The Caribbean

We are vacationing in the Virgin Islands and the warm air and beauty of the place are making me feel so randy it’s hard to breathe. I need to get away from my folks and brother. I need to be alone. What I need is to get off, and you can’t do that with anyone around you, especially a nosy little brother.

My parents rented a cottage with two bedrooms. That means Marco, my two-years-younger brother, is always with me. Day and night! I love Marco, but enough is enough. I need to be alone. He’s twelve, too young to know what I’m feeling. Too young to witness what I need to do.

What I want to do is be alone outside. The air just feels so arousing, almost like it’s encouraging sex. Good thing I have some very baggy Bermuda shorts with deep pockets. I can keep my excitement more or less hidden if no one focuses on my middle area. If I ever see eyes moving in that direction, I find a reason to turn aside. I’m hoping no one knows what I’m feeling, what I’m struggling to hide. I think I’ve been successful so far; no one’s said anything.

Our cottage is on one of the many beaches that ring the island. But there are many of these cottages, part of a resort on our beach. No way is the beach private enough for what I have in mind. Couples walk hand in hand along the soft, warm, white sands all day and evening. I’ve walked a fair distance in each direction myself. Marco always tags along. I’ve yet to get far enough where I hadn’t seen other people.

I’ve noticed something really amusing. A few times, I pass other guys about my age or a little older, some walking alone. I can’t help but think they’re doing what I am: looking for a private place. Some have a perceptible look of desperation in their eyes. We nod and walk on. They can probably tell what I’m thinking, too. Some of them give me a self-satisfied grin. Misery loves company, and the cat gets the cream.

I spend this day like others—Marco is always close by. We have dinner at the resort dining room; Mom thought the vacation should also be free of cooking and made sure the cottage we rented didn’t have kitchen facilities.

After dinner, we come back to the cottage. Dad puts a movie on the large-screen TV, and everyone sits down to watch it. While the credits at the beginning are still running, I can’t stand it any longer.

“I’m going for a walk down the beach,” I say. “I’ve seen this one three times already. Be back in an hour or so.”

The movie starts with a series of action stunts, and Mom and Dad are glued to the TV. I walk out, shutting the door quietly.

I’m wearing shorts and a tee shirt. I quickly remove the shirt. It’s about 75° and barely a breeze. The humidity makes it feel warmer. Actually, it feels perfect: the warm air caressing my body, the natural beauty of the scene, the scent of wildflowers, and the susurrating soft waves lapping the beach.

For once, the beach is lonely. Romantic couples having a late dinner? People heading off to the nightclubs on the island? Whatever, the sands are deserted. A full moon lights the beach. I’m alone to walk the beach surrounded by the night and its promise.

I walk away from the resort, passing the cottages strung out along the beach. There are six more after our own, and then it is just the water, the sand, low hills covered with tropical vegetation and me.

Once I pass out of view of the last cottage, my heart speeds up; the urge becomes overwhelming. I stop and drop my shorts and underwear. I’m naked on the beach. What a delicious feeling! I keep walking, carrying my clothes, letting the evening air have its way with my body, thinking about someone coming from farther down the beach on their way back to the resort catching me like his. It only adds to my excitement.

I come to a place where the hills intrude onto the beach. I’ve walked farther than usual. I stash my clothes in the tropical vegetation and walk on. Nothing to cover myself with now but my hands, my tumescence nearly complete. The feeling of freedom, of being with nature, is electric.

I stop and look at the somnolent water moving lackadaisically across the sand. I walk toward the sea and let the gentle waves slide indulgently over my bare feet. The water is warm and inviting.

I walk slowly into the sea, letting the water creep upwards over my ankles, calves, knees and thighs. A bit farther and it’s tickling my hardness, and, with one more step, covering it. I move into just a bit deeper water so what I’m doing isn’t so noticeable, even thought there’s no one near to notice.

I stand still, alone with the elements. I’m part of them, part of the environment. It is just me and the night air, the moon and the sensuous feel of the velvety water against my skin. I reach my hand down under the water and touch myself.

In no hurry, I slide my hand over the tight skin, down to where hair would have tickled my fingers had it been dry. Then slowly back up toward the crown.

And then the mood is shattered. A voice. Marco’s voice.

“Hey, Ryan, is that you out there?”

Damn.

“Yeah, Marco. Just enjoying the water. The movie can’t be over yet.” Hoping.

“Mom changed it to a girly movie. Lots of eye contact with handsome young men—and kissing. Ugh!”

What am I to say? I realize I could keep stroking. He wouldn’t know. And the need is still there, stronger than ever now that I’ve started. But somehow, it doesn’t seem right with him standing still right there on the beach looking out at me.

And then he isn’t standing still. As I watch, he shrugs out of his clothes till he’s as bare as I am and wades into the water, saying, “Oh, wow, this feels wonderful. We should have done this before.”

He comes toward me. The light from the moon is behind me, shining on him and lighting him as it reflects a silvery luminescence over his form.

I’ve seen Marco naked as many times as he’d seen me, but never before have I seen him hard. He looks to be as hard as I am. Not as large, but certainly as stiff.

He can’t come all the way to me without being in over his head. He comes till the water is up to his chest and stops. Both arms are in the water with only his upper chest, shoulders, neck and head above.

“This is great,” he says. “I haven’t been able to jack off since we got here.”

My eyes open wide. “You jack off?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’m twelve. Wanna join me?”

I blush, but it’s too dark to see, so I don’t worry about it. He’s smiling at me. What can I do? What can I say?

But I know. I smile back. “Already am.”

The End