Date: Thu, 10 Mar 2005 22:09:21 +0000
From: jason argo <jacklloyd22@hotmail.com>
Subject: Holidays Should Be Fun  (M/b)

Serene and pale with soft round cheeks, Michael stood on the stone quay of
the harbour and smoothed his hands over his pants, wishing there was someone
around to admire the tightness of his bottom, which he knew looked good.
But it was Sunday and the end of the summer season, and there was no one
around but a bent old man and his fat wife with a dog.

It was the same every year. His mother and father took themselves off to
everywhere between Tunisia and Thailand when he was in school, but when his
turn came it was always the end of the summer season at St Ormond's in North
Devon.
He stared gloomily at the translucent blue water. Even swimming in the sea
was no fun without someone to float on a raft with, or splash and dunk under
the waves.
He was bored and restless, fed up and lonely.
Holidays were supposed to be sunshine and lazy days, and holidays were
supposed to be fun.

He mooched along the quayside for a while, and then he saw someone who took
his breath away. Balanced on the hull of a magnificent motor launch,
indolently polishing its brass work was a teenage boy.
After a moment the boy seemed to sense his presence and he looked up,
showing himself to have the kind of studied scruffiness that as an odd
appeal to the young.
"Hi, cherub. Lost yer mummy, have yer?"

Michael caught his breath. The youth was exactly like his boat; slender,
sleek, lithe and looking like fun. A golden boy. Older than himself, but
with golden hair to his shoulders and a lean tanned body with muscles
rippling as he moved.
Omigod!

"I'm not a kid." he replied tartly, "I'm allowed out on my own."

The youth smiled and chuckled. "What's your name?"

"I'm Michael, who are you?" he said back, suddenly feeling shy.

"Russell's my name, but people call me Russ."
He was about seventeen, old enough to have gained a little savvy but still
young enough to be a heartthrob. Michael was wearing beach shorts and he
fancied for a moment the youth's eyes were scanning his bare legs.

Eventually the teenager waved his hand to indicate the motor launch.
"Do you wanna ride? I'll take you around Skull Rock for a small price."

Michael edged closer, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked down at
him.
"Skull Rock! I come here all the time and I've never heard of that place."

The youth gave him that smile again. A smile that made him feel like he was
the only person in town.
"Strange. It's famous around here, and only a few miles out. It's called
Skull because someone found a skeleton there once. Probably the survivor of
a boat wreck who starved to death because no one knew he was there. Other
folk reckon it was a fellah who'd upset someone in the town and was grabbed
one night and deliberately marooned. Whatever the truth is, everybody likes
to have a look at Skull Rock in the summer."

The sheer Treasure Island drama of the description appealed to Michael, and
a trip out onto the ocean with a handsome lad like Russell - Russ, would be
a great treat whatever it cost.
"I'm sure I'll be able to go tomorrow," he replied, "My mother told me to be
back at the guesthouse today in time for afternoon tea. Will you be here in
the morning?"

"Got to go ask your mummy if you can come with me, huh?" Russ chuckled
without rancour, "But sure I will. Just try and make it early."

St Ormond's is a small fishing village on the north coast of Devonshire,
once famous for its pilchards which a fickle public, now so used to visiting
Spain, refused to buy unless they were retitled sardines - when real
sardines were actually immature pilchards.
It is a place that looks its best in summer, with its winding cobbled
streets converging on the harbour, and its overhanging cottages built onto
the face of the cliffs. But whatever the time of year it is always a place
slumbering in tranquility where nothing much ever happens.

St Ormond's traditionally devoted itself to holiday makers in the summer,
and entire streets in the town are lined with guest-houses and small hotels.
The guest-house in which Michael and his parents stayed each summer was one
of a row, distinguished from the others by a creeper that covered half the
front, running up to the second storey beneath the eaves, where at night the
glow of a pavement lamp gave it the depth and shadow of a country house.
It was a mean stonewalled grown-ups kind of place dedicated to the
suppression of high-spirits, and to strike yet another doubtful note, along
the road sat a whole line of gleaming cars, tail-fins glistening like a
rumour of sharks and hemming in his father's two-tone Ford, maroon with a
cream roof, and a dented rear bumper.
Despite their annual visits to the same location his father had become lost
on the drive down and had backed into a gatepost in a country lane whilst
turning around.

His mother was waiting at the house, and on seeing him she immediately
scolded him for dirtying his shorts. She had an obsession with order,
possessing four tweed skirts, rotated weekly, and a dozen twin-sets, which
she wore according to the season. That day she wore bottle-green with a
string of river pearls that reminded Michael of grey teeth. She permanently
dressed in dark stuff and wore ornaments that had a funeral look. Handsome
in a pale stricken way, she always looked like she was recovering from a
bereavement.

"You've missed afternoon tea so you'll just have to go hungry until dinner."
she told him sourly.

"Where's dad?"

"He's upstairs, but don't go interrupting him. He's on the telephone to his
office."
It was a ritual Michael couldn't understand. Every day whilst on holiday his
father telephoned in to his office.

At dinner his father constantly rumbled on in discontent about affairs at
the office, and the dearth of good weather, while his mother occupied
herself by monitoring her son's table manners, criticising the way he
tackled each and every course of food.
"For the money it costs to keep him in that school we send him to you'd
think they'd do a better job of teaching him proper etiquette." she
complained to her husband as if Michael himself wasn't in the room.

His father just nodded. He wore a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles that were
large enough for a Chinese philosopher, and behind them one eye had the
stern glare of a martinet, while the other seemed to constantly look in a
separate direction and lead an independent existence.
He was a neatly built man, smaller than his wife but with the air of
authority expected of a man who was the partner in a long established firm
that manufactured cardboard boxes. He was an expert in cardboard and a fine
judge of cartons, boxes and packing cases, be they flimsy disposable or
stapled, reinforced and double lined. There wasn't a thing anyone could tell
him about cardboard or boxes. His father was a cardboard-box connoisseur.

"Eat your greens, Michael." his father said.

"Yes," leapt in his mother, "There are millions of undernourished little
waifs in the world who would be glad of the food still on your plate."

Michael poked the remnants of his meal defiantly with the tip of his
dinner-knife, and wondered just how many starving waifs would get excited by
a wet dollop of cold, grey cabbage.
His mother and father would never understand him,

The other diners in the room did their best to preserve a tradition of not
paying much attention to other guests, but at the nearest table to their own
sat a skinny woman and a plump, moustachioed gentleman with a red face that
everyone called, The Colonel, and from the outset of the meal he'd noticed
how the colonel liked looking at his bare legs. His eyes kept flicking to
the radiant limbs with such fervour he could almost hear the sockets
creaking each time they cranked round.
Michael was at an age when some boys begin to feel attracted to girls. That
hadn't happened to him yet, but he'd started to notice how some men looked
at him, and he liked that. Sometimes they smiled or made a fuss of him, and
he had come to realise that he was attractive.
In a moment of sheer wantonness when he knew the man was looking he licked
his lips and showed a little tongue, then glowed inside when he noticed the
colonel's mouth drop open.
Pervert, he thought uncharitably.

"We're going into Barnstaple tomorrow," his mother told him whilst eating
their pudding, "You'll enjoy it there. There's a funfair and crazy golf and
all kinds of other things."

Michael at once put on a show of sulks.
"Mother, you know it always rains when we go to Barnstaple. Every year we go
there, and every year it pours down." he said. "I've met someone with a boat
who'll take us out to Skull Rock. I'd much rather do that."

"Skull Rock. Ugh!" His mother's face screwed up in repugnance at the very
name. "And a boat trip!" she looked horrified. "Goodness me, no! Just
watching little boaty-things wobbling in the water makes me feel ill."

Michael knew that anything smaller than a cruise-liner was anathema to her,
but he persisted all the same.
"Why don't you and father go to Barnstaple while I go on the boat trip?" he
suggested quietly, politely. Slyly.
His mother had no skill in keeping young people entertained and seemed
almost relieved at the idea.
"What do you think?" she asked her husband.
His father gave him a morose glance. "We'll decide in the morning."

Michael had good legs, beautiful legs, and he knew it, so in moments of
naughtiness he'd shuffled forward in his chair until his shorts became
hauled up high on his thighs - just to give the lecherous old colonel at the
next table a pleasant eyeful.
It amused him. Shocking behaviour gave a nice little zing to things.

When they had eaten, all the guests went into a communal room to chat and
exchange gossip; a particular adult affliction that pointedly ignored
younger people.
Conversation rattled around about the usual things - disgusting neighbours,
soap operas, celebrity scandals, births and deaths, and work. Mostly deaths
with his mother, mostly work from his father.
Ten minutes of that was enough for Michael, and bored out of his mind he
told his parents that he was going to his room to read a book.
As he climbed the stairs he came to dismally realise that reading books was
just about all their was to do.
Some Holiday! And holidays were supposed to be fun.

He'd go lay on his bed and think about something nice, he decided. He'd
think about the boy with the boat. Russel - Russ he liked to be called. Not
many years older than himself, but already muscular and sort of manly. Yes,
when he was alone he'd slid his pants down over his hips and have a really
good think about Russ.

On the landing of the third floor he came to a sudden stop as a boy he'd not
seen before confronted him.
"Hello, my name's Barnaby. Who are you?"

"I'm Michael." he replied unsmiling, being habitually abrupt and slightly
defensive with strangers.
He intended to go on to his room, but suddenly he paused and looked at the
other boy more closely.
He was lovely. Not beautiful like Russ, but beautiful like boys can be. Sort
of warm looking Kind of soft and cuddly. Dark hair, smooth white skin with
just a hint of burgeoning seaside tan. He was wearing shorts like himself
and a spotless yellow T-shirt.
"Do you want to be my friend?" he asked.

"Sure," said the boy called Barnaby, "It gets pretty boring around here
without friends. There aren't many others here to make friends with. It's
not that kind of place, is it? And there isn't much here for boys like us,
is there?"

"What do you mean - boys like us?"

"Well, we're difficult to please. It's our age I suppose. We're too old to
spend all day making sandcastles on the beach and still too young to get
involved with girls."
Michael nodded in sympathy. "Everything is sedate and neat here. It's all
keep-off-the-grass and don't-make-a-noise."

"Right. All put together for freaky-creaky old fuddy-duddies."

Michael's mouth broadened into a grin and for the first time that day he
laughed.
Barnaby, in his opinion, was the most exciting boy he'd met in ages. He
liked his rather irreverent manner because it pulsed with energy, and
emitted a potent undercurrent of danger.
"Are you naughty sometimes?"

His new friend nodded. A fringe of chestnut hair fell forward on his brow
and he drew it back with his fingers, only to have it swing forward again,
and as it did so his mouth turned up in an indefinable smile and his body
seemed to wriggle.
"Sometimes I am. Sometimes I do things I'm not supposed to do."

Michael turned on the landing and opened a plain looking door nearby. He
switched on a light and saw it was a linen cupboard.
"Psssst! Come in here." he hissed secretively as he stepped inside.

When Barnaby followed him in Michael quickly shut the door and pressed him
gently back against a wall.
"Boys need to have a quiet place sometimes, don't they. They need somewhere
where they can be alone together. Do you know what I mean?"

A blush rose in the other boys cheeks. "I think I understand." he said.

It was all the confirmation Michael required. He took the boy in his arms
and slowly leaned forward. Before Barnaby realised what was happening he'd
nipped the lobe of an ear between his lips and was sucking it, then after a
moment he flicked the tip of his tongue into the ear itself.

Barnaby responded with a little start of surprise, but he didn't protest
very loudly. He just muttered a little "Oh, I say ..." Which allowed Michael
to draw back, tilt up the other boys chin and close in again to stroke his
throat against the front of his neck.

Skin on skin, sliding together, smooth and warm, and there was an aroma
about Barnaby too, a slight, spicy boy-smell that Michael remembered from
school and which he liked, and he hugged his new friend for a while quite
firmly in order to enjoy it.
Placing a hand on Barnaby's narrow waist he stroked him, bit by bit rumpling
up his yellow T-shirt, pushing it up over his flat belly and hauling it
right up beneath his arms in order to view his peerless chest, smooth and
slightly pink and with tiny swollen nipples each no bigger than a coat
button.

Eventually he felt compelled to move again. This time he pushed his face up
against Barnaby's smooth cheek and dragged it round until their noses
bumped. His mouth brushed the other boys oh-so-soft lips and he worked his
tongue in between his perfect teeth and gave him a deep lingering kiss,
which Barnaby appeared to be delighted with, because he kissed him back
quite fiercely.

When they drew apart his young boyfriend relaxed against him and offered a
mischievous smile. "I love you." he said.

Michael scoffed cynically. "Don't be a silly nig-nog, we only met five
seconds ago."

"Yes I know, but I know I'm going to love you." replied Barnaby, his big
eyes taking on a soft, moony look.

"You don't mind if I neck with you  - kiss you?"

"I'll let you do anything you want."

Kissing again, joined at the mouth, body, hips. Tongues sliding together
while their thighs humped. Michael knew Barnaby wasn't as old as himself.
Where did a kid like him learn about that kind of stuff?

Michael pulled him close and groped his backside as they kissed again.
Kissing his mouth, down his neck towards his chest until he was suckling on
those delectable, hot little nipples, batting his tongue on the rubbery
little teats and sucking until the entire nipple came in beyond his teeth.
and gently biting them.

"Oh yeah, yeah." Barnaby bleated, pushing the back of Michael's head down to
encourage him. "I love that," he cooed, then he swung his chest round. "Do
the other one too."

His cock rose up and pushed at the front of his pants, and when he felt it
nudge against him Barnaby started to stroke it through his shorts.

Within moments he was returning the compliment. His new young friend wore no
underwear! Like himself he'd been to the beach and hadn't put on anything to
compensate for the removal of wet swimming trunks, and now his young
boy-treasures was easy to define. A stiff dickie and a soft little ball-bag,
and he didn't seem to mind having them handled.
Fingers moved feverishly on each others swollen boy parts, stroking,
rubbing, tugging and pushing.

"Want to do a wank with me?" Michael asked in a faint, husky voice.

Their eyes glowed with mutual admiration.
"Oow!"

"Wow! What a beauty. Does it spunk up? Can it do a snotty?"

"I say - Yuck!"

"Can it?"

"It can if I rub it enough."

"Come on then, let's do it. Let's do it together."

Unabashed, unashamed they both began to masturbate, all thoughts of
disapproval vanishing as they slid their fingers up and down the blood
engorged cocks jutting from between their hairless young thighs. On the
downstroke he pulled the foreskin right back to expose the plump, pink tip,
then he pushed it right back over the head.
Down, then up, faster and faster, his fingers became a blur.

His nipples felt stiff and pointy, so up went the front of his own shirt so
he could push his bare chest onto Barnaby's and have their two sets of
nipples nubbing together, then he brazenly grasped him by the hips. Kissing
hard and deep, tongues plunging in and out of each others mouths, hands
roaming everywhere, over the curves of hips and up onto flat, firm chests.

Rising up on tiptoe, belly to belly, nipple to nipple, moaning heatedly, he
pushed his hips forward and pumped his burning cock into the front of
Michael's shorts. The sensation of having a rubbery little dick sliding in
the groove between his testicles and his thigh stirred Michael into
reciprocating. His own excited member slipped into Barnaby's fly and stroked
up onto his smooth, bare belly.

Mouths wide open this time, cramming together like two pieces of a jigsaw,
and no teeth to getting in the way of tongues.
They began jigging together like puppies on heat, their hips swinging
forward in small jerks.
"Uhh, uhh, uhh!" They groaned into each others mouths as they enjoyed the
friction of each others skin, hairless, with the texture of a pencil eraser.

"Ahh! oooh, ooh, Michael!" cried Barnaby as he injected sudden wetness
between his friends thighs.

"Uuh, ooooow!" grunted Michael as felt the splash of gooiness bathe his
scrotum. It prompted an instant response from himself,

he shuddered and felt his knees go weak. Slowly they wormed to a halt, and
as their youthful horniness faded they began to feel the cool deposit of wet
stickiness each had left behind.
They'd cum on each other. They'd done it inside each others pants.
"Crumbs!"

"Yukky! Was that naughty enough for you?" asked Barnaby.

"We'd better go and tidy up and find a place to play Ludo or something."

"Right," said Barnaby. If someone finds us scrunched up together in a linen
cupboard they'll think we're gay."

***

"Now see here young fellah-me-lad ..."
His father was standing on the quayside expounding to Russ in the tone he
used when lecturing a cardboard box maker who'd made a mistake on the
production line.
"... You just take care when you take my lad out to that island. No
speedboatin' about an' showin' off."

The contrast between the older and younger man couldn't have been more
marked. His father, pompous, wearing a blue blazer, grey flannels and a
white panama, and Russ, a laid-back attitude, dressed in a blue singlet and
worn denim cut-offs.
His mother stood well back out of the way, dressed in navy-blue, patting her
hair and adjusting her ropes of pearls.

"Now I know's that with it being the end of the summer season you won't do
much other business today," his father was saying, "so I'll pay you a bit
extra if you'll keep Michael with you until mid afternoon. His mother and I
are off to Barnstaple for a few hours, but we'll be back by then."
His father was so abrupt he was almost rude, and Michael feared Russ would
tell him to get lost. But if the youth was feeling irked by being spoken to
like a ten year old he didn't show it. He just smiled. Smiling was a thing
he was good at.
"Okey-dokey gov'nor." he said magnanimously, "If you pays, I'll do the
work."

Overjoyed Michael stood with Russ as his mother and father made off towards
the car with a dented rear bumper. He'd scrubbed his teeth twice that
morning. Oral hygiene was important and a glorious smile vital that day.

"Hello, at last." Russ said turning to him with desperate coolness,
At close range Russ was taller than Michael remembered, but he looked every
bit as exciting as the previous day. And if he'd feared the loss of his
humour at that moment he was quickly heartened by the sparkle in his eyes.

A beastly blush beat under Michael's cheeks. "Hi, yourself." he said more
breathlessly than he'd intended. "I wasn't sure dad was going to agree."

Russ cast him a look of quite confidence. "I was sure of you, I knew you'd
come, but I wasn't sure of the others. Parents, eh!"
Michael bit his lip and shrugged. "I know. My mother and father are an odd
pair."

"To say the least. It's obvious they'd rather be anywhere but here with my
boat."

Michael's gaze joined his, his voice as low. His smile bore a hint of an air
of conspiracy and his cocked brow seemed to invite elaboration, but he
wasn't quite ready for that.
"Not me though, I'm glad I'm here."

"Today I have to take-you-under-my-wing sorta thing. Go down the steps an'
get aboard." said Russ.

Michael walked carefully down some slippery little steps whilst Russ
gallantly held his hand. To get him onto the boat the burly teenager caught
hold of him under the arms and hoisted him up bodily, and as he lowered him
Michael's T-shirt rucked up against his chest and he experienced his bare
belly sliding over Russ's belly.
And golly! just for a fleeting moment the front of their shorts scraped
together.

Russ held him close for a few seconds longer, one hand low on his back, the
other stroking his neck, and it was like, oh ... so sexy. His fabulous body
was so close to his own he could feel his heart.
"Better put on a lifejacket. Y'daddy says I's got to look after you."

"I'm not a kid," Michael flared at him as he snatched at the safety-aid,
"I'm old enough to know what I want."

"So, you've growed up and don't need a nursemaid anymore eh?"

"I've told you, I'm not a kid."

"If you say so, but I bet you ain't got any hair around yer dib-dabs yet."

When the life-preserver was properly strapped to Michael's chest Russ went
to the front of the launch, revved the engines, and they slid away from the
moorings with a throaty roar.
He gave it full throttle and they were quickly clear of the harbour and
careering across a glittering sea, leaving behind the secluded sandy coves
and towering cliffs of the coast.
Although the sky lacked the deep blue of midsummer there was only a single
dark cloud  in view as they headed out to sea, which Michael confidently
predicted would quickly scurry over to drench the funfair in Barnstaple.

For a while he sat very straight in his seat in the rear of the boat,
staring at Russ's back with eyes that were very round and bright. The
feeling he'd known when they'd first met came back. It was a feeling of heat
and excitement, a sort of wanting that made him go weak.
Skull Rock seemed a mysterious destination and was sure to be interesting,
but the real reason for making the trip was of course Russ himself. He
wanted to be with him, impress him and be his best and only friend.

He'd had little flings with boys at school in the past. Sometimes he'd gone
with older boys, and once he'd even let Mr Jessop the music teacher kiss him
on the mouth. But he'd not experienced the kind of excitement with any of
them that Russ now inspired.
Happiness hung around him like a palpable thing, his eyes were bright, his
cheeks flushing, because it wasn't just a schoolboy crush he was feeling. He
was a boy in love, wanting to be loved, wanting someone to make love to him,
wanting to be screwed by someone wonderful like Russ and not just mess
around with young boys like Barnaby all the time. He wanted to get close to
the big teenager and please him, and he wanted Russ to do nice things in
return. But did Russ pay any attention to boys?
He probably did. He liked looking at his legs just like the old colonel did.

After a while Russ fixed the helm and clambered like a monkey along the side
to make some running checks, then careless of the sea-spray flecking his
body he stripped off his shorts.
Oh, wow! thought Michael. He was an intoxicating vision to his besotted
eyes. Blond, beautiful and sexy, steely and hard, edgy and muscular, and
almost naked. But he wasn't EXACTLY naked. He had one of those brief little
bathing suits that confident young men sometimes wear, the kind that left
nothing to peoples imagination, and Michael's young eyes surreptitiously
scanned every bump and jutting curve.
It was a mature item, a manly thing, and he couldn't drag his eyes away.
Everything was so clear, the bulge of his scrotal sac, the loll of his
penis, big, so much bigger than his own.

"Can I drive for a while?" he asked, cagily stalking up to the front of the
boat.

Russ gave him a guarded look. "You don't drive a boat, you steer it."

"Yes, okay. Let me do it for a bit."

"It's not as easy as it looks. You need to keep an eye on the heading and
make corrections for the run of the sea."

"You're here. You'll help, won't you?"

The teenager's unlined, Roman-Senator-like face cracked into a good natured
smile.
"Sure I will."

Michael was quite thrilled to be allowed control of the boat, but equally
thrilled to have Russ standing with him and giving him such close attention.
It was every schoolboy's dream - well, his dream anyway - to have such a
viral, handsome youth take such personal interest in him, to guide his hands
and to hug his shoulders.

With the throttle set at a sedate cruising speed Michael gripped the helm
and steered towards a tiny blimp on the horizon which he knew must be Skull
Rock. At a distance it looked small and steep sided with a rather domed top,
and for some inexplicable reason he thought of Barnaby's nipples.
Then he felt something nudge against his hip, and he knew without doubt it
was the thing in the big boys pants. What would it look like without the
pants to hide it? How big would it be when it became stiff? What would it
feel like if ...?
He gazed up at Russ with adoring eyes, wanting to make it plain that he was
available for some questionable fun, and was rewarded when the youth leaned
down to exhale hot breath on the side of his neck.
A hand stroked the outline of his waist, then went down to cup his
curvaceous young bottom. Was it meant as a sexy grope or a mere steadying
clutch?
Michael didn't care, he giggled and wriggled his little bum against it.

The soft pitter-patter of water droplets went unnoticed for a moment, and he
reckoned them to be only a little blown spume against his cheek.
"Rain," said Russ, frowning and looking up, "We're in for a bit of a
squall."

The moment he'd finished speaking a gust of wind brought with it a sudden
dense shower that hit them like nails.
Alarmed, with huge, ice-cold raindrops bouncing on the decking and on his
head Michael looked around for somewhere to hide. Dressed in summer clothes
suitable for the beach they'd run into a rainstorm of dramatic intensity.
There was no cabin on the boat, no awning, no shelter of any kind. The wind
was gusting and the launch was pitching and wallowing amid unexpected large
waves.
"Get under the tarpaulin at the back." yelled Russ.

The tarpaulin was tied in a bundle and the lurching of the boat and the
lashing rain made it impossible to undo the greasy rope that held it, but
luckily the storm veered off as quickly as it had started.
"What are you going to do?" Michael asked, standing forlorn and dripping
wet.

"Call off the tour round Skull Rock for a start." Russ told him grimly.

"No, I don't want to go back."

"Have some sense. You look like a drowned rat and there's more rain coming.
Your mam and dad will blow their top wi' me if I take you back sopping wet."
He raised an arm and pointed. "Look, we's got plenty of time, we'll miss out
the island for a while and make for the headland yonder. My ol' man has a
hut there he rents out to sea-anglers. We can dry off and get thinks sorted,
an' if the weather clears we'll do the trip later."

It took only fifteen minutes to reach the headland, but it was a quarter of
an hour of dejection and discomfort for Michael. On a warm summer day the
breeze would have dried his clothes on his back, but on that particular day
the gusting wind had a chilling edge to it that only aggravated and
preserved things. For him everything was a mess. It was all spoilt. The rain
had dowsed his amorous daydreaming and ruined his plans, and he seethed
peevishly at the audacity of the weather in ruining his day.

Eventually they coasted into a small sheltered inlet that boasted a
diminutive wooden jetty.
"Hop out." Russ told him as he looped the mooring rope about a post.
Michael shook off his lifejacket and moved stiffly. His soggy clothes made
him shiver and he felt almost immobilised.
"Where is it? "Where's the hut?"

"Up top o' the hill, where all the rocks are piled up. Come on, this way."

The teenager started off at once and Michael set off up the track in his
wake, shivering more now because the sun had gone behind that horrible cloud
and the sky was washed with grey.

The path they followed steepened into a climb and they mounted up onto an
unprotected headland where the few gorse bushes were flattened by the wind
and the grass was pitted with rabbit holes. On the left, the jagged cliff
was broken into deep chasms which forced them to make detours along its
edge. Peering over, they could see sea pinks clumped in crevices, and below
them the bodies of nesting gulls in white feather clumps. Below again,
straight below, the sun cast shadows down sheer defiles that plunged fifty
feet down to where the sea foam throbbed and fretted at the rocks.

In front of them a shingle path ran up to a sort of ledge on which stood a
small building. Not like a house, more like a hut just as Russ had said, it
had wooden walls and a sod roof reinforced with stone, half hidden by gorse,
small and grey. Its lichen-covered walls leaned slightly to the east,
seemingly persuaded, like everything else, to tilt in harmony with the west
wind.

Halfway to the shelter of the hut and while they were still out in the open
another shower of rain hit them, and the brief but furious downpour ruined
all previous efforts to remain dry. Michael was saturated, his clothes were
bedraggled and if there had been an inch of him that had escaped the first
dowsing by being concealed beneath his life preserver, it wasn't there any
longer.

In bad temper he swiped at the undergrowth savagely, then stepped unseeingly
into a small patch of nettles. At the sting of their barbs on his bare legs,
tears welled in his eyes.
It was the last straw. What he had hoped would be the best day of his
holiday had become a shambles. First he wasn't going to see Skull Rock, then
his warm thoughts about Russ had been wrecked and he'd become soaking wet,
and now even the plant life was attacking him.
"The island ," he sniffed, "I'm never going to see Skull Rock."

Russ, who's own damage seemed to be limited to a pair of wet bathing trunks,
shook his head. "You ain't missin' much. I do a lot o' clever talkin', but
it's really just a lump o' mangy rock covered in bird shit."

The windows of the hut were shuttered and the place looked empty, but when
Russ unlocked the door it opened easily. No creaks, no squeal of rusty
hinges.
Michael looked about inside curiously. A small wooden table and a couple of
hardback chairs stood at one end of a tiny room, the centre being taken up
by an old iron stove showing more rust than black lead, together with a pile
of logs. On his left a beat-up pine dresser pressed against a whitewashed
wall, it's shelves holding a few items of crockery, while to his right
crouched an aged padded lounger - probably a chuck-out from someone's house
- covered in an unlikely mauve and green stripped material.

Russ urged him forward, then went to open the window shutters. "Nuthin' to
write home about, but it does for people who want low rent an' don't mind
roughin' it for a couple o' days."
He went away and Michael heard him whistling as he rummaged in a wooden
chest in the corner of the hut, eventually rising up to throw him a towel
and a beach jacket.
"Get y'wet togs off. I'll light the stove so we can get 'em dry."

Michael hesitated briefly, but after a few moments he did as he was told.
With his amorous thoughts cooled he preserved some decorum by putting the
jacket on before dropping his pants. Then he glanced down at the jacket. It
was pink and smelt of perfume. A girl's thing. It could only mean Russ
brought girl's to that cabin sometimes and that knowledge made him strangely
jealous.
"Do you? Do you bring girls here?" he asked.
Pottering in the box again, Russ didn't seem to hear him, and Michael's
boyish looks were supplanted by a resentful air which gave him a sulky look.

Russ came back and put a match to the kindling already in the stove, waited
a while then added larger pieces of wood. Flames roared upward and heat
radiated out.
Michael busied himself getting dry, and by the time he was feeling human
again his shirts and shorts were already steaming on an old clotheshorse
near the fire.

The storm was passing over, and a bright ray of sunlight shone through the
small windows as Russ came back with a kettle and stood it on top of the
stove.
"Won't take long," he said, "As soon as the water's hot we'll have a toddy,
as nice as you'd get at the Ritz in London. I's got brandy an' sugar. Soon
have you perking up."

Still sulking, Michael pouted. "I don't think I like brandy. I don't drink
that sort of thing."

The youth produced a half used bottle of brown liquid and screwed off the
cap. "Bet you've never tried it."

"No, of course I haven't. I'm only a ...." He was going to say he was only a
kid, but he couldn't say that to Russ. Not now.

"How do you know you don't like it if you've never tried it? You shouldn't
say you don't like brandy 'til you've had a taste." Russ said with a droll
smile. "Time you tried some toddy anyway, it'll warm you up. And a lad your
age - not a baby any more are you? Got to grow up sometime no matter want
your mummy says. They're all the same, women, allus stoppin' lads havin' a
bit o' fun."
He took two reasonably clean cups from the dresser and poured a measure of
liquor in each.
"Plenty of sugar, an' then hot water. Better than tea, I promise yer."

Then there it was on the floor between Michael's feet, steaming lazily and
smelling rich and exotic.
Russ laughed. "Go on, have a sup. It won't bite."

He picked it up and sipped. It tasted lovely, hot and sweet and sort of
fruity with a pungent kind of aftertaste.
He sipped again, and the warmth from it spread slowly from his throat down
to his chest and then to his belly, sending out gentle fronds of sensation
as it went.
He grinned at Russ, and Russ grinned at him. The light from an oil lamp lit
up the wooden walls of the cabin.
Louder now but still far off, with the incoming tide the sea surged on the
beach, a swishing of sand and a sucking noise as the ripples spread and then
withdrew.

The warming drink enlivened Michael and he suddenly became aware of the
brevity of the jacket he was wearing and of his naked body beneath it. He'd
recently towelled his head furiously to get it dry and the delicious
appearance of the youth made him concerned for his own looks.
"Oh no - my hair - it's a mess."
Russ produced a plastic comb and nudged up beside him on the lounger.
"Don't get upset darlin'." he said, using the comb to gently straighten the
tangles.

Such close attention soothed Michael instantly and he looked up dreamily at
his new friend. It felt so - intimate. And he'd called him darling! Oooh!

"Have a drop more toddy." the young man said, his voice sounding a bit
thicker than before.
Michael was feeling wonderfully warm now. He wriggled his shoulders inside
the overlarge beach jacket and it slipped down a little.

Showing great care Russ took hold of his chin and rotated his face as he
attended to the hair. It felt nice. Russ was being kind - almost loving, and
Michael thought he wouldn't mind at all if he was his darling.

Almost as if reading his thoughts the teenager's hands shifted up his back,
his fingers smoothing their way over the fluffy towelling of the beach coat
to graze the bare flesh of his shoulder.
"How old are you?" asked Russ.

"Old enough to go with girls." he said.

"Maybe you are, maybe you're not. But are you old enough to go with boys?"

Michael tittered. "I thought you just liked girls."

Russ leaned down and gave him a peck on his exposed bare shoulder. "You're
as cute as any girl I know." he said.
At that Michael practically swooned. Now he knew why girls always tried to
look pretty. They did it for boys like Russ.

Russ wrapped an arm round him and pulled him against his chest, and Michael
caught his breath as he felt himself yielding and widening his legs to
accommodate his sudden excitement.
Tenderly, unhurried, Russ started to pull the loose beach jacket from the
boys shoulders, clearly wanting to get inside it and stroke his hands all
over the body beneath. His fingers strayed shamelessly, absorbing the soft
shape of his torso and the narrowness of his hips.
"You're beautiful." he husked.

Michael didn't reply, but he felt his nipples tingle and stand up sharp.
Oh, yes. Russ did like boys!
His head dipped as if he were embarrassed, but the older boy took hold of
his chin and tilted his face up to his own, and holding him in his arms he
gazed down into Michael's eyes.
"I think you're a little star. Lovely face, lovely legs, lovely little body.
A nice young boy like you needs someone to look after him when his mummy
ain't around."
His hand moved to the nape of the youngsters neck and he enjoyed watching
the boys mouth open in a oh of surprise. His soft, pink mouth tantalised, as
did the sweeping eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks.

Michael submitted as the youth leaned against him and pushed him down until
he was laying almost flat on the seat of the couch. It left him feeling
breathless, and suddenly Russ's face loomed large as he leaned forward to
kiss him again. On the mouth this time, lips parted, hot and moist, pressing
down hard and forcing his own lips open so he could probe with his tongue.
The front of his jacket was open and the palm of Russ's hand pressed against
his small, bare chest and stroked in circles.
"You have a lovely skin, it's so smooth and creamy." he whispered.

A questing tongue moved to the soft stretch of the boys armpit before
nuzzling his chest and then swinging down to run over the flat surface of
his belly. The boys skin gave out precisely the right pheromones to excite a
lad such as Russ further. The favour of his flesh was like a drug.
Michael's body rippled beneath his touch. "What are you doing?" he asked
softly.

"I want to know." said Russ mysteriously.

"Know what?"

"I want to know what you taste like ... all over ..."

Michael brushed hair from his eyes with the back of an hand as he felt
adrenaline pump through him.
"I'm not being a tease. I'm really not." he whispered in a shaky voice as he
blushed and squirmed.
He drew in a soft, hasty gasp and his slender body writhed languidly, and in
reflex he pushed up his chest. His body was slight, but his chest seemed to
thrust upward as the teenagers fingers grazed his tiny nipples,

"Maybe you don't aim to be a tease," he growled, "But you sure are one, you
horny little squirrel. And ah, but you're lovely down there."
Russ moved the palm of a hand over his bare thigh, finding the hairless
texture alluring, inviting his mouth and his mouth moved lower to kiss the
smooth skin of his tummy, and like a kestrel diving for prey with deft
little pulses he dipped and whirled his tongue.
Michael squirmed and giggled and gasped with delight. Russ was on top, he
was all around, covering his body with erotic little shocks, hands tongue,
teeth everywhere.
Yes, he thought, oh yes.

With a leisurely but firm push Russ rolled him onto his back, got in between
his knees and splayed his legs wide apart, then he sent a hand running up
and down the boys smooth, bare thighs to scout the territory before his
tongue followed.
Holding the youngsters penis up out of the way, but doing nothing with it
even though it was as stiff as a stick, he sent his broad, wet tongue to
lave the lad's fleshy scrotal sac.

"Mmm," he approved, "And now y'little bum-cheeks, lift your legs an' shove
'em up. Let's have a look. Yes. Lovely. So smooth - blemishless - so soft."
Russ murmured as he savoured the texture of his milky little mounds.
Inspired by the preadolescent flavour, he pushed Michael's legs up further
and with a finger and thumb he gently parted his pert buttocks and exposed
his tiny tight pucker.
For a moment or two his tongue teased around the seductive orifice, and then
he kissed it.
He kissed it passionately.

Michael quivered and twitched, gasped and drew in a big breath. Sometimes
he'd let other boys put their hands in his pants and stroke a finger
between, but no one had ever kissed him there, licked him there.
And no one had ever SUCKED his bum-hole.

Breaking off from lapping Russ was ready to progress. Rising up over his
companion he used his strong hands to grasp his calves and push until his
knees almost touched his chin, then with a swift movement he stuffed a
cushion under his backside.
Michael knew what was coming next, and just for a moment he felt perplexed.
"Are you - are you going to fuck me, Russ?"

The teenager smile calmly, confident in what he was doing.
"Most girls hum'n'ah about takin' a prick up their arse on a first date. But
most lads I know expect it. I think you expect it, don't you? An' I think
you're ready."

He opened the tube of KY that he'd kept out of sight until then, squeezed a
small amount onto his left hand and greased his fingers. Inserting one into
the apprehensive little anus he moved it in and out and from side to side
while enjoying Michael's sighs.
There was nothing between his magnificent erection and the boys charms, and
his cock was big, hard and throbbing at the mere thought of fucking that
lubricated little hole, especially as Michael was naked and wriggling
seductively, moving his pretty bottom in a teasing wiggle.
"Now we do it." he said.

Michael flushed hot. "Do it! Do what?"

Russ didn't elaborate. He was hard and nicely lubricated himself and
holding his penis upright he straggled the boy and unceremoniously rolled
back the skin of his slavering cock and pressed the tip against Michael's
vulnerable opening. He pushed slowly to impale the waiting ring, his firm
flesh lancing firmly against the lads sphincter.
A potential scream died in Michael's throat and instead came out a wondrous
moan. A wave of excitement passed through him when he felt the leaping
muscle pushing aggressively against his most sensitive place.
Russ could tell he was apprehensive about the size, so he nosed it in
slowly.
"Ugu, ugh, ugh! Oh Russ.... Oh Russ!"

"I know sweetheart, Russ knows. There we are, no need to hurry. A bit at a
time, slowly." was all he said.

Michael bit his lower lip. His eyebrows creased as Russ burrowed in, but
full of boy pride and boy energy, he took it well. He felt himself
surrendering, felt himself stretching down there. And Russ did do it slowly,
pressing in an inch, then relaxing before pushing further, sometimes drawing
back a little, but always going deeper in the end.

He didn't try to stop him, didn't want to stop him, his own young bone
bounced and throbbed on his belly as the youths dick plunged further, and as
the cock intruded deep he concentrated and tried to relax the muscles that
created resistance.
It hurt a little bit, but not bad enough to make him yell, and there was no
way of staunching the simpering little moans he uttered as his delicate
little bum-hole clenched desperately around the youth's cock.
"Aaaaaa, oooooh!" More discomfort as Russ forced in his lengths thickest
portions, gripped his legs tighter and pushed hard against the helpless
little ring, movements now becoming more fluid, totally in control, holding
onto him until his full length was lodged inside.
Then he paused and looking down to savour the view his penis buried inside
the young boys bottom.
In a measured way he eased back slowly until the head of his member was just
wedged inside his straining sphincter, then he sank the entire length back
in and began to pick up a rhythm.
The boys legs began to tremble and his stomach started to heave while his
face contorted in a sort of anguish. Yet he didn't stop Russ from shoving
his cock in all the way, deep into his bowels, and in reflex he thrust up to
meet it and fuck with his boyfriend.

"Ugh! It feels funny." he gasped.

"You ain't laughing."

"Funny peculiar I mean, not funny ha,ha. I can't believe I've got all your
great big cock inside me. Is it in all the way? It feels like it is."

"Sure it's all the way."

"I thought so. I can sort of feel it moving."

"Is it okay?"

"Yeah, don't stop."

"I don't intend to stop. God, I love fuckin' arse, an' lads your age is
allus a nice tight fuck. Just try an' move your bumhole around for me a bit
when I shag you."

Michael could only manage to utter simple sounds as the teenager began
ramming faster and more forcefully, tireless, incessant, his balls smacking
against him on the in stroke, while his cock made a wet sort of squelchy
sound with each movement.
Helpfully he raised his legs, wrapped them around Russ's powerful back, and
digging in with his heels he bucked with him, matching his passion and
finding the rhythm, scrunching his backside up against Russ's scrotum as the
youth slammed his cock home.

"Do it slowly again," Michael squeaked, alternately moaning and clenching
his teeth in tempo with the vigorous in-and-out push and pull. "Oh my - oh
my,  oh my goodness! Ohhhh, Naughty boy. Bad boy, putting your cock in me,
fucking me ..." Oh, Russ, you're shagging the daylights out of me. You're
fucking me to death."

To add to the swathe of hot feelings he had to contend with Russ was holding
his cock in his hand, rubbing it in his fist and making it swollen and stiff
and throbby, just like it felt when - when -
"Oow, mmmh, OOH!"
He could help it, he couldn't prevent it. His penis jerked in the pumping
fist and made him squirt a little load of juicy goo onto his belly.

He panted heavily, and  the youth panted too.
"Hah! You squeak and moan like a girl. You like it, don't you? You enjoy
being fucked like a girl. But now it's my turn to cum. I'm cummin'now,  and
I's gonna cum in your arse."
Russ gave a huge lunge that pushed his length fully inside and his cock
seemed to swell, and then came the glorious disgorging of liquid love.
"Oh Yeah!" the teenager blurted as he slammed in his final long, furious
spurting thrusts, pushing in as deep as he could, churning the stiff flesh
about inside and stuffing the young lad to the limit. His thighs clamped
down and his cock convulsed and shuddered as his fresh hot seed shot
powerfully into a new body.

"Yes, oh yes, I can feel it." Michael screamed - his heart bursting with
lust and love as his bum-hole slithered on the fiercely rutting pole.

***

Lavender clouds, fat towers of fluffy cumulus puffed into dainty scallops
hung over the town. It was the calm after the storm and beams of sunshine
forced their way through to paint everything with pale golden light.

Michael made his way back to the hotel in a post-event daze, glorying in the
warm memories of hot, squechly lovemaking.
But he wasn't in love any longer.
Funny that, but after going the whole way with Russ all the strong feelings
for him had gone. Russ was a nice guy, but he'd probably never see him
again, and now it didn't matter.
They had laid entwined for a long time after they had fucked, just holding
each other and feeling they had travelled side by side to every place in the
world. But they both knew what had happened wouldn't happen again.

After a couple of hours in the cabin Russ had finally taken him on a cruise
around Skull Rock, and it was just as he'd said it would be, nothing more
than a barren lump of jagged piece of nothing sticking out of the ocean like
a fractured carbuncle
He hadn't dwelt on the sight long, instead he had spent his time on his
knees in front of his teenage mentor with his mouth full of teenage cock.
While Russ steered the boat, he'd sucked him off.
It was a sort of payback for what had happened in the hut, and he wanted
Russ to know that he too could be good at something, although he'd not
expected his skill to beget such a gigantic mouthful so soon after the youth
had unloaded in his backside.

The hotel loomed before him and because he still felt slightly untidy he
decided to go in through the back.  Even at the rear the house was dominant,
the owner having sacrificed half the garden to add on extra rooms. The lawn
that remained was part paved and decorated with a with a brick barbecue and
a tiny rotunda in the outlandish style of a minaret.

The red-faced moustachioed colonel was standing alone on the wet patio when
he arrived, and he decided that after all he wasn't so bad looking for an
old man. He was wearing a three-piece high-waist suit and a shiny
colbalt-blue shirt, and looked quite the rou‚.
"Why are you out here when its still so wet and horrible?" Michael asked.

The colonel wagged the pipe in his hand. "This," he explained, "The folk
here refuse to allow me to puff on my pipe in the house."

"Are my mother and father back from Barnstaple yet?"

The old man tapped the dottel from his pipe into his hand. "Shouldn't think
so. That drop of rain we had caused a small landslip on the coast road. The
traffic from Barnstaple will have to wait until it's cleared."

"Yoo-hoo, Michael!" Barnaby was waving at him from a third storey window.
"Are you coming up to see me?"
"Later." he shouted back. He looked forward to taking charge of things
again, and that day he had learned an awful lot of tricks he could try out
with his latest cute friend.

And he was confident now. Bold enough to arrange things to please himself.
He could seduce anyone he wished, even an outwardly staid and upright person
such as the colonel.
That suddenly seemed to make an interesting challenge.

He was quite confident that he knew of the colonel's special interests and
desires, boys such as himself could recognise that kind of thing. Stepping
back he looked up at the man like a sunflower seeking sunshine, then he took
another  pace back and purposely gyrated his hips in an enticing wiggle to
corner the man's attention.
When he climbed into the narrow door of the diminutive rotunda he hooded his
eyes slightly under their lids.
"Come over here," he said huskily while stroking the front of his shorts,
"I've got something much nicer than a silly old pipe to suck on. Do you want
to sample my sausage?"

The high colour of shocked astonishment radiated out from the colonel's
face, so there was certainly no misunderstanding of what he meant. The man's
body at once filled with testosterone while his glands flooding with semen.
He  glanced guiltily left and right and chuckled nervously. "Huck, huck,
huck."

Oh no, Michael thought, he laughs just like Yogi Bear

Nervous or not the man came towards him. The rotunda was small inside,
intended as a garden ornament rather than a functioning item of
architecture. There was just enough room inside its dark interior for a boy
to stand while a man crouched down, and the colonel knelt in front of him
like a three year old contemplating a jar of sweets and already anticipating
mouth-watering flavour and texture.

Michael obligingly hauled out his penis and gave it a few shakes as he
showed it to the colonel, whose silver-haired leonine head nodded slightly
on his shoulders as he surveyed it.
Taking  the smooth young prong in his hand he started to wank it. Then he
leaned forward and began running his tongue around the bared pink tip,
smearing spittle down its length.
Only moments later his mouth had taken it in and his lips were moving
feverishly up and down, sucking with a firm grip lubricated with saliva,
whilst his fingers stroked the kid's marble sized testes in their little
pink bag. He could feel the kid's organ throbbing and expanding on his
tongue and his eyes rolled as he relished the slicking of the foreskin
between his lips.

While the colonel was exalting in his own particular forbidden little heaven
Michael glanced out from an arrow-slit window to see his mother and father
step out from the house and into the garden.

Kippers knickers! They probably hadn't gone to Barnstaple after all, his
mother was smiling and she looked happy, so they'd probably settled for a
picnic in the local cemetery instead.
Luckily his father had found a distraction in a pile of soggy cardboard
boxes that had been dumped outside the kitchen door, and he knew he'd spend
several minutes examining their construction whilst trying to define the
firm that made them.
It was going to be tight, but he reckoned he'd have just enough time to
finish what he'd started with the colonel.

"You'll have to hurry up sir, or I'll have to leave without doing anything
in your mouth, and you wouldn't want that to happen, would you? You do want
to taste my snotty, don't you?"

The colonel spluttered and muttered an indecipherable little noise that
sounded like mild panic as his movements increased in their urgency.