"What are our parents going to say when we tell them we've been with nudists all the afternoon?"
"Dunno. They're nice, aren't they?"
"Yes. Good fun."
"You were funny covered with sand."
"You were funny when you got out of your depth. It's the same way of swimming, you know."
"Yeah? Well, it feels different."
It was cooler on the water, to my relief. Clothes felt hot and itchy after a day without, and I wished we could all be as sensible as they were and go without all the time. Except for my aunt. She was too fat, and I'm sure without clothes she'd be even fatter. She'd probably spill out, like a badly set jelly. The idea was so awful I spluttered into laughter.
"What?"
I explained to him.
"Do people do that?" he asked wide-eyed.
"Shouldn't think so. It'd be too messy. What would happen in swimming pools?"
He started giggling at that, and before long we were both helpless. The boat swung off course — he was in charge, and before I'd got my senses back and could see we'd gone round from a long reach to bring the wind aft, all without wanting to. I cottoned on before it happened.
"Head DOWN!!!"
A slight delay, then he ducked. The boom crashed over in a gybe and we heeled well over. I snatched both tiller and sheet from him and, despite being on the wrong side of the boat managed to adjust our course until we were on an even keel again.
"What happened?" he asked, sounding scared.
"A gybe. When she swung round without us noticing it brought the aft edge of the sail to the wind, and that blew it across. Do that with a strong wind and you'll bust the mast."
"Oh. Sorry."
"S'all right. I should have been watching instead of laughing at jelly."
And that set us both off again, but not so out of control.
I took over properly, and the rest of the voyage was uneventful. To my surprise my parents were waiting at the hard where we moored.
"What on earth went on out there? Where you gybed?" My father was anxious.
"Oh, nothing really. James was sailing and we were laughing at something, and before we knew it we'd gone off course."
"Martin, the trouble is that it's just that sort of thing that we worry about. A moment's lack of attention and, in a strong wind, you could be in real trouble."
"I know Dad, but in a strong wind I'd be sailing myself, not teaching James."
"Certainly you wouldn't. Mr And Mrs Evans wouldn't allow it. And I'm not so sure they'd be happy with him sailing now, even with you there. I hope you haven't let him sail on his own?"
"No, Dad, of course not. He wouldn't be happy on his own yet."
"There's no 'yet' about it. At 9 he's not to sail this boat on his own. Sorry James, but it's just not on.
"No, Mrs Finch."
"And I'm surprised at you even thinking about it, Martin. Are you out of your mind?"
"But Mum…"
"No buts. No sailing the boat alone for James. Understood?"
"Yes. I was never going to let him in the first place."
"You say that now…"
"Mum, he's not strong enough to deal with two sails anyway, and I don't want to get him drowned. I'm not stupid."
She just looked at me, as did Dad. I looked back, and was suddenly reminded of the hurt she'd caused me the other day. I think she wilted first. James was a bit uncomfortable about it.
"Anyway, he can sail well. He's learning to tack and can do it. There's a lot I've not taught him, but it's only his first day."
"So long as he doesn't sail without you, that's all."
"Mum! I've already said…"
"All right, that'll do. It's too hot to argue. But we do get worried, you know."
I realised then just how hot it was here, on the waterfront of the village, sheltered by the hill behind. I was sticky with heat and salt, and wanted a cool shower. The last thing I could face at the moment was a discussion about naturists.
"All right," was all I could think of saying as I turned back to the dinghy to tidy up.
"At least you're on time," said my mother.
I turned, suddenly annoyed. "I've only once been late, and even then it was close, and not late. Have you had a bad day?"
"What?"
"Well, you're so…on at me…I haven't really done anything apart from make a sailing mistake."
There was a pause. "I think we're probably a bit irritated by the heat. It's been so hot here, and you can't really swim off the village. We could have done with a boat, but they were all out with other people."
"Oh. Well, a cool shower will help, I should think. That's what we're going for, isn't it, James?"
He nodded, unsure if it was safe to speak.
We all climbed slowly to the hotel. They were right, it was hot. Hotter than the previous night whose storm we hoped had brought an end to the excessive heat and humidity. Once safely in my room I apologised to James for my parents' outburst.
"'S OK. Mine do it all the time. Are you going to ask them about tomorrow?"
"I'll have to pick my time, I s'pose. Probably wait 'til it gets cooler."
"Is there going to be another storm?"
"Feels like it. Want to sleep down here?"
"Please."
Good.
We showered, and I was amazed how much browner he'd got in just one day. My shoulders were quite red, and I thought they'd start peeling soon. They felt quite hot, too. The force of the shower hurt.
Dinner was a rather quiet meal. We were all at the stage where we didn't want to eat, yet were hungry. As time progressed it got cooler, and a breeze started to shift the air about, much to everyone's relief. As if people hardly meant it, chat started.
I didn't think that over the meal was a good time to talk about naturists in front of everybody, and neither was coffee. Eventually he whispered to his parents that he'd be sleeping in my room. Mr Evans looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I went over.
"Are you really sure you don't mind? It's just that he hates thunderstorms, and even if there's one forecast at home he gets agitated."
"No, it's OK. I'm so used to him now; he's no trouble."
"If he was your age I can see it wouldn't be so bad, but he's a lot younger than you."
"He doesn't take up so much of the bed."
They laughed. "Well, just don't think you've got to, please. We're quite used to having him in ours."
"No, it's fine."
"Goodnight, James."
"See you soon."
I went and told my parents. At least they knew me well enough to know that I'd help like that if someone was in trouble. It wasn't long after that I went up too. I was tired, yes, but there was a yard and half of reasons why I wanted to go to my room.
He was asleep.
I undressed and got in beside him. He never moved. His breath was even. I faced him. I was starting to feel something else apart from protectiveness towards him, and I didn't know what it was. I found myself wanting to breathe in as he breathed out, to share his air as I'd shared everything else these past days. I wanted him in my arms — to get more space and comfort certainly, but now something else as well. What was happening to me? Was this how fathers felt?
Some time later he turned over and woke me up. His bum was pushing into me, nearly pushing me out of the bed. At the knowledge my errant body stiffened and coincided with his. This wouldn't do; he might wake up and think I was trying something. I disconnected, and all but fell out. I decided on the other technique, put my body against his and gently pushed. No movement - push harder.
With a distant rumble the storm broke. It took him quite a few of them to wake, in fact when he did it was getting quite close. He found me pushing at his body still, trying to get room enough to sleep.
He gave a whimper, and said indistinctly "No…no…" The next lightning flash woke him.
"Mum?"
"No, it's Martin."
"Oh…Yes." I was pleased that he immediately snuggled down again, despite the weather.
"Move over, James?"
"Mmmmm?"
"Move over. You're pushing me out of bed."
It took at least ten seconds for that to sink in, but a thunderclap woke him again and he dragged himself over. I followed, comfortable at last. As the storm approached he turned again and buried his head against my shoulder. At last I managed to get my arms round him as I had the previous night.
"It's all right…don't worry…nothing nasty's going to happen…"
It was nowhere near as violent as before, and didn't last so long. The air became sweeter as the storm receded, and eventually he drifted off again in my arms. Once again I felt the spiritual completeness of being the guardian of his complete, naked vulnerability.
The nest morning found us lying face to face. I had opened my eyes, and found him looking straight at me from a distance of about 3 inches. My arm had draped itself over his waist, and his over mine.
"Hallo," he said. I blinked at him, feeling suddenly ridiculously happy. I really must be more than 'the boy in the room downstairs' to him. Oh, I knew we'd been through a lot together in a short time, but why did he look at me like a little puppy at its master, as if he'd hang on to every word I'd say. That's not a complaint, I felt it a real compliment; one of the deepest I'd ever been paid.
"I'm glad you're my friend…my best friend."
Well, what would you have done? I could either cry with frustrated happiness or hug him close to me, bringing his entire body in contact with mine. Yes, willies as well.
We untangled eventually. He gave me that most dazzling, unzipped smile of his. I smiled back, heart beating fast and now fully and shamelessly stiff.
"You've got a stiffie again. I could feel it."
"Well, I'm not used to being so close to someone."
"Is that what does it?"
"Yeah, that and a few other things."
"What?"
"Oh, touching it, thinking about things, and sometimes it does it on its own."
"Why?"
"Dunno. Doesn't yours?"
"No."
"Bet it does. Tickle it."
The hand that was round me was withdrawn and vanished under the bedclothes. He squirmed a bit and giggled.
"Nothing's happening."
"You're not doing it properly. Show me."
The sheets went down, leaving us both open to the air. He was right, mine was at full mast. His just lay there, small and dangly on its little pad of potential balls. He put his hand down and carefully stroked the length of it, jerking backwards with the sensation as he did so.
"That's no good. You've got to take it, not jump away from it. And tickle your balls too. Look, like this."
I had intended to do it for him, but when it came to it didn't have the nerve. So my hand went to my own instead, and I traced the line of it down, and put my other hand underneath and traced the skin around my testicles. After all the showers, nude swimming and two nights spent together I had no embarrassment about it at all.
"But you're already stiff."
"Well, you do that to yourself."
"Won't you do it for me?"
I looked at him, amazed. He really wanted me to fondle him?
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Trembling now, I reached across. His willy felt so small and soft that I could hardly regard it as one at all. The sac underneath was also soft. I traced my finger around it, then up and down his little thing…but was it so little? Was that an increase in size? I continued.
It took him about 3 minutes to stop wriggling away from my touch as the tickling sensation got to him. He did everything he could to stay put and not jerk away from my hand. At last he quietened and just lay there with this look on his face and…yes…a little, upstretched erection. It couldn't have been his first ever, but it was probably the first he'd noticed. He looked at me seriously.
"Now I'm just like you."
Not quite, I thought, not quite. What else should I do? My own need was very great, but I couldn't bring myself to go any further with him, he was just too young and vulnerable. I wished then that I could take him home with me and look after him for the next few years while his mind and body developed. But with a sudden stab of the pain to come I knew that he'd be leaving by a different route at the end of the holiday. I never even knew yet where he lived. The thought made my body subside a bit. I removed my hand.
"Don't. It's nice."
"No more. I'm getting up. Lying next to you's made me all hot and sweaty. I need a shower."
"Me too."
"Come on then."
It was in the shower that he tentatively first put his hand on me, watching my face to see what I would do. I must have looked just astonished. It was only a little trace of its length from root to tip, but it was electric for me. I just had to do the same to him, making him giggle and flinch away. I had a point to make, though, and although he was fondling me I just stood and let him do it, so that the difference in our reactions would strike home. Soon he was once again pointing to the ceiling as much as me, and I could tell that doing that was enough for him. I longed for release and to show him how, but how could I? He was only a child.
"Come on, you. Shower!"
And I soaped my hands and washed him. Everywhere. Even there, and between his buttocks. His look at me as I awoke that morning had broken down the last of the barriers between us and I knew that he would take no offence at anything I did, unless it hurt his spirit or mind or body. I wasn't surprised, when it was my turn to be washed, to feel a small hand wriggle its way down my own crack a few times, to soap me everywhere else, and once again to grasp my penis gently and tickle-wash it. By which time I was trembling.
"Right," I said as firmly as I could when we were both clean. "Go and dry yourself and I'll see you at breakfast."
"Can't you dry me? I'll dry you."
"No. I want to soak in the shower a bit. I'll see you downstairs."
"Can't I stay with you?"
"Not now. Please?"
"Have I done something wrong?"
I looked at him stupidly, my mouth open. "What d'you mean, wrong?"
"You've never sent me away before."
I was still just gaping at him. The water trickling down my face entered my mouth and made me cough.
"I…Oh come here." The thought of him imagining he'd been naughty and I was sending him away was too much to accept, especially as it was accompanied by such an anxious, kicked puppy expression. I hugged him, something as inevitable as the night, and he snuggled himself back into my arms.
There was the inevitable knock on the door and we separated and grinned sheepishly at each other.
"Come in," he said as if it was his room. Hurriedly I stepped into the depths of the shower room as the door opened. For his sake I hoped it was one of the sets of parents. It was.
"Hallo darling. I thought I'd check here first as we had the thunderstorm. Did you sleep all right?"
"Mummy…yes, I did. I slept with Martin."
Well if that doesn't make her attack me for making advances to her son I don't know what would.
"Good old Martin…I do hope he doesn't mind. He's a nice boy, isn't he? I don't know what you're going to do when we go home and you won't see him."
A pause. She obviously didn't know I was there. I wasn't about to walk out.
"He can come and visit us?" It was a quiet voice, a question. He'd obviously not been thinking ahead as I had, albeit briefly, to a week's time.
"Perhaps he can, darling. But now hurry and get dressed and come down to breakfast. We're nearly ready and you don't want to miss anything, do you? Martin's probably down there already. I suppose you'll want to go sailing again today?"
"Yes!! And we'll visit our island and meet Billy and Rose and the others."
"Ah yes, these friends you met…Well, I hope their parents don't mind. There do seem to be rather a lot of you all. You will behave yourself, won't you?"
"Oh Mum…
"All right, dear, all right. Hurry up now or Martin'll go without you."
And she was gone. He bounded back to the shower, grin unzipped.
"She thought you were downstairs!"
My body had slouched its way from standing to attention, and oddly I'd lost the need for release in the usual way. I made a note that I must get the ruler out and check soon.
"Yeah. Well, I'm glad you didn't let on, that's all. I thought she was going to come into the shower and find me standing there naked,"
"She wouldn't have minded."
"I would."
"Why?"
"Would you like it if my parents found you naked in the shower."
"Wouldn't mind. They're your parents."
The logic behind that escaped me at the time, but later I saw just what a compliment it was.
We did dry each other. Fast. And he eventually charged upstairs to dress. I got the ruler out, late or no. No change. There wasn't enough time to try anything else, although the temptation was still quite great.
We set off for the island as soon as we could decently get away. The air was noticeably fresher this morning, and we were both quite glad of the extra layer that we'd been told to take, though neither of us would admit it of course. Although I was in charge at the start and finish of the voyage he did all the sailing between, and was starting to show an aptitude for sensing the wind's subtle changes. We berthed and dragged the boat up the beach as usual, although she'd always be afloat at the end of her anchor chain by the time we returned. The tide was going out as we arrived and would be on its way back as we left.
It was cool, but for the sake of it we stripped as usual. I left my T-shirt on. He looked at me and did the same. Shorts, shoes and towel in hand we crossed quietly over the island's narrow, low back. There was nobody on the southern beach, to our surprise. We thought they'd be there before us. We looked a bit put out until we realised it was only quite early - earlier than our arrival the previous day, anyway. I remembered something.
"How's that cut?"
"OK. Doesn't hurt."
"Let me see."
I'd washed him that morning but not noticed. Probably too busy looking elsewhere. There was a weal on his leg, a bit red, but closed and not unhealthy looking. He'd live.
To keep warm, and out of bravado, and I think because I liked wallowing, I suggested we go and get muddied up. The rain, we found, had softened things up even more than before, and we both sank to our knees with the first few steps. It was now of a light enough consistency not to be dangerous as we could easily scramble out. So for ages we did nothing but roll around, throwing great gobs of the stuff at each other and laughing hysterically. Tired at last we looked properly at each other and started laughing again. Not only was there no bare skin to be seen on either of us but our hair was thick with it, his bottom looked as though he'd just had a very bad post-digestive experience and even our faces were more or less unrecognisable.
But we were warm. In fact we were hot. The sun was strengthening and we'd not noticed. The other thing we'd not noticed was the motor boat with a cargo of adults which had landed much further up the beach.
"Down!" I whispered. I could have shouted. They were too far away to hear. We dropped back into the mud.
"Why?" he asked.
"There's a boat landed up the beach."
"Oh good, they're here." And he started to stand up. I pulled him down again.
"It's not them, it's a crowd of grown-ups."
His eyes went round. "But…but…all our clothes are up there."
"I know. Quick, get under cover. Follow me."
Like two savages again we gained the trees and ran some way into their protective cover. I felt like a fugitive: the sick feeling of impending doom settled on my stomach. The prospect of my discovery, naked, by adult strangers, was appalling. To be naked with a small boy and discovered - well, I hardly knew what they'd think.
I had to get our clothes.
"Can you follow me quietly up to where our clothes are?" I whispered.
He nodded, and I started walking up the island as quietly as I knew how. After some time we started hearing voices, so I started walking in a crouch, ready to drop flat at any moment. He took the hint and did the same.
It must have been effective, because we saw — admittedly at some distance — one of the visitors relieving himself against a tree. I dropped immediately, as did James. The man turned and walked away. I made a mental note of where the tree was so as to avoid it.
Very carefully and slowly I indianed my way toward the beach, thankful once again that James could also move quietly. Slowly I raised my head over the small rim of dead foliage, twigs and leaves that had accumulated at the edge of the trees and scanned the beach. Fortunately they were some way away from our clothes and towels which were still where we had dropped them. But they were still close enough to notice either of us if we made a dash down to pick them up.
We were stuck. I looked back at James. His eyes were sparkling and his mouth was open in a half grin. He was enjoying it!
"It's not funny!" I hissed. "If you think it is, you go down there and fetch them."
The grin receded.
"I don't know them."
"Well take it seriously, then."
"Don't you know what to do?"
"Do you?"
The grin disappeared. "I thought you had a plan."
"No." I was short with him. Although the danger of discovery was still very real, the sick feeling had passed and I was just angry. Angry with them for spoiling our island and angry at not being able to do something about it. Oh, and angry at being powerless to retrieve the only barriers between our present state and decency.
"Can't we attract their attention somewhere else?"
I looked at him, thinking hard. He had a point. But how?
"You know, like the pictures when the spy wants the man to look the other way. He chucks a stone into the bushes."
"How can I chuck a stone from here?"
"You'll have to go up there and do it."
"So they run after me and catch me? No thanks."
"I will."
"You will? What happens if they get you?"
"I dive into the sea."
Normally you don't think ahead at fourteen. But this time I did.
"And what happens when you get out of your depth?"
"Well…well you'll have to go."
I was silent for ages, trying to think of a better idea.
"All right, I give in. When they run after me, get the gear and come back here. I just hope they don't find me."
"Good luck."
It felt desperately lonely, that slow, careful walk, crouch and slither up the island. I'd not felt so naked, so exposed, since we first started being unaware nudists. But the knowledge of what I had to do and the fact that I was naked doing it really made me cling to every bit of cover I could find. At one point I looked down at myself. The mud had partially set, leaving cracks of skin colour at the points where my joints moved. The rest of me had picked up a variety of leaves and other debris from the ground. God knows what I'd look like to the strangers if I was caught.
Near where I could hear them talking I found, thankfully, a thick bush. Getting inside it was a painful business, and once there I found that I had nothing to throw to make a diversion. Cursing my stupidity I crawled out again, giving a grunt of pain as a branch cut into me. When I was outside, listening again, the voices had stopped. I looked up. A woman was crouching in the bushes, her skirt around her waist, and was staring at me. One hand was in front of her mouth, looking for all the world like a cartoon character who's just had a shock. I almost expected to see Mickey Mouse run round in front of her and to hear a scream.
I was half right. A shocked half second later, crashing started from the direction of the beach as I turned and ran away as fast as I could. Unheeding now of the noise I was making I just knew I had to put as much distance between me and the scene of my embarrassment as I could. I ran until I was out of breath.
"Where am I?" I asked myself. I had a vague idea the beach was to my right, so I returned to silent mode and headed off there, although the sound of my panting probably put paid to any secrecy. As I recovered I heard voices, and stopped instantly, belly to the ground.
"But I told you it was an ape! It was all covered in leaves."
"Apes don't have leaves, they have fur. You imagined it."
"I didn't. It was black, covered in leaves, and about six feet tall. The leaves were stuck to its fur."
"Come on Mary, pull the other one. You just had too much wine last night."
"I had lots less than you. And I know it was there. It was watching me…er…you know."
"Yeah, and I'm the King. If it was six foot and covered with leaves it was a tree."
"Don't call me a liar."
"I'm not, it's just that you imagined it."
"Well I'm not spending the afternoon here, and that's definite. Take me away, please. I want to find a pub."
"Oh, Mary…"
"No, I mean it. It gave me the shock of my life. Take me away. Now."
"Mary…"
"NO!"
There was a silence.
"All right. Come on. And I was looking forward to exploring here, too."
I had managed, in my panic, to run in a complete circle. Had they not been talking and I'd not stopped running I'd probably have run onto the beach just by them. Bloody hell. My blood curdled. And then, as so often happens when you realise you've just been released from a fate worse than death, I felt this uncontrollable urge to laugh. I hid my face in my folded arms to stifle any sound and silently shook with near hysteria at my escape and at being called a leaf-covered, six foot ape.
When I recovered I could hear the motor going as they made their escape from the island of foliated apes, and I crawled to the beach to make sure they'd gone. As they reached mid channel my attention was drawn to another boat steering for it, but still some distance away. There seemed to be quite a few people in it.
I cursed, and wondered what was attracting so much attention to our previously unvisited sanctuary. Did I have time to run down the beach to find my clothes and James before the boat got close enough to realise I was naked? I thought so. I gained the sand and hared down to where he'd be, near where our clothes had been. They'd disappeared.
But so had he.
I looked round at the open sea. The motor launch was noticeably nearer. I cursed and rushed to the welcome shelter of the woods, my heart beating fast from running and near discovery.
Where was James?
I called, and got the fright of my life when an answer came from almost under my feet.
"Shhhh! They'll hear you."
"What the…where are you?"
"Here."
"Where?"
"Here. Look." I looked around, and a dark log was waving in the air about ten feet away from me. I looked closer and saw him: lying still against a patch of earth his mud covered, naked body was completely camouflaged.
"Bloody hell, James, I couldn't see you until you moved. Have you got the clothes and stuff?"
"Yes," he said proudly. "They were so busy chasing you that there was plenty of time. Did they get you?"
"No. One of them saw me, but she thought I was a leaf covered ape."
"What?"
I explained. My patch of earth curled up with laughter.
Voices could be heard from the beach.
"Where are they?"
"They're late."
"So are we."
"That's only because that boat was there."
"Perhaps they saw it and left."
We crawled to the edge of the beach just to make certain. Yes, it was them. But clothed. It didn't worry James. With a whoop he leapt out of the bushes and rushed toward them, shouting like an attacking warrior. After the first shock they laughed at this mud encrusted, naked warrior as he danced round them, brandishing his imaginary spear.
I followed more sedately, rather worried that they were all clothed — well, wearing shorts — and I had nothing on except mud. It was almost as bad as the first time I had to show my body to the school doctor with the nurse standing by. But I needn't have worried. They quickly dropped their shorts, and the girls removed their tops as well, and we flopped down onto the beach with them.
Our mud covering hardened in the sun as we spun together the story of our morning so far. It must have been effective, because they were all rolling on the ground by the time we'd finished. We were so uncomfortable with the cracking mud by that time that we rushed into the water and washed it off.
The next three hours were spent with everybody from Joe, the eldest at 16, down to Billy at 8, towing and being towed by everybody else. James had to do a lot of swimming so it helped him too, and gradually he got used to the idea of not being able to touch the bottom. When we were all exhausted we flopped onto the sand again.
"Are you coming over to visit us this afternoon, like we said?" asked Mark. "We've got this snorkelling session lined up, and that's fun."
I suddenly had doubts, not about the activity but about the nudity. Would it really be all right? Wouldn't we feel odd? But James was nodding his head vigorously. "Yes please, we'd like that. Wouldn't we, Martin?"
"Yes, if it's all right."
"It's all organised, like I said. You can eat with us, then we'll go over there and you can follow in your boat."
"Great! But we've got a packed lunch."
"That's OK — we'll add that to it. We eat outdoors anyway."
So we hurried off to fetch the dinghy. Even after our ordeal of the morning having no clothes was now so much a matter of course that we forgot all about it until we reached the other shore, when we were possibly going to be in view of the mainland, not that it had stopped us before. We hurriedly prepared the sails and floated her off so the dinghy gunwales would hide us from prying eyes. I took the helm and we sailed to join the others. They motored off to meet up with us and to our horror we found they had put on their shorts.
"Why're you dressed?"
"We always do when we're at sea, in case we meet anybody."
"We aren't."
"So I see. We've got your clothes here. Do you want them?"
"Please."
"We'll come to you."
And so there was a shift of cargo. Why they bothered with clothes I don't know: some of the boys' shorts were just about ineffective in hiding the important bits, and the most notable was Mark. White, loose and thin, they hardly came below the level of his willy. In fact as I looked he shifted, and it was clearly visible up his trouser leg.
Why should that have been so much more disturbing to my equilibrium than seeing him completely naked? I hurriedly pulled on my shorts.