South Africa
Part 22

The first thing I wanted to do after I'd returned home from the rugger tour was to tell Kyle all about it. I spotted him in the backyard on the Sunday and hopped the fence. "Kyle! How ya doin'?" He was about to clean up the dog crap but handed me the shovel.

"Hi, Wingnut! Great to see you again! We got back early yesterday, but I slept over at Steve's."

"We got back late yesterday. It was an awesome tour! We lost one game but we won the other four that we played. Cool, huh? And what's the shovel for?"

"The usual. You're back to reality, dude. So tell me about the initiation."

"Yeah, well you were right about that," I said as I scooped a pile of Staffordshire bull terrier shit, "there was one. It was pretty damn wicked, though. Some of the guys had their hair cut really short, and we were all checked to see if we had pubes yet. Only one other guy apart from me had pubes, so the dudes running the initiation shaved the damn things! It made me so fucking itchy, I had to scratch the whole damn time! Hey? What are you laughing at?"

"Sorry, bro, it's just so damn funny. Did you get a boner when they shaved you?"

"Fuck! You should've seen it! And then this dude was holding it down with his fist so he could shave around it. I felt like pissing in his hand."

"Maybe you should've."

"Yeah, right! I'm still alive aren't I? Anyway, some of the other guys had artwork painted on their backs. They were pretty mad about that 'cause they couldn't see it," I giggled, "and they had to go around asking other guys what was on their backs."

"So, have your pubes grown back yet?"

I pulled my track pants down. "Check this out! Does it look like the fucking things are ever gonna grow again?"

"At least your dick is still there," he smiled, but I got the impression that he was glad to see my fat chopper hanging in the breeze. There were plenty of guys older than I who would kill for a cock like mine, and I figured I had every reason to be proud of it.

"Anyway, the tour was way cool, and we even went to the Elephant Park for a day. I was really tempted to compare my dick with their trunks -- but I figured I'd better not. Theirs were a bit longer."

That afternoon, we hit the waves. It was so damn wicked to be back on my board with the guys and enjoying the rides. Even after being away for over a week, I'd lost none of my skill. In fact, I was paddling for every wave that had half a decent face on it. "You've got no fucking fear!" I heard Kyle yell. Fear? What was there to be afraid of? Every wave you missed was a wave you'd never get -- that was my philosophy. The only concession I'd made was a rash vest that my folks had bought for me. It protected my chest from the rough, waxed surface of the board while I was paddling, but was a lot thinner than a regular wetsuit. It also ended just above my abs, so I could still parade my sixpack -- and I could still have my boardies hanging low off my hips, and showing a bit of ass crack.

"Where did I go wrong?" Kyle asked as we showered on the beach. The wind had turned and blown the tops off the waves, so we'd decided to call it a day.

"Wrong? You raved out there, man. I saw you catch some totally cool waves!"

"I mean your abs. I've tried every fucking trick in the book to get the kinda definition you have."

"You think they're OK?" I asked, knowing full well that I had the definition of a guy two or three years older than I.

"Wingnut, don't bullshit me. OK? Stop pretending to be so fucking innocent. Every time you stand on your stick, it's like a show for the groupies sitting on the beach."

"So? Somebody's gotta keep the chicks entertained," I laughed.

I visited Brian while Steve went back to Kyle's house. I could hardly wait to tell Brian all about the rave session I'd had in the water, especially after having been a landlubber for the past ten days.

"So how come you get to surf with the big guys?"

"Dude, take a good look. OK? Does what you're looking at look like a grommet?"

The following afternoon, just after lunch, the surf was cooking big time, but the backline was packed with guys. The whole fucking town was there! Getting a cool ride often meant having to break surf etiquette, and dropping in on some dude. Well, I guess I picked the wrong guy. He was mad as hell and challenged me to go ashore. While we argued face to face on the sand, Kyle suddenly appeared on the scene just as the guy flat-handed me and sent me crashing on my ass.

I totally lost it and, although I was crying, I jumped up and charged at the guy, fisting him and swearing like a trooper. But the guy flathanded me again. That was one of the major disadvantages of being a grommet in the company of the big guys. I was no match for them.

By the time I'd gotten off my ass, Kyle had stepped in between us. He prevented me from trying to climb into the guy again, then turned to face him. "What's the prob?"

"That little fucking grommet started it. Ask him!"

"You started it!" I screamed, waving an accusing finger at him. "You called me a little mother fucker!" Actually, mother fucker wasn't so bad, it was the word 'little' that really pissed me off.

"And why is that?" the dude asked as he stood there ready to smack me again. "'Cause you won't fucking listen, you little prick. You keep jumping on my waves -- every fucking time!"

"Fuck you!" I snapped.

"Hey, Kyle," the dude growled, "do you know this brat?"

"Fuck you!" I was still sobbing but I was mad as hell. "You fucking moron!"

Then the dude took a swipe at me, but Kyle prevented it from connecting with me. "Hey, you two, chill! There's enough surf out there for everyone."

"Get that little fuck outa my face!"

I guess I could've shut up, but I was too damn angry. "You're a wanker!" And, once again, my bro had to stop the guy from slapping me.

"Kyle," the dude glared, "you just wanna move outa the way?"

"Nope. Both you guys are fucking way outa hand."

"What are you saying? I must come through you to get to him? Is that it?"

"Hey, why don't we stop this crap and just go surf?"

"Let him come, Kyle," I yelled. "I'll fight my own battles!"

"Yeah," the dude grinned at me, "you and your fucking mother."

"No! Me and your fucking mother!"

The dude had almost lost it, and it took all of Kyle's strength to keep him away from me. "Move outa the fucking way, Kyle, or I'll move you!"

"This is fucking stupid!" Kyle protested before he was pushed outa the way. The guy whacked me again. That caused Kyle to lose his rag. He climbed into the dude as the crowd around us swelled. It all went so fast! Punches flew. Kyle's mouth was bloodied, and the dude's mouth and nose were dripping blood. My own face felt like it was on fire from the stinging clouts. Then the beach inspector arrived and stopped the fight.

Back out in the water, Steve was raving about what a way cool fight it was, while I was laughing and calling the dude a cunt. It was then that Kyle blew his top. I didn't have to be a fucking rocket scientist to figure that Kyle was pissed off big time.

"I've told you over and over again about dropping in on guys' waves and hassling them, Wingnut!"

I spent the rest of the afternoon surfing and chatting with Steve. Kyle could've joined us if he'd wanted, but he chose to give us the cold shoulder. At least, that's the way it appeared to me. He seemed to be in a "fuck 'em" mood, and did his own thing.

It wasn't until I'd arrived home that I thought about the day's events, and what Kyle had said about trying to take another guy's wave. Maybe he was right. Maybe I did over-react. I decided to pay him a visit.

"I'm sorry about what happened, Kyle -- and thanks a stack for standing up for me."

"Hey, it's OK, bro," he said as he hung his stick on his bedroom wall. "I guess I shouldn't have lost my cool with you. But I've spoken to you about that kinda thing so many times, and I was just waiting for something like that to happen."

"Yeah, I guess." We didn't pursue the subject any further. He had some stuff to sort out while I sat on his bed and listened to music. It was always so cool to watch Kyle while he went about his business -- like I was an invisible observer. There was something magical and inspiring about his face, even when it wore a serious expression, and the way he moved his body -- the way he concentrated on what he was doing, oblivious to my presence yet, at the same time, also being aware of it. I had the feeling that I was a pretty privileged guy to be able to share Kyle's life in a way that very few other people could -- to be able to sit and watch him during his private moments -- and admire him for being such an awesome friend.

Anyway, things were back to normal pretty quickly. The following night, I slept over. Before we hit the sack, though, Kyle and I watched a vid -- Urban Legends. It was one of those blood and gore movies that my folks wouldn't normally allow me to watch. Even Kyle's folks elected to give it a miss.

"What are you doing with the pillow?"

"I might go to sleep before the movie ends."

"Don't gimme that shit, Wingnut. You're holding it to your face."

"I'm smelling your mom's washing powder."

"So how come you keep asking me to tell you what happened in the movie?"

"'Cause I can't watch the movie and smell the pillow at the same time."

"You're scared, right?"

"Fuck off! I'm not scared of anything -- specially some dumb movie."

"Then give me the pillow."


He was right, of course. I was scared outa my fucking wits, but there was no way I was gonna admit it. The weird thing was, though, that the next day the surf was really cooking and I got some totally rave rides. Surf didn't scare me -- well, so long as it wasn't too big -- and if I got into any trouble, Steve and Kyle were always close by to get me outa any shit. It was a good feeling to know that they were around.

Steve caught the best wave. It was a three-footer, not big by his standards, but the thing peaked perfectly and he went inside the green room. Later, he raved about it like it was the best thing that had happened in his entire life! Well, I didn't blame him. Being in the green room was the ultimate buzz, and something every surfer would boast about as though he'd just fucked every chick in town on a single night.

"You're fucking blue, Wingnut!" Kyle announced as we headed up the sand toward the beach shower.

"Blue is for boys."

"I don't know how the fuck you handle the cold, man -- with just your vest and boardies."


"Don't gimme that shit. You like showing off. Right? But I still can't figure how your boardies manage to stay on your hips."

"Either can the groupies," I laughed. "They're all waiting for the day when they're bunched around my ankles, and my woody is showing."

"You're a sicko, Wingnut."

"Bullshit! You're just fucking jealous."

Both Kyle and Steve cracked big time, which I took to mean that they actually liked the way I behaved in spite of their criticism. It was one of those surfer buddy things -- if you ragged a guy in a certain way, it was meant as a compliment. To me, as a grommet, that was pretty high praise. Yep, I was accepted. Cool!

Copyright 1999 All rights reserved. mrbstories


 Wingnut Part 23