Face at the Window

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Face at the Window

This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between the characters in it. Although the characters are teenagers who may be below the age of consent in the country or state where this is read, nothing written here should be taken as approval of, or encouragement for, sexual liaisons between people where such liaisons are either illegal, or objectionable for moral reasons. Although this story does not include safe sex practices, it is everyone's own responsibility to themselves and to each other to engage only in PROTECTED SEX. It is a story. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Nothing represented here is based on any fact known to the author.

The story is copyright 2001 by "It's Only Me from Across the Sea". If you copy the story, please leave the credits, and the web address of http://iomfats.org present, and also the email address of its_onlyme@hotmail.com. I'd love to receive feedback.

----oooOOOooo----

Totally and utterly pissed off. I know I shouldn't have been, because we were on our way to a wonderful holiday, but I was like a bear with a sore head. It wasn't going to plan at all. There were going to be four of us. Mum, dad, Tom, and me

Only Tom wasn't coming

We were on the flight and Tom wasn't coming. "Chickenpox," his mother had said. "I'm sorry, but he has chickenpox."

Well, perhaps he had. Only I doubted that very much. 'It's better this way.' I was trying to convince myself I had the words running round in my head. 'It's better this way.' Usually I looked out of the plane window at take off and got all excited and watched the clouds appear underneath. This time I was just sitting there. 'It's better this way.'

The tray of disgusting food-like stuff came and went. Uneaten in my case. So did the film. Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts and some pistol or other. The Mexican. I never caught the ending. I wasn't interested.

"It's a shame Tom wasn't well, dear," mum said. "You two get on so well. We hoped you'd be able to have a friend with you this year."

"It won't matter too much, Helen," dad added. "Simon's been learning German. He'll be able to talk to the girls without moral support."

I wished they wouldn't do that. The whole girls thing. I mean they meant well enough, but they didn't know me. Not really. To them I was just Simon. Sixteen years old. A little shy and retiring where girls were concerned. But they didn't know me.

Anyway it did matter. Dad was wrong. I'd really wanted Tom to come on holiday with us.

We'd planned it all, Tom and I. Even down to sneaking off at midnight to the beach and have a swim. We'd planned it for ages. Since November. And it was late July now.

"At least Tom's parents can claim on the insurance for him," dad had said when Tom's mum and dad had called to double confirm that it was off. "And you won't have to share a room now."

I was pleased about the insurance. If it was chickenpox. I mean it was an odd illness to fake, and most people had it as kids anyway. Only I was sure it was a fake. As sure of that as I was sure that I was a total fool.

"Welcome to Fuerteventura. We hope you had a pleasant flight with Air 2000, and we look forward to welcoming you... " The spiel went on and on as we taxied to the stand. In the baggage hall we won at baggage carrousel roulette. The first ten bags had our three in them. Amazing. And we headed to the exit and the taxi to take us the hour or so to the hotel. Nothing very special, the taxi. Toyota Corolla estate. Just room for three huge cases, three sets of hand baggage and three people who'd been awake since 2am. Well, two who had. I hadn't been to bed. Idly I wondered how four of us would have fitted in.

Fuerteventura is a pretty desolate rock. It suited my mood. I'd wanted there to be four of us so badly this summer. 'It's better this way,' I thought again. "You get in the back with dad, Simon," mum had instructed, and the cab set off out of the relative civilisation of the Puerto del Rosario and headed south towards Jandia where we were staying.

Even the very scary cab ride couldn't keep me awake. But boy was it scary. This guy couldn't drive. He must've taken his driving test in Belgium when it was just an oral! He overtook where it was suicidal to; hit bends so fast that the rear wheels scrabbled for grip, drove slowly when there was no need to. And we had an hour of this to come. Only I dozed off, dad told me later, just when it got really scary.

We got there, though. And got checked in and into the rooms. Mind you the sea was about three quarters of a mile away across a main road and through yard after yard of scrubby salt marshes. I wished Tom was there. I'd have given a lot to have him there too. We'd been mates for as long as I could remember. Done everything together. Even our voices had broken in the same week, as though we were twins, oh, except he was Gemini and I'm Leo.

It was blowing a hoolie when we hit the beach. We'd known it would be. We had a half tent as a shelter, but we hadn't taken it there that first afternoon. A good force six wind blew the length of the beach, unbroken for 32 km or so, and all golden sand with wind and waves crashing into it. It was the same as our holiday last year, the one I'd described to Tom, the one he'd said yes to like a shot when I invited him. The one he'd even done Saturday jobs to help pay for. The one he'd been looking forward to for almost a whole year.

We were going to hang out together, go to seafront bars and discos together, be on the beach together away from parents, maybe even dare to bathe naked like dad did every year, get rat-arsed in the bar each evening together. All sorts of things. Half kid things, half teen things. Only not now. A week ago, yes. Just not now.

It may have been 'better this way', but it felt lonely. No, not lonely. Empty. That's how it felt. No Tom equalled empty. I wasn't sure we were even friends any more, which is why I was wondering about chickenpox being fake. I had the feeling he'd given our friendship up.

Dad got me into the water. Mind you I was aiming for a different bit of sea, because as soon as he'd hit the beach, so had his trunks, and bright white arse was displayed like a beacon for all to see. I know Tom and I had been half daring to swim naked in our plans, but, to see your dad on the beach, all bits waving in the breeze, well that's a very different thing, very embarrassing. More embarrassing since he's built for comfort, not for speed.

He's a total prat, my dad. What with the waves to bodysurf in, and his mucking about, and mum getting her bikini bottom pulled off by a wave, a smile found it's way back onto my face for the first time in a week. The sun was hot, the sea warm and very salty, the wind was strong but warm, and the sand was so hot that it fried your feet. And as I looked round I saw that dad was by no means the only naked fool on the beach. I mean it was still embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as if he were giving a solo performance. I almost dared to strip as well. Almost. Only I couldn't trust my dick to stay pointing in a politically correct manner. And if it was going to wave vertically in the breeze then I was damned if it was going to do it on a beach full of people. Not without Tom to give me moral support at least.

It had been the week before that it had all gone wrong. We'd been lazing around at school in the last week of the school-year, watching the cricket. Well not watching it, but chatting. The school grounds had big beech trees and we were in the dappled shade beneath one, sitting side by side, backs to the huge trunk. We'd been talking about the holiday. And the heat of the day had got to us, and he'd dozed off.

I'd watched his head lolling sideways as his eyes forced themselves shut. Only his head lolled to my shoulder. Which, as a mate, was ok; we mates took care of each other, and having a mate's head on your shoulder was no big deal, no deal at all. Only Tom's head carried on downwards onto my lap. Even that was fine, and since we were at the far boundary and in dappled shade and with almost no-one on that side of the pitch, it never mattered.

Only what happened next did matter. And I think it took us both by surprise. Well, no. It took us both by surprise for sure.

As his head reached my lap he stretched and turned onto his back, his face looking up at me, but with his eyes shut. And I looked at him as though for the first time.

Soft eyelashes on his closed eyelids, and above them sparse, blond, defined eyebrows, each hair visible. An open forehead and softly wavy blond hair. A regular nose and a small mouth, lips in proportion with his oval face, smooth cheeks without a hint of stubble, rosy in patches on his cheeks. Tom was beautiful. If his eyes had been open they would have shown piercing blue, bright against his pearl and rose colouring. So beautiful, so vulnerable, his head in my lap. I almost gasped.

And totally without thinking I found I was stroking his hair.

Gently.

Almost reverently.

Automatically.

And with love.

In that instant I realised that Tom Dennison wasn't just my best mate, but that I was in love with him.

It should have been very scary. I should have been shocked. Loving Tom meant I was probably gay. But at that moment it didn't matter, didn't even cross my mind.

It did on the beach, though. All of it crossed my mind on the beach after we'd all got out of the water. It was a huge beach. Great clusters of sunbeds behind a wind shelter, and vast expanses of golden sand. I lay on the towel wishing I was in the lee of the tent thing that we hadn't brought and baked dry in the sun, and got sand coated in the wind. And it all came rushing back. All of it. Every last bit.

My face must have shown what I was thinking. Mum asked me if I was all right. I found all sixteen years of me wanting to cry. "Just a bit lonely," I managed. "Wishing Tom was here." And I turned over to bake my back and hide my face.

"You'll find someone here, Simon," dad said. "You usually find a mate on holiday."

"I suppose." Every year I'd been lonely on holiday. Every year I'd forced my way into a group of kids who were also making the best of it. Every year I'd been desperately shy because I can't speak any language except English. Every year I'd cursed the British education system for teaching us languages in a sterile, clinical, grammatical way without helping us to speak them. I'd even just taken my GCSE in German. That wasn't any help either. It might as well have been Chinese for all the use it was. I could write erudite pre-prepared sentences, but I couldn't actually speak a word. All in all I tried. I could see that this year, despite all my plans, wasn't going to be any different. "It's just that everyone here speaks German, and Tom and I'd planned to hang out together."

"Rotten luck he had to fall ill like that."

"Yeah. I'll make the best of it, I suppose."

"It's pretty good here, you know. Sun, sand, quite a few good looking girls in the hotel. There look like some guys your age to hang out with, too."

Oh good. Girls. Tom and I had planned to pull girls. Only I'd found I was probably gay. And yes, before I'd even had a girlfriend. I was in love with Tom Dennison. And he probably had chickenpox. And he wasn't here, and I loved him. "I'll be ok, dad." I would. It was better this way. "I usually am, you know."

It wasn't just that I'd stroked Tom's hair. If it had just been that, if I'd left it at that, then it would all have been just about ok. If.

But I hadn't. Hadn't just stroked his hair. I wish I had, but I hadn't.

It hadn't been under conscious control, but I'd traced the outline of his cheeks with my finger, felt the soft yet shaven skin of his cheeks, smoothed his eyebrows with my finger. Gently, but noticeably. And he noticed. Not at first, but as I traced his lips with a finger, feeling them full and yielding, he stretched and opened his eyes.

He caught me stroking him.

Still half unaware he said "what are you doing?"

"You fell asleep."

"Mmm, but what are you doing?"

"Stroking your face." There was no denying it. I was stroking his face.

"Why?" His voice was still sleepy, but he was waking up.

And then I blew it. "Because I suddenly saw how beautiful you are. And I wanted to touch you because you're beautiful." I could still have got away with it even then. But I didn't stop. "Tom, I think I'm in love with you."

It seemed so natural to say it. Heck, Tom and I discussed everything. Our first wank, first pubic hair, cock sizes, which ball was bigger, left or right. Telling him that I loved him was just another one of these things. It was.

It wasn't.

He sat up suddenly. "Oh."

And his tone of voice in that single syllable told me that I'd blown it. All of it.

"Tom, I don't mean... " I didn't know what I didn't mean.

"That you're gay?"

"Not that. I mean it isn't sex. I just love you."

"Yeah, right. You love me. You've been stroking my hair, my face, you tell me I'm beautiful. And you say it isn't sex. That you aren't gay."

"I don't know. That's the truth." I was floundering. "I just finally found that I love you. Does that make me gay?"

"I need to think." He got up. I started to as well. "Alone."

"You're telling me to go away?"

"No. To stay here. I'm going to walk. And think."

"I'm not any different... "

"Yeah, right. Well maybe you are to me, okay?"

It felt cold. Not just then and there. It felt cold on the beach under the strong sun, on the beach towel on the beach at Jandia. Remembering. I could see Tom in my mind's eye as he had stood and looked at me sitting under the beech tree and could hear the gentle sound of the cricket match carrying on as he turned and walked away. And I felt so stupid.

But how could I not have told him? We were almost twins the way we shared everything. It had seemed so right. And it hadn't been about sex. It just hadn't. If it had been sex then I could have coped better. I just loved him. I suppose not in the same way as a brother. I haven't got a brother, but I don't think brothers stroke each other's hair. But I didn't want to do stuff with him. At least I didn't think I did. I still thought then that it was girls I wanted.

Truth to tell, it had begun to feel pretty odd that last week. Tom didn't avoid me, exactly, but he didn't hang out with me either in breaks or at lunch. Nor did he come round to my house, nor invite me to his. No more holiday plans. We weren't uncivil to each other or anything. He just left me in no doubt that he was 'thinking' still. I tried to talk to him. Not once or twice, but often. "Tom, we're going on holiday in less than a week!" That was the last thing that I'd said to him.

"I know," he said. "Look, I just don't think I want you to be in love with me. I haven't done anything to make you love me. I just haven't. I thought we were brothers, sort of. I do love you as a very best mate. Damn it I'd do almost anything for you. But I'm not sure I want you to be 'in love' with me. I just don't know, Simon. I still want to be friends. Only I'm scared."

I never found out what he was scared of. We'd gone our separate ways home and he wasn't in school the next day. And when I got home mum told me that Mrs Dennison had phoned and that Tom wasn't well, might not be well enough to go on holiday with us. I hadn't tried to call him. I'd half expected it somehow, in the recesses of my mind.

Which left me feeling like shit on one of the best beaches in the world. I hadn't meant to hurt him. I'd just been stupid, clumsy with what I'd said. I knew, hoped I knew, that I hadn't lost a friend. I just was afraid that the closeness had gone.

Several applications of suncream later we toiled back across the scrub to the hotel to get ready for dinner. We certainly weren't awake, especially me. Apart from the cab ride I'd had no sleep for about thirty six hours. So we dozed a while before going down.

Dad did his usually criticism of all the other guests. He always does it, and often too loud. "All the boys look like piglets," he said, "and the girls are too young for you, Simon. Pity Tom's ill."

"Yeah." As if I could forget.

"Wow, look, a whole elephant!" We looked. He was right. That was the trouble. He was always right. "If that one's English I bet she's from Southend!" Dad was pointing to a pair of shiny jeans around the narrowest hips you've ever seen, which led up to a face you could win a 'grab-a-granny' night with at a disco, and blonded, bleached hair. We'd already seen 'Brits on holiday' each year in the airports. So recognisable. Somehow package holidays seemed to be associated more and more with people in football shirts, already deep into their third can of lager at 6am. I mean we aren't exactly posh, but we aren't totally recognisable as a type. Oh heck I hope not. But they are. And each year we hope they're going to a different hotel. And sometimes they aren't.

We'd wondered idly if all the other nations had the same instantly recognisable types. Somehow the only other nationality in the hotel was German, oh with a few from the Netherlands and one French family. We were almost the only English family there.

I had my back to most of the dining room. I'd already seen almost no girls of my age. And no boys to hang out with either. It's hard to hang out with thirteen year old boys when you're so much more mature. If Tom had been there at least we could have hung out together. 'It's better this way,' I though again. Sharing a room would have been difficult now anyway, since Tom was sure I had designs on his body.

"You know," dad said, well into his second plate of starters, "that lad looks like an older version of David from Coronation Street." He pointed out a lad with dark brown slicked back hair, brown eyes, a grin like Mephistopheles, maybe fourteen or fifteen, sitting with his family near the window at a table diagonally away from ours. It was hard to turn and look at everyone dad pointed out but he was right in a way. The kid who plays David isn't cute exactly, but he can act - unusually for a child soap actor. Acting-wise we're talking Haley Joel Osment, not Macaulay Culkin. So David, well the actor who plays him, has a certain charm made from great ability but not from looks. Not that anyone could accuse Culkin of being exactly good looking though.

Putting the 'David' tag on this lad, who was no oil painting, suddenly made the uncute into cute. Only I'm not into boys. So it was an academic exercise. I tried to guess his nationality. Only since I was facing away from his table I failed totally. Mind you it was an odds on racing certainty that he'd be another non-English speaker. Not that I cared much. It wasn't exactly as if I was likely to be in the mood to hang out with anyone. And anyway he looked more like fourteen. I was intending, if I could, to go to bars and discos and stuff, so I wasn't likely to hang out with someone younger.

Not that night for bars, though. Mum and dad and I went and watched the inane show and discovered the hugely generous measures of vodka they poured. One was at least six of the mean UK measures. "Enough?" the waiter asked.

"More?" It was an experiment, but I asked anyway. I got more. A highball glass three quarters full of vodka. And dad was paying. My kind of holiday! Idly I pitied American kids with alcohol only legal at twenty one. I wasn't too sure what the drinking age was in Spain, let alone the Canaries, but the waiters sure as hell didn't care, even if I was just sixteen and two years too young to be served legally in the UK.

Apart from not flying anywhere, and not being scared shitless in a taxi, the next day was like the first. Except we got to the beach first thing. We'd looked at the pool area. Rectangular. Industrial. We hadn't picked the Riu Ventura hotel from the brochure for its pool. We'd picked it because it was allegedly 300m from the beach. Well, as the crow flies it was more like 600, but as the path went it felt over 1km. Except we think in miles, of course; miles and metres. So we got the tent, towels, suncream, water, the lot, and hiked to the beach.

Bliss.

Sheer bliss.

Even still missing Tom it was bliss.

The sea wasn't hot. It never is in the Canaries. But it wasn't cold either. Dad stripped off at once of course, and tried to persuade me to as usual. I half want to. But I half don't dare. I mean it's not like getting changed at school where we're all boys. There are girls there. And I'm just not ready yet to get naked in public. I just know I'd get rock hard straight away. And no-one else ever seems to be, not even the little kids. So I don't dare.

The day was good. I couldn't forget Tom, but the day was good. We even managed to get the tent-shelter thingy erected first time. We'd seen them the previous year and got one in England from Gelert. 'The Cambridge Shelter' it said proudly. It stayed saying it proudly until mum finished dumping our stuff in it, had spread out her towel on the sand and had stretched out on it.

Then the wind flattened it. Onto her face.

She wasn't pleased. Nor was dad. All the pegs were in place, the guy ropes were still fine, but it flattened in the wind. Dad faffed around adjusting things and made a difference until he stopped holding it. Then it flattened again. Better than that, mum pointed out where the seams were starting to unravel. And we'd only put it up once before, at home.

"Mr Gelert can have his Cambridge Shelter back when we get home," dad said. "I mean it's great for a still day, but a slight breeze and it collapses." He went on to describe all the modifications he'd make. None of which made any difference to our windbreak, lying flattened on the sand when everyone else's stood up properly. Dad's like that. Mind you, when he complains he makes things happen.

Pretty much as usual on the beach we kept ourselves to ourselves. I did let my mind stray to Tom. Couldn't help it. I'd been wondering and worrying about loving him. If I loved him, did that mean I was gay? If I looked at girls, was I bisexual? Did I 'fancy' him as well as love him? If I did fancy him, and the fact that I had to suntan my back at that thought told me that I did, then what did two boys do together? Not that it mattered, because Tom wasn't ever going to be like that. Never.

I ran my eyes over his face in my mind. Cheeky grin, happy eyes, a vein that sometimes showed down his forehead. Really beautiful. Handsome would come later, right now he was just beautiful. Before that day under the beech tree I'd not even noticed. He was just Tom. Now he was so much more than that. But also less. He wasn't here. We'd never be the same again. 'It's better this way.'

But for whom?

Not for me, certainly. I missed him. Sure, we'd been apart before, of course we had. But somehow not like this. I wanted to send him a postcard, but I had no idea what to write. 'Wish you were here' was the closest I could get. I'd have apologised if I could have worked out what to apologise for. How do you apologise for loving someone? 'I'm sorry I love you, I wish I didn't!' Well, it was how I felt. Only it wasn't really true. I was glad I loved Tom. He was, well, wonderful. I knew that he made me feel alive. He always had. I suppose I must have been the same for him, except he wasn't like me. He wasn't in love with me.

The day passed. We gave lunch a miss. We'd over-breakfasted because we'd planned on a beach day and we spent our time bodysurfing the waves that rolled down the beach pushed by the Northeast trade winds and then baking dry on the sand. I spent some of the baking time walking up the beach to the wrecked sailing ship and back to the lighthouse. I was trying to work out if I was gay still. And I checked out the bodies on the way. Two sorts were a major turn off. Women and men. Of any age, clothed or naked. 'Not a huge surprise,' I thought. Tom used to tell me I was so analytical as to be anally retentive at times. Teens were a different matter. Sleek bodies were lovely to see. Some naked, some with swimwear. Each was equally appealing aesthetically with swimwear. Naked? Well there were fewer naked teenagers than naked adults. Oddly, though both looked good, neither turned me on. Neither. And while little kids were also fascinating to look at, they weren't a turn on either. So I came to no conclusion.

Well I did in a way. It had to be the person and the eyes. Had to be. The body was just a body. It either looked good or didn't, but it had nothing about it except grace or lack of grace. It was the spirit that mattered; the person in the body; the spark of life. That was what Tom had. Is what Tom has. Life. Not simply beauty, but life.

Only he was also the owner of the body of a young god. We were no strangers to being naked together, Tom and I. We'd romped naked in paddling pools in each others gardens when little kids, and stripped off to change clothes at each others homes as a matter of course. When we slept over, which was pretty often, we shared the bath when we were small enough, or shared the bath water when we'd grown too big. It wasn't a big deal. Heck we'd even seen each other get hard! We'd laughed about it then, when we were maybe twelve. It just wasn't a sexual thing.

Now, though, it was different. He was pretty obviously disgusted with me. I was looking at my memory of him with new eyes. Broad shoulders, muscular without being over-muscled, slim waist, legs so smooth, yet with wispy blond hair on the shins and those delightful sun-catching blond hairlets on his thighs. And at the top of his thighs my thoughts turned to his package. I wondered now what it would look like hard. I still had no idea what I wanted to do, but I did want to see it again, maybe, just maybe to touch it.

Did I dare to kiss it? I'd heard of oral sex, of course I had, but to do it? To another boy? It had always been girls we'd talked about doing that with, or getting them to do it for us. What would it be like to take Tom into my mouth? Would I spit or swallow?

Swallow, I decided. Not that it would ever happen. Swallow. Take him to places I'd never imagined and swallow. I wondered what it tasted like, though. Somehow I'd never had the nerve to taste my own.

I had to sunbathe on my front for a long while after that. "Turn over, Simon, your back's starting to burn."

"In a minute, mum."

"Make it a short minute. You don't want sunburn on our second day here."

"I'm using factor 97 suncream. I do want a tan you know."

"It's your back!"

I could sense I'd been short with her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you."

"Still fed up about Tom?"

"Yeah." I turned over, tent wilted. At least Speedos kept it in check. I couldn't imaging the embarrassment of being naked. "Mum?"

"Mmm?"

"About Tom... "

"What about him?"

"Chickenpox?"

"That's what his mum said. Why?"

"Well I just wondered." I wasn't about to tell her why. Not all of it at least. "We sort of fell out... "

"And you wondered if it was political chickenpox?"

"What?"

"Like 'political flu'. You really don't have it, but you say you do to avoid doing something. I thought you'd know the concept."

"I did. Do. And yes."

"Well, it'd be an odd illness to choose. It's easy to see if someone has it or not."

"I thought so too. I was just worried."

"D'you mind if I ask what you fell out over?"

"Lets see if it heals first."

"Sounds fair."

The subject faded. Well, the topic faded. I almost told her what had happened. Almost. Only, while I wanted to share this with someone, I didn't know who, or how to. I suppose it wasn't the same as sharing it with Tom, but his reaction hadn't been exactly welcoming, so I was scared of losing whoever I told. Plus I wasn't sure what I felt.

The dining room was fuller that night, somehow. And candles on every table, which must have meant it was the weekly Gala Dinner. Which meant paella, which to me is inedible and a waste of good seafood. Still, other people piled their plates high with it, so someone must like it.

I was facing mum, facing the same way as dad for a change. Behind mum sat a family with a son of maybe twenty. Brown hair tipped with blond, buttoned shirt, and a T-shirt inside. Almost 9pm and he had sunglasses hooked over the front of his shirt. "Bet you he's gay," dad said to me quietly.

"Why? How?"

"Hard to say," he said, "but no-one wears two shirts like that in this heat. Plus he isn't looking at the girls. Plus the sunglasses. It's almost dark, but he has them with him. He did last night, too."

Dad's one of the most accepting people I know. Apart from mum. But the subject took me aback. Silly, really, because we'd talked like this pretty often in hotels about guests. It was the timing, really. And it got me wondering if I showed any signs of 'being gay'. If I knew what they were. If I was gay. "Can you tell that about anyone?" I was half scared, suddenly, that he could see inside my head.

"I doubt it! Besides, how on earth would I know if I'm right?" he was smiling. "I can't exactly walk up and ask for confirmation now, can I? I mean you can just see it, can't you? The scene. 'Hello, I just want to check if you're gay? Ah, you're not. Well, please remove my teeth from your fist as you withdraw it from my mouth.' Mind you, that lad looks sad. As though no-one knows but him. His family doesn't know."

"How the heck do you know that?"

"Guessing!" he laughed.

I was miles away from the dining room at that moment. My brain was doing gymnastics about whether he could guess the same about me. I must have been gazing idly around the room.

"Hi!" A surprisingly deep husky voice.

"Uh... Hi." An autopilot response. My eyes flicked back into focus. It was the David person. I must have been staring as he'd left his table to get food from the buffet and walked towards our table on his way. Must've met his gaze and held it without knowing.

In the maybe four seconds before he was out of view my brain received, noted, registered, and filed his description. Brown. Deep tanned brown with kitten-like brown eyes that weren't just big and round, but had serious mischief in them. Serious mischief. Not a good looking boy. No, that wasn't fair. He wasn't ugly. He just wasn't handsome. His hair was gelled, wet-look, slicked off his face, and his grin was flashed at me like one flash from the lighthouse. No, two flashes. I swear it flashed again as he was almost out of sight as he passed close to and behind me. And my brain flashed back the one word. 'Wow!'

So. I wasn't into boys. But I was in love with Tom, and this David person's smile made me tingle all over. All over. He exuded sensual sexuality. Worse, although there were a good few really pretty girls among the usual populations of huge numbers of ugly ones, not one of them had ever had this effect on me, especially from so little. Which is scary. Very scary.

I didn't dare stare at him, even to look at him, for the rest of dinner. So while not daring to look I worked out that he was more my age than I thought. Just not as tall. And he was English. Which meant I could talk to him. Yeah, right. First in love with Tom, so I told him I was, now having serious brain meltdown from one 'hi' and one and a half smiles. And that meant I was too shy to talk at all. So that was going to work. And, damn it, it was friends I needed and wanted. And anyway this was another boy, and even if it went in the direction my brain was telling me it was hoping for...

No, that was stupid. Totally stupid. First, how could I hope for even friendship with a boy I didn't dare speak to? Second, even if we got to be friends, how on earth could I? Well how could I? I mean how do you say 'I'm gay and I fancy you'? How? And what do you actually do anyway? I mean who does what? Like how do I know what I want? What do I want? Am I gay? It could be a silly phase. Hormones.

Jeez, he only said 'hi'. What was wrong with me?

He looked fun, though. When you first see someone you make a guess at what they're like. He looked fun. Only I hardly dared even to say hello.

Dessert.

About the only thing that didn't either look or taste disgustingly sweet was melon and watermelon, and I got up to queue for it. I was behind an immense woman who was helping herself to a huge selection of very sweet calories. I waited getting increasingly impatient. All I wanted was the melon, and I had to wait behind this great lumbering arse while she faffed about. Damn it someone even nipped in front of her. I saw the flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. And finally she hauled her plateful away. And in front of me, helping himself to melon with those stupid tongs that you drop more than you pick up with, there he was, the person who'd nipped in front. Brown hair. 'David'.

Some melon fell from his tongs into the pink ice cream beneath his plate, and a giggle escaped my lips unbidden.

"So what?" He said it with a laugh in his voice and turned and flashed me another knee-buckling smile. A totally wicked smile. An 'I can do anything, anytime' smile.

I couldn't speak easily. I managed "Serves them right. Stupid tongs," before my speech muscle gave up totally on me.

"Thank God. Another Englishman."

"Eh?" I was failing to fill my own plate now.

"No-one else here is English." He started to move away from the servery. An afterthought. "Meet up in Reception after dinner?"

"Sure." Wow. And he had that sensual 'I know all the secrets of the world' look about him. And he'd spoken to me. And we were going to meet up after the meal. I nudged more melon onto my plate and went and sat down at our table again.

"So," mum asked, "bar again tonight?"

"Suits me," dad said. "Simon?"

"I'm meeting someone after dinner. Oh, can I have some cash?" We'd agreed that dad would sub me while we were away, and that I'd pay him back after we got home.

He pulled out a pair of 5,000 Peseta notes. "This should last you a while. Who is she? I didn't know you'd had time to pull!"

Normally I wouldn't have blushed. Only it was the 'she'. I suddenly felt very weird about it not being a 'she'. And I blushed crimson. "It's a bloke. Lad over there." Why was I blushing? And why can't blushes stay under control?

"You caught the sun today," mum said across the table. "You're face is very red."

Just what I needed. "It'll go brown soon, I expect. I'll just see if there's any cheese." I needed to escape the table for a second or two to get my composure back. I came back cheeseless. "Didn't see any I fancied," I said before anyone could ask me. But the blush had subsided to manageable proportions in the short time I'd been on the loose. "Oh, thanks for the cash. Should be plenty."

"Hope so," dad said. "It's meant to last a while, you know."

We finished dinner. My new potential friend and his family had gone a while before us, and I saw no sign of him in reception. Wasn't any point in going elsewhere, and I didn't need to change, because we'd come down to dinner dressed reasonably smartly, so I was a bit at a loss. "I'll hang around here a bit and wait for him," I announced to no-one in particular.

"Ok. We'll be in the bar or our room if you want anything." And mum took dad's hand and marched him off towards the bar area.

I felt half lost. You do when you expect something to be happening, and you haven't fixed a time or anything, and you don't know if someone meant 'after dinner' or 'immediately after dinner', and you feel a prat waiting around in case you got the wrong end of the stick. The night had darkened and the lighthouse was flashing away, and I could hear the awful live muzak from the stage. The same group as last night. All mispronounced Anglo-American seventies pop music with the singer not able to understand the words he couldn't pronounce. It was a living, I suppose. Only why they had to inflict it on us was beyond me. I wandered out to the pool area and just mooched. Half excited for no good reason to be meeting 'David', and half knowing how much fun I could have had if only I hadn't told Tom that I loved him. 'It's better this way.' Only it wasn't. Not better at all. I must have wandered around for ten minutes or so.

When I headed back to reception, there he was. A small crowd had arrived by magic on the sofas, and he had a pretty blonde girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen sitting on his lap and all over him like a rash. It was a hopes dashing moment. I'd been hoping for the impossible without knowing what I was hoping for, and now I could see that the hope was forlorn. She was very pretty, very slim, and dressed in clothes so tight and figure hugging as to leave nothing to the imagination.

"Hiya! Come and join us."

I came and joined them all. And the only person I could understand at all was him. There was a round of introductions. All of which slipped my mind. Except his. Only I was feeling stupidly low because I could see that whatever I'd been considering wasn't going to happen. His name was Phil. He came from Kent. Ramsgate. A seaside town people used to go on holiday to, not go on holiday from.

Understand each other or not, it was a happy enough group. Somehow we decided to go into the town and find a disco. Well, Phil decided. I was making the best of it. It had been ridiculous to think that he'd just wanted to meet me and no-one else, and pretty damned stupid to think that he might have the same leanings that I was discovering about myself. I tried experimentally to talk to one of the girls. She was maybe the same age as Phil's lap ornament, by no means chubby, but somehow larger, though shorter, and also not a bad looker. I was doing really well until a spiky haired German lad said a single word to her and she left to hold his hand and walk with him. Well, I say 'really well'. What I mean is that she hadn't immediately turned away from me! Funny thing was, Phil's had left him for a fellow countryman as well.

We got served in the bar easily enough. The disco was a bit flat, though. Phil was having as much success as I was in getting the girls to dance with us. "Does this happen a lot?" I asked him in a lull in the music.

"Happens to me every time!" He was more cheerful that I would have expected then he said it, though. "Doesn't matter. Well, not much."

"I've never had much luck with girls." I was confiding in an almost complete stranger, and one who made me feel aware of everything going on in my head and around me.

"How about boys?"

He couldn't know? Did I want him to know? How could he know? Surely he was guessing. Or teasing. My heart stopped beating for a full year, I swear it did. What could I say. I mean he turned me on and here he was asking me if I had any luck with boys. Or was he? What was he asking me? What? "What?" I tried to keep my voice level.

"Boys. Have you had any luck with boys?" And his eyes were by no means avoiding mine. And his mouth looked wicked and inviting.

My voice was quiet. "What makes you think I'd want to have any?" I was trembling inside. This was either what I wanted most in the whole world, but with the wrong person, or was something I wanted to run away from so far and so fast that you'd see scorch marks on the ground.

"The way you look at me." His voice was quiet. "The way you don't look at the girls. Your eyes. They hold my gaze for longer than maybe they should." His eyes hadn't left mine, nor had mine left his. "Simon, it's ok to like other boys."

I was gasping for air. The disco may have been air conditioned, but the driving music and the sweating bodies and this boy's intuition, Phil's intuition, had knocked me senseless. "Is it? Is it?" My voice had a bitter edge to it for the second time through, the first more desperate.

"I like them." It was a simple statement of fact.

"I need some air. Can we walk?" My head was spinning. I'd heard of gaydar. I wondered if this meant that not only did I have it but that I was gay. The only conclusion I could come to was that I did and I was. Certainly Phil had spotted me. And if I wasn't gay, how could he have sensed what I was half thinking when I looked at him?

"I'll go and let the others know we've gone," and he was back before he'd gone.

Outside the evening was still very hot. We walked a little town-wards and then crossed the dual carriageway onto the beach approach. We hadn't started talking again. Not for ages. It must have been a good ten minutes that we walked quietly together, not a route march, and not a dawdle. I was wondering about what he'd said. 'I like them' is what he'd said. Ok, he did, but did I? Or was it just Tom? We were neither walking close together, nor far apart. I was wondering if I could maybe think about holding his hand. Wondering what he was thinking. Wondering what he thought of me. Not about me, but of me.

"I've shocked you?" Phil was finally the first to break the silence.

"No. Yes. No. I don't know... " My head was whirling, and it wasn't the drink. "How..? "

"I'm not wrong then?" His voice was gentle, soft, not imposing, yet not nervous.

"I don't know. It's... "

"All very new?"

"I suppose." My eyes were on the ground. I'd slowed right down as we reached the sand, and now I was even slower. The wind was still blowing fit to bend the lamp posts as we headed slowly into it on the beach, aiming for the lighthouse in the soft sand.

"Simon, listen, it's not a big deal. Well, not for me."

"But you had that girl on your lap?"

"I do that. I always have. I keep wanting to prove to myself I'm not gay. So I pull a girl. Only my heart's not in it. I can get any girl I want, just about, but I don't want them much."

"You want to prove you aren't gay?" So did I. Only I was getting pretty sure I was. Being with Phil was amazing. I could almost start to relax.

"Yeah. At home I have to be 'not gay'. School, parents," he said with a very definite emphasis. "Only I'm not."

I couldn't resist. "What's it like?" I wasn't sure what I was asking about. I was feeling very nervous, too.

"I don't dare let anyone know. No-one. My folks would freak out. On holiday is the only time I can be who I am."

"I don't think that was what I meant, exactly."

"I know." I could sense his smile in the darkness with his reply. "I'll show you. A little at least."

"What d'you mean?"

The answer was Phil taking my hands in his, and moving towards me. And his lips met mine. He was kissing me. I'd not kissed anyone, ever, and now, on the beach, in the darkness, Phil, a boy I hardly knew, was kissing me. And I was kissing him back. Inexpertly, clumsily, urgently, lips locked on his and fighting his tongue for space in my mouth, and trying to fight mine into his. Feeling his hands on my back, hugging me, pulling me close to him, drawing me into him. Feeling my excitement mount and reach fever pitch as we pressed together, the thin fabric of my trousers barely disguising the feeling of his thighs against mine and his body against my rock hard dick, nor the feeling of his dick pressing through the cloth against my body. My knees felt weak as he breathed the life first out of me then back into me in double measure.

And as suddenly as the embrace had started it stopped. I was on the verge of an orgasm just from the kiss, I know I was. It was hot, erotic, sensual, rough, passionate, forceful. He was masterful. I didn't know how to breathe, let alone speak.

"Wow!" His voice trickled into my brain. "That was better than I ever imagined. You're like no-one else has ever been."

"Uh?" Confused? Well, sure!

"I've kissed other boys, Simon. Done more than kiss. Not many, but a few. And you, well, you're different."

"How?" I wasn't sure I wanted to be different.

"You feel, oh heck, you're, I don't quite know. You're exciting. No, that's not it. You want to be kissed, to kiss back. It's as though you know what you want. Damn I'm saying this so badly. Simon, no-one ever kissed me like that. Not ever. No girl ever did and no boy ever has. No-one. It was awesome. I felt as though you were drinking my soul and then giving it back to me. Only it feels different now it's back. Fuller. Oh God, it was wonderful. I started to show you something and you showed me instead... Heck I don't even know if you liked it! Simon, did you like it? Please say you liked it? Please have liked it?" His voice had gone from wonderment to urgent, like a puppy eager to please, unsure if he's pleased his master.

"Yes."

"Just 'yes'? Please have liked it more than 'yes'?"

It was so much more than yes. "I don't have the words. I felt as if I was going to explode and melt into you at the same time. Everything you said. Only I've nothing to compare it with."

"You never kissed before?"

"Never."

"Not a girl?""

"No-one." I wondered if I should tell him about Tom. How I'd wanted to kiss Tom. How I'd so nearly leant down and kissed Tom's lips that day watching the cricket. I almost started to speak and then swallowed the words still unformed. This wasn't the same as I felt for Tom. This was urgent, animal, physical. Tom was someone I knew and loved and cared about; Phil a person I barely knew. "I always wanted to."

"Kiss a girl?"

"Mmm."

"No-one kisses like you do. And girls even less so than boys. Believe me. I've kissed a good few girls as well as some boys. But you're hot!"

We were walking again. Down by the water's edge where the sand gets firm. The waves were crashing onto each other and onto the sand, and the wind was warm. Probably at least one of the sun loungers was occupied by a couple who were wishing we weren't there, but we could only see and hear ourselves anyway, no space for anyone else. What was happening was amazing. But what was happening? "Phil, am I gay?"

"If you aren't then I'll be amazed, " he replied after a little thought. "Your kiss just about proved it to me."

"Explain?" I thought I knew, but I needed confirmation of sorts.

He told me a bit about himself. He wasn't as young as I thought. About six months older than me as it turned out. And he'd been fooling around with boys since he was maybe ten years old. "It wasn't any more than curiosity at first, to see what they looked like. The first touch was a dare," he said. And he told me how he'd loved the touch. And how he'd been told how to wank by a friend, so got him to show him using the excuse that he just didn't believe it, and how he'd learnt a load about sex and stuff by hanging around with older boys.

"What's all this to do with my kiss?"

"I'm coming to that." One day an older boy had seduced him. No, not seduced. Tricked him, more. They'd been talking about sex and stuff and the older boy had offered to show Phil how to fuck. "I was about 12," Phil said. "He was fifteen or so. We got on pretty well, and I was into sex games and stuff. Well, wanking anyway! I didn't think fucking would be much different. I mean I knew about sex. I just thought we were going to put our dicks between each other's legs and hump and stuff." He sighed. "Anyway, we stripped off. And then he asked me to show him my arsehole. 'If you show me yours,' I told him. And he showed me his first. It looked weird. Not like I imagined it. You know, not like a hole, more like a tight place with no obvious way in or out." And he told me how the other boy got him to touch his as he was showing it to Phil. And how he got him to push his finger inside after he'd spat on it a little. "Felt hot and tight," he said. "And very exciting. My dick was rock hard. When I looked at his, so was he. But it was huge. Well, compared to mine it looked at least double the size. Anyway, he said we'd fuck each other."

"What, just like that?"

"Yep. Just like that. 'You can go first,' he said. And he helped me to get inside him. Well, it was so hot and tight that I came just about at once. You know, three thrusts and that was it. Then it was his turn. I think he tried to be gentle. I do. But he was big, and he didn't take his time. I wanted him to do it at first, but he just pushed in hard, and then I didn't want him to. The only lube we had was spit and his precum. And it hurt. 'Take it out!' I was yelling it, but it made no difference. 'A deal's a deal," he said, and he fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. And it never stopped hurting. Not even when he finished. I was crying. I mean he apologised a whole lot after that. Every time he saw me he apologised. Only I felt cheap, almost dirty, and I didn't want to go near him. Except he was magnetic, and I wanted him as well."

"After he hurt you?"

"This is going to sound really weird. Simon you're the first person I've ever told this to. The pain was a drug. I loved it. And I needed it. I needed to be loved, cared for, wanted. And he seemed to do that for me, filled the gaps, filled the need. And he and I fucked about every chance we got for about a year. And I learnt how to do it so that it wouldn't hurt unless I wanted it to. And I fucked him too. It wasn't a one way thing. And I think he loved me, or he said he loved me. Only it was raw sex. And I wasn't ready to love anyone, so it was just sex. And then he stopped, and wouldn't speak to me. Not ever."

"But he raped you?"

"Not rape. Not even the first time. I didn't know it was going to hurt is all, and he had no idea how to be gentle. But what he did was showed me how much I like boys. And that brings me to the kissing. He never kissed me. Not ever. So I started showing other boys about sex and stuff. And a few of them and I kissed. On holiday each year after that I somehow managed to meet other gay boys and we kissed and stuff. Or if they weren't gay they were happy to experiment to see what sex and kissing and stuff was all about. Holidays don't matter, because you never meet the person again. But no-one ever kissed me like you did. No-one ever gave back. It was just wet with the others. No passion. You have that. Passion. You have it in spades."

"We won't meet after the holiday either, will we?" I knew the answer.

"I don't suppose we will. And we're nearly going home anyway. Only... "

"Only?"

"Only, I saw your eyes in the dining room, and I've felt your kiss tonight. And it's like coming home. So who can tell? Will you risk it if I will?"

I wanted to. I didn't know what to risk. And the story about pain didn't exactly turn me on. I decided on the truth. "I'm scared."

"Me, too. First time ever."

"You were never scared before?"

"Only that first real time. And only because it hurt. And not really. Only you seem to matter. Hard to explain." We were level with the lighthouse. "Anyway, that was ages ago. Coming for a swim?"

"No trunks."

"No trunks? Heck, nor me. Coming?"

I felt oddly nervous stripping off. It was dark, though there was a crescent moon, but I'd never gone skinny dipping, and never at midnight. But strip off I did. Phil was already naked. Same colour all over. No tan lines. I had that red chest, back and legs and white bum from the first sun. Not brown yet, but not burnt either. The moonlight showed him to me clearly. Slim, lean muscles, broad shoulders. His hair glistened in the moonlight from the gel, and his dark brown eyes reflected the moon and stars. I stood there, hardly able to take my eyes off him, yet feeling under inspection myself. "You don't have a tan line!"

"Nope. I like being naked in the sun. I like watching people check me out. Just like you're doing. Only they're less obvious."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I just wanted to see... That sounds lame." I was getting hard again. Partly the odd feeling of the wind on all my body, partly this beautiful, enigmatic boy in front of me, partly the conversation we'd had, partly that heady kiss.

"You're very lovely, you know. God this is so weird. Every time before I've kissed a boy or been naked with him it's been a sex thing. Just a sex thing. I feel so different with you. As though you're fragile. Like finest glass. As though a puff of breath will shatter you in to a million tiny pieces. I haven't looked at another boy except with lust before, or need. And I look at you, and I feel all weak at the knees. As though I want to be clean again for you." His eyes roamed over me. "You're beautiful. All over."

I was blushing in the moonlight. I could see where his eyes were resting. And as they rested there it got harder, if that was possible. No-one had ever called me beautiful. And no-one except Tom had ever so much as had the chance to see my dick when it was hard. And that was years ago when we were kids. "You're teasing me."

"I'm embarrassing you. Sorry. Look you are beautiful. Truly beautiful. And I do mean all of you. It's somehow just like I imagined it would look. And if you'll let me I want to show you how to feel really good. Only I want it to be special." The wind gusted a fine barrage of dry sand onto our legs. "And sand free. Making love on the beach is not all it's cracked up to be. Sand in sensitive little places isn't my idea of fun." He laughed. It was like a fountain sprinkling water back into a lake. "Let's have that swim before I change my mind and kiss you again!"

I half wanted him to. Then and there on the beach, I mean. But I was scared. And after the last time I thought I might burst if he so much as touched me. "It's freezing!" The contrast between the sea in the daytime and at night was astounding.

"Come on. Last one in's a sissy!" He ran and there was a splash as he dived under the approaching breaker.

I did the same, only the wave got me first, and I ended up in a heap back on the beach. It was freezing. And somehow wonderful. Not just that it was a sort of illicit swim late at night, but that I was naked. And the water felt good with my dick and balls floating free. I waded back in. Met him outside the breaker line.

There we were, almost shivering in the cold sea, with the cooling night wind blowing along the beach all the way from Europe. The town lights looked garish to out left, and the lighthouse flashed its two flashes every six seconds. You could watch the beam as it swept at ridiculous speed across the town and volcanic hillside behind it. And to our right, where almost nothing was built, a steady stream of cars, even it this late hour coming back to or leaving Jandia. And above us more stars than you could count, and brighter than I'd ever seen.

"I suppose that makes me the sissy, then?" And I kissed him on the lips only to be dunked under a huge wave.

"That was the wettest kiss I've ever had," he said as his head broke the surface again.

"That was the second kiss I've ever had," I replied. "This is damned cold, you know! I'm shivering!"

"Me, too. It's so warm during the day I hadn't expected it to feel like this at night! Shall we get dry?"

We waded shoreward. "How?"

"Wind. And maybe just put our clothes on damp."

"Mum'll kill me if I do that!" Mum. That brought back memories. The plans Tom and I had made. The midnight swim. The daring to go naked. And the half plans that had formed in my head when I found I loved him. And as I cleared the backwash from the surf at the water's edge I found I was crying. Not gentle tears either. Huge tears. Sobs that could be heard against the wind, above the waves.

"What is it? What have I done? Is it me?" Phil had heard my sobs. Hard not to, he was right next to me.

"Not you."

"What, then? Heck, Simon, you can tell me?"

And I did. All of it. Every bit. I knew some of it would be hurting him a little, knew it couldn't help it. But I had to tell someone. And Phil was special, even though we'd only just met. So I told him about Tom, and how he wasn't there, and how he might have chickenpox, or might not have it, and how I'd made him recoil from me in horror, and what a shock it had been to fall in love with him. And how wonderful Phil was as well for listening, and making me feel good and kissing me. And how I half wished it could have been Tom, but that I knew it could never be Tom, not ever.

"Tell me about Tom," Phil said gently, and as he did I realised that he had his arms around me, and that I had my head on his shoulder and was crying in his arms, and sniffling as I told him all staccato about how lovely he looked and how nice he was and how we were almost known as twins.

"I feel so stupid. I've spoiled the evening," was all I could mumble at last as the sobs gave out. "I've been needing to talk to someone, and you're so sweet and you got the lot."

"Now I see where the kiss came from."

"It was you I was kissing, Phil. Not Tom."

"I mean the passion. The fierceness. The urgent need." He sounded nervous. "Simon, something happened tonight to me. With you. Because of you."

"I didn't intend... "

"Nor did I. At least what I meant to happen was to kiss you and have a good time. What I didn't intend was something to happen. And I didn't intend to make you sad."

I took a decision. Not sure if it was a big decision or just a natural one. I know I wasn't even near falling for him. Well, no. I knew I loved Tom. That's not the same thing at all. But I decided to see where this would go. I think I'd decided that when I saw him first, before I even half realised that it had anywhere it might go. "Phil?" I'd pulled gently off his shoulder and was standing face to face, still wet, cheeks still tear stained, and I waited for him to run gently out of words.

"What?"

"You didn't make me sad."

"I didn't? But I made you remember all that stuff about Tom? And you cried you heart out. Your eyes are all puffy."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Will you kiss me again? Please?" I looked as deep into his dark eyes as the moon would let me. "This is all new, very new," I added unnecessarily.

He did. First he kissed my eyes. "I can't kiss Tom away, Simon. I can just be me." And his lips met mine as he finished breathing the words. And this time he was so gentle that his softness took my breath away. We were damp from the sea, and our hair was still soaking, but he stroked it and I held him, feeling his muscles move under my hands, smelling the salt on him, smelling the scent of him, hearing him breathing, feeling his tongue explore my mouth, and this time having no clothing between us, I felt him grow hard against me, feeling him rise between my thighs as I rose between his.

And the touch of his skin against my rising tip was like nothing I had ever felt before. Nothing. I felt his thighs grasp me as I felt mine grasp him, and I couldn't help the gentle thrusting movement as we kissed, and kissed so hard, there, in the moonlight, at the water's edge. And the moon vanished as my eyes closed and I felt myself at one with him, feeling his legs gripping me as I tried to press higher, feeling him between my thighs, both grinding hard into each other. Feeling... "Oh God... " Feeling my thighs tense, and feeling the jets shoot out all through my imprisoned cock, imprisoned between his thighs, gripped so tight. "Oh... " Again, and the feeling was so intense. But I was so embarrassed.

"Hush," he said, as I broke lip contact to try to get my breath. "Hush. It's ok. Sometimes it happens like that."

"I didn't mean to... "

"Hush. It's fine. A compliment. It's not important."

"It's embarrassing... "

"For whom?"

"Me, I guess." I felt weird. No-one had ever been part of an orgasm for me before. No-one except my pillow. And now I'd fired off all barrels with a boy I hardly knew, and, if the books on sex were to be believed, suffered from premature ejaculation. "I didn't expect it to be so fast... "

"It's really ok, Simon."

"But it's premature ejaculation!"

"Bollocks."

"Bollocks?"

"Yeah, bollocks. This was the first time you aver kissed, right?"

"Yeah... " It had been dreamy.

"And this is the first time anything except your hand has touched your dick?"

"Well, yes... "

"And you're a really hot kisser, so I'm not surprised."

"You're sure?" I had nothing to compare it with. No idea at all.

"Sure. Certain. And I can prove it. If you like."

"I like. Would like. Very much." It wasn't that I'd forgotten Tom, but I was very wrapped up in the total and awesome novelty of Phil and everything that surrounded him.

"Let's go somewhere more civilised." I started to move off. "We need to get dressed first!"

The evening was so warm, and the excitement so heady, that I'd forgotten that I was naked. Me, in the dark certainly, but naked on a public beach. And kissing Phil while naked on a public beach. It may have been midnight or beyond, but it was still a public beach, and pretty brightly bathed in moonlight.

I don't remember the walk back to the hotel. I know we didn't run. I know we walked and talked, but I don't remember it. Nor do I remember the steps we climbed to get to the reception level, though there were over a hundred of them, nor getting my key and Phil getting his from the reception desk. I just remember following him to his room and going in with him. And I remember seeing the curtains billowing in the ever present wind, and watching Phil close the balcony doors and switch the air conditioning on.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" He was looking into my eyes as he said it.

"Only my mum and dad. That doesn't count, does it?"

"Silly boy. Of course it doesn't count. You are. Beautiful. May I turn the light on and undress you? Please?"

I was suddenly half shy. "I don't know about the light?"

"It's ok. I just wanted to look at you. I saw you that first night and thought you were so beautiful."

"I'm not."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I don't think I mind about the light. I'm just a bit shy, sort of." It was dropping away, but a little remained. "Heck, turn it on!" I was trembling with excitement. Or was it nervousness that was making me jittery?

He put on the bedside lights, and I looked at Phil properly, maybe for the first time. It wasn't love, I knew that. Not for either of us. I wished it could be love, but right then what I was feeling was pure animal attraction. Lust. Deep brown eyes, hair still damp from the sea, and unruly, but swept back, deep tan, and that wicked glint in his eyes that reached to his smile. "May I undress you?" His voice was gentle, enticing.

A nod was his answer. We were standing one in front of the other, by the curtains that now covered the sliding glass balcony doors. I was facing the bed. I watched him raise his hands to my face and saw and felt him take my cheeks in his hands and watched as he moved to kiss my lips. And his hands moved to the front of my shirt and move downwards as he undid each button, one by one. So gentle, so slow. As the final button came undone I watched in a trance as he leant forward and felt him nuzzle my chest. Then he nibbled my nipples, one after the other, and the effect was electric. "Unghhh." It was a quiet sound that escaped my mouth. I couldn't contain it.

"Like it?"

"Unnnghhhh."

"Ah, you do like it!" His voice was gently teasing me, making me quiver just by the sound of it. "You taste salty." I could hear the smile as he half whispered, half spoke to me. "Simon, I want to make love to you. As much or as little as you want me to do, I want to do it."

"Will it hurt?" I had the feeling that it might.

"If it does, then I'm doing it wrong, or too fast. And then we'll stop and do something else. But I'm not going to try to do anything you aren't ready to do, ok?"

"I'm a little nervous?"

"You may be. What I can feel here isn't." He was enclosing my dick in his cupped hands. It felt awesome. Even through the fabric of my light cotton trousers it felt awesome. I noticed almost absently that he'd shed his clothes, and was naked in front of me. The way the room lights were his front was in shadow, but I knew he was rock hard. I'd only ever really seen a twelve year old or so stiff dick before. Tom's. Phil's was so much bigger. It seemed enormous somehow, even when I looked down at mine his looked larger.

"You're so big."

"Not really. It's a trick of the light." He lowered my trousers and briefs. "I think we're pretty much even. I like yours. I like the way the foreskin covers it all the way to the tip. I love the veins in it, the little tracery of veins just under the skin. I love the way the tip of the skin comes to a little point and how I can see the head under the skin making it look like a barbed arrow." He was kneeling in front of me.

"No-one's ever said things like that before, Phil. No-one." I was glowing. I realised suddenly that having my manhood admired was wonderful. I hoped I could do his justice with words too when the time came.

"I don't want to do a thing without your permission." He was smiling up at me. But I could almost feel him licking his lips. "May I touch you?"

I nodded. "Yes," a whispered permission. And I felt him touch the very tip of my dick on either side with a finger of each hand. Sparks flew through my body. I tensed and relaxed at the same time. And there was more to come.

I heard him speaking softly. "It feels so hard. Looks almost like silk, and I can feel your pulse, even touching you so gently. And the scent is wonderful. I'm glad that happened on the beach, I love that smell, it's so masculine." I felt his fingers move millimetre by millimetre downwards, began to feel his breath on the tip as it was almost unfurled. "I love the moment when the head peeps out. I think it turns me on more than any other single thing, just watching the skin tighten, feeling your pulse, feeling the skin stretch and slide gently downwards, seeing the colour inside the skin, seeing the head all glossy as it leaves its home. Yours is so pretty."

"It isn't!" I was gasping. This was wonderful torture. "Dicks aren't pretty!"

"Yours is. No, I mean it." I'd started to protest again as he was speaking. "It's pretty, and I love it. You smell of salt and boy. And your dick is so beautiful. I love watching the skin open to let the head out. It's such a lovely colour, too. All pink and almost purplish in places. And now I have the skin all the way back," he released it, "I love the way it bunches up under the rim when I let go."

"You're driving me wild!" He was. The slowness was exquisite. When I wanked it was all rush and urgency, and fast strokes and tensed buttocks and a race, almost, to orgasm, and trying to force my hand to keep going as though there was a second orgasm behind the first. This was so different. "The slowness. It's indescribably wonderfully amazing!"

"Told you it wasn't a hair trigger."

"A what?" My brain wasn't in gear. Normally I'd have got it just like that. "Oh. Yes. No. Premature thingy."

"Yep. No 'touch and go' now. Mind you, I adored being able to make it happen just by kissing you."

"You're daft."

"Yeah. And in heaven."

"That's silly." He was still gently sliding my foreskin over and off the head, kneeling, almost worshipping it. I couldn't see what was in it for him, I honestly couldn't.

"Not silly at all. Simon, you're so gentle, so quiet, so almost shy. And I've never felt like I do now. Never taught someone, not someone like you anyway, about his body. And I love your body, and I love your face. I could fall in love with you so easily... I'm not going to, I daren't, but I could."

And then he stopped talking, and softly placed his pursed lips on the tip of my dick just as he raised the foreskin to cover it again. And his lips met the closing skin, and his tongue tip touched the head inside the tip of the skin, and I felt like I'd never felt before. The room went dark and then very bright! I realised I'd screwed my eyes shut. Phil was tickling my dick with his tongue, and I was trying not to wriggle. "That's, oh God, I can't describe it! Oh Phil... "

My answer was to feel his hot mouth engulf my entire tool. Not just a little, but all of it. All. And to feel enclosed, then suddenly released as he pulled off me. "Will you come to bed, now, please? I can't wait any longer. I want to hold you in my arms and drive you crazy." And he reached and took my hand and led me to the bed, two twin beds pushed together, and lay me down on it

"I'd like to do that stuff for you, too."

"You will. My God you will. Only just now I want to show you what being loved by another boy is like. And we're only going to touch the surface. Only... Well, you're special. And I want to show you how special."

"You're silly!" He was. I was sure he was. Phil was incredibly sexy, and at the same time very much in charge. He was leading me gently, fiercely, to places I'd never dreamed of until I'd suddenly found I was in love with Tom. I found I could love Phil, too, if I let myself. Not that I knew anything about him. I found his hands were gently everywhere. Where his mouth had been a few seconds earlier, now his left, now his right hand, and no his mouth again. And he was kissing my mouth and I was kissing him back, and trying to keep up with his snakelike body with my own hands.

"Shh. You'll find out who's silly soon. I have something very special in mind."

"You're not going to try to fuck me?" Half of me was screaming out that he should. Half was scared that he would.

"Not yet. Maybe not tonight. Maybe if you ask me, beg me. But first I want to take you to a different place. Trust me. Please."

Half relieved, half disappointed. Odd emotions were going through my mind, hugely odd. All my life I'd fully expected to be with a girl, and now I was in love with Tom and half in love with Phil, certainly lusting after him. I wanted him more than I could possibly believe. I wasn't sure how, or what I wanted to do. I just knew that his hands were wonderful, his touch was wonderful, his mouth was wonderful. "I do. I think I do. I don't know how to do anything anyway. I do, I do trust you. Only I'm scared, too. Like totally. Just know I want you, and right now. And anything you want is ok. Er, probably."

"I won't hurt you. I promise. And you can ask me to stop any time you want. Any time. And I'll stop."

"Then I trust you. I feel safe. It's odd. I hardly know more than your name, but you've told me the most private things. And I feel safe with you." I suddenly took the initiative and kissed him. It was clumsy, and I banged my nose and had my neck at a weird angle, but it was the first thing I'd done for myself, and it felt good. And his body was pressed against mine, skin to skin, with the glorious scent of salt sea and fresh sweat, and something I'd never smelt before. Sex. Sex had a definite scent all of its own.

Experimentally I reached down and stroked his back. I could feel the smoothness of his skin, somehow seeming extra smooth, as I stroked firmly down his back, feeling his spine and the muscles around it, hearing him gasp gently as I passed over trigger points and tickly patches as I fell his back all hollow before it turned outwards as his bum curved away, and I fell the curve of his muscled bum and I stroked down to where I could barely reach. I hadn't even ventured to his front yet, all pressed together with mine. The electric shocks I was feeling through my dick pressed against his belly and feeling how hard he was were amazing enough.

As I stroked back gently upwards I found my fingers trailing between his cheeks. My mind was racing. I knew Phil was gay; knew he wanted to be touched in all possible ways; could tell by the gentle whimpers he was making that he was wanting more and more and more. But I didn't dare to press my fingers between his cheeks. Years of training. 'It's dirty' was going through my mind. 'Dirty.' But I wanted to touch. No I wanted to see, too. Braille was all very well, but I wanted to look. Maybe it was to reassure myself that it wasn't dirty, I don't know. Maybe it was simply a highly erotic thought, but I wanted to see. I'd never even seen my own, never used a mirror to look. "I'd like to see," I murmured. "To look. Dunno why, but I want to."

"I get to look at yours, then!" And he unclasped his arms and turned onto his hands and knees.

Between his cheeks there was no suntan, not much, at least, which made a contrast with the all over tan he had. I took my time, and studied him. Faintly I heard the words 'tell me what it looks like?' so I tried to describe what I saw. Tried to tell him how his dick and balls seemed to hang like a sword from between his thighs, the hilt being the plateau between his balls and the dark fawn ridged area surrounding a slightly pink crevice. Not round like I expected it, but a sort of compressed slit. And how running down the length of his dick was a dark line, turning to a ridge as it passed over his balls, perfectly oval, and along the hilt of his sword, ending just at the ridges of the opening. And from him came a scent that was nothing like I expected. Musky, and drawing me in. I almost wanted to kiss his hole! Almost. But it wasn't dirty. And I described it all to him. "I never expected it to be beautiful. I thought it was only for shit... "

"Do you want to touch it now?"

"Not like this. Too clinical. Er, do you want to see mine?" I was half embarrassedly awkward again.

"God yes."

"You won't... "

"I told you. Nothing you don't want."

And with an 'ok' I turned onto my hands and knees, feeling faintly ludicrous. And heard him telling me how beautiful I was. And felt his breath between my cheeks as he got really close. And then I flinched as I felt something cold and wet on the very hole itself. The wet thing wasn't going away, so I tried very hard to relax as I realised he was licking my arsehole. Licking it! Wet and sensual, he was licking my hole. And I was loving every second of it, even pushing back to get more of it. And I felt him grip my hips as he really got into the swing of it, and fell the tip of his tongue pressing and invading me, first gently, then more and more as he seemed to open me up with his tongue.

He came up for air. "Oh wow... I was afraid that would gross you out. I just adore doing that"

"It was amazing." I was quivering, I swear my hole was pulsing. "Oh Phil, you're really something. I, er, I was almost brave enough to kiss you there, only... "

"Only?"

"Only I didn't know if it was allowed!"

"Anything's allowed. Anything."

"It doesn't taste of shit?"

"Well, it doesn't smell of it. It's all clean from the sea. And if it doesn't smell of it then it doesn't taste of it. I'm not into shit. Not in any way."

"There's so much I don't know... "

"Shh. Just kiss me."

I half hesitated. I knew where his tongue had been. Then I took the plunge and kissed him. No flavour at all, except how he already tasted. We were entwined again, face to face on the bed. And this time as I caressed his bum my fingers found their way very cautiously between his cheeks. And he somehow without moving opened his cheeks to allow my fingers in. Silky. Dry and silky, and I fingertip stroked between his cheeks gradually daring to get closer to those ridges. And my fingertip found the very edge of the ridged pucker and I felt his breath gasp in with the first contact. I got braver and moved gently to the centre and felt it both tight and yielding at the same time. And suddenly I realised that his fingers were doing the same work on me, and that I was concentrating so hard on what I was doing that I only realised he was tracing circles around my arsehole with his fingers as I probed experimentally into him with mine. And at the same time he was nuzzling my earlobe which made my spine tingle all over.

"I'm never ever going wank again!"

"Bet you do!"

"This is so amazing. Just your skin next to mine is so gorgeous. You're so smooth, and so velvety at the same time. I never knew anything could feel like this! I'm in heaven. Oh Phil, I'm in heaven!"

"It gets better."

And it did. He moved his hands to my dick and drew the skin back with one hand and massaged the tip with his other. Every time I'd tried doing that to myself I couldn't stand it, couldn't carry on, but Phil carried on, making me squeal and wriggle. "I can't... Oh God, I can't... Can't stand it... Oh heck, help... I need to stop... don't stop... " I was writhing from side to side trying to get away and trying not to as well.

"I've something in mind. Something I really want to do for you. For me too. And I can't wait much longer."

"What?"

"Gonna need something. Don't lose that feeling." And he vanished and came back with a blue and white tube, which he unscrewed the cap of and squeezed some clear gunge into his fingers and rubbed it all over my dick. "Put some between my legs."

It was slippery. I rubbed it between his legs, and I knew, hoped I knew, what was about to happen. I felt him gasp as the cold lube touched his hole. "I don't know what to do."

"No, but I do. Lie on your back."

He straddled me, facing me, and took hold of my dick, slippery as it was, and bent it between his thighs, Rock hard, it must have been difficult. And he placed the tip between his legs and started to sit onto me. It felt like tremendous pressure on me, pressure enough to bend the iron bar I always felt was inside the skin. And just as I thought he was about to break me in two the pressure eased and with a rush I was inside him. Inside him! Inside him! I was inside Phil, fucking him, or he was using me to fuck himself with. Inside another boy. I had my dick somewhere so hot, so tight it was almost hurting. He was gripping me so tight. I looked up at his face, bathed in the light from the twin bedside lamps. He was miles away, in ecstasy. His eyes were defocussed, his smile was wide, his voice was grunting with pleasure. And he was moving softly up and down on my shaft, moving the tight band up and down, letting me feel my dick's head sliding against the inside of his body, and then retract into my foreskin. I could feel all this inside him, so clearly it was as though I was watching it on a miniature TV screen. And I heard a voice in my head. It wasn't using words. It was grunting, groaning as the waves of total pleasure took over.

"You're amazing, Simon. So amazing." Phil was working faster up and down on me, dropping so that his bum grounded on my thighs, and lifting almost enough to let me all but come out of him. "I loved the look of your dick, but the feel of it... Oh God. Not just that, but it's you. There was always something missing before. Not now. Not now. I want this to last for ever."

"It can't!" I knew it couldn't. Something was happening deep inside my body. Something that no-one had ever been present at before that day. I felt the pressure building inside me, deep inside me, as his relentless rise and fall drove me to dizzy heights. And I felt my thighs tense and my back arch as the old sensations, magnified threefold gathered and built inside me, as my buttocks clenched hard together and the feeling of almost stinging fullness hit me inside and burst along my dick, out through the tip and into the smouldering insides of my lover. Once, twice, three times, four, more, more, more, I lurched and pumped into him, tight and arched under him, firing my seed into his deepest insides, into that hot and secret place, firing it where I had never dreamed it would go, was allowed to go.

And he carried on, just past the point when I would have withdrawn. He carried on until I fell limp and came out of him. No more than a dozen more strokes, but enough to make me gibber and quiver as he fucked himself with me. And I looked into his eyes, now focussed on mine, and I saw in the a total concern for me. Pleasuring himself he may have been, but it was a gift for me.

I couldn't move. Impossible to move. I was breathless though I'd done almost nothing, was sweating rivers from the heat, even with the aircon on full. I felt alive and vibrating all over. My senses were in overdrive. "No girl can ever do that for you," he said simply. "Not one. Well, not unless they use the same place. And I don't think even then. I wanted to give that to you."

"You haven't finished though?"

"We haven't finished. But I wanted to do that first. You didn't want to sleep tonight, did you?"

"There's more?"

"Much more. Only that was special. I wanted to know what you felt like. I was so turned on the moment I saw you in the dining room, and I knew there was something. I saw it in your eyes. And I wanted to feel you inside me."

"What's it like?"

"Dreamy."

"Twit. That wasn't what I meant. Did it hurt?" I was really worried about hurting, especially after the history he'd given me of the older boy who, at least in my view, had raped him.

"No. I can make it hurt me, but no. It's a matter of practice. I didn't want to remember you as pain. I wanted, needed to feel tenderness and love."

"I don't understand. I mean how can it hurt or not and how can you choose?"

"It's a matter of preparation. Being ready. Being stretched gently. Knowing how to relax."

"We didn't prepare?"

"I don't need to any more. I know how to relax. And I think I'm maybe a little stretched."

I felt anxious. "It'll hurt me, then. When you do it to me, I mean. I want you to but I'm not good at pain."

He was lying on my chest as we talked, and the heat of his body was searing into mine and his sweat was dripping from his hair onto my face and the pillow. And there was a pungent, yet sweet smell in the room. Heady stuff. "I honestly don't know. I can teach you, let you learn how to relax, take loads of time, be very gentle and very patient. And I don't think it'll hurt at all. But I don't know, so I can't promise. All I can do is to stop when you say 'stop', and we can find out together. If you like, when you like."

"I don't know... " I didn't. Somehow this seemed a very big step. I knew I wanted to know what he felt like, but his dick wasn't small. I'm not good at measuring things by eye, but it looked enormous to me. Mind you, I think anything would have looked enormous that night. "I saw your face. It must feel good. Has to, or you wouldn't have done it. No-one would do it. But I'm a little afraid."

Phil was awesome. Gentle. Loving. Fierce, too. I found myself hoping we could see each other back in England and realised that it wasn't likely. He had to be straight at home, and so did I. And I couldn't see how we could get together across the distance that separated us. He talked and told me what he would do later. How he would help me, how he'd do for me all the things that his first 'lover' hadn't even troubled to do for him. And he talked about obvious practical stuff as well. The end result of which was that I went to the bathroom to take a dump. 'Makes sense.' I thought. 'After all, no one wants crap on his dick.' My thought turned to Tom. 'It's better this way,' went through my head again. Only this time I was smiling inside. Somehow nothing mattered anymore. If this was being gay I was on cloud nine. I threw the bathroom window wide open to get rid of the pong. Not hard to do with the gales that flew through the room! Then I shut the window. My thoughts turned to being clean. I'd been sweating like a pig. Not that I was sure that pigs sweated, but I'd been doing it anyway.

I was just finished doing battle with turning the shower on and stopping the bath running when I felt rather than heard Phil behind me. A soft breath on my neck, a warm radiating presence warming my back. Not touching exactly, more being so close without touching that his aura touched me. "I was just thinking about washing you," he murmured. "And seeing you in the full bathroom light." I felt a nuzzling at the back of my neck. It sent quivers all through me.

Turning, I saw him properly for the first time. I know it seems daft, but I'd only seen parts of him before. A face, a shoulder, a bum, oh yes and his most secret part, too. A thigh. Now he stood before me, revealed. "Let me look at you?" It was a plea. The reply was odd. He blushed and lowered his eyes. My hand reached out and stroked his chin. "No, let me look. Really look. Don't be embarrassed."

"It's just... You'll think I'm stupid... "

"Spit it out." I could feel a soft smile on my face. His was still downturned. Not shy like Prince William used to be, but more tilted, more foot fidgety, more little kid lost.

"I feel stupid... " I waited in the pause. Somehow I knew that if I spoke he'd never say what was in his head. The shower water sounded loud as I waited. "It's just that... Oh heck... I've never... No, I mean I have, but... This is coming out all wrong." Another gap. "Simon, before, when I've mucked about with other boys, well it was just mucking about. Sex games. No emotion. With them nothing mattered. It didn't matter if they were cute or ugly. I don't think it mattered to them if I was either. And when we looked at each other it was sort of doctors and nurses. No that's not right. It was sort of medical... Clinical, that's the word. We looked at each other to see what each other had. With you it's different. I need your approval so much. Need to feel that you like what you see. I need to know that you actually like me, Simon. As Phil, I mean. Not as a body with a dick... " His face had dared to raise a little as he spoke, half meeting my gaze. He didn't pause so much as run out of words, and his eyes, the parts I could see, held a plea in them.

"I didn't want a body with a dick. I wanted a friend. And I like you. I mean you, the person. Phil. A good friend. Well, I think you are, and I hope you're mine, too. And I don't see a body with a dick. Well, you have a body and you have a dick. But that isn't what I see. I have so many messed up thoughts in my head right now. But all of them are screaming at me that you're lovely."

"I'm not good looking... "

"Aren't you? Your eyes are awesome. Your smile is wonderful. When you grin it lights up the room. Your face is lovely." I'd never given anyone real compliments like this. Phil wasn't classically good looking; he was right about that. But his other attributes more than made up for any shortfall in the pure beauty department. "When I look at you, when I see your face, I tremble inside. I did the first glimpse I caught of you. I don't think I can judge if you're handsome or not. What I know is that you're incredibly sexy and you turn me on!"

"You really feel that?" His whisper was almost drowned by the running water. "I'm not just a shag?"

"How could you be just a shag? I mean I don't, haven't ever... Oh how can I tell you?"

"It's ok. It's just that I'm trying not to fall for you. It can't work after the holiday. And I only have another two days here, and I'm finding reasons why it can't work, and... "

"Shh." My turn to hush him. "It might work. But we're here, and this is now." I was stroking his face.

"Yeah." And something inside him threw a switch. "Simon, I think you're wonderful." And whatever had caused the mood, a very real mood, seemed to leave him. "And it might work." He grinned. "Anyway, looking time's over. Shower time. And I'm washing your back!"

What we managed to do was wash the floor. Why is it that the shower curtain, docile enough when it hangs there, decides that it loves you when the water's turned on, and wraps itself around you like a squid? Pissed off with the curtain, we pulled it back, and the fierce spray from the shower head washed us and the floor of the bathroom. And the towels we were meant to get dry on! He did wash my back, though, and several points beyond. It wasn't so much erotic as a huge giggle. I know he meant it to be erotic, but somehow I was drunk and so was he on the wonderful happenings thus far. We blotted each other from wet to damp with the towels. Had to wring them out first, but we got back to damp and shampoo scented, then paddled through the small pond that was failing to drain away through the floor drain, and headed back to the bedroom. I love hotels. As long as you don't trash the room the maid puts it all right the next day.

"You know something? It's very late, and I reckon the pool area's deserted."

"You don't want another swim? Surely not? All that chlorine!"

"Twit." He was grinning. "I want to kiss you under the stars on the balcony! Anyway, no-one can possibly see we're naked."

"We'ell, I don't know... " But the doors were open already and he was leading me out. It may have been close to 2am, but there was still traffic on the main road into Jandia. The pool lights were on as always, and the stars were in the sky, with the moon casting its silver light across the sea, and the lighthouse sending its incessant twin searchlights across the sea and land indiscriminately. And he was right. No-one was about. No-one. Except us, and maybe a load of other couples on their own private balconies. And Phil drew me into his arms and so gently kissed the tip of my nose.

I felt his hands on my drying back, not pulling, but stroking. "Are you sure about what you want? It's a big step. Really big."

"Sure? No. But I want you to. I'll never be sure until I know. But I want you to."

"We have all night. We'll take our time."

"What's it like?" We were face to face, holding each other on the balcony, skin to skin, gazing into each other's eyes at very close range, so close he seemed to have three eyes. "I've never even put a finger inside myself. Do I sound silly?"

"Not silly." He kissed my nose again. "Just an ordinary boy who never knew he was gay. Just a boy who hadn't any need to find out. Just a lovely, sweet, delightful boy. I'll be so slow, so gentle. I promise."

"I don't feel scared anymore. You enjoyed it so much. I want that feeling, it looked so good. And I want to make you feel how you made me feel." I took a deep breath. I was scared. I just wasn't going to let it get in my way. "May we start now? Please? Very gently?"

"We've started."

"How?"

"You asked me to. And I'm holding and kissing you. And soon I'm going to touch you all over. All over." And his hands slid down my back as I held him with my hands on his shoulderblades and I felt him holding my bum. And I shivered as I fell the touch, knowing what I'd asked and knowing he was going to touch me where I hardly ever touched myself. "It's ok. I'm going to go so slowly." He'd felt my shiver.

"I want this, Phil. I just do. And it's getting urgent."

"Let's go inside. Shut the doors." As I did so he turned to me. "Simon, It's urgent for me, too. Only it'll take us some time. And I want you to promise me to say 'stop' if you need me to. Or to ask me to go slower. I want this to be everything you ever wanted, and to be so very different from my first time."

"I promise."

"No more talking, then. Except to say what you need."

I kissed his fingertips in response. And he took me gently to the bed, and laid me down so gently on my back. And he lay beside me, and I felt rather than saw him open the tube of lube and take a rather large handful. "This dries out sometimes. If it seems dry, please say, and I'll use more." But he left me no time to speak before he motioned for me to ease my thighs apart. "I want to see your face all the time. I was fucked from behind first, and it wasn't the best experience of my life. I need to see your eyes."

I was glad of that, and I smiled my thanks back to him.

He placed the lubed hand on my ballsack and slid it gently down between my thighs until it was starting to press my cheeks apart. "Wait a sec," he said, and grabbed a pillow and put it under my bum. Well, we did rather than he did. "That'll be easier for you I think." And he resumed with his fingers in the now warming lube, to explore. And then he touched again the ridged outer part, the part I knew from looking at him earlier concealed the way inside my soul. And the ease with which he touched the place that was a taboo for me, or had been through my life until that evening, until that night, amazed me. I opened my legs to give him better access, and was rewarded with the oddest sensation of his finger where his tongue had been earlier. Different. Harder, bony, and more urgent than his tongue, I felt him ease into me and my natural reaction was to clamp down hard on him.

I couldn't help clamping. I think he knew, because he simply stopped pushing and waited until I relaxed. "It feels a little weird the first time," he murmured. "Don't worry about anything you feel unless it hurts. This is the most erotic thing I can ever do for you, the most personal." And I felt his entire finger slide into me, palm uppermost. A little gentle manoeuvering and I felt the beginnings of another totally new sensation, like a jolt of mains voltage through from his finger to my dick's tip. I pushed down on his finger to get more of it, and more. The whole feeling of having something inside me was weird. If I hadn't known from his face earlier that it would be awesome, or hoped it'd be awesome I'd have asked him to stop, electric jolt or not. It wasn't totally comfortable, and my muscles were resisting. "Try to relax and do nothing," he whispered. "It feels really odd, but try to ignore the oddness and concentrate on the good stuff. The odd feeling goes soon enough."

I tried really hard to do as he suggested. Really hard. But the electric jolt was too good to miss, and each time he tipped it with his finger I pushed down to get more. "Unnghhhhhh!" It was exciting. Ecstasy it wasn't, but I could see what might be coming. "This is amazing!"

"Shh. It gets better, but that's some time away. I need you to get used to me here, and then I'll add a finger."

"There's room for more?"

"There's room!" He giggled suddenly. "How little do you think my dick is?"

I thought. In my mind I compared it with a finger. "It'll never go in!"

"Oh it will, trust me, it will. And if I get it right you'll be in heaven." And he started to move his finger into and out of me, gently at first, and then with a rhythm like I imagined fucking would be, like I imagined it would be to be fucked by his beautiful boyhood. Slowly I became used to being filled and emptied, and he sensed it. "May I try another finger?"

I thought he meant a different one. "Sure."

He didn't mean a different one. Suddenly I felt an enormous pressure as he removed and then replaced the one finger with something so much larger. Double the size. Two fingers. I realised it dimly. 'another finger' meant an additional finger. I gasped.

"Too fast for you?"

"Just didn't expect it."

"I did mention it, you know."

"I thought... Never mind. Just pause a sec." There was some pain. Not huge, more like muscles resisting. Like a sort of cramp in the foot, nothing special. And fast as it arrived it went away. "Ok, gently." He pressed in, steadily, almost remorselessly, but with total tenderness. And as his hand reached my body, fingers all extended, I felt him able to reach that electric spot better. The second finger was longer, I reasoned, and that bit was deeper inside. Only reason left me totally as the fire from the place bit me, replaced at once by ice. "Aaarghhhhhhh! Oh God, what is that? Oh God do it again!"

"Prostate! Now shh and relax. I'll tell you later." And he worked his fingers into me, probing and pulling and tweaking and teasing. It took the longest time. I was wondering if I'd ever get to the point where I could relax and accept this massive intrusion into my body. Fingers pressed home where nothing was intended ever to go in. And gradually I felt total melting relaxation as his fingers became part of me, no longer an intrusion. It took ages. I think it must have been more than half an hour until we got to this point. "Simon, we have a decision to make."

"What? I want you to fuck me, Phil. I do."

"I know. The decision is whether I try to do that now, or try to use a third finger first. Only you can tell me, and you won't know until I try."

"You can stop and use a finger if it doesn't go right. I want to know, Phil. I need to know. I need to feel you in me. I've needed it since you had me inside you. I'll tell you if I need to go slow. I will. Please fuck me. Please!"

He moved me down the bed and added a load more lube. He was standing at the foot and he raised my legs resting the backs on his chest, my arsehole all exposed and finger fucked, was aiming at his dick, which stood up hard to meet me. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it as it pressed against me. And then I felt him aim to the very centre of my soul. And it felt massive. If two fingers had been large, the pressure behind this larger thing was enormous. And it felt like a cricket bat handle was being pushed into me. I relaxed all I could and felt the tip easing into me. I tried to picture the tip of his foreskin at my hole and the skin opening to let the head in. I realised I'd not even see his head yet, and that he was about to bury it inside me, if it would go in. If.

If.

The pressure was huge. No pain. Just an inexorable force as the blunt tip of his dick prized me open, and suddenly there was a yielding and he was in, much faster, he told me later, than he'd intended. It did hurt then. Badly and suddenly. "Uh! Stop! Ow! Oh. Don't move!" I wanted it out and I refused to say so. I wanted this massive thing inside me, wanted to feel him in me, wanted him to be able to fuck me. But it hurt. "Stay still!" Instinctively I knew it would ease. "It'll be ok in a second or six!"

It was more like a second or sixty! I was impaled on his beautiful cock, and I was in torment. Not the pain so much. That started to ease. But wondering when I could ask him to fuck me. I suddenly knew I wanted to be fucked senseless. I just needed to be ready for him to start. Only I didn't need to give him the cue. But I didn't think he had yet more to thrust inside me. He did. Oh he did. He must have been only just inside when he stopped.

Filling. Completely filling. Somehow huge and manageable at the same time, I felt him ease inside me feeling my muscles gripping him as he eased in so gently, and I felt him press against that electric spot and felt the sparks from this deep penetration light up my soul and fill the heavens with new stars. "Are you ok?"

"Ok? More than ok! Why didn't you tell me how awesome it is? I've died and gone to heaven. Jeez, Phil, I don't think I ever want to try girls after this! I have a feeling this means I'm gay!"

"Silly boy!" I was laughing. Half laughing anyway, the other half was crying from the huge emotions that were running through me. "You're crying?"

"Doesn't matter. Not important. It's wonderful. I know who I am now. What I am. And I want to be fucked. Whatever way you like. I'm ready. Fuck me, Phil. Fuck me now. As hard and as fast as you like, or long and slow and gentle, only do it now!"

I felt him start to move, the. He was holding both my ankles and he was using his hips to push into me and pull out, and I heard him gasp as he thrust. "You're amazing. I can see you gripping me as I pull out and push in. It feels so special, like your arse is made for my dick. A glove. So hot, so tight, and yet so ready. You're a natural at this. I've never felt so good. Never." And he built his rhythm as he started to lose himself in what he was doing. I could fell him getting rougher, and pumping so hard into me that his belly was slapping against my upraised thighs. I wanted even more of him, deep inside me. I was giggling my head off, too, all at the same time. I even noticed that my own dick had wilted, and I didn't care, the feelings from inside were so intense, so exciting, so compelling as he drove and drove towards what must happen soon, towards his own orgasm. I knew I wasn't about to have one. I mean you just know, but it didn't matter. I was in ecstasy from being fucked and fucked, feeling him large, then emptying me as he drove into me.

"Harder. Do it harder. Fuck me harder!"

He did. My God he did. I could reach his hips as he pushed, and I pulled him inside me so hard I felt I was going to break with the force that he crashed into my backside. And I felt his dick sort of bump inside me, deep inside, almost as though he was rearranging my bowels. "I can't stop! I have to cum. I do. May I, inside you?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes yessssssssssss! Only fuck me hard as you can! Harder!"

I felt his body start to shake, felt his knees start to knock as he lost control, totally lost it and jolted into me, no rhythm now, but a jolting, thundering, banging and then still as I heard a thin voice screaming as silently as it could. "Eeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Oooooooooooorrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh! God, Oh God, aaaaaaaaaarrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" And silence, except I could feel him pulsing even while not moving. And I could hear his breathless panting as he came into me, deep into me. I fancied I could even feel the jets leaving the tip of his dick and hitting my insides. And then he was still. Tense, and still. Pushing deep into me and motionless for the longest time as he caught his breath.

"That," I said as soon as my voice started to work again, "that was the most exciting, wonderful amazing thing that has ever happened to me. I never knew... I never knew... It's - I can't describe it, it's so... Oh Phil... I think you just made me a real man!"

"I wanted to go on longer for you. I got lost inside you. You were so wonderful to fuck. Are so wonderful to fuck. I wanted it never to end, and needed to finish at the same time. You're awesome. No-one's ever been as good as you. No-one."

"Bullshit. I had no idea what to do!" But I was proud, too. Proud, even if he said that to all the boys, proud that this sensual boy had taken my virginity in all possible ways, and in the same evening, the same night, and barely over a week after I even knew, thought, feared I might be gay. I was breathless with not only the night's events, but the speed of the events of the whole thing. "Hold me, please hold me?" I was suddenly overwhelmed. I found I was sobbing great gulping sobs.

"What's wrong? Have I hurt you? Have I done something wrong?" He had his body disengaged from mine in a squelching and emptying instant. I could feel the lack of him inside me as a presence too, and his arms were round me. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I squeezed the words out between about four sobs. "I'm happy!" I couldn't control it. "You haven't hurt me. I'm happy!" I was, but I was crying my heart out. "I've, I've, I've n-n-n-not felt like... this ... before," I managed at last. "I'm so happy! You, Phil, you made me happy. You saved me... "

"Saved? Now you're being silly." But he was stroking my sweat soaked hair. The words didn't matter at all. It was the feeling that came to me from him that mattered.

"I don't care what the word is. I know what I mean." The sobs were getting easier. Still coming, but getting easier. His hand mattered. Having lost my virginity to him mattered. If I never found love in my life, not even once found returned love, that night mattered. I felt all small and safe with him. And finally the sobs dried and stopped. "I didn't know I was going to cry. I'm sorry. I feel a bit of a fool."

"Don't." He hadn't stopped stroking my hair for even a second, and I was safe in his arms. "Crying's ok. As long as I didn't hurt you or make you do anything you didn't want to do, then crying's ok."

"I never knew it could be like that... Never knew anything." I sighed a deep contented sigh. "Oh Phil, is it always like that? Is that just a sort of first time feeling?"

"I don't suppose you ever forget your first time," he was nuzzling my chest as he murmured, "and I don't suppose you get fireworks every time. I don't. But it's never been a non-event! And, by the way, I adored being fucked by you earlier. I like fucking best, but I wanted to give myself to you. You're special, Simon. Just special."

I think we sort of dream dozed. It wasn't all roses. I had a sudden huge need to use the loo. I knew I had to be empty, but I needed the loo badly. I spent ages sitting on it sort of empty straining almost turning my arsehole inside out. It was a reaction, I supposed, to being so thoroughly fucked. Phil hadn't needed to. Must've been something to do with practice. I hardly dared to wipe, it all felt so sensitive. In the end I managed to get away from the white shrine and back to Phil's side.

"Should've warned you about that. I'd forgotten, sorry," he mumbled sleepily.

"'Bout what?"

"The fake dump reflex. Well, that's what I call it. Happens the first few times. I sat there for hours my first time. And I was sore, too. You aren't sore are you?"

"Dead sensitive, not sore. And I like the feeling." I was half hoping he'd do it again, half dreading it. I felt I could both go on all night and also needed sleep like never before. I snuggled up behind him, like forks in a fork drawer, feeling his bum against my belly, and put my arm round him. Experimentally I reached down and stroked his tummy, feeling the relaxed muscles at his waist. I doodled with my finger in his belly button and felt him snuggle back into my arms, and then followed the trail of brown and increasingly wiry hairs to his beautiful invader.

A dreamy voice. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" I used my 'butter wouldn't melt' voice

"I'll give you at least four hours to stop doing that sort of nothing, then." And he relaxed in my arms. All except one very unrelaxed part. He hadn't just relaxed. He'd somehow eased his legs so that my dick was able to find a home between his thighs, too.

I moved my hand to his balls. I'd never even touched mine much, but I knew how sensitive they were. I very carefully felt my way round each one, marvelling at the feel of his scrotum. That old joke came into my mind. The one with the guest being introduced to the servants. The master of the house comes to a very old man and says something like, 'And this is Scrotum, the butler.' 'why do you call him Scrotum?' asks the guest. 'Well,' says his host, he's a wrinkled old retainer!' It's never been funny, that joke, but it just tickled me and I was feeling the texture, almost like soft silk, yet strong and wrinkled. I could feel the threads that connected his balls to the outside world, and wondered just how much of him was inside me when he fired into me.

And then I moved so gently to his dick. It felt iron bar hard, jutting out from his body like a spear, yet the skin was so supple that it moved easily up and down the shaft. Using just fingertips I explored, feeling every vein, every perfect imperfection as I moved to the tip, feeling it enclosed in its cocoon of foreskin. His skin was a little longer than mine. Mine comes to a very neat sort of fountain pen nib at the tip. He had a more generous covering, with a little extra on the end that I could roll between my fingers, even when he was hard it was there. Mine started to open when I was hard, letting the head peep shyly out. I could tell he was trying to relax, but his breathing gave away how he wanted to tense up and make what I was doing even better.

"Simon, would you do something for me?" He was whispering.

"Anything."

"You might not want to."

"So ask. If I don't then I'll say."

"Would you suck my dick?"

I admit I hesitated. I was remembering where it had been last. "Er, sure."

"You don't want to. It's ok."

"No, it isn't that, er, it's just that it's been up my arse!"

"I can wash it. Will that help?"

'Sod it,' I thought. He's licked my arse. What can be so bad?' "No. No need. I was just odd for a moment. Turn onto your back."

"You sure?" he was wriggling onto his back anyway.

"Certain." I could see my prize. I was guessing at what to do. It seemed very, very large suddenly as it neared my mouth. I was kneeling beside him, on his right, and I put my lips over the little extra skin and pursed them on top of his head. And then keeping my teeth out of the equation pressed downwards. It was so easy. A mouth full of salty dick. And no unusual flavours that I'd half expected after being fucked. Not that I knew what to expect exactly. A voyage of discovery.

The textures were amazing. The bar hard shaft pushing his dick at an angle into my mouth, the suppleness of the skin as it was almost languid in my mouth, the way it bunched under the rim if I let it, or was pulled taut if I chose. And the feeling against my tongue of the head itself. A mixture of polished smooth, and damply yielding, and the little arrowhead I loved to tease on myself feeling like a guitar string as I tickled it with my tongue. I had the scent of sweat in my nostrils as I moved my nose closer to his hair, and it was mixed with what I guessed was my own scent. Not of shit at all, but a heady sweetish mixture of scents I couldn't possibly identify, and would know for ever. The rim of the head yielded to my tongue as I pushed and probed, and I even tickled the slit with the tip of my tongue, trying to climb in, as he said later. And all the time he was leaking small semi-sticky slippery droplets into my mouth of pure salt essence of Phil.

I wasn't planning yet on being erotic, nor on driving him over the edge, but what I was doing was making him writhe on the bed, trying to pull away. I didn't dare try to take all of him into my mouth. I mean I'd heard about deep throating, but I couldn't see how, and I didn't want to try. "Simon, you're driving me crazy! Crazy! God you're good at this!" I answered by covering my teeth with my lips and giving him a gentle nibble, deep down on the shaft. I regretted it! He thrust into my mouth almost spearing the back of my neck with his dick. I decided not to do that again. "Play with my arse. Please?" And this seemed so natural now, so I did it without hesitating. I eased my right hand between his thighs and found the dampest part and probed gently with my index finger. He was still slippery even after being hosed down by the shower, and my finger met little resistance, I think he somehow even opened up to greet me and let me in. "Two fingers, please use two. At the front and deep in. It's sort of lumpy and squidgy, please!"

It wasn't quite so easy to put both fingers in, but he relaxed and opened his legs, and then I had him as I was sure he wanted me to. I was sucking and milking his dick with my mouth and probing inside him trying to find the spot he'd sent me to heaven with. And then he reared as I hit it, and a small stream of salty Phil rushed into my mouth and his voice, "Unnnghhhhhhhhh! Oh Simon, you're wonderful... Yes, oh yes... God, more, harder, oh God! Eeeeeerghhhhhh!" I wondered what it was going to be like to have a boy's spunk in my mouth. I'd not even tasted my own. It looked so weird, mine. Little gobs of pure white jelly had been the start, then it developed to a creamier fluid, all jelly-like when fresh that suddenly got runny and went everywhere. I loved the feel of it on my skin, so I left it there when I wanked. I was willing him to show me what it was like, willing him with all the pressure I could put into my fingers, and all the teasing I wasn't too sure how to do with my mouth and tongue. I didn't know how to know if he was about to shoot, either. I just knew that I wanted to have Phil in my mouth, needed to have him, needed to fire him up from the inside to make it the largest load he'd ever shot, to make him know I needed him. Harder I used my mouth to fuck his tool, feeling it grown hot as I worked up and down it, feeling his arsehole tense around my fingers, feeling his cheeks compress my hand until I was almost screaming in pain. I wasn't going to stop until he'd filled my thirst for him, and then everything seemed to stop, except my mouth. I pushed hard against the massive pressure his hole was creating on my fingers, pulled my fingertips forwards grinding the place that made him yell, and felt the tip of his cock seem to swell inside my mouth. Then it hit. Flavourless at first. Taking me by surprise, too fast to swallow, I just held it on his dick with my mouth and took shot after shot of red hot seed from him. Slippery, and oddly bitter as my tastebuds grabbed hold. Not unpleasant, but not the best flavour in the world either. Neutral, really, but it was Phil in my mouth. Phil, the boy who was showing me who I was, the boy who was showing me how to give myself to another boy. Phil. Phil with the brown hair and the dark eyes, and the all over tan, and the most wonderful dick. Phil, who had taken me to heaven, even just by letting me suck him to orgasm.

I managed to swallow most of his offering without taking my mouth from him. I didn't want to let go. I felt him shrink in my mouth, felt the skin close up, but I didn't want to let go. I eased my poor crushed hand from between his legs, though. That was a relief for me, and perhaps even for him. I heard his voice as I held him like that. "How the heck did you learn to do that? You're amazing."

I relaxed my hold. "A natural, I guess," I was half joking, but I felt I'd come home, somehow. "It just seemed so natural. I knew what to do. As soon as you asked, I just knew. I didn't mean to hesitate at the start. I feel so comfy here, with you."

"You're gay, Simon. No doubt about it. So am I, even though I try not to act on it most of the time. But you're even more comfortable than I am, or better, or something. You make me feel special. When I met you I was after a bit of hot fast sex. I think you were, too. But this is so much more than that."

"I don't know what it is." I was honest. I had no idea. I somehow felt it was more than just a shag, but I had nothing to compare it with. "You're the first, Phil. I think that was always going to be special. And this feels special. But I can't compare it with anything. I'm not sure I want to."

"I can hardly move!"

"So don't!"

"I want to do something for you. You've given me the most amazing time."

"Silly boy." I was smiling at him. "You're knackered. Who wouldn't be? It can wait."

"Not for long. Tomorrow's my last night here. We go home the day after. And I want you again and again and again. I want you so much I want to be crawling on my hands an knees to the plane I'm so shattered."

"I could love you, Phil. I could." I was trying to. I knew it wasn't love, not what I felt for Tom. It was much more than friendship, but it wasn't love.

"Home is so different." I could see he was fighting back tears. "We can't be lovers at home. I can't be me at home. I don't dare love you. Please don't fall in love with me. Please."

"I don't understand?"

"My parents. They watch me. All the time. I mustn't do a thing wrong, or it all goes wrong."

"But they're not watching you now!"

"No. They're at some bible camp, or a retreat, or some other religious place. They're nuts. The people I'm with are my aunt and uncle. My parents are so anti gay it's not true. I only get holidays with my relatives because they pay, and because they're sorry for me. They do their best. We don't take holiday pictures of what we really do. We lie to them when I get back"

"But the older boy? The one... "

"He was the minister's son. I was allowed to hang out with him. Huh! If they'd known! Look, It isn't long until I leave home. I'll be fine. I can cope for another year or so. Then it's university if I get good enough grades, and I escape for ever. I'm gonna shag my way round the campus!" His voice was trying to laugh, but his eyes weren't laughing. "Do you see why I don't want anyone to fall in love with me? I couldn't stand knowing they were there, wanting me, and I couldn't go to them... Please promise, Simon? Please?"

The strange thing is that I didn't feel relieved. I felt so close to Phil as he told me all this and more about his life at home. "I promise. But I feel something very special towards you. Nothing will ever take it away. You'll always be welcome in my life." It was pretty deep stuff. I found I was clinging to him, trying to make his sadness go away. I wished I could love him, wished it with all my heart. That was as useless as wishing I didn't love Tom. Two kids, adrift on two disasters, both gay, both in a mess, neither right for the other, yet sharing a huge adventure, and sharing each other. "You're pretty special, Phil. Pretty special."

Which is how I woke the next morning. Clinging to him, scrunched together in a mess of boy and sheets and sweat stained pillow. And needing a pee so bad I couldn't believe it. It had to be the need for a pee that woke me. I was bursting. It was so bad that it ached. I was trying to work out how not to wake him when I saw the clock at the bedside. It was after eight. My folks were going to knock on my room door in less than ten minutes. I had to get dressed and from his room to mine in no time flat, plus I was bursting for at least a three minute pee!

"Phil, I have to go!"

"Uh?"

"I have to go. Got to get back to my room. Where the fuck are my clothes?" I was panicking. It was as if I thought that they could tell that I'd spent the night with Phil if I wasn't there.

"Slow down. All you need are trousers and shirt and shoes."

"Well, that's pretty much all I had on! Jeez I need a piss"

"Get dressed, get to your room, then have a piss." He was flinging his clothes and the bedclothes out of the way. "Got them." He chucked the clothes to me and I put them on.

"I'll see you after breakfast? I want to!"

"Are you sure?"

"Damn right. No time now. I want to be with you today." And I ran. Luckily with my room key in my trouser pocket.

Eight thirty was looming. Alarm time. And mum usually woke before the alarm. I ran past three maids in my headlong rush to regain the room, and fumbled my key in the lock as I got to my room. This was one of the days I was glad I was an only child. No brother or sister to bribe. And I was in, door closing behind me as the phone started to ring.

Pee or phone? Hmm. No contest. I let it ring. I only just managed to get through the bathroom door, flies undone and dick out before I started peeing! The phone could take care of itself. Heck, it was ringing anyway! Ages the pee took. Simply ages. The phone stopped before I finished. At least we weren't in adjoining rooms, that would have made the next bit impossible.

The bed. Neatly prepared by the maid and totally unslept in. I had to get it all messed up before mum or dad arrived. Being late out was one thing, spending the entire night out was another. Spending the night in Phil's arms was a total no-no!

I was so expecting the knock on the door while I was screwing the bed up that the renewed ring of the phone made me jump out of my skin. "Morning, sleepyhead," dad's disembodied voice said. "Didn't you hear the phone the first time?"

The truth is always the best weapon. "I was in the loo!"

Dad's one of those 'the loo does not exist, and I do not exist when I'm in it' people. "Sorry. Enough said." It's dead weird. On the beach he gets his kit off at the first sunbeam. But the loo? Embarrassed. Actually I have a bit of that too, it must be contagious. But it was very useful then, his embarrassment. "You ready for breakfast?"

I couldn't resist pressing my advantage. "I had a shower, shit shampoo and shave!"

"Fool. You shaved last month!" He wasn't fazed at all. I never won with dad when he was ready for it; only the unexpected caught him out, and that was pretty rare. "So, breakfast? Dining room in five minutes? Then you can tell us about your evening."

Well, we shared everything in our family, so the idea of telling them about my evening was ok. I could keep the private bits private. Over breakfast I told them how Phil and I and a group of Germans had gone into town to find a disco. I even described the girl I'd half heartedly tried to pull, and Phil's lap ornament, too. "We didn't stay at the disco too long," I said, and went on to tell them how Phil and I'd felt out of place, being the only English speakers. Ok the Germans spoke pretty perfect English, one even managed to correct his mate when he was talking about hedgehogs instead of eagles. Seemed that the German word was very similar. But we'd felt out of place.

I certainly wasn't about to go into the details of the night. But I gave them enough. I talked about going into the beach, and having a midnight swim. Mum got all 'I hope you were careful' about that bit. Dad was all encouraging and reliving his youth about it. And I said how Phil and I had become good mates, and how we just hung out together and talked about everything and nothing. "He's going home tomorrow. I thought I'd hang out with him today, er, unless you've got any special plans?"

There were no special plans. They liked the idea. "I said you'd find a mate and it wasn't the end of the world that Tom couldn't come."

"Well, it was. It could've been, but no, it isn't." I was trying to stop grinning from ear to ear. I knew I had a silly smile all over my face. Who wouldn't? This would get deeply embarrassing if I didn't get away soon.

"What do you plan to do all day?"

"Dunno, dad. Maybe beach, maybe hang about here. And no, NOT the Miniclub! Nor the stupid grown up games either!"

"Well, if you stripped off last night, I suppose we'll see the great bright white bum unveiled on the beach today!"

"Not a chance!" Odd, really. There might've been a chance. Might be a chance. Mind you, I'd worry like hell about it.

"Suncream. Make sure you have plenty of suncream, and water, too." Mum was ever the practical one. "Will we see you before supper?"

"Probably see you on the beach or somewhere I should think. Unless Phil has other ideas." Why did I say that? It started off as an innocent phrase and the blush heard my words and overtook me again as it hit all manner of double meanings. "I've got enough cash from last night still, so don't worry about lunch. I don't suppose we'll bother with lunch after all this breakfast!"

We finished. I saw Phil in reception. He was heading for breakfast as I was leaving. I split off from my parents to talk to him. "I was hoping we could hang out today? Like a lot. Of hoping, I mean?"

"Me too. Never had a chance to say so before you sprinted."

"See you here after breakfast?"

"Done."

I was back down, all washed and polished and shaved, yes shaved, teeth extra white, almost before I'd left. I'd even suncreamed, gelled my hair, cleaned my teeth, and chosen the best of my scruffy clothes with total care, and packed the suncream and a big bottle of cold water in the spare free keep-it-cold oojit mum got from the supermarket fruit juice offer. And I was ridiculously early. I knew he'd take at least half an hour for breakfast, but I'm sure I was back there in less that ten minutes.

I didn't know what I wanted to do all day. I had half an idea that I wanted Phil all to myself in his room or in my room, and half an idea that I wanted to go to the beach and find a quiet spot and sunbathe and swim and talk. Either would be as good in so many different ways as the other. When Phil finally finished breakfast he had no better idea than I did. "I think I'd like to spend some real time with you," he said after I posed him the problem. "I don't want to remember you j

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