Pauls Pants

Pauls Pants 5a? Holiday, Hiking in The Lakes

This is another episode that I originally left out of the Pauls Pants series, we had a lot of fun, hope you enjoy reading about it. spasm2[at]mailandnews.com for any comments, thoughts, insults or requests. As ever, please feel free to redistribute as you wish, although I retain all intellectual rights.

It was the Easter holiday, a time when our despairing parents sent us away on school organised holidays. Generally these were run by the Christian Union, and combined a lot of healthy activities with attempted religious indoctrination and moral education. I guess it would be fair to say that even in my earliest teens my propensity for sexual experimentation would probably have been considered morally beyond the pale as far as the happy clappy's were concerned (had they but known). Outwardly I was a fairly clever, non-confrontational boy, and I imagine they had high hopes of saving my soul. These holidays did have the advantage of being very cheap, and if you could stomach the attempts to bring you into the arms of Jesus, then they were quite good fun.

I was by now in my fifth year at school, this was my first big exam year, and it had been decided that a good bracing healthy holiday, in the company of my friends and contemporaries, would be a good thing. This year the holiday was to be in an activity centre in the Lake District, an extraordinarily beautiful (and wet) place, about 300 miles Northwest of my school. The transport they organised consisted of two very elderly London double decker buses, painted blue, and capable of no more than forty miles an hour, even with a following wind. Still, we didn't mind, it was an adventure, and for some of the younger boys it was the first time they had been away from home on their own.

I was quite excited, for many reasons; I was away from home, I was with my mates, and at the last minute Paul's parents had decided that he should come away too. Our sex games together had recently moved up a notch, and I was very keen to see what we might get up to next. This was also the first time we had been away from the constraints of either of our parental homes together as well. The idea of a sleepover was a foreign concept then, and anyway, Paul's bedroom was so cluttered that the only place I could have slept would have been in his bed, my place wasn't so very different, and I just couldn't see either of our parents buying into that one. This was going to be different, although we were going to have to be ingenious. We were sleeping in dormitories, with twelve boys in each, supervised by a sixth former. Paul and I were going to be sleeping in different dormitories, which was ok, I think otherwise we might unconsciously have given the game away with our easy familiarity with each other's bodies.

So, after an eight-hour crawl up the M6 motorway we arrived at the outdoor centre that was to be our base for the next two weeks. After dumping our bags in the wooden huts that we were to sleep in, and in the state of mild hysteria brought on by our long confinement in the buses, we rushed off to explore. The dormitories were arranged along a path with a noisy stream running by it. I was pleased to notice that there wasn't an internal toilet or shower in each hut; rather there was a communal building, roughly equidistant to all the sleeping huts. This created an instant excuse, if one happened to be found wandering about late at night, not only that, but the constant sound of rushing water provided both the cover for accidental noise, and a further explanation for the need to get up in the night.

I hadn't seen much of Paul on the trip up, he had been on the other bus, and once we arrived, was assigned to a different hut. His parents had sent him away in a deplorable woollen bobble hat, which he continued to wear, despite jeering and insults from all. It made him look about two years younger, so I wasn't complaining. I had dumped my stuff in my hut, and was heading for the toilet block when Paul mooched up beside me; 'Watcha,' he said.

'Hi,' I replied, as dialogue goes, hardly inspirational, but with teenage boys it's all in the subtext. 'This is cool isn't it,' I added, 'have you been down to have a look at the lake yet?'

'Nah, I was going to have a slash first and then see if I could find somewhere to have a quiet fag (for the benefit of American readers this means a cigarette!).

'Me too, for the first bit anyway.' We ambled into the toilet block and unzipping our jeans stood close to each other at the urinal as we pissed. We chatted amiably and inconsequentially as we did this, our total familiarity with each other's bodies making this apparent intimacy seem irrelevant. In retrospect, if you knew what to look for, then we blew our cover on the first opportunity. As it was, there was a younger boy, perhaps a couple of years below me, who was also in the toilets, and who seemed fascinated by us. I tagged along with Paul once we had shaken the drips off; a discreet place for a fag might be put to other purposes after all.

About a couple of hundred yards down the lane from our camp you came to Coniston Water, one of the bigger lakes in the Lake District, where we found a pleasant sandy cove and a jetty from which rowing boats could be hired by the hour. My eyes lit up at that notion, after all, the opportunities for seclusion offered by a boat were pretty good. Both of us were good swimmers too, so there was every chance we might get away with it. 'Have you got your swimming kit with you?' I asked, no time like the present.

'Yeah, my mum bought me some new Speedos for coming away with, said my old ones were too tight on me.'

'She wasn't wrong; they didn't hide much any more, especially since we ripped out the lining. Pity though, they were dead sexy.'

'Wait 'til you see these ones then, I took the ones she bought me back to the shop, and swapped them for a size smaller and I've already cut out the liner. She said I needed some I could grow into.'

'Let's hope you will, although maybe not the way she meant,' I said, 'but you want to be careful, if they're too tight you might not be able to have children.' He gave me a dirty look, and we wandered on along the beach. About a couple of hundred yards offshore there were several tiny islands, to my mind these looked ideal, as they offered both concealment and seclusion. I blurted out the question that had been on my mind since we had left London; 'Are you up for another 'photo session while we're here?'

'I might be,' he smiled enigmatically, 'what did you have in mind?'

'Don't know really, I think we might have to seize the moment.'

'Ok,' he said, 'I'll go along with that. You might have to do a bit of seizing too.'

'Always up for that,' I replied, smiling with relief that he still fancied some fun. Away in the distance we heard the clang of the bell that mean that we were being summoned for supper, prayers and a quiet evening of improving board games. No TV, no computer games (they hadn't been invented yet) and lights out by nine o'clock. I'll draw a veil over that first night in the dormitory, not many of us had slept in a dormitory before, so the niceties of communal sleeping all had to be learned, some of the younger boys were homesick and cried themselves quietly to sleep. I was wearing pyjamas (only the bottoms) for the first time for years, and found them a very strange experience. All in all, it wasn't the best night's sleep I've ever had.

The next days planned entertainment was to be a route march; beginning with a boat ride across Coniston Water followed by a hike round the opposite side of the lake, and finally a boat ride back from further round. After our breakfast and a little prayer session, we were instructed to go and get into our walking gear. I had been bought new boots, and hadn't had time to walk them in yet, so a long hike was not too appealing to me. No matter, we've all had blisters before, I was still up for it. Overnight there had been some rain, although it was still overcast the air was fresh and clean and we set out for the jetty in a state of pleasurable anticipation.

I may have previously mentioned that Paul was quite a pushy boy; as previously recorded I had found my own solutions to this aspect of his character, but others still found him annoying, and he came in for some fairly good-natured teasing. Currently this involved a silly game of snatching his bobble hat and throwing it into the bushes, or the trees, or anywhere that would annoy him in fact.

Our route down to the jetty took us alongside the stream, and as we got closer to the lake it spread out into a number of pools and ditches, concealed in many cases by a thick covering of duckweed. There was a lot of larking about, and somehow I managed to twist my ankle falling over a slippery tree root or something. This wasn't greeted by any enthusiasm or much sympathy by our troupe leaders; they had no contingency for this, so I was instructed to hobble along as best I could. I am rather prone to twisting my ankles, so whilst this was insensitive, I was able to cope with it. The ragging of Paul reached a peak when someone snatched his hat, and threw it into a tree on the other side of a clogged and filthy looking pool, there was no way that he was going to leave it there, and in a rage he sought a way round to it. As luck would have it there was a semi-submerged and sodden tree trunk bisecting the pond; a moments sober reflection would have suggested that this wasn't going to be a very good idea, but sober reflection was never Paul's bag, and he went for it.

For a little while I thought he was going to make it, he charged fearlessly out along the log and his momentum carried him all the way to the other side. Snatching his hat from the branches of the tree, he turned round, and grinning in triumph began his return journey. Midway back disaster struck, he slowed, and wobbled dangerously, paused for a moment to regain his balance, and continued on his way. The second time he stopped was like a slow motion car crash, he threw his arms out, flailing them like windmills to try and regain his balance, all to no avail. Slowly, inevitably, he fell face first and full length into the pool, disappearing under the green crust of duckweed with a great scummy splash. There was a moment's horrified silence, followed by nervous giggling and then a concerned silence when he didn't immediately reappear. After what seemed like an age, but was probably only a couple of seconds, there was a bubbling and a surging and Paul re-emerged from his watery grave. I have never seen a sight quite like it, quite apart from being festooned with pondweed, the bottom of the pond was thick with evil smelling black slime, and he was thoroughly coated in it.

'Ah, the creature from the black lagoon,' I muttered to no one in particular, earning a filthy look from a teacher who happened to be in earshot.

No one was very keen to help him climb out for some reason, and he hauled himself painfully up onto the path. The most senior teacher present gathered his colleagues together for a conference, as Paul stood abject; dripping and morose on the path. A moment later the teacher crooked a bony finger at me, to my considerable surprise, and I limped over to join their huddle.

'How is your ankle?' he asked, with synthetic concern.

'Oh, getting better, Sir,' I replied.

'Ah,' he said slowly, 'do you think you would be very disappointed if we sent you back to camp with that little idiot?'

'You mean, and miss out on the hike? Oh Sir, that would be such a shame.' I lied heroically.

'I know, but we all have to make sacrifices and someone will have to take that boy back to the camp and make sure he's cleaned up.'

'Oh, I suppose so,' I agreed with false reluctance, 'what do you expect me to do exactly.'

'Take him back, make sure he gets cleaned up, and his clothes get put into the washing, and then, I don't know, play with him for the rest of the day or something.'

'Play with him, Sir?'

'You know what I mean; there are plenty of games and stuff back at the centre. Use your imagination, keep yourselves entertained, and don't let him get into any more trouble or fall into anything else.'

'We could go bird watching, Sir, would that be alright?'

'Yes, Yes,' he answered testily, 'just don't wander too far, and make sure that you tell the warden where you are going. We'll be back by teatime.' With that he turned away, gathered the rest of the boys and they headed off at a brisk trot towards the jetty, as their boat was already visibly approaching.

'Right,' I said briskly, 'let's get you back to base and cleaned up, and once we've done that I've been told to play with you.'

Paul nodded unhappily, and started to squelch up the path towards the huts. 'I'm cold,' he said, his teeth chattering.

'Right, as soon as they're out of sight we can pick up the pace a bit.'

'What about your ankle?' he said, his blue eyes widening with concern in his filthy and blackened face.

'Better by the minute' I replied, and suiting action to my words I speeded down the path. In truth my ankle was still sore, but my unanticipated invitation to play made this a minor inconvenience. When we got back to the camp, there was no one about and the wardens landrover was missing. 'You head for the showers, and I'll grab some towels from the laundry room. Don't bother to undress, we'd better hose the mud off your clothes first.' I snatched a bundle of towels and headed back, Paul's shoes and socks were outside the door, and a trail of muddy footmarks leading across the floor. I could hear the shower running, and poked my head round the door, 'Need a hand?'

'Yes please,' he replied, miserably, 'I'm still freezing.'

Quickly I stripped off (I couldn't think how to explain two lots of sodden clothes), and dived into the shower room. Paul hadn't yet got under the shower and was standing there, smelly, soaking and unhappy. His eyes lit up and he smiled for the first time that morning when he saw my nakedness. 'Into the shower with you,' I said, and grabbing his shoulders I walked both of us under the hot water. 'I'll just get the worst of this mud off you, then we can get your kit off and hopefully a good soaping will take away the smell.' Taking the showerhead in my hand, I began to spray away the mud, working from the top down; gradually a boy began to appear from under the stinky blackness. Soon it became possible to tell the colour of his t-shirt, as it clung to his slim torso. I yanked it out of his jeans, and once it was fairly clean, I made him raise his arms, and stripped it off his body. Kneeling down in the shower, I began to deal with his jeans, I pushed his legs apart, and holding the showerhead in one hand I scooped the mud off him with the other. He certainly seemed to be enjoying this treatment, and even though I was concentrating on cleaning him off, I could feel the beginnings of a stiffening sensation that meant I was enjoying it too.

When I was satisfied that his jeans were as clean as I was going to get them, and after I had given special attention to his butt and crotch area, I unbuckled his belt, undid the top button, and slowly unzipped his flies. As I helped him out of his wet jeans I was able to admire his pants, I had seen them before, indeed I think they were the ones he wore when he first tried and mostly failed to take pictures of himself with my camera. They were blue ribbed cotton, made by Wolsey, and fitted snugly although not tightly. In their wet state they clung to him, revealing the contours of his butt, and the bulges of his semi-erect cock and his balls.

'This is nice,' I said, putting a friendly hand on the front of his pants. I felt his dick stir underneath my fingers and gave him a little squeeze of acknowledgement. 'Don't move, I'll get the soap.' When I came back, he was rinsing his hair, leaning back into the spray of water, both hands behind his head and his bulging pants thrusting towards me. 'Now there's a pretty sight,' I said, 'I wish I had my camera.'

'It would steam up,' he said, practically, 'now soap me up, I smell worse than a pile of old dog turds.'

'You do,' I agreed, 'although whether coal tar soap smells any better is debatable.'

'Anything,' he replied, with a theatrical shudder.

With no further ceremony, I rubbed the bar of soap into my hands, and rubbed it into his soaking hair, as he leaned back towards me I was able to look down over his body and admire those pants, their contents familiar but still thrilling to me. As I massaged the soap into a fine lather, he rubbed his butt against my now increasingly aroused cock, and I became aware that he was surreptitiously rubbing at his own growing erection too. I carefully rinsed the soap out of his hair and taking up the soap again began to rub it over his back, round under his armpits and onto his chest. Mostly for pleasure I rubbed the foaming soap over his smooth skin, feeling the young muscles contacting easily under my fingers as he moved his arms. Moving down a little, I ran my soapy hands over his ribs and onto the flat surface of his stomach, I could feel him squirm with pleasure as I touched the sensitive area just above the waistband. His erection was very big now, and bowing out the front of his pants in a very attractive fashion, mine was doing very nicely thank you, and the occasional moments when it bumped or scraped against his body were keeping it nicely on the boil without any other intervention. Once again I took up the showerhead, to spray away the soap, and working from top to bottom I cleaned him down. As I sprayed the last of the soap from his stomach, I realised that the water had begun to fill his pants up; indeed, they were stretching like some sort of grotesque nappy. I laughed, and pointed this out to Paul who giggled naughtily and wiggled his hips sloshing the distended pants from side to side. Then, he held the waistband open for me to spray more water in, which, of course, I did. This, however, released his cock from its temporary confinement, and it sprang free, familiar in its purple bendiness. With a look of relief, Paul grabbed it in one hand, and leering at me, he posed in what he clearly thought was a macho style. This image was perhaps not as erotic as he intended, as he still had a soggy blue sporran hanging between his legs. Gently I reached up, and tugged at the leg hole, releasing a torrent of water, the fabric shrank back sticking to his body once more. I took hold of his wrist, and carefully detached his hand from his cock, briefly I held his hot and heavy dick, then with a moments regret, I tucked it back into his pants giving it a little pat, by way of consolation. 'Don't go away,' I murmured, making Paul giggle again.

I began to rub the soap over his legs, reaching between his legs to soap up the back of his thighs, feeling his balls hanging loose in his pants and touching the back of my arm as I did so. I then moved on to soaping up his butt, enjoying the feeling of the wet fabric sliding over his cheeks as I worked up a lather. My next move was to slide my hands, one still holding the soap, inside his pants and begin to work on his butt. I massaged diligently, and he obligingly stood with his legs further apart, his cock inches from my face and bulging invitingly. As I ran my soapy hands over his arse, I pulled him towards me and buried my face in his crotch, nipping at his cock through the soaking material. He gave a pleasurable shiver as my fingertips ran gently down his crack, pausing just for a hint of a moment at his virgin anus. That was not to be, I had given him my word, although he did seem to like being touched there.

'Your pants don't smell of mud anymore,' I said, from my crouching position, 'and nor do you, maybe it's time to take then off?'

'Ok,' Paul replied, and I stood up and carefully grabbing his pants, I slid them off him, his dick springing free again.

I took a hold of it and said; 'Maybe I'd better give this a bit more of a scrub, make sure it's properly clean.' With the soap in one hand and his cock in the other I rubbed gently but firmly until it was well covered. With my wanking hand I gave him some long hard strokes, pulling back the foreskin from his now fully aroused member. 'Remember what they told us about cleaning off the cheese,' I said, getting into my role as hygiene instructor and rubbing the soap bar all over his glans and massaging it carefully.

'In that case,' he replied, 'I'd better do yours,' and grabbing the soap from me he took hold of my dick, and gave it a similar treatment. We stood together holding each other's soapy cocks for a few pleasurable moments until our reverie was interrupted by the sound of a rattly old diesel engine as the warden returned from wherever he had been. Jumping out of our shower, in order to provide evidence of innocence I ran a bit of water through another shower stall, and bundled all our clothes together into a big soggy parcel. We just had time to wrap towels round ourselves and start innocently drying our hair, when the door opened, and the puzzled face of the warden appeared.

'What are you two doing back here?' he asked.

'Paul fell into a muddy pool and I got dirty helping him get out,' I improvised, 'we were told to come back here, get cleaned up and wash our clothes.'

'Ah,' he said, 'that explains the filthy socks outside the door. Come on over to the office when you're ready, and perhaps a little less excited, and I'll show you how to use the washing machine.' On that cryptic note, he withdrew his head and we heard his footsteps crunch away down the path.

'What did he mean, excited?' I asked, turning to Paul, the answer was immediately apparent, as in his haste he had rather inexpertly done up his skimpy towel leaving an alluring flash of bare skin up one thigh and the purple tip of his cock just poking free. 'You did that on purpose,' I accused.

He shook his head; grinning at me, 'Want me to dry you off, unless it'll make you too excited of course?'

I nodded my affirmative, and he pulled my towel off and stretching out his arms, began vigorously to towel my hair. As he did so, his towel slipped, and slowly fell off, snagging briefly on his stiff cock, like an unusual coat hook. 'We really had better get dressed, or that warden will be back,' I said reluctantly. Paul pouted sulkily, and reached for my cock. 'Get a grip,' I said.

'I'm trying to,' he replied.

'No, you idiot, I mean leave it out for now, we've got all morning and most of the afternoon before any one will come looking for us, if we play our cards right with the warden.'

His face went from thunder to sunshine in an instant, 'of course,' he said, delighted, 'not sure how I'll get rid of this stiffy though, it's getting harder just with thinking about it.'

'By the time you've walked over to your dorm dressed in a towel, got dressed, and met me back here to collect the washing, you'll be fine, I guarantee it. Cover yourself up a bit better this time though, would you?'

He blushed, and wrapped the towel tightly round his skinny hips; 'How's that?' he asked, posing like a model.

'Better, I can still see it, but then I know you've got a hard-on.'

'Alright then, I'll see you back here in a few minutes.' With that he dashed out of the door, looking very sexy, dressed only in his thin white towel.

I meandered more slowly over to my hut, conscious of my subsiding erection as it rubbed against the coarse white towelling. I thought it best to dress discreetly before I went to talk to the warden, so although I put on my favourite fine cotton pants, I wore shorts, a short sleeved shirt, and canvas deck shoes with no socks. When I reconvened with Paul, he too was dressed as though for a morning of mooching about, he had on a stripy blue and white t-shirt, a pair of faded shorts and sandals, also without socks. 'Two minds with but a single thought,' I said to him and smiled, 'let's get this shit into a washing machine and go and play, after all that's what we've been told to do.'

When we tapped on the door of the warden's office, we found him sitting at his desk, a sea of paper spread around him. He'd quite clearly forgotten that we were there, and it took him a moment to work it out. 'Oh yes, you two,' he sighed, 'come with me.' He took us into the laundry room next to his, where a large and industrial looking washing machine sat gleaming under the fluorescent light. 'Chuck your stuff in,' he said, and poured in some powder. 'This'll take about an hour, then you'll need to hang it up to dry in the drying room next door, if you get it hung out by teatime it'll be dry by morning.' With that he set the machine into operation. 'Now,' he said seriously, and my heart sank, 'what are you boys going to do for the rest of the day?'

'We were told to come back here and entertain ourselves until teatime,' I ventured, not giving much away, 'there are lots of board games in the common room.'

'Board games!' he roared, suddenly furious, 'this is an outdoor activity centre, and the sun is shining, can't you think of anything to do outside?'

'I was hoping to try and photograph some birds, and Paul here is very keen on swimming, so we had thought we might walk round the shore together and maybe have a dip in the lake.'

'Hmm,' he said thoughtfully, 'that might not be a very good idea, unless you are strong swimmers of course, well, are you?'

He raised an inquisitorial eyebrow at Paul, who stammered; 'Pretty strong Sir, you have to be at our school.'

'I won't ask,' he responded, 'tell you what though, if you follow the path next to the stream away from the lake for about a mile and a half, you'll come to a great swimming hole, it's where we all used to go skinny dipping when I was a lad. There's all sorts of birdlife round there too. I'd feel happier knowing that you weren't swimming in the lake, I don't have time to look after you, but you must be sensible boys or they wouldn't have let you come back here on your own. Now, if you look in the kitchen, there'll stuff to make up a packed lunch, off you go now, and don't let me catch you playing board games. Oh, and if you look in the drying room, there's a box of clothes and stuff if you didn't remember to bring your swimmers with you, that's if you don't fancy skinny dipping of course. Help yourselves, it's all stuff that's been left behind.'

'Thank you very much, Sir,' we chorused gratefully, 'you'll not see us 'til 4.00,' I added, 'right, come on you,' I ordered Paul, 'if you want to go swimming we'd better get you kitted out.' With that we raced out of the door, free, and under orders to go away and play!

Once we were out of earshot, I stopped Paul, and asked, 'shall we go to this pool then? Maybe take a few pics?'

'Yeah, let's, we've got some catching up to do.'

'Shall we check out this box, see if there's anything there that might be fun?'

'Ok, though once you've seen me in my new Speedos you might think otherwise.'

'Oh don't worry, I expect to see you in and out of them, but there might be something that gives us ideas in there.'

'You've always got ideas,' he laughed, 'not always good ones I grant you. Let's go look at the box.' With that he dashed off towards the drying room, I followed on after, my ankle still a little tender. By the time I got there he'd found the box, and was going through it, he'd already found a tattered straw hat, and was wearing it as he hurled the abandoned clothing around the room.

'Calm down,' I said, 'we've plenty of time. Have you found anything interesting?'

'Not sure, what do you think of these?' He held up a pair of royal blue Speedos, they seemed impossibly small to me. 'You'll never get into those,' I gasped, 'I don't want you to hurt yourself.'

'We'll see,' he said, grinning, 'I found these too, there's loads of pants in here.' He waved a pair of white pants at me, they were a better size, although still a bit on the small side maybe, best of all they were constructed of the same material that old fashioned string vests were made from; a wide mesh of white string in fact. The wearers' modesty was protected by an oblong panel of soft white cotton, probably adequate for a pre-pubescent boy, but more revealing than not in the case of a well-developed boy like Paul.

'Wow, we'll have those, I'm getting hard just looking at them.'

'I thought you'd like them, you like see-through things don't you?'

'Yeah, half hidden has always been more of a turn-on to me than just letting it all hang out.' I took the pants from him and examined them more closely; 'I thought so,' I exclaimed triumphantly, 'look.'

'Where?'

'Here, the lining of the cotton bit has been cut out, looks like the work of another pants lover to me.'

'You're all weird,' he said, half meaning it, 'what else can we use?' A bit more exploration produced a pair of pale blue nylon slips, and a pair of red cotton y-fronts with a white trim, he handed the former to me; 'these will be yours, if I'm going to dress up for you, you can dress up for me.'

'Sure,' I said, 'glad to. We need a scenario, and that hat is giving me an idea.'

'Oh yes?' he replied quizzically, 'and that would be?'

'How about Lord of the Flies?'

'What do you mean?'

'You know, the book where a plane load of school boys are marooned on a desert island, and gradually turn into savages, although in your case that wouldn't take very long.'

'Oh, ha ha,' he said, 'but that sounds ok to me, what else do we need?'

'I think we'll go for the shipwrecked look; torn shirt, ragged shorts and so on.' A little more investigation produced a pair of cut-down jeans and a collarless white shirt, already conveniently ripped, and I bundled them up with our other booty. 'Ok, let's grab some food and head for the pool. I'll go and get my camera, see you on the path in five?'

'You've got it,' he said happily, and sprinted out of the door, leaving me to tidy up.

The sun was shining through the trees as we wandered up the path; Paul was carrying a towel with the various costume changes rolled up in it, and I was carrying a bag with bits and bobs, including my camera and a selection of sandwiches. We made our way along the path, travelling further and further from all sounds of civilisation, and eventually we came upon the swimming hole. It was perfect, the stream wound round on a gentle curve for a couple of hundred yards, and widened, there was a sandy shore which was basking in sunshine and sheltered from the breeze by a stand of mature trees.

'This looks great, fancy a dip?' I asked Paul, dumping my bag in the shade of a tree.

'Yeah, let's,' he agreed, and threw down his burden, 'but first, I want you to shut your eyes.'

'This had better be something nice,' I grumbled.

'It will be,' he responded, 'now do as you're told.'

'Ok,' I sighed, and closed my eyes. For a moment or two nothing happened, then I heard some soft rustlings and the subtle sounds of footsteps in sand. I could feel the warmth of his body standing close to me, and his gentle breath; eventually, my wrists were grabbed, and slowly placed on his naked skin just above the hips.

'Don't open your eyes yet,' he commanded, 'just feel.'

Obediently I started to run my hands over his torso, concentrating on the sensations in my hands and fingertips, slowly I moved round to the back, and down to the base of his spine. Here I encountered the waistband of what I assumed must be his new Speedos, as he had been mad keen to show them off. 'Mmm, very smooth,' I murmured, as I felt my way around the waistband, 'and very tight too,' I added, as I carefully cupped the globes of his butt, enjoying the silky feeling of the fabric as it stretched over his cheeks. 'I wonder what's happening round the front?' I said thoughtfully; although I could already smell that he was beginning to get quite aroused, no need to open my eyes. I knelt down in front of him and ran one hand up the inside of his leg, until I could feel the warmth of his crotch radiating onto the back of my hand, I repeated the manoeuvre with the other hand and then carefully pushed his legs apart. Only then did I start to stroke the underside of his balls, enjoying to the full the sensation of their confinement in the taut material, after a long moment I moved further up, brushing past his burgeoning erection and onto the pubic line. The waistband at the front was low enough cut that I could feel a few hairs poking out, my investigation of this sensitive area made him giggle and pull away, as he did so, I stood up, and in the absence of any further instructions opened my eyes.

'Tada,' Paul said, posing madly. His new Speedos were pale gold in colour, and what can only be described as minimalist in cut, certainly they were only just able to contain him now, what they would be like as he became fully erect I was looking forward to discovering. He had obviously removed what they call the modesty lining, as the outline of his cock was clearly evident despite the opacity of the material.

'Fantastic,' I said, 'give us a twirl then. I'll have to get a picture of this too.'

As he twirled, he ran a finger over his bulging crotch, and smiled innocently at me, he was still only semi-erect, but the sight was more than enough to give me a hard on. Before we left the outdoor centre I'd already changed into the pale blue nylon pants that Paul had selected for me, and their fine fabric wasn't doing much to contain my erection. As I fumbled in my bag for the camera, Paul pounced on me; 'Come on,' he insisted, tugging at the waist of my shorts, 'let the dog see the rabbit.' I shrugged off my shirt and he helped me off with my shorts, 'Hey, hey,' he said, his eyes widening at the vision of my dick distending the stretchy material. His hand flew to my crotch, gently stroking at my tumescent cock, I was unable to resist, and copped another feel of his crotch. His Speedos were under a lot of pressure, and there was a very obvious damp patch where the pre-cum was leaking from the end of his cock.

'I've got to get a picture,' I croaked, and somewhat unwillingly I pulled away from his ministrations. There was an old fallen tree at the edge of the pool, just ripe for posing. 'Go and lie back against that tree,' I said, reverting to photographer mode, 'don't get wet yet, we can do that in a minute.' I waded out into the pool and lined up the shot. Paul obligingly leaned back against the rough bark and brought a knee up to show his bulge off to its best advantage, I got the shot, and moved in for a closer examination. 'Give me a bit more,' I said, Paul obligingly moved his hand down onto his erection and began to stroke at the glans with a finger, 'Wow, that's great. Your Speedos don't hide much.'

'That was the idea,' he said, with a cheeky smile.

'Let me get a close up of that finger action,' I said, and moved in closer, kneeling down in the water. The poolside was shallow, and the water warmed by the sun, but as it soaked into my skimpy pants it was still a bit of a shock. 'Time we saw a bit more of your arse I think,' and Paul flipped over, first pressing his groin against the tree trunk as if fucking it and then lifting his butt clear and spreading his legs to give me a clear shot of his manhood. Finally, he curled his hand round his balls and rubbed himself ecstatically, a far away expression on his face.

'This feels great,' he crooned, 'sunshine, sand and my new Speedos, what more could a boy want.'

'You'll find out soon enough,' I replied.

'Promises, promises, you're all mouth and no trousers,' he said rudely, although it was a fairly accurate description. He got up and came over to me, taking the camera he snatched a picture of me standing in the pool, my saturated briefs nearly transparent and hiding nothing. Then he laid it carefully on the tree trunk, before hurling himself into the water beside me with a great splash and disappearing off at speed across the pool. I turned and chased after him, Paul was a faster swimmer, and I was hampered by my pants, which wouldn't stay up, indeed, if I hadn't had an erection they would have slipped off as soon as I dived into the water. I couldn't help feeling that this might have been why he'd made this choice for me, and I guess he wasn't making too much of an effort to get away either. When he reached the widest and deepest part of the stream, I saw his legs kick up, and he disappeared under the water. I thrashed gamely on, and suddenly I felt his body surge powerfully up from underneath me and his hand grabbing at my pants. The little sod was trying to debag me, well, years of rumbustious play had made me well aware of the moves involved, when swimming or playing sports it was pretty much inevitable that at some point someone would try to whip your pants or shorts off. All part of the casual cruelty and humiliation that is a feature of a traditional English school education. Still, I wasn't going to try very hard to get away, this was too much like fun. Gulping a lungful of air I twisted sideways and dived under him, his hand caught at the waistband of my pants and pulled; although they stretched, the material was strong and his angle was wrong, the best he could do was give me a wedgie. I managed to pull away and grabbed for his Speedos with both hands, although they were stuck to his skin like glue I was lucky and managed to get them partway down.

As I swooped past, exultant, and surfaced a few feet away, Paul was floating with just his head out of the water. 'You won that one,' he said, 'now, what's this?' He submerged slowly without leaving a ripple, and then I saw his pale body gradually rise up through the green water, until it was floating just beneath the surface. Ever so gently the tip of his prick broke the surface, its long shaft rising gradually into the air as he surfaced. He lay there, basking tranquilly in the sunshine, eyes closed, until, breaking the spell, he turned over to face me; 'Well?' he demanded, tucking his erection back into his Speedos.

'Submarine?' I guessed wildly.

'Got it in one,' he said, 'I worked that one out in the bath.'

'I couldn't imagine you practising it during swimming somehow,' I grinned, 'come on, I'll race you to the bank.' I set off at my best speed, Paul was taken by surprise, and I gained a few yards start on him, although his greater speed in the water meant that we hit the bank at more or less the same time. As I splashed through the shallow water up onto the bank, Paul was right on my heels, and rather clumsily rugby tackled me round the waist. Pinning me down in the warm sand he tried again to get my pants down, this time their wetness was on my side, as they clung to my skin and whilst they were stretched, they didn't want to give up without a struggle. He didn't have the weight to pin me down for long, and I twisted over, Paul ending up sitting on my crotch, my erect cock slotting comfortably into the crack of his butt. 'Let's not fight,' I said lazily, 'there's so much else we could be doing,' and as I spoke, I reached up and ran my hand over his bulging crotch. He shuddered with pleasure, and leaned back, pressing down heavily on my dick.

'Mmm, you're so right,' he whispered.

I slowly pushed him off me, and he settled back on the sand, eyes closed and legs apart. His dick was filling out his Speedos, so much so in fact that it was pushing the waistband away from his body. I knelt hopefully alongside, knees apart, the damp material of my briefs held away from my body by the strength of my erection. Leaning over him, I blew softly on his chest, his nipples erected immediately and I blew a little harder as I worked my way down his body. He wriggled in appreciation when I got to his flat belly, and when I puffed hot breath onto his cock, moaned gently. I softly and slowly ran my index finger along his straining erection before I eased it gently from under the waistband. Enjoying the feeling of his hard hot cock in my hand, I gave it a couple of firm strokes before bending over and taking the tip into my mouth. He was still quite dry, despite all the water, and I spent an enjoyable few moments supplying him with a bit of extra lubrication, before my efforts were rewarded with a splash of pre-cum, his flavour familiar and strangely comforting to me.

As I worked on his cock, I realised that I wasn't getting any attention; Paul was completely blissed out, his hands lying limply by his sides. Reaching back between my legs, I pulled the flimsy material of my blue nylon slip to one side, letting my cock hang free, and in the doggy position I masturbated in a steady rhythm as I continued to go down on him. I have to admit it felt great, although it probably looked a little strange. I was struck by a naughty thought, I could feel Paul wasn't far off coming, we'd been very close to it earlier, and all that touchy feely stuff has its effect on a healthy lad; I wanted a come shot, and preferably one that was different from our previous attempts. Looking up at his face from my position, bent over his engorged cock, I could see that he had drifted into a sort of erotic daze. With a brief twinge of regret, I disengaged myself, and padded over to the tree to collect my camera; apart from a faint murmur and a little movement there was no sign that he had noticed my absence; his cock still stuck up, purple and engorged from above the waistband of his gold Speedos. In my brief absence his hand had moved lazily from his side, and took hold of his erection, maintaining a steady rhythm.

I set my camera up quickly and took a quick picture as he was lying there, then, putting it where I could grab it quickly, I returned to the matter in hand. I carefully disengaged his hand, replacing it with my own; his dick was still wet and slippery from a mixture of my saliva and his pre-cum, as I grasped it firmly, pleasuring myself with my other hand. After I had been working on him for a while, I could sense that he was very close to coming, as indeed was I. Quickly, I tucked his cock back into his Speedos, and continued to run my fingers along its length as it ridged out the front of his swimmers.

Rubbing faster and faster I could see that his ears were bright pink, he was covered in beads of sweat and his breathing was getting quicker; letting go of my own throbbing cock, I changed hands and snatched up my camera. It took longer than I expected, but eventually I saw his back arch and his cock stiffen, as it discharged its load into his Speedos, each spurt of his spunk forcing through the fabric and collecting in globules on the fine surface. Holding my camera with one hand and my cock in the other, I brought myself quickly to a climax, my sperm spurting free all over his already soaking Speedos and mingling with his. I took one last picture of his recumbent form, post-orgasm and spunk covered, then I set my camera down.

I put my hand on his sodden crotch, his subsiding stiffy slippery in his pants, gently I gathered our spunk together into a sticky handful, and scooping it off his Speedos I anointed his forehead in our customary fashion. He still hadn't moved, so I wiped my hand across his chest, rubbing our mingled jizz into his skin.

'You've missed a bit,' he said drowsily, and pulled the front of his Speedos away from his body. True enough, his spunk hadn't all made it through, and there were great gobbets of it clotting in his pubic hair and all over his balls. I slipped my hand in, and softly massaged him, there were still dribbles of come trapped under his foreskin, and as I squeezed it all clear I could feel his hand performing a similar duty on my slightly neglected cock. He collected a dollop of sperm and anointed my head too.

'How was that?' I asked.

'I can't move,' he replied, his eyes still closed.

'You'll have to, or you'll set,' I said, 'you don't want me having to cut you out of those new Speedos, now do you?'

'Just leave me be, I'm having a perfect moment,' he groaned.

'Tell you what, just let me slip those pants off you, and then I'll leave you alone for a bit.'

'Ok,' he agreed, and lifted his butt off the sand, allowing me to slip them down. Before I took them down to the waters edge to rinse them out, I lifted them to my nose and sniffed at the heady smell of our mingled spunk, licking a couple of surviving globules off the satiny fabric out of habit. I waded out into the stream to perform my rinsing duties, washing out our sperms as best I could, squeezing and rinsing them a few times until I was satisfied that they would pass inspection. Only then did I attend to my own pants, nowhere near as spunk spattered as Paul's were, I took them off and rinsed them in the stream too. Finally I waded to the shore and spread them out on the tree to dry in the sun. Quickly I threw myself naked into the pool and washed the sperm out of my pubes, and off my dick.

Wading back to the shore, I threw myself down on the sand alongside Paul's immobile body. His closed eyes and the gentle rise and fall of his chest indicated that he had dozed off in the warm spring sunshine. I didn't want to wake him, but the sperm was drying on his body, and where I had rubbed it into his crotch was setting like rather tough hair gel. If I didn't get a wiggle on, I'd have to break his cock free with a hammer! I took a couple of pictures of his sleeping body, and then regretfully, I shook him gently by the shoulder to waken him. 'Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty,' I said, as his eyelids fluttered open.

'I was dreaming about sex,' he said drowsily, 'then I came in my pants.'

'So you did,' I agreed, 'only it wasn't a dream. Come with me, I think we need to get you cleaned off, this is getting to be a habit.' I pulled him up from his nest in the sand, and towed him down to the water, wading out into the stream; I used the sparkling water to clean the drying clots of spunk out of his soft pubes. 'Who needs conditioner,' I said as I enjoyed the feel of his firm bollocks, 'I reckon we should bottle our spunk.'

Paul giggled, 'I think we should cut out the middle man, and just come on girls heads.'

'It would certainly put a new perspective on the old; "I can't come out tonight, I'm washing my hair" excuse,' I agreed. It was still only mid-morning; we had hours yet, so I resisted the temptation to turn him on again, even though I could feel the first hints of tumescence as I cleaned our mingled juices off him. Still naked, enjoying the freedom and the sun on our skins, we ran about on the sand to dry off. Paul was the one who spotted the swing that someone had strung up on an overhanging branch, and then hidden in the foliage.

After a bit of fooling around with sticks trying to get it down, he turned impatiently to me and said; 'sod this for a lark, give me a boost will you?' Obediently I cupped my hands together, and he stepped in, I lifted him up into the tree, his dangling cock pressing briefly against my face. The sweet smell of a freshly washed and active boy instantly transports me back to that memorable time. The swing was no more than a piece of branch, debarked and polished smooth by hours of play; it hung from two lengths of blue rope and its arc carried it right out over the stream. Paul swung down from the tree, and jumped onto the swing, he sat there gently swinging, his legs dangling and his arms holding the ropes. 'Give us a push then,' he demanded, and I obligingly started to shove him, my hands flat against his butt. As he gradually built up speed, he stood up on the branch, and once over the stream he leaped off, diving cleanly into the swimming hole. Catching hold of the branch as it swung back, I had a go, and hurled myself inelegantly into the water with a tremendous splash. We romped about noisily in the water, occasionally using the swing to boost ourselves over the water. Eventually we tired of horsing around, and made our way back onto the bank to eat our sandwiches and bask in the sun.

We snuggled down in the warm sand, and dozed off, our legs comfortably tangled together. Eventually after a comfortable snooze, enlivened by some pleasingly erotic dreams I awoke, my cock was very stiff and hard, and I was pleased to notice that the still sleeping Paul was similarly erect. Without disturbing him, I leaned over and began to run my fingertips gently up and down his shaft. He smiled and muttered quietly, and then his blue eyes opened, and he awoke. 'Wow, that's a nice way to wake up,' he said, 'it's a real shame we've never been able to sleep in the same place before.'

'Yeah,' I agreed, 'but I can't see our parents buying it somehow.'

'Shame we're in different dorms, though.'

'Can you imagine what the others would say if they saw us?'

'They're too busy making hand shandy in my dorm,' he giggled, 'the bedsprings were twanging all night.'

'Blimey, they just whinged or snored in mine, might be fun to have a midnight stroll one night, perhaps?'

'You're on,' he said, excited, 'what shall we do now?'

'Shall we take some more pics?'

'Yeah, I'm up for it.'

'I can see that,' I agreed, 'shall we do the shipwreck thing?'

'Ok, what do you want me to do?'

'Let's sort the costume out first. Put a few more rips in the shirt, and get it a bit dirtier, it should look as though you've been in disaster. I'll have a go at the shorts.' The cut-downs were already quite ragged, but were quite decent, which was definitely not the effect I was looking for. Taking my penknife from my bag, I hacked a couple of inches off the legs ensuring that there was a ragged fringe around the edge. With a couple of abrasive rocks, I ground some realistic looking worn and torn holes into the front and the seat of the shorts. Paul's eyes widened when he saw the result of my efforts, he had put some long rips in the shirt, and created some muddy looking stains. 'Ok, shall we try that?'

'Yeah, which pants? Y-fronts or the mesh string ones?'

'Show me the y-fronts, and then I'll decide.' Paul pulled on the red y-fronts, which were quite loose on him, his waking erection had subsided somewhat, but he still filled them out quite nicely. He jumped up onto the fallen tree, and pushed his hand down the front of his pants, stimulating his cock back into stiffness. 'Mmm, they're good,' I said, 'but I think we should use the other ones, and maybe do a separate session with these.' Paul walked up to me, and I took advantage of his proximity to slide my hand up the leg-hole and grasp his penis. 'Mind you,' I said thoughtfully, as I slowly masturbated him, 'there's a lot to be said for baggy pants. Still, put the others on, and get into the rest of your costume.' I needed to put a fresh roll of film in my camera, and while I was doing that, Paul got dressed. I was still naked, and in the absence of an alternative, I pulled the pale blue nylon pants back on, I couldn't decide if they would be less distracting than if I had stayed naked, but they turned me on. 'How are you doing?' I called out to Paul, who had wandered out of sight.

'Fine,' came the reply, 'I'm ready, how about you?'

'Whenever you are, camera's loaded.' Paul emerged from behind the trees, where he had wandered off; I really had cut the shorts off rather briefly. From behind, even when standing up, the sweet bottom curve of his butt cheeks in his pants were clearly visible through the tattered fringe. The rips I had engineered opened and closed as he walked, offering tantalising glimpses of the treasures within. When he knelt down in front of me, knees apart, his balls, in their white cotton, popped out on either side of the tiny thread of denim that was all that I had left to cover his modesty. 'Wow, that looks fantastic,' I said, suddenly dry-mouthed, 'what do you think?' Without speaking, he took my hand and pressed it firmly against his very stiff cock, my own cock jumping up in my pants in response. 'Ok then, let's get down to it.'

I posed Paul down by the waters edge, his body half in the stream, as though cast up by the surf. The water lapped halfway up his shorts, darkening the material, he was lying on his front, one knee drawn up, and his arms raised above his head, his tattered straw hat lying on the sand just beyond an outflung hand. I took pictures of him from all angles, although the best angle was low and from the water, his ripped and soaking cut offs and the shredded shirt revealing and concealing at the same time.

'Ok,' I commanded, 'start to wake up now, take it very slowly, I don't want to miss anything.' Gradually, drowsily, Paul began to stir, as if awakening from sleep; he rolled over, revealing the sodden front of his shorts, and his shirt, the white cotton of his pants showing in contrast to the dark blue denim. I took some pictures as he pretended to explore the shoreline, putting on his hat he climbed onto the fallen tree, standing over me as he scanned the horizon. As though he had suddenly became aware, he touched his crotch, sensually running his fingers along the long ridge of his dick. He shrugged out of his shirt, standing for a moment with it bunched over his shoulders, his bare chest heaving as though he'd been exerting himself. The zip of his shorts wasn't fully pulled up, although there was nothing to be seen, the cut-downs didn't really conceal much anyway.

Paul moved up the sand, until he reached the grassy bank that crested our secluded hollow, he posed against the skyline as if scanning the horizon, his legs slightly parted, from behind, the bulge in his shorts very obvious even from behind. His hands cupped his butt, as if he were discovering that his shorts were soaking for the first time, and turning to face the camera, he undid the button at his waistband. The front of his shorts flapped open, revealing the top of his coarse white mesh pants, his erect cock joyously unconfined by the pathetic cotton panel was poking sideways across his lower belly, only partially hidden by the crude fabric, it's purple tip poking above the low cut waistband. As he walked towards me, the shorts gradually slipped down, eventually they fell down completely and he stepped out of them. I clicked away, conscious of my own hardness tenting out the fine nylon of my pants, but equally determined to capture this moment.

'What would you like me to do now?' Paul asked, his hand resting languidly on the proud ridge of his erect cock.

'I'd like to get some shots of you from behind,' I answered, dry mouthed, 'how about you climb a tree?'

'Sure,' he said, and suiting action to words, he found a tree, and started to climb. The wide mesh of his pants gave a clear view of his butt cheeks as they flexed and tensed, and looking up at him from behind showed off his impressive bulge as he spread his legs in an effort to find a good purchase. I couldn't resist it any more, and after putting the camera down I moved close up; slowly I stroked his inner thigh before touching up the globes of his balls in their soft cotton. I moved my hand up the front to caress the hard ridge of his cock trapped against the coarse string mesh, paying special attention to the sensitive tip. I could feel him shudder with pleasure as I stroked him, and he lowered his body down from the tree, pressing his butt against my jutting erection. The rough texture of his pants was very stimulating as he rubbed his lovely bottom against my cock and I put my arms round his boyish waist and pulled him back hard against me. 'D'you like that?' he asked.

'Can't you feel how much I like it?' was my reply.

'Just checking,' he chuckled, and taking my hand he placed it firmly back onto his cock, 'I like it when you hold my cock.'

'Always a pleasure,' I responded, and pushing my hand under his waistband, I hauled his cock out from its confinement. 'Now, what shall I do with this, hmm?'

'Don't just talk about it,' he said, gasping slightly as I began to masturbate him. He was already hot and well lubed, and his foreskin slid easily back revealing the glans. I knelt down, and turned his body to face me, feeding the tip of his penis into my mouth. He leaned back against the tree as I began to stimulate the tip with my tongue, with one free hand I stroked his butt through the coarse fabric, running my fingers up and down the crack and stroking the base of his balls. With my other hand I roughly pulled my pants to one side, and wanked at my cock. A splash of pre-cum in my mouth hinted that Paul's eruption wasn't far off; I could feel the heaviness building up in my balls that suggested that I wasn't going to be long either. I let go of my cock and transferred my attention to his shaft, giving long firm strokes along its length whilst still sucking and tonguing at the glans. Suddenly his legs buckled and he slid to the ground, I followed him down, as spunk jetted from the tip of his cock and into my waiting mouth. I gobbled it down greedily, as the spurts gradually ebbed away.

Paul lay still, shattered, the purple shaft of his dick jutting out of his pants, still hard but temporarily drained. He wasn't quite as broken as previously, as a groping hand revealed, and he grabbed for my as yet unsated cock. The feel of his hand gave me a frisson despite its familiarity, and he began a steady rhythm which whilst pleasing wasn't going to get me off this side of Christmas. I placed my hand over his, and began to force the pace a little; thankfully he got the message and picked up speed, his hand sliding up and down my slippery shaft. I could feel my impending orgasm building up, and as I began to tumble down that slope, I moved forwards towards his recumbent body. My orgasm, when it came, was fierce, jets of my thick sperm splattering onto Paul's body. I flopped down beside him, my exhausted cock dribbling the last few drops of sperm onto my legs; gently I stirred the gobbets of spunk that decorated his body, mixing the dribbles from his prick with my emissions before giving us the customary splodges. We lay still in companionable silence for a few minutes, relishing the sunshine on our skins, before Paul hauled himself upright, and without bothering to tuck himself back in, pulled me up onto my feet. Together we walked out into the swimming hole, and pulling our pants off, we slowly and carefully washed each other clean.

'You must have the cleanest knob in Cumbria,' I said, as I rinsed the last of the spunk off his penis.

'I guess so, although yours is pretty clean too,' he agreed.

'Well, at least we can tell our parents that we are washing regularly.' For some reason this gave him a fit of the giggles, and he went off for a little swim to recover his composure.

Once we were finished romping about in the water, we ran about to dry ourselves, and dressed back in our shorts and shirts before gathering our belongings.

'Fancy a game of ping-pong back at the centre?' I asked, 'we've still got a couple of hours before the others get back, and it would be good to be found doing something relatively innocent.'

'Yeah, why not,' he said, smiling.

We walked slowly back to the centre, it was still warm and sunny, and we enjoyed the sights and sounds of the countryside as we went. Back at the outdoor centre there was nobody about, and before we went to the ping-pong table, we unloaded the washing and hung it up in the drying room as instructed, adding our damp clothes from the photo sessions to the stuff that was already drying. With perfect timing we were mid-way into an energetic and noisy game when the hikers returned, tired and triumphant. The same teacher who had sent me back with Paul that morning beckoned me over to him, I handed my bat to another boy, and the game carried on without me.

'Was everything alright with that little idiot?' He asked.

'Yes, Sir, it was fine.'

'He didn't give you any trouble?'

'No, Sir, I got him to shower, put the clothes in the laundry and then I played with him for most of the morning and part of the afternoon, it was fine, Sir, no bother at all.'

'Good, good,' he said, 'I'm glad, he can be a bit difficult sometimes.'

'Not if you know the right way to handle him, Sir.'

'So,' he said thoughtfully, 'that gives me an idea, would you be ok to do the orienteering with him in a couple of days time? I know you'd probably rather be with your own year, but I've been struggling to work out who I can team him up with.'

'Orienteering, what's that?'

'We send pairs of you out with a series of map references, all you have to do is make your way to each one in turn, choosing your own route, and whilst there is a time within which it has to be completed, it is not a race, more an exercise in navigation.'

'I see, that sounds ok, what's the catch, Sir?'

'The catch, such as it is, is that you will have to spend at least one night under canvas, possibly two. Would you be able to bear sleeping with that boy?'

'I see what you mean, Sir, it might be hard, but I think I would be able to cope.'

'Excellent, it would be a load off my mind, knowing that you were out there sleeping with him.'

'Think nothing of it, Sir, I'll make the sacrifice.'

I left our conversation, my mind reeling, I had imagined that it was going to be a challenge to get off with Paul on this holiday, so far it had been ridiculously easy, and now they were practically throwing us into bed together! Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I went off to tell Paul the good news.

Next episode, the story continues....