WHEN I WAS YOUNG – AT THE SEASIDE: CHAPTER 1


At the age of ten, I was at the worst stage of my
sexual development.  I was in the middle of my
friendships with my dubious companions, Saskia and
Ernst, as related in ‘The Temptress’ and ‘Mr Sausage
Man’.  I was suddenly excited and fascinated by nudity
and all that goes with it.

This was my state when my family went to the seaside
for a week during the Easter holiday.  It was at the
beginning of April and the weather had just turned
from warm spring into hot summer in our Mediterranean
land.

My parents, sadly, are not naturists and chose the
textile seaside resort of Locarda for our holiday.  It
is quite a small place but beautifully situated, and
very popular with holidaymakers from Britain and in
fact all over northern and central Europe at this time
of year, when those areas are still suffering from
their long, harsh winters.

My parents were content to sunbathe while my then
three-year-old sister Jenny played in the sand near
them.  Occasionally they took her to play in the
nearby children’s playground or to paddle in the sea;
fortunately they did not embarrass me by forcing her
to wear a swimming costume, as few children of
preschool age do in our country.  But once they have
started school, sadly, costumes seem to be required
wear by common custom and I was disappointed to find I
would have to wear mine in Locarda.

My parents gave me quite a lot of freedom to go
wherever and do whatever I wanted – after all, the
place had a fine safety record in every way and the
beach was well supervised.  If my parents preferred a
boring holiday, that was fine by me, but at least they
allowed me free rein.  Except for having to wear a
swimming costume.

It was particularly exciting for me as this was my
first proper seaside holiday since the great change in
my lifestyle, which began at the naturist club Aunt
Sue joined when I was eight, and developed at a gallop
when I befriended Saskia and Ernst.  I had got quite
used to nudity at the club, which I enjoyed there more
for my own freedom than to feast my eyes on naked
bodies.  But the bodies of those children who were not
naturists and did not want their private areas viewed
– that was another matter!  In my obsessive state, I
was bursting with excitement at the prospect of doing
some cheap spying.

Our hotel was about five minutes’ walk from the beach.
 My parents changed into their swimming costumes in
the hotel, and got me to do the same the first time. 
We arrived on the beach to find that most of the
others came clothed.  What they did then depended
mainly on where they came from.

The British were still quite stuffy and they either
changed before arrival or changed under towels, except
for preschool children, who were sometimes allowed to
stay naked if very young or changed openly, as they
did not mind.  The local population and northern
Europeans, even some adults, sometimes changed openly
without inhibition, or under shirts or dresses, while
others used towels largely as a token gesture.

It was in the six-to-puberty age-group where the main
differences lay.  The British children tended to
change very carefully under their towels, often with
the help of their parents, scared that some malicious
alien might get a view of that forbidden area between
their legs.  This was one occasion when dresses were a
nuisance, as they enabled girls to change underneath
them without revealing anything, and for once I was
glad when they wore shorts, as many did in this
holiday resort.  The British girls also tended to wear
large one-piece costumes or very unrevealing two-piece
costumes.

The local and north European children were much less
fussy, quite happy to change in the open.  The local
girls tended to wear gaudy bikinis, and the north
Europeans more scanty bikinis, although in many cases
the European girls went topless until their breasts
began to develop.  It was not unusual to see even
girls who looked about eleven or twelve running around
sporting their little breasts, and there was one
Swedish family (I think) who allowed their children,
who were quite unconcerned, to run around naked at the
ages of about seven and nine.

With my state of mind at that time, it was the British
who interested me the most, as they obviously wanted
to hide their bodies the most, and that was what
attracted and excited me.  I was so overwhelmed at
that stage that I had little interest in playing in
the sand or swimming in the sea or doing other things
that would normally attract me, even making friends of
the other boys there – I just wanted to see the
forbidden.  It was quite a novelty to me then,
virtually an obsession during that particular holiday,
but it gradually wore off over the next few years.

The most thrilling time of day for me was between
about five and six o’clock in the evening, when the
weather suddenly cooled as the sun began to set and
everybody on the beach began to shift.  The best place
to be was by the showers, as many people wanted to
shower the sand or salt water off their bodies before
going home.  Then many of the local and north European
children would pull off their swimming costumes and
shower naked, quite unconcerned about exposing their
bodies and in so doing demonstrating the stupidity of
enforcing cover on the beach itself.

I was quite happy to strip off myself and join them,
although there were quite a number, mainly British,
who kept their costumes on.  It was annoying to me
when my parents told me to return to them at half-past
five each day to return to the hotel, but I managed to
persuade them to make it a quarter to six and promised
to meet them at the showers.  Just to make sure I kept
my promise (of course!), I was often there an hour
early!

I would hang around near the area and, when I found
some children near my own age showering naked, I would
join them and try to talk to them.  I can speak the
local language, but it was more difficult conversing
with those from northern countries.  After the shower,
I would put on my swimming costume again and hang
around, drying myself and explaining to people there I
was waiting for my parents.  When they arrived, I
would have another shower, this time in my costume, as
they were still British enough to frown on public
nudity.

There were other attractions, too.  When we returned
to the hotel, my parents wanted to relax in the cool
of the room and bath Jenny, but they let me wander
around the hotel.  There was a bar with a balcony on
the second floor overlooking the grounds and the sea,
with railings.  Older teens and young adults used to
meet there to have a social drink at the end of the
day.  They would sit behind tables and look out over
the sea.  Because they were up a storey and behind
tables, many girls would automatically assume that
they had no need to take care with their skirts.

So I would find a seat in the garden facing the hotel,
which wasn’t difficult, as although there were many
others around they took the seats nearest the sea and
facing it.  So I would sit in a chair, curl my knees
up under my chin, prop my book up there and pretend to
read.  All I had to do was raise my eyes slightly to
the balcony, watch female legs under the table and
revel in their assorted underwear.

A few automatically, it seemed, protected their skirts
even if there was no perceived need for it, and a few
did check below and took more care when they saw
potential observers, even if they did not suspect me. 
Some wore longer evening dresses, especially the older
ones – aged 25 or more, perhaps.  But many of them
were blissfully unaware, as they crossed and uncrossed
their legs or sat with their legs relaxed and a little
apart, that they were not as safe as they thought. 
All I can say in my defence was that I have grown out
of this devious habit of deliberately spying, although
I still notice if I’m in the right position.

So my days developed into a kind of pattern.  I would
start the morning hanging about watching for those
coming to the beach and changing there.  A good place,
I found, was by the wall separating the beach from the
pedestrian mall behind it.  Many families chose to
make their headquarters by that wall because it
provided shade from the northern sun for most of the
day, and I could watch while the children, and
sometimes adults as well, changed, unaware they were
being observed from above.  Again, this is another
nefarious practice I no longer engage in, but at the
age of ten it was a real thrill to me.

By about midday most of those who were coming to the
beach were there, so I would wander back to my family
and have a snack, or take the money they gave me to go
and buy something.  Then, while still keeping an eye
out for any potential nudity, I would roam around,
exploring and enjoying myself for a few hours, making
friends but careful not to become too attached in case
it interfered with my private activities.  Then, as
five o’clock approached, I would head for the showers.

One interesting place I did discover was where the
beach ended to the left.  My family usually made their
base towards the left, but up by the wall.  The beach
ended abruptly in a small rocky hill, and where it
reached the sea there was a small area full of small
rocky pools where a lot of children played and hunted
for shrimps.  But that too came to an end, with a
higher rocky outcrop and a huge mass of seaweed that
gave off an awful stench.

I wondered what lay round the far side.  So, braving
the stench, I clambered round the rocks.  There was
nothing worthwhile for about fifty metres, and nobody
there at all, and I was wondering whether to turn back
when I found a cave with a little calm lagoon in front
of it.  Going inside, I found a rocky floor with a few
patches of sand, and also a skylight that let through
a big beam of light that also served to emphasize the
darkness of the rest of the cave.

I spent a short time exploring it, but it was very
solitary and I enjoy having people around, whether I
am socializing or merely observing what I shouldn’t,
as I was often doing then.  There was just more
unattractive rock further on, and more piles of
stinking seaweed, so I soon returned to the beach.

On our fourth day there, I was in what was now my
regular morning position, hanging about by the wall or
sitting on it, studying the people arriving at the
beach and trying to look unconcerned, the sort of
dopey thing that kids can get away with but not
adults, especially when a place is as crowded as this
one was.  I was near the steps on the right-hand side
of the main beach area, away from my parents.  Then,
amid the normal beach noise, I heard a small girl’s
voice call out in English, “Mummy, look at those
boys!”

Down below a family was passing in front of me, and a
small dark-haired girl of about six was pointing at
the teenage boys who were surfing out to sea.  Her
parents were with her, and also an older sister, who
looked about my age.

It was the older sister who attracted my attention, as
she was of the age when her body to me was approaching
its most interesting stage and she was likely to be
reluctant to reveal it.  That combination excited me. 
Six-year-olds were too easy for me.  The older girl
had rather short wavy, almost curly, light-brown hair,
blue eyes and a round face, not unduly attractive but
still interesting.  The only disappointment was that
she was wearing a red and white patterned dress, and
no doubt she would change underneath that and deny me
satisfaction.

As the family continued their journey to look for a
base camp, I casually detached myself from the wall
and wandered along, ready to stop when they did and
hoping they would find a place by the wall where I
could observe them more easily.  They did not go far,
and I was pleased to see them walk over to the wall
ahead of me and start to decamp there.  From the
excitement of the two girls and the way they kept
looking around them, it was clear that this was their
first day here.

They immediately wanted to change into their swimming
costumes, I was pleased to see, and they waited
impatiently while their mother unpacked her basket. 
This was what I had come to see, but the older girl’s
dress was regrettable in these circumstances.  The
younger girl was wearing shorts and a small top that
left the midriff bare, and I was not too excited or
surprised to see her, without the use of a towel but
nevertheless facing the wall, where she thought she
had privacy, pull down her shorts and pink panties and
put on a full one-piece swimming costume.  She had no
idea that there was somebody just above her head in a
perfect position to observe her.

Her older sister, as expected, was more fussy.  Her
name, I later discovered, was Annette.  Annette simply
followed usual British-type practice by pulling down
her panties, white with little red patterns on them,
and putting on another full-sized swimming costume. 
These are fairly rare in our country, except among the
British community, as almost all other girls wore
small bikinis or at the most two-piece costumes.  I
thought it most disappointing, but hung around, just
in case there was a little chest growth available 
for my inspection.  But most girls my age were still
pretty uninteresting there – I preferred them a little
older.

So I thought most of the excitement was over.  Then I
saw the mother move in to help her younger daughter as
she struggled to pull her costume up over her chest. 
But the little girl didn’t want it.  “No, you’ll see
my sprouts,” she protested, turning her back on both
her parents.

Saskia was the only other girl I had heard use the
word ‘sprouts’ for breasts, and I was surprised that a
girl so young should worry about anybody, least of all
her mother, seeing her non-existent breasts.  But
perhaps the father was a problem.  Grinning, he
stretched out his hand towards her, pretending he was
going to pull away the towel she was now holding up to
try to cover herself.  She squealed and moved away.

Annette looked round, and her father tried the same
trick with her.  She was trying to pull her swimming
costume right up under her dress, and she too squealed
and pulled away.  “Leave my sprouts alone,” she
complained.  Both were facing the wall a couple of
metres below me now.  To me, their father obviously
meant it only in fun and had no intention of touching
them or their towels, but he was only aggravating
their shy behaviour.

In the meantime, junior sister had pulled her costume
up, but not before I had caught a glimpse of a
completely flat little chest.  I would never even have
taken any notice had it not been for her desire to
keep it covered.  She fixed the shoulder straps, then
danced around, laughing and singing out, “You didn’t
see my sprou – outs!  You didn’t see my sprou - outs!”

I could hardly keep from laughing, it seemed so silly.
 Annette was still busy, facing the wall and
struggling out of her dress with her costume halfway
up her body, at the same time trying to press her
towel against her chest.  As she cast her dress aside,
I saw her glance quickly to the right and left, and
then at her parents who were now ignoring her as they
discussed something, but she didn’t look upwards.

Then for a moment, secure in the knowledge that nobody
could see her, she dropped the towel and hurriedly
pulled up her costume to fix the straps.  The
invisible boy, I was startled by what I saw.  I never
imagined that she would have anything to show on her
chest, but she had more than any girl I had previously
seen of that age.  She had two distinguishable
breasts, broad and gently rounded, and very white,
obviously having seen no sun during their lifetime. 
The nipples and areolas were large and a dull pink.

She came under attack from an unexpected quarter. 
Little sister had been behind her, and as Annette
turned round, the little one sang out, “I saw your
spro – outs!  I saw your spro – outs!”

There followed a brief breakdown in communication, to
use diplomatic language, which ended with the mother
shutting them both up without tackling the root of the
problem.  I was still so startled by what I had seen
on a girl who had no right to have more than the
tiniest breasts (or sprouts!) that I hardly took in
what went on.  The next thing I remember is seeing
Annette trotting off towards the sea, while younger
sister preferred to stay close to her parents and play
in the sand.

I was quite infatuated.  My eyes followed Annette
through the crowd and watched her from a distance as
she paddled in the sea without going right in.  At
this time of year the sea was still rather cold.  I
knew that I was not likely to see anything more of her
body until she changed out of her costume at the end
of the day, but I felt I just had to do something, to
speak to her, to make friends with her somehow.  And,
who knew, I might just have the ability to get her to
trust me and show me that which she wouldn’t even let
her own family see?  Ten-year-olds can very easily
hope for the moon.

I wandered down the steps and on to the beach, heading
in her direction, turning over in my mind how I was
going to handle this.  I was desperate to talk to her,
to befriend her, but also desperately shy, as most
ten-year-old boys are when they suddenly think they
have fallen in love and want to talk to a girl.

I lost her in the crowd for a minute or two, and felt
horrified.  I had lost her forever!  But then I
suddenly saw her sitting on the sand near the sea, by
herself, digging a little hole.  My heart suddenly
tried to explode again as I realised I would have to
talk to her.  I couldn’t help it – I just had to.

I wandered towards her and stood a few metres away,
looking at her, hoping she would look at me and speak
first.  When she took no notice I moved closer.  She
did look up then, but very quickly looked downward
again.  Obviously she didn’t want to know me.

I stood there feeling petrified.  But I had to do
something if she wouldn’t.  So I said, “Hello.”  Or
that was what was meant to happen.  The words somehow
stuck in my throat and came out as an indecipherable
squeak.  So I tried again, “Hello.”  This time I could
understand myself, but my face felt burning hot.

Annette did not look up.  “Go away,” was all she said,
digging furiously with one leg folded under her and
the other knee up.

I didn’t know what to say.  I looked at her profile. 
The top of her swimming costume was gently rounded but
otherwise gave no hint of the unexpected treasures
beneath.  Had I not seen from my vantage point, I
would not have had any particular interest in her.

I stood there and finally said, “Have you just come
here – today?  For the first time, I mean?”

Very firmly she kept digging without looking at me. 
Then she repeated, “Go away.  Leave me alone.”

I stood there for what seemed an age, feeling very
stupid and not knowing what to do.  If I hadn’t felt
so desperate I would have adopted one of the usual
subtle strategies used by ten-year-old boys to
befriend girls, such as pulling her hair or splashing
water at her or making her a gift of one of the little
sand spiders that were scuttling around on the wet
sand a few metres away.  But I was too besotted even
to think of these.

In the end I decided to join in.  I stepped forward,
knelt down and put my fingers into her hole to help
her dig.

She gave a squeal of rage and pushed me so hard that I
toppled back on to my bottom.  “It’s mine!  I said GO
– AWAY!” she spat at me, blue eyes filled with fury.

It slowly began to dawn on me that perhaps she did
not, after all, desire my friendship.  Most
ten-year-old boys have plans designed to overcome such
obstacles – such as pulling her hair, splashing water
on her or donating water spiders.  But I was too
confused to think of even one of these brilliant
schemes.

All I could think of now was to play my last card.  So
I said, “You know, I want to tell you something, and I
don’t want you to feel bad because really it – it’s
very good.  Okay?”

I was sure she could scarcely fail to respond to such
a clear statement of purpose.  But she merely shifted
round her hole so she had her back to me and kept
digging.  Years later, I now understand that she was
merely shy of me, but I couldn’t understand it then.

So I continued.  “You know, a few minutes ago when you
came down to the beach.  You – you went over by the
wall with your parents.  And then you put on your
swimming costume.  Well, you know, I – I saw your
sprouts and they were beautiful.”

That brought a reaction.  Her head whirled around and
she glared at me, hatred and horror written all over
her face.  Her face had gone deathly white, apart from
two bright red spots in the middle of her cheeks. 
“You didn’t!” she challenged me fiercely.

“I did, and they were really beautiful,” I blurted
out.  “I don’t want you to feel bad because they –
they were beautiful.”

“You couldn’t see!” she almost shouted at me.  “You’re
lying!”

I was beginning to feel slightly on top of the
situation now.  At any moment she would break into a
huge smile and love me.  “I did, because I saw you
look all around when you took your dress off, but you
didn’t see me because I was on the wall above your
head!” I assured her triumphantly.

Things began to go a little awry.  “You beast!” she
screeched, grabbing a handful of sand and hurling it
at me.  It stung hideously and some went into my eyes.
 I fell backwards again and leapt to my feet, ready to
duck if she did it again.  “Go away, I hate you!” she
spat at me.  If looks could kill, as they say . . .

“Go away!” she snarled at me viciously.  Then she
turned her back again, face furiously red, shrivelled
up almost into a little ball and began digging again
with tremendous energy and fury, staring viciously
into her hole.

I got the sand out of my eyes and then tried again,
speaking to her defiant back.  “Look, I don’t want you
to feel bad,” I pleaded with her.  “I just said they
were beautiful.  They were big – well, quite big – and
they really were.  Beautiful, I mean.”

Only a furious shrug of the shoulders told me she had
heard.  My tactful approach did not seem to mollify
her.  I knew of nothing else to say, so I threw down
another last card that I had just discovered up my
sleeve.  Or perhaps I should say inside my swimming
costume, as I had nowhere else to hide it.

“You can see my wee if you like,” I told her.  “In
return.”

Suddenly she stopped digging.  She froze for a second
or two.  Then she turned her head balefully and glared
at me.  Then she said, between gritted teeth it
seemed, “Show me.”

Then she looked further down my body.  So did I.  I
had on an old, rather thin swimming costume and the
bulge at the front was rather clear, even though what
was underneath was still immature.  There was even a
tiny hole that had started in the material, through
which a small piece of my little pink penis was
visible, but only at close quarters.  Annette would
not be able to see that.

I glanced around quickly.  There were several other
families nearby.  Some were observing our tiff, some
were pretending not to and a few were doing their best
to ignore it.  A crowded textile beach was not the
best place to play “I’ll show you mine,” even if it
had been Saskia with me.

I looked back at her, disconcerted, and then said,
“We’ll have to go – somewhere else.  Okay?”

She glared at me and I stared back, trying hard and
unsuccessfully to give her a loving smile.  Then she
snorted and turned back to her hole, convinced I was
insincere.  “Go away,” came her muffled refrain.

“I will, I promise,” I assured her back.  “But we’ll
just have to go – in private.  I know!”  I pointed. 
“You see those rocks over there?  Just on the other
side there’s a cave where nobody goes.  Let’s go there
and I’ll do it.”

“I’m not allowed there,” she informed me coldly. 
Taken aback, I stood there helplessly, with nothing
else to offer.

She turned her head again.  “Show me or go away,” she
ground out through clenched teeth.

I was in a quandary.  If I did show her there and
then, several interested bystanders would also be in
on the act.  I was uncomfortably aware especially of a
middle-aged woman with two pendulous watermelons
inside her bikini top, who was glaring at me
disconcertingly from about five metres away.  If I
failed to show Annette immediately, I ran the risk of
losing my last chance.

While I was searching desperately for a compromise,
Annette settled the matter by turning her back on me
and encouraging me to depart for the umpteenth time. 
I protested, but did not even have the courtesy – or
discourtesy – of an answer.

For about two long minutes I stood there looking at
her back and making humiliating pleas, which she now
totally ignored.  Finally, to avoid losing any face I
still had left, I mumbled, “See you later,” and sadly
trudged away.  I turned round several times, but she
didn’t even look up.

Somehow it appeared that I had boobed – well, that was
one way of putting it – but I couldn’t for the life of
me work out precisely where I had gone wrong.  After
all, didn’t every girl like being told she was
beautiful?  At the age of ten, my career as a
modern-day Casanova was in ruins.

I felt utterly humiliated and determined that I would
never be able to approach that girl again as long as I
lived.  But after a lifetime of about five minutes, I
wondered if I had been a little hasty.  From a safe
distance I waded into the sea but watched her.  There
had been a slight misunderstanding and maybe I should
go back and she might even apologise to me.  But even
as I watched, she stood up and ran back to her parents
without a glance in my direction.

I hadn’t the courage to approach her there, but I did
edge back and head for the steps just in case she
decided to change out of her swimming costume again. 
But it was a vain hope, as she just played with her
sister in the dry sand.

I hung around, but eventually gave up and went back to
my parents for some lunch.  When I returned afterwards
to look for Annette, her family were all there but she
had disappeared.

I searched for her with my eyes in the place where she
had gone before, down by the water, but could not see
her.  The beach was so crowded now it was difficult to
track anybody.  But I decided to trail the water’s
edge and look for her around there.

I moved some distance to the right and then headed for
the water.  I paddled in the shadows as I moved back
to the left, keeping my eyes open desperately for her.
 She was actually not too difficult to pick up in her
red one-piece costume, and I saw her splashing in the
waves and watching some of the surfers.

I stood about ten metres away, wondering whether to
venture the same tongue-twister that I had used when I
first introduced myself: “Hello.”  I was still
undecided when she looked around and saw me standing
there.

I was very much afraid she would turn her back on me
or advise me as to my next action again, but instead
she simply glared at me and said with contempt, “You
promised to show me your wee.”

This was positive!  I was so excited that I almost wet
myself, which is not an unusual sensation for an
infatuated ten-year-old.  I blurted out, “Well, I
will, but we need to go somewhere.”

“You said there was a cave,” she reminded me coldly.

“Yes, but you said you weren’t allowed to go there,” I
responded.

“I may be able to,” she replied calmly, for the first
time removing the frown from her face.  “Come.”  So
saying, she walked out of the water and headed back
towards her parents.

I stood there for a moment, wondering if I had heard
her aright.  Then I scampered after her and asked,
“Did you say ‘Come’?”

“Of course, stupid,” she answered with her usual
charm.  “What’s your name?”  I told her, and that was
when I learned her name was Annette.  Her little
sister was Delia.

I felt very fearful as we neared her parents.  Was she
going to tell them that this awful boy had offered to
expose himself to her?  “What are you going to do?” I
asked.

“Ask them to go to the cave, of course, stupid,” she
retorted, and I guessed she had already got my name
wrong.  She refused to elaborate, so I approached her
parents with great trepidation.

But all was well.  “Mummy,” she said as soon as we
arrived, with myself trailing five metres behind her
and ready to depart in haste if things turned nasty. 
“May I go with Roy and meet his family, please?”

“Oh, you’ve found a friend already?  That’s nice,”
replied the lady in typical Mum-speak.  “Hello, Roy. 
Don’t look so shy.  Yes, Annette, I suppose so.  Where
is your family, Roy?”

“Over there by the rocks,” Annette answered for me,
pointing.

“Well . . .” began her mother dubiously.  Then she
said, “Well, all right, but don’t be long, dear.  You
have a watch, so let’s have you back here again in
twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, Mummy,” beamed Annette, turning away and
scampering off past me towards the rocks.  “Come on,
stupid,” she called back to me over her shoulder.

“My family aren’t there, they’re further back near the
wall,” I protested.

“I said that so we can go to the caves, stupid,” she
scolded me, hurrying on ahead with remarkable haste. 
“They won’t be able to see what we’re doing there with
so many people around.”

She was right.  I hadn’t much to say as I hurried
along behind her.  My head was spinning and my stomach
was churning.  I had volunteered my penis for her
interest and was quite happy to do so, but could I
possibly persuade her to show me her sprouts
voluntarily, paranoid though she seemed to be about
letting anybody else see them?

She was certainly in a hurry.  When we reached the end
of the beach by the sea, she stopped.  “Hurry up,” she
ordered.  “Show me where we go.  This place looks very
crowded.”

As usual, there were dozens of children clambering all
over the rocks, some fishing, some playing, some
climbing, some playing games and some just exploring. 
I led the way through the noisy throng with Annette
behind me.

We came to the far end of the inhabited area.  There
was a higher rocky wall, and some of the more daring
were climbing it, but it was too slimy and slippery
for them to reach the top.  I could smell the rotten
seaweed on the far side.  “Hold your nose as you go
past this,” I warned Annette.

“Yuch, this smells like poo,” she asserted graciously
as we clambered around the haphazard mound of seaweed,
a source of great interest to the fly population.  We
pressed on, across an unattractive stretch of slimy
rocks without pools.  No doubt others like myself who
had come this far had decided there was no point in
continuing.  The crowd behind us might never have
existed, and it was a strange feeling to be so
abruptly alone.

Annette was starting to get abusive again when we
arrived.  We rounded a large rock and there in front
of us was the peaceful little lagoon lapping at the
door of an open cave.  “Ooh!” she squealed in
surprise.  She stopped and stared with delight, her
hands clasped under her chin and a warm smile on her
face for the first time.

“Come inside,” I invited her.  We splashed through the
shallows and entered, padding up the rocky floor.  It
looked pitch dark inside, apart from the sunlight
streaming through the hole in the roof, looking just
like a spotlight in a darkened theatre.  Of course, it
made everything else inside look pitch black.

I went and stood in the spotlight, and struck a
theatrical pose.  When I did so, I could see only
Annette’s black shadow against the bright open
entrance of the cave.  I showed off, strutting back
and forth in this area only just over a metre wide,
trying to amuse her.

She was all for getting down to business immediately,
though.  “Now show me your wee,” she demanded.

My heart fluttered again.  I had already decided what
I would do.  I moved towards her out of the spotlight,
so as not to give her too clear a view to start with. 
Then I reached down and took hold of my tight swimming
costume, pulling it down jerk by jerk.  It was always
a slow job, and I never had to bother with the
drawstring.  I pulled it over my bottom, and then
pulled down the front so my penis popped out.

Annette gasped and stared at it, her mouth open.  She
leaned forward, but as she did so I pulled up the
waistline again and my penis disappeared from view.

“Hey, don’t do that, I hadn’t finished,” she
protested.

“Well, it’s your turn now, then,” I told her.  “I
didn’t see much of your sprouts, only for a very short
time, so I’ve given you as much time as I had.”

“Don’t talk about that,” she replied curtly.  “Come
on, show it again.”

“I’ve had my turn and now it’s yours,” I told her.

“I hardly saw it!” she burst out.  “That’s not fair! 
Give me a proper turn!”

I reminded her that I had only had a quick glimpse of
her sprouts, and that enraged her.  She tried to slap
me.  I jumped away, and then pulled up my costume at
the back, as my bottom was still sticking out.

We stood there shouting at each other, with Annette
getting more and more angry.  But I was feeling much
more confident now, as I felt I was the one more in
control.  She was the one wanting something from me,
and she would only get it on my terms.

But the immediate result was disappointing, although I
might have expected it.  She was just too paranoid
about exposing herself to accept, and after a couple
of minutes she stormed out of the cave, splashed her
way over to the rocks and disappeared round the
corner, back to her parents no doubt, to tell them how
horrible I was, but not why.

I waited a few minutes in the hope that she would
return, but she didn’t.  Impatient, not believing she
would really refuse my generous offer, I left the cave
and peeped quickly round the rocks just to see if she
was returning.

I saw her figure, in her one-piece red swimming
costume, about halfway across the rocks that led back
to the beach.  She was making very ungainly progress
away from me, her back to me, in a series of little
hops.  It seemed she had hurt herself somehow.  As I
watched, she kept hopping, and then with a wail I
could hear above the noise of the sea, she sank down
on a small rock.  Even now she almost slipped into the
sea on the slimy surface and had to grab hold of the
rock and readjust her position.

She put one leg up and examined it, her back heaving. 
I could make out a red streak on her shin.  Then she
put her head down and her back continued to heave.

Motivated by self-interest rather than concern for
her, I made my way carefully towards her across the
rocks.  I could see more clearly now that she had a
large red graze and nasty-looking bruise on the
outside of her right leg.  About ten metres away from
her, I could hear her crying above the noise of the
sea, loudly and strongly.  She put her head up and
howled like a five-year-old.  Then she saw me.

Once again she was embarrassed at my presence and once
again it came out in uncontrolled rage.  “Go away, I
hate you!” she screamed at me.  She grabbed a handful
of seaweed from the rock and flung it furiously at me,
with atrocious aim.

“Do you need help?” I offered, but I was met only with
more vitriol.  Sensing from the limited experience I
had then had with girls what was the best course to
follow, I just said, “All right, then, I don’t care,”
and moved past her without looking at her again.

My instincts proved correct.  Deliberately looking
ahead, I kept moving slowly back towards the beach,
knowing I was her only hope of help in that place. 
After I had gone ten metres, I heard her broken voice
calling desperately, “Roy!  Wait!”

I turned round, to see her leaning helplessly against
the rock, injured right leg in the air and tears
running down her cheeks.  Her fear of being left alone
when hurt seemed to have overcome her pride.  I hid my
chivalrous side and called back in a tone of
annoyance, “What is it now?”

“I can’t move,” she replied, with some exaggeration. 
“I slipped and hurt my leg and it may be broken. 
Please help me.”

Having seen somebody else break a leg, I was sure hers
could not be broken, otherwise she would have been
screaming aloud with the pain.  So I just called back,
“Why should I help you?  All you do is be rude to me.”

“I won’t any more,” she promised.  “Please help me
because I can’t go any more.”

Affecting ill grace, I clambered back towards her. 
“What do you want me to do?” I asked her.

“Carry me on your back,” came the unrealistic answer. 
“I can’t climb over these rocks with my leg maybe
broken.”

“I can’t carry you or I’ll fall,” I told her.  That
was true, as the rocks were slippery and the sea would
unbalance me.  “But if you hold on to me, I’ll help
you.”  I came close to her, a little warily just in
case she did anything violent again.

Rather reluctantly, but knowing she had no
alternative, she put an arm round my neck.  I in turn
reached an arm round her back to support her, and
slipped it under her shoulder.  Without intending to,
I found my hand against her breast.  It felt soft and
rubbery, with plenty of padding, and gave under the
pressure of my hand.

Annette squealed and pushed my hand away roughly. 
“Don’t touch my sprout!” she snapped at me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I assured her.  “But I need to
hold you so you don’t fall and I thought you’d be
safest if I held you under your arms.”

“Here,” she said firmly, grasping my hand tightly with
her own right hand, and pressing the back of her own
hand against her breast instead of mine.  Then she
slid off the rock, causing me to stagger as I took her
weight round my shoulders with her left arm.

It was not easy helping her back round and over the
rocks, and I think she was making more fuss than she
needed to, with whimpers and groans all the time.  We
seemed to make much better progress all of a sudden as
we passed the stinking seaweed, but I still think she
couldn’t have made it back by herself.  Naturally we
attracted quite a bit of attention and a few jeers
from other children when we reached the populated
section of the rocks.

We staggered back across the beach towards her
parents, with Annette’s left arm heavily around my
neck.  We were about ten metres away when they saw her
coming, and her mother sprang to her feet, exclaiming
with concern and arms open.  Annette burst into tears
again, abruptly let go of me, and with remarkable
agility in view of her broken leg threw herself into
her mother’s arms.

I stood there like a spare part as Annette buried her
face in her mother’s bosom, with her mother crooning
into her ear and stroking her hair at the back. 
Nobody seemed to be taking any notice of me, so I
quietly made myself scarce.

I had no idea what to expect from Annette after that,
but I fantasised about her undying gratitude and
willingness to display all her remarkable assets for
my pleasure.  I kept watch from a distance, but soon
afterwards her family packed up and left the beach,
Annette’s father carrying her on his shoulders.

Next morning I was back watching for her, but this
time I found a place under the steps that led down to
the beach.  My stomach had been churning all the time
and I was more concerned with being in the right place
when her family came to the beach than in spying on
others.  I had some regrets about telling Annette how
I had watched her from the wall, and knew I wouldn’t
be able to get away with it again.

Actually it turned out to be a very nice place.  I
started by digging in the sand, but was soon
distracted by the view overhead.  People coming down
the steps had their backs to me, and I was able to see
right up the skirt of any female who wore a short one.
 The lure of the forbidden in my mind makes it much
more exciting to see panties up a skirt than being
taken off in the act of changing, and I was soon lying
on my back, noticed by few, gazing dreamily into the
sky – or so I hope it appeared.

Finally my target arrived.  The first notification I
had was of her little sister Delia bouncing down the
steps, wearing her shorts again.  The rest of the
family followed, with Annette limping slightly and her
leg bandaged.  I saw with a thrill that she was also
wearing shorts.  So she could no longer change under
cover of her dress!  I could hardly believe it, after
I had told her how I managed to see her breasts the
previous day.  The problem was just how to repeat the
trick.

As the family moved away towards the spot they had
occupied the day before, my excitement overtook my
discretion.  I bolted up the steps and along the wall,
keeping far enough back not to be seen from below. 
Then, when I thought I had found a place near to where
they had made their base the previous day, I
cautiously peeped over the wall.

As ill luck would have it, I peeped at just the same
moment as Annette, preparing to settle down with her
family about five metres further on, was scouring the
top of the wall with her eyes, no doubt looking for
me.  She saw me before I could duck again, and I saw a
look of triumph come over her face.

I couldn’t understand the reason for that.  But I had
to watch her change somehow.  Still keeping well back,
I scooted about thirty metres further along the wall
before I dared peep over again.  There was a large
lamp post there and I used that to help obscure me.

This time she didn’t see me, although I could see her
looking up and scanning the top of the wall closer to
her.  With no effort to hide herself, she removed her
shirt – and her swimming costume was underneath.

So that was why she looked so triumphantly at me!  She
had already changed and was delighted at having
tricked me in that way.  I felt sickened at the
destruction of my immediate hopes.  Another look
showed her stepping out of her shorts, smiling broadly
as she kept looking up to try to locate me.  Then her
mother spoke to her and took her attention.

Frustrated, I wandered down to the beach.  I was so
infatuated with Annette I had no time or thought for
anything else I might see around me.  I thought the
best plan would be to go down to the place on the
beach by the sea where she had been twice before and
hope she would find me there.  Maybe she would be so
grateful she would give me another chance in that cave
. . .

Actually I arrived at my designated spot at about the
same time as she did.  I saw her walking down to the
sea through the crowd about twenty metres to my left,
limping slightly.  Then she looked around, saw me, hid
another smile and started limping much more obviously.

We gradually drew together.  “Hello,” I said shyly.

All she said was, “Come.  My mum wants to see you.”

I’m sure I went white immediately.  My guilty
conscience automatically assumed that Annette must
have told her parents about my educational session
with her in the cave.  I was in big trouble!  The
truth would condemn me in the eyes of many adults, but
a perverted version of it would be far worse.  I
stared at Annette but she had already started off back
towards them, remembering to limp more effectively
after she had gone five metres.

Accustomed to doing as I was told, I automatically
followed, terrified.  My mind was in a whirl.  I had
no idea what I would say.  Perhaps – there was a
glimmer of hope.  I caught up with Annette and asked
her, “What did – did you tell them?”

“I just said there was a big hole in the sand and I
slipped into it and there was a rock sticking out of
the side and I cut my foot on that,” she answered
casually.

“No, I mean – did you tell them about us – in the
cave?” I asked.

“Of course not, stupid,” she answered.  “That’s why I
said it was a hole in the sand, because if she’d found
out we had gone over the rocks to the cave we’d have
been in trouble.”

“No, I mean – did you tell them – about – about – I
mean, about what we did?” I asked her.

“I said you helped me back,” she answered unhelpfully.

“No, I mean – with my swimming costume,” I blurted out
with some embarrassment.

“You mean when you stuck your wee out?” she replied
with great satisfaction.

“Yes,” I admitted.  But at that moment little sister
Delia came running up to us, telling Annette an
excited story about how she had dug a tin can out of
the sand.

“Well, did you?” I hissed urgently as soon as I could
get in edgewise.

“Did I what?” Annette responded, just as we reached
her parents.

Terrified, I stared at Annette’s mother.  But she
looked from Annette to me and smiled.  “Hello, Roy,”
she greeted me.  “My, you are such a shy boy.”

That was the first time anybody had ever called me
shy, but infatuation and guilt had that effect on me. 
But at least it didn’t look like I was in trouble. 
Unless she planned to keep me there in a false sense
of security until the police arrived . . .

“Roy, we want to thank you so much for helping Annette
yesterday,” she smiled at me.  “I’m so sorry we didn’t
thank you when you brought her here, but when we
looked up you had gone.  I’m sure she wouldn’t have
been able to get back here without your help.  Please,
come and have some biscuits.”

Relief flooded over me.  I suddenly realized that I
was still clutching my penis through my swimming
costume, from fear I would wet myself.  But I finally
managed to smile and help myself to a biscuit, with
instructions to take two.

Annette’s father added his thanks, and then Annette
burst out, “Mummy, may I visit Roy’s family again?”

“Well, I suppose so,” she answered.  “But do be
careful with that hole this time.”  This time she
didn’t set a time limit.

“Thanks,” Annette answered gaily, grabbing at my arm
and then skipping off before suddenly remembering to
limp.

Composing myself, I remembered to smile and say
goodbye to her parents as confidently as I could
before following her, amazed and with my heart beating
hard from anticipation rather than fear now.  Were we
in for another exposure session?

“You want to go back to the cave?” I queried, and she
nodded, with a naughty smile.  I wasn’t sure I could
trust her, but I decided to give it a try.  “What are
we going to do?” I asked.

“Like yesterday,” she replied, with a self-satisfied
smirk.

Despite her exaggerated limp, Annette managed to climb
over and round all the rocks without too much trouble.
 My mind was still spinning when we finally rounded
the big rock and arrived at the entrance to the cave
again.

We went inside, and immediately Annette demanded, “Now
show me yours.”

“I went first last time, so it’s your turn now,” I
reminded her.

“No, you go,” she ordered.

“Then you won’t show me yours,” I argued.

“Yes, I will,” she insisted.  “But show me yours
first.”

I decided to compromise.  I pulled aside the leg of
the costume and pulled my penis out for about one
second, then slipped it back in again.

“Hey, not so quick,” Annette protested.  “I want to
see it properly.”  She was nothing if not honest about
it.

“You saw it and I did it first,” I told her.  “Now you
do it, and I’ll do it again.”

“No, I didn’t see it properly,” she replied, her voice
rising.  “Show me properly first.”

“It’s your turn, then I’ll do it again,” I argued,
determined not to budge.

Quite an argument ensued, and I was convinced that she
never intended to show me her hidden territory at all.
 “You’re a cheat!” I accused her angrily.

It was turning into a repeat of the previous day’s
fiasco.  We shouted at each other, and it ended with
Annette storming out of the cave, no doubt determined
to hurt her leg again.  She was so furious she forgot
to limp at all.  Resigned to the fact that she would
never let me see anything private, I followed her, but
not too closely.

She disappeared round the big rock, and I followed
more slowly.  Then I was surprised to find her
scrambling back quickly, bumping into me as she did
so.

“Quick!  Hide!” she said.  “Someone’s coming.”

(To be continued)



WHEN I WAS YOUNG – AT THE SEASIDE: PART 2


Annette and I scrambled back into the cave.  I had no
idea who was coming, but I thought it would be safest
to hide along with her.

Along the left-hand side of the cave as we went in was
a jumble of rocks between one and two metres high.  It
was very dark in that area, seemingly darker because
of the brightness of the sun’s rays shining through
the skylight.  Annette looked around, and then darted
behind these rocks.  I followed her.

There were several holes between these rocks, so we
could see out clearly without anybody being able to
see us in the deep darkness.  I found quite a big hole
near to the ground through which I could see almost
everywhere, and looked through.

Still nobody had appeared at the entrance to the cave.
 “Who’s coming?” I hissed to Annette.

“A big boy – and I think there’s a girl with him,” she
whispered back.  “I’m sure they’re coming this way.”

I looked again, and could just hear above the gentle
murmur of the sea a rather deep adolescent voice
calling out in the local language, “There’s a cave
round here, Virginie.”

A female voice replied from further back, but I
couldn’t hear the words.  Both Annette and myself,
living in the country, understood the local language
well.

“I’m just going in for a minute,” called out the male
voice, and through the hole in the rocks I could see a
rather large boy with a big chest, developing a good
coating of black hair, appear in the doorway with a
hand on his multi-coloured swimming costume.  It was
rather like a pair of Bermuda shorts, with much more
material in it than in the average girl’s bikini.

It was soon evident why he had entered the cave.  He
had a quick look back to check that the girl had not
appeared yet, and then pulled at the elastic waistline
of his costume.  Down it came, and a long solid penis
came into view.  It was the perfect silhouette, backed
against the blue sky we could see outside.  He pointed
it at a rock and liquid spurted out with a distinct
splashing sound.

I shot a glance at Annette.  She was able to see
equally clearly through her hole, higher than mine and
to the right.  She was staring in delight and
fascination, eyebrows high, eyes bulging, body shaking
and fingers stuffed tightly in her mouth to stifle any
laughter.

“Marco?” came the girl’s voice from outside, and the
boy quickly shook his solid penis, sending a couple of
stray droplets flying through the air, and pulled up
his swimming costume again.  He was just adjusting the
position of his penis inside it for comfort when the
girl, Virginie, appeared outside.

Virginie, another local girl, was actually quite
pretty.  She had long dark hair almost down to her
waist and a clear smooth skin, with the bluish-grey
eyes that some Mediterranean girls have.  She was
wearing a red and yellow bikini.  She looked only
about thirteen or fourteen, a few years younger than
Marco.

She gave a giggle, hand to her mouth.  “Have I caught
you in the act?” she asked him, using the local
expression for that.  All their conversation, of
course, was in Loco, as the English community
sometimes called the local language in a derogatory
way.

“Ah, just needed a quick piss,” he explained it away. 
“But this is a good cave.  Come and see.”

Marco now came inside the cave properly, heading for
the skylight, about five metres away from us. 
Virginie followed.  “I can see your puddle,” she
giggled, pointing to the area of rock that Marco had
just lubricated.

“Shall I show you my cock as well?” he teased her,
walking into the big beam of sunshine and suddenly
lighting up brilliantly.  He struck a pose in the
spotlight and began to sing, in a deep, affected
voice.  As he did so, he thrust his hips forward,
hands on the top of his costume.

“You look like Elvis,” giggled Virginie, in her light
soft voice.  Even the natives of our country had heard
of Elvis Presley.

Marco continued to sing and act, thumbs inside his
costume and pulling it down until we could see the
beginnings of his black pubic hair.  “Oh, Marco,
don’t!” protested Virginie.

Marco laughed and stopped.  “Now it’s your turn,” he
told her, pushing her into the spotlight.  “Give us an
act.”

“Oh, I can’t,” she laughed, dodging away.  Laughing,
Marco chased her and pushed her into the spotlight,
squealing, but she wouldn’t perform.

They clowned around for a minute or two before
standing still to catch their breath.  Then Virginie
said, “This is such a nice cave.  Who would have
thought there was one in this place?  Let’s sit down
and really talk for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” agreed Marco, slumping to the
ground next to the spotlight and pulling Virginie’s
arm until she collapsed beside him.  He lay down on
his back and dragged Virginie down on top of him.  We
had a feet-first view of them right across from us.

There was a lot of squealing and protesting, and
Annette was bold enough to hiss into my ear, with
great triumph, “I saw Marco’s wee when he had a piss. 
It’s so big and hairy!”  I nodded.  She pointed, and
whispered in my ear, “You can see his costume sticking
out.  Just like yours but his is *much* bigger.”

Virginie finally settled down next to Marco, after
they had used their hands to brush in some more sand
to make their bed more comfortable.  We could see them
both lying on their backs, still with their feet
towards us.  Virginie’s bikini at the crotch was
smooth and tight, while Marco’s bulged.

They lay there and talked quietly for quite a while. 
We grew bored with having to wait, but dared not come
out.  I felt worried, wondering how long they would
stay, and afraid they might even decide to spend the
night there in my ten-year-old imagination.

Then, after what seemed an age but was probably about
twenty minutes, Marco began to get restive.  During
their conversation he had gradually managed to put his
arm round Virginie’s shoulders and drawn her closer
until her head rested on his shoulder.  Now he began
to kiss her forehead and fondle her body, rubbing his
hands round her stomach, massaging her navel and, as
she wriggled a bit, her bikini just above the crotch.

Then he moved his hand northwards.  Virginie gave a
little squeal and moved his hand away gently.  “No,
not there, Marco,” she reproved him.

“Aw, come on, no harm done,” he protested, rubbing the
side of her bikini and causing the bikini top to
wobble about.

“You do that and I’ll touch you where you won’t like
it,” she warned him, making it sound like a joke.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he laughed, slipping his fingers
just slightly under her bikini top.  She gave a muted
squeal and gave him a daring little pat next to his
penis.

Marco just laughed.  “Come on, Virginie,” he urged. 
“Let’s have a bit of fun.  We’re in private at last,
so let’s enjoy it.”

Virginie hesitated.  “What do you want?” she asked.

“Just let me feel a bit,” he told her lovingly.  “You
have such a beautiful body – so soft and warm.  I just
want to feel you a bit.  You can do that to me.”

She didn’t answer, so he took that for consent and
started moving his fingers a little further under
cover.  She wriggled and murmured something I couldn’t
hear.

Marco responded with a roar of laughter and rolled
over on top of her.  For a few seconds they rolled and
wrestled on the floor, with animal roars from Marco
and tinkling laughter from Virginie, whom I was
beginning to like.  Then they sat up facing each
other, laughing with pleasure.

But Virginie’s bikini top had not survived the romp
unscathed.  As she brushed some sand off her tummy,
the top began to fall, strings loose.  I caught sight
of two cute little rounded breasts with pink nipples
before she gave a squeal and tried to hide them and
grab her material at the same time.

Trying to do two things at once proved her undoing. 
With a laugh, Marco seized the bikini top and held it
aloft.  “Look what I’ve got!” he sang out, jumping to
his feet and dancing around with it in the spotlight.

“Ah, no, come on, Marco,” Virginie pleaded, covering
those beautifully formed cups with one hand and
holding out the other.  “Give it back - somebody might
come in.”

“Nobody’s coming in here,” he gloated.  “Come and get
it.”  She made a snatch for it, but he pulled it away
again, forcing her to rise to her feet and come after
him.  He danced around the cave, waving it around and
teasing her, while she hustled after him, handicapped
by having to keep one hand over her breasts all the
time.

Then, as she made a grab for it, she suddenly gave a
squeal of pain and sank to the ground.  “My toe!” she
exclaimed.  She had evidently caught it on a sharp
stone.  “Oh, oh, oh!” she groaned, examining it and
forgetting to cover her breasts for a moment.

Marco tossed the bikini top to one side and knelt next
to her, ostensibly to examine her toe, but no doubt
with another area of her anatomy in view, although I
could not tell for sure as his back was to us.

Suddenly Virginie remembered to cover herself again,
and one hand moved up sharply.  Marco gave a chuckle,
and said, “Hey, that’s beautiful.  You gorgeous
creature, what makes you want to hide such beauty?”

Virginie did look slightly flattered as she sat there
on the ground, but I saw a tear on her cheek from the
pain.  She only looked a little older than myself. 
But she forced herself to smile and asked, “Why should
I let you see my boobs?”

“Because you’re my wife!” laughed Marco.  He pinned
her down with his body as he crouched on top of her
and bent low over her.  I couldn’t see exactly what he
was doing because his back was to us, but it seemed as
if he was kissing her face and fondling her breasts. 
I stole a look at Annette, who was staring with
wide-open eyes, totally fascinated and unaware that I
was watching her.

“Don’t touch me there, it’s private!” I heard Virginie
exclaim, as she pushed his hands away.

“We don’t have anything private between us, do we?”
asked Marco, but he took his hands away.  They talked
for a minute or two, and then he began stroking her
again, working downwards from her neck and murmuring
into her ear.

Virginie seemed to have given up her protests as I
could see her hands, one round Marco’s neck and the
other stroking his back.  There were pants and gasps
and murmurings from them both.  I could see his hairy
legs on top, knees bent and bottom slightly raised,
with Virginie’s slim smooth legs beneath and quite a
bit of kicking going on from them both.

I wriggled uncomfortably and tugged at my swimming
costume to accommodate an unruly penis.  Annette was
so entranced, leaning forward with her face right up
to the hole between the rocks, that she never noticed.
 Excitedly I wondered how far the two of them would
go.

They made progress, but all too slowly for my
impatient lust.  It seemed an age before I saw Marco
reach a hand down and tug at Virginie’s bikini bottom.
 She wriggled and gave a squeal.  “No, Marco, don’t!”
she protested.

“Ah, come on, we know each other well enough,” I heard
his voice, wheedling.  “Even if we don’t actually do
it, let’s just pretend, hey?  You do love me, don’t
you?”

Virginie murmured a positive answer, but added, “I
don’t feel good – you do it first.”

“Okay,” assented Marco, rolling off her for a moment. 
Lying on his back, he raised his legs and ripped off
his swimming costume.  Again I could see his thick,
strong penis, with a big black area of pubic hair on
top.  It was not yet fully energized, but was on its
way, strong and solid, about halfway up the flagpole. 
I heard a squeal from next to me, and there was
Annette, eyes wider than ever, fingers of her right
hand pushed halfway down her throat it seemed, her
left arm pressed tightly against her chest.

My glance shifted to Virginie.  I feasted my eyes on
those soft little rounded breasts, not really much
different from those I often saw at our naturist club,
but so much more exciting in that these ones would
normally be forbidden to my eyes.  I could make out
the pink nipples in the middle as she leaned up on her
elbows, looking apprehensively as her boyfriend’s
manhood came into view, evidently for the first time.

“There you are!” boasted Marco triumphantly,
straddling Virginie again and seizing her bikini
bottom by the waist.  “Now it’s your turn.”  I found
myself looking up his backside as he bent over, his
genitals dangling down between his legs.  His scrotum
looked enormous, hanging down like two massive
inverted hot-air balloons, and when he leaned forward
his hardening penis could be seen thrust forward.

Annette next to me gave a loud gasp and had a hand
firmly inside her mouth.  Her eyes were bulging, but
she couldn’t take them off the sight in front of her.

Virginie wriggled in mild protest, but her resistance
was clearly half-hearted.  I saw the crack between her
legs first as Marco dragged her bikini bottom down to
her knees.  Suddenly she gave a scream and jerked
herself away, dragging it up again to cover herself
before I could see anything.  “Don’t – don’t!” she
burst out.

Marco shrugged and fetched his own swimming costume. 
He sat down next to her again and pulled it on,
sitting there in silence.  Virginie put her bikini top
back on and they both sat there without a word.  Marco
was staring sullenly out of the cave, at the sea
beyond, while Virginie kept glancing at him uneasily. 
I thought he was really angry, but I now realise that
he was probably just pretending for his own ends.

“Marco, I – didn’t mean to get you cross,” Virginie
stammered after a while, putting a tentative hand on
his shoulder.  He took no notice, but kept staring
outside.

“Marco, are you – still cross?” she asked nervously
after another long pause.

“You certainly know how to get a guy stewed up,” he
snapped, still without looking at her.  “You never
give me any relief.”

Virginie looked quite disturbed and bewildered.  “I –
what – what do you mean?” she stammered, very
hesitantly.

He now turned and took her hand.  “Feel this,” he
ordered, placing it on the tight front of his swimming
costume.

Virginie tried weakly to pull her hand away, and then
gave a squeal as she felt what was underneath.  “Oh,
no, Marco!” she exclaimed as he pressed her hand
against it.  Even in the poor light I could see her
blushing furiously.

“That’s what you’re doing to me,” he told her, letting
go of her hand.  He turned away and faced the entrance
again.

Virginie sat there in an uncomfortable silence, while
Marco again ignored her.  Then she said, “ I didn’t –
mean to.”

“It’s not your fault,” he snapped roughly.  “You’re
just too young.  You don’t know what it is to be a
woman – and you won’t let me show you.”

There was another tense silence.  Then Virginie said,
“If you really want, I – I’ll try.”

He turned to her.  “Okay, we’ll play it slowly,” he
said.  “If you really mean it.”  He lay back, with his
swollen swimming costume in front of them both.  “Put
your hand on it, then.”  When she hesitated, he said,
“All right, slowly if you want, but put your hand
there.”

Very nervously, Virginie put out a hand and touched
the bulge gently.  She quickly withdrew her hand. 
“No, just keep it there,” he told her.  Reluctantly
she obeyed.

“Now you just stroke it, like,” he told her.  Again
she hesitated, so he took her hand and moved it up and
down over the bulge.  “Ooh, that feels good,” he
sighed with pleasure.  His body gave an involuntary
shudder.  “Keep doing it.”

As Virginie nervously stroked, I could almost see the
bulge expand.  Suddenly Marco sat bolt upright,
causing Virginie to remove her hand with a gasp.  He
lifted his bottom and pulled his costume down hard,
revealing a huge bloated penis, stiff as a pole.  As I
watched, amazed, it jerked.  Something seemed to spurt
out of the end of it and landed on Marco’s chest.  His
penis jerked several times, and each time it spurted. 
Then he relaxed a bit, gave a loud gasp of relief, and
it became still and started to shrink again.

Annette next to me gave a squeal so loud I was sure
they would hear her.  Anxiously I signalled to her to
be quiet, but I don’t think she saw me.  Her eyes were
fixed on the scene in front of us.

Virginie had moved right away and was staring at the
hideous object with horror.  Marco looked at her and
smiled, giving a deep sigh of satisfaction.  “Ah, that
felt so good,” he told her.  “Now you’re really
behaving like a woman, giving satisfaction to a man.”

He slipped his costume right off and lay back again,
his penis pointing almost vertically towards the
ceiling.  “Do it again,” he told her.

Virginie still looked uncomfortable about it, but she
obediently reached out her hand.  “Come on, hold it
like this,” Marco told her, making her wrap her
fingers around it.  “Now, up and down, like this.”

Virginie unwillingly did so, and we watched as his
penis again stiffened, and more stuff came spurting
out.  Again, as it happened she drew back her hand and
moved away in alarm.

“Don’t make such a fuss, it’s natural,” he told her. 
“I can make you feel good like that, you know.  Come
on, let me do it.”

Fearfully Virginie shook her head.  “All right, do it
to me again, then,” Marco commanded.

Virginie had a dilemma.  “How – how do you do it – to
me?” she asked eventually, probably to gain time.

“Let me show you,” offered Marco, putting a hand on
her bikini bottom.  She flinched and shook her head. 
Marco gave a snort of disgust and turned away from her
again.

Virginie couldn’t handle his anger – or simulated
anger, it seemed.  She sat there dismally, and then
whispered, “Marco.”  He didn’t answer.  “Marco, you
can – do it with me.  But don’t hurt me.”

“No, I won’t hurt you,” he grinned.  He put a hand on
her bikini bottom again.  “But this gets in the way,
so you must let me take it off.  And the top.”  He
reached a hand up towards her breasts.

“No, I’ll do that,” she answered, her voice shaking. 
I could see her hands trembling too, as she put her
hands up and removed her bikini top, revealing again
her delicate rounded breasts.

“That’s it, that’s good,” he encouraged her with real
warmth.  Then he put his hands on her bikini bottom,
and she didn’t protest.  Firmly he slipped it down,
but I couldn’t see immediately as his body was in the
way.  I saw him drag it off over her feet and she
opened her legs to help kick it off.  I had seen it
all before, of course, at the club, but only with the
knowledge and consent of the owners.

The broad pink patch of loose skin between the legs,
the long rounded slit down the middle, the thin
patchwork of brown hairs across the area but failing
to hide the bottom part of the vagina – I spurted some
urine into my swimming costume before I could stop
myself.  And up above the hair became thicker but was
still not fully grown, and a fuzzy dark line through
the middle indicated the spot that Marco was looking
for.

“My wife!” exclaimed Marco with a beaming smile,
spreading Virginie’s legs apart and lowering his body
over hers.  For a moment I saw those vast globes and a
thick penis, black in the shadows, poised above the
soft rounded vagina lips speckled with light hair.

“Wait, wait!” I heard Virginie cry urgently.  “Wait a
minute!”

“What’s the problem, my wife?” Marco asked,
restraining himself for a moment.

Virginie pushed herself up on her elbows.  I could see
all down her body now, with those little cupped
breasts in the middle and the long line of her slim
body that turned into light hair and the dark line
down the middle.  She was a sight of beauty.  “Marco –
I don’t like being near the spotlight,” she blurted
out, and put her hand down shyly to cover her pubic
area.  “Let’s move somewhere darker.”

“Oh, you women are so fussy,” grumbled Marco, but he
rose to a crouch as Virginie looked around.  The
darkest corner of the cave was – right in the corner
where we were.  She scrambled over towards us, her
legs working on either side of her crotch, which fell
into shadow on this side of the spotlight.

Instinctively I drew back as she crouched down
immediately in front of us, just on the other side of
our holes.  I was terrified we would be found.  But
she just started scrabbling together sand to make a
softer bed for the two of them.

“Hurry up!” Marco burst out urgently.  His penis was
pointing towards the roof now and he was bent low over
it.  To him, haste was urgent.

To my frustration, I could only see the middle parts
of their bodies now, as they lay down right up close
to my hole.  Annette, I guessed, would be able to see
the tops of their heads.  It was difficult to see much
more than their silhouettes, also, with the streaming
sunlight coming through the roof behind them reducing
them almost to shadows.  They were now side on to us,
and I watched breathlessly as Virginie lay back and
held up her arms to Marco.  “Love me, Marco,” she
begged him.

Marco was in a bit too much haste to bother with
trivialities, though.  I could see little more than
the outline of his torso as he lowered himself over
her body with a grunt and a groan.  “Marco – careful!”
I heard Virginie warn him.

The next few minutes were frustratingly impossible to
follow visually.  I was so excited about the prospect
of watching a couple have sex for the first time that
my tight swimming costume was desperately
uncomfortable, but at the same time I had to hold my
breath and keep absolutely still with the terror of
being caught.  I dared not think what Marco might do
to us if he suddenly heard something, stood up and
looked over the rocks, as he could so easily do.

I could see Marco, resting on his elbows, his face
level with the top of her head, almost lying on top of
her.  I glanced at Annette, who still had her face
pressed against the hole between the rocks, eyes still
bulging, fingers still stuffed into her mouth, but now
her other hand was pressed tightly between her legs.

Then Virginie gave a scream and her body jerked
convulsively.  “No, Marco, no – not that!” she
shouted, wriggling and struggling.  “Please – not
that!”

“Come on, be a woman!” snorted Marco, trying to hold
down the top part of her body, but she wriggled out of
his grip, although still trapped from the waist down.

“No, no, Marco, please – I can’t – I don’t want to!”
she wailed, crying loudly with fear.  “Please, please
stop.”

Marco gave a snort of frustration and rolled over on
his side, his penis still sticking out strongly.  “I
knew you were too young for this,” he snorted with
contempt.

“Marco, I want you to hold me,” wailed Virginie.  “But
not – this.  Just hold me, make me feel good.”

“I wanted to make you feel good, and you wouldn’t let
me,” snapped Marco.  “You really know how to let a guy
down, don’t you?”

He stood up and found his swimming costume.  He was
standing beside the skylight and facing us as he put
it on, so we watched that great member, still slightly
swollen, half-disappear inside.  For a moment the top
half poked vertically upwards, trapped between the
waistline and his loins, and Annette gave a stifled
giggle.  Then it vanished under cover as he completed
the job.  Only the misshapen bulge remained to show
the monstrosity that lay underneath.  He turned his
back on her and walked over to the entrance.

“Marco, please – don’t be cross,” begged Virginie. 
“Please – don’t leave me.  I want you to – to hold me,
but I don’t want to go all the way.  Not yet. 
Please!”  I could now see her white, delightfully
rounded little bottom opposite my peephole.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” retorted Marco
ungraciously.

A brief argument followed, as Virginie pleaded and
Marco called on her to get moving, with increasing
impatience.  It finished with Virginie sobbing and
Marco calling out that he would meet her at their
‘usual place’ when she had pulled herself together. 
We watched him disappear out of the entrance.

Virginie bowed her head and cried quietly.  “Marco, I
– I need you!” she called after him a few seconds
later, but he was long gone.  She turned over, buried
her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly.  I felt so
sorry for her.  I felt I could almost reach out over
the rock and touch her, put my arms round her, but I
could never do that.  Annette was still watching
through her hole, but her face was distracted, as if
she were thinking hard.

After a few minutes Virginie pushed herself to her
feet, wiping her eyes.  She took a few steps towards
the entrance to the cave and stared out of it.  Then
she scuttled back to where they had been lying, just
in front of us, and crouched down right in front of my
hole.

My eyes had become accustomed to the dark, and I could
see her slim legs as she crouched, with her belly
button at the top.  There was a thin line of downy
hair down from her midriff, broadening into a
patchwork of brown hairs.  Below it was a deep black
slit, with rounded sides, in a bulging area of loose
pink skin that curved round at the bottom.  For a
moment the vagina seemed to spread as she crouched
with legs apart, and I could see what looked like more
folds of skin inside, glistening with moisture of some
sort.

Then suddenly a thick, uneven stream of urine spurted
out of the middle of it all, splashing into the sand
right in front of my hole.  I heard Virginie give a
tight sigh of relief.  I grabbed hold of my penis.  It
wasn’t really hard, but if I hadn’t grasped it tightly
there would have been a nasty accident.  I felt as if
my loins were on fire.

Then the liquid stream stopped, a few drips fell, and
then Virginie reached down a hand, wiped her vagina
with the side of it, and stood up.  I had a final
glimpse of that delightful slit, partly covered with
those long wispy hairs at the bottom, and then she
turned round and reached for her bikini.  She had her
back to us as she stepped into the bottom part, put on
the top part, and headed for the door, still tying it
behind her back.  Before I realised it, she had gone.

We were alone.  We both stared after her and gave
long, long sighs.  I was still clutching my penis, and
only let go when I was sure it wouldn’t burst any
longer.  Then we looked at each other with eyes wide
open.  It had literally been an eye-opening
experience.

Annette’s face was a puzzle.  I couldn’t be sure
whether she was filled with excitement, shock or
horror.  Probably my face was the same, although I
didn’t feel the same horror.  Perhaps as a girl
Annette was identifying more closely with the
unfortunate Virginie, whose name only just fitted her
still.

“Did you see them – when they nearly poked?” breathed
Annette, staring at me with incredulous round eyes.  I
nodded.  I got the impression that she couldn’t make
up her mind whether she wanted to have seen the whole
show or not.

“That was horrible,” she whispered to me after a
pause, but at the same time a look of great delight
spread over her face.  “Poor Virginie.  He nearly
poked her and then he never loved her when she needed
it.”

“He doesn’t know how to do it at all,” I boasted with
contempt.  “If he’d done it the right way, she’d have
really loved it.”

“How do *you* know?” Annette demanded, not expecting
me to.

“I did it with my girlfriend Saskia last year,” I
explained.  “And with her big sister, who’s sixteen. 
Even though she’s ugly, but she taught me all about
how to do it.”

We were still whispering, but now we stood up and
stretched our cramped limbs.  “You’re a liar,” she
told me.

“No,” I replied, and launched into a detailed
description of my encounter with Saskia’s sister
Katarina, about which I wrote in my earlier story,
“The Temptress.”  She gave me rapt attention, and I
sensed she believed me.

We moved out very cautiously into the main part of the
cave again, but Annette gave an uncomfortable wriggle
with her legs and broke me off in the middle to say,
“Wait there – I’ll come back in a minute.  You can
carry on.”

She nipped back behind the rocks and disappeared from
view.  “What are you doing?” I asked, although I could
guess.

“I – think I dropped something,” came her voice.  “Go
on, what happened next?”

I continued, with a little bit of exaggeration,
emphasising how much the girls enjoyed it because I
did it in the right way, unlike the insensitive Marco.
 I stared towards Annette’s hiding place, thinking I
knew what she was doing.

Annette had obviously been keeping an eye on me
through the holes between the rocks, as she cried out
angrily, “Stop looking at me!  I’m – just looking for
something and I’ll be back in a minute.”  That seemed
to confirm my real suspicions as to what she was
really doing.

“I’m not looking – I don’t watch people doing a wee,”
I told her, unable to resist it, and then carried on
with my story about Katarina, ignoring her embarrassed
denial.

A few seconds later she emerged from behind the rocks
again, and I noticed a large wet patch on the crotch
of her swimming costume, about which she was
apparently unaware.  I stole a glance down at mine –
well, at least my patch was smaller.

“So, you see, it just depends how you do it,” I
finished up.  “They loved it, and I’ve done it some
more to them sometimes.”  This last part was a lie.

My descriptive powers seemed to have convinced Annette
that I was a man of experience at ten.  “Have you –
done it to any other girls?” she asked, with more
respect than I had noticed before.

“Only a few,” I lied.  “They have to be really
beautiful and – and very nice people.”

Annette stood for a moment in contemplation.  Then she
bent down to rub her foot and asked, “Do you want to
do it to me?”

I thought quickly.  What was the best way to tackle
this?  “Well, I’d like to,” I said.  “Because you’re
beautiful.  But it wouldn’t be any good.”

“Why not?” she wanted to know, with a touch of
indignation.

“Well, I just know you’re too scared of me to do it,”
I replied.  “You’re too scared even to show me your
sprouts, so we could never do it together.  You’d let
me down.”

“I’m not scared of you!” she spat out.  “I just don’t
want you saying things about my sprouts.”

“I’d never say anything, except they’re beautiful,” I
assured her.  “They’re the most beautiful I’ve ever
seen.”

“More beautiful than Saskia’s?” she wanted to know.  I
assured her they were.  “More beautiful than
Katarina’s?”  “Of course.”

She paused.  “Have you seen many girls’ sprouts?” she
asked.  I nodded emphatically.  “When?”

I told her about the naturist club.  She seemed
fascinated.  We sat opposite each other near the
entrance to the cave, knees up and apart.

Then she suddenly gave a squeal of glee and pointed
between my legs.  “You’ve done a wee in your panties!”
she exclaimed gleefully.

I had forgotten about that.  “I didn’t say anything
rude about yours, did I?” I replied.

“Well, I didn’t . . .” she began, then broke off in
horror to see a larger patch on the crotch of her
costume.  Bright red in the face, she quickly crossed
her legs over it and went dumb.

“It doesn’t matter,” I told her.  “You see, I don’t
ever say rude things to people, about their sprouts or
their wees or anything.  It doesn’t matter.”

Annette was at a loss for words, clearly greatly
embarrassed.  So I told her a bit more about the
naturist club, passing off the incident as if it were
completely unimportant.  Would she trust me enough?

Soon we were sitting there in silence.  I could tell
she was thinking hard, trying to pluck up enough
courage to ask me something.  I gazed casually out to
sea, waiting for her.

Then she said, “Maybe we could play – a bit.  If you
show me your wee again, I – I’ll show you my sprouts. 
Okay?”

“No, you never do it, so it won’t work,” I replied,
feeling in command of the situation.

“Oh, but I will, I promise,” she assured me.  “Then
you can – you can – show me the other.  We can try.”

“You do it first, then – it’s your turn,” I told her.

She tried to persuade me to go first, but I just told
her we had tried that twice already and it didn’t
work, so I wasn’t going to do it again.  I could sense
I had the upper hand.

“Look,” she said in the end.  “Let’s do it together. 
When I say go, you show me your wee and I’ll show you
my sprouts.  Both at the same time.  Okay?”

I pretended to think about it.  Then I said, “Well, we
can try.  But if you break your promise this time,
I’ll never show you the proper way to – to love.  And
I’ll put my costume back on again straight away. 
Okay?”

She looked reluctant, but she agreed.  “Come, let’s go
further inside – people may see us,” she said, leading
me in.  How anybody would have been able to see us, I
did not know.

We stood facing each other near the spotlight. 
Annette looked rather strained as she pulled down her
shoulder straps.  “Now get your costume ready,” she
told me.  “So you can pull it down when I say go.”

Doing my bit, I pulled my swimming costume down at the
back, uncovering my bottom, and down at the front
until it reached the very root of my penis, keeping
her interested.  I looked up to see her big eyes
staring at my exposed loins, still hairless.

She gave a nervous giggle and said breathlessly,
“Ready?”  I have never known a girl of that age so
paranoid about showing her breasts, but then I don’t
remember a girl of that age so well developed.

“Go!” she blurted out.  I duly pulled the front of my
costume down so that my penis popped out, but was
ready to pop it back straight away if she did not
respond.  She did wait for a moment just to make sure
I did it, but then she finally pulled down the front
of her costume.

I was able to enjoy a full view of her ‘sprouts’ at
last now, as her eyes were fixed on my penis.  They
were broad and just gently rounded, but very white
from never having seen the light of day.  The areolas
were large but fairly flat, while the nipples stuck
out like little buttons.  My penis seemed to be
responding slightly, but I was more afraid of
dribbling urine before her eyes – I had no other
liquid to offer at that stage of my development.

Her eyes were big as she stared at my penis.  Then she
reached out her hand and tried to touch it.  I moved
back out of her reach, with my costume still around my
thighs.  “No touching, “ I told her.

“Ah, come on, Roy, just let me feel what it’s like,”
she begged me.  “I won’t pull it.”

A deal came immediately to mind.  “Only if you pull
your costume right down,” I told her.  “And take it
off.”

She stopped.  Then she jerked her costume up over her
breasts, more by instinct than anything else, I think.
 I immediately pulled up mine again.  A brief argument
followed, after which we both pulled down again, but
she still wanted to touch it.

“You’re making it bigger!” she suddenly exclaimed. 
“How do you do that?”  I was a bit embarrassed to see
that the very thought of seeing her forbidden vagina
was making my penis respond.

“That’s – er - what happens when we – when I’m getting
ready for love,” I told her.  “Like Marco.  But it
won’t last long, so we must be quick.”

I could see her dithering.  “Oh – all right,” she said
in the end.  Then, as if afraid she would change her
mind, she pulled hard at her costume and it came right
down to her loins, revealing a flat, white tummy.  She
reached for my penis again, but I backed away.

Finally she bit the bullet.  Down came the costume and
all was revealed.  Despite the progress made upstairs,
renovations had not yet begun on the downstairs
portion.  Her vagina was large and wide, with her
clitoris clearly in view at the top, tapering down to
make a V shape.  There was no hair visible, which was
a slight relief, because I would have felt
disadvantaged had she been sporting a full beard while
I was still bald.

I had barely taken this in when I felt her hand
strongly on my penis.  It responded by getting a bit
stiffer, which made her giggle.  She felt it carefully
and it immediately lost the remnants of its flabbiness
and became quite hard and upright.  She gave a little
squeal.  Then she moved her hands down to my testicles
and felt around there.  I was desperately afraid my
bladder would let me down.

Fortunately she then asked, “Can you wee when it’s
hard?”

“Yes, let me show you,” I replied, only too relieved
and grateful that she should think of solving the
problem.  I turned round and, with my penis pointing
above the horizontal, I released the pressure.  A
little stream described a small arc before falling to
the sand.

Annette gave a squeal and a giggle.  I now felt I had
to show off.  With my costume tight around my knees, I
began scuttling around the cave, unable of course to
move my legs above my knees.  Annette screamed with
laughter to see my scuttling calves and my bare
bottom.  I scurried over to the spotlight, where I
thrust forward my hips just like Marco had done,
waggled my hips that had my shrinking penis wobbling
about all over the place, and pretended to sing as
Marco had done.

Annette, now seemingly unconcerned about her
nakedness, laughed hard and clapped her hands with
delight.  “Me now!” she cried out, and she too
scuttled around with her costume round her knees.  I
couldn’t help laughing aloud, and she gleefully joined
me in the spotlight.  Her little breasts and nipples
cast rounded shadows on her stomach, and the smooth
rounded skin of her still baby-soft vagina glowed in
the sunlight.  Had they ever seen sunshine before?

She looked at my penis in dismay.  “It’s gone down!”
she exclaimed.  “Does this mean we can’t – do it?”

“No, but we need to start now, and if we do it right
it’ll happen again,” I told her.  “We need to lie down
like Marco and Virginie did.”

In my naivety at that age, I was much more inclined to
rush into this than I would be today – in fact, today
I certainly wouldn’t do it at all with a child.  I lay
down with my head in the darkness of the cave and my
body from chest downward in the sunlight.  Annette lay
down next to me.  Then she looked at me with big eyes
and said, “Roy, I – I’m afraid.”

“It’s easy to start with and I’ll look after you,” I
told her.  “If I hurt you by accident, tell me and
I’ll stop straight away.”

She nodded.  “It’s just hugging and kissing at first,”
I told her.  “And we go on till you feel ready. 
Okay?”

She nodded again, biting her lip.  “I’ve never kissed
a boy before,” she whispered.

“I’ll show you,” I told her, putting my arms
hesitantly round her back.  “Now you do that to me.”

She responded, and then I put my head down and gave
her a gentle kiss on her cheek.  It felt hot, and she
jerked convulsively.

“We start with little ones,” I told her.  “Just like
this.”  Gently I began kissing her very lightly on her
cheeks and on the soft nape of her neck, under the
hairline.  She did nothing for a while, and then gave
me one just under my eye.  “That’s the right way,” I
encouraged her, and carried on, with more help from
her now.

As we did so, I did some thinking.  Was I really going
to have sex with her?  I hadn’t really had it properly
with Saskia or Katarina, despite what I had told
Annette.  I did think I knew how to do it, but should
I?  Could I get my penis stiff again, anyway?  I
really felt a bit too scared.

Annette began to gain confidence, and soon she was
beaming with smiles and kissing me on my mouth.  Mouth
kissing, with the wetness involved, is not enjoyable
for prepubescent boys, so I asked, “Are you ready for
the next part?”  She thought for a moment and nodded
her head, with a questioning look on her face.

My hands moved down her body.  I felt the little
broadly rounded breasts, both firm and yet spongy, and
the little nipples on top.  But then she burst out,
“No – not there.  Don’t!”

“But you touched my wee,” I reminded her.  “This is
the next part.”

“No, I can’t do that,” she protested.  “Don’t touch me
there.  Do the next part.”

I wasn’t ready for the next part myself.  My mind
flashed back to my penis, which had now turned totally
wimp.  How was I to get it loaded again?  I thought I
knew.  “Sit up and face me,” I told her.

She did so.  The next step was to spread our legs
wide.  I told her to copy me, glancing down at my
little penis sitting atop a small bag of testicles,
and she did so.

That did the trick.  Her vagina spread wide.  Her
clitoris hung down from the top almost like a tiny
penis itself.  And there below Aladdin’s Cave opened
its delights to my eyes, with pink folds of skin
looking almost ready to fall out and glistening
moistly in the reflected sunlight.  I felt almost as
if I had taken a blow in the stomach as my penis
jerked and swelled.

I worked my legs so that my bottom moved closer to
her, and she did the same.  Our sweating faces were
close together so we could feel and smell each other’s
breath, and my stiff horizontal penis was almost
touching her open vagina.  My heart was beating so
hard that I felt it was shaking my body.  Anybody
coming into the cave would immediately have seen the
sight of his life in the spotlight, but nothing could
have been further from my mind at that moment.

I edged a bit closer, and felt the end of my penis
touch something.  Annette gave a giggle, so I presumed
I had found the right place.  I edged forward again
and felt it pressing against something.  Annette’s
face was right next to mine and I could feel her hot
red cheeks and hear her panting breath.  I was very
close.

But I did not dare try to push my penis inside.  I was
so relieved to hear her say rather worriedly, “That’s
enough.  No more.”

We moved apart again.  She looked at me rather
fearfully.  This aroused my chivalrous streak and I
felt protective and loving.  “Don’t worry, I won’t
force you,” I whispered.

“Let’s – just pretend.  That will be enough,” she
suggested. “Do it again but don’t – don’t really do
it.”

I could handle that.  My penis had subsided, so I just
lay over her and rubbed it against her vagina. 
Annette closed her eyes and purred softly, only
opening them and trying to stop me when my penis
hardened a bit and she thought I was going to try to
penetrate her.

The gentle rubbing of vagina against my penis suddenly
began to harden it again, but I wasn’t about to plunge
in.  Several times she suddenly giggled and reached
down a hand to push my penis away.  “That tickles,”
she giggled more than once.

Her budding breasts lay just under my eyes, and I
loved the sight of their gentle roundness and their
tender whiteness.  The swelling started gently right
under her shoulder and turned the corner to reach
those large dull pink areolas.  But, apart from the
little nipples on top, they were almost flat rather
than the having the little points as my cousin Shelley
is now beginning to grow.

We lay there for some time, talking quietly and
cuddling and kissing.  Once or twice she reached down
her hand and began to feel my penis, whereupon I moved
my hand to stroke her breasts or feel her vagina.  But
she wasn’t ready for this and stopped me, so I in turn
barred her from touching my penis.

After a while I casually remarked, “We’ll have to go
back sometime before your mum and dad get cross with
you.”

Suddenly she sat up, pushing me back and looking
startled.  With a gasp but not a word, she jumped to
her feet and grabbed for her discarded swimming
costume.  “I’ll have to go!” she exclaimed, dragging
it on and then almost running out of the entrance to
the cave.

“Wait!  Don’t go so quickly!” I called after her.  But
she was already disappearing round the corner of the
rocks.

I chased after her, rounding the corner and watching
as she scrambled over the rocks in her haste to get
back.  “Wait!” I yelled.  Then I added, “Don’t fall
this time!”

I saw her look back for a moment, stare at me, almost
fall, and then continue her rush.  I scrambled after
her.  She looked at me and pointed, shouting something
I couldn’t hear.  I kept chasing her until she reached
the point past the dead seaweed where the inhabited
section of the rocky area began.  Then she looked
back, shouted and pointed strongly at me again before
disappearing from sight round the corner.

I looked at myself in puzzlement, and then realised
what she was getting at.  It would be sensible to
abandon the chase because I had forgotten something. 
This was not a naturist beach.  I went all the way
back to the cave for my swimming costume.

Afraid that I might share the blame if Annette got
into trouble, I did not follow her to her parents but
returned to my own family just in time for lunch. 
After lunch I cautiously looked for her family from a
distance.  They were all there in their usual place,
Annette as well.

It was mid-afternoon before Annette left her family
and ran off to the edge of the sea again, where I was
waiting for her.  I felt rather nervous, afraid she
might have told them what had happened in the cave,
although common sense told me it was the last thing
she would do.

She didn’t seem pleased to see me, or even interested.
 When I greeted her, she just replied, “Hello,” coolly
and plunged into the sea.

I waited about ten minutes until she came out.  She
would have walked right past me, ignoring me, if I had
not called out to her, “Did you get into trouble?”

“Not much,” she shrugged, and proceeded to dig in the
sand.

I sat down next to her and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me dig with you.”

“No.  Leave me alone.”

“Are you mad with me?”

“No.  Leave me alone.”

Normally ten-year-old boys would be too proud to
depart like that, and would insist on joining her or
else start annoying her.  So it was against by
instincts, but in obedience to common sense and the
voice of my then brief experience, that I shrugged my
shoulders, said, “Okay,” and walked off without
looking back.

I didn’t go too far, but played in the sea within her
line of vision.  I found some other boys near my own
age to play with, and even a slightly older girl, to
try to make her jealous.  I glanced in her direction
every now and then, but she seemed to be ignoring me. 
I didn’t know why, but I had learned some girls are
like that and don’t need a reason.

Thinking about it years later, I suspect the real
reason for Annette’s moody behaviour was that she was
rather shocked and perhaps guilty by what she had done
with me in the cave, almost on the spur of the moment
when inspired by Marco and Virginie.  I felt rather
the same way, but it was more a fear of being found
out.  It was not until those feelings had subsided
that she dared communicate with me again, and perhaps
the sexual desires that had been temporarily
overridden were returning to excite her again and make
her desire a repeat.

Finally the time was heading towards five o’clock and
still Annette ignored me, so I thought I would drop
the dead donkey, so to speak, and head for the showers
to see what visual entertainment there was for me
there.  So I came out of the sea and passed the point
where Annette was finishing what was probably an
elaborate dolls’ house in the sand at a distance of
about twenty metres.  I called goodbye loudly and
clearly to my friends to make sure she heard me, but
passed by her without a glance in her direction.  Two
could play at that game, I thought.

I was halfway towards the showers when I heard her
voice behind me.  “Roy!  Wait for me!”

Again, most ten-year-old boys would, through misguided
pride, ignore her or make her suffer a bit.  But I
turned round and waited for her, although without
smiling, to try to give her the message that she
hadn’t been fair with me.

She gave me a big smile.  “You looked so funny chasing
me over those rocks when you were naked,” she informed
me happily.  “Everyone could see your wee.”

“There wasn’t anybody there,” I told her.

She was about to say something, but then she stopped. 
“Roy,” she said after a moment.  “I want to see some
more boys.”

The implication was obvious – naked.  I answered, “I
wish you could come to our naturist club.”  She had
told me she lived a long way from the capital where I
live.

“No – here, I mean,” she explained.

“Well, come up to the showers, then,” I suggested.  “A
lot of kids take their swimming costumes off when they
shower.  They’ll start coming in about ten minutes.”

She looked at her watch.  “That’s no use, I’ll have to
go by then,” she groaned.  “Listen, I’ve an idea.  Can
you find another boy tomorrow?  Then we can go to the
cave together and he’ll take his costume off like you
did.”

I was taken aback.  “Maybe,” I said.  “But they’ll
want you to take yours off as well.”

Annette did not look too happy about that, but I think
she expected it, really.  She said, “I don’t mind –
too much now.  After I did it with you.”  Then she
added, looking at me out of the corner of her eye,
“Did you – like my sprouts?”

“They’re just so beautiful,” I assured her.  “The best
I’ve seen.”

She smiled shyly.  Then she asked, “Will you do it
tomorrow?  Then we can play again – like we did
today.”

When I asked for enlightenment, she repeated her
request for me to bring another boy to the cave the
next day.  “Make sure he’s good-looking,” she smiled
with some embarrassment.  “I don’t want any ugly
boys.”  I reminded her that she would no doubt need to
do her part, and she agreed reluctantly.

Nowadays I would probably demur at playing the role of
a pimp, but I didn’t see anything wrong with it then. 
But I did want some reward.  So I said, “Only if we do
a deal.  If I bring a boy for you, you must bring a
girl for me.”

Annette nodded.  We agreed we’d both find a willing
candidate and meet again the next morning.

(To be continued)



WHEN I WAS YOUNG – AT THE SEASIDE: CHAPTER 3


We met near the showers, then empty, the following
morning as soon as Annette arrived with her family at
the beach.

“Did you find someone?” she immediately asked me, her
eyes bright and eager.

I nodded and returned the question.  She too nodded
and then said, “You must come to my mum and dad so I
can tell them I’m going to see your family again.”

I was reluctant, but realized that it was no doubt
necessary.  Then, thinking ahead, I said, “Well, you’d
really better come and meet them, because if our
families met sometime and they didn’t know you, you’d
get into trouble for telling a lie.”

“So would you,” she reminded me, which was true. 
“What’s the boy like?”

The previous evening I had considered several
candidates and, remembering her preference for
somebody good-looking, had settled upon a really cute
little eight-year-old boy at our hotel, Christopher by
name.  He had a mop of tousled dirty blond hair, blue
eyes and a big grin.  In many ways, he was rather like
Scott, younger brother of my present girl-friend
Marina.

I started making friends with him, and eventually
ventured the question, “Would you like to see a girl
naked?”

He showed immediate interest, especially when I told
him that the girl was ten and had the most beautiful
breasts he was ever likely to see on a girl that age. 
I hadn’t discussed the format of the arrangement with
Annette, but I had worked out a plan that I hoped
would meet with her approval, although I couldn’t be
sure.  I put it to Christopher as a likely course of
events and he showed great enthusiasm.

Annette did not seem too enthusiastic about an
eight-year-old.  “I got somebody who’s thirteen for
you,” she announced loudly as we approached her
parents.

We quickly made the necessary requests from Annette’s
parents, and nothing was said about Annette staying
away so long the previous day.  Apparently they were
quite satisfied that Annette would be safe with me and
my family, without even checking that family out.  I
have since learned that in other countries children
are much more closely watched, but I have been
fortunate in growing up in a country where children
are safe from sexual predators and parents can allow
them all sorts of freedoms that might be dangerous
elsewhere.

But I had read her parents right, and they did want to
meet the people their daughter was spending a fair
part of the day with.  “Roy, would your family like to
have dinner with us tonight at our hotel?” they asked
me.  “Perhaps you could speak to them about it.”

So we did have to go to my parents, and I introduced
Annette to them, explaining I had been playing with
her and meeting her family the previous day and they
would like to get together with them.  My parents
readily agreed, but we were both eager to get on with
our business, so did not see fit to convey the reply
back immediately.

When we had left my family for the rocks, Annette
insisted that her entertainment should come before
mine.  “Bring that boy now,” she told me.  “I’ll see
if he’s any good.  I’ll wait for you by the rocks.”

I found Christopher with his family, which might have
been awkward, but he had prepared the groundwork well
and got permission easily enough to go and play with
me by the rocks – as long as he was back in half an
hour.  We scuttled away, Christopher very obviously
excited, and soon joined Annette.

He was a real giggler, and he giggled as she looked
him up and down, sizing him up and eyeing the small
bulge in his costume.  She didn’t seem convinced, but
evidently decided he was better than nothing.  We made
the journey round to the cave, and five minutes later
he was standing with us inside, eyes bright.  “Do you
want to see my peeny now?” he asked, anxious to start.
 “I can show you my naughty place.”

“Yes, do it now,” Annette urged him without subtlety.

“I do it first,” I said, pulling down my costume.  The
arrangement I had worked out was that, with a boy, I
should do it first, to please Annette, and then
Annette would pull down the top of her costume only. 
Then it would be Christopher’s turn to remove his
costume.  Annette would then remove her costume
completely, and after that she would be free to touch
whomever she pleased, wherever she pleased.

So Christopher was volunteering to go out of order and
Annette was encouraging him.  He was not worried,
though, and obligingly pulled his swimming costume
down to his knees.  His little penis appeared, atop
his little pink scrotum.  It was smooth and slim in
shape, but tapered off almost like the bill of a duck
as his foreskin overlapped the end.  “Look what I can
do,” he boasted with a giggle, shaking it up and down.
 “Are we going to play pokey-wokey?  I’ll show you
what I do with my sister.”

I had warned him strongly that if he wanted to see
Annette naked, he must not under any circumstances
allow her to touch him before she completed her
undressing, as I was sure she would try to get away
without doing that if she could.  Already she was
trying to.  Fortunately he had listened to that part,
and as she bent down to look more carefully at his
stiffening penis, he giggled and pushed her hand away.
 “Roy said you mustn’t touch unless you’re naked too,”
he chuckled.  “Now you show me yours.”

Annette glared at me fiercely and tried to touch
Christopher’s penis again, but he wouldn’t let her. 
“Show me or I’ll tell of you,” he demanded.  “You’re
scared.”

“No, I’m not,” groused Annette.  “You can see my
sprouts if you want.”  Reluctantly she took hold of
her straps and pulled down her costume at the top,
exposing her broad white little breasts.

“Ooh,” went Christopher, gaping, but he made no
personal comments.  I had emphasised to him that he
should say nothing, or he was likely to find Annette
refusing to show him anything.

He stared, to her discomfort, and I noticed his little
penis was beginning to stir without his touching it. 
Annette immediately tried to distract his gaze by
holding out her hand and saying, “Now I can touch
yours.”

“No,” he refused, remembering what I had said.  “You
must show me your wee before you touch.”

Annette muttered, but another accusation of being
scared eventually persuaded her to drag down the rest
of her costume and expose her large, wide vagina to
public view again.  “Stop staring,” she glared at him,
and reached out to his penis.

At first Christopher backed away, but then I reminded
him of the bargain, and he giggled as Annette fondled
his penis, which was now above the horizontal.  “Are
we going to make a baby?” he giggled.

Then he burst into louder laughter as Annette put his
hands under his testicles to feel them.  “What’s that
inside?” she asked, but he was collapsing to the floor
in a heap like a puppy.

“It tickles, it tickles!” he laughed, lying there on
his back with his knees up and legs apart, exposing
his little testicles and stiff penis pointing upwards.

I couldn’t resist it, and bent down to tickle him some
more, feeling that loose skin, so similar to a girl’s
in that place, right under the crotch and the little
testicles wobbling about inside.  Annette had her
fingers clutched around his penis, no doubt stiffening
it some more, and was pulling it around to see what
would happen.  Then, curiosity satisfied, she stood up
and pulled her costume up again.

I stopped tickling and, pulling up my own costume,
told him the game was over.  He gave a groan of
disappointment and sat up again, massaging his
genitals.  “That was fun!” he exclaimed, his big grin
returning.  Then he looked at Annette, just pulling
her costume over her breasts, and it vanished.  “Hey,
let me touch you,” he demanded, putting out a hand and
aiming for a nipple.

Annette slapped his hand away.  “The game’s over now,”
she told him.  He looked disappointed, but I had
warned him that Annette would never allow him to touch
her intimately.

We went back to the beach with Christopher and dumped
him there.  I was eager for my turn.  But I was rather
disappointed when Annette returned with a Swedish
Amazon.  She had told me she was thirteen, but this
girl looked sixteen, tall as an adult and
broad-shouldered.

We played the game with clinical efficiency, although
none of us was really enjoying it.  I removed my
costume and then the Swede removed hers, with no more
concern than if she was taking off her coat.  She had
strong wide full breasts, with huge areolas and
nipples, and was way out of my league.  Downstairs she
had a full mat of impenetrable dark blonde hair.

We were both feeling slightly disappointed as we
decided to return to Annette’s parents and convey my
parents’ acceptance of their dinner invitation.  On
the way Annette suggested that we had another try, but
this time she wanted someone older – “a teenager, but
not as old as Marco.  His wee was too ugly.”  I
demanded someone smaller for myself, but didn’t
mention age.

I had great difficulty in finding a suitable
candidate.  Most teenage boys did not take it
seriously and did not fancy playing spy games with a
ten-year-old, however much I assured them that the
breasts were worth it.  Perhaps, just in the process
of puberty, they did not want to expose themselves to
a girl of that age either.  I even pointed Annette out
to two or three of them, from a distance, but the
trouble was with her type of breasts that they just
made her swimming costume look slightly rounded, with
no hint of the treasures beneath.

It was not until after three in the afternoon that I
finally managed to persuade a local boy, of about
thirteen, to have a go.  He was rather good-looking,
but had a bit of a wild look in his eye.  Normally I
would have decided he was perhaps not innocent enough
for a game like this, but I had few alternatives. 
Annette had informed me she had a pretty girl of
eleven lined up for me, but was not going to bring her
until she had had her turn first.

The boy I finally solicited looked about fourteen or
fifteen, although assuring me he was thirteen, and
answered to the name of Brogas.  Annette seemed quite
pleased and chatted to him quite a bit as we made our
way to the cave, all in the local language as his
English was almost non-existent.  In line with our
rules, once inside I removed my own swimming costume
first, but Brogas was not interested.  He pointed at
Annette’s costume and told her, “Take it down.”

Annette I could tell always liked to be in charge and
she was not happy at being told to do her part – and
rather embarrassed, too.  But she duly pulled down the
top of her costume.  Brogas leered at her and
commented, “Ah, your boobs.  Yes, I like those.”

He reached out a finger, but Annette backed away. 
“Now you must take yours off first,” she told him,
again in ‘Loco’.

Brogas had no worries about that.  With a dirty grin
on his face, he lowered his costume to expose a long,
thin penis with a mass of black hair at the top. 
“Guess what I use this for,” he grinned suggestively.

This had now passed the bounds of what I was
comfortable with, but there was nothing I could do. 
He ordered Annette to finish removing her costume, but
she was now most uncomfortable.  “I don’t want to,”
she muttered, pulling her costume up over her breasts.
 “You’ll say things.”

“What bad things could I say about your lovely fanny?”
he asked her, using an obscene local word.  “Come on,
show me.”  He stepped towards her, grinning lewdly and
with hand outstretched.  His penis was in motion
upwards.

“No – go away!” she squealed.  “Don’t touch me!”  She
backed away towards a corner, eyes wide and looking
panicky, but he followed her, obviously intent on some
kind of action.

I was pretty panicky myself, knowing I had a straight
choice between being a dead hero or a live coward.  I
did not want to be a hero, but I just couldn’t do
nothing.  I caught hold of Brogas’s arm and said,
“Hey, wait.  She’ll do it if . . .”  At that point he
gave me a push that sent me sprawling on to the floor.

Brogas, now presenting arms like a good soldier with
his penis standing smartly to attention, grabbed the
front of Annette’s costume and she screamed at the top
of her voice, a deafening noise inside the cave.  At
the same moment I tried to push in and negotiate with
Brogas, but my feeble pleas were drowned by the sound
of the scream.  He gave me another push, with the same
result.

I banged my head this time and sat up rather dizzily. 
But it was to see Brogas storming out of the cave,
swearing in ‘Loco’.  Annette, white as a sheet, was
still backed against the wall, clutching her costume
over her ‘sprouts’.

To be honest, I’m sure it was Annette’s scream alone
that brought Brogas to his senses.  But she can’t have
realised that, and must have thought I had done it. 
She stared at me and whispered, “Has he gone?”

I nodded, staggering to my feet.  “What did you do to
him?” she asked.

I had another choice – heroic liar or truthful
non-entity.  I’m afraid I took the wrong choice. 
“Well, I – I just hit him,” I said.  “I do boxing, and
I – I just hit him, that’s all.”

“He was going to rape me!” she exclaimed, with eyes
wide open in horror.

I’m not sure Brogas would have gone quite that far –
but it certainly built up my stocks in her eyes. 
Anyway, she smiled at me tremulously, and then, being
Annette, started to blame me.  “Why did you bring that
boy here anyway?” she accused me.

Taken aback at such treachery, I tried to explain that
I couldn’t find anybody else willing to take her on,
not a statement to win the approval of any female,
when she looked past me and screamed again in real
terror.  I whirled round to see Brogas stalking back
into the cave.  My boast was about to be put to the
supreme test.

“Shut up, you little ticks, I’m not going to do
anything,” he snarled.  He picked up his swimming
costume, slipped it on quickly and marched swiftly out
of the cave again.

I looked at Annette, who was still terrified, and
started laughing, a hero again as soon as I realised
the danger was over.  “He forgot his costume,” I
chuckled.  “I bet he got all the way back to the rocks
where people are climbing and they saw him and laughed
at him!”

We both knew there had not been time for Brogas to go
more than about twenty metres from the cave before
realising his shortcomings in the dress code
department, but it did us good to imagine him exposing
himself unawares to the seaside population at large. 
We had a good laugh, made silly jokes about sunburn in
unusual places – not that I, as a naturist, was one to
laugh about that – and then Annette said she wanted to
leave the cave and never come back.

“What about that girl you said you’d found me?” I
asked.  “It’s my turn.”

“Well, the boy you got for me wasn’t any good,” she
retorted.  “Now this place isn’t safe.  He can come
back here and beat us up any time he wants.”

I was sure that if Brogas was going to do that, he
would have done so when he retrieved his costume, and
tried to tell Annette that, but she wouldn’t be
convinced.  In the end I said, “Look, I hit him to
save you, so it’s not fair if you won’t give me my
turn.”

“Well, I’ll see if she wants to go with you by
herself, but I’m never coming back here,” she said. 
“Let’s go.”

Cautiously we emerged from the cave, looking nervously
around for Brogas.  But he had gone, so we slowly
returned to the main part of the beach.  After more
prompting by me, Annette went in search of the girl
she had found me, assured that Brogas would not try to
do anything to her in public.  She insisted to me that
she would not return to the cave and that I had to
persuade the girl to come with me.

I waited by the rocks, rather afraid in spite of what
I had said that an avenging Borgas might return to the
cave with his hosts of evil from the portals of hell,
together with a terrifying assortment of alien life
forms.  I wondered if the girl was as pretty as
Annette had claimed.  If not, I decided I would
emphasise the dangers and hint that it was not worth
it.

Five minutes later Annette returned with a dark-haired
girl about my own height.  I was impressed.  It turned
out she was a French girl named Jeanne, who spoke
understandable English and was aged eleven.  She had a
lovely wide smile with milk-white teeth.  She wore a
white bikini, which emphasised her dark skin, and an
attractive slim body and slim, smooth legs.  Her dark
brown hair came straight down to her bikini top, which
bulged a little, obviously due to some pressure
within.  I had actually noticed her before that
morning, but only from a distance.

“Hello, Roi,” she said, with a definite accent and a
beautiful smile, head slightly to one side.  “You are
the one who – who wishes to see my boobies, yes?”

It was not the way I would have chosen to put it, but
I sort of nodded my head and smiled back, really
attracted by Jeanne.  I was afraid I might be blushing
and I didn’t know what to say – the universal
affliction of a ten-year-old boy meeting a girl who
attracts him.

“I don’t mind,” Jeanne smiled at me with her charming
accent.  “Where shall I go with you?  Annette tells me
there is another boy who was causing you trouble,
yes?”

“He’s gone now,” I assured her.  “This way.”

“Jeanne, it may not be safe,” warned Annette, trying
to dissuade her, but she simply said, “I will be
fine,” and turned to me.

I led the way across the rocks, with Annette staying
put and probably rather piqued that I hadn’t at least
tried to persuade her to come.  My heart was thumping
with anticipation, and I kept turning to glance at
this brown-skinned girl climbing nimbly behind me. 
Each time she gave me a heart-warming smile that sent
me scrambling on my way in more confusion.

Finally we reached the cave.  Looking at Jeanne,
smiling as charmingly as ever, I tried not to blush
and led her inside.

“Oh, this is a lovely place,” she exclaimed, clasping
her hands together over her chest.  “I like this.”

She looked at me.  I was shaking a bit with the
anticipation and standing there like a dummy, not
knowing how to begin.  But Jeanne was quite up to it. 
“Is it for me to begin?” she asked.

I nodded.  “I don’t mind,” she declared, and quickly
unfastened her bikini top.  She dropped it in the sand
and turned to me, smiling.

She had cute little cone-shaped breasts of the type
that always remind me of Mount Fujiyama in Japan. 
They were light brown, with a strong suggestion that
they had enjoyed direct sunlight at various times in
their history.  They were smooth and strong-looking,
with tiny little pointed nipples at the top.

“What do you think?” she invited me.

I tried to stop drooling at the mouth.  They were
different from Annette’s breasts, which had been a
rather unexpected novelty to me, but I thought them so
beautiful.  I tried in vain to say it.

“You – don’t like them, perhaps?” she asked, looking
surprised.

“No, I – I do like them,” I panted.  “They’re – so
beautiful.  They really are.  Thank you.  I – I love
them.  Je les aime,” I tried in gallant pidgin-French.

Jeanne gave a tinkling laugh.  “Now you must tell me
what is the next thing to do, because I do not know
how to play your game,” she told me.  “But I like it.”

I decided it was time to be honest.  “It’s my turn
now,” I replied gruffly.  With shaking hands, I
started to pull off my swimming costume, which was
very difficult under those circumstances.

“That is very tight,” observed Jeanne sympathetically.
 “It must hurt your – your *thing*?  What is the
English name for it?”

“A penis,” I answered, as the object in question
finally burst its way out under the tight elastic
waistband.  “But most kids just call it a wee.”

“Oui?” repeated Jeanne, puzzled.  “That is strange.  I
think I will just call it a penis.  It is like that in
French too, but we say it penis” – she pronounced it
with different vowel sounds.

I could sense her looking at mine as I removed my
costume.  “It looks – handsome?  Is that the word?”
she commented.  “My brother is fourteen and he – his –
his penis – it is ugly.  It is too big now.  I think
it looks ugly, but yours is handsome.”

“Thank you,” I muttered with some embarrassment.  “Now
it’s your turn.”

“But certainly,” Jeanne smiled, and in a moment she
had pulled down her little bikini bottom and was
stepping gracefully out of it.  My breath was taken
away by the smooth beauty of her brown loins and the
lovely black slit at the bottom, with touches of light
downy black hair around the sides and at the top.

“You see, I am just beginning to be a woman,” she
informed me, with a smile and without inhibition. 
“But I do not want to be hairy like my brother.  Soon
you will find you are becoming a man.  But I see you
are brown, so you must sometimes sunbathe in the naked
like I do.”

“Yes,” I blurted out, glad to reach that subject.  “We
– I’m a naturist.  We belong to a club back home.”

“In my family we like to visit a beach where there is
no clothes,” she told me.  “We just stopped here for
two days, but it is not permitted to be naked. 
Tomorrow we move on and we will find a naturist beach
where we will stay.”

I almost burst into tears with shock and despair. 
Moving on?  I had just got to know this lovely girl,
and tomorrow she would be moving on!  All thoughts of
Annette had gone from my mind – this charming French
girl after fifteen minutes had won my heart.  “You are
sad?” she asked me.

“Yes – I mean . . .”  I stopped for a moment,
realising I had forgotten that at the age of ten one
does not mention affection, let alone love or
infatuation.  “I mean – I wish you were staying longer
because we could be friends for a long time.”

She shrugged and spread her hands wide.  “I am sorry
too,” she said.  “But my parents want to move on.  We
have all of today, don’t we?  We can enjoy today.  Now
tell me what is next in the game?”

I couldn’t bring myself to talk about touching her
body, although I very much wanted to do it.  Unable to
think of a way around the problem, I blurted out,
“Well, it’s finished now.  We’ve done it.”

Jeanne gave her lovely laugh.  “Oh, you English people
are not at all – what is the right word I need?  I
think it is – romantic?  Loving?  The French are much
better at love.”

My hopes leapt.  “We can do some more – if you want to
do some more,” I stammered.  “What do you want to do
now?”

“It is your game,” she laughed at me.  “But I would
think that perhaps now we have no clothes you would
want to love me?”  She thought of something and added
quickly, “I don’t mean you would – I don’t know how to
say in English.  Not to – to make me a baby.  But just
to love would be good.  If you like me?  Because I
like you and I want to do it with a boy I like.”

Breaking the rules in the desperate knowledge that
after this day I would never see her again, I
answered, “Yes – yes, I do like you.  Very much.  I
think you’re pretty.  And beautiful.  And – and lovely
as well.  I – I’d like to, but I don’t know what to
do.  The French are much better.  You’ll have to show
me.”  An excellent way to pass the buck, I’ve always
thought.

Jeanne had no problem with this either.  “Come, let us
sit down together,” she told me, sitting cross-legged
and opening her vagina enough to reveal her clitoris
hiding at the top.  “You see, a boy comes to a girl
and they sit together – so sit down next to me and I
will show you the French way.”

The next six hours – well, it seemed like it – passed
in a blur of intoxicating delight.  All I can do is
recount the most memorable highlights.  I put my arm
round her bare shoulders, feeling them surprisingly
hard but smooth under my hands.  We put our heads
together, cheek against cheek, and hers was warm and
smooth, so smooth.  We kissed, ever so gently, and
much more expertly than the way that I had shown
Annette.  She kissed me gently on the mouth time and
again, and for the first time I found I enjoyed this
degree of intimacy.

Under her guidance, I lay back on a slope while she
laid her head on my chest.  I felt her long soft hair
on my body, cascading down my sides and tickling me
gently.  She guided my hands to her cone-shaped
breasts, still small but so perfect in shape, and I
moved my fingers so gently around them and over them,
still so smooth yet so firm.

Things went downhill from there – but only in the
physical sense.  My penis had been responding on and
off, and Jeanne decided it was time to pay it some
attention before it gave up in disgust at the
inactivity.  It was not the easiest thing to do, but
she gently massaged my penis in her fingers until it
was stiff.  She seemed to find a little spot at the
back where it made me tingle all over as she rubbed
it.

In the meantime I ran my hands tenderly over her
vagina.  I felt the soft downy hair, so silky under my
touch, with the firm skin underneath, smooth and
rounded as it slipped into the vagina.

Then she let go of my penis and whispered to me, “A
girl has a very special, secret place.  I want you to
find it.”  This wasn’t quite what she meant, as she
found it for me straight away.  With her fingers she
pulled slightly apart the lips of her vagina at the
top.  Inside I could see that piece of skin that at
times looks almost like a tiny penis, and something a
darker pink at the bottom.

“I don’t know what the English call it,” she told me,
smiling at me with her sparkling dark eyes.  Neither
did I at that age.  “But it feels so good when you rub
it.  Will you do that?  Please?  That is the most of
love unless we are going to make a baby, and that
would not be good for us.”

I was in deeper than I had ever been before, even with
Saskia and her promiscuous sister.  I tentatively put
out my hand and gently found the clitoris under my
finger.  As I rubbed ever so gently, it was as if an
electric shock had passed through Jeanne.  She
shuddered violently, causing me to move my finger
quickly.

“No, no, that is all right, that is good,” she
reassured me.  “I like that very much.  Do it more,
please.”

I complied, and it warmed my heart and energised my
penis all over again as she shuddered with delight as
I rubbed her.  Then she put her arms around me and
laid me next to her in the sand.  We put our bodies
together, and I was almost sick with the thrill as I
felt my hard penis rubbing up against her loins.

In the end, we just lay there totally exhausted,
floating in a heaven I had never dreamed existed, even
with Saskia.  I would have something new to teach her,
for a change, when I returned home.  I just lay there
with my eyes closed, enjoying the smooth warmth of her
gently breathing body pressed close to mine.

Then suddenly she sat up and exclaimed, “Oh, oh!  I
see it is dix-sept – seventeen – you say five o’clock,
I think.  I will have to go.”

My heart dropped out of my bottom – or so it felt.  It
was over.  I was to be ejected from heaven with no
return.  “Please – don’t go tomorrow!” I pleaded, my
arm draped over the hair on her shoulder.  “Hide
tomorrow and stay here.  Make your parents stay.”

She shrugged lightly.  “I will try,” she said.  “But I
don’t think it will work.  But we can meet this
evening.  My parents let me go out when it is light. 
You know the ice-cream shop at the corner?  What time
can you be there?”

“By seven o’clock,” I answered.  “Oh, no!  I’d
forgotten!  We’ve got dinner with Annette’s family. 
That could take ages.”

Jeanne looked disappointed, but not overly so. 
Obviously I was more besotted with her than the other
way round.  But I said, “I’ll try to get away early. 
I think my parents will let me go.  But it will take
longer.”

“Half-past seven?” she asked.  “I will be there and I
will wait for you.”

Relieved at the reprieve but so reluctant to leave the
ecstasy I had known here in the cave, I put on my
swimming costume while Jeanne slipped that beautiful
brown body into her bikini.  Then we slowly made our
way back to the world of men – textile mankind.

Annette was nowhere to be seen, but I had expected her
to return to her parents before five.  I didn’t know
whether she had been waiting for me all that time or
had quickly lost interest.

I said “Bye” gruffly, with embarrassment, to Jeanne,
while she smiled gloriously, waved a hand and wriggled
her fingers as she responded in similar way.  Then I
made my way to my parents, looking back numerous
times.  Twice she was looking back at me and waved.

I joined my parents as if in a dream, forgetting to
meet them at the showers.  So we dropped by at the
showers, and I was so switched off that I was in the
middle of removing my swimming costume in my parents’
presence when an amused, “Roy, what are you *doing*?”
from my mother reminded me.

Dinner with Annette’s family was timed for half-past
six.  My parents insisted on my wearing smart clothes,
and we went to the entrance of their hotel, where I
pointed out the family to them.

Annette and her sister were dressed in matching blue
and white dresses.  Like most ten-year-olds, I found
this complete change of image difficult to take,
especially in the presence of our parents, and felt so
shy I didn’t even look at her.  She was obviously
feeling the same way about seeing me wearing clothes.

We left our parents to introduce themselves, and
Annette’s parents took mine into a corner of the hotel
lobby where there were several easy chairs to talk
before going to dinner.  I felt highly frustrated, as
I was desperate to meet Jeanne again in just an hour’s
time.  Ignoring Annette through embarrassment, I sat
on a chair next to my parents while Annette sat
opposite me, ignoring the well-meaning suggestion of
Annette’s mother to sit together and talk to each
other.  She leaned back with her legs almost together,
and just the slightest glimpse of panties visible. 
Her sister Delia, also awed into silence in the
presence of adults, sat beside her with little legs
apart.

After a few minutes I was getting increasingly
frustrated and edgy, and so was Annette.  But her
frustration was for a different reason.  Soon she
overcame her embarrassment, stood up, signalled to me
secretly but very clearly with her hand to follow her.
 Then she walked away.  Her mother called her back, in
typical mum tradition, to ask where she was going, so
she replied that she wanted to show me the slot
machines.

I got up and followed her, suspecting I knew the
reason.  As soon as we were round the corner, she
stopped and collared me.  In an accusing but quiet
voice, as the place was fairly crowded, she demanded
of me, “What happened with you and Jeanne?  Why did
you take so long?”

“It was great!” I enthused, and my eyes must have lit
up.  I was bursting to talk to someone about it –
well, part of it – and Annette was the only possible
candidate.  “She – she’s so pretty, like you said, and
she’s so good.  She knows so much, more than I do. 
The best I’ve ever had.”  The moment I said it, I
realised this was hardly likely to endear me to
another girl.

“What did you do?” she asked with a sharp edge to her
voice, and I realised I had said too much.

“Well, just – things,” I muttered.  “Like I did with
you, only there was more, because Jeanne’s French and
they’re romantic, so she knows other things.”

“You think she’s better than me?” challenged Annette
dangerously.

I tried weakly to deny it, but was most unconvincing. 
“I hate you,” she informed me bitterly, stalking right
back to her parents.

I followed slowly, resuming my place opposite her, and
she refused to look at me.  It was obvious to our
parents that we had quarrelled, which embarrassed
them.  I sat there, almost ready to scream as our
parents were so slow to get on with the meal.  The
only relief I had was when Annette put her foot up on
her chair to adjust one of her socks, giving me a view
of smooth nylon panties with a picture on the front of
two naked little gnomes, male and female but no
genital parts included, with their arms around each
other.

It was after seven o’clock before the slow-moving
adults finally decided to eat.  We trooped into the
dining room, where Annette caused her parents some
embarrassment by refusing to sit next to me.

The meal was good but slow, and I was desperately
afraid that I would miss Jeanne and never see her
again.  The main course was still on its way at ten
minutes to eight, when I told my mother I needed to
say goodbye to a friend and asked if I could be
excused for a few minutes.  I said a few minutes, but
I did not intend to return unless I had to.

“Sorry, dear, but it would be rude to leave in the
middle of a meal,” came back in typical Mum-speak. 
“Wait until you’ve had your dessert.  I’m sure he’ll
still be waiting for you.”

Ignored by Annette and everybody else, I sat there in
gloom and frustration while the adults talked and the
waiters went on go-slow.  Finally I could stand it no
longer.  Having bolted down my main course at about a
quarter past eight and knowing the dessert would be
another half-hour or so in arriving, I asked and
received permission to go to the toilet.

Once I had left the room, I scuttled as fast as I
reasonably could in an adult hotel down the stairs and
outside, where I raced at full speed, and quite
dangerously, to the ice-cream shop a couple of hundred
metres away.  I was desperately afraid Jeanne would
have given up.

The crowd outside was now sparse as it was almost
dark, and as I approached I could see a small figure
playing hopscotch or something similar on the paving
stones.  My heart was in my mouth as I tried to make
out in the gloaming if it was Jeanne.

It was indeed.  She was wearing a brief tank top and a
red skirt that flowed just above her knees.  I raced
towards her, shouting her name, and she looked up with
her usual lovely smile that warmed my heart.  “You
took so long?” she said.

“I hate grown-up meals,” I replied venomously.  “I’m
so glad you stayed – I was so afraid you’d gone and
I’d never see you again.”

“Ah, now you are beginning to talk like the French,”
Jeanne complimented me, again smiling brilliantly.

“How long can you stay?” I wanted to know.  She looked
at her watch and said she would need to be back by
nine, so I asked her, “Quick, where can we go that’s
private?”

She thought for a moment and said, “I think I know.” 
She led me up a deserted side street for about thirty
metres to a small plot with an old fence round it. 
There was a hole at the bottom of the fence and
Jeanne, after looking around, bent down and crawled
through.  I was frustrated to see her skirt was long
enough to cover her bottom.  I crawled in behind her.

It was an old junkyard, with huge piles of scrap metal
lying around, mainly old car bodies.  We settled down
between two old wrecks, sitting with knees up and
facing each other, almost touching.  The ground was
hard, with big weeds growing here and there.  The
streetlight outside lit everything up well, but the
old building at the end of the yard was in total
darkness.  We were quite private.

In the light from the streetlamp I could see Jeanne’s
slim brown legs clearly from the knees down, and a
little pair of pink panties behind them, with the sort
of elaborate lace around the edges that a lot of
continental girls like to wear.  We sat and looked at
each other, talking now and then about inconsequential
things, but both of us slow to make the first move.

I soon had to stand up and break away, though.  “I
told my parents I was going to the toilet and didn’t
go,” I told her, pulling out my penis and urinating
into a nearby dustbin, just high enough to get it
inside.  There was some frenzied scrabbling at the
bottom, as if I was disturbing some rats down there. 
Jeanne was staring at the streetlight, so I told her,
“You can watch me, I don’t mind.”  In fact I wanted
to, I wanted to give her all of myself that I had.

She watched me without great interest, just smiling as
I finished the job and shook my penis dry, doing my
best to display everything clearly.  Then I went and
sat down beside her again.

Finally Jeanne smiled at me again and said, “You are
not yet enough of a Frenchman.  Do you not want to do
something romantic?  I’m waiting for you.”

I smiled back, hesitated, and then held out my arms to
her.  She slipped gracefully into a crouch and then
came forward into my arms.

We hugged each other and gave little kisses.  Half of
the time I felt like crying because I knew I would
never be able to do it with her again.  Then she
asked, “Don’t you want to feel me tonight?”  Gently
she placed my hand on her tank top.

Heart bursting, I slipped my fingers underneath.  I
could feel the smooth firm budding breasts beneath,
with the tiny hard nipples on the end.  She gave a
giggle of pleasure and then put her hand on the front
of my shorts.

“I’ll take them off,” I gasped, quickly slipping out
of them.  I was about to remove my underpants too, but
she already had her hand on the front and was rubbing
gently.  Through the material it felt good, giving me
a tingling feeling and making my penis stir, but not
become too hard.

“It feels so funny through here,” whispered Jeanne. 
“I can feel the lumps but I do not know what they are.
 Now you should do that to me too.”

Obediently I reached out a hand to where she was
squatting beside me, her body pressed against my side
with one knee down and the other up.  Her panties were
visible in between, so I put my hand in the middle and
began to stroke gently.  The material was soft and as
smooth as her skin, which felt firm yet tender
underneath.  She gave a shudder of pleasure.

“Now you can put your hand inside,” she encouraged me.
 I slipped my fingers under that lace, and could again
feel the smooth warmness of her vaginal area, my
fingertips massaging the firm lips.  Then they strayed
upwards and I groped for the clitoris.

“Ooh, that is so good,” she sighed, closing her eyes
in ecstasy.  “You do it so good now, Roy.”  At the
same time she had slipped her fingers inside my
underpants and was fondling my genitals.  For some
reason, perhaps with too much exercise during the day,
my penis proved tired and only twitched slightly. 
“That is strange, Roy, it is still soft and – and
wobbles,” she puzzled.

I couldn’t explain it and didn’t try.  We just lay
there, gently stroking each other and enjoying the
closeness.  I could feel her warm fresh breath on my
face and hoped that my own did not smell too much of
stale food.  But she showed no sign of anything
objectionable.  She had obviously bathed, as I could
smell the slight whiff of bath oil on her body.

It was all too soon before she stirred and said, “We
will both be in big trouble.  I will have to go now
and so will you.”

“Can I see you tomorrow – before you go?” I asked
urgently.

She shook her head sadly.  “We have to drive a long
way so we will leave before six,” she said.  “We will
get straight in the car and go.”

I felt devastated, but dared not show it.  We stood up
slowly.  Then I said to her, “Last sight,” sticking my
penis out of my shorts to show her.

For a few seconds we stood there like two inquisitive
four-year-olds, my penis out while she pulled aside
her panties and pulled up her tank top to give me a
final view of her delicacies.  Then I followed her out
through the hole in the fence.

I was wondering whether I should kiss her, how I could
say goodbye to her properly.  But, at the corner of
the street, she gave me a smacking kiss on the mouth,
whispered, “Goodbye now,” and was off, running down
the road, her bare legs twinkling as her skirt flashed
up and down, without giving me a chance to respond.  I
liked to think that she was as upset as I was.

I wandered back to the hotel feeling totally gutted,
trying desperately to taste the remnants of her saliva
on my lips.  I returned to find all the parents had
finished the meal, were preparing to depart and
naturally were very cross with me.  I tried to explain
that I had suddenly remembered the friend I had had to
say goodbye to, had nipped out to do that, and met his
parents as well, who insisted I have an ice-cream with
them.  I don’t know if they believed me, but they
certainly didn’t accept it as viable, and I was in the
dog-box.

I said goodbye and apologised to Annette’s family,
with Annette herself embarrassing her parents again by
refusing to look at me.  My parents of course wanted
to know after we had left them what the quarrel was
about, and I was more truthful this time, telling them
I had played, without specifying or being asked the
game, with another girl that afternoon and she was
jealous.  Back at the hotel, I pleaded tiredness, went
to bed early and cried myself to sleep.

Next morning I wandered around the beach
disconsolately, looking everywhere for Jeanne in the
vain hope that her family had changed her plans. 
Annette came to her usual place on the beach, but we
both ignored each other.  After the sweetness and
trust of Jeanne, I no longer had any interest in the
other one.

Finally, as I was heading towards my parents for
lunch, Annette accosted me.  She was not in the mood
for reconciliation.  “Is Jeanne better than me, then?”
she asked me threateningly.

“Yes, and it’s your own fault,” I told her sharply.

“Why?” she asked, taken aback for a moment.

“Because Jeanne is kind and never says anything nasty,
and Jeanne lets me touch her properly,” I snapped at
her.  I walked on, and Annette it seemed was so
surprised that she did not follow me or even call
anything after me.

After lunch I again wandered aimlessly for a short
while before sinking down near the rocks and sitting,
staring into space.  Suddenly I looked up to see
Annette standing near me, looking at me.

“I can be like Jeanne too,” she said mildly, almost
placatingly.  “Let’s play again.”

I looked at her dully.  I was about to tell her to go
away when I thought for a moment.  I remembered
Annette’s ‘sprouts’.  They were so attractive, and her
vagina was well worth another visit.  So I paused, and
Annette added, “Please, Roy.  Let me play with you
like Jeanne did.  We can do – the same things.”

“Touching as well?” I enquired.  She nodded.

“All right,” I said, suddenly feeling my spirits lift.
 Moments later we were scrambling over the rocks,
heading for the cave.  She stopped for a moment to
mention Marco and Brogas, but I assured her that
neither had returned to the cave.

On the way we surprised a couple of boys, about six
years of age, who had just slipped round the corner
from the inhabited part to urinate.  Annette gave a
squeal of laughter as we suddenly came upon them,
standing side by side with their costumes around their
thighs and their little penises doing what they knew
best.  Embarrassed, they fled, still spurting urine
for the first couple of metres and desperately pulling
up their costumes on the run.

We stood together near the spotlight, and I felt
strangely embarrassed to be with Annette again after
that wonderful interlude with Jeanne.  Annette looked
at me and said, “You start.”

Was she going to be awkward again?  If so, I was in no
mood to argue.  “You know the way we play – you, then
me, then you again,” I said firmly.  “You said you
were going to play like Jeanne, so you start.  Or else
we don’t play.”

She hesitated, but took me seriously.  “All right,”
she muttered, looking away and with embarrassment
pulling down her costume.  It seemed half an age since
I had last seen those broad white ‘sprouts’ and I was
surprised they hadn’t visibly grown in the interim.

I quickly did my part, removing my costume, and
without demur she took off her costume completely. 
Then we lay down side by side in the sand.  As before,
we began with little kisses and nuzzling, as the first
stage of the process.  I wondered how far Annette
would want to go this time.

Then Annette gave a nervous giggle and took hold of my
penis, feeling it with her fingers.  I thought it
might be wise for me not to get too close too soon, so
I started off massaging her neck.  She seemed to like
that, but became a little tense as I moved my hands
down her shoulders, one each side of her body.  I
moved a hand to each side under her shoulders, and
could feel the gentle swellings, the outside edges of
her ‘sprouts’, wobbling under my fingers.  In the
meantime, my penis was beginning to swell a bit.

Annette froze, her teeth gritted and eyes towards the
roof of the cave, but she did not protest as I gently
moved my fingers towards the centre.  Again as I
rubbed them I could feel them wobble, but they were
quite firm under the surface.  She gave a murmur as I
put my lips to the nipple of one and kissed it gently,
feeling the tiny hard lump between my lips.  Then I
massaged them very tenderly, just getting them to
wobble beneath my fingers.

I wanted to move downhill, but felt I needed to
distract Annette somehow, as she was still very tense.
 So I whispered, “You know, Jeanne found a place on my
penis that really makes it tickle, and then it goes
all stiff.  See if you can find it.”  Then, as she
started work on my penis, I slowly massaged my way
down her body to her loins.

She shivered and pushed at my hand.  “Not this time,”
she protested.  “You can do – there another time. 
Maybe.”

“You promised you could be as good as Jeanne,” I
reminded her.

She gulped and made up her mind.  “All right,” she
murmured.  “But please – be careful.”

I promised I would, and gently moved my hand until it
reached the rounded top of her vagina.  “Open your
legs,” I told her, as she had them pressed tightly
together.  “Jeanne did that.”

Reluctantly she obeyed, and I immediately moved my
fingers gently, searching for that clitoris.  Annette
suddenly gave a squeal and a shudder, and her whole
body jerked.  Afraid I had gone too far too soon, I
whipped my hand away.

Annette looked at me with wide eyes, her face
distorted with shock.  Then she said, “You can do it. 
Don’t stop.”

I moved my hand in again, and once more when I found
that spot she jerked and squealed, bending almost
double and for a moment involuntarily preventing
access to my hand.  “Is that all right?” I asked.

“Yes,” she panted, eyes wide open again.  “It just –
feels so funny.  It tickles.  But it feels –
wonderful.”

“Jeanne showed me how to do that,” I told her.  “So I
can do it to you.  But you haven’t found my place
yet.”

Annette took quite a while to find that spot on the
back of my penis, being distracted whenever I touched
her own secret place.  We spent what seemed a long,
long time feeling each other so intimately, laughing
and wriggling together, bodies often pressed close,
until the energy finally ran dry.  Exhausted, we lay
side by side and talked, occasionally hugging or
kissing gently.  I found Jeanne was just a warm memory
now rather than a torturous pain.

At last, feeling emotionally and sexually satisfied,
we sat up and talked.  Annette suddenly began to feel
shy, I think, and she scrambled back into her swimming
costume.  Reluctantly I put on mine, although I didn’t
want to go back yet.  I wanted our privacy together to
last a bit longer.

“Was I as good as Jeanne?” she asked me, a loaded
question.

“Yes,” I said firmly, the only answer I dared give. 
Well, she hadn’t been too far off, but right then I
couldn’t imagine anybody matching Jeanne, not even
Saskia at that moment.  Annette seemed satisfied.

We went outside and looked around.  We could have been
alone in the world, with no sign or sound of other
human beings anywhere, just the slushing of the sea
and the crying of the gulls.  The rock floor, with
sand here and there, sloped gently down into the still
waters of the lagoon.

“I want to swim,” I said.  I had been so concerned
with certain other business on my visits to the cave
that I hadn’t even swum in this little lagoon.  The
water was calm for the most part, but every now and
then a wave from the outside sea seemed to break
through the rocks at the entrance at a certain angle
and splash through.  That happened right at this
moment, and we both laughed as it broke over our feet,
almost causing us to slip.  It was cold and made us
shiver.

“I’m catching the next one,” I shouted, splashing into
the water, with Annette following me.  But all was
calm again now, so I waded out to see how deep the
water was.  It reached up to my stomach, setting me
shivering again with the chill.  We grabbed each other
and leapt around to keep warm.

I grinned at Annette and said, “I’m taking my costume
off.”

She looked startled.  “Out here?” she queried.

I nodded, dragging it off under the water and tossing
it on to a rock at the side.  “There’s nobody to see
and I’m used to it at the club,” I replied.  “It feels
so free to swim naked.”  To show her, I splashed out
of the water and stood there naked at the side,
grinning at her.

She stared at me as if she couldn’t believe my
audacity.  Then she observed with a note of
puzzlement, “Your wee has shrunk!”

“It does that in the cold water,” I told her, without
adding that it gave me a delicious feeling, as I
looked down at its white shiny wet shrunkenness, with
my testicles sniggled tightly up underneath.  I ran in
again, splashing over to her as the next wave rolled
in.

We played for a couple of minutes, and then Annette
looked at me and giggled.  “I’m taking my costume off
too,” she said.  “But only when I’m in the water.” 
She stared very carefully around her to make sure no
other human being was in sight, and then struggled out
of it and tossed it on the rock next to mine.  Then
she jumped up and down in excitement, laughing with
glee, covering with one hand her little breasts that
were well above the surface of the water as she did
so.

She soon lost that inhibition once she became
confident that we really were alone.  From our
position, away from the cave, we would be able to see
anybody approaching while they were still some
distance away, which no doubt gave her confidence.  We
must have played for about half an hour, with Annette
very pleasant and full of fun throughout, when she
finally smiled, stretched and said, “I think I must be
going now.  But we can come back tomorrow.  I don’t
want any other boys.  I just want to play with you.”

I enjoyed a few moments of satisfaction while
reluctantly agreeing that we should be getting back,
but that warm pleasant mood was soon shattered.  There
was a puzzled “Huh?” from Annette, followed by a
squeal of dismay.  She was standing at the place where
we had left our costumes, breasts above the waterline
and the top of her bottom just appearing above the
surface, squealing in dismay.  “Roy!  Our swimming
costumes have gone!”

She was right.  The rock was disturbingly empty.  We
both knew immediately that nobody else had been there
and that they could only have been washed into the
sea.  We had been careless first of all, and then so
engrossed in playing that we hadn’t even noticed.

Trying not to panic, as Annette was doing, I splashed
over to the rock and began rummaging around in the
water beneath.  Unfortunately there was a small gap
beneath it that was an outlet to the open sea, and
water slushed in and out.  No doubt our costumes had
also sloshed in and out.  On the far side the pull by
the sea was quite strong at times.  I scrabbled below
the surface and tried to dredge the bottom, but there
was no sign of the missing costumes.

Annette was in tears, reverting to form and blaming me
as I had been the first to put my costume there so she
thought it was safe.  I felt gutted myself but was too
proud to cry in front of Annette.  The basic fact now
was that the two of us were stuck there, naked, and
for that reason unable to return to our parents.

“What can we do?” Annette kept wailing.  I expressed
the hope that somebody would come who would help us,
but it was clear people rarely visited that area.  I’d
even have been relieved to see Brogas, but this
thought only agitated Annette all the more.

We waited, shivering with cold and fear, waiting for
something to happen.  Nothing did.  The time was
approaching five o’clock.  Annette kept repeating her
solution: “Roy, you must go back and get clothes for
both of us.”  When I asked her why me, she would
reply, “You have only one place on your body to hide,
and I’ve got two, and because it’s your fault because
you made me swim naked and you put your costume on the
rock first and I thought it was safe, and because
you’re a naturist and I’m not, and because your
parents are closer than mine.”

Finally I realised that this was the only solution. 
Nobody would come looking for us because nobody knew
where we had gone.  I tried to think logically about
when the best time would be, whether I should wait
until after six when the beach would be almost
deserted.  I then decided that this would be even
worse because I would have no chance of hiding myself
in the crowd.  Perhaps it would be best right away,
when people would be busy packing up and I might be
less noticeable.  I could run straight to my parents,
bent over as if with cold like many children did after
coming from the sea, and with my hands over my penis.

“All right – I’ll go,” I told Annette, gulping and
feeling very scared.  There was a vast difference
between a naturist club and making a guest appearance
as a naturist in a textile resort, even though the
community was fairly liberal in its views.  I could
expect a lot of laughter and ridicule and could only
hope I could run fast enough so that I would outrun
all that very quickly.  True, children did go naked in
the showers, but that was an accepted area – a naked
ten-year-old on the beach would attract much
attention.

“But I’ll be left here all alone!” she suddenly burst
out, with impeccable feminine logic after encouraging
me to go.

“Well, come with me, then,” I urged her, but to her
that was an even greater evil.  While she sat there
tearfully, I just decided I had to get my traumatic
journey over with, and left her.

It was easy the first part, scrambling over the rocks
with nobody around.  It was the anticipation that
bothered me.  Then, as I passed the giant mass of
stinking seaweed, an idea struck me.  Holding my nose
against the stench, I pulled off a mass and tried to
fit it around my lower torso like a swimming costume. 
It stung a bit, but I found that by using both hands I
could hold it in place.

The difficulty now was to climb over the rocks without
using my hands.  I also needed my hands to balance
when I scrambled through the sea, as the bed was also
rocky.  So I just held it in one hand until I reached
the final rock which, when rounded, would lead me to
the inhabited stretch of rock.

I now fitted the seaweed more carefully around my
waist and waited, summoning the courage.  It stung a
bit on my skin.  Best if I took it slowly, then I
would be less likely to fall and others would be less
likely to notice me.  With my heart in my mouth, I
stepped out and tried to make my way slowly across the
slippery rocks without hands.

To my astonishment and relief, it seemed that none of
the other children there did notice my predicament –
before I reached them, anyway - though one or two did
look at me curiously.  When I was past and they saw my
bare behind, there were squeals and laughter.  I
desperately wound my way through and around them while
they got on with their activities, and it was with a
huge inward sigh of relief that I reached the sand. 
The hardest stretch was over and all I had to do now
was find my parents.

Foolishly I decided to get it over with as quickly as
possible, and broke into a run, weaving in and out
among families who were mostly packing up for the day.
 Then I swerved to avoid a man carrying a deck chair
who moved across my path, caught my leg on his deck
chair and fell full-length on the sand.

As I lay there for a second, I realised I had lost my
seaweed.  As I looked back I saw the man putting his
deck chair down – on my seaweed – as he instinctively
stopped to see if I was all right.  Panicking, I leapt
to my feet, naked, ignoring him, and raced at full
speed for my parents, hands over my penis as I did so.

In retrospect, I suppose the experience was not as bad
as I might have expected.  There was some laughter,
some jeering, but I suppose more surprise at the sight
of a naked ten-year-old boy racing across the sand.  I
didn’t stay around long enough for anybody to come out
with any choice phrases – not that I heard, anyway. 
Fortunately I had never considered the possibility of
my parents having moved from their usual spot, and
they were still there.  They looked up in surprise to
see me.

“Roy, what on earth are you doing?  What happened to
your swimming costume?” asked my mother, having the
presence of mind to hand me a towel that I could
immediately wrap around myself.

I had already worked out my excuse.  “Oh, Mum, I was
by myself round the corner and I needed to go to the
toilet urgently, so I took it off and put it on a
rock, and then a wave from the sea washed it away,” I
explained, still agitated.

Mildly sympathetic might be the best way to describe
my parents’ response.  Sneaking a look around, I saw
there was only mild interest from people nearby, many
of whom were on the move, so I dropped the towel and
quickly put on my shorts.  My parents suggested that
we leave now, but I told them I still had half an hour
and I wanted to say goodbye to another friend .  .  .

I hurried over to Annette’s family, who were surprised
to see me alone.  I used a similar excuse, that
Annette had gone round the corner to go to the toilet
and a freak wave had washed away her costume, so I had
come to collect her clothes.  Her mother, annoyed at
the careless loss of a good costume, was nevertheless
on the point of going to rescue her daughter
personally, but I told her she was on the far side of
the rocks in private, so it was a hard climb.

Moments later I had a bag containing Annette’s clothes
and was speeding back to the rocks, taking a very
different route from the one that had come close to
disaster.  When I was round the corner and past the
seaweed, in private, I stopped for a moment to open
the bag and see what I had been supplied with.

There was a red dress, a white half-vest, and the item
that interested me the most, a pair of pale pink
panties with little white stripes around them.  I put
them to my nose and caught a faint smell of urine at
the front.  There was a little brown smudge at the
back that didn’t smell good, but the intimacy to me
was wonderful.  I placed a kiss inside the crotch and
put them back in the bag.

I remembered that Annette had been rather nasty with
me before I left and briefly toyed with the idea of
leaving her there for a bit longer to make her suffer
a bit.  But, now that I was safe, I was feeling more
kindly and realised that she had been much better for
most of the time but had just reverted to type as a
result of panic.  I opted for mercy.

I rounded the corner to find her huddled in the
entrance of the cave, crying.  She leapt to her feet
when I called her, then instinctively slapped a hand
each over ‘sprouts’ and vagina as I was clothed and
she was not.  She tore open the bag without a word and
slipped straight into her clothes.

Then, dressed, she looked at me with real warmth. 
“You saved me again,” she whispered.  Then she put her
arms round my neck to give me a hug and a kiss.

We returned to our parents, and although Annette
slipped on the way back and soaked her dress and
panties, she didn’t worry at all as she was now
dressed again.

That basically was the end of my adventures on that
holiday – the exciting ones, anyway.  The following
day was the final one there for my family.  It is only
in retrospect that I realise how lucky we both were
that when our respective parents met again, they
didn’t seem to mention to each other about how their
child had lost a swimming costume – they might have
found it a bit too coincidental had they discovered
that we had both lost our costumes at the same time. 
Annette and I played together a lot of the day,
generally happily, but the adventures in the cave had
shaken her up a lot and she did not want to go there
again.

I had my own reasons for not wanting to go back there.
 Pressing the seaweed around my loins had somehow
caused a very nasty red itchy rash.  The itch was
largely kept bearable with some ointment – my parents
were quite amused when I told them the truth about why
I had used seaweed – but there was no way I wanted
anybody else to see my bright red, blotchy penis and
bottom.  Knowing Annette, she might well have decided
that I had picked up some hideous disease to pass on
to her during our time in our secret cave.

The End




	
	
		
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