Yes, each slap is followed by a little gasp and then more giggling. This goes on for about five minutes, until the smacking noises cease and the giggles turn to grunts and little exclamations in German. I'm getting excited - have the chaps been spanking each other and are they now making love? Quite what that might entail I don't really know.

I try to imagine there's a little TV camera in the roof of their tent, giving me intimate, moving pictures of the activity within. Now I try to picture myself in their tent, dressed only in my tiny leather shorts, snogging and cuddling with the two Germans pulling me this way and that. The thought is too much for me and, grabbing a dirty T-shirt, I pull my dick from the leg of my shorts and enjoy a most glorious orgasm.

Would I feel the same if instead of two boys in the next-door tent, it was two girls? Well, as I've already said, I can't abide the thought of girls looking at my bare legs, let alone touching them, so I can discount my joining them for a cuddle in these shorts. Actually, the thought of the two girls doesn't arouse me at all so I quickly dismiss the thought and get back to wondering what the two boys are doing now, now that the sounds of their love-making have died down and all I can hear is the occasional rustle and sigh. In general, I don't think of sex very much but when I do, it's never with girls in mind. I suppose this will be my guilty little secret for as long as I live. I've often wished my school took boarders; from what I've heard, boys in boarding-schools are always making love to each other! I wonder what the German boys would think if they knew that a nice-looking but lonely English boy was wishing himself into their tent.

It's next morning and to my relief, my decision to wear my blue shorts today has not been vetoed. Now I won't feel too self-conscious while we're out for the day. I'm discreetly observing the two Germans; one's in his early twenties, tall, dark-haired and cheerful, wears jeans, drives the car and generally seems to be in charge. The other is slim and blond, seems to wear only Speedo-type swimming briefs, doesn't drive the car and looks about my age. While my family and I go off in the Peugeot, I wonder about the Germans. Is the blond one a slave to the older one, does he get spanked by him and does he have any clothes? I can't wait to set watch again! We have lunch in nearby Altdorf, the home of William Tell and as I stare up at his statue in the town square an erotic image forms in my head. I'm standing in a field in the Alps, dressed only in my leather shorts and the older German prepares to shoot an apple off my head with his crossbow. It's an odd little fantasy and I pull the chequered tablecloth over my lap to hide my erection.

I'm very glad on our return to Camping Vitznau to see the other tent still pitched next to mine and I exchange greetings with my neighbours. The younger one, Dieter, is still wearing only his Speedos. I sit cross-legged outside my tent, pretending to read, and have shamelessly pulled the legs of my blue shorts right to the top of my thighs. I observe the older German, Markus, driving off in the car to return a few minutes later with some hot food and three bottles of wine. While he's away, Dieter comes over to introduce himself properly and I see him looking me up and down with apparent approval. He speaks perfect English and has the most beautiful blue eyes.

At bedtime, I listen once again to their nocturnal goings-on as I lie in my tent, playing with myself. I want to know more about these two and a good time to start will be in the showers in the morning. Out comes that grubby old T-shirt and out of the leather shorts pops my excited dick as I enjoy another fantasy, this time centred firmly on Dieter.


I awake early and slip on my blue shorts, waiting for the German boys to emerge from their tent. Dieter is first out, in his Speedos and flip-flops and carrying a towel. I follow at a discreet distance with my towel and the well-used T-shirt, which needs a shower even more than I do, and within two minutes I'm alone with Dieter in the communal shower-room. We bid each other Guten Morgen and get on with our ablutions. Towelling myself dry, I note with glee that Dieter's body is as smooth as mine; indeed, we look remarkably similar, both being slim, blond and about 5'10" tall. Dieter asks me how long we are planning to stay at Vitznau and then says I should join him and Markus for a drink this evening. Before I know it, Dieter is ready to leave and excuses himself, as he must go to the camp shop for bread, cheese and milk and be back before Markus wakes up. I'm smiling as I finish drying myself; I seem to have made a friend!

From Vitznau the oldest rack-railway in Europe runs up to the summit of Rigi (1798 m), the local mountain. At breakfast Mum and Dad propose a full day's excursion doing some high-level walking from the top station of the railway, which sounds very enticing except that I now have another plan: I want to stay in the campsite getting on with some reading. You, dear reader, know my real motives but my parents accept my reasoning and set off with my brothers for a healthy day at altitude. They've been gone thirty minutes now and I swap my blue shorts for the leather ones, put on sunglasses and a clean T-shirt and position myself on a lounger beneath the awning of the big tent, book in hand.

Markus and Dieter are still in their tent and I can hear an electric razor in operation. It stops and now I can hear what could be that slapping noise but with all the ambient sounds of the campsite I might be wrong. Nonetheless, my imagination is working well and I listen, enthralled. Suddenly the tent flap is opened and I draw my knees up to my chest to hide my very stiff dick. Markus emerges from his tent, wearing jeans and T-shirt and seems for a moment to be alarmed to spot me facing him, just a few yards away. He quickly composes himself and comes over, smiling.

"Hallo, Oliver," he says. "I'm Markus."

I stumble to my feet to shake his outstretched hand. Then he stands back, looking me up and down, his smile broadening. "Must be a very good book!"

That gets me blushing but before I can say anything he continues. "Dieter told me you will join us for a drink this evening. We are going out now but will be back by twelve. Will you come and eat lunch with us in the Gasthof?"

I gladly accept his invitation. I've got a little stash of Swiss francs so I can pay my way. Now Dieter is crawling out of the tent, adjusting his Speedos as he stands up. The sunlight catches him from behind and at the base of his bottom I can see an area of pink that wasn't there earlier this morning. He looks a bit embarrassed as he tries without success to pull his Speedos properly over his bottom. Giving up that task he gives me a very sweet smile and shrugs his shoulders. He's gorgeous! I want him! This is incredibly exciting. I certainly won't be concentrating on my books today!

Markus starts his car and Dieter, still clad only in Speedos and sandals, climbs in beside him, looking uncomfortable as he lowers himself gently onto the seat. They drive off, leaving me to ponder. Will they tell me what they do in the tent? Will I be able to watch? Will I be able to touch Dieter's bottom? I wait nervously for twelve o'clock, wondering if I have the courage to stay in the leather shorts.

Precisely at noon the Beetle draws up and I go to open Markus's door, giving him my best smile. Got to keep in with the boss!

"Well, Oliver, I see you are ready to walk to the village. Dieter is putting on some clothes and then we can go."

Dieter isn't exactly overdressed when he crawls out of the tent. He's in a red-checked shirt and a pair of very well-worn leather shorts as short and as tight as mine! Now we look even more alike. We chat as we walk through the campsite and then along the lakeside to a little restaurant in Vitznau. They don't seem surprised to learn I'm as old as seventeen, which pleases me, as does the fact that Dieter is nineteen next month; at last I've found a boy older than me with no hair on his legs! He's at Heidelberg University, studying Modern Languages. Markus is twenty-two and studying Architecture at Stuttgart. Both come from Hannover and met a few years ago when Scouts and since then they've holidayed together all over Europe. They haven't mentioned any girlfriends so they might be homosexual. It would be awful if they chat up girls in the restaurant and expect me to do likewise.

I've never had a serious girlfriend and I prefer male company but until now I've never fancied another boy - well, not as much as I fancy Dieter. I've always rejected advances from boys like Horrible Nick who say they have a crush on me. My times in the tent these past two nights make me think I might fancy my own body, so does that make me homosexual? Or just weird? I've admit I'm dressed like this to show off my body to Markus and Dieter. OK then, I'm an exhibitionist and to prove it, I pull my shorts as high as they'll go.


Markus and Dieter look pointedly at my thighs as we sit having our beers and I cross one leg over the other, knowing my tight little shorts will retreat even further up my hips. Dieter winks at me and crosses his legs too, his faded shorts riding up to reveal some of his bottom. His legs really are as smooth as mine, with not even a tiny hair to be seen. There's a delicious moment when he comes back with some more beers and sits close enough for our knees to be touching. As he chats away, he pats my thigh to make a point; I think he must like me. This I find thrilling. Markus takes photos of Dieter and me smiling away as we sit together on the terrace, surrounded by geraniums in full bloom. Our little Lederhosen must look incredibly skimpy. Dieter looks much more like my brother than either Graham or Julian do. It's my turn to buy a round of beers as we eat lunch in the sunshine. I don't suppose I'll remember what I've eaten - I just know that I'll never forget this lunch. We don't mention sex but the beer and the company make me feel less inhibited than I've ever felt before. I'm burbling merrily as we walk back to the campsite. There are some other campers about but I really don't care if anyone's staring at me now.

Dieter scuttles into his tent and reappears seconds later in his Speedos and brandishing a bottle of wine. He gives me a mischievous grin and nips back into the tent. Markus looks at me, bows extravagantly and indicates with his eyes that I should follow Dieter. The tent is bigger than mine and there's plenty of room for the three of us to sit cross-legged inside and drink wine. Markus remains in his jeans and again I wonder why Dieter has always to wear so little but I dare not ask. .

"We have to leave here tomorrow," says Markus. "We're driving over the St Gotthard Pass into Italy for a few more days of vacation and to see some architecture. It is very good to meet you, Oliver. Give me your address and I will send the photos. I want to play a little game with Dieter. I know you like him and I am sure you'll enjoy watching. But it's important you can keep a secret."

"Of course I can keep a secret," I say. "What's this little game?" I think I've guessed but I'm kept in suspense for several more minutes.

On a signal from Markus, Dieter collects our empty wine glasses, turns on a transistor radio and gives me a strange little look, rolling his eyes to the sky as he lies on his front over Markus's lap with his bottom sticking up. I stare, enthralled, tingling with anticipation. Markus grins at me and raises his right hand. He crashes it down onto Dieter's waiting bottom. There's a little shudder from Dieter and a squeak. Markus rubs Dieter's bottom for a few seconds and then raises his hand again. The second smack is harder than the first and Dieter squeaks more loudly and squirms about a bit.

"They were very gentle spanks," says Markus."Now, please lower his Badehose - his swim trunks. He will let you do it. Then there will be some hard strokes." Dieter takes a sharp intake of breath.

Scarcely able to believe what I am doing, I move over Dieter's prone body and ever so gently ease his Speedos over his glorious buttocks and past his limp dick, taking great care not to touch it. At Markus's command, I slip the Speedos down as far as Dieter's knees. His whole body is beginning to quiver - is it a reaction to my touch or is he scared of the pain to come? Looking at the firm, hairless bottom, I wonder how much harder the next blows will be. I'm feeling pity for Dieter and want to hold his hand so I reach out and his trembling hand closes over mine. His bottom is now entirely bare and Markus is rubbing it. I feel as tense as if it were my bottom waiting for a spanking. Dieter senses that Markus is ready and tightens his grip on my hand.

Down comes Markus's hand, very much harder than before, making a loud slap and causing poor Dieter to gasp and writhe about. Why does he take this sort of thing? He turns his head to face me. Does he want me to tell Markus to stop? The fourth stroke is easily the hardest yet and is quickly followed by four more equally severe ones. Dieter is now grimacing in pain and his gasps have turned to sniffs. His lovely face has gone red and there are tears in his beautiful blue eyes.

Markus is now breathing heavily. "So, Oliver, that's our little game. What do you think?"

Dieter has rolled onto his knees, has pulled up his Speedos and is vigorously rubbing his bottom.

"Well, I've never seen a game like that, " I say, truthfully. "It must hurt a lot, Dieter."

"Yes, it hurts very much!" says Dieter, with emphasis, wiping his eyes. "That is how it should be. There are usually many more smacks than eight."

"Dieter likes me to spank him," says Markus but I notice Dieter isn't exactly nodding in agreement. "It's our little secret and I hope you will also keep it secret."

"Oh God! Yes, of course!" I reply.

"So, Oliver: now you must practise your skills on Dieter. It will help you keep the secret."

My heart leaps to my mouth. How can I possibly spank a young man nearly two years my senior? It's wrong and anyway, I don't want to hurt the delicious Dieter. But I find my dick stirring. Markus asks me if I want Dieter to remove his Speedos and I can't answer him. Dieter now takes control and tells me to sit on the floor with my legs out straight. He pats me on the head and smiles at me as he kneels to pull his Speedos down to his knees. Now, like me, he has an erection. He lies on my lap and I feel his rigid dick slotting between my bare thighs. His knees and elbows are on the ground and he pushes his bottom up slightly to give me a better target. The next bit is up to me.

"Don't be too hasty, Oliver," says Markus, the master tutor. "Take two minutes feeling the target and thinking about your spanking stroke. Don't be embarrassed. Dieter likes you very much and he wants this."

I've never felt another person's bottom before. It makes a nice change from having my own bottom fondled at school by people I loathe and Dieter's is a spectacularly excellent bottom. I stroke the backs of his legs and gradually work up to his splendid buttocks. They're rather pink after their treatment from Markus and are surprisingly warm to the touch. As I stroke, he wriggles slightly and I feel his dick moving about between my legs. I'm getting a massive kick just tracing my fingers over his bottom and into the crease where his legs begin. Oh God, his skin's so smooth! I put my left hand on the small of his back, raise my right hand and bring it down as hard as I can. It makes a satisfying slap on his left buttock. He doesn't squeak or wriggle about so I can't have hit him hard enough. I aim my second stroke at his right buttock.

Crash! That's more like it! Dieter squeaks this time and wriggles off my lap, only to be ordered by Markus to resume the punishment position. Dieter obeys, sighing deeply and I stare at my red handprint on his right buttock. Did I do that? I can't cause him any more pain and prefer to stroke his sumptuous flesh. I'm caressing the back of his left thigh and my dick is rigid when, without warning, Markus gives Dieter's bottom the hardest stroke of all. CRASH!! Dieter shrieks and rolls off me onto the floor, his hands racing to give his poor bottom a good rubbing. He pulls up his Speedos to cover his now-flaccid dick but leaves his bottom uncovered.

"You need to be firm, Oliver," says Markus. "He likes being spanked and likes it hard. Now he's going to kiss you for beating him!"

In alarmed reaction to what Markus has just said I turn to Dieter and the beautiful boy reaches forward and wraps his arms around me, pulling me down to the floor. I find myself locked in embrace, my bare legs entwined with his, his tongue entering my mouth and wriggling about inside, his eyes closed and his hands clutching me tight. I've no idea what's going on; all I've had so far are motherly kisses from my Mum and various aunties and chaste kisses (lips only) with girls at the Young Conservative parties I've been obliged to attend. But this is fantastic!

I don't want it to stop but stop we must, if we don't want to suffocate. With all this excitement, I can't prevent a very messy ejaculation in my little shorts and I pull away from Dieter, blushing deeply. The boys laugh and Markus passes me a handful of tissues. These Germans - they're prepared for anything!

"OK, Oliver," says Markus, the master of ceremonies, "I think we have time for more wine before your family returns."

Oh God! What's the time? I can't be caught like this by my parents! Luckily, it's only about four o'clock, so I've got time to recover.

"I think I'd better go and change my underwear," I say.

Looking about anxiously, I dart across to my little tent to pull my clothes off and have a breather. I realise my leather shorts are unaffected by my little accident. They're so bloody short my swollen dick had pushed out of one leg of the damned things and squirted onto the inside of my thigh. My briefs are heavily soiled though so I hide them somewhere, mop myself up and prepare to rejoin the Germans, wearing just my leather shorts and a clean T-shirt. I am greeted by the smell of real coffee. Markus takes more photos of Dieter and me lying side by side (I hope my dick isn't showing) and says something odd about me not needing attention from his electric razor. I wish the boys aren't leaving Vitznau in the morning and say so.

"All good things come to an end, Oliver, my dear boy." says Dieter.

"It's not over yet," says Markus. "I can see how much you two like each other. Dieter, when everyone is in bed tonight you will go over to Oliver's tent to wish him 'Goodnight.' No spanking though - his parents might be listening!"


I'm sitting on the lounger in my blue shorts when my family return. They've had a superb day up the mountain and both brothers plead with me to come along tomorrow to see for myself. That's a good idea as there'll be no reason for me to stay in the campsite. Graham shows me on the map where they walked today and we work out some ideas for tomorrow. I'm so grateful to have such a lovely family. I tell them I've been out with the German boys for a beer or two and a walk. Mum makes a delicious meal and after we boys have done the washing up we all turn in for the night. I am alive with anticipation - what will Dieter's 'Goodnight' entail?

It's midnight and all quiet in the campsite; I'm beginning to think Markus and Dieter have forgotten. Peeping out at their tent I see it's in darkness and all I can hear is the wind in the trees. I hope Dieter hasn't had to face another spanking. Oh dear, if I can get so worked up about him I must definitely be homosexual and a kinky one too, what with the hard-on I got when I was spanking him. Another thirty minutes pass. I'm lying on my sleeping bag in just my leather shorts. Dieter can't be coming so I'll award myself a big fat juicy wank by means of compensation. Oh - is that a radio I hear playing? It's not very loud. I'd better peep outside. Yes, the sound is coming from the boys' tent. I lie down again, hoping something might happen. Now my tent flap rustles and I hear a whispered 'Oliver.'

Dieter creeps in beside me. I can hardly see him but I can feel that as usual, he's clad only in his Speedos. He has a towel and an open bottle of wine. My tent's so small we have to lie very close together but that's not too harsh a penalty to pay. He lies on his side, facing me and we converse in whispers, having the occasional swig from the bottle. I have to ask him a question.

"Dieter, why does Markus spank you?"

"It's the way we like it, my dear Oliver. He never lets me spank him but I like it, strange as it seems, when he spanks me."

"But it must hurt you and it makes your bottom red. I didn't like it when I saw tears in your eyes. Does it still hurt?"

"Yes, it does. That's the price I must pay. Most times he's just playful but sometimes he beats me very hard and I don't like that. Like this afternoon. When he told you to pull down my Speedos I knew some very hard spanks would come. He was showing you what he can do. It was very painful."

"That's when you started to tremble, Dieter. That's why I wanted to hold your hand." I roll even closer and begin to hug poor Dieter. Our bare legs are entwined. I love this.

There's a pause before Dieter whispers again. "Was I trembling? It was good to hold your hand. Thank you, my beautiful young friend."

Then he tells me the truth. "To be honest, the spanking is not much fun for me but I must let him do it. You see, four years ago he saved my life. There was a sailing accident on the Baltic, when we were Scouts. I am always in debt to him. This is how I try to repay him."

"That's horrible, Dieter! You have to get punished for years because he saved your life! Is that why you always do everything he tells you to do?"

"Is it so obvious? Well, I'm alive and I have a big debt to repay. I must give Markus what he wants."

"Did you like it when he told me to spank you?"

"I like you, dear Oliver, so I liked what you did to me. The best bit was lying on your nice legs and the worst bit was when you spanked me for the third time. That was - how do you say - a real bastard!"

"That wasn't me - it was him! Oh, Dieter, can I rub it better?"

He sighs and moves even closer and I reach over and begin to stroke his bottom, much of it left bare by his Speedos. If this is being homosexual, I like it!

We chat in whispers as we cuddle. He says he and Markus meet about five times a year, sometimes for a week or more, at the end of which his bottom feels very sore indeed. Then he asks me if I like my leather shorts. I say we bought them a couple of days ago.

"They are very comfortable but I won't wear them in England because they're incredibly short and everyone will stare at me. Do you wear yours at university?"

"No, not at Heidelberg but at Stuttgart, with Markus, yes. I wore them as a boy nearly all the time until I was seventeen. The same pair I have today. Markus doesn't like me to wear long trousers. I think he regards me still as a fourteen-year-old Scout! We all wore Lederhosen with our Scouts uniform. Even in winter!"

Dieter snuggles up to me and begins to stroke my face. "I hope you will wear yours in England, Oliver," he murmurs into my ear. "You look beautiful in them, just like a good German boy!"

I'll treasure those words but they've embarrassed me so I change the subject.

"One more question, Dieter. What did Markus mean about the electric razor?"

"He was saying how lovely and smooth your body is. Mine is quite good but sometimes he sees little hairs on the backs of my legs and removes them with his razor. He did it yesterday."

I say something I've never dared to say to anyone else. "I'm worried that no hairs will grow on my legs, Dieter. Even my little brothers have hairy legs. Is there something wrong with me?"

"My dear Oliver: you're no different from lots of young men. Look at me! And I know men of thirty with only a few hairs on their legs. Do not worry, my beautiful boy."

"You say the nicest things, Dieter. You're the most handsome boy I've ever seen. Will you come to England one day? I'd love to see you again."

"That would be good, Oliver but if I come to England you must promise to wear these wonderful Lederhose !"

We're still cuddling and I can feel his erection pressing on my tummy. I sense the time passing. These moments are so precious. After he's gone back to his tent I must have something else to look forward to so I ask him if we can meet in the shower-room again in the morning.

"No, I fear not, my lovely boy. I have to be up very early to make breakfast and we are departing at seven. But no more questions. I've come to say goodnight and we do that with a kiss."

Dieter treats me to a long, lingering and very loving kiss and this time I manage to work my tongue into his mouth. It's quite easy, really! We both have raging erections and it seems only natural to have a friendly wrestle. Dear old, strange old Markus still has his radio playing, to mask the sounds of heavy breathing and heavy rustling that must be drifting out of my tent. Dieter's on top of me, licking me all over my face and neck and thrusting his dick, which escaped his Speedos ages ago, all over my stomach, while mine is responding ecstatically to the occasion and quickly reaching critical point. I have both my hands on Dieter's delicious buttocks when my orgasm comes and I feel highly complimented because Dieter's follows almost at once. So that's why he brought a towel!

Remember, I've never done mutual masturbation before and if this is what it's like I want lots more! But I'll reserve it for only the best partners in crime, like Dieter, so Horrible Nick can forget it! And now, with dear Dieter stroking my hair, I feel so sleepy ...


I awake to the Beetle's engine starting. Recognising what this means, I rush out of the tent, forgetting that I'm stark naked. The car moves off. I wave goodbye as Markus and Dieter drive out of the campsite and my last view of Dieter is of his smiling face as he blows me a kiss. I run back to my tent before anyone sees me naked. I feel so bereft I want to cry. But there's a letter tucked into the tent flap. I read it and burst into tears.

Dear Oliver,

It has been wonderful to meet you. Markus and I enjoyed your company very much. We will send you the photographs. Keep our little secret and don't worry about the hairs! By the way, I have to visit London University next year, in March. Maybe we can meet. Markus will not be there!

Auf Wiedersehen, my sweet Oliver!

Dieter

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