Gay Erotic Stories

I share my home with my two brothers, and we all own it jointly as it had been left to us by our grandparents. It is an old farmhouse built on the side of a hill, and we have done a great deal of work on it to get it just as we like it. The back door that I had just let myself in at is on the ground floor at the back of the house, and leads into the space that used to be storerooms and a pig sty. My bedroom is on this floor – it is the smallest of the bedrooms, and I now share this floor with our weight room, sauna, a shower room and toilet. Oh, and the large entrance hall with the washing machine stuck in it. On the plus side, I get almost exclusive use of the back door, plus another glass door/window that opens straight out of my bedroom onto the very secluded back yard with its swimming pool.

Hearing my exclamation about the washing machine, Rog put his head out of the weight room to tell me about a phone call I’d missed. At 23 my brother ‘Rog’ is about two years older than me, and none of us can remember how he’d got the nickname – it’s short for Roger, which he also answers to, but his name is actually Simon. He’s a similar muscular build to me, and a similar temperament. I keep myself in trim with my work as a landscape gardener, but Rog has to spend more time in the gym than I do because his desk job doesn’t really tax his muscles that much.

“She sounded quite elderly,” he was saying, “and it was something about a pond. I’ve written the number next to the phone upstairs”. “Cheers” I shouted, as I headed into my room, “I’ll give her a call after my shower”. The warmth of the water was quite soothing on my tired muscles, and I guess that I spent longer in there than I needed – the hint coming from Rog who opened the shower door to complain that he needed to shower before he went out. Apparently Mark’s girlfriend was hogging the bathroom upstairs, and whilst we had no problems walking in on each other, we tried to avoid walking in on each other’s girlfriends. Leaving the water running, I stepped out and Rog stepped in.

I managed to find a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt in my room, and pulled them on over my favourite Hom thong before heading upstairs to our large open plan living/kitchen/dining room, where Mark was just putting the kettle on. Mark was our eldest brother and had just celebrated his 25th birthday. He shared our build, which we all got from my father, but in other ways he took after my mother’s side of the family – like the way his broad chest was covered with a thick layer of hair, just like Dave, my Mum’s brother.

“You two off out then?” I said as I nodded upstairs to the bathroom where Jan was getting ready. “Yup, some new bar in town that she’s found and wants to try; any chance of you dropping us off and collecting us later? Save us a fortune in taxi fares!” My social life had crashed recently when my girlfriend had dumped me, so I seemed to have become the unofficial taxi driver for the house over the last couple of weeks. We arranged times and places, and then I headed over to the phone to call this potential customer back. I’ve been self-employed as a landscape gardener for about three years now, and business was really doing well – but another customer is always welcome! “Mrs. Johnson? You called about a pond.”

“Yes”, she replied, “I do hope you can help. My grandson started it for me, and was hoping to finish it before he went back to University, but now he’s been offered a cheap holiday and won’t be able to finish it without help.” Rog was right: she did sound elderly. I got the details and arranged to meet her and her grandson the next afternoon. A bit of heavy work wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but it was the height of a very hot summer at the moment.

I arrived at Mrs. Johnson’s front door a little sweaty but on time, having spent most of the day mowing different people’s lawns. If I could have managed a shower and a change I would have, but at least she could see that I would earn my pay. The door was answered by a lady in her mid 70’s, and we went round to the back of the house to meet her grandson. Now, I’m probably revealing some of my prejudices here, but I’d imagined her grandson to be a weakling book-worm, so I was surprised to see an athletic looking bloke in his early 20’s wearing his College’s Rugby shirt: and looking like he actually played on the team.

“Andrew, this is my grandson Stephen”, said Mrs. Johnson as he stood up to shake my hand. “Call me Steve” he smiled, as I replied “And I’m Drew”. He offered to show me the pond, and we set off down the back garden. Well, the walk was quite a way down the garden and through an orchard so that the house became quite a distant object, and the pond itself was more like a small lake. I could see how one man working on his own would get overwhelmed by the task!

Steve was quite a likable bloke, and he explained what was aimed for with the pond and that he was off to Greece with his girlfriend and a few other couples in a few weeks time for an unexpected holiday. He’d be working alongside me if I took the job on, and would act as labourer. After taking a few rough measurements and asking a few questions we both set off for the house again, to be met by a smiling Mrs. Johnson and a tray of lemonade and biscuits. I often go on gut feelings, and decided there and then that I wanted to take the job. All that remained was to put together a quote, so after a bit of a chat I left them to it and went on to another mowing job.

My sweaty t-shirt was annoying me as I got back in my truck after the last job of the day, so I flung it over the passenger seat and enjoyed the drive home bare-chested. Having an outdoors job suited me in the summer – I would gladly spend the day working with as few clothes as I could, and today I’d managed to spend most of it in just my favourite pair of cut-off jeans and my work boots. My muscular legs and backside mean that I often find it hard to get trousers in my size, and experience has taught me to ignore the waist size as 32” jeans would fit my waist, if I could get them over my legs! When I do get jeans to fit, I always extend their useful life by turning them into shorts when I’ve gone through the knees or worn them out.

“Drew – the water’s wonderful!” greeted my return home, and I glanced out of my bedroom to see Mark enjoying the pool. At a guess Jan wasn’t over tonight, as Mark hadn’t bothered with any swim wear (she tends to get a bit up tight if he tries that when she’s in the pool). Kicking off my boots and shorts and grabbing a quick shower I joined him. Heaven is a pool after a hard day’s graft in the hot sun!

The quote was acceptable, and after a bit of juggling I managed to get a few days together which I could dedicate to the pond, which was why I was reversing the truck down the track at the side of the garden ready to start.

We were soon underway, but about an hour and a half in we were enjoying our first break, and Steve was telling me about his girlfriend and how much he was missing her – it turns out she had spent most of the vacation with her family in Edinburgh, and so he was really getting ready to see her again on holiday.

“I’m hoping,” he said with an air of forced casualness, “to build up a bit of a tan before I go. The mates we’re going with are always tanned, and studying doesn’t make much time for me to catch up, what with the gym and rugby training too. The thing is,” he was continuing, “I’ve taken to wearing just my underwear down here, because I don’t want that stupid ‘farmers tan’ – you know, pure white where the shorts and t-shirt have been and brown as a berry everywhere else”.

“So you wonder if I mind?” I thought I’d better help him out, as he was struggling to find the words. “Mate, I don’t mind if you don’t mind if I do the same – I could do with evening up my tan a bit too”. With that we both shucked our shorts and stood there in our underwear. I’ve worn skimpy underwear for years, and today I’d got a pair of yellow bikini briefs on which left very little to the imagination. Steve was wearing a pair of black briefs that weren’t much less skimpy than mine. “Nice pants” he laughed, as he snapped his waistband and adjusted his briefs. And with that we got back to work for a couple of hours.

“It must be lunch time now!” accompanied the pickaxe as he tossed it to the side and grabbed his ruck-sack. I couldn’t agree more and grabbed my packed lunch from the front of the truck. “Look,” I said, “it is really very secluded here – do you mind if I lose my briefs while we stop for lunch? If you want an even tan, you ought to do the same.” “Why not, I can pretty much see everything you’ve got as it is!” he laughed.

If you’ve never sat eating your lunch in the buff on a sunny day, you’ve never lived. But I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable: and I realised why when I glanced up and saw Steve staring at my crotch. He must have caught my quizzical glance, because he went bright red and looked away saying “Sorry mate. Is it medical?”

A quick panicked glance; no, everything is where it should be. Then it clicked: he must mean my lack of body hair. “Steve you daft bugger! I shave it off! I’ve been shaving everything for a few years – ever since I noticed a few of the blokes at the gym had done the same – I never think about it now. I like the silky smooth feel, and my muscles and tan show up that bit more. Not to mention the fact most of my girlfriends have loved it and were that much happier to oblige with a blow-job.”

“It must feel really… odd. Doesn’t it?”. “Nah, feels fantastic – it feels muscular rather than girly.” He wasn’t convinced. “Look, I won’t be embarrassed if you want to feel – I went through all that with my brothers when I first did it.” I could see he was torn by the idea: after all, we’re two straight blokes and this is most odd. But then curiosity got the better of him. First a light fingertip brush just above my shaft and then his hand slid down one side before he cupped my balls, like he was weighing a bunch of grapes. “Whoa, steady on – three strokes and it’s a wank!” Another embarrassed laugh as he pulled his hand away and left my thick cock and low slung balls swinging in the breeze. I’m used to people wanting a feel, and you’d be surprised how many drunken women in bars like to slip a hand down my trousers to check the rumours.

“I’d been wondering how it was that you were wearing the skimpiest briefs I’ve ever seen, yet no pubes were poking out of the top. And you’re right: it does show off your tan and all your training.” Now that was the comment of a potential convert!

“Give it a try Steve – if you don’t like it, the best thing is that it’ll soon grow back”. I’d managed to get Rog to try it soon after I’d started, and he had kept it up since. He found that using ‘Nair’ crême was best for him – it avoided the painful red razor burn, and he used it all over, except for his pits. Mark had even tried it more than once, but the upkeep was too much for him – even though he’d left a ‘porn star patch’ just above the base of his cock.

We’d just pulled our briefs back on ready to get back to work when Mrs. Johnson appeared around the hedge, “I’ve brought you a beer each. Oh my, I knew you wore cheeky pants Stephen, but yours are even cheekier Andrew!” Neither of us knew whether to laugh or cover up – I’d never heard them called ‘cheeky’ before! “Oh Nan, you know I’m working on my tan. I’m just glad you weren’t here five minutes ago when we were sunbathing properly, with less on than you might think!” I knew from Steve’s comment that I was right in my first impressions: he was a good bloke and we were set to be good mates.

And so the pattern of work was set. We’d both arrive in shorts and t-shirts, and as we warmed up off came everything except the briefs. I wasn’t at all surprised on the third day when Steve started up with “I’m not sure if I’m a dedicated follower of fashion or just easily led…..” before whipping off his briefs to show freshly shaved white flesh and a cheesy grin all over his face. “Looking good Steve!” I replied, before coughing and adding in a deep voice “I mean, in a manly way of course”. It really did suit him though; he’d got a good physique and nothing to be ashamed of. “Yeah, I knew you’d like it, but what about my girlfriend and the Rugby team?! They might freak”, he laughed “and it itches already!”

“Just watch out for the stubble – that won’t impress your girlfriend at all!” I joked, and then told him some of the things he’d need to do, like keeping it all clean, and not, under any circumstances to use after-shave: something you’d only ever do once.

We got underway with work with a sense of haste, as the forecast was for a change in the weather: and about 2pm it happened, when in a matter of only a few seconds we both got totally drenched. There was only enough time to get the tools under cover and dive for cover ourselves into the truck before the torrent of rain became unbelievable.

Seeing that the afternoon was a washout, I proposed that we call it a day, and offered to drop Steve back up at his Gran’s house. “Could you wait 2 seconds while I tell her we’re off, then give me a lift into town – I don’t fancy walking to my parents in this!” It wasn’t far out of my way, so I gladly gave him a lift and enjoyed the chat as we drove. It was still raining heavily on-and-off, so when we got to Steve’s parents’ house to find them out and that he had forgotten his key I naturally offered that he should come back to my house to dry off and wait. “I’ll lend you a pair of jeans and a t-shirt while yours dry,” I said, “and you can have a quick shower while I make us something to eat”.

As soon as we got through the door I emptied my pockets and stuffed my wet clothes into the washing machine, which didn’t seem to phase Steve – who followed suit. I pointed him towards the shower whilst I nipped upstairs to use the shower on Rog & Mark’s floor. Steve was just drying himself off when I got downstairs, and so we both went into my room to grab some clothes. “Do you want to borrow some underwear as well?” I asked. He nodded and came over to the chest of drawers where I was stood. “It’s all clean – take your pick” I said, as I grabbed a pair of particularly skimpy bikini briefs for myself. “What on earth is this? It’s just a triangle of material and a couple of bits of elastic!” he said, holding up a tiny g-string. “Yeah – really comfortable though, and they don’t show up at all under your trousers. You want to try them?” I enquired, and yet again I managed to get him to try something new.

He pulled them on and adjusted the pouch, which covered all his bits but would have shown off most of his pubic hair, had he got any. He was fascinated by the contents of my underwear drawer, and started to have a root through. I’ve worn skimpy stuff for a long time, and now have quite a large selection, in all sorts of styles and materials: I often forget that some blokes just have half a dozen pairs of boxers and make do with them.

“You’ve got the most briefs I’ve ever seen in one place – and I thought I had a large collection!” he said, “I’ve never really met another bloke who cares about his underwear before. I really thought I was the only one.”

“Yeah, I guess we are fairly few and far between. Come on – here’s a pair of jeans and a shirt, let’s get some food”. By this time I’d pulled on some briefs and jeans and was buttoning up my shirt as I headed up to the living room with Steve hot on my heals.

As we got upstairs the phone started ringing. It was Rog saying he’d had a bad day at work, and asking me to get the sauna fired up and ready for him so that he could relax and unwind as soon as he got in. I left Steve heating up some soup and went down to start the sauna, and checked that there were plenty of clean towels and olbas oil at the ready.

When I got back upstairs to the kitchen, Steve had his hand down the back of his jeans fishing out the back strap of his g-string. “How do you wear one of these all day? It’s cutting me in half!” “Well Steve, you just have to get used to it. I like them small and tight, so perhaps I should have given you a larger thong to try. Do you want to go and change?” I answered.

“Nah, I’ll stick with it. Not sure I’ll be out buying a pair tomorrow though!” Naturally I couldn’t leave it there, and was in the process of (good-naturedly) calling him a ‘soft wimp’ when Rog got home.

Rog has a habit of making his presence known, and came into the kitchen complaining loudly about his horrendous day whilst taking off his work clothes. His tie was over the door handle, his shirt on the floor and shoes flung across the room. He stopped walking long enough to drop his suit trousers without falling over before he stretched up and almost touched the ceiling and let out a glad-to-be-home sigh. He stood there in the middle of the kitchen wearing nothing but his socks and a skimpy red nylon g-string with his eyes closed and a beatific grin on his face.

“See,” I said to Steve, “it is possible to wear a g-string all day – Rog’s managed it!” This startled Rog to open his eyes and register the fact that there was a stranger in the room. Being the exhibitionist that he is, he strode forward with his hand outstretched and firmly shook Steve’s hand, introduced himself and struck up a conversation.

When the meal was ready I called the two of them through and we all ate together like old friends. Not surprisingly part of the conversation was about my comment to Steve about being able to wear a g-string all day. “I really prefer them,” said Rog, “I find that briefs ride up my backside, and boxers are a waste of material – they hug the top of my legs too tightly and never give enough support round my tackle. And my girlfriend likes me in this skimpy stuff: she bought me this pair in fact.”

A couple of moments later Rog suddenly remembered about his sauna, so he stood up and stripped off his socks and g-string and invited us to join him downstairs. It didn’t take Steve and myself long to strip off, and so we soon joined him in the heat of the sauna. “Ah, shaved too then Steve? I’ll bet that’s Drew’s fault – he’s almost evangelical about getting other people to try it,” said Rog, “mind you, I’d never go back to being all hairy again, this is so much better”.

We all sat chatting, the conversation gradually dying as the heat started to lull us, but it wasn’t long before the peace and heat of the sauna was interrupted. Mark had arrived home, and finding the rest of the house deserted had come looking.

“I’ve heard of the Three Wise Monkeys,” he said as he opened the door, “but you lot look more like the Three Shaved Apes!” “Shaved Ape! You cheeky bugger! At least I don’t look like a silverback. Are you joining us?” I asked.

Mark, our older brother, was a good bloke, but he did have the habit of saying what was on his mind – which explained the shaved ape comment before he had even asked our guest’s name. As soon as he had joined us in the (now cramped) sauna I introduced him to Steve, and we soon settled down to talking again.

“So Steve,” mused Mark, “how’s the pond going – Drew tells me you’re the labour and he’s the brains of the outfit!”. “Oh, not too bad, except we got rained off today, and that’ll put us behind a bit” answered Steve. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, so I’ll give you both a hand if you want” chimed in Rog, so that was settled.

The next day was another bright and glorious day, and both Rog and myself arrived quite early to meet Steve at his grandmother’s house. I was glad to have Rog along, as although he’s usually desk-bound, Rog’s ability to get stuck into physical work wouldn’t give you that idea. I guess all his time in the gym really pays off! Steve and I started to get ready for work, both stripping down to our bikini briefs and putting our work boots back on.

“What the…?!” Rog was used to me often working almost nude, but I’d forgotten to mention that Steve and I had an arrangement over topping up our tan’s whilst we worked! When I explained, it turned out that poor old Rog had decided to wear a jockstrap today instead of underwear thinking he might need some extra support. So the three of us set to work, Steve and myself in bikini briefs and Rog in his jockstrap. The straps framed his meaty backside, and actually looked very comfortable for this type of work. I made a mental note to wear mine more often.

I managed to work up quite a sweat, but the pond was progressing well. The depth would allow for a good amount of planting, and allow some fish and other wildlife to be introduced – and the size of it would mean that a small boat wouldn’t look too out of place! The rain had formed some muddy pools in the bottom of the pond, and by lunchtime I guessed we’d be ready to fill up the rest of it. The hole was excavated, the clay was stamped down and a large rockery had been built with all the rocks and soil that had been shifted.

We’d all finished eating our lunch in the buff when I turned to Steve, “Steve, mate,” I asked “would you mind if we set the hose pipe running and left you to watch over it? I’ve got some other gardens to see to, so Rog and I can go and do them while you look after this end.” He nodded, “Sure – I’ll nip up to the house and get the water switched on.” Rog turned to me with a grin as Steve set off, and I couldn’t work out why until Steve came crashing down the garden again bright red in the face. “You bastards! I’d got more than half way to the house before I remembered that I was stark-bollock-naked! I hope no-one saw me!”

“I know,” said Rog slapping me once firmly on the backside, “and to make matters worse, he just stood there and watched you do it!”

“I spend half of my life naked – how do you expect me to notice?” I said as we all sank on to the ground in laughter. When he’d recovered and pulled on his shorts, Steve set off again and soon the water was running.

I left him some instructions and promised to be back later, and then Rog and I pulled on our underwear and shorts and climbed back into the truck to move on to the next job, which a quick glance in the diary showed was the local Convent.

The Convent has fairly large gardens, but most of the nun’s are a little too old to do much physical work these days, so I go round once a week to mow the lawn using their ride on mower. The only problem with it is that I always feel uncomfortable working there in skimpy shorts and vests so tend to pull on a pair of overalls that I keep in the back of the truck when I go. Today I’d got Rog with me but no spare overalls, so we had to do a quick comparison of clothing and decided that as he had the longer shorts and a fuller t-shirt, I should get the overalls today.

The job was going well and even the mower was co-operating with me today, when disaster struck. Sister Superior strode across the lawn to pay me at the exact same moment that Rog bent over to clear something from the path of the mower and with a mighty rrrriiiiiippp his shorts split right up the seam and he was mooning Sister Superior! I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed, but the look on her face showed otherwise. She didn’t seem angry; rather she was amused at the predicament and as she handed over the money with a wink she firmly instructed me use some of the money to buy my “poor half naked staff some new clothes and a new pair of underpants”. Rog was bright red with embarrassment, but I think it served him right for not warning Steve about his naked wandering earlier.

The rest of the jobs passed without incident, although Rog had to spend the afternoon in my overalls, and we were back with Steve by late afternoon. Just as we pulled up my mobile phone started ringing. “Drew – Mark. Listen, Jan’s just told me she’s busy all day tomorrow, so I’m off to the beach. I’ve got three spare seats, so tell Rog and invite Steve along if you want. We could all have a lad’s day out. You fancy it?” I absolutely fancied it: ‘the beach’ is Morfa Dyffryn, our favourite beach in North Wales, a lovely stretch of golden sand with a clear sea and with the weather forecast being good it would be fantastic. And the best part of it is that over a mile stretch of the beach is officially naturist, so we could work on our all over tans.

After outlining Mark’s idea to Rog and Steve they were both up for it. Only Rog had plans, trailing round some shops with his girlfriend Chrissy as she tried to find a new dress for her sister’s wedding. One quick phone call to his understanding girlfriend later and he had managed to get out of it, and I think they were both a little relieved. It wouldn’t have been much fun for either of them, and one of her friends would be a much better help to her in the dress shops than a sulky and irritable bloke.

It was a good three-hour drive to get there, so we arranged to meet Steve early the next morning and then set off for home. Rog and I dropped Steve off along the way and then headed off. Rog was off out with Chrissy later so he headed straight off upstairs to get showered and changed as soon as we got in. The only plans I’d got was for a quiet night in, so I headed down to my room. As I got changed, I noticed that I’d got a fair bit of stubble sprouting so I decided to grab a fresh razor and lather up.

The hot water was refreshing, and I always feel better after a good shave – heck, I even feel better during a good shave! Every inch of my body got attention from the blade, and I felt wonderfully clean and fresh afterwards. I oiled myself all over with baby oil to help moisturise, then headed upstairs to get some food, my still erect chappy leading the way and bobbing with each step.

“Enjoyed the shower then?” said Mark as I entered the kitchen. “Yeah – but it’s been way too long since I had any action!” Since my girlfriend had dumped me a few weeks ago I’d not really been out much and my social life had pretty much become non-existent. Mark joined me on the sofa and handed me some kitchen paper. “What’s that for?” I asked, “I’ve already put a towel down to keep the oil off the furniture!”

“Yup, I know, but Jan is due round in half an hour and I don’t want you frightening her with this…” he said as he playfully grabbed my cock, “you’d better sort it out!”

I took his hint and headed back downstairs to take the matter in hand. Tomorrow was an early start, and it would help me sleep anyway!

The next morning saw Mark, Rog and myself bundling into Mark’s car and picking up Steve. Being a convertible, his car is by far the best for a day like this.

We’d all dressed for a day at the beach: I was wearing my favourite shirt, a cotton one that was so old and had been washed so often that it was almost see-through. I wore it fully open because I like the way it drapes off my pecs. Mark was wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt which allowed several tufts of chest hair to creep out of the neck hole; Rog was wearing a deeply scooped string tank top that showed off his nipples (and his belly button if he leant forward); and Steve was in a similar tank top that covered a bit more of his flesh. All of us were in shorts and sandals. We were four muscular blokes who weren’t afraid to show it.

The journey was a good one, and we stopped along the way for breakfast at a roadside café. The waitress seemed to have a soft spot for Mark, and he flirted shamelessly with her. Still, he did get an extra rasher of bacon for his trouble.

After paying we sauntered back to the car and made ourselves comfortable for the rest of the journey. For both myself and Mark that meant taking our tops off and re-applying the suntan crême. The rest of the journey flew by and we were soon pulling into the small car park at the side of the campsite. The owners charge ¡1 for parking there, but it is a shadier spot than the free, public car park. There’s also a little shop there where we could stock up on water or suntan crême if the need arose whilst we were on the beach.

To get to the nudist beach we would have a 20-minute walk, 5 minutes of that through the sand dunes and then the rest through the ‘textile’ beach. Obviously that meant covering up to get there, but none of us ever covered up that much. We just left our shirts and shorts in the car and stripped off to our underwear, figuring that it is never looks much different to swimwear.

When we had all stripped off in the car park and stowed our outer clothes in the car, I had a look around at the four of us. I was wearing a pair of tactel string bikini briefs, the sides of which were not much more than 5mm strips of elastic and the pouch of which was in danger of revealing the top of my shaft. They were in a sand colour that complemented my tan very well. Mark was wearing a pair of camouflage print briefs; Steve was wearing a pair of white cotton/lycra string briefs. Rog, however, had pushed the boat out: he had on a day-glo orange thong. It went well with his skin tone, and it suited him, but was certainly a brave choice to wear today.

We each gathered up some stuff: towels, water, football, food, sun crême etc., and headed off. We must have looked quite a sight as we confidently walked towards the beach, and we certainly turned some heads as we strode through the ‘textile’ beach.

“I really can’t believe I’m doing this,” hissed Steve in mock alarm, “if my girlfriend saw me she’d explode! What sort of monster have you unleashed Drew?!” I mused for a moment before answering, “Well, from where I look, it appears I’ve unleashed a happy underwear-loving-proud-of-his-body-tanned-potential-nudist!” “And welcome to the club”, chorused both Mark and Rog.

By this point we had reached the notice warning beach users that nudity was likely from here, and with a flick of the wrist each of us had dropped our briefs and stepped out of them. Each of us, that is, except Steve. “What’s the matter?” asked Rog, “you’re not shy all of a sudden are you?” Steve was clearly troubled, “It’s just, that, well, what if someone I know sees me? I’ve never been naked so publicly before. What if something pops up unwanted? I mean, it’s been different with you blokes, but there are women here.”

He lowered his voice as he said ‘women’, and I could tell he was now genuinely troubled. “Well, for the moment, you could keep your briefs on. Only take them off when you’re comfortable. If something ‘pops up’, all you need to do is roll over on your stomach or hold your towel strategically – or go for a run into the sea. And if someone you see knows you, that just means that they’re a nudist too!”

We both carried on walking to where Mark and Rog had set up the windbreak, and sat down. Around us were dozens of other people, all naked, and all enjoying themselves. “Who’s up for football?” asked Mark, “Come on – let’s have a kick about.” It was during the game that followed that Steve plucked up the courage to take off his briefs, after Rog loudly pointed out to him that he’d been in the water often enough after the ball that his white briefs were completely see-though anyway: “You might as well, you’re showing everything you’ve got!”

Long before lunchtime all his fears had evaporated: he was happily naked on the beach with the rest of us as we sat down to eat the food that Rog had put together for us.

We had a leisurely lunch, and with the afternoon spreading before us we re-applied the suntan crême and settled down for a rest.

Although we were on a nudist stretch of the beach, clothed people were often wandering past. Sometimes it was just locals walking dogs who didn’t care, other times it was curious people who didn’t have the courage to get naked, and sometimes it was fellow nudists just looking for somewhere to sit before they got undressed. I’m not sure which category they fell into, but a couple of gorgeous blonde women in their early 20s wandered past where we were. They were clothed, but only just: they were each wearing the tiniest bikini bottoms I had ever seen which would have only been just about legal on a clothed beach, and it was clear that they were both shaved.

Naked men and women had surrounded us all day so far, but with these two being ‘clothed’ it made them all the more alluring, and all the more sexy because of what they were leaving to the imagination. I’d been horny for longer than I could remember, and looking at the twitching around me, so had several others. Both Steve and I had to turn over onto our stomachs to try and get ourselves under control. Rog, the exhibitionist amongst us, just sat up and let his chappy slap up against his stomach, though he did have the good grace to pull one of his knees up to his chest to make it less obvious.

They both knew the effect they were having, and seemed to enjoy it. If I wasn’t raging hard I might have gone up and chatted with them – If I’d been Rog, of course, that wouldn’t have put me off, and I was just thankful that he’d got a girlfriend to keep him in line.

My chappy wasn’t showing any signs of calming down, and I was starting to worry about the sand getting inside my foreskin (not a pleasant sensation), so I reached over and tapped Steve on the shoulder, “Do you want to come for a swim with me?” He glanced over with an understanding look and nodded.

We both stood up proudly pointing the way and jogged into the sea. The water was cool and refreshing, and we were soon stood with the water lapping our belly buttons. There was nobody too near, so I set about pulling back my foreskin to clean the sand away. I could see Steve doing the same stood next to me, and both of us could see the hotties still on the beach. My cleaning started to get a bit too vigorous to be strictly called ‘cleaning’, and so I knelt down on the seabed so that my shoulders and head were out of the water and I could carry on without disturbing anyone.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?!” exclaimed Steve, “You’re just too much!” I noticed that he didn’t stop himself, rather he knelt down where he was a couple of feet away from me joined in.

“Missing your girlfriend then Steve?” I asked, “When is it you fly out to Greece?”

“Day after next; I’ll be glad to get there; I’ve been missing her so much!”

I’ll be sorry when Steve flies out – he has been good to work with, and has become a firm friend over the last couple of weeks. And it’s good to have another mate who loves underwear and doesn’t mind getting naked at the drop of a hat. But I didn’t say anything, because by this point neither of us were really in a ‘conversational’ frame of mind.

After several minutes but within a few moments of each other we had both made the water a little saltier and turned round to look at the beach (we had turned our backs earlier), where we saw Mark laughing and joking with the ‘hotties’! We saw him pointing towards where Rog was walking away from the dunes at the back of the beach and then sweeping his arm towards us in the water. Steve turned towards me, “Hmmm do you think that’s good or bad?” “I’ve no idea! He could flirt for England, but he’d never do the dirty on Jan. Are you ready for a walk back?”

We set off towards Mark and the girls, but by this time the girls had turned and were walking away, still waving and laughing. When we reached Mark, we had some questions for him: “So, what were you flirting about? And why were you pointing at us?” “They’d just asked me if we were together, and if you two were strippers – you reminded them of a couple of blokes they saw on stage!”

Steve laughed, “I hope you put them right!” Mark shook his head laughing so much that he was crying, “Nah, I told them you were porn stars, but your contract meant that you couldn’t date women without your manager’s approval because it would affect your gay following!” Rog had caught up with us by this point and joined in the conversation, “That is less funny than you think – I was just taking a leak back in the sand dunes and a bloke sidled up to me and told me I could make a fortune in porn ‘with a tool that big’!” Mark was beside himself laughing by now, and managed to get out “So what did you do”. “Well he surprised me, so when I turned round sharply I ended up peeing on his foot! So I just said ‘thank you’, turned round and left. What else could I do after that?”

Mark had almost lost control of himself by now, and each of us could see the funny side. When we’d pulled ourselves back together we decided to call it a day and head back home, because (as Mark said) the day couldn’t get any better. We pulled on our underwear, packed up our stuff and headed off back to the car. Yet again the admiring glances from both men and women followed us down the length of both beaches.

The whole of the journey home was punctuated with Mark laughing about Rog peeing on someone’s foot, and Rog in turn laughing about me and Steve being mistaken for strippers, but it all made for a good natured journey home.

To be continued…?