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 Beach Delights : by (c) Hamilton Joyce Mm

   Some of my colleagues take their laptops with them on holiday.  Not for
me, thank you very much!  Some of them only go away for two weeks.  Not me,
thank you!  I may work in the City of London, but I follow my native French
custom of abandoning the office and the trading-desk for the full month of
August.

   It was in fact still July, the thirty-first thereof, and I was already
lounging on the verandah of my beach villa mid-afternoon, enjoying my first
cold beer of the day and of my vacation.  The villa is really more the size
of a beach chalet, but it was expensive enough when I invested a fair
percentage of my annual bonus in it a couple of years earlier.  The
location was more valuable than the building, with direct access to the
beach twenty metres away and nothing between the sea and me other than a
couple of flowering bushes and twenty metres of white sand.  There are no
fences, and you rely on the common sense of the vacationing neighbours, in
my case a charming Parisian couple, Pierre and Sylvie, and their boy
Jean-Paul.  August last year I had got to know them well, often eating
together al fresco, drinking, sun-bathing and swimming.  I was certainly
happy to see them arriving, just after me, and unloading their Mercedes
into their own little "villa".

   Sylvie was a good-looking woman in her forties but still with the figure
she would have had at eighteen: nice if you like that sort of thing. 
Pierre was middle-aged and looked it!  But Jean-Paul at thirteen six months
ago was a real cutie!

   Leaving husband and son to finish unpacking, she came over and greeted
me like the long-lost prodigal, with the mandatory peck on my cheek.  I
poured her a whisky and coke, her usual afternoon tipple.  We chatted ten
minutes, and her two men re-appeared, both in beach gear now.  Pierre very
white, like me, but Jean-Paul tanned and lithe.  Sylvie went to get into
her bikini, leaving the three males.

   I am gay, but it takes a certain type to really turn me on unless I'm
really desperate for cock.  Pierre would not, overweight and flabby.  His
son, Jean-Paul, did.  Blonde, blue-eyed, tanned with a flawless back and
hairless chest, slender tanned legs, but the beginnings of a swimmer's
muscles in the shoulders and biceps, his only fault being the dreadful
baggy, knee length shorts he wore as swimming gear like all the teenage
boys recently.  Shame to cover up those pretty bottoms and suggestive
bulges!  Nonetheless, he was to die for.  Or to get imprisoned for, as he
was still not yet fourteen.  Pity he was not sixteen, with that body,
smile, and perfect teeth!  Or was it still eighteen in France?  I really
would have to find out, given my taste in handsome young men.  I dismissed
him from my thoughts: desirable, oh yes! ...  but too young.  Jail-bait!

   Pierre and I swapped details of the drive south (horrific!), and then
anecdotes from our working lives over a couple of cold beers.  He is a
stock-broker on the Paris Bourse, while I trade for a hedge-fund in the
City of London, so we have a lot of experience in common, but also scandals
and gossip that the other will not have heard.  It was interesting enough
but I hoped that was that for the vacation: the sooner I forgot about work
the happier I would be.  Jean-Paul wandered off with his coke, and I saw
him and his mother starting to work on their August sun-tans on the beach
in front of their place.  She looked good in her bikini, but he looked
better despite those wretched tartan shorts.

   I suggested we grab another beer each and join them.

   I guess they were tired from the long drive down through the traffic of
the last Friday before the "mois d'aout" because Jean-Paul's parents were
soon fast asleep.  I looked at my watch, and promised myself to wake them
in half an hour, before they could burn: it looked as if they had applied
lotion freely, so no real danger.  Jean-Paul had a football, and I joined
him in kicking it about a bit, flaunting my skill at "keepy-uppy".  I'm
still only twenty six, and I have not yet lost the childhood skills.  The
boy was clearly impressed.  The more I saw him, the sexier I found him, and
the more certain I was that I would have to be very careful if I was to
avoid very real trouble.  "Just Say No", as the slogan goes.

   After a few minutes of fooling about with the football, he broke off and
dashed into the sea, striking out with a powerful crawl.  I could see why
his shoulders and biceps had grown in the past twelve months, out of
proportion really to his slim hips and slender legs.  I swam out to join
him, nowhere near as powerfully or elegantly.  He was treading water and
laughing, and then suddenly dived, disappearing only to come up under me,
his arms and then hips brushing my crotch on the way past.  More laughter,
and then he struck out strongly again for the shore.  I was a minute or two
behind him by the time I got there too.  I found myself wondering whether
that contact in the water had been accidental: if so it was a real
coincidence that it should have been exactly onto my cock!

   'Shush!' He motioned me not to wake his parents as we lay on the woven
grass mat beside them to dry in the sun.  I looked at my watch
(waterproof!), and decided another five minutes would not harm them, or me.
He had a grin on his face as he reached out and laid his hand on my bare
thigh.

   'No, Jean-Paul.' I rolled over beyond his reach, but could not help
noticing the bulge in his shorts: he was hard.  And so was I now, so I
rolled over on my belly to hide it.

   'Why not, Roland?  You like it.  I can see!' Again he flashed that
smile, provocative and joyful at the same time.  I noticed how long his
eye-lashes were, so dark under the blonde eyebrows.  Again I forced the
image of his naked body from my mind.  This was no good!  It just would not
do!

   'Be good, Jean-Paul.'

   'I would be if I was given the chance!' The innuendo was emphasised by
the come-hither expression on his face.  He licked his lips in the
clearest, sexiest come-on I had ever seen.  I found myself wondering if it
was just a teasing game, or whether it was real.

   It seemed best to me to wake up his parents.  I nudged Pierre on the
shoulder and told him he had been in the sun half and hour.  He woke his
wife, and they went inside.  It was time for me to cover up too, and I left
Jean-Paul alone with his tan, and with the forbidden fruit of his erect
cock making a little tent in his clinging, still-wet shorts.

   ........................................................................




   It was the next morning before I saw Jean-Paul again, though he had
figured largely in my dreams during the night.  My subconscious had none of
the legal inhibitions my conscious mind was subject to, and in my dreams I
had enjoyed his cock and his arse...  He was laying in the sun again, in
front of my place this time, an earpiece in his ear and I guessed listening
to pop music.  I looked at him, leaning on the rail of my verandah, and
felt my cock wake up as he rolled over onto his belly.  I imagined kissing
him on those firm little buns, my tongue between them even.  I groaned
inwardly, and went back into my kitchenette to get the coffee.  I had
promised myself to stay away from the boy today, as I could see nothing but
trouble coming from him.  He would be delicious, but dangerous.  Such a
shame he was under-age, but then if he were over sixteen, certainly at
eighteen, he would have lost that boyish innocence and clarity of blue-eyed
gaze, the lithe slenderness, and the silk-like smoothness of hairless,
perfect skin.  I shivered!I finished my coffee.  It was no good, I just had
to go down to join him, and after-all he was on my bit of beach!

   I lay beside him on the grass mat, soft as a bed with the fine sand
beneath it.  I propped myself on an elbow to look at him, and especially
that cute, slender arse.  Gone the baggy shorts and in their place tight,
tiny, dark-grey speedos.  As he lay on his belly it was all I could do to
resist reaching over to stroke his tanned, flawless back.

   'Do you think I'm sexy, Roland?'

   'Don't talk like that, Jean-Paul.  It's not right.'

   'But tell me if you find me sexy.'

   'I said you shouldn't say things like that, especially to a man.'

   'How about this then?  Is that sexy?' He put his thumb in the waistband
of his speedos and pulled them down till most of his butt was exposed. 
Slim, firm, tanned a slightly less deep golden than his legs and back, it
was the prettiest, sexiest bottom I had ever seen.  The cleavage almost
demanded a tongue to lick down into it.  I shook my head, reminding myself
of my resolution: I was aware that this had nothing to do with morality,
and everything to do with the danger of prosecution.  After all I had been
his age, even slightly younger, when the handsome sports master seduced me,
taught me the pleasures of oral and anal sex, and it had never done me any
harm!.  But no!  It just would not do, not nowadays with all the furore
about under-age sex!

   'Please Jean-Paul.  Your parents will see and I'll be in deep trouble.

   He laughed.  'They're still getting dressed.  What about this then? 
Sexy or not?' He rolled over on his back, coming closer as he did so.  The
speedos hugged his body tight, and I could see clearly his cock half-hard
and bent down over his balls, his little knob outlined as clear as if he
had been naked.  I felt my own cock getting even harder, and wished I had
not myself worn tight-fitting trunks.  His thumb again in the waistband he
pulled them down, not quite revealing his cock but showing me the line of
the top of his pubic hair, so fine and as blonde as the hair on his head.
His belly was flat, and like his arse tanned a lighter shade than the rest
of him.

   'Don't, please.  All right.  You are sexy, very sexy.'

   'I knew you find me sexy.  I can see that.  It's obvious.' He was
looking at my cock, which gave me away entirely, as it always does in the
presence of a pretty teenage boy, and especially a blue-eyed blonde like
Jean-Paul.  I turned over again to hide my embarrassment.

   He giggled, and his eyes were mischievous, but there was something else
in his expression as well, something of longing perhaps?  A lot to think
about here!

   But his father and mother were coming down their steps and along the
beach to join us.  Before they could even greet me, Pierre was complaining
to his son.

   'What on earth are those you're wearing, Jean-Paul?  They're far too
small.  They're so tight you can see all your....' He broke off,
remembering his wife and a comparative stranger were present.

   'Aw Dad!  They're my school swimming team uniform.  They have to be
tight to reduce drag.'

   'Well.  They are not suitable for the beach.  They're indecent.  Go and
change them.'

   Sylvie came to his rescue.  'Leave the boy alone, Pierre.  You'll see
worse than that here this month.' Her bikini was if anything skimpier than
her son's speedos.  It was thin scarlet silk, and scarcely covered the tips
of her firm, round tits, while the bottom half was really just a little
pouch over her cunt itself, with thin scarlet ribbons finally disappearing
into the crease of her arse.  I wondered how Pierre had got, and even more
how he had kept a beautiful animal like this, the slob!  'After all, it is
his school uniform, and I think he looks very handsome in it.  Very...' she
was searching for the word ...'very masculine.  I'm proud of him.' She
smiled, and I could see Jean-Paul's lovely smile in her eyes and playing
round her lips.  It was not only his lithe, athletic body and blonde hair
he inherited from his mother!

   And that was the end of the speedos dispute.  For the rest of the month
Jean-Paul wore tight little trunks, that is when he bothered to wear
anything!

   They invited me to share breakfast with them on the verandah, and
although Pierre was a bit sniffy for the first few minutes, I was glad to
be treated as one of the family, though still disturbed at the implications
of Jean-Paul's behaviour towards me.  The boy had come back out to
breakfast in his dressing gown, and this was even less to his father's
liking than the speedos.

   'Jean-Paul, for goodness sake get properly dressed, especially when we
have guests.'

   Jean-Paul looked sulky, as only a teenage boy knows how, but he left the
table.  At the door to the verandah he let the dressing gown fall from his
shoulders to a pool of shiny fabric on the wooden floor, and I had my first
view of his lovely naked buttocks.  As he held the door-knob he quite
deliberately half-turned so we had a sight of his naked cock and balls for
one fleeting second.  I spluttered into my coffee.

   'That boy!' Pierre was especially grumpy this morning, and would be
until he had his first drink to remove the hangover...

   'You must excuse him, Roland.' Sylvie smiled at me, and again I saw
Jean-Paul's features in hers.  'Pierre and I often go about naked at home,
so Jean-Paul thinks nothing of it.'

   'Really, Sylvie.  I don't think...' but Pierre's voice tailed away and
we never got the benefit of what he did not think!

   If Sylvie had noticed the bulge in my trunks that would explain the
amused glint in her eyes.  I assumed she thought it was caused by her body,
her charms accentuated rather than hidden by her beach-wear.  I'm sure
Pierre just had not noticed.  Jean-Paul behaved himself after he returned,
in shorts and sweat-shirt, and still rather sulky.

  
...........................................................................
.................

   My three new neighbours disappeared for the morning and I congratulated
myself at having managed to keep the beautiful and tempting boy at arms'
length.  My choice for the morning was between getting the Porsche out and
taking a drive into Nice, perhaps finding a gay bar, or strolling a mile or
so along the beach to the nudist section (nearly a hundred percent gay, in
fact).  I decided to take the stroll, and was rewarded at the other end by
the sight of half a dozen or so naked guys, a couple of them young and
worth a second glance.  Unfortunately they were preoccupied with each other
and clearly would not have welcomed a third.  They soon disappeared
together towards the woods and greenery behind the beach, which is where
the action was in daylight hours.  The other guys were the usual fat
middle-aged, so I just worked on my naked sun-tan, had a short swim, and
walked back to my villa.

   I cooked myself an omlette, had my first beer of the day, and went to
laze on the beach with a disappointingly dull novel.  There was no shade,
and I thought it best to cover myself with a towel after the morning
sun-bathing.  The book was dreadful so I threw it to one side and lay with
my eyes closed, dozing and remembering those slim, shapely buttocks, and
above all his little cock, half-hard and arcing gracefully down over tight,
small, hairless balls.  I was pleased when I heard my neighbours return. 
Jean-Paul came running down his steps and along the beach to flop down
beside me.  He copied me, with a towel covering his body and hiding those
same speedos.  I wondered why as with his established tan he was in no
danger of burning...  but I soon found out!

   'You have an interesting morning, Jean-Paul?'

   'Bloody boring.  Mother shopping, then sitting in a cafe terrace. 
Bloody boring.  You?'

   'I went for a walk and had a swim.'

   'I bet you walked up to the White Rocks and the Nature Reserve!'

   'Well, I did actually.  How did you guess?'

   'I've been there.  Interesting scenery around there.' He grinned that
mischievous grin I was getting to know so well.  He was about to tease me
again!  'I've been there last year, but only to look.  What about you?  Did
you enjoy any of the wildlife?'

   'Oh!  Behave yourself, Jean Paul!'

   I felt his hand on my wrist, pulling my hand under his towel.  'Any
wildlife like this, Roland?' He had put my hand over his crotch, still
safely within his swimming trunks, but as he held it in place there with
the weight of his own hand, I could feel his hard little cock.  I knew I
should take my hand away immediately, get up, and leave him.  It was far
too dangerous, but I just had to have a squeeze of it, feel it just this
once!  And then it got worse, and really that was the moment I was truly
lost.  He was, I now see with the power of hindsight, playing me as a
fly-fisherman plays a game fish.  He must have pulled his speedos down with
his other hand, as I suddenly had naked flesh in my grip, warm and soft,
but as hard as a bone underneath.  A slender but erect boy-cock!  I held
it, rubbed it up and down and allowed then my fingers to wander downwards
and stroke his tight, hairless balls.

   His hand now sneaked under my towel, and I felt him pull my waistband
down and fasten his grip around my own hard cock.

   Heaven knows what would have happened next.  I suppose we would have
jerked each other off, but we were interrupted.

   'Hey you two!'

   It was Pierre!  Our hands retreated both with the same sudden, hidden
movement.  My heart nearly stopped.  Had he seen us groping?  Had he seen
my hand feeling, rubbing, caressing?  Oh shit!

   But it was OK.  Pierre, as usual was blind to everything outside
himself, and merely wanted us to swim with him, play with the football in
the water.

   ..........................................

   It was after our bite of lunch, the four of us sitting in the sun in
front of their villa, that Jean-Paul made his suggestion.

   'I'm going for a walk.  Come with me, Roland?' He had that mischievous,
sexy boy look in his eyes again.  I knew where he intended us to go, and
why.  I would not allow myself to be tempted!

   'Oh, I don't know, Jean-Paul.  I'm feeling lazy.'

   Sylvie now intervened, and my fate was sealed.  'Take him for a short
stroll, Roland.  You two get on so well together, and it's a bit boring for
him until the other children arrive.'

   'I can't refuse you anything, Sylvie.'

   'Flatterer!'

   In a way it was true.  she was even more spectacular today than
previously, and I assumed the bikini was one of her morning purchases. 
Nothing much more than two golden threads below, and one above, it just
covered her sex and her nipples, but more to emphasise them than conceal
them.  Some men would think Pierre an absurdly lucky man, but me, well I
was to have the company of his equally spectacularly beautiful and just as
overtly sexy son, all afternoon, to myself, and in a place notorious for
gay sex.  I was indeed lost now!

   ...........................................................

   The sun was hot on our backs as we walked along the beach, and the sand
would have burned bare feet, so we wore sandals.  Apart from that I had my
swimming trunks and he his scarcely decent speedos.  He behaved himself as
we walked, but insisted on holding my hand, like lovers I thought.  In
retrospect I realise he was still playing me along, making sure I was not
scared off.  There is nothing more devious than a teenage boy seducing an
older male!

   When we got to the notionally gay beach, the good-looking couple were
there again, and we stopped a second to look at them.  The more slender of
the two was oiling his lover's much more muscular body.  As he knelt we
could see his cock, half-hard and glistening with oil.  His companion,
laying on his back, had a magnificent weapon, and either it was cut or the
foreskin was rolled completely back from a huge, purple knob.  That, too,
shone with oil.

   'Jesus!  look at that!' Jean-Paul's hand clasped mine tighter.

   'They were here yesterday too, and they aren't interested in anything
except each other.'

   'Must be in love!' He sighed dramatically, and we walked to the water's
edge.  'We can swim naked here.  I love to feel the water around my cock
and balls.'

   'Yes, and to show them off to me!' I thought, but did not say as he
peeled down his too-tight trunks.  I joined him naked, very aware that my
cock was stiffening at the sight of his lovely naked buttocks, so far seen
only fleetingly the day before.  He turned, and I saw his cock, so very
desirable, not hard yet, hanging gracefully over a tight little-boy
scrotum. Better get in the sea before my cock gave me away completely.  I
waded in.  I prefer to run in, as the water is less painful that way, but
waded until it was deep enough to dive under.  He was ahead of me, and
struck out strongly towards the floating raft about a hundred metres away.
I followed him, swimming as fast as I could, but still he pulled away.  He
was right about the special pleasure of water flowing around one's
genitals, and the cold would soon cure my problem of visible arousal!

   He was already on the diving platform by the time I got there and he
reached down to grasp my wrist to haul me up.  At the last minute, when he
had most of my weight and I was completely unbalanced, he deliberately
tipped forward so we both fell back into the water with a great splash. 
With his arms around me I sank, and then as we both kicked down, we rose to
emerge spluttering and laughing.  He had his hand on my cock!

   I kept mine away from his, though it was tempting!

   We both hauled ourselves onto the platform, which was rocking gently up
and down in the slight swell.  It felt good standing there, hand-in-hand in
the sun, looking at the sea and the beach.  The handsome couple were laying
on their bellies now, getting an ever-deeper tan.  There were five other
solitary figures on the beach, each one of the sad old gays who frequented
it so often.

   'They're all looking at us, those guys.'

   'They're looking at you, Jean-Paul, not at us.  You're the sexy one as
you made me admit yesterday.'

   'You're sexy too, Roland, and you know it.  That guy over there has got
his binoculars on us.  Not sure I like that!'

   'I don't either, Jean-Paul.  Let's swim back!'

   At the shore we slipped our sandals on, to protect our feet from the hot
sand, but walked holding our swimming trunks in our hands.  Three of the
solitary guys now had binoculars focused!

   'They're all watching us, like bloody bird-watchers!  Let's go into the
woods where we can get a bit of privacy.'

   I nearly demurred, tempted to suggest we walk back to the village, but
the thought of 'privacy' with this blonde angel was just too tempting for
me.  I had known since we left the villa that this would happen, and had
got used to the idea, to accepting the risk.

   It had rained the days before we arrived, and the grass amomg the sparse
pine trees and undergrowth was still green.  We walked until the little
paths worn by the feet of gays seeking 'privacy' petered out, and we were
walking on virgin grass.  There was a smell of pine on the air, and birds
flew about in the canopy.  We startled countless lizards, and one snake
that slithered swiftly out of sight among the roots of a shrub.  I let
Jean-Paul walk ahead as I was enjoying the sight of his slender, tanned
buttocks moving as he walked, and his lovely triangular back, flawless, and
with the beginnings of a swimmer's shoulder muscles.  We walked aimlessly,
but ever deeper into the woods.  No danger of getting lost, however, as the
sun always told us where the south was.

   Finally we came to a glade, green grass in the dappled shade of the only
oak tree we had seen on the walk.  We had pushed our way through bushes to
find it, and it was indeed our own private and secret place.  Jean-Paul
flopped down and took off his sandals.  'The grass feels lovely and soft
and cool between your toes.' I slipped mine off and agreed, laying down
beside him.

   'I was so scared when father shouted at us this morning.  I thought he
had seen.'

   'So did I for a moment, Jean-Paul.  It just shows how careful you have
to be.'

   'But it's safe here...'

   I had to agree, and was not upset when he rolled towards me and placed
his hand on my thigh.

   'And I reckon it was worth the risk.  I had longed to feel you here.'
His hand moved now to my naked cock and gripped it lightly.  'And I love
the feel of you there.'

   'All right, Jean-Paul, let's do it properly if we're going to do it at
all!' I rolled over on my side towards him, and we were touching body to
body.  I clasped him to me, and held him there, his hand still trapped
between us.  I could feel his own little cock hard against me as I turned
my face to his and kissed him.  Now there was no way back : I was committed
to having this underaged boy, and there was little I could now do to
control myself.

   I was astounded by the passion with which this lad kissed me, and the
way his hands were all over my body.  The hand he had jammed between us
would not let go of my prick now he finally had hold of it, and with the
other he was stroking, caressing, kneading my biceps and shoulder muscles,
while his tongue slipped in and out of my mouth, fighting my own tongue
which was seeking possession of his mouth.  My passion was scarcely less as
I felt him all over, caressing back and shoulders, and most of all his
lovely arse.

   Like him I was in a hurry, and what I wanted was cock, boy-cock!  Time
later to explore his body: for the moment cock!  I pushed him an inch or
two away from me and broke the grip of his arms about me.  As I nuzzled his
cock and balls with my face he lay back more tranquil, and I realised he
knew what was coming next.  He was not quite the eager but still innocent
boy of my imaginings.  He knew I was going to take him in my mouth.  I
closed my lips over his knob and he sighed, his hips rising so-slightly to
encourage a deeper penetration.  I had no difficulty letting the whole
length slide into my mouth, and a memory suddenly came back to me, that
half-forgotten feel of a boy-cock between my lips.  How long was it since I
had enjoyed such a small, hairless prick?  Ten years, twelve?  How I had
loved sucking other boys when I was a teen myself.

   I had not forgotten, however, how quickly boys come when sucked, and was
not at all surprised when within a couple of minutes he was swearing gently
under his breath, holding my head in his hands, and pumping his young cum
into my mouth.  I swallowed, of course!

   'That was lovely, Roland.  My turn now.'

   It was a statement, not a question, and he pushed me backwards till I
was laying on my back, my cock standing vertical above my belly.  Now I
could enjoy his young body!

   He knelt in front of me, handling my cock as if it were some holy relic,
reverent, gentle, inspecting it minutely.  He looked up and I caught the
glance in his eyes, no longer saucy and mischievous, there was a loving
softness there, almost romantic.  He bent forward slowly, and I knew this
was something he had dreamed of, longed for, as he closed his lips around
my knob.  One hand cradled my balls as if testing their weight, and the
other held the root of my prick.  His head lowered further, and I felt my
cock slide into the warm wetness of his mouth, deeper and deeper, until he
gagged and his head sprang back, leaving my cock glistening and twitching.

   'Not as easy as it looks!' He laughed.  'But you are a bit big!'

   'My cock in his mouth again now, and his little hand grasping it about
half way up so the knob would not touch the back of his throat again, he
settled into a bobbing motion and I lay back like that Pasha in his harem,
enjoying his little concubine!  I could reach his head easily, and ruffled
the fine blonde hair, then holding it between both palms.  The skin on his
shoulders and back looked so fine and silky.  I reached and caressed him
there.  Surprisingly there were firm muscles beneath the skin, which was
indeed smooth and flawless, and still warm from the sun.

   'Turn round and kneel over me, Jean-Paul.'

   I wanted to play with his bottom and thighs, and he obliged, astride me,
his cute little arse just too far away for me to plant a kiss on the pretty
pink-brown anus that twinkled at me as he moved up and down.  But I could
reach him with my hands now, and caressed his buttocks, so unlike those of
a grown man.  I remembered other boys, when I was younger, with their firm,
slender hips and still part-rounded buttocks, not yet muscled like a grown
man.  As I stroked and kneaded them, the tension in my cock rose and rose.
I passed my fingers over the tight-closed little arsehole and the gesture
triggered my orgasm; I was coming.

   If the amount of cum a grown man produces when he is excited almost
beyond tolerance surprised the boy he did not show it, but swallowed and
swallowed until I was done.  He looked up at me, and as our eyes met I saw
that happy, cheeky look again in them.  Gone the feminine romantic look! 
He was so attractive, I pulled him from my cock to lay on top of me, to
kiss him, tasting my cum in his mouth.

   We lay there in the dappled shade for half an hour or so.  He wanted to
chatter, full of excited life, while I would have preferred silence, to
savour the extraordinary pleasures he had given me.  But I indulged his
chatter of course, until it was time to go.

   'It's all right to walk through this bit naked, but as soon as we get to
the paths we'll have to put on our trunks.'

   'Shame!'

   'It is indeed, Jean-Paul.  But there's plenty more chance to look at
each other before the return!'



   .............................................................



   That evening I had got the car out and driven into Nice.  A good meal by
myself, and half an hour watching the world parade by from a cafe terrace,
and I felt content with the world.  Usually I would now have gone to one of
the gay bars or clubs to find a partner for the night, but my delightful
little blonde angel had satisfied me for today.  I still worried about the
possible legal implications, but had already decided he was worth the risk.

   Sylvie must have been waiting for me to return, because I just had time
to pour myself a nightcap and go out to drink it on the verandah when she
was standing beside me.  The moon was full and low in the sky, making a
silver path across the sea from the horizon right to our beach.  I could
see her as clear as daylight, and we both cast shadows in the moonlight. 
The light did not allow me to make out the colour of her negligee, but it
seeemed to shimmer like satin, and I could see the points of her nipples
through it.  We chatted as I poured her a drink, the whisky she favoured.
Finally she came to the point.

   'Are you completely gay, Roland?'

   I assumed this was a pick-up line, and decided I would be very honest
with her.  I did like her a great deal, but...  'Yes, I am, Sylvie.'

   'I'm glad, Roland.  I thought you might be bisexual.  I'm glad you are
gay.'

   '???' The unspoken question must have been obvious on my face.

   'Do you think Jean-Paul is attractive?  Sexy I mean really?'

   I spluttered into my brandy.  She had a direct way about her that could
be quite un-nerving.  And this was the second time I had been asked the
same question, and from the same family!

   'He's a very good-looking boy, with an attractive personality.  You have
done well with him, Sylvie, and should be proud of him.'

   'You know he's madly in love with you, Roland, or at least thinks he
is?'

   My jaw must have dropped!  Gob-smacked is the word that occurs to me.

   'I remember when I was a girl, no older than Jean-Paul is now, the first
time I fell in love.  The hormones race, you know, for teens, and they can
be rapturously happy in their love, or desperately unhappy.  Jean-Paul is
happy now, just as I was when Mademoiselle Sangari first made love to me.'

   'Mademoiselle?  Then you are gay too, Sylvie.'

   'Yes, Roland, I'm lesbian.  My favourite lover is Jeanne Delacourt who
should be arriving here for the holidays on Thursday.  I can't wait!  I'm
all of a flutter like young Jean-Paul.' She laughed, and as usual I could
see and hear Jean-Paul's laugh in his mother.  'And of course, Jean-Paul is
especially happy because of what happened in the woods this afternoon.'

   Gob-smacked again.  Struck dumb!

   'Yes.  He's told me all about it.  I'm lucky, there are no secrets
between Jean-Paul and his mother.' She held my arm in a light grip.  'I'm
so happy for him that he has found such a nice, sensitive man for his first
lover, and so handsome too.' She flashed that smile at me.  'Don't hurt
him, Roland.  Please.  I don't mean physically, but don't hurt him
emotionally.  When the time comes, as it surely will, and you part to go
your own ways let him drop you, not vice versa.  I remember how dreadful it
was when Melanie Sangari dropped me for a new girl.  Be kind to him.  He
may be sexually mature, but emotionally he is still a child!'

   'I promise you, Sylvie.  I would not want to hurt him.'

   'You know he wants you to possess him, completely I mean, as one man
possesses another?'

   'I scarcely dared to hope.  He's so young and so small...' His mother
was inviting me to bugger her lovely son!

   'Well, Roland, that is what he wants most of all.  I'm sure you will be
gentle, and it would be so lovely if he found his first time pleasurable,
if he knew the ecstasy of love and not just the pain.  I've said enough and
perhaps too much, Roland.  I trust you.' She kissed me on my cheek, put her
glass down and bade me goodnight.

   There was enough moonlight for me to wash and clean my teeth without
switching on the electric lights.  I stripped naked and went to the
bedroom.

   He was there on my bed, skin gleaming in the silver light, a sheet
draped over his legs and sex, sleeping peaceful, his chest rising and
falling with his breathing.  I stood and looked for a moment: he was so
tranquil and quiet, his mouth in a smile.  I thought again what his mother
had hinted at...  more than hinted in fact...  and tip-toed back to the
kitchen, to return with a bottle of olive oil and a towel.  I had decided
what I would do this night!

   Naked, I leaned over and gently drew the bedsheet down over his belly,
his cock, his long, slender legs.  He stirred and muttered something in his
sleep, hands searching for the sheet, but not finding it lapsing again into
deep, happy sleep.  His little hand came to rest on his cock.  I lay beside
him on the bed, careful not to wake him, but he muttered something and
turned over on his side, so his bottom was towards me.  I lay closer to
him, sliding my stiff cock into his arse crease, still without waking him.
One hand resting on his naked, cool hip, I stretched the other hand over
him and gently pulled him close to me.  I felt down over that firm,
slightly rounded belly and found his cock, hard again and loosely gripped
in his hand, which I covered with mine.  He muttered someting in his sleep.
I kissed him lightly on the back of his neck, where the blonde hair is
finest.  He woke.

   'That is you Roland?  I was dreaming you were with me, and now you are.'
He pushed back harder against me.  and he moved his hand, allowing mine to
hold his cock and covering mine with his, holding it in place.  I wriggled
so my hard cock was pressing against his anus.  'That's nice!  I like the
feel of you there.' He pushed back against me.

   'I want to kiss you all over, Jean-Paul.'

   'Mmmm please.'

   I turned him on his back and licked with the point of my tongue along
one shoulder blade and down over his naked chest to a nipple.  He shivered
as a thrill sparked through his body.  His nipple was as hard as a little
brown nut even before I took it between my lips and sucked on it.  I heard
him moan and an almost silent, breathed 'yes'.  The other breast now, and
another sighed expression of pleasure.  Down now with the tip of my tingue
over hairless torso to his tiny, tight, tidy navel, where I licked round
and round in circles before sticking my tongue in.

   'That's lovely!'

   'But this will be nicer still!' I turned him on his belly and parted his
buttocks.  His anus was in deep shadow and I could not see it.  I was
unwilling to switch on any bedside light and spoil the magic of the
moonlight mystery.  But my tongue found it out, and he wriggled as I licked
up and down the crease, lingering over his secret rose with every pass of
my tongue.  with each stroke I pressed harder with my pointed tongue until
gradually it was entering him half an inch and then slipping out again. 
When I felt he was used to this, and more importantly really enjoying it, I
started to rim him properly, as we all of us like!  I slid my tongue up him
as far as I could reach and licked round the rim of his anus.  He giggled.

   'That tickles.  But It's lovely.  You're going to fuck me.  Roland,
aren't you?'

   I had the advantage of him really.  Surely he could not suspect that his
mother had confided in me the dynamite news that her son wanted my cock in
his arse, wanted to give his bottom to me.

   'If you want me to, Jean-Paul.' I stuck my tongue up him again.

   'I think I do want, Roland.'

   'I'll try like this first.'

   The olive oil was by the bedside, and I spilled some on the sheets as I
tipped the bottle towards the crease of his bottom.  Never mind.  I
expected there would be worse than a bit of oil on the sheets before the
night was out!  His bottom gleamed now in the moonlight as I spread the oil
over the inside of his buttock-crease, over his puckered anus, and inside
it with the tip of my index finger.  I slipped my finger up him as far as
the first joint, and felt his anus grip it and then relax.  I wondered
whether this was on purpose, or if it was a reflex by the muscles there,
protesting this new invasion.

   'Is that all right?'

   'It nice, really.'

   He sounded a bit doubtful, but I took that as an invitation to push my
finger right in and explore the front deep in there for his prostate. 
Would it have yet developed in a fourteen year old boy.  There was that
tell-tale lump, and as I gently finger fucked him with lots of oil, I made
sure I was also massaging it.  I moved to lay beside him, my finger still
up his arse, and had him turn his head so I could kiss his lips while I
masturbated his arsehole.  He was as passionate kissing as ever, and while
his tongue was in my mouth I slid a second finger into him.  Still no
protests!  This was going to be ok!

   So we continued, me fingering him, him tonguing my lips, teeth and
tongue until...

   'I think you could now, Roland.  But be gentle, please.'

   I said nothing, but turned him on his belly again, and bent one of his
slender legs so his anus was exposed and open for me.  I lay over him,
holding my cock in my right hand.  I occured to me this was the moment that
could get me ten years, or perhaps a year for every one of his fourteen,
but he was worth the risk.  I was wiping my cock up and down his crease,
feeling it catch every time my knob passed over his anus.  Each time I
exerted a little more pressure, until quite suddenly my knob slipped into
him.  I felt him go rigid beneath me, and a scream was, thank goodness,
muffled by his biting into a pillow in the time-honoured and tradititional
manner for virgin boys!  I was sure his mother would be listening, and was
satisfied she would not have heard that, nor his pleas for me to stop
because it hurt.  But no man with his cock in a virgin arse has ever
stopped because asked!  We think with our cocks and balls, and not our
brains when in that lucky state!  And I certainly did not, but freed my
hand from holding my cock in place, and held him down by a palm in the
small of his back and an arm across his shoulders taking most of my weight
and keeping him in place despite his struggles.  I slid my full length up
him, till my thighs rested on his buttocks.

   He sobbed into the pillow as I fucked him with long, slow, powerful
sweeps.  But gradually the sobbing ceased, and I could feel him beginning
to fuck the bedsheet under him as I moved up and down, in and out.  I
reached under him and found his cock hard, and damp with precum: he was
enjoying this now, thank heavens.

   'OK?'

   'It's good now.  Don't stop!  And don't talk!'

   And so I fucked him for several minutes until I could hold out no more,
and pumped my spunk into his bottom.

   We lay together for several minutes, it seemed, until his anus
contracted and expelled my limp cock.  I wiped myself on the towel I had
brought, and then wiped his arse, which was still open and leaking.

   'I came on your sheets.  I couldn't help it.  Sorry!'

   'No.  It's lovely that you came.'

   We were both asleep in seconds, "fucked" is the phrase, I think.

  
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   It was amazing in the morning.  I woke up to find Sylvie standing by the
bed with a tray in her hands.  Jean-Paul was still fast asleep, breathing
softly, his head cradled in the crook of my armpit and with a contented,
happy smile on his face.  Sylvie put the tray on the bedside table, moving
the olive oil ("exhibit A your worship"!!!).  I could see a coffee pot,
croissants and juice among the crockery and cutlery.  She looked cool and
elegant in a silver satin negligee, and I had to admire the way her figure
was shown off by it.  Those breasts were firm and shapely, and needed no
bra as you could see from the outline of her nipples.  She had the same
happy smile as her son.

   'Good morning, Roland.  I see it all went well.  I'm so pleased to see
Jean-Paul contented and happy.  I knew I could trust you.' She leaned over
and kissed me on the end of my nose (!).  'No, please don't wake him yet.'

   'We made love, and then slept!'

   'I can see, and I'm overjoyed for you both.  I expect Roland will want
to come to you every night.  But please make sure Pierre does not suspect:
he's rather narrow-minded!  It would upset him and spoil things if he knew.
Not that there's much danger of his twigging anything, as he's blind to
most of what goes on about about him really.  And a good thing too!'

   'We'll be careful when he's around.'

   'Oh!  And one other thing.  It would be nice if you could talk to
Jean_Paul in English.  That's one thing Jean-Paul and I both agree on.'

   'Sure!'

   'Now, I'll leave you before Jean-Paul wakes up.  You know he'll want to
tell me all about it later?'

   'I know, but I'm still amazed.....' Her trim little arse wiggled more
when she walked in high heels, but it still moved sexily even with her bare
feet.

   I woke Jean-Paul with a kiss: he yawned and stretched, and then
something we laughed about later.

   'Jesus I need a shit!'

   He leaped from the bed and scampered across the room.

   While he was out I stripped the bedsheets, which were a bit shitty where
he had leaked, and put new ones on.  I heard him flush the toilet, and then
sound of the shower.  I needed a piss myself, had that, and joined him in
the shower.  He looked as tasty as ever, covered now in soap and with the
water turned off.  I took the opportunity to feel him all over, soaping him
down, running my hands over that lovely body every contour of which I
wanted to learn.  His cock hardened as I caressed it and his balls.

   'Soap me now, Jean-Paul.'

   I put the needle shower on again.

   'Yes!  I'd like that, Roland.'

   My cock hardened as I felt his hands on my back, belly and thighs.  And
then he was soaping my cock and my balls.

   'I'm still a bit sore, Roland .'

   'You did well, Jean-Paul.  I'm not surprised.' There had been no blood
on the towel or sheets, so I knew he was all right.  'Your turn now.  Soap
your cock again, and then fuck me.' I turned the water off, and braced
myself against a chromium rail in the shower, bending my back and knees
slightly to find the right level.  I felt his fingers in my arse crease,
and then a finger exploring up inside me.  He was silent, and I next felt
the pressure of his knob on my anus before it entered easily and he slid
the length in.

   It's a good job he was small because he was fucking me hard and fast
from the first instant.  Later I would teach him how to start slow and
speed up, and how to make it last.  Meantime it was good, and I jerked
myself off with the same frantic rhythm.  His little thighs smacked into my
buttocks as my hands flew up and down my shaft, and I felt him caressing my
soapy back.  He smacked my arse twice with open palms, and I knew he was
coming.  My own spunk flew and splashed into the tiles.

   He withdrew as soon as he had come.  'That was good, Roland.  As good as
being fucked.  I guess I'm properly gay now.'

   I remembered my promise to his mother and replied in English.  'That's
all there is to it, really.  Suck and be sucked, fuck and be fucked. 
You've done it all.  The rest is just variations on the theme.' He did not
completely understand so I translated for him, making him repeat the two
useful verbs until he had learned them.  It was a game he certainly
enjoyed!

   We had our breakfast in bed, and you could see sex gave him an appetite,
wolfing down all but one of the croissants.  the coffee was almost cold,
but the juice was good.  We chatted happily.

   'You remember Didier Delacourt from last year?'

   'Dark haired boy?' I remembered him all right, and like Jean-Paul he had
featured in my nightly masturbation.  He was dark-haired and had a
wonderful olive-skinned mediterranean complexion that tanned not golden
like my blonde angel, but a deeper brown, with a texture like silk. 
Athletic and a good swimmer like my own sweetie, he had a secret, inward
look in his dark, deep eyes, with long lashes, and what struck you
immediately was the sensuality in his lips.  He was born for kissing, and
his arse for fucking.  I remembered him all right!

   'That'll be him.  He arrives today.  His dad tows a motor boat down, and
my dad and him go out fishing most days.  Mother is very friendly with his
mother.  (I had a sudden image flashing through my mind of Sylvie in the
arms of Jeanne Delacourt, their firm breasts crushed together, tall tits
fighting for space as they kissed and caressed, sylvie's tits golden and
upright, Jeanne's brown and firm.) 'I go about a lot with Didier.  He's in
my class at school.'

   'He's a nice looking boy.'

   'He's all right.  We mess about a bit.'

   '???'

   'We jerk off together.  Nothing more.  I never touched his cock yet.'

   'But you'd like to?'

   'Mmmm.  And I'm going to.  I'm going to teach him to suck and fuck.' He
smiled at the new English words.  'Yes, to suck and fuck.'

   'Save some cum for me, Jean-Paul.'

   'I would like to sleep with you every night of the holidays.  And when
I've got Didier used to sex, then we can both take him to the woods and you
can show him what a real grown-up cock can do.' His eyes were shining, and
I kissed him again.

   'I'd certainly like that.  And I'm not going fishing with them either!
But now you had better be getting back or your Dad will be wondering where
you are.'

  
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