tagGay MaleThe Ffitch Nortons Ch. 03

The Ffitch Nortons Ch. 03


Chapter 3

The Holiday: Part 1

I was awoken by John who burst into the bedroom noisily. I sat up with a start, disorientated, blinking in the light as John threw open the curtains allowing in the morning sun.

"Come on sexy. Rise and shine.............Oh! I see part of you has already risen," he said with a wicked smile.

I followed his gaze and with a pang of shock heightened by mild panic I realised that, as I'd sat up suddenly, having been so rudely dragged from my slumber, my duvet had fallen away and my proud, morning erection was standing to attention, front and centre. I was acutely aware in the clarity of vision that 'fight or flight' panic brings that this wasn't a case of being 'piss proud', the erection caused by an urgent need to pee. This erection was a result of the incredibly vivid, erotic dreams that I had been having. This split second appeared in my minds eye as a feature length technicolour movie. And then, with equal aural clarity, the voice of my sub-consciousness blurted out that it hadn't all been a dream and that's why your mate greeted you as 'sexy'. I defaulted to my floundering fish impersonation. Opening and closing my mouth, gulping in air, trying to speak, trying to swallow and looking from John to my cock and back to John. I grabbed for the duvet and missed. How can you miss a duvet? Grab a handful and pull for God's sake. I had missed because John had stood on the end of the duvet as he advanced towards me.

John said, "You remember don't you Georgie? Oh yes. It happened alright Georgie and you loved it. I loved it. We loved it. It was fantastic."

With that he dropped his dressing gown revealing his beautiful, straining dick pointing accusingly, straight at me. I noticed that his dick was glistening, shining in the warm rays of sunshine flooding the room. Had John already lubricated his cock? Was he going to fuck me now? Was he going to take my virgin arsehole here in my own bedroom? These questions were left hanging in the fog of my confused consciousness as John placed his hands on my thighs, bent at the waist and swallowed my cock whole, stopping only when his nose bumped up against my pelvic bone. He withdrew until his mouth surrounded my cockhead where he paused to suck it as hard as he could. I tried to raise my hips to meet him but John held me down by my thighs. He released my cock with a pop. The noise people make sometimes when sucking a lollipop.

"Right. Come on," he said. "We've got a holiday to smash. We've got plenty of time for this. All week in fact. Let's get going."

"What are we doing for breakfast?" I asked lamely. Even as I said it I realised how bloody stupid it sounded. My best friend had just sucked my cock, again, albeit briefly and had just told me how he was planned to ravish me on holiday. Perhaps I was thinking of sausages or something. Something Freudian. Or maybe the base instinct of survival over ruled my insistent cock. In short I was bloody starving.

John replied, laughing "I'm obviously a great cock sucker. I suck your cock and seduce you into the joyous world of man sex and all you can think about is breakfast! You know how to make a boy feel good Georgie. I'm fine for breakfast. Your Mum and Dad just filled me up with a James & Maddi, full English special. You slept through it I'm afraid."

"Oh right. Sorry John. I didn't mean anything by that. You're a great cock sucker. I think. Better than Hazel Harrison anyway. I'll grab something at the airport."

John simply grinned and shook his head at me as I made my way to the shower. "You are priceless Georgie. Truly priceless."

As I entered the bathroom all I could think of was bacon and eggs and the fact that I couldn't smell bacon or eggs. Or even toast. But then my soapy hands found my erection and all of a sudden I knew I would survive. At least until we hit Maccy D's at the airport.

The next thirty minutes were pandemonium. John and I were rushing around, getting showered, getting dressed, checking suitcases, passports, money, passports, tickets, passports and shouting reassuring words to my Mum and Dad who were now up and about. Dad was giving us a lift to the airport and Mum was being more efficient than Airport Security and Border Agency Staff. Hence the repeated, luggage, ticket and passport checks! I was amazed that she didn't demand to see boarding cards before allowing us to leave the house! To be fair, her baby boy was going abroad, away from home, with a group of lads outside of all parental control for the very first time. Mum didn't become emotionally soppy, weepy or overly huggy as we left. I did notice that she hugged John just as much as me and seemed to be whispering into his ear. How embarrassing. Probably telling him to look after me, to keep an eye on me and to keep me out of trouble. I'd never live it down. John obviously said something cheeky to her because as I looked back to give what I hoped was a nonchalant wave I'm sure I saw Mum smack Johns bottom.

We were running slightly late when no sooner had Dad put his seatbelt on and assured us that he would make up the time on the motorway than he muttered "Shit." He unbuckled and jumped out of the car shouting "Sorry boys. I'll only be a minute. I need the loo." He probably didn't hear the expletives from the car as he dashed back to the house.

It was a forty five minute drive to the airport and it was the longest three quarters of an hour I'd ever endured. I was silently re-running the events of last night through my head including the knowledge that my Mum and Dad had seen Johns erection bulging through his Speedo's. Dad insisted on a running commentary giving us what seemed to be a blow by blow account of his youthful adventures. I sat scarlet faced in the back. Everything Dad said and every reply from John seemed to be heavily laden with innuendo. Or was I just being paranoid? Finally, Dad queried my unusual silence. I passed it off as the result of a hangover and an empty stomach as my own Mum and Dad had seen fit to generously feed the house guest but couldn't prepare a single tasty morsel for their own offspring. At this outburst Dad and John exchanged glances and burst into thigh slapping laughter. I retreated further into my sexually confused inner turmoil. I had so many things to ask John. I had so many things to learn about myself, and my sexuality. And I knew we wouldn't get a chance to discuss any of it on a rowdy holiday with four other lads. Privacy would be at a premium. So little did I know!

We arrived at the airport just in time to prevent my Dad embarrassing me even further. He had walked so far down his memory lane I swear he was about to tell us of his and Mums' first time. I couldn't understand what had come over him. He was almost gushing in a girly way. We piled out of the car and rumbled into the departure lounge, the wheels on our suitcases bouncing and trundling along behind us. No sooner had we burst in to departures we were greeted by catcalls and whistles from our four amigos, sitting on their luggage near to the check in desks. My God, did they look rough? They looked like four guys who had been drinking all night, rolled in at 5 a.m. and had a couple of hours sleep before trucking up at the airport. This, as it turned out, was exactly what they had done! I immediately started to worry about my holiday medical insurance. After a round of back slapping, man hugs, high fives, low fives and knuckle touching the banter and piss taking began.

At this point I should, perhaps, introduce the other four holiday makers. Loudest of all is Big Joe. Joe had been Big Joe since first year. He currently stood at 6'3" and showed no signs of stopping. Tall and slim with cropped, reddish hair Joe is blessed, or cursed, with a redheads fair skin that will only ever become a tan if somebody took the effort to join up the freckles with a brown felt tip pen. Joe hadn't brought any sun block. He had brought baseball caps and long sleeved shirts. Joe played centre half for the football team which is defence. The way he played mirrors his personality. Straight forward, no nonsense, hard and fair.

Little Joe isn't really little. It's all relative. He was about 5'8" but as long as Big Joe is around he would always be Little Joe. Except in the cock department. Little Joe is what you might call very well endowed. Long and thick, he is quite rightly proud of it. So proud that almost every time he gets drunk he has to whip it out and brandish it like a light sabre until one of us ushers him away before the bouncers arrive. Strangely enough few ladies ever seemed to be offended unless they were registering their disapproval with a mixture of gasps and whoops and rather un-ladylike whistles. Little Joe has a compact well developed, muscular body with well-defined abdominals and pectorals. He has a mop of unruly, brown hair that give him a cheeky, boyish appearance which makes him very popular with the girls even before he brings his rather impressive cock blinking into the light.

Then there's Robbie. His real name is David but he is known as Robbie because of his likeness to Robbie Williams, the singer from the British boy band 'Take That'. He doesn't really look like him unless you count black hair, twinkly eyes, devilish grin and impish smile as being Robbie Williams-esque. His nickname is more to do with his patented chat up line whereby he sidles up to an unsuspecting female and whispers 'Let me entertain you'. This usually results in raucous, mocking laughter, a slap around the face and/or projectile vomiting from said females. I doubt the real Robbie Williams ever suffered such indignities. To be fair Robbie is a good looking guy who, even at his tender age, has an impressive degree of success with the ladies. He was in good physical shape and his torso, for some reason, hadn't yet been overgrown with hair. He was a true smoothy.

And finally there's Ewan or, as he is known to us, 'Diego'. His nickname came about because our code word for his older sister is 'Diego'. His sisters' name is Donna. She is gorgeous. We all want to 'Marry Donna'. Consequently, she and poor old Ewan became Diego Marry Donna, a play on the name of the famous Argentinian footballer. I know, I know. What can I say? Sixth form schoolboy humour that we thought was quite clever. Ewan/Diego is the joker of the group. He is always playing outrageous pranks, telling outrageous jokes and generally being outrageous. There was no nastiness in him at all. He has a great personality and is universally popular. He is also the only 'blondie' in the group. He kept his hair short and topped with a cute 'Tin-Tin' flick at the front. He is blue eyed too and looks very Scandinavian.

After messing up Diego's perfectly gelled hair and giving Big Joe a 'dead arm' in return for the 'Chinese burn' he had just given me we shouldered our bags and made our way to the check in desk. I gave Dad a big 'man hug' and felt quite special until he gave the rest of the group big 'man hugs' like he had known them for years and he was never going to see them again. We shuffled through to the departure lounge and I looked round for Maccy D's and..............there wasn't one. What? No Maccy D's? Bollocks! However, there was an upmarket franchise that sold what looked like a Maccy D big breakfast at a price that unashamedly told their customers that they knew they were a captive audience. This was a disproportionate dent in my holiday cash already. A bad omen, I felt.

As we sat down to await our call to the gate the four 'all -- nighters' gulped bottled water and energy drinks before resting their heads on the backs of the uncomfortable designer, as in designed by the Marquis De Sade, airport chairs and closing their eyes. John was off looking around the electronic gadget shops. Who buys 42" Flat Screen HD TV's in an airport departure lounge? How do they get it in the overhead locker? Two of lifes great mysteries right there.

I tucked into my expensive version of a fast food breakfast and let my eyes wander around departures. "My God," I mumbled to myself around a mouthful of hash brown. There were gangs of girls around about my own age and a little older all going on holiday too. And they were already wearing their holiday outfits. Unbelievably short and tight denim shorts; See through lacey tops showing off their bras and breasts; Incredibly tight cropped top T-shirts showing off their breasts and belly button piercings and lower back or hip tattoos. There was every shade of pink clothing on display along with nipple outlines and camel toes. I was doing my best owl impression with my head turning through 360 degrees, trying not to miss a thing when a raven haired, pale skinned beauty caught me recklessly eyeballing her prominent mons barely concealed in baby pink velour shorts. She smiled a cheeky smile, held my gaze momentarily, turned on her heel and made a great show of bending at the waist to look for something in her hand luggage. Across her bottom was the word 'Sassy' in glittering silver lettering. But my eyes were drawn to the thin strip of material that was disappearing between the cheeks off her arse whilst beautifully encasing and framing her plump vulva.

Immediately I felt the familiar warm surge in my loins and the pre-erection twitch in my cock. I loved that feeling as the blood coursed through the veins and filled out my cock. I revelled in the feeling for a minute until I realised that I too was in my holiday gear and the confining properties of light cotton surfer shorts was nowhere near as effective as denim jeans.

Like an idiot I abruptly moved my burger carton to cover my nether region and my embarrassment. In doing so I crushed the opened ketchup sachet that I had balanced on my knee causing tomato coloured sauce to squirt across my hand luggage. This caused the group of girls with 'Raven' to burst out laughing. My face turned the same colour as the ketchup and I looked anywhere and everywhere apart from at 'Raven'. When the laughter subsided, I risked a glance in 'Ravens' direction and she was looking straight at me. She smiled her cheeky smile once again, pulled her tight T-shirt down to stretch it smoothly over her breasts and then pulled her shorts up ever so slightly so that the seam forced its way between her pussy lips. Now that was what I called High Definition. My cock was raging by now. But just as I began to wonder if she would be on our flight, or be staying in our resort or even better in our hotel, 'Raven' and her friends were called to Gate 3. They were going to Greece. Not even close. Still, if the girls were so provocatively dressed and so outrageously sexual in the airport departure lounge what would they be like actually on holiday?

And, I had a proper, hard erection. Through looking at girls. Sexy girls. Beautiful girls. My grey, depressing confusion cloud descended again. "So where does that leave me," I thought. God I was mixed up. I was aroused by girls and boys. Did I prefer girls or boys? Was I just a mass of raging hormones that became aroused at any hint of flesh, any hint of sexually overt behaviour? Did gender matter? What did matter? Did love matter? Did emotion matter? Or was it purely sex, the most basic of animal instincts?

A thud in the middle of my back from Big Joe sent the remains of my not so big breakfast onto my hand luggage where it was finally joined with the ketchup that had been promised to it earlier.

"Now then soft lad," bellowed Big Joe. "Haven't you eaten that plastic burger yet? Fuckin' 'ell. What's it doing in your bag? You're not taking it with you are you?"

And with that, Big Joe ended my inner philosophical musings. We were called for our flight that would take me to the seven days that would change my life. Forever.

The flight was uneventful. The four musketeers plugged in their earphones, leaned back in their seats and crashed out. John and I chatted for half an hour before he joined them in catching a few zeds. My mind was far too active to even think about getting some sleep. I read the in flight magazine. I plugged in my own ear phones. I took out my ear phones. I went to the toilet and got trapped in the aisle by the drinks trolley which was in front of the very shapely bottom of a female flight attendant. As I was ogling her peachy bum I began to wonder when they stopped being called stewards and stewardesses and became attendants and cabin crew. And then I started to think about dog turds. And human entrails. And vomit. Anything to prevent the further expansion of my dick which had obviously just received the pictures of said peachy bum, complete with panty line, that were being beamed to it live by the Mark 1 eyeball cam. I even thought of my mother. But strangely that seemed to involuntarily accelerate my penile expansion. Christ! What was happening to me? Thinking of my Mum made me hard? Or rather, harder. By the time I got back to my seat I had decided that I needed a therapist. Either that or a good hard fuck!

At long last we landed and, after an interminably hot, sweaty wait by the luggage carousels, we emerged into the beautifully hot, dry, Mediterranean sunshine. We quickly found our pre-booked, people carrier, airport transfer and within forty five minutes we were standing in the cool, air conditioned, spectacular atrium that housed the impressive reception area of what appeared to be a rather top notch hotel.

We stood still and looked around and up and at each other. Robbie broke the silence when he proclaimed, "Fuck up number 1. We're in the wrong hotel. Same name but the pictures and the web link your Dad showed us, George, wasn't for this bad boy." We all nodded in agreement before Diego said, "Well if this isn't our hotel, where, in the name of all that's holy, is it?".

I took the lead and ambled up to the receptionist, a stunning young Spanish senorita who managed to make her conservative corporate uniform look like the sexiest garments ever designed for the female form. I smiled my best, man of the world, seasoned traveller smile and she beamed at me expectantly. I glanced at her name badge and in high school Spanish greeted her with a cheery,

"Hola. Buenos Dia Pilar." Pilar's smile widened as she replied in perfect English,

"Good day, Sir. How may I help you?"

I asked if she held a reservation for three twin rooms in the name of DuBois -- yes, that's my surname -- for seven days. Pilar busied herself at her computer. After no more than 15 seconds she looked up. Her smiled had been replaced by a confused frown. "Three rooms? Twin rooms? Dubois?" she queried. The lads, who had now joined me at the counter groaned in unison and Robbie murmured "Told you didn't I. Never even heard of us." Pilar overheard him and stated,

"This is contrary Senor. We have you on our computer as Dubois for seven days. You do not have twin rooms. I am sorry for you. You have three standard suites on the Panoramico. That is level eight. Senor Himes DuBois makes upgrade on Visa."

"Himes?" whispered Big Joe, "Who the fuck is Himes? Is this a scam?"

"It's my Dad you doughnut," I whispered back. "She means James. 'J' is 'H' in Spanish."

We completed the check in, picked up our key cards and Pilar arranged for porters to take our bags up to our suites as we feigned nonchalance. As if we'd spent all our holidays in suites on Panoramic Floors of classy hotels.

The suites were fantastic. Wide balconies or sun terraces as they were described in the blurb. Huge bathrooms or walk in wetrooms complete with hot tubs as they were described in the blurb. Fridge with ice maker and two spacious bedrooms complete with double beds or king size divans according to the blurb. This was incredible. I immediately texted my thanks to my Dad 'Himes'. He replied almost immediately. Apparently all our parents had chipped in to upgrade the rooms as we had done so well with our studies. We were ecstatic. Jumping up and down, running in and out of each others suites, opening doors and cupboards and wardrobes, turning on power showers and bouncing on huge beds. This was going to be a great week.

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