Kavos (Chapter 1)

Chapter 1

The first suggestion of what was to come was in a joke my mate Paul made on the first night.

Even after we'd visited just two or three bars, it had become clear that our week at Kavos wasn't going to turn out to be the shagfest that we'd expected.

There just didn't seem to be any women around.

So after a couple of hours, Paul had started getting pissed off. The six pints he'd managed to put back since we'd arrived on the island weren't exactly helping.

His hopes had been high. He'd joked he'd managed to fit all his clothes, toiletries and suntan lotion into his hand luggage: his suitcase had been exclusively for condoms.

Added to that was the fact that his Manchester United top fitted him nicely and looked good on his well-worked chest, but no-one was looking. Except for dirty glances by guys wearing the strips of other football teams, but those didn't really count.

He said, "This sucks. And not in the way 'The Sun' made out it would..."

I'd tried a consoling, "Maybe all the girls are staying in tonight... washing their hair or something..."

Paul had snapped, "Come on, Daz. You don't pay four hundred quid and fly halfway across Europe to stay in and wash your fuckin' hair..."

"Well maybe they copped already..."

"It's only half eleven, mate... they can't all have fuckin' copped off..."

There were some girls around, but they were few and far between and most of them looked as if they were already in established relationships.

I tried, "Okay, so where are they all? There must have been some action going on to have caused all the headlines in the papers over the last few months..."

He snarled and took a swig from his seventh pint which had just arrived. "You know what the british papers are like... we might have known it would all turn out to be a load of bullshit..."

"More likely it was going on a couple of months ago. The reputation the place got as a resort for slappers must've made all the girls who had booked up to come here cancel and go elsewhere..."

Paul threw a furious glare at me over his pint as he took another drink from it.

I shrugged. "It's not my fault..."

"It was your fuckin' idea."

"Yeah and I didn't exactly need to spend hours convincing you..."

He glowered at me for a few seconds more but then, no doubt remembering how eager he'd been to visit the notorious 'sun-sand-sea-sex' resort when I'd shown him a cheap last-minute deal in the paper, had looked away.

He said, "I bet the reason we got such a good price was because of all the babes who were cancelling over the last few weeks..."

Then he'd made the joke that should have, in retrospect, given me the first inkling of what was to come.

He said, "Sorry, mate. I don't mean to have a go at you. Don't get pissed off with me. After all, the nearest thing we get to coppin' off this week might be screwin' each others' arses."

I'd smiled and he'd laughed, punching my shoulder affectionately.

He'd done a 'no hard feelings' routine and we'd moved onto other stuff.

It took another couple of hours for another joke to be made.

By now Paul was totally pissed and I was halfway there. We'd started chatting, in the absence of anything better to do, to a couple of guys from North London. The first was a thin, slightly rough-looking cockney wideboy whose name was Jason, though he insisted we call him Jase. He was an electrician and had brown hair which he'd obviously had bleached at some point in the fairly distant past. His mate, who introduced himself as Willows and, in fact, whose first name I don't think we ever found out, had a broader, more athletic build and short blond hair. He was a bricklayer.

Like Paul and I, the two of them had been mates since school and had come to Kavos with the soul intention of pulling a rapid succession of girls whose few inhibitions had been swept away by a few glasses of Babycham.

It was two or three in the morning and Jase was bemoaning the absence of anything remotely approaching the definition of female.

Paul had said, "Yeah. It's like being in fuckin' prison. Except that we paid four hundred quid for the privilege of being here..."

Jase had said, "There must be like five thousand guys here on holiday. And about three girls..."

Willows had grinned. "Pity we're not gay. It'd have been like coming to heaven..."

I smiled but shook my head. "I don't think many gay guys would like being around five thousand straight guys. I mean, it'd get kind of frustrating..."

Willows chuckled, "Five thousand straight guys with one thing or their minds. Most of us so fuckin' horny we wouldn't mind be too fussy about what we were screwing'..."

Paul surprised me by laughing too. He said, "Too fuckin' right. Come to think of it, a few gay guys might come in useful round here."

Then he repeated the joke he'd made earlier when we'd been alone.

He turned to me and said, "It'd save us fuckin' each others' arses, wouldn't it, Daz?"

I smiled but made a curt reply. "I ain't gonna shag anyone's arse, Paul."

The topic was dropped until we went up to Jase and Willows' room at about four in the morning. They'd been out to an off-licence that afternoon and had bought four crates of Mythos, the local beer.

We slouched around on their twin beds, drinking and exchanging stories of London and Manchester, enjoying a fresh breeze wafting through the open balcony doors.

At one point, Willows surprised us by saying, "I really wanted to cop tonight. I'm so fuckin' horny I could put an 'ole in the ceilin'."

Paul chuckled but at first I didn't know what he meant. Then I saw he was gesturing to the front of his white shorts, in which the hard rod of his erection was clearly visible.

Jase said, "The papers reckoned there were loads of girls with their tits out, givin' head in the bars and stuff..."

Paul shrugged. "We know... why do you think we came...?"

Willows made a joke like, "Well I'll give you some if you'll give me some," and Paul laughed.

But that was as far as it went that night.

On the way back to our hotel, we saw a couple who were obviously having sex in the back alley behind one of the bars.

Even though it was still dark and they were partially obscured behind one of the rubbish skips, it seemed pretty clear that there was a guy screwing a girl up against the wall.

I laughed, "At least someone's getting a bit of pussy..."

Paul lingered, watching them.

I tried to pull him away, "Come on, mate... leave them to it..."

He said, "Hey - it's the nearest thing we're gonna get to some action tonight... you can't blame me for prolonging the moment."

I watched what was going on for a few seconds but rapidly became bored by seeing a guy's arse bucking in and out behind the skip. I pulled Paul away by the arm again, laughing, "Come on, you sick fuck..."

At that moment, the guy took a couple of steps backward. His shorts were around his ankles and his erection, curving upwards, was clearly visible in the orange glow of the neon street light.

He pulled off his condom and threw it down to the ground. Then, in an act which struck me as a bit odd, he spat on his fingers and rubbed up and down his arse cleft with them.

He did it again, this time working his fingers into his arsehole, and I glanced at Paul.

He was staring at the guy, as bemused as I was by this unusual turn of events.

Then the guy disappeared behind the skip and another guy emerged from it.

Like the first, his shorts were around his ankles and his cock poked upright in front of him. It's size was quite outstanding: it was just as curved as the first guy's had been but it looked much longer and thicker.

Paul whispered, "There's two of them going at her. Maybe they'll let us join in..."

The guy down the alleyway turned to look at us. He called out, "Hey - fuck off!"

Paul said, "Jesus - sorry..."

The guy went on, "We're not exactly over the fuckin' moon to be doing this... we don't need a fuckin' audience..."

I flushed with embarrassment. I felt like a pervert to be intruding on their fun.

Paul stammered, "Hey - we're just curious..."

The other guy emerged, shouting, "Who the fuck's that..." This was going from bad to worse. The noise was bound to attract the attention of people in nearby hotels. Worse still, I expected the girl would follow him and raise the volume level even further, compounding our discomfort.

The other guy took a look at us, his cock still arching upwards from his crotch like a branch, and said, "Like you two aren't at it... like everyone here isn't..."

Paul said, laughing a little to ease the tension, "We can't get any, mate. That's the problem..."

The guy with the bigger cock turned to his mate. He nodded and they grinned at other. Then he said, "Well come down here and we'll give you some..."

Paul grinned back. "Yeah?"

Both the guys laughed. "Fuckin' yeah. Why not? If you're so curious..."