Date: Sat, 17 Jan 2004 22:08:01 +0000 (GMT)
From: Oliver Jennings <southwest_ollie@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Newquay

Newquay
(c) Oliver Jennings, 2004

===

Newquay's significant to me because two important 'firsts' happened there.

The first 'first' took place when I was eighteen and my mates and I visited
the town for a few days to try our hands at a bit of surfing and to see how
many girls each of us could pull in the evenings.  It turned out that we
were all pretty equally inept at both, and the trip would have been very
unmemorable were it not for something that happened on our last full day
there.

We'd got to know a few other surfers from Manchester who were far more
agile with their boards than any of our group could ever hope to be.  One
of them, a guy called Carl who was probably one of the best surfers in
Newquay that week, was gay and made no secret of it.  While the rest of us
were drooling at some of the fitter girls on the beach, Carl would working
out who, among the other male surfers, might be up for 'turning a few
tricks' with him as he put it.  At first I'd thought he was referring to
other guys who might have the ability to surf a wave alongside him, but
after he and another guy had gone off back to on of their hotels for a
couple of hours, I'd realised what he'd meant.

The rest of Carl's group accepted his sexuality with casual humour.  While
some of them were sharing twin rooms, for example, Carl had his own.  I
assumed that it was because the rest of the guys didn't trust Carl to keep
himself to himself while sleeping in the same room, but one of them, a lad
called Jason, said it was simply because whoever was to share Carl's room
wouldn't get much sleep as he'd strike lucky on almost evening out.  Guys
are a lot easier to pick up in nightclubs than girls are, or at least
that's what Jason would tell himself.

Anyway, there were odd jokes about Carl sneaking off to the 'east beach' in
the evenings.  Carl would laugh and make some response like, "Well, you
know how it is when you've got a few rubbers left over and you're lookin'
for somethin' to do with them...", and after a few comments like that I
realised that the area must be a gay cruising ground.

I was pretty instantly fascinated.  I'd heard about parks and picnic sites
near to where I live at which men supposedly met other men for sex - there
was a nature park about five miles from our house that had a pretty seedy
reputation along those lines - but I'd always been too scared to go and
take a look in case I was spotted by someone I knew.

The 'east beach' seemed like it might represent a chance to go and check
one out with virtually no risk to myself.

Over the following days I became obsessed with finding out what went on
there.  I'd imagine scenarios I might stumble across if I wandered through
it, fantasize about possible encounters I could witness, desperately
wanting to pay it a visit.

At the same time, I felt guilty for becoming so interested in it.  I had a
girlfriend back at home and my mates had come away with me so that we could
all have a good time together: it would be totally wrong of me, on both
counts, to go wandering off like some gay peeping Tom.

But persistent, nagging thoughts as to what might be going on there kept
sneaking their way into my mind.

In the end I decided I'd have to pay the place a quick visit, just to
satisfy my curiosity.  Nothing would happen; it would simply be a brief,
cursory scout through the place for educational reasons; almost a research
trip.  I kept telling myself, "I'll just go there, have a quick wander
around, see what goes on, and then get out of there..."  The visit would be
so brief that you could hardly call it a visit; just a quick glance around
as I happened to walk through.  It was out of my way, but what the hell.
Sometimes guys go out for walks on their own in the evening.  Nobody had
directly said the place was a cruising ground; how was I expected to know?

I chose the last evening of our trip to visit the 'east beach' for two
reasons.  First, Carl was taking part in a surfing competition that day and
he was going to the pub with his mates afterwards.  That meant there was no
way I could bump into him and have him broadcasting my presence there to
all of my friends later that evening.  Second, if anyone else from the
beach happened to recognize me as I walked through, there'd be little
chance of their reports getting back to my friends since we were heading
back home the next morning.

I planned my getaway from the rest of the group meticulously, and it went
very well.  I started mentioning, casually, that I was feeling a bit sick
at about lunchtime and kept making odd references to it throughout the
afternoon.  By six o'clock I was saying that maybe I wasn't going to go out
for the last night's drinking session as I was feeling pretty groggy, and
at eight I was making that more definite.  I said, "Look, guys, I'll get my
head down for an hour's kip when you go out, set my alarm for ten, and if I
feel better I'll come out and find you..."

They seemed disappointed but it was a good enough compromise for them.  In
fact, I intended to take a quick walk along to find the area Carl
supposedly visited, have a five minute glance around just to see what was
going on, and then walk back and find my mates who would be in one of three
possible pubs.

As it happened, though, it was about midnight before my five minute glance
around was finished.

So my first 'first' at Newquay is that it was the first place that I went
cruising for gay sex.

It took me ages to locate the area.  Initially I took the references to
'east beach' literally and walked eastwards along the clifftops, looking
down at the various beaches trying to see signs of potential activity.  I
soon gave up on that: unless dog walking was in some way a coded sign men
were using to convey their interest in each other, the beaches were pretty
much desolate.

I walked so far out of Newquay that I left the town itself.  The high cliff
paths gave way to a vast open area of sand dunes and small beach huts and I
thought it possible that things went on in the evenings out here.  The
dunes offered a lot of shelter, both from the wind and from onlookers.  I
walked along the beach for a while, wondering at first if I was being
evaluated by other men hiding among the dunes and worrying that, since
no-one was emerging from them, I was clearly regarded as an unattractive
proposition.  But then, as I walked up into them and looked around, it
became clear that the place was empty.

So I headed back towards the town, surprised at how disappointed I was
starting to feel.

I found the real cruising area almost by accident.  Walking past rows of
run-down hotels on the way back into the town, I noticed that a sign
pointing towards what looked like a wide alleyway read 'East Beach Car
Park'.  That made me perk up a bit.  On investigation, though, in the broad
concrete expanse behind the hotels, I found none of the renowned hallmarks
of a cruising ground I'd been allowing myself to hope for: there were no
parked cars with figures sitting in the darkness inside them, no
squalid-looking public toilets and not even any graffiti on the signs or
litter bins offering meeting times and bemoaning stand-ups.  Disappointment
began to turn to annoyance.

Maybe the comments about 'east beach' had really been just a joke.  Or
maybe the place I'd been looking for was known as East Beach but it wasn't
to the east of Newquay; it might be to the east of one of the small towns
nearby.

Just as I was giving up my last few vestiges of hope, I noticed some gates
leading into a small park at the far end of the car park.

By now, it was quite dark and I wasn't keen on exploring such an uninviting
place.  I could quite easily imagine myself getting mugged or beaten up in
the darkness among the trees and bushes: apart from the shock of it
happening to me, how would I explain it to my mates?

As I was leaving the car park, intending to walk bitterly back into town
and find my mates, a guy walked past me in the opposite direction, heading
into the car park even though there were no cars nor anything else that
might reasonably interest him in there.  He was a little bit older than me
and, on seeing me, he grinned.  I guess I just looked a little taken aback
to see someone else because he said, "Alright, mate?"

I nodded and continued walking.  Then, in the entrance of the car park, I
stopped and watched what he was doing.  He walked through the car park,
through the gates and disappeared into the blackness of the park.

And then I thought, "Ah..."

I wasted no time and followed him in.

The park was dimly lit by a few ancient white sodium lamps, the insides of
which were encrusted with the remains of thousands of moths and other
insects.  With the cold light thrown out by those, I could make out people
in the darkness among the trees.  Odd solitary figures, walking and
watching, a few couples and one group of three.

As I slowly walked through, more curious than aroused by what was going on
all around me, I tried to work out if the people around me were, as I
suspected, all men or if I was making the potentially embarrassing mistake
of intruding on the secretive fumblings of young heterosexual courting
couples.  The further I walked, though, the more convinced I became, that
this was a gay area.  The gentle moans and gasps which came from unseen
encounters behind the bushes all seemed to be male in origin.  The fleeting
glimpses of activity that I got from between the trees seemed to be of
hands and mouths on erect cocks, with no female equivalents.  The one
sexual act I saw for any significant length of time involved a cock sliding
in and out of an arse: it could have been a woman's arse, of course, but
the cheeks were muscular and the grunts accompanying each thrust were
gruff.

I had almost reached the far end of the park, another set of gates leading
out onto a deserted 1950s street, when a guy stepped out in front of me
from behind a bush, his erect cock poking out from his open trousers.
Until that moment I had been ready to return to the hotel, having seen what
I had set out to see, perhaps replaying in my mind some of the encounters
I'd witnessed as I lay on the hotel bed.  But the sight of the guy ahead of
me changed all that.

He was tall, with short brown hair, and was wearing a black shirt,
unbuttoned to reveal his chest, and black trousers.  His cock was six or
seven inches long with a clearly-defined head fully exposed at the tip of
it.  He raised his right hand and gently masturbated himself in front of
me, making the head swell bulbously between his finger and thumb as he
eased his foreskin back and forth across it.

He whispered, "You wanna do somethin'?"

Although that night was my first experience of gay cruising and I'd regard
myself as being more or less straight, I'd had plenty of practice at
playing around with other guys and his invitation seemed quite appealing.

I asked, "Is it safe?"

He smiled and it made his face look warm and handsome.  "As it gets..."

So I nodded and he gestured for me to follow him into a small space between
a group of bushes just a few feet from the path.  Then he yanked his jeans
and underwear down around his ankles and I did the same.  He glanced at my
cock, half-stiff, poking outwards from my balls and nodded approvingly.

We masturbated ourselves for a few seconds and then he pushed my hand away
and took over the job for me.

He whispered, "What do you like doin'?"

I shrugged.  "I dunno... I'll suck you, if you wanna do me."

He asked, as he squeezed my cock and gently jerked the foreskin up and
down, "Do you like fuckin'?"

I was more hesitant.  "I've fucked a couple of guys... but I've never been
fucked..."

"D'you wanna try?"

"I dunno... not here..."

"I've got condoms," he insisted.

"That's not the problem... I've never done it... I don't wanna start in a
bush..."

He threw me a look as if to say, "Ooh, hark at Lady Muck" and then said,
impatiently, "We'll just suck then... unless you change your mind..."

As he went down on me a couple more guys pushed their way into our small
clearing and started kissing and playing with each others' cocks alongside
us.

By the time it was my turn to take him, the other two were following our
example and sucking each other in quick succession, taking brief but
enthusiastic turns at each other.

The guy in the black shirt was the first to suggest we swap partners and
couple up in different ways.  He seemed to have his hopes pinned on getting
to fuck someone and preferred his chances at getting into the arse the
shorter of the two guys standing next to us.  The other men readily
accepted and I got the tall blonde one, who turned out to suck cock like
he'd done it as a degree.  He did things with my knob that I hadn't thought
were possible until that night in the park at Newquay: he played with my
foreskin with his teeth; he milked my piss-slit for precum with his tongue;
he seemed to wrap his tonsils around my bell-end and would gently squeeze
it; he caressed my balls with his lower lip.  All this without missing a
beat as his mouth slid up and down my shaft.

When I came to suck his cock, I felt a little inadequate.  Not only was his
dick at least two inches longer than mine, my technique was workmanlike at
best.  Whereas I kind of know my way around a girl's pussy, I've always
gone through the motions of giving a blow job to a guy simply to encourage
him to get to work on me.  Although I tried to make things a little more
interesting for him by playing with his cock inside my mouth with my
tongue, I was afraid that I might accidentally bite him, and so I tended to
keep things pretty simple.

After about thirty seconds of my fairly basic 'in, out, lick, in, out,
lick' technique, that I must admit even I would have been a bit bored by,
he pulled out and gestured for me to stand up.  He smirked and whispered,
"This is your first time?"  I nodded, even though it wasn't, and his smile
became broader.

He said, "I'll suck you, okay?  Don't worry about doing anything to me..."
and his eyes looked across, perhaps a little enviously, at the guy in the
black shirt rimming his former partner, deftly and expertly.  I could see
him thinking, "So that's why he was so eager to change places..."

He knelt down in front of me again and gave me what was possibly the blow
job of my life.  He set about my cock with such delicacy and finesse that I
was unable to stop myself moaning in appreciation, even though I knew that
to do so risked being caught.  While his mouth did things that my cock had
only dreamed of, his slow, gentle fingers played with my balls, tickled the
ridge beneath them and even, for a couple of minutes, fingered my arsehole.

About ten minutes into the blonde guy's performance, by which time I was
gasping for breath like a fish out of water, the guy in the black shirt
finally got his wish and fucked his new partner's arse about two feet away
from us with fast, panting thrusts.  He held the other man firmly around
the hips, slamming his cock in and out between his cheeks with no trace of
emotion; like he was merely using the other man's bum as a means of
pleasuring himself as an alternative to masturbation.  He came very
quickly, grunting gutturally as he unloaded his semen into the condom
inside the other man's rectum, and then curtly withdrew, flung the condom
into the bush, and left, still zipping himself up.

The guy in front of me pulled away from my cock as his former-partner wiped
his arse, and said to us both, "D'you guys wanna go over to the pavillion?"

I asked, "Where's that?"  I thought he meant a night club or something.

He said, "On the other side of the lawn.  It's where most of the guys
go..."

I shrugged, noticing that the guy who had just been fucked had an
impressive upwardly-curving erection, despite the abruptness and roughness
the servicing he'd received.  They seemed to be waiting for a more positive
response so I nodded at them both.  "Okay."

And that's how it took me so long to leave.  I must have been wanked by a
dozen guys, sucked by six and had my arse rimmed or fingered by four.  I
fucked two guys, both of whom were okay about the fact that I wasn't
prepared to let them fuck me; I think the second of the two was the one
who'd been fucked by the guy in the black shirt, but I can't be sure.  They
were both, as were most of the men I had sex with, about my age and height,
and reasonably good-looking, and that was all that seemed to matter.

When I got back to the hotel it was about twelve thirty and the guys
weren't back.  I took a shower, washing the strong smell of male sex from
me, and then went out to find them.  I decided, while wandering around the
pubs and clubs of Newquay looking for them, that a trip to some of my local
cruising areas might well be on the agenda on our return.

But before I get into that, let's move onto my second 'first' which
happened at Newquay.

This one involves my younger brother Chaz with whom I'd occasionally meet
up with for alcohol-orientated weekends when he and I were at university.
Newquay was the place we got so pissed that we ended up 'turning a few
tricks together', as Carl would have put it, on one of the twin beds in our
hotel room.  Fortunately, though, I can call it a 'first' because this
isn't a story that ends in guilt, shame and recriminations: the two of us
accepted what we'd done together and have had a few intermittent repeats
over the years since then.

I used to call Chaz Charlie, like all my family had since he'd been a kid,
but when he went off to university, that had to change.  He became Chaz and
if you called him Charlie he'd either glare at you or ignore you.

The weekend the two of us drove down to Newquay, mainly so that he could
have a break from our parents over his long summer break from uni, he was
nineteen and I was twenty-two.  The official story, to our parents at
least, was that we wanted some time together to chat about what Chaz was
going to do when he left uni, but really he just desperately needed to get
away from them for a couple of days during mid-August before he ended up
stabbing one of them.  My dad had said, "I'm pleased you guys are getting
on so well... this weekend will be great for bringing the two of you
together..."

If only he'd known...

The two of us were more like a couple of mates than brothers.  Actually, we
still are.  We don't quarrel much, like most brothers seem to, and we don't
get competitive against each other.  My relationship with Tom, my older
brother, is more traditional - there's the usual mutual sniping and games
of one-upmanship - but that between Chaz and I has always been more
affectionate and relaxed.  Maybe it's because Chaz is the 'baby' of the
family, I don't know.

Anyway, the big night happened because, like I said, the two of us ended up
getting bladdered.  We'd been out most of the afternoon and evening,
wandering around the pubs and clubs of Newquay getting progressively more
rat-arsed and idiotic together.  We must have turned in at about two in the
morning, but exact details are kind of difficult.

Chaz had tried, with some initial success, to pull a fit-looking girl in
one of the clubs along the seafront.  Things had gone rather badly awry
when they'd pieced together, in the roundabout way that you do when you're
both trying to cop without being too obvious about it, that she couldn't
take Chaz back to her place because she lived with her parents, and her
coming back with him wasn't exactly ideal because big bro happened to be in
the next bed.

He'd apparently tried to rekindle things by telling her I'd be cool with
having her stay over, but she'd got all funny about it, saying, "I'm not
gonna shag you with your older brother lying next to us...  I'm not a
complete fuckin' slag..."

So he'd ended up walking home with only me for company at the end of the
night, raving drunkenly about her thinking she was all "high and fuckin'
mighty" because she wouldn't do something as supposedly commonplace as
being screwed while her lover's relatives were in the same room.

When we got back to our hotel room, and were sitting around in our
underwear, he was beginning to settle down and his earlier irritation was
starting to turn to humour.  That's always been Chaz's way: he gets a bee
in his bonnet for half and hour and then starts taking the piss out of
himself about it.  Tom would have been mardy about it for a week.

At one point I said to him, "Do you really think I'd have been cool with
lying here, just three feet away from you, listening to you hump some
tart?"

He chuckled and nodded.  "Yeah.  Why not?"

I could tell that he knew that I would have had a fairly significant
problem with it, but he acted like it was the most ordinary, bog-standard
thing to expect from a brother.

He added, "We're not exactly shy around each other... what'd be the harm in
it?"

"You'd be totally pissed off if I did that to you.  If I brought some girl
back with me and screwed her while you were lying there, listening."

He laughed.  "Would I fuck!  It'd be a fuckin' non-event, mate.  And you
know it."

He was being deliberately facetious.  I could tell.  There was no way he
believed a word he was saying.  He got like that sometimes when he was
pissed.  He would argue, sometimes quite convincingly, stuff as ridiculous
as the moon being populated by giant hamsters if that was the mood he was
in.  He never got aggressive with it, and it was always just a case of him
"having a laugh" if you managed to overturn his argument, but while it
lasted he could be surprisingly insistent.

I went along with his game.

I asked, "Okay, so let's accept that you might be okay with it.  Possibly.
But what makes you so sure that I'd feel the same way?"

He shrugged.  "Come on, mate.  We've never had any secrets.  We've never
been embarrassed around each other... I mean, we've never had any problems
being naked and stuff..."

I laughed, "But Chaz.  This is about you having sex, mate..."

"Yeah and we've wanked and stuff... you've never had any problems with
that..."

I shrugged.  "That's something all brothers do.  That's natural..."  Then
something came right out of my mouth before my alcohol-sedated brain had
time to censor it.  I added, like it was just another teasing comment we
were making with each other, "We're not talking about us having sex
together, mate.  I'd have no problems with that... what we're talking about
is -"

Before I had time to finish, Chaz leapt on what I said.  "You'd have no
problems with us having sex?"

I lost my train of thought but was sure my argument was sound.  I
continued, attempting a shrug of dismissive authority, "Yeah... but this
isn't about that... it's about the fact that -"

He laughed and interrupted me again before I could continue.  "Hang on,
Ollie, let me get this straight - if that's the right word..."  He paused
to chuckle at his own wit, then went on, "What you're saying is, you'd be
okay with screwing me, but you'd have a problem if I was screwing a
girl...?"

Now that did sound a bit odd.  I couldn't have meant that, surely.  I
stammered, suddenly uncertain of the point I'd been trying to make, "I
wasn't saying that... I just meant we could wank and stuff like that... I
wouldn't have any problem with that.  We've done that since we were
kids..."

He smirked broadly.  He was going to remember this conversation.  This one
was going to come back and haunt me.  He went on, "I remember the wanking,
Ollie, mate.  I just don't remember the 'stuff like that' you
mentioned... what else did we do?"

"We did some other stuff... didn't we?"  My voice sounded too defensive.
To be honest, I couldn't really remember what exactly we'd done together.

He shrugged.  "Maybe in your fantasies, mate... I don't remember
anything..."

I glared at him, now very uncomfortable by the turn our conversation had
taken.  I paused for a few seconds, and then went on, slowly, "Look,
Charlie... I mean, Chaz... I'm don't get myself off by imagining the two of
us having sex together... you know that..."

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.  Of course he knew that.  He'd
just wanted to provoke a reaction, like he always did when he was drunk.

He said, "Okay... sorry... but you've got me really intrigued.  You said,
'We could wank and stuff like that'.  What exactly did you mean?"

I was becoming irritated by his persistence.  "Come on, mate... I'm as
pissed as you are.  It was a slip of the tongue... don't fuck around with
me..."

He laughed again.  "I'm not fucking around with you..."  Then he did a
mock-smooch and added, in a camp voice, "Unless you want me too, big
boy..."

I was getting really pissed off.  "Come on, Chaz.  Enough."

He went quiet, still grinning at me, and must have recognised - finally -
how annoyed I'd become.  His smile faded and he said, in a low voice,
"Okay, mate, that was too far.  It's just I know this guy at uni and one
night when we were both pissed he made this comment - obviously intended as
a joke but he made it - 'no girl can suck my cock like my older brother'."

I looked up at him, a little shocked.

He laughed, but this time his face betrayed a little of his own discomfort.
"The next day I said, 'Dave, what did you mean about your brother sucking
your cock?'  At first he said nothing, of course, like anyone would.  That
it had just been a joke.  But after a while of me going on at him, asking,
'Where would a joke like that come from?' he eventually admitted that
they'd been doing it since he was sixteen.  Their closeness and their
physical similarities meant they knew exactly what each other liked..."

My face must have still looked stunned by what he was saying.  It was
dawning on me that his attempt to draw out of me what I'd meant by my
throwaway remark was rather more than just him taking the piss.  This was
something that clearly interested him...

I shrugged and shook my head.  "Come on, Chaz.  He was having a laugh with
you..."

He shook his, looking more serious.  "He wasn't.  There's no way.  And they
weren't gay, neither.  They both had girlfriends.  They just liked getting
blow jobs and... I suppose, when you think about it... who can give you a
better blow job than your brother?"

We both left that one hanging in the air, staring at each other.  I was
about to tell him that I was crap at giving head but fortunately realised
before it came out how much explanation that would have lead us into.

I settled for, "I think I'd be crap at it.  Girls reckon I'm all teeth when
I take the plunge..."

He asked, his eyes fast on mine, "But would you try it?"

I didn't know how to answer.  I had no immediate hang-ups about the act
itself: I'd sucked cocks, or attempted to suck cocks, since I'd been at
school.  Even the fact that Chaz was my brother didn't pose any physical
problem: if anything, it would make his cock far more palatable to me than
those of the strangers I'd taken.  The problem centred around how we would
both react afterwards: we'd have to see each other for most of the rest of
our lives; would the memory of what we'd done come to mar our relationship?

After a few seconds, I said, "I dunno... if we did it, we might end up
getting funny with each other... regretting it and stuff... it might
completely fuck us up..."

This time the mood was far too serious for him to make another pun on the
word 'fuck'.  He replied, "Maybe, but it didn't fuck Seb and his brother
up.  They still do it, sometimes, he told me.  I think as long as the two
guys go into it on the understanding that it's sex purely for pleasure, no
different to wanking together, then there aren't gonna be any emotional
screw-ups.  It's not like the two guys would be boyfriends or lovers or
anything - they'd just be taking brotherly intimacy one step further than
most people do..."

There was a long pause as I thought about what he'd said.  He shifted
around a little, perhaps becoming worried that he'd said too much.

After half a minute or so, I nodded slowly.  "Okay... let's say I accept
that... what about you?  How far would you be prepared to go with me?"

He looked at me and smiled humourlessly.  Then he said, his voice serious,
"You know how much you mean to me, mate.  If you wanted to screw me, I'd
let you.  You know that..."

What he said was both startling and touching.  All the more so because it
was obvious he'd thought deeply about this since finding out about his mate
and his brother.

When I'd recovered my wits a little, I muttered, "I couldn't do that to
you."  Although, even as I said it, the idea was slowly becoming attractive
to me and I knew that I could.

He nodded, his expression suggesting that my answer had been the one he'd
expected rather than that he shared my opinion.

He asked, "And what about the other?"

"The cock sucking?"

"Yeah."

Again there was a long pause.  I liked the fact he'd indirectly set the
terms and conditions, making it clear that this had to be sex purely for
mutual pleasure.  No emotional screw-ups, that's how he'd put it.  I liked
that idea.

And we were both still very drunk: that had to be in our favour.  If
guilt-trips kicked in in the morning, we'd have the old chestnut of being
too drunk to know what we were doing to fall back on.  It was a reassuring
safety net.

So, after a while, I said, "Yeah.  I'd go for that."

He stood up, the unremarkable package in the front of his tartan briefs
showing that his cock was in a similar state of uncertainty about the whole
thing as mine was.

He pulled off his tee-shirt and asked, "You wanna try it now?"

I stood up and began to undress as he was.  "Yeah.  Might as well."

Our tone was conversational: we were making this sound like we were about
to play a game of darts or something.  Maybe that was our way of dealing
with the magnitude of it.

He looked over at me and smiled.  "Your place or mine?"

It took me a few seconds to realise he was asking which bed we ought to do
it on.  When I understood him, I muttered, "Oh, right.  Whichever..."

Then he asked, with his hands on the hips of his briefs, "Should I take
these off?"

I shrugged, again distractedly as though he was asking if he could have the
first throw of darts, and said, "Yeah.  I guess..."

He pulled off his briefs and his cock, small and thin, flopped out into the
dense bush covering his balls.  Then he climbed onto my bed and lay on it,
his hands behind his head.  He opened his legs slightly and his scrotum
dropped downward into the black fuzz of hair between his thighs, leading my
thoughts down towards his unseen arsehole.  The image of me fucking him
down there flashed through my mind again, this time becoming even more
appealing.

He saw me looking intently at him and giggled, covering his cock and balls
with both hands.  "Stop looking at me!  I'm already totally freaked
out...!"

I smiled and pulled off my own briefs.  Now it was his turn to stare at my
crotch with my limp cock dangling as unimpressively as his had.  I said, "I
was just thinking how similar we are.  How this is going to be just like
sucking my own dick..."

He uncovered himself and looked at his cock and then mine.  "Yeah... they
are pretty much the same..."

I got on the bed next to him and he said, through a trickle of nervous
laughter, "I haven't a fuckin' clue what to do..."

I laughed too and then rolled on my side to face him.  It was going to be
up to me to take the lead; that was becoming obvious.  I was the older
brother and I was, in all probability, the more experienced.  I pulled him
towards me and our chests touched.

Then I put my arms around his back and he did the same to me.  Now our
cocks were gently flopping against each other.

He was really uncomfortable with this.  No doubt he hadn't expected to be -
he'd assumed, once we'd got past the discussion and had undressed, that it
would all go really well and we'd be sucking each other's cocks like a
couple of pros in next to no time - but now that we were here, lying naked
together, he didn't seem to know where to put his hands, what to do with
his legs and where his face should be.

He tried to kiss me on the lips at one point, but I gently pushed him back
and whispered, "We agreed, Chaz - no emotional screw-ups..."

He nodded and his cheeks went a little pink.

I set about trying to help him relax and become less awkward the situation.
I slowly caressed his back, running my fingers down the smooth curve of his
spine to the top of his bum and then across his buttocks to the hairy tops
of his thighs.  He liked that and tried to do the same to me, but his
fingers weren't happy to be on such unfamiliar territory and he seemed
reluctant to do anything more with my arse than to brush his hand hastily
across it.

I gently tickled his balls and ran my lips across his chest, hesitating at
each nipple to lick and run my tongue over it.  As I did that, I began to
feel his cock stiffen.

He laughed, still nervously, "You're pretty good, Ollie... have you done
this before?"

I didn't answer him directly.  I said, "Having this done to me is the kind
of stuff that turns me on, mate.  I figured it'd be the same for you..."

He pressed his cock against me, maybe in case I hadn't been aware of how
hard it was becoming, and said, "Looks like you hit the bullseye..."

I worked my mouth down past across his hairless, athletic stomach, down
towards his developing erection.  Even as I breathed on it, it grew an inch
or so, and when I licked the tip of it, it throbbed to full size.  He was
about seven inches long, like me, but the stem was a little thinner than
mine.  I pressed my face into his thick, pubic bush, inhaling the sharp,
pungeant smells of his crotch that were similar, yet distinctly different,
to my own.  The main drift of it was the same as mine - the thick odour of
my pubic sweat and the musky scent of my precum - but Chaz's version had
unmistakable shades and undertones that were all his own.

At first, I used my hand on him, masturbating him a little, as I licked and
sucked at the round purple head of his cock.  He moaned his appreciation
and took my head in his hands, guiding me further onto his cock and easing
me into a rhythm.  Soon I took my hand away and used only my mouth.  With
one hand I stroked his balls; with the other I massaged my own now engorged
and demanding cock.

He chuckled something like, "Way to go, Ollie," as my mouth began to pump
his cock, working at it roughly and rapidly with my lips, my tongue and as
much of my throat as I could manage.  Precum trickled from his piss-slit,
wetting my tongue and tickling my throat.  I wondered if my own cock was so
copious.

After a few minutes, he pulled back.  "Whoa... whoa... getting close,
there... I think we might need to swap over..."  He laughed again and by
now it was sounding something like genuine.

So that was my second 'first' at Newquay.  I must say Chaz's early attempts
to perform oral sex on me wouldn't exactly rank among my top ten
pleasurable experiences - in fact his method was more gynaecological than
sensual - but the fact alone that it was him doing it to me made it feel
surprisingly nice.  He was my little brother and - far from that making the
experience disturbing, as I might have expected - it gave the situation an
air of warmth and tenderness that seemed to bring us closer together.

As our experiments with one another continued, we found ourselves making
jokes about the amount of my pubic hair Chaz seemed to get in his mouth and
laughing about how his attempts to play with my balls usually ended up
bringing tears of pain to my eyes.  Our manner became as unaffected and
natural as if we were laughing at his ineptness at cricket or at knocking
back whiskey chasers.  In fact, by the end of the night, as we were both
about to reach our climaxes while masturbating ourselves and hugging each
other, we were totally comfortable about being so intimate with each other
and all traces of stilted embarrassment had long disappeared.

The next morning, as we showered and got dressed, we were also thankfully
free of awkwardness.  We both had hangovers, which probably helped matters
by dulling our reactions, but we chatted openly and freely about the night
before and decided that we'd just get on with our lives, as mates and
brothers, as we always had.  I didn't tell him that, at about six o'clock
in the morning, I'd awoken in disbelief at what we'd done and had lain for
an hour worrying that this would be the end of our relationship, nor that
the fact we could be so calm about it - laughing, even, at some of the more
farcical moments - made me so pleased I could have hugged him.

We didn't have any other sexual experiences together at Newquay - in fact,
as my weekend there with Chaz was the last time I visited the place, I
haven't done anything there since - but it didn't take long for one of us
(me, I think) to suggest a repeat performance.

And I guess I'll tell you about that too.  Sometime.

===

Any comments/suggestions to: southwest_ollie@yahoo.co.uk
Ollie's website: http://stories.remoworld.com