by Jack Kendle


You caught my eye that Sunday on the beach. I had been dozing, vaguely aware of the gentle waves breaking on the shore and the sounds of people, mainly young children, enjoying themselves all around me; beach tennis, sandcastles, all the usual stuff.

In between reading, dozing and swimming I had been spending time checking out the eye candy; there was plenty to choose from! Boys of all ages, shapes and sizes. Dutch boys, German boys, boys from Sweden or Denmark with their Nordic good looks, blond hair sun-bleached to almost white, honey-coloured skin. Pale English boys, only there for the cheap beer and easy sex, sleeping off their hangovers on the beach and getting badly sunburnt.

The little beach bordered at each end by rocky outcrops was popular with the locals as well, who spent their Sundays relaxing, usually in large family groups, grandparents down to little toddlers in prams. It was getting quite crowded now, as more family groups planted their sunshades, spread their towels and thus marked out their territory.

In the distance, I saw a little group of three people, making their way between the reclining figures and playing children. My boydar immediately homed in on the little group: a mother with her two sons, I guessed, slowly making their way in my direction. The mother was an ample woman, short, with her hair dyed red, as so many of the local women here seemed to do. She had on a light shawl over her swimsuit. However, my interest (and other parts!) was aroused by the two boys with her; the younger boy was probably about six or seven, I guessed, slightly chubby with his puppy-fat and coal-black hair. His brother looked to be about thirteen or so and as I watched the trio picked its way through the tanning throngs.

I found myself willing them to choose the patch of sand closest to where I lay, one of only a handful of exposed patches of sand left. The three figures drew closer, the mother laden down with a large beachbag, the two boys each carrying an inflatable airbed and a towel. They were dressed, I was more than glad to see, only in swimming trunks and flip-flops. I am not one of those people who are enamoured of the fashion nowadays for board shorts or Bermuda shorts on boys. I think it is such a shame that the skimpy Speedo swimming trunks are not worn as much as they were. When I was younger, tightly-fitting Speedos were the rule, rather than the exception. There might be a case made for the fact that the popular shorts leave more to the imagination, but I am of the opinion that I like to have a good idea of how well endowed a pretty boy is. And nothing beats a skimpy pair of Speedos! A pretty boy’s ‘crown jewels’, perfectly encased in sheer, tight-fitting fabric!

I kept my eyes on the trio as they got closer and closer. The older boy seemed preoccupied, his eyes cast down, shaking off his younger brother who seemed to enjoy pestering him. I took in the figure of the teen. Like just about all the people in this country, his hair was absolutely coal black, straight, although it was beginning to curl a little at the ears and on the nape of his neck, probably from the exposure to the sun and sea, I guessed. He had a very dark skin tone, one might be forgiven for thinking he might possibly be from India or Sri Lanka, although his facial features showed that he was Caucasian. Black eyes to match his hair, a sweet, slightly upturned nose and a pert little mouth, the corners of his rosy lips slightly turned down. As he drew closer, I saw he had a small stud in one ear, which flashed pink when it caught the sun.

There is nothing more beautiful in all creation, to my mind, than the form of a perfectly formed adolescent or pubescent boy. They are at that age when they are on the cusp of manhood, but yet still retain that air of innocence – although looks can be deceptive; some of the most angelic boys it has been my pleasure to know have literally been little devils! Physically, they have started the growth spurt which will, alas, catapult them into adulthood, but before that happens, their bodies are the most divine things known to man. Long-limbed, with a delicate bone structure, slim bodied, soft, smooth – almost edible!

And this specimen of boyhood was no exception! His slim neck, narrow, rounded shoulders, arms not too muscular but not scrawny either, slightly lighter skin in the underarms, with, as yet, no growth of hair, slim wrists and slender hands with long fingers. He wore some sort of bracelet on one wrist, a bright green plastic strap, indicating he had been to the local theme park. The bright, almost electric colour of the bracelet shone out against the brown of his skin. The boy’s chest was fairly broad, the puppy-fat gone by now, so that it is possible to see some ribs, his pectorals still underdeveloped, the nipples erect in the slight breeze. He had a wonderfully flat stomach, no sign of a six-pack yet and a sweet little navel and narrow hips. The ‘V’ of his pelvic bone disappearing into the slinky, tightly-fitting trunks. His thighs appearing from the legs of his trunks and his legs seemingly going on for ever down to sweet roundels of knees, narrow calves, slim ankles and elegant feet. What a joy to behold!

And even more joy when my silent prayer was answered as the older boy, who led the little group decided that the small area of empty sand only yards from where I lay would be a perfect spot. He glanced quickly around, taking in his immediate surroundings, me included, I surmised, and having obviously found it suitable, put down his towel, marking out his territory. Mother and younger brother followed suit as I lay there, thanking my lucky starts and ogling the boy from behind my reflective Raybans.

I heard from the snippets of conversation that drifted over to me from where they had ‘pitched camp’ only a matter of three or four yards’ distance that the little family was local; I had enough Spanish to even understand some of what they were saying. The younger boy was literally itching to get into the sea, but had to put up with his mother rubbing some sunblock on to his smooth, coffee-coloured skin. Even local Spanish boys have to be careful under the hot, unforgiving summer sun! The young boy squirmed under his mother’s ministrations and as soon as she had finished, he was off, racing through the maze of prone figures, down to the water’s edge, where he threw himself into the sea, pushing himself frantically against the waves on his inflatable ad hoc surfboard.

My gaze returned to the older boy. He, too, had to suffer his mother applying the lotion to his back, but as soon as she was finished, he took the bottle from her and completed his own anointing. As I watched, I imagined it was my hands massaging the sweetly-scented cream into the boy’s luscious skin; every nook and cranny, every exposed area of choclate-brown boybody! I felt my penis harden beneath me and was grateful I was lying on my stomach! The boy had no visible tan line, just an even, dark brown all over, reminding me of Cadbury’s plain Bournville chocolate.

Overhearing the few words that passed between mother and son, I discovered this beauty’s name was Manolo. He took me by surprise, when he offered to help apply the sunblock to his mother’s back and shoulders; he did it so gently and from that small action, I could tell that mother and son had a close, loving relationship. He knelt beside her, back to me as he rubbed the lotion on to her back and shoulders. My eyes greedily roamed over his body; well-defined shoulderblades, the bumps of his vertebrae protruding on his upper back as he knelt over his mother, gradually hollowing out towards his lumbar region, narrow hips, and what a luscious peach of a butt! The dark fabric of his Speedos stretched across two perfectly formed globes of boyflesh, a sight to make a boylover like me positively drool! As he knelt, almost leaning back on his haunches, his thighs were close together as they emerged from below the trunks, so tightly closed, I would have had difficulty slipping a piece of paper between them, let alone what I really wanted to insert there! At that thought, my cock stirred under my weight and I felt the precum oozing out and into my own Speedos. As the precum soaked into the material of my trunks, I again was grateful that I was on my stomach, with a towel beneath me!

Mother and son chatted quietly for a few minutes as they settled down to soak up the sun’s rays. Out of her capacious bag, she produced two books and they began to read, Manolo lying on his side, back to me, as he read.

It was obvious, though, that Manolo wasn’t yet comfortable. He kept fidgeting, a boyish hand flicking at a fly, real or imagined, or, unconciously stroking his thigh, or twitching at the elastic of his trunks. The boy hadn’t yet calmed down enough to just lie down and read. Now and again he would prod at the sand with his toes, burying them in the golden sand until the heat of the sand caused him to raise his feet, shaking them slightly to dislodge the fine sand which clung to them. I now knew what a cobra must feel like under the charm of the fakir’s pipe; I was riveted by this boy, I couldn’t take my eyes off him!

And then, without warning, he suddenly stood up and grasping his air-filled mattress, followed his brother’s example and went down towards the sea. Manolo ran quickly, feet hardly touching the baking hot sand, dodging the prone bodies and litle children and their sandcastles until with a final short, sharp dash, flung himself into the sea. I watched as the two brothers played in the water, two graceful brown bodies highlighted against the foaming surf, diving and splashing, ducking and weaving, they had the boundless energy of youth!

Eventually, Manolo had had enough. Leaving his brother to carry on playing in the sea, the older boy made his way back, tiptoeing lightly. His body glistened in the sunlight, covered in a million droplets, his hair, slick with seawater, was swept back off his brow, the droplets of water dripping on to his shoulders, glistening in the sun as they fell. And for the first time, I was able to have a better look at what made Manolo a boy. As he gracefully made his way up the beach, I observed his bulge at the front of his Speedos. The dark material clinged provocatively to his boyhood, outlining the tube of boyflesh and the orbs below. Having been in the sea, I knew that what I could make out was probably a little diminished in size, but even so, it was quite a respectable little package, made all the more alluring by it being hidden. I licked my lips, imagining the taste of his penis, slightly salty both from the sea and from his natural juices. Alas, he was moving too quickly to give me time to check him out properly.

Arriving at where his towel lay on the sand, Manolo bent and picked it up, gave his head and hair a quick rub with the towel, then speedily dried his torso. As he did so, he looked about him, watching the other children playing, the tourists soaking up the sunshine. He glanced incuriously at me, lying only a few feet away, before his gaze swept on, back out to sea.

Then, placing the towel back on the sand, he threw himself on to all fours, pert little arse in the air for a moment, before collapsing down on to his stomach. Placing his head on his arms, facing in my direction, the boy settled down, closed his eyes and appeared to nap.

Knowing that he couldn’t tell I was watching him, because of my impenetrable shades, I was at liberty to observe the coltlike boy in his repose. Lying flat on the sand, he looked incredibly thin, his pelvic bone jutting out above the waistband of his Speedos, his butt roundly pointing heavenwards. Occasionally he would lift and cross his legs behind him, gently swaying, each time bringing up little puffs of fine, golden sand which stuck to his slim calves and thighs, making him appear to be covered in gold dust.

What a wonderful way to spend an afternoon! I had the sun, sea, sand and now this half-naked vision of beauty just feet away from me! I felt like I had died and gone to Heaven. And the best was yet to come! After about ten, minutes or so of watching Manolo dozing on the beach, the little beauty became restless again. I swear, I was holding my breath as I watched the boy change position. Still with his eyes closed, Manolo turned himself over and lay on his back.

And then I caught sight of his crotch. What I had only half seen, guessed at, as he had made his way back from the sea, I was now able to see more clearly, more fully. His boyhood had increased in size by at least a third, if not more! As he lay there, lying on his back, one arm flung over his forhead, the other out to the side, fingers playing with the sand, I was mesmerised by the bulge in the front of his trunks.

Manolo’s organ must have been at least five or six inches in length, the boyflesh running sideways and slightly upwards across his body. And it had become so thick! It seemed to strain against the confines of his tight Speedos, which hugged his boyish figure so tightly. Manolo was either prodigously well-endowed for a boy his age, or else the sexy imp was getting a hard-on! I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the almost obscene bulge the boy was sporting, apparently unaware or not caring who saw it. I suspected the latter. He had been lying on the hot sand and I wasn’t surprised that Manolo’s cock had reacted in that way. But the fact that he lay there, unconcerned, his prick more or less on public display, I found riveting – and extremely sexy!

As the precum gushed from my own cock, I gave a quiet groan at the sight. It must have been louder than I thought, for I saw Manolo turn his head in my direction, look straight at me and with a wink, the little tease, smiling and watching me, ran a slender finger backwards and forwards along the length of his obviously erect boymeat, then stuck a small pink tongue out at me!

He knew, the little terror! He had known all along that I had been checking him out – and he had loved every moment! All sorts of scenarios flashed through my mind; what he and I could get up to – all equally hopelessly unlikely. All I could do was lie there, pretending I was asleep behind my sunglasses. I couldn’t give the tease a sign that I had seen what he was doing.

Easier said than done, for, beneath me, as Manolo watched me and I him, my cock erupted in one of the strongest, longest, quietest orgasms I have had in a very long time!



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