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.
