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The Carnival is Over

by Paul Lewis

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 10 Apr 2010

The Carnival is Over

This is the fourth and final part of my autobiographical account of a very special part of my childhood and that of Mark, my best friend – no, more than that, soul-brother – and covers the idyllic time we were lucky enough to spend together in Tenerife, the Christmas before circumstances and necessity separated us permanently.



The Iberia Airlines flight leaving London Heathrow at 0815 on the 21st December, for Los Rodeos Airport, Tenerife, took nearly eight hours, including a stop at Madrid to change aircraft. It was not, therefore, until just after four in the afternoon, that we finally touched down on the island that was to be our home for the next two weeks. After the long day's journey, all six of us were relieved when the mini-bus taxi deposited us outside the Hotel Tigaiga in Puerto de la Cruz, a small, traditional town on the north coast, about 19 miles from the capital, Santa Cruz de Tenerife.

My mother gave a satisfied sigh. “Ah! It's good to be here at last,” she said. Her sentiment was echoed by us all, as we scrambled out to stretch our legs, Mark and I jumping up and down on the spot to relieve our cooped-up muscles. Three hotel porters hurried out to seize our considerable quantity of baggage then headed into the lobby, with four adults and two boys close in tow. The hotel lobby was cool and airy, built in the Spanish Colonial style and exuded a slightly spicy, tropical fragrance.

Checking-in details having been completed, the smiling Spanish porters beckoned us to follow them to the lift that carried us up to the second floor, where our rooms were located. The accommodation arrangements had been explained to us before we left England and, to our delight, we had learned that Mark and I were to share, our respective parents having two other rooms to themselves. Thanks to the fact that, in England, we lived only a few yards apart, there had never been any necessity over the years, for us to have “sleepovers” at each other's houses and, thus, the prospect of sharing a bedroom was a novel but very welcome idea, promising no end of possibilities!

Our parents having been shown into their rooms, we followed one of the porters down to the end of the corridor, where we paused outside a dark-stained, ornately carved door. As it swung open, the porter extended his hand in invitation. “Please boys, go in,” he said.

“Thank you,” we responded and preceded him inside. “Wow!” was the expression that came to both our lips as we looked around, bright-eyed at the unaccustomed luxury that greeted us.

The room was spacious and tastefully furnished, with two large single beds, separated by a cabinet; there was a dressing table, large built-in wardrobes and a full-height glass door leading onto a balcony, from where we had a spectacular view over the Orotava Valley, with Mount Teide looming in the background. By the balcony doors was a small table with a couple of easy chairs and, on a corner wall-bracket, a television set.

With another smile, the porter closed the door and left us to it. “Jeez, Paul, this is fantastic,” breathed Mark.

“No kidding, Mate,” I replied, no less impressed. “What's through there?” We turned to investigate what lay behind a further closed door. Inside we found a large bathroom, with one of the biggest shower stalls we had ever seen, whilst, on the wall opposite, was a huge mirror. We looked at each other and grinned.

“This looks like fun,” I remarked.

Returning to the main bedroom we noticed also, that the dressing-table was equipped with a sturdy, padded stool, about eighteen inches in height. Mark gave me a nudge.

“That looks handy!” he remarked, with a broad grin. “Just the right height for some serious bum-smacking!”

I laughed and tousled his hair. “Toss a coin to see who goes first, then!” To my amusement, he took me at my word, producing a 50-pence piece from his pocket.

“Hey! Hold on, we can't start anything now!” I protested. “Our folks will be round in a minute, to see how we're getting on.”

“That's alright, we'll toss now for later,” he replied, not to be deterred. Spinning the coin, he slapped it down on the back of his hand. “Call!” he said.

“Heads!” I answered.

Lifting his hand, Mark peered at the coin. “You got it, Mate! Heads it is. So you get the first sore bum of the holiday!”

The apparent incongruity of this remark, sent us both into fits of laughter that was interrupted by a knock on the door. Opening it, we found our mothers standing there.

“Hello, boys, everything alright?” asked my Mum.

We nodded emphatically. “Definitely! This place is fantastic,” I answered with enthusiasm, Mark smiling in agreement.

“Well, you get sorted out and settled in and maybe have a shower before dinner and we'll see you down on the verandah in,” she glanced at her watch. “About an hour? It will take us much longer than it takes you, so if we're not there when you arrive, just order yourselves some Cokes or something.”

We nodded again. “Thank you! See you later!”

As the door closed behind them, we grinned broadly at one another. A whole hour! Ample time to christen that stool!

“Best lock the door first,” warned Mark. “Just in case anyone decides to wander in!” I nodded, doing as he suggested. About thirty seconds later, we were naked, our jeans, Tee-shirts and briefs lying on the beds. I drew out the stool and laid over it experimentally, before pushing myself up again. “Let's try putting a pillow on it. It'll be more comfortable like that and it will give a bit more height,”

Pulling a couple of pillows off one of the beds, I placed one on the stool and one on the floor, just in front of it. Then I made to lie down again.

“Best wrap some bog-paper round your cock first,” suggested Mark. “You don't want to be making a mess of the hotel pillows!”

“Good point!” I conceded and fetched a roll from the bathroom. Quickly wrapping a length around my already-stiffening penis, I returned to my previous position, head down and resting on my arms that were folded on the pillow in front of me. My legs stretched out behind and my bare backside stuck up in the air, well-displayed to Mark's appreciative gaze.

“Mmm! Nice view!” was his verdict.

The next moment I gasped, as a hard, resounding slap landed on my firm globes, low down and across the crack. Then, one hand on the small of my back, he started to spank methodically, with hard, regular smacks that covered the whole area of my buttocks, side to side, from crown to thighs and back again.

I started to squirm and wriggle, spreading my legs wide and giving Mark a good look at my other assets. He paused, then ran his fingers down my crack, to my tight balls, where he lingered, giving me a slow, firm massage. “Mmmmm! That's good,” I breathed. He chuckled softly, cupping my tight scrotum and gently kneading it, just about sending me into orbit. I started thrusting with my hips, into the softly yielding pillow and he pushed his hand further down, gasping my stiff cock. Raising my hips slightly, to allow him better access, I thrust hard into his grip, until, a few moments later, I felt the tell-tale tension building in my balls.

“Ahhhh! Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!” I moaned, still thrusting hard until, with a final strong push, I shot spurt after spurt into my friend's waiting hand. As I climaxed, Mark tightened his grip, moving his hand in time with my urgent thrusts, “milking” my cock of every last drop. “Ohhhhhhh!” I sighed, finally, my taught body relaxing with the release. “That was fantastic, Mate!”

We had of course, in our excitement, forgotten entirely about the protective loo-paper, which was discovered as a mangled mess as I rolled over and stood up. Fortunately, however, it had still managed to soak up most of my ejaculation while Mark, greatly to his amusement, seemed to be holding the rest. Laughing, he headed into the bathroom his own, very stiff prick, jutting before him like a flagpole.

“Hey Mate,” I called after him, “you really want to do something about that! If it gets any stiffer, you'll be able to tie a Union Jack to it and fly the flag for England!”

He turned, giving me a broad grin and a rude gesture and vanished into the bathroom to wash. I followed him in, admiring the smooth curve of his buttocks, as he stood at the washbasin, back towards me.

I moved up behind him, slipping a hand around in front to grasp his solid shaft while, with the other, I planted a smart slap on his firm backside. “Mmmm, yeah!” he exclaimed softly, pushing his bum towards me. I gave him another hard smack and then rubbed his reddening buttocks whilst, with my other hand, stroking and pulling his hard prick. I gave him another smack and another rub.

“Wow! That's different,” he breathed quietly.

“Nice?” I asked.

“Mmmm! You bet!”

It was actually quite difficult, co-ordinating continuous cock-rubbing, with slaps and rubs to Mark's pert rear-end but, as he evidently was enjoying himself so much, I did my best. Each hard smack was followed up with a firm rub until his buttocks glowed a warm scarlet. It was not long before he became so excited, that he climaxed very quickly.

“Ahhhh, ohhhh, yeah!” he moaned and his cock bucked in my hand, spurting warm semen over the washbasin pedestal. As he had done for me, I gripped him firmly, squeezing his prick from base to tip until it was completely drained. Again as I had done, his tense body relaxed abruptly and he slumped forward, breathing hard, both arms resting on the basin for support.

“Thanks, Mate, that was the best!” he exclaimed, when he'd got his breath back. All our recent activities, of course, took much longer in the telling, than they did in reality and, when I nipped back into the bedroom to check my watch, I found that we still had nearly forty minutes to spare before we were due to meet our parents.

“We'd best get showered up,” I said. “What with the travelling and what we've just been doing, I'm as sweaty as hell!”

Mark eyed the shower-stall thoughtfully. “Y'know,” he said, “that shower is big enough for us both to get in together. That could be a laugh.”

“Let's give it a try,” I agreed. “No more wanking, though – remember what happened last time we did it again too soon?”

“Do I ever! We can definitely live without that!”

We had, only once before, made the mistake of having two masturbation sessions within minutes of each other and the agonising ache in our balls that we had suffered as a result, had more or less put us off the idea for life!

The shower was as good as it looked, with lashings of hot water and a good pressure. We stood, side by side, under the relaxing flow, heads raised and eyes closed, as the grime and sweat of the day were washed away. We did make a quick foray into soaping each other down but, deciding in this case that discretion probably was a wiser option, finished fairly quickly and jumped out to dry off. Inevitably, however, we could not resist some wet towel flicking and we each landed quite a few stinging hits on the other's backside and thighs before, finally, we desisted.

At last, we got our act together and finished dressing. Each kitted out in colourful, new short-sleeved, open-necked, cotton shirts and clean, fresh jeans, socks and trainers and with hair neatly combed we had, amazingly, scrubbed up quite well. We looked at each other with a grin and made for the door.

Looking back after so many years, we must have made quite a striking pair. Both slender, fit and strong we could have passed, without difficulty, for a year older than we actually were. Each possessing clean-cut, regular features, Mark's Nordic-blond good looks contrasted sharply with my own Celtic dark-brown hair and piercing blue eyes as, even at our relatively young age, we showed early promise of the powerful adulthood that still lay some years in the future.

That first evening in Tenerife was, as I recall, idyllic. We were, all of us, adults and boys alike, tired from the long journey but, after relaxing on the verandah for half an hour enjoying the warm, fragrantly scented air, we began to unwind. For our fathers, particularly, used as they both were to intensive jobs, this must have been a special bonus. In the normal way of things Christmas holidays, for both families, were unknown but this was an unusual occasion.

It was quite late by the time we finally ate and gone 10.30 when we had finished. “Well,” said my mother, stifling a yawn, I'm off to bed!“Her sentiment was echoed around the table. Mark's Dad looked at us.”And what are you two boys doing?“he enquired with a smile.”Off to hit the high spots?“

We laughed and shook our heads. “No way!” said Mark. “We're knackered. Another night, maybe!”

The adults chuckled at our admission not knowing, of course, that certain other activities apart from the travelling, had contributed to our weariness! Together, we left the dining room, crossed the lounge area and ascended the stairs. In the corridor outside our bedrooms “Goodnights!” were said and we dispersed, Mark and I making our way to ours, down at the far end.

Inside, with the door closed, we turned to each other and grinned. “Blimey! What a day,” said Mark. I laughed and put an arm round his shoulders.

“No kidding, Mate! And just think, we've got a whole two weeks of it to come!”

For once, amazingly, we managed to remain relatively serious. Teeth-cleaning and undressing were accomplished in a remarkably short space of time and, very soon, we were ready for bed. In honour of the occasion, we had discussed the daring idea of dispensing with our normal pyjamas and sleeping naked but, bearing in mind the strong possibility of “accidents” and facing the potential embarrassment of soiling the hotel sheets, we decided eventually to compromise, slipping on light, loose cotton gym-shorts instead.

Within minutes we had tumbled into our beds and turned off the light, although not our chattering.

“Y'know,” said Mark, sleepily, “our folks are really going all-out to make it good for us, aren't they?”

“Yep,” I answered. “that's the truth. I can't believe how few rules we've been given. Let's make really, really sure we don't screw up and do something stupid to piss them off.”

“Right-on, Mate!” he replied. “I'm with you on that one!”

Our conversation continued desultorily for some minutes, the pauses in our chat becoming longer and longer until, finally, silence fell and we slept.

With the benefit of hindsight, I am so grateful that we both were possessed of sufficient maturity, to recognize what our parents were doing for us. Quite apart from any other considerations this holiday, at Christmas, in a good hotel, must have cost them a good deal of money. Whilst at home neither family went short of necessities, there was not a vast amount left over for luxuries, particularly as we both attended good schools, with all the expense that entailed.

On a non-material level, they had also given us unprecedented freedom for these two weeks, asking very little of us, other than that we should let them know if we wanted to go into town or to the beach and to report in when we returned. Other than that, we were free to have meals when we liked, with or without them and to spend our days as we pleased. We knew however that, if possible, they liked to have evening dinner with us all together, so we always made sure we were available, clean and presentable for that.

Moreover, somehow we also managed to stick to our resolution “not to screw up” for the whole fortnight, out of respect for what we had been given. Any readers therefore, who are hoping to see revelations of us getting slammed on cheap sangria and vomiting in the gutter, or discovering the dubious “joys” of pot-smoking in some seedy dive in downtown Puerto de la Cruz, are going to be disappointed!


The following morning began for me when I realised, sleepily, that my bed-covers were being pulled off, warm sunshine was streaming into the room and Mark was jumping on me.

“Come on, you lazy bugger! Are you going to sleep all day?”

“Gerroff!” I protested, still half asleep and turning away from him. A second later I felt my shorts being pulled down baring my bottom, while four crisp slaps landed, two to each cheek.

“I'll wake you up!” he continued, with a mischievous laugh and gave me a few more hard smacks.

At that point, I had to concede defeat and admit that further sleeping was a lost cause. Now fully awake, I wriggled round onto my back, grabbed Mark around the shoulders and waist and pulled him down across me.

“C'm'ere, you!” I exclaimed, in mock anger, getting my fingers under the waistband of his loose shorts and pulling them down, baring his smooth white buttocks. As he laughed and wriggled, I gave him a good, hard spanking, concentrating particularly, on his sensitive, lower curves and across his crack. It was not long, of course, before our cocks also started to take an interest in the proceedings and, very soon, I felt Mark's hard length pressing into my leg, whilst mine pushed up against his taught stomach. With his backside now a suitably bright shade of scarlet, I slipped my hand down between his legs and felt his balls, now firm and tight. He moaned appreciatively and wriggled his hips, rubbing his stiff prick against my thigh.

“Hang on a minute,” I said softly, “let's not make a mess of the bed! Get up and kneel astride me, facing away.”

“How do you mean?”

“Get up first.” Mark pushed himself up, settling back on his heels at the edge of my bed, cock jutting out in front of him.

“Now,” I continued, “Get one leg either side of me and kneel, arse towards me.”

He grinned. “OK, I get it!”

Shifting quickly, he got into position so that I was now lying back, looking straight up at his bare arse, balls and prick and he was looking down at my rampant cock. Seeing him like that, I could not resist a few more slaps, in effect, using our favourite technique of “playing the bongos” but, this time, from a different angle. He squirmed and giggled then bent to take my cock in one hand and my balls in the other.

Reaching beneath him, I reciprocated, gently massaging his bollocks and rubbing his hard length and, from time to time, tickling the very sensitive area between his bulls-eye and the back of his balls.

“Ahhhh! Ohhhh!” we breathed in unison, as we lost ourselves to the overwhelming sensations flooding our senses. It did not take very long before the climax burst upon us and our cocks, having had over twelve hours to recharge, jumped and spurted joyously.

As the tension drained out of us, we relaxed, breathing deeply and Mark gave a quiet laugh. “Well, Mate, looks as if you've won the jackpot! You've copped the lot this time!”

I raised my head and peered between his legs to see what he was talking about. On my flat stomach muscles were two sizeable, wet pools; as Mark had so pithily observed, I had, indeed, “copped the lot”!

“Hang about, don't move. I'll get some bog paper.” He swung one leg across and jumped to the floor, soon returning with a roll. “There ya go!”

I tore off a decent length and mopped myself dry, before swinging my legs round and getting off the bed. I reached out and tousled Mark's hair affectionately.

“You,” I said firmly, “are a bad lad!”

“Huh! Didn't notice you objecting any,” he retorted. My only reply was a chuckle; after all, there was no answer to that!

“Come on, let's get showered up and get some breakfast, I'm starving!” he announced. We hurried into the bathroom and ran the shower. Once again and, as was to become our habit for the rest of the holiday, we jumped in together. With a great deal of giggling, we soaped each other down and, as I turned to let Mark wash my back, he gave me a smack on my wet, bare backside. The sharp wet “splat!!!” that resulted, sent us into further fits of the giggles and, of course, lead to a full scale wet-bum slapping contest, fine droplets of water spraying out in all directions, with each wallop.

At last, clean, red-bummed and breathless, we emerged and managed to calm down and concentrate long enough to dry off and get dressed in Tee-shirts, light tennis shorts, ankle socks and trainers, before heading off downstairs to see if we could catch up with our parents.

We found them, already seated at a large circular table, in the al-fresco dining area, half-way through breakfast.

“Good morning, boys!” My Mum greeted us enthusiastically. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thanks!” we replied. “How about you?”

After all the customary morning pleasantries had been concluded, we sat down and tucked in with them.

“What do you think you'll do today?” asked Mark's Dad. “We're planning to spend a lazy day poolside lounging and doing nothing in particular.”

We looked at each other. “Guess we'll have a look around,” I said. “And then, maybe, swim and play tennis, if we can get a court.” Mark nodded his agreement.

The hotel was set in a large, botanical garden that exuded a warm, tropical fragrance of growing things and this, we determined to explore first. The thing that amazed us most, I think, was that it was so warm! Here we were, on December 22nd, just three days before Christmas and we were running about dressed as if for an English summer and a good English summer at that!

After a thorough look round the extensive hotel grounds, we nipped back to our room to put on swimming trunks, then made straight for the large, open-air pool. As we arrived, we noticed a group of four girls, probably of similar age to ourselves, on loungers on the opposite side. They watched us with interest as we approached. I nudged Mark. “Look over there!” I said quietly, nodding in their direction.

He grinned. “Fancy your chances?”

I shrugged. “Nah. To be honest, if this was a normal holiday, I'd say it might be fun to give it a go but, as this is the last time we'll ever have, just us together, I'd rather keep it that way. You?”

He shook his head. “No, Mate, I'm with you on that one. There'll be plenty of time later for all that stuff.”

We spent a long and enjoyable morning, in and out of the pool, nipping back every so often, to join our parents for a cold drink.

“It looks as if you two have got a fan-club,” chuckled my Dad, nodding at the girls opposite. “You'd better get your skates on though. We were having a chat with their parents earlier and it seems that they're off home tomorrow.”

I looked at him, puzzled. “How bizarre! Why leave just before Christmas?”

He shrugged. “No idea, Paul. They've been here nearly two weeks, so they said, and I suppose that's all they can manage. Curious that they managed to get the girls time off school, though.”

We thought so too but, as we had no intention of following up anything in that direction, we very soon dismissed it from our minds. After a pleasant open-air lunch, it was back in the pool and, later, we managed to get onto the tennis courts for a couple of hours.

Our parents had decided to dine earlier this evening and had asked us whether we would be joining them, a suggestion to which we agreed willingly. We were, therefore, spruced up and ready to go, meeting our folks downstairs in the lounge at the appointed time.

After an extended, excellent and very tasty dinner, we finally got up to leave and I loitered a few moments, admiring the spectacular sunset glowing over the calm Atlantic horizon. Mark and our parents had moved on ahead into the lounge and, after a minute or two, I made to follow them. In the corner of the room, were the four girls who had been down by the pool earlier in the day. They, evidently, had been dining without their parents and were chattering and giggling amongst themselves. As I passed, I saw them look up.

I had almost reached the door when I heard one of them say in a remark that, obviously, was intended to be overheard, “Oh, forget those two; they're probably gay!” I hurried on, feeling myself blush and imagining their derisive stares burning into the back of my neck.

Just outside I caught up with Mark and our mums and dads. “Well, you boys,” my father was saying cheerfully, “We're going outside for coffee. Fancy joining us or are you off to the disco?”

We looked at each other. “I'd like to come for a coke,” said Mark. “How about you, Mate?”

In reality, I would have preferred to go off and hide somewhere but, instead, I answered quietly, “Sure. Let's do that.”

The efficient waiters soon brought our drinks and I sat and sipped at mine in silence. “What's up, Paul?” asked Mark's Mum. “You're very quiet; are you feeling OK?”

I forced myself to smile. “Well, actually, I'm pretty tired,” I replied, rather lamely. “I wouldn't mind going up to the room.”

Mark glanced at me in surprise, but said nothing and my father laughed. “I'm not surprised! You've hardly been still all day, both of you, so it's no wonder you're weary. OK then, we'll see you in the morning, eh!”

Saying a quick “Goodnight” to all our parents, we headed back inside and upstairs. I could tell that Mark was a little puzzled at my behaviour, but he said nothing until we reached our room. Back in the privacy of our own quarters and with the door firmly closed, Mark turned to me, putting an arm round my shoulders. “You've gone very quiet all of a sudden, Mate. Anything wrong?”

I gave a brief shake of the head and gestured to the beds. “Sit down.”

We settled on our respective beds, facing one another and he gave me a questioning look. “Come on, Mate, spill it!”

I took a deep breath and told him what I had overheard as I was leaving the dining room. “So,” I finished. “Does it mean we're gay then, the things we do?”

Blue gaze held blue gaze, as we stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. “Shit!” Mark swore, vehemently and with uncharacteristic obscenity.

“Bloody hell, Paul, we're brothers or, at least, as good as. I'd never want to do the things we do, with anyone else! Would you?”

I shook my head. “No way!”

“And,” he went on, “we don't do any of those other things, y'know, like...” he trailed off and I saw that he was blushing.

“Like sticking our cocks up each other's bums, you mean?” I finished for him.
He nodded. “I wouldn't ever want to do that! Not ever!”

“No, me neither. I don't know, Mate. It doesn't feel like we're homo; it's only ever been between us two and I'm sure it could never be any different. We have no secrets from each other, we both enjoy it and, somehow, it just seems natural, doing what we do.”

He gave a slight smile. “So, maybe, it's possible to be just a bit gay, then, with your best friend,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “Don't ask me, Mate. Maybe you're right. It's all too bloody complicated but I don't feel, inside, that what we do is so very wrong.”

He reached out, clasping my forearm in a strong grip, which I returned in kind and our eyes locked.

“It's not wrong, Paul. We're not hurting anyone else and we definitely aren't hurting each other. The only thing that bloody hurts is that, very soon, we are going to be in Canada and you're going to be in England!”

“I know,” I said glumly. “But then, that's what this holiday's all about, isn't it?”

Again we looked at each other in silence until, suddenly, Mark broke the spell, clapping a hand on my shoulder and flashing that mischievous grin of his.

“Cheer up Mate; don't let it get to you! Those stupid little tarts are off home tomorrow and we'll never see them again, thank God. Anyway, there's another, more important thing to think about. Gay or whatever, I'm dying for a wank!”

In spite of myself, I laughed out loud at his irrepressible spirit. “You – are – bad, little brother!” I exclaimed, reaching out and giving him a playful cuff.

He stuck out his tongue. “I know, I practice!”

With a laugh, I jumped on him and rolled him over, giving him half a dozen hard smacks on his tight, jean-clad backside. A free-for-all then ensued, as we fell off the bed and bundled each other across the floor. Very shortly, the inevitable happened and we paused, each looking down at the significant bulge in our jeans. Without speaking, we stripped and, lying side by side, backs up against the end of Mark's bed, we stroked and rubbed each other to a very satisfying climax.

“Mmmmmmmm,” I sighed, happily, as my stiff cock bucked and jerked under Mark's attentions, spurting over my lower stomach. A few seconds later, I was echoed by an equally satisfied “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” as my soul-brother, too, achieved his release. Unspeaking, we lay for a few minutes, drained (in more ways than one!) until, finally, we stood and made for the bathroom to clean up. After a quick wash-down for us both, we tumbled into bed, still stark naked and, very soon, lay in the dreamless sleep of two tired, healthy young boys.

In retrospect, and considering that we were, after all, still only very young teenagers, I feel quite impressed by the way in which we dealt with this strange and totally unfamiliar problem. By no means did we have all the answers but we were, I believe, making a reasonable attempt at comprehending the strange complexities and contradictions of our own, human sexuality and its attendant frailties.


The following day, 23rd December, passed much as had the day before; this time, however, it was Mark who received an unexpected wake-up call when I reached across the gap between our beds and tugged his bedclothes to the floor, leaving him naked and exposed. He moved slightly, shifting in his sleep, breathing softly and I have to admit that, looking at him, I simply didn't have the heart to whack him as he lay there, so completely vulnerable. Yesterday I had, at least, been semi-awake when he jumped on me but, this morning, he was dead to the world. I must have been getting soft!

Instead, I slipped out of bed and padded across to the bathroom, where I soaked one of our face-flannels in cold water. Returning, my bare feet silent on the thick carpet, I stood over my brother and began slowly to squeeze out the flannel over his back and shoulders. As the first cold drops hit him, he wriggled, twisting involuntarily until, at last, grunting and rolling onto his back, one eye opened and focussed on me.

“What the...! Paul, you bastard!” he exclaimed, waking up at last.

I laughed. “Guess it's your turn for a wake-up call, little brother!”

“Ahh! You bugger! I'm all wet!” He was, however, laughing as both arms shot out, catching me round the knees and toppling me over on top of him. Much as I had done with him yesterday, he pulled me across his lap and proceeded to give me a good smacked backside. The fact that we both had neglected to slip on our gym-shorts the night before, speeded things up considerably!

By now, it probably goes without saying, that we both enjoyed the sex-play that followed, moans of pleasure and satisfaction soon replacing the sharp crack of hand on bare buttocks.

That this account tends to focus, primarily, on our spanking and wanking games, should not obscure the fact that, in reality, these activities occupied a very minor part of our time. By far the greater portion of our days was passed in outdoor pursuits, either swimming or playing tennis in the hotel grounds or else, exploring the town and beach of Puerto de la Cruz. The most important thing of all to both of us, was the unalloyed joy of our camaraderie that we knew, sadly, would all too soon be drawing to a close. As soul-brothers, we did not have much time remaining and we were determined to extract every last ounce of companionship from what was left to us.

Christmas Day itself, was wonderful. The hotel made a fantastic effort, in terms of decoration, atmosphere and, naturally, food. To the amusement of our elders, even us hollow-legged lads were, by the end of the day, forced to turn down even the most tempting culinary offers. In the morning after breakfast, everyone gathered in Mark's parents' room for present-giving as the gifts, so carefully brought out from England, were distributed. There was also a short church service, conducted by a local priest and held in the hotel lounge. We all attended and, being Spain and a Catholic country the format was, to Mark and I, rather unfamiliar, used as we were to Anglican ritual, but meaningful, nonetheless. Looking back now, how on earth the hotel ever managed to secure the services of a priest on Christmas Day of all days, I shall never know. Perhaps he was the proprietor's brother or something!

A couple of days after Christmas, our parents decided to go on a full-day tour through the Orotava Valley and up onto the lower slopes of Mount Teide and asked us whether we would like to go along as well. A quick con-flab decided us to take them up on the offer and, in the end, we spent a very interesting day. The weird, almost lunar landscape of the region around Teide was fascinating and contrasted sharply with the lush growing areas of the Orotava, with its rich, volcanic soil. Some of the exposed volcanic rock strata on the mountain were spectacular in their layered multi-colouring and brought to life some of the geography I had studied recently at school.

The remainder of the holiday passed in a whirl, the days following Christmas streaming away with depressing rapidity. Our more “illicit” pursuits had, by now, fallen into a fairly regular pattern, with fun and games of one sort or another, pretty much every morning and bedtime and, with so much unaccustomed opportunity they also, were fairly varied

One night, we even experimented with trying to sleep in the same bed though, after the initial excitement had worn off, this was not particularly successful. After enjoying a close-up wanking session, lying on our sides facing each other, when it came to the actual sleeping part, this was far less fun than we had anticipated. After a good deal of wriggling around and general kicking and shoving (some accidental, some not!) we gave it up as a bad job and I hopped out of Mark's bed and back into my own. Oh well, you can't win 'em all!

Communal showers, of course, were great fun. Obviously, we both were well-used to the general idea from school changing rooms but, had we been found indulging in our present activities there, we probably would have been expelled!

The day before we were due to leave, we were both awake at more or less the same time and, yawning and stretching, grinned at each other across the gap. “What d'you reckon, then,” I asked. “Straight into the shower today? We could surprise the folks by being down early for once!”

Mark nodded. “Sure! Why not?”

Flinging off the bedclothes and swinging our feet out and onto the floor, we giggled as we saw that we each sported a semi-hard-on. We had, incidentally after that first night, abandoned the practice of wearing shorts in bed and had slept naked ever since. There had been no problems with the anticipated involuntary nocturnal emissions largely, I imagine, because following our nightly bedtime frolics, our balls were pretty much drained already.

Mark ran the shower and, when it had heated up, we both stepped in and closed the shutter across. Our erections had developed somewhat over the last few minutes and bumped together teasingly, as we moved. I looked at Mark and he looked at me and we just cracked up.

What're we like?” he exclaimed, putting both arms on my shoulders and locking his hands behind my head. I did the same and we started wrestling right there, in the shower, the water cascading over us, pushing, shoving and laughing all at the same time.

Looking over Mark's shoulder, I watched the streams of water running down his back, over the curve of his buttocks and down his crack, while his wet, satiny skin gleamed. I loosed a hand, moved it down and gave his right cheek a hard smack, water drops spraying out from the point of impact. He reached down and planted an equally hard slap on my behind and, once more, we were away. Using our free arms, we drew tightly against each other, our now fully-erect cocks trapped between us and rubbing together.

The loud wet splats that accompanied each smack echoed round the bathroom as we spanked one another as hard as we could, much as we had when first playing this game at home.

Our constant jigging about of course, was doing nothing to calm the state of affairs around the front. The continual rubbing was getting both of us very excited indeed, our breathing became faster and we could feel the urgent pounding of each other's hearts in our chests.

Suddenly for me, it was all over. “Ohhhhh!” I moaned, gripping Mark even tighter and I felt my prick spurt up against our stomachs. He started to rub faster and faster and a moment later, he too, gasped in pleasure as his warm spunk mingled with mine. As one, we slowly collapsed, sliding down the walls of the shower cubicle to end up sitting in the basin, knees jack-knifed and jammed together. We looked at each other.

“Wow! That was amazing!” I breathed, when I could speak at all. Mark nodded.

“Sure was, Mate! Bloody hell, that was incredible! There's really something about doing it in the shower, isn't there?”

I laughed. “Yep. Y'know, we've found out a heck of a lot about all this stuff this holiday, haven't we?”

“Isn't that the truth! I s'pose it's because we've had so much more time than we've ever had before. Anyway, come on, aren't we supposed to be getting down early?”

Un-jamming ourselves, we scrambled up and jostled each other out into the bathroom, grabbing our towels. We could not resist just a few flicks at each other's rears but, on the whole, we made fairly good time and soon were fully dressed and reasonably presentable.

A few minutes later we were trotting out onto the extensive patio, where our parents had just started their breakfast. My Dad looked up as we approached.

“Good gracious, look who's here!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “What's the matter, boys, are your beds on fire?”

“Ha ha!” I said, trying to sound sarcastic. “We just thought we'd get down a bit earlier, that's all. It is our last day, after all.”

With chuckles all round, the adults squeezed up to let us in and, for the first time in two weeks, we all had breakfast together.

Perhaps fittingly, for us two lads, the final day of the holiday was spent much as the first had been; in and around the pool and on the tennis courts. Sadly and inevitably however, as the late afternoon sun began to cast long shadows across the ground, our mothers came to find and chivvy us inside for the dismal chore of packing, ready for an early departure the following morning.

Probably not surprisingly, Mark and I were not exactly feeling on top of the world that night as we got ready for bed, although we did manage to find it in us for one last wank. No such shennagins were possible the next day, however, as Mark's Dad arrived to rout us out at the ungodly hour of 6.00 a.m. Stretching and yawning, we showered and dressed in almost complete silence, before running down to join our elders for a last open-air breakfast. Despite our melancholy mood, the clean, damp freshness of the early morning and watching the sun come up over the Atlantic did do a little to lift our spirits.

At 8.00 a.m. on the dot and after the checking-out formalities were concluded, the same mini-bus taxi arrived to take us back to Los Rodeos. The luggage was stowed and we all boarded, Mark and I sitting together in the rear-most seats. As we drew away from the Hotel Tigaiga, the driver switched on his radio. The programme seemed to be a selection of older popular music, dating from the 1960s and 70s and, as we rounded a bend and the hotel disappeared from view, the presenter made a brief announcement in Spanish. A moment later we heard, swelling from the speakers, the unmistakable opening bars of the 1965 Seekers' hit, “The Carnival is Over”.

The co-incidence of our present mood with that stately, haunting music was uncanny and, so poignant, it almost hurt. I glanced at Mark and he glanced at me; I saw his mouth compress and I knew that his feelings were the same as mine. Tears pricked my eyes and I fought them back sharply; this was no time to break down weeping. Mark's blue gaze locked with mine again and I saw that he, too, was striving hard to drive back the tears; it was as if this moment was confirming, unequivocally, what in our hearts we knew already to be true; for us two boys the carnival was, well and truly, over.


Our return to England in early January, meant an almost immediate start to the Lent Term at our respective schools and, consequently, the time we were now able to spend together was strictly limited. There were, of course weekends, but much of these were occupied with our ever-increasing amounts of homework. There was a brief, two-day half-term break in mid-February that allowed us to get together for a swimming expedition to the baths and some hearthrug games of Monopoly and Scrabble but no opportunity or privacy for anything else.

In the first week of March, Mark's family flew out to Montreal, on Canada's East Coast, where his Dad was due to take up his new appointment. It was a weekday and there was no possibility of me being able to take a day off school and go with them to Heathrow to see them off. This, probably, was as just as well, as there is nothing, but nothing, lads of our age dislike more, than being seen in public to break down and cry.

High above the dawn is waiting
And my tears are falling rain
For the carnival is over
We may never meet again

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