The next day the weather was beautiful and we spent the day at the beach. Michael and I did all the silly games that teenagers do at the seaside, paddling in the sea, throwing a Frisbee around, digging pointless holes in the sand. As the afternoon wore on we both developed an urge to be alone. We never spoke but we knew what we wanted to do. Mum and Dad were semi-snoozing in the shade of our beach windbreak and we told them that we were going to go for a walk along the beach. Off we went, hand in hand, but when we were out of sight we put our arms around each other in a way that was much more than affectionate ‘brother-sister’.
We watched expressions on adults’ faces as they passed by. Some smiled, perhaps remembering their own teenage romances, others tut-tutted, obviously thinking we were far too young. If only they knew that we were brother and sister! The thrill of being so wicked was almost overwhelming. The beach was fairly crowded and we had to walk right to the far end before the people began to thin out. Then the beach itself ran out and we had to pick our way across dangerously sharp rocks to go any further. It was clear that only rock climbers, mountain goats and young lovers would bother to push on any further so that is precisely what we did.
After a 15-minute hike we came to a lovely secluded spot. It couldn’t be overlooked from the cliffs above and anyone else scrambling along the rocks would have made so much noise that we would easily have heard them. We could only have been seen by people on the boats way out to sea, and then only if they possessed binoculars powerful enough. We lay on the largest, flattest and smoothest rock we could find. We kissed passionately, hungrily tasting each other’s saliva as our tongues swirled together. Michael lay on his back and I lay over him, my legs spread wide. I felt the bulge in his swimming trunks grow harder and harder until he grimaced in pain.
“Get off, Jen!”
I obeyed and he reached down and undid his trunks, reaching inside to straighten and adjust his constricted penis. I touched it through the trunks, feeling how incredibly hard it was. Now it was my turn to give commands, “Michael, pull them down!”
He looked around us, double-checking that we could not be seen, and tugged them down to his knees. He lay back and his rigid penis pointed straight at his face, visibly bobbing up and down in time to his heartbeat. I reached out and touched him, gently caressing him with just the tips of my fingers. In seconds the clear juice began to seep from him, catching the sunlight and sparkling like diamonds. I wrapped my fingers around him, moved my hand slowly up and down the shaft, admiring the lovely strong curve, the mysterious thick swelling veins and above all the dark purple head that swelled larger and larger until it resembled a juicy ripe plum. It was so engorged I would have thought that he must have been in pain had his moans of pleasure as I caressed him not told me otherwise.
“How big is it?” I asked, as I slowly ran my fingertips up and down the shaft.
“Six and a half inches!” he announced proudly.
“Is that big?”
“None of the blokes at School is bigger.”
“You don’t compare them, do you?”
“Sometimes.”
I suddenly had a vision of dozens of erect penises, all in a row, with me walking along the line, ruler in hand. My crotch felt a rush of wetness.
“What do you call it, I mean do you and your friends call it a penis?” I asked.
“Loads of things, cock, prick, dick, that sort of thing.”
“What do you want me to call it?”
“Its up to you.”
“"I think cock sounds best, the others sound silly. What do the boys call a vagina?”
“I’m not saying all of them, they’re too rude.” I saw Michael start to blush.
