Summer in Crete

By James Orr

A coming of age story. Sam has just completed his exams and heads off to stay in Crete at his parent's house for the summer. Parties with his school friends end abruptly. Fishing one day he discovers a small island occupied by Tom. That's when the fun begins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781471732867

Book preview

Summer in Crete

Summer in Crete

James Orr

Text by James Orr, Copyright ©2012

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers and/or author.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibilities for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein.

Book design by Sabaijai Designs

ISBN 978-1-4717-3286-7

For Sam

Chapter 1

I had just turned 18 and as a reward for passing my A levels, my parents said I could take a holiday over the summer until it was time for me to go to university in late September.

I, too, was pleased with my results, especially as I was head boy at school and many people looked up to me.

As a reward for my outstanding achievements, my parents said I could use our house in Crete starting in June and ending in August in order to accommodate my desires.

It was a beautiful three bedroomed house on a remote peninsula on one of the larger islands in the Greek archipelago, bought three years ago.

Crete is the largest and most populous of the Greek islands, the fifth-largest island in the Mediterranean Sea, and one of the thirteen administrative regions of Greece. It forms a significant part of the economy and cultural heritage of Greece while retaining its own local cultural traits, such as its own dialect, poetry, and music.

My easyJet flight arrived on time, even though the landing was scary, due to the cross winds and the location of the runway. Heraklion International Airport, ‘Nikos Kazantzakis’, is the primary airport on the island of Crete, and the country's second busiest airport after Athens International Airport. It is a shared civil/military facility and covers 21,000 square meters.

Mum had arranged for someone to pick me up at the airport.

As I exited the customs hall I saw Stefan, standing boldly holding up a piece of cardboard with my name scribbled in felt tip.

Stefan was weather-beaten, white beard, white hair and glistening blue eyes, dressed in a pair of scruffy shorts and a T-shirt.

He squeezed my hand roughly with a calloused firm grip, causing me slight discomfort. It was good to be back.

Black smoke poured from the car’s noisy exhaust as we left the airport behind us, with Stefan smoking incessantly in the front, adding to the pollution-filled clouds.

Crete is a mountainous island and driving along yielded spectacular views but I guessed traveling on its winding roads could also be a cause of motion sickness.

Away from the coast the situation changes radically and the roads become narrow and many have blind bends. In the mountainous areas, new dirt roads are being created all the time and where road warnings and direction signs were not present.

The prospect of driving in Crete can be daunting for many people. Even those of us who are used to driving on the right side of the road, driving in Greece may seem a little frightening. I gripped the side of the door firmly.

The roads are quiet on the whole, except in the centre of the large towns. This means you can virtually guarantee how long it will take you to get somewhere, because there is virtually no congestion or traffic jams!

I think it helps if you are aware of the Greek personality when it comes to driving in Crete and sharing their roads with them.

An important factor in the Greek personality is their ‘it-will-never-happen-to-me’ mentality, probably due to the fact they put a great deal of their faith and safety in the hands of God. I was surprised to see a family of four on a scooter, complete with dog in the front basket!

In place of fluffy dice, most cars had worry beads dangling from the rear view mirror, and many cars, including taxis, were adorned with pictures of saints and other icons.

So, with this fail-safe back-up, why bother with a seat belt? I saw children frolicking in the car without being strapped down too.

Surviving hurtling round a sharp bend at high speed is placed in hands of the Almighty!

Unfortunately, I didn’t rely on such Divine attention, and thought it a good idea to use the worn seatbelt that was fitted.

Use of the horn seemed commonplace, and no one took it personally. They use it in Greece as it should be used - as a warning signal of their approach. In England, the horn is almost exclusively used as an indicator of annoyance or an expression of anger or aggression. Not so much in Crete. This laid bare the great urban myth of the Greek driver - rude, impatient and aggressive.

It is true that the shortest measurement of time in Greece is the period between the traffic lights turning green and when the first car is expected to move off. Failure to move away quickly often resulted in a blast of horns.

Unlike in the UK and most other north European and American cities, the traffic lights at junctions in Crete are set close to the waiting car or high above on a gantry. Usually, there are no traffic lights on the opposite side of the road. Quite often therefore, the first car can find it hard to see the light change because they are too close or slightly behind.

Hence, the habit of drivers in the queue telling the first car that the lights have changed to green with a toot on the horn.

Although friendly and welcoming, Greeks are generally a volatile and excitable race. They are quick to raise their voice and seemingly unafraid to express their emotions and this reflects in their driving. Couple this with roads that are of a poorer quality than most serving the same volume of traffic, and you produce accidents - and one of the worse traffic accident records in the Europe in fact.

Road works can sometimes be a problem, but the low volume of traffic generally means that queues are the exception rather than the rule. There is a suspicion that the Island shares the one traffic cone.

Greek drivers have such a bad reputation, and that reputation seems well founded when you take heed of the statistics for accidents and road deaths in the country as a whole.

I saw several shrines, a common sight along the roadsides in Crete, and Greece and many other countries, ranging from small glass cabinets on metal legs to elaborate brick built altars.

Mostly these shrines are erected by family members to honour and remember loved ones who have died in traffic accidents, but also the Cretans erect shrines to saints too.

Inside you will often see candles, pictures of saints, icons and often some personal items belonging to the person to whom the shrine is dedicated.

The house sat just off a white sand beach amid a stand of evergreen plane trees. These trees grow close to water and it can grow up to 30 meters high. It is also often found in the village squares, offering its welcome shade to people.

It could have been the set of any movie taken in the area and was mine for as long as I wanted.

The house came equipped with all the needs of any holiday maker to the area including scuba diving gear, fishing equipment and a small boat and motor which was common for rental houses in the area.

The first few weeks of summer were busy for me. I had invited many of my school friends to come and stay with me and party.

Their blankets dotted the grass, and their drinks and ice chests and sports equipment crowded the small beach near the house. We would play in one tumbling group, then alone or in groups we churned about rearranging our belongings, jockeying for spots in the blistering sun, wandering off hither and yon in our moody manner.

I stood up. I wasn’t sure what t d so I stood up.

I looked down at the trees in the garden below. I wondered if they were washed, if someone just washed them down with a hose, how long would it take for the dust to settle again?

At dinner time in slow motion, rising from their blankets we would drift back to the house.

A pool of light rippled on the old oak table, picking out the darker grains of wood, and then overshadowing them. Stuffing ourselves with moussaka, fresh crisp salads, goat’s cheese and a vast array of fruit, apricots, apples, large succulent grapes and mouth-watering melons.

This was followed by lots of drinking, too much drinking before retiring to our beds. The sky threw back the lights from the patio, into our windows and who knew how many others. If I were to open the window and lean out I would see, beyond the darkness, the lights of the near town.

It was after midnight and yet I was full of energy.

My parents would come down on Friday and leave again on Monday for their respective jobs and my friends would travel with them, some staying for just the weekend and some for a full week.

Mine was a lazy, swimsuit life and I enjoyed not having the pressures of school and performing to the best of my ability all the time. I had earned an extended time out and I was making the best of it for I knew that come autumn, the pressures would be even greater at university.

I brought very few clothes for the summer, resorting to a few swim trunks and T-shirts for every day wear and wore nothing at all when I was alone in the house. I have always enjoyed being nude and it was my first chance in life to get an all-over tan. When my parents were working during the mid-week and I had no friends staying over, I spent the entire time naked. Just being naked in the great outdoors was a real turn on for me.

As soon as I got naked outdoors, my penis would get hard and stay that way for what seemed like all day. I would masturbate sometimes three or four times a day in different places - in the water, on the beach in the sun, wherever and whenever I wanted to.

This had not happened as many times as I would have liked since there were many friends coming and going all through June and July.

There was the occasional kindness of friends, the noisy house, and the fullness; the absence of a lover who had been absent for so long. But this was a different absence. A definitive absence. No longer could I seek to draw closer, no longer could I hope for something to happen.

Later, I put more ice into my drink. The night air was cool and pleasant on my balcony and the darkness obscured the distant horizon.

I vowed, therefore, to stop inviting friends come August so I could have all mid-weeks to myself and do the things I wanted to do and spend as much time as possible being alone and naked.

It was the first week in August when it all started. It was Monday morning and my parents had gone back to work earlier that day. I was alone and decided to go fishing.

I took a couple of short steps towards the bathroom, stopping in my footsteps to glare at the image unfolding before my eyes. To me, I was nothing special.

Standing a good 6 feet, weighing a slender 95 pounds, the image reflecting itself from the mirror was a pure heavenly moulded creation. My hair was rather long, brown in colour with sun-bleached highlights, flowing peacefully between my silky smooth shoulder blades with the top brushed straight backwards. My tiny ears were always on display with my flowing hair cut just above each one. My eyebrows were just as brown as the hair on my head, evenly paired with a moderate thickness. Those long thick upturned eyelashes seemingly offered the impression that they were fake; however, they were as real as the day is long.

My slender face was void of any blemishes whatsoever and my Roman nose was nothing short of perfection. My eyes were striking at best, offering the most incredible emerald green/brown coloration known to mankind. Each slender cheek offered a piercing dimple, regardless if I smiled or not. My teeth were as white as snow and were perfectly straight as well.

As my venturing eyes trailed down my nude body, so did my bodily description. My chest is as smooth as a new born baby's bottom and those twin large nipples are a pale pinkish coloration, and seemingly, always erect.

My stomach muscles rippled with my every breath, offering all eyes to bare witness to their muscular perfections. My belly button was nothing more than a couple of barely noticeable lines, neither protruding inwards nor projecting itself outwards.

I grabbed the smooth creamy flesh of my pubic region, straining both eyes to verify the obvious. Releasing my pubic flesh, I looked at my morning erection. To me, my eyes saw nothing more than a hairy boner, but in fact, there was much more accuracy to be told.

The erection being displayed in front of the mirror revealed a good 7 inches of pure perfection. It was slender and as straight as an arrow, propelling itself from his body with sheer gut wrenching defiance. Not having a say so in the matter, I was circumcised at birth, but the doctor who cut him must have been a master at his profession, because the scar was sheer perfect. My plum shaped pink cock head flared itself a tad thicker than the slender brown coloured non-veiny shaft. The twin piss lips themselves were nothing short of kissable.

Reaching down with my left hand, I cupped my balls, searching desperately for hair life. Still there were no signs of any hair growth. My balls were just as perfect as the rest of my heavenly creation. They were somewhat small, both equal in comparison to the size of a plum, trapped inside a satiny smooth sac. I released my nuggets and they swung downwards between my hairless thighs about three inches below the base of my erect cock.

Turning my body to an angle, my eyes caught a reflection of my bottom. To me, it was just that, a bottom, but in reality, it too was just as perfect. My jutting cheeks were brown coloured, totally unblemished, and appeared to have been chiselled from stone. Not only was each cheek a solid slab of flesh and muscle, and though my bottom was small, it was definitely well shaped, displaying the profoundness of twin teardrops.

Stretching my arms way up over my head, yawning and stretching once again, my armpits popped into view. They too were just as creamy as the rest of my breath taking body. Tired of looking at myself, I went into the bathroom and emptied my bladder, then took a shower, and brushed my teeth.

I would have liked to go out in the