When my college housemate Jamie first suggested going on holiday to Tenerife together I jumped at the chance. "Really?" I said eagerly. "That'd be really cool, we can go and see that cave I was telling you about, you know, the one with the fossils..." I was amazed at the offer, and chuffed at the same time. I mean, Jamie and I weren't even that close friends...
"Woah, hang on a minute" said Jamie, laughing. "It's not just us two going, and I'm not sure it's supposed to be that kind of holiday." He explained that one of his football club regulars had broken an ankle during a nasty tackle and was going to need to stay in England for treatment. That left a place free on the holiday, at a discounted cost of course, and he had thought I may enjoy a break after studying so hard for our first year exams.
"Oh" I said, a bit put out that I was being added on to obviously make up the numbers, "well, I suppose I could make it, but there's no way I'm playing footie all week..."
"You don't have to" said Jamie, rolling his eyes. "It's not a team holiday, just a week away in the sun, bunch of mates, you can do what you like, go where you like, do whatever. I just thought you might enjoy it."
"Alright" I said, a bit mollified. "Who else is going?" Jamie reeled off four or five names, blokes I didn't know, but who he said were "a really good laugh." I was still not sure. I mean, what would I have in common with a group of football playing meatheads, just out to get pissed every night and shag as many girls as they could get their greedy hands on. Jamie wasn't really like that, at least not every weekend, but even he and I probably wouldn't have automatically become friends if we hadn't been thrown together by the university in the same student house.
But he was pretty laid back and un-laddy for a sports mad historian, added to which he was seriously fit with a physique worthy of the drool that (I felt sure) must have been dribbling out of my mouth when I watched him trotting off to the gym or to play football in his favourite red satin shorts. The way they clung to his solid thighs and stretched to breaking point on his meaty bum was quite often my wank image of choice on a lonely night in bed. Not that he knew any of this, or at least I didn't think he did. But I had caught him giving me a quizzical look from time to time, his beautiful green eyes narrowing, furrowing that spotless brow, and recently he'd taken to ruffling my dark hair on his way out, a gesture that both annoyed me (like he thought I was his kid brother!) and had me sprouting a stiffy under the kitchen table.
But anyway, I reasoned to myself, it was cheap, I had been working pretty solidly on my exams, and as Jamie said, I could do what I liked once we were there. So I said yes, and spent the next week alternating between dreaming of the trips I could take (unlike most of my friends I actually enjoyed my subject, geology, and was determined to do some exploring when we were away) and day-dreaming of Jamie's bulge in his (very small) red Aussiebum swimming briefs that I had sometimes seen hanging out on the washing line or drying on a radiator.
Now, I don't want you to get the idea that I'm some sort of closet case, enduring a pitiful lonely existence, waiting for Mr Right to come along and sweep me of my feet. In my own circle of friends I like to think I'm well-liked and appreciated. I was certainly never short of people to see and places to go but, like I said, my university liked to mix up its student intake for our first year, and so my student house was peopled mostly with guys that I rubbed along with easily enough, but didn't really consider as my main group of friends. And so my being gay had never really been announced to my housemates and, as I wasn't having any sex-life to speak of, there was never that awkward moment of explaining who the strange guy in the boxers was, nicking someone else's milk from the fridge.
So the big day arrived, and we got up hideously early to catch our Sleazy-Jet flight to Tenerife. I'd met up with the other guys going for a drink the previous week, and they actually seemed ok to me. They didn't get pissed off their faces, didn't start any fights, didn't feel up any unwilling girls and seemed to think I was alright too. There was a lot of...well...to be frank un-politically correct comments concerning the merits, or otherwise, of the various women in the pub, but most of it was actually quite funny and, to my surprise, I enjoyed the evening.
They weren't a bad looking bunch either, on the whole. They were all quite tall, overshadowing my more diminutive stature, and quite solidly built. Jamie was still the best looker, I'd thought, with his thick sandy-coloured hair going off in all directions and a pair of gorgeous pink lips that pursed seductively when he was thinking, or spread wide to accommodate his infectious smile. Carl was alright too, a bit shorter than Jamie and dark-featured in a vaguely George Michael'ish way. The other two, Andy and Marc, had faces only a blind mother would love, but made up for their looks with a stream of quick-witted banter, and some sharp observations about the various characters in the pub.
The flight was ok, I sat next to Jamie and we chatted a bit about college, watched a movie, and I managed not to be too obvious in my frequent glances at the exciting bulge outlined by his tight shorts. He was looking fantastic, his tanned muscular legs were covered in a fine coating of sun-bleached blond hairs and his fitted t-shirt showed off his well-developed chest and gave a peek of golden fur at the top. He dozed off for a short while and, on the pretence of being interested in the in-flight magazine, I allowed myself a longer stare at his masculine beauty, drinking in the wide shoulders and small waist outlined by his t-shirt.
I had to surreptitiously adjust myself under the magazine as his sleeping form slumped slightly in his seat, causing the bulge of his cock to attempt a break for freedom from the constraints of his shorts. It was as much as I could do not to reach out and give it a stroke, and I had to content myself with imagining the warm weight of his length, and the feel of it stiffening in my hand, my lips sucking on his purple mushroom, as I too dozed off....
We landed in good time, in an intense dry heat, only to discover that our transfer coach to the apartment had broken down further inland. We decided to use public transport, resulting in quite a trek to get to our apartment, and by the time we arrived we were all feeling a bit hot, sweaty and grouchy. I hadn't really given much thought to what would happen when we got to the apartment, so when it came time to drop our bags in the rooms and freshen up I wasn't expecting the sudden lurch in my chest when Jamie said I'd be sharing with him. Apparently Carl and Marc, housemates back in England, always shared rooms on trips, partly because they were used to each others routines and partly because Andy was a notorious snorer so nobody wanted to share with him. I took a few deep breaths and followed Jamie down the sunlit corridor to a nice room, airy and sunny, with a terrace that looked out over the beachfront and lush green hills .
Jamie dropped his bag, asked if it was ok for him to shower first, and proceeded to take off his t-shirt. This was ok, I'd seen him bare-chested loads of times in our house, but when his hands started pulling on the drawstring of his shorts as he idly kicked off his flip-flops, I made a gabbled excuse and bolted to the terrace, saying I needed some air. What the hell was wrong with me? I wasn't expecting anything to happen, I knew Jamie was straight, but the sudden realisation that my fantasy was about to be revealed just proved too much. I heard the hiss of the shower, and Jamie whistling. Shit...what if that was my only opportunity to catch a look at his cock?!...I composed myself, cleared my throat a few times, and went back in to the bedroom.