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 ___________________________________________________________ ALL-NEW Yahoo! Messenger - all new features - even more fun! http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com