It's Friday evening. I'm in my room, packing my stuff ready to go on holiday. I'm beyond excited! I know that last year, I went on holiday with Anthony, but that was different. Anthony's dad was with us, and he was responsible. This time, it'll just be Scott and me. There won't be anyone to tell us what we can or can't do.

To be honest, I can't see it making any practical difference. I'll be with Scott, and there's no way that we'll be getting involved in the sort of shenanigans that Anthony and I got up to with those two French kids. Even so, it's a big step. If we did happen to do something that wasn't such a good idea, we'll have nobody there to sort it out. It'll be down to us.

Unexpectedly, my phone rings. I pick it up. Actually, I don't know why I hadn't expected it. It's Franny. He calls at the start of every school holiday.

"Yeah. After that business in Starbucks, he didn't want to see me for nearly a week. But then we had a long chat and sorted it out. Actually, it's been good. I think we've both learned from it; I know I have. He'll be here in an hour. Tomorrow, we're going on holiday together."

"That's great!" he says, sounding relieved. "I'd have felt terrible if you'd split up. And now you're going on holiday! Man, that is so cool! Where are you off to?"

"Southern Spain. Scott's rented an apartment on the outskirts of Malaga, on the Costa del Sol."

"Scott will," I respond. "I'll probably just be a bit darker than normal. I have to be careful; I don't want to come back looking like a lobster! So what have you been up to?"

"Well, as I'm not allowed to sing, and we've done all the important stuff in class, I've been practising the sax, like, all the time. Next week, I'll be spending three days over at Newton Oaks, rehearsing with this band we've put together."

"Oh, it's been great! Working with these guys is the best! I'm only just getting into jazz. Josh and Ryan are only the same age as me, but they've been playing this stuff for years. I'm learning so much, just working with them."

"Yeah! Actually, we've got some gigs coming up at the end of June. I was wondering if you and Scott might come over to hear us play."

"Well, you could get what I know about jazz on a postage stamp," I admit. "But Scott might be interested. I tell you what; when he gets here, why don't I give you a call? Then you can ask him. Obviously, if he likes the idea, I'll come with him."

It's nearly eight o'clock when Scott arrives. Mum lets him in. As he makes his way upstairs, I call Franny.

"Pretty much," I tell him. "I've got Franny on the line. He wants to ask you something."

"Hi Scott!" Franny says. "I'm so pleased that you and Ian are still together. I'd have hated it if I'd screwed it up for you."

Franny starts to tell him about the gigs where he's going to be playing. Within a few seconds, they're chatting animatedly about music I don't know, and musicians I've never heard of, much as they did when we met in Starbucks.

"We should definitely be able to make the first gig," Scott says finally. "With the school being near the motorway junction, it'll be an easy drive. Email me the details yeah?" He gives Franny his email address. "Okay, we'll see you over there!" he concludes. "Then we can sort out about the others. Look after yourself!"

"He's amazing!" Scott says, grinning as he returns me phone. "He's got so much energy about him."

"Yeah! It's after you finish your end of year exams, and before I start pre-season training. And if they're anywhere like as good as Franny says, it'll be well worth the drive."

"They're after I start pre-season, so I'll have to see how they fit in. If the guys play well though, I'd like us to support them if we can."

"Okay, mister!" he says, grinning again. "Let's get over to mine and grab ourselves an early night. It's going to be a long day tomorrow!"

That's pretty much what we do. We do have sex, but we keep it quite low-key. The following morning we're up in plenty of time. With fifteen minutes to spare, we're ready to go. With the time approaching nine o'clock, Scott's dad arrives to take us to the airport. I'm a little apprehensive, remembering how he was on the only previous occasion that we met.

"And how are you?" Mr Paxton asks, smiling warmly as he addresses himself to me. "It's good to see you again!"

With our bags safely stowed, we set off towards Birmingham, Scott in the front passenger seat, with me behind him. We're all pretty quiet.

"You don't have to worry," Scott says quietly, looking across at his dad. "This holiday is about us spending time together. We won't be doing anything stupid."

"I think Scott's right," I say casually. "Malaga's really old. Some of it goes back to the tenth century, so there's lots to explore. And we'll want to try out the local food, of course. We're both into seafood, so that should be good. In between, there'll be lots of rest and relaxation. I guess we'll do a bit of swimming, but it won't be anything too strenuous."

"Fair enough!" he says, smiling. "You've both got your heads screwed on. Just don't let anyone talk you into anything you're not comfortable with."

It's good advice. Some of the beaches in the area are reputedly very popular with gay guys. Scott and I have discussed visiting one or two of them, to see what they're like. I'm quite happy for us to do that, but we'll need to be careful. What we've seen on the internet, makes them sound quite innocent, even respectable.

But I'm the experienced one here, and I'm not so sure. I remember the day that Anthony and I went to London together a couple of years ago. We went to a café in Old Compton Street and a guy tried to pick us up. Then last year, when we were in Antibes, Christophe, one of the local artists, tried all sorts to get into my underpants.

Obviously, I can't be sure how it will go. For all I know, the other guys on the beach might completely ignore us. But somehow, I don't think so. Scott's a seriously good-looking guy. I look more like fourteen than seventeen, and people tell me I'm cute. Experience suggests that there'll be at least a few guys who'll want to get to know us. We'll need to make sure we don't get sucked into something that turns out to be more extreme than we've bargained for.

Mr Paxton drops us at the airport just before ten. After checking in and going through security, we stroll through to the departure area. Now we're on our own, it feels like the holiday's really begun, even though I know we've still got several hours of tedium to get through.

With well over an hour before our flight is due to board, we treat ourselves to a cooked breakfast. It's fine but a bit over-priced; that's what you get at airports. Right on time, we're called to our boarding gate. As soon as they've completed the final security checks, just over two hundred of us, together with our luggage, are loaded onto an Airbus A320. Just over ten minutes later, we're on our way.

We land in Malaga at quarter past three. It takes us a painful half an hour to get through passport control, but having had to wait there, by the time we reach baggage reclaim, our luggage is already trundling around on the carousel. The only remaining job is for Scott to sort out the hire car. That takes up another half hour. Finally, we're ready to go.

The first thing that I notice is the heat. I'm used to northern Italy, which is warm. Last year, I was on the French Riviera, which was probably a shade warmer, and the year before that we went to the Algarve, which was warmer still.

This place is different. It isn't warm; it's scorching hot. Wow! This is going to take some getting used to. I wonder if the factor-50 sunscreen that I've brought with me will get the job done. I'll certainly need to be careful.

Before we drive off, Scott calls the letting agent to let him know that we're on our way. Finally, he hands me a map and directions for getting to the apartment.

"It looks simple enough," he says, smiling. "Just keep your eyes peeled. Try to warn me when we're approaching a turn-off."

I settle down to my task, actually pleased to have something to do. In the event, it is pretty straightforward. At twenty to five, we arrive outside the apartment. The agent is there to greet us.

We go inside. It's very stylish. I don't know how much Scott's paying for it, but it won't have come cheap. As usual in this part of the world, all the floors are covered in imitation marble tiles, even in the bedroom. They're cool, and easy to keep clean, but quite hard on the feet. I've brought a pair of flip-flops so that I won't have to go barefoot.

We go through the formalities. The agent is not looking happy, checking my passport in forensic detail. Satisfied that I am actually seventeen, he issues us with stern warnings about looking after the place.

"You don't have to worry," Scott assures him. "I have my own place back in England, and I keep it immaculate, don't I, Ian? We'll do the same here. There won't be any parties. We probably won't even invite anyone back."

After giving us a guided tour, showing us how to use the air-con, the cable tv and all that sort of thing, he's on his way. And that's it. For the next week, this is home.

"I said we probably wouldn't," he responds. "That doesn't mean it won't happen. It depends who we meet. Of course, I wouldn't invite anyone unless you were happy with it."

After unpacking, we shower and change, before driving to the supermarket to buy supplies: breakfast cereals, bread rolls, cooked meat, soft drinks – mainly coke – fresh fruit, and snacks, including some totally yummy chocolate ice cream. Returning to the apartment, we put everything away.

Strolling into the bedroom, we strip off the few clothes we're wearing, and snuggle up on the bed. With the air-con keeping us cool, it feels wonderful.

"They're pretty much compulsory here," he advises. "Things start to quieten down at around one o'clock. At half past two, most businesses shut down for the afternoon, and don't reopen till five o'clock."

Over the next hour or so, we gently kiss and caress each other. There's no actual sex. Right now, it's not what either of us wants. This is a time to simply relax and enjoy being together.

At half past seven, after a quick freshen up, we get dressed and head out for dinner. Having consulted the local guide, we drive to a restaurant less than a mile away. The food is pan-European rather than specifically Spanish, but it's very good and not overly expensive.

We take our time. It's Saturday night. If we'd already settled in, I guess we'd probably drive to one of the major centres, either Malaga or Torremolinos, to sample the nightlife. But after a day spent travelling, the idea doesn't really appeal.

Just after ten o'clock, we drive back to the apartment. Less than half an hour later, we're snuggled up on the bed again. This time we do have sex, as I knew we would. We go all the way too, but once again, it's quite gentle, compared to the way it sometimes is. Somehow, it just seems right. I guess that neither of us is feeling especially energetic. There'll be plenty of time for that later.

The following morning, we're both feeling refreshed and ready to go. Having decided that sight-seeing will be easier on weekdays, we head for the beach. The one we've picked is considered to be one of the best public beaches in the area. As a bonus, it's only a twenty-minute walk from the apartment.

Having slathered each other with sun-screen, we pack our bags and make our way there. Arriving at quarter past ten, we each hire a lounger and a sun-umbrella. We're all set.

It really is a superb beach. For a start, it's wonderfully clean, with soft, fine sand. To add to that, the facilities are excellent. There are free showers, free toilets, refreshment kiosks, nature trails, and designated play-areas for the younger kids. As the morning goes on, it does get fairly busy, but it never becomes overcrowded. We even have room for a couple of games of frisbee.

I guess the thrill-seekers would probably think the sea was rather tame, but for a mediocre swimmer like me, it's ideal. Of course, I don't go too far out, but I'm able to swim around quite happily, sustained by the unusual buoyancy of the water, and the knowledge that the shore is always within easy reach.

At quarter past one, Scott and I gather our things together. Strolling back towards the apartment, I reflect that we've had a really enjoyable morning, except for one thing. With this beach being largely patronised by families, we were never able to be totally us.

It's not that we want to have sex in public or anything, but we didn't even hold hands; we just wouldn't have felt comfortable doing it. For our next visit to the beach, we'll need to be a little more adventurous and try somewhere different.

Back at the apartment, we prepare ourselves a light lunch; a crusty bread roll with a slice of cooked meat, followed by a segmented orange served with chocolate ice-cream. The contrast between the tangy orange and the creamy chocolate is to die for. It's like my guilty pleasure.

By the time we've finished eating, it's half past two. Outside, it's oppressively hot. Scott might be okay, but I just wouldn't cope with it. It's easy to understand why everyone here takes a siesta. It's the only thing that makes sense.

By the time we resurface, it's gone five o'clock. Even though it's still hot, with the sun much lower in the sky, it's far less intense than it was.

"One of the ones I've noticed is described as fairly small and secluded; ideal for couples," he says quietly. "I guess they can't really say much more than that. By car, it'll take us about ten minutes to get there. We can give it a try if you like."

Having plastered each other in sun-screen, we pack our towels and a few other bits before making our way out. Ten minutes later, with Scott having parked the car, we follow the boardwalk down to the beach.

It's exactly as Scott described, fairly small and secluded. There are no loungers or other facilities. Apart from a few litter bins and the fact that it's obviously kept clean, it's an unspoilt, natural beach.

As we look around, the only other people we can see are two other couples. They're well away from each other, and both seem to be sunbathing nude. Scott and I grin at each other. This looks like it could be our ideal place.

Strolling towards the sea, we pick a spot a comfortable distance from anyone else, close to the edge of the soft sand. Having spread out our towels, we remove our sandals and take off our tops, leaving us dressed in just our swimming shorts. We nod to each other. Wow! We're actually going to do it!

As soon as I've pulled off my shorts, I trot the few yards over the tide-wash and into the water. Oh, yes! Swimming naked feels wonderful! I'm only sorry that I've never done it before. After ten minutes or so, we make our way back to where we've left our clothes.

"Sure!" I agree. "Just don't throw it too hard. I don't want you cutting my dick off!"

"Oh, that would never do!" he responds, grinning. He hands me the sun-screen. "You need to put some more on your naughty bits," he advises. "They're not used to being out in the air."

With us both suitably prepared, the game begins. It's fun; it really is. I'm not sure that Scott could actually throw the frisbee as fast as Anthony does. The point is, he's not trying to. He's going for accuracy, aiming his throws so that I can catch them without having to move too far. Watching him from twenty yards away, I'm able to admire, not just how gorgeous he is, but how beautifully he moves. He is stunning!

After twenty minutes of trotting around, I'm starting to tire. It's time to call it a day. Spreading our towels right next to each other, we stretch out. With the sun sinking lower, the temperature is just about perfect. Right now, I can't imagine anywhere else that I'd rather be, or anything else that I'd prefer to be doing.

As the minutes tick by, we gradually move closer. Finally, Scott draws me into a sensuous kiss. Although we know there are other guys on the beach, from our position, we can't see them. It's like they don't exist.

Inevitably, I get a hard-on. Why wouldn't I? My gorgeous boyfriend, whom I love more than anyone on the entire planet, has got his tongue in my mouth. Suddenly, Scott whispers in my ear.

Rolling over so that I can see what he's seeing, I find myself looking at two guys standing around fifteen yards away. They're naked too, and quite obviously gay. As far as I'm concerned, it's not a problem, and I'm not about to turn it into one. Giving them a beaming smile, I roll back over and get back to what I was doing.

I look up. I'd guess they're a few years older than us, like early to mid-twenties. The guy doing the talking is a few inches taller than Scott, with well-developed muscles, smooth, mid-brown hair and regular features. He's definitely fit!

He's well-endowed too, if you're into that. Even just sporting a semi, he's clearly bigger than Scott. By contrast, the guy he's with is distinctly ordinary; the sort of guy you'd pass in the street without even noticing.

"Marcus," the fit guy says. "Good to meet you! Brits as well; I thought you probably were."

Checking him out a bit more, I notice that although his muscles look impressive, they're nowhere like as firm as Scott's. It's like they're there for show, rather than for actually doing anything.

"Yeah! Don't tell me. I'm small, I'm very fair-skinned and I haven't started shaving, so I look more like fourteen. It's okay; I get it all the time. You should have seen the letting agent for the apartment we're staying in; he was checking my passport like he thought I'd forged it or something!"

"Oh, right!" Marcus says, his smile failing to conceal the fact that he's almost drooling.

"Wow!" he says, retrieving his watch. "It's amazing how fast the time goes when you're enjoying yourself! It's time we made a move. We need to go and have dinner; I'm starving!"

Without reference to Marcus or Harry, we begin to pull our clothes on. As we're about to leave, Marcus goes for one final roll of the dice.

"You should come back later, after eleven," he says quietly, trying to be subtle. "Things do get very interesting!"

After returning to the apartment for a quick freshen up and a change of clothes, we head out to dinner. This time, we pick a proper Spanish restaurant, and in the Spanish way, we take our time. The food and the service are excellent; I don't think we could have picked anywhere better. By the time we leave, it's gone half past ten.

"Good!" I say brightly, "because I've got a much better idea. Back at the apartment, we've got a memory-foam mattress, that we haven't really tested yet. I think we should go back there and give it a proper test, you know, to see how comfortable it actually is."

Back at the apartment, we head straight to the bedroom. After helping each other to undress, we snuggle up on the bed and begin our foreplay. Twenty-five minutes later, we're just getting ready for what I expect to be the final act.

I'm not so much disappointed as puzzled. When I floated the idea of testing the mattress, Scott was all for it. In the event, we haven't done anything we don't normally do. I guess we've taken a bit longer over it, but that's about it. It hasn't even been particularly energetic. With Scott kneeling on the bed, I roll onto my back, lifting my legs so that he can enter me.

"If we're testing this mattress," I say, smiling up at him. "We must make sure we do it properly."

That's good enough for me. Scott isn't the type to make a statement like that and not deliver on it. I don't know what he has in mind, but I know it'll be something pretty special.

He shuffles forward so that he's right up against me, the head of his cock nuzzling my rosebud. I watch, spellbound, as his whole length disappears up my bum. Oh, yes! I'll never tire of him doing this!

Very carefully, he lowers his torso between my thighs, our mouths meeting in a sensuous kiss. Within seconds, he's off and running, kissing and fucking like nothing else matters; like nothing else even exists! But I'm still not getting it. It's as wonderful and exquisite as always, but that's the point; we've done this dozens of times.

With a certain inevitability, the intensity gradually begins to build. After only a couple of minutes, I'm getting close. I sense that Scott is too. Suddenly, he stops, taking me completely by surprise. A moment later, he pulls right out.

I do as he says. I don't even have to think about it. The way he can take charge like that is such a turn-on! As soon as I'm in position, he's back inside me, giving my arse a serious pounding.

Oh, fuck! In less than a minute, I'm very close. If either of us so much as touched my cock, I'd cum all over the place. But I can't, and he won't. It's mind-bending! Fucking me like this, he could keep me on the edge forever! Unexpectedly, he stops again.

Picking up one of the pillows, he places it beneath me, before spreading a hand towel over it.

Like the good bottom-boy I am, I lie face-down, the pillow beneath my hips, my legs spread apart. Immediately, he plunges back in. Holy shit! Now he's totally going for it, fucking me like the world's about to end, his heart pounding against my spine, his musky aroma filling my nostrils.

There'll be no turning back this time. He said this was the final phase and it will be. With his cock thrusting over my prostate and my dick rubbing against the towel, I don't last long. With hardly any warning, I'm thrashing around like a rag-doll on speed, my teen spunk spurting powerfully onto the towel, while my anal ring goes into spasm around Scott's thrusting cock.

Fuck! That was wild! Scott's fucked me senseless a few times now, but nothing like that! I can't imagine what gave him the idea to change positions while he was in the middle of it. I've read about guys doing that, but you have to experience it for yourself to understand what it's like. I'm not sure I'd want us to make it a regular thing, but for special occasions . . . wow!

For the moment, Scott's still where he was, his weight pinning me to the bed, his heart thumping metronomically against my back. After a few seconds, he gently lifts himself clear, his penis sliding smoothly out.

"It was, wasn't it?" Scott agrees. "And for my money, both you and the mattress came through with flying colours!"

As planned, we spend Monday morning sightseeing. There's no need for us to go anywhere; there's plenty for us to see right here in Malaga. We start with the Alcazaba, a Moorish citadel that dates back to the eleventh century. It's the first time I've ever really studied a piece of Islamic architecture. I find it fascinating; totally different from Christian architecture of the same period. With extensive views out over the sea, it's spectacular too.

After a couple of hours, we move on to the cathedral. Standing on the site of a former mosque, it was started in 1528, around forty years after Malaga was reconquered by Catholic forces, and took more than 250 years to complete. As a result, while the early parts are clearly gothic, later additions, especially the interior, exemplify both the Renaissance and Baroque styles.

From the outside, the building has a strangely unbalanced appearance. This is because the original design featured two towers, but owing to a lack of funds, only one was ever built. It's known locally as 'La Manquita', which roughly translates as 'the one-armed woman'.

At one o'clock we head back to the apartment for lunch and the inevitable siesta, leaving the Picasso Museum and the Castillo Gibralfaro for another day.

"Well, Mister," Scott says as we begin to surface. "What would you like to do now?"

"I was pleased you didn't want to go back last night. You are way too fuckable."

"Were you worried that some big hunky guy would whisk me off into the night and have his wicked way with me?"

"Quite right too! I saw the way Marcus was looking at me. It was like he was sizing me up for his next meal!"

Half an hour later, we're strolling along the boardwalk. Approaching the beach, we can see that it's sparsely populated again. That's ideal. We can do our thing, and let the other guys get on with theirs.

As we've been here before, the inhibitions of yesterday have completely gone. Less than a minute after we've set up camp, we're naked and in the water, swimming and splashing about. It's wonderful! This is such a special place!

After applying some more sun-screen, we're into it. Once again, Scott plays immaculately. All I'm having to do is to trot a couple of yards to one side or the other. Sometimes, I don't have to move at all. To be fair, I'm not bad, but I'm not as accurate as he is. That does have its compensations. Watching him move effortlessly across the sand is such a buzz!

Eventually, we call it a day. Settling down on our towels, we snuggle up close. Before long, we're into some serious snogging; 'making out', as the Americans call it. It's so relaxed and natural. With the evening sun keeping us pleasantly warm, it's the perfect expression of the way we feel about each other. I don't think I've ever been happier. Suddenly, we've got company.

"Yes. Back at the apartment, we've got this memory-foam mattress. After dinner, we decided we needed to go and give it a proper test, you know? It was excellent, wasn't it, Scott?"

"Hmmph!" Marcus snorts, stroking his plus-sized dick. "You need to get some experience with a real man!"

"You're not dissing my boyfriend, are you?" I challenge, determined to give as good as I get. "That's not very nice!"

"You know, some people seem to think that if something is good, more of it must be better," I say, pressing home my advantage. "Well, it's bollocks! This," I say, leaning down to run my tongue along Scott's shaft, "does everything I want it to. And when I say everything, I mean . . . everything! It suits me perfectly. So I'll pass if you don't mind!"

"Hmmph!" Marcus repeats. After hesitating for a second, he stomps angrily away. I'm expecting Harry to follow him, but he doesn't.

"Wow!" he says, grinning. "You certainly told him where to get off! I was worried for a moment there. I thought he was going to kick sand over you."

"It's as well he didn't," Scott says nonchalantly. "He'd have spent the next two hours picking it out of his teeth."

"I'm guessing he'd worked that out," Harry responds, giving us a wry grin. "He wouldn't want to take on someone who packs the sort of muscle you've got."

"Well, lots of boys do, of course," Harry sighs. "And you're right in his arc. He was really determined he was going to have you. He'll be sulking all night now!"

"Couldn't he see that I'm here with my boyfriend? I don't think he's very nice. All he's interested in is what he wants."

"We were at school and university together, and our families are pretty close," Harry explains. "Anyway, I'd better leave you guys to it. His lordship will be wondering where I've got to."

"Tell me," he whispers, his eyes locked on mine. "Whatever happened to that quiet boy who always seemed so unsure of himself?"

For a moment, I find myself reflecting on all the people who've supported and encouraged me along the way. The one who stands out is Dean. He was the guy who actually helped me to make it happen. I'll always owe him for that.

As I wake up, I blink a few times to get my bearings. Light's streaming through the small gap between the blinds and the window frame. I check the time; it's quarter past seven. Hopping out of bed, I head to the bathroom for a pee and a quick freshen up.

Last night, when we got back after dinner, Scott and I made love. It was wonderful; affectionate, intense and passionate. Not especially energetic, but at the end of a long day, it was everything I could have wanted.

This morning's a different matter. After an amazing night's sleep, I'm like a coiled spring, bursting with energy and as horny as fuck. Taking one of the hand-towels with me, I stride back to the bedroom and jump into bed.

"Like a log! I always do when I'm with you." I snuggle right up, my cock jabbing him in the stomach.

"Sure! Just give me a few minutes. I need a shave. I don't want to scratch you to death!"

Easing his way out of bed, he strolls out of the room. Five minutes later, he's back. Pulling back the covers, he climbs onto the bed and draws me so close, we're pretty well nose-to-nose.

"Well, mister," he says, in a low, sexy whisper. "Just how frisky are you this morning?"

We kiss passionately. After a while, we morph into a quite wonderful sixty-nine. Fuck! I am so up for this! It's not that we're doing anything different from what we normally do; it's just that everything seems to have a little more 'bite' to it than it usually does.

After around twenty minutes of mind-bending foreplay, I'm down on all fours. Kneeling behind, Scott's licking me out. Since we've been together, he's become a real expert at this; the sensations are extraordinary.

"Oh, yes!" he whispers, working some K-Y into my rosebud. "This is what you want, isn't it, babe?"

I continue to moan. After maybe half a minute, a second finger joins the first, the two of them corkscrewing around inside me.

In response, I pull my pillow into the middle of the bed, spreading the hand towel on top.

"I guessed that was what you'd brought that for," he comments, as I lie face-down, just as I had the night before last.

Immediately, he lowers himself onto me, his cockhead probing my starfish. In the next instant he's right inside, his pubic bone pressed tight against my bum.

He gets right to it. Once again, I'm moaning and whimpering, revelling in every aspect of what we're doing: the sensation of being pinned helplessly to the bed, feeling his heart pounding against my spine, having his beautiful cock stimulate my prostate while my penis is being rubbed backwards and forwards against the towel, and all this while being enveloped by his wonderful, musky aroma. Nothing else even comes close!

"Oh, yes! Yes! I don't care how big Marcus is; there's no way he could do this as well as you do!"

To my surprise, I beat him to it. Just like Sunday night, I start thrashing around like a rag doll, my feet flailing, my fingers clawing at the bed.

In an instant, my balls churn into action. With my starfish spasming around Scott's rampant cock, spunk surges through my penis and shoots onto the towel. A moment later, his hot cream spurts deep into my bum. Fuck! That was unreal!

After a few seconds, Scott gently pulls out, rolling off onto his side. I turn to face him.

We've still got a couple of local sight-seeing trips to undertake, including the Picasso Museum, but we've got plenty of time to do those. Unfortunately, sight-seeing further afield is something of a problem. There's nowhere within easy reach that looks particularly interesting.

The one place I would like to see, a village called Ronda, is 100 Km (62 miles) away, the road to it is slow and notoriously dangerous, and the advice on the internet is that you need to be there for at least six hours. Although we could do it as a day trip, it would mean exploring during what, for all sensible people, is siesta time. Even I don't think it's worth it.

"If we're going to have lunch here," Scott says, "we'll need to go to the supermarket first. We're out of cooked meat and bread rolls."

"Well, there's another gay beach that I've been looking at. It's 45 km away, out to the east, but it's straight along the coast road, so it will only take us half an hour to get there. The thing is, it's got its own café, which is reckoned to be pretty good. I thought we could have lunch there."

"Well, it's definitely a nudist beach, and I'm sure holding hands won't be a problem. We'll need to check the place out to see if it's okay to go further than that. I suspect that if we went to the place down the road, we'd find it's a bit different in the mornings from what it was like when we visited."

After a pleasant drive along the coast, we arrive at the naturist beach. Once Scott's parked the car, we begin by taking a stroll. As almost everyone we see is naked, we decide to join them. Without actually setting up camp, we pull off our tops and shorts. After stashing them in our bags, we continue along the beach.

It soon becomes apparent that the beach isn't exclusively anything. Almost all the people here are naked, but not everyone is. Most of the people we see appear to be gay too, including the women, but once again, not all of them are.

We even see a few families. Now they are all naked; parents and kids. That does make sense; I guess they must be committed naturists. I'd have found it a bit off-putting if there had been families here who weren't all naked.

I'm starting to get the picture. Being naked is routine. Holding hands or walking along arm-in-arm are fine too, but that's probably about as far as we should go. I'm more than happy with that. We can be completely ourselves; we don't have to pretend to anybody.

As we continue our stroll, I notice that we're getting admiring looks from some of the older guys. But that's as far as it goes. I like it! We're two good-looking young guys. If they want to admire us, that's fine with me; they're not being in the least intrusive about it.

Having located the café, our next task is to find somewhere to park ourselves. After going on a little further, we find what looks to be an ideal spot, spreading out our towels around twelve yards from the guys nearest to us. Seconds later, we're off over the tide-wash and into the water.

It's glorious! Swimming and splashing around naked is amazing fun! In some ways, it reminds me of the time just after I'd learned to swim, when I used to go to the pool with Dean and the rest of the gang. I feel like I'm fourteen again. To add to that, being able to do it naked feels so liberating. I love it!

After twenty minutes or so, we trot back to our clothes, only to find that a naturist family – mum, dad and two boys – have filled the gap that we left. It's not a problem. This is a public beach.

With the sun now high in the sky, as soon as we've had a quick towel-down, we have to apply some more sunscreen, helping each other out with the bits we can't reach. As Scott's working on my back, I see the younger boy kneeling where the tide-wash meets the soft sand. He's building a sand castle, just as I used to do, with his older brother providing assistance.

"Sure!" I agree, although with the temperature climbing, I'm not expecting us to last too long.

In order to keep out of the way, we move to the area behind our towels and begin to play. We've been going for a couple of minutes when I notice the older lad standing close by, watching us.

"Nineteen," Scott says pointing to himself, while quite clearly checking the lad out. "Seventeen," he adds, pointing to me. "You?"

"Thirteen," Luuk answers confidently. "My brother is Thomas. He is ten. He will make sandcastles all day!"

I have to smile; Luuk's spoken English is really impressive! Almost without thinking about it, I follow Scott's lead, looking the boy up and down. He's around 5'2", and slim without being skinny. With straight, dark-blond hair, bright blue eyes and very clear skin, he is rather cute, his uncut penis suggesting that he's already into puberty.

"Okay!" Scott directs. "I'll throw to Ian; Ian will throw to you; you throw to me. Let's play!"

We form ourselves into a triangle and the game begins. Suddenly, I've gone from hardly needing to move, to running around all over the place. With some of Luuk's throws, I stand no chance at all.

Having trotted across to where Luuk's standing, he shows the younger boy how to bring his forearm through smoothly, and to open his hand as he releases the frisbee. I stand and watch. Scott is patience personified! What I also realise is that he's enjoying the opportunity to be right up close to the lad, actually guiding Luuk's forearm. Well, I can't say it's a surprise!

With Scott back in position, the game resumes. I have to admit that following Scott's instruction, Luuk really seems to have got the hang of it, almost all his throws now coming close enough for me to catch them quite easily. Even so, within ten minutes, we're all perspiring profusely.

"Okay!" Scott declares, bringing the game to a halt. He turns to Luuk. "We're going back into the sea. Are you coming?"

I'm a bit concerned about this. Having seen how up close and personal Scott was when he was showing Luuk how to throw the frisbee, I'm wondering what he's going to do now. A bit of underwater rough-housing maybe, resulting in some 'accidental' contact with Luuk's boy-parts?

As it goes, I needn't have worried. Scott doesn't even do that with me, and he doesn't go anywhere near Luuk. I guess that's him being careful. He grew up being paranoid about anyone finding out he was gay. He won't want to risk wrecking things by being accused of doing something he shouldn't.

I also wonder what Luuk's parents must think about him taking up with two older boys. Actually, they don't look in the least bit bothered about it. I guess that they can see that there's no physical contact. I think it may also help that I don't look too much older than Luuk. Older certainly – I have a full crop of pubic hair; Luuk's is only just starting – but not by very much.

I have no idea what they think the relationship is between me and Scott. Cousins, possibly? They weren't around when we were walking over here, hand-in-hand, so all they've seen is us getting out of the water, drying ourselves, playing frisbee and trotting back in again.

After around twenty minutes, we return to our clothes, giving ourselves a quick towel-down before applying even more sunscreen. With Luuk having returned to helping Thomas with his sandcastle, we settle down on our towels, lying close enough together that we can talk without being overheard.

"You seemed to be having a good time showing Luuk how to throw the frisbee," I say, grinning.

"Oh, he was clueless!" Scott answers. "For a start, he was standing all wrong. He was square-on, facing directly towards you. You can't throw it like that! It's like a backhand in tennis. You have to get sideways on, with your right foot in front, so that you can get a long, smooth pull on it. It also means you can drive through it, transferring your weight from your left foot to your right. How did you learn?"

"I just copied what Anthony's dad was doing. He showed me how to open my hand as I release the frisbee, but that was about it."

"I wanted him to experience what the movement feels like, so I guided him through it a couple of times. I didn't get any closer than I should have! And it worked, didn't it?"

"Oh, definitely! And I noticed that you stayed well away from him while we were in the water."

"Quite right too! He's a lovely kid and as cute as buttons, but totally off-limits."

"You know you mentioned about possibly inviting someone back to the apartment. How would that work?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "I haven't really thought about it. My only red line is that whoever we invite would have to be legal. What do you think?"

"That sounds about right. But the really important thing for me is that when it comes to going all the way, I'm yours and you're mine. I definitely want us to stick to that."

"So, I think it'd probably work better if we invited, you know, a couple, rather than a guy who's on his own."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Of course, at the moment, we haven't met anyone who comes close to fitting in with what we've just said."

"True! And if we got into some foreplay and wanted to experiment a bit, you'd be okay with that?"

"Sure! Actually, I think it'd be quite good. You've never had sexual contact with anyone but me. It may be something you need to experience."

"It's gone twelve," he says, checking the time. "Fancy going for a bite of lunch?"

We gather our things, packing them into our bags. After saying goodbye to Luuk and his family, we head towards the café. After walking for a couple of minutes, I check over my shoulder. With Luuk's family now out of sight, I link my fingers with Scott's for the remainder of the walk.

The café is already about half-full, and seems likely to get busier as the lunch period goes on. The food looks and smells delicious. We quickly find a table for two and place an order. As we're waiting, a drinks waiter appears.

I remember that this happened when we went to dinner on Sunday evening. On that occasion, Scott waved the guy away before I had the chance to say anything. Not this time!

"It's the Spanish equivalent of punch," Scott explains, "with red wine, different types of fruit, aromatic herbs, that sort of thing. It tends to be very sweet."

Rather reluctantly, Scott orders 'a small jug'. A couple of minutes later, it arrives on the table.

"If that's a small jug," he says darkly, "I can't imagine what a large one would look like." He pauses for a moment. "I can only have a small glass," he explains. "I've got to drive us back. It's a bit too sweet for me anyway."

He pours us each a small glass. I sample mine. I like it! It is rather sweet, but then, I do have a very sweet tooth.

Our food arrives. It's every bit as delicious as it looked; one mouthful and I'm hooked! Washing it down with swigs of sangria, I'm on top of the world. Having finished our main course, we order dessert. That's delicious too; life could hardly be better! I'm vaguely aware that I'm a little bit drunk, but it absolutely isn't a problem. I feel wonderful!

Finally, it's time for us to leave. Holy shit! It's like trying to stand up in a small boat on a rough sea. The floor's moving all over the place, or that's what it feels like. Putting his arm around my shoulder, Scott guides me out.

"Sorry!" I apologise, feeling like a complete idiot. "I felt absolutely fine until I tried to stand up."

"Just like thousands, if not millions of others before you," he says, grinning. "That's what it does!"

Very patiently, he helps me to put on my shorts and t-shirt, which is pretty embarrassing. Finally, he guides me slowly back to the car, installing me in the front passenger seat.

We drive steadily back to the apartment. The only good thing I can say about it is that we get there without anything unpleasant having happened. Scott takes me inside, my head feeling as though it's no longer connected to the rest of me. Or is it that the rest of my body is no longer connected to my head? I'm really not sure.

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.^* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

^* Some browsers may require a right click instead

Juggling the Pieces

by Pink Panther

Chapter 21

May 2011