Part 1

I met him the summer I turned 15. It was an afternoon in July and I was bored. I was on the terrace of the house by the coast which my parents had rented. It was in a group of houses outside the village and, as none of the inhabitants had children, I hadn't seen anyone of my age for the fortnight I'd been there. In the mornings I used to play around on the beach and in the sea, but the afternoons were boring.

I was idly watching the dirt road when I saw a bicycle approaching, ridden by a boy of about 11 or 12, with ginger hair and freckles, who passed by without seeing me and disappeared round a curve. I supposed it was a boy from the village out for a ride, but I suddenly remembered that in the morning, coming back form the beach, I had seen a similar bike on the back of a car parked in the garden of one of the neighbouring houses which had been empty. I wondered if this boy was with the family who were going to spend the summer in that house and if we might become friends, seeing as there were no other boys of his age in the village…

I was so preoccupied with these thoughts that when he came back, this time from the other direction, I didn't notice him until he passed by and took a looked at me from the corner of his eye. I also watched him slyly, and when he was a few yards away he slowed down, circled round a few times, and continued towards me. He was going very slow, not looking right at me, but with a smile on his face. I was too shy even to say "hello," but I did check him out. He was a beautiful boy, red-haired and with freckles on his face, as I said before, and sparkling green eyes which, with the half-smile on his lips, captivated me right there. He was wearing a sky blue shirt, and shorts which showed his wonderful legs and thighs. My heart begin to beat a little faster. I noticed a strange sensation in my body which I couldn't define, but I knew I had to make friends with this boy, share his smile, his thoughts, his games. I now realise that it was my unbelievable shyness that prevented me saying a word, for at that moment I realised I wanted him more than anything. He cycled round again, another four or five times, still with that smile of his.

In my room that night I couldn't stop thinking about him with the same strange feeling I'd had in the afternoon. I found my hand was on my penis, caressing it slowly. I cursed my shyness. Had he thought that I didn't say anything because he was younger? At that age three years' difference might seem huge. Or maybe he thought I just wasn't interested, in spite of him trying to get my attention. Although if he had noticed me - and I was sure he had - he would have seen anything but indifference in my gaze.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, I hurried to check out that house in the hope of seeing him and finding whether we would be neighbours for the rest of the summer. I was sorely disappointed. There was no-one about, not even the car. Perhaps they had only been viewing the house and had decided not to take it. And then, I saw it. Leaning against a tree there was the sea-blue bike, HIS bike. I crept up to it, afraid that someone in the house would see me, and fingered the hard leather of the saddle, feeling its rough surface. I took a little look around the place but found no-one, but I was convinced that it was the same bike and I hoped that it wouldn't belong before I saw him again.

There was no sign of them that morning. That evening, my parents and I were in the garden, and about to eat dinner at a table in the shade of a leafy pine, when I saw him climbing over the fence. I couldn't believe it - here he was at our house! He was with his mother, a tall, slim woman of nearly forty, and red-haired like him, and his father who was short and somewhat older than her. They were from the same town as us, and would be on holiday until the end of August. They had come visiting at my parents' request.

While they chatted, he came up and said

"Hi. I'm Miguel. What's your name?"

In a couple of months, he said, he would be twelve. He fired off a load of questions: how old was I, what did I study, what college did I go to. Then he challenged me to a game of ping-pong on the table in the garden. I was still flustered by his unexpected arrival and my shyness but I answered his questions, trying to mask my nervousness. But his kindness and self-confidence helped me start behaving like my usual self, and it wasn't long before we were laughing and joking like old friends.

After a couple of games we stretched out on the lawn, and as we joked around I noticed that the short leg of his trousers exposed his white briefs, which excited me and I couldn't take my eyes of his crotch. Then I found he was looking right at me, with a mischievous grin. I immediately blushed, but Miguel carried on chatting as if he hadn't noticed a thing, and subtly parted his legs a little wider so I could see almost all of the white cotton, and revealing a small bulge behind his flies.

I immediately got an erection. Even more exciting than the sight of his legs and briefs was the realisation that the kid knew what I was looking at, and instead of being embarrassed it pleased him.

He bet me he could resist being tickled for a whole minute, and if I didn't believe him I should put it to the test. I was sitting on the ground with my back against the house and my legs straight out; Miguel was stretched out at right-angles to me, the back of his calves upon the bulge in my trousers. I was very excited, and replied that we'd soon see about that. Rather bravely, for our parents could have appeared at any time and found us in a compromising situation, I tugged at the front of his shirt, pulling it out of his shorts and baring his tummy button. It was small, round, perfect. I started tickling, not forgetting to brush the elasticated waist of his shorts as if by accident. Miguel laughed and waved his legs, raising them and letting them fall on my penis and also giving me an unforgettable view of his briefs. The excitement sent me almost out of control. I said

"OK so you can resist tickling on your tummy, but what about here…," and sliding my hand into the right leg of his shorts I caressed the inside of his thigh, which had a very soft skin. He carried on laughing and flailing his legs, saying he would never surrender. I inserted my arm even further into his shorts, squeezing his erect penis inside the thin white cotton. A few seconds later, as his calf pressed again onto my erect penis it caused me to ejaculate, spasm after spasm.

I was overwhelmed by a mixture of satisfaction and happiness on one hand, and fear and guilt on the other. But the smile on his face, and the kindness which shone in his green eyes dispelled my worries.

My mother's voice summoned us and we joined the others who were saying their goodbyes. I could feel the wetness on my penis, and my legs trembled as I walked. Miguel again took the initiative and, still smiling, said:

"I'm glad we're friends. You're cool; we're going to have a good time this summer."

I was still a little unsettled by what had happened, and for a moment didn't know how to respond. Finally I mumbled something about how I was pleased too.

After they left I went to the bathroom to clean up. I noticed a damp patch on the front of my trousers. Fortunately my briefs had absorbed most of it, so the patch was hardly noticeable. Or so I hoped.

Go to Part Two.

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