South Africa
Part 46

Saturday, we had wicked surf, and I spent the whole day at the beach with Kyle and Steve. Steph couldn't make it 'cause she had a stack of study to do. Sunday, it was time for Kyle to hit the books, so I had to surf with the fucking juveniles. Bleh! Tim was OK, but hanging with him wasn't like hanging with the big guys.

The other thing that was occupying Kyle's mind was the hiking and camping trip.

"Why can't I come?"

"I didn't say you couldn't."

"So why don't you say that I can?"

"'Cause it's not up to me, it's up to your folks."

"Yeah, right. I know what they'd say. Why don't you ask 'em?"

"That wouldn’t make you any older, bro."

So there I was, between a rock and a hard place. When I hung with the big guys, there were things I couldn't do. And when I hung with the grommets, there were things I didn't wanna do. "Being a kid is so damn complicated."

"Are you kidding?" Kyle laughed. "I often look at you and think how fucking uncomplicated your life is. You come home from cricket or rugger covered in mud and grass stains 'cause you think it's cool… which it is, by the way. You remind me of what it was like before my best friend Paul left for England. We'd known each other since kindergarten, and we were fucking invincible, just like you are."

"So how come I can't go on the hike?"

"I didn't say you couldn't."

"You're being evasive."

"That's a biggie for you."

"I learned it from mom. That's what she says I am," I laughed.

Over the next few days, I couldn't help but notice that Kyle was stressing big time, and I was sure it wasn't just 'cause of the exams. Something was bugging him big time, but I had to wait for the right time to quiz him, otherwise he would've lost his rag. I'd learned the hard way already that my bro had a short fuse.

The opportunity came one afternoon when we were having a rave session in the surf. Well, I was. I pretty much did my own thing 'cause Kyle wasn't very talkative. By the end of the session, though, his mood had improved a little. There was nothing like getting wet and scoring a few rides to lift a dude's spirits.

"Something bugging you?"

"Exams. I'm stressing big time."

"Hey, Darren talked to my folks about the hike. Did you organize that?"

"Kinda. I asked him if he'd have a chat with your mom and dad."

Darren had been a senior at the school the year before, and had gone onto college. He'd had a lotta experience with kids, training them for the swim team and shit like that. He'd also been on a lotta hikes, and was always elected to be the guy in charge. "Well, he impressed my folks, and they're seriously thinking about letting me go with you guys."


"Well, I've gotta have a bunch of equipment and stuff… a sleeping bag, food, whatever. That costs bucks."

"I'll see what I can do."

Next day, the surf wasn't big, but it was OK for just taking it easy. It was then that I noticed some kinda prob with Steve and Kyle. They weren't their usual chatty selves. Something was definitely wrong, and I was determined to risk Kyle's temper to find out. I quized him on the walk home, after Steve had already gone.

"'Sup with you and Steve?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"You guys are acting really weird with each other."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "we're both hassling over school and exams."

"Yeah, right. You guys are acting like strangers meeting for the first time. It's weird."

"Well, I guess maybe we're in each other's pockets too much sometimes, and we just need a break from each other."

That comment hit a sensitive nerve. "Hey, Kyle, do you get pissed at me for coming around so much?"

"Nah. You're different. We don't put each other under any pressure -- 'cept for you having to pick up the dog crap." There was a flicker of a smile, but it soon vanished. "Sometimes really good friends can be total shits to each other."

"Are you mad at Steve?"

"Nope. I told you."

"Yeah, well I don't believe you. Even now I can see that you look totally pissed off, 'cause your eyes go so damn dark, almost black. Hey, are you crying?"

"Nope. It's the wind."

"There isn't any wind."

"Cool it, Wingnut. I'm OK."

Yeah, right. And I was Mary Poppins. But I dropped the subject 'cause I sensed that he didn't wanna talk about whatever was bugging him. But I wasn't wrong about his eyes getting all watery.

After we'd arrived home, I figured I'd try to cheer him up by hopping the fence and picking up the dog crap. That kinda worked. Then I sat on his bed listening to music through the 'phones while he had his nose in his books. When I thought he'd chilled a little, I chose that moment to ask some more questions, but on a different subject.

"Hey, Kyle, when did you learn how to kiss?"

"Fuck, I dunno! Why?"

Oops! He was still a bit testy. "Well, before Candy and me kiss, she tells me to swallow my spit. Do you do that, too?" So what had I said that was so damn funny? Kyle was cracking up big fucking time!

"You guys Frenching?"

What kinda dumb question was that? "Yeah, of course we do!"

"Is that all?"

"Yep, 'cept I get a huge boner when we do that, and I don't know why. Then she rubs up against me and makes it worse."

"Hey, seriously, have you guys been thinking about sex?"

"No fucking way! Sticking my dick into her piss hole? Not a chance!"

Kyle was getting really interested now. "What if she wants to blow you?"

"She'll never put my dick in her mouth. Nah. Can't see it."

"Yeah, that's 'cause it's so damn tiny," he laughed.

"Yeah, right!" That was my excuse to tackle him, and we ended up wrestling on the bed. Anyway, I could tell by all his giggling that his mood had changed, and that he was feeling a lot better, so that was way cool. Wingnut to the rescue!

"Hey, mom! Kyle said he's gonna see what he can do about stuff for the hike."

"Anything specific?"

"Not yet, but you know what Kyle's like when he sets his mind on something. So if I get all the gear I need, can I go?"

"I must admit, Darren eased your father's and my fears quite a bit. He's a very impressive young man."

"Yeah, all the kids think he rules, and he knows how to look after kids and stuff."

"Well, let's wait and see what Kyle manages to pull out of the hat."

The big news the following day was a bomb blast at a local pizza restaurant… not the one where we usually ate at the mall, but the same chain, and way, way too close for comfort. There were forty eight people injured, some of them losing limbs. The police were still mystified, and still hadn't solved the earlier Planet Hollywood blast. Over breakfast, I asked my folks why people did stuff like that.

"Because they're right and we're wrong," my dad answered. "At least, that's the way they think."

"OK, so if we think they're wrong, and we're right, why don't we bomb their places?"

"Would you want to?"

"Nope, of course not."

"Why not?"

"'Cause innocent people get hurt. Some of those dudes lost arms and legs. Imagine going out for pizza and coming home with half your body gone!"

"Nobody is innocent when you're a fanatic, son. Human life becomes dispensible for the cause. Murder and mutilation become an acceptable means of promoting the fanatic's agenda."

"Kinda like a bully who beats up on people?"

"Yep. Only worse."

"But how can they think like that?"

"Because they don't. Thinking is not part of the process. If it were, they'd see the other side of the coin, and that's not something they're prepared to accept. Fanaticism has no time for compromise or conciliation."

My dad used a bunch of big words, but I got the main drift. Fanatics were fuckwits with IQs to match their dick size.

On Saturday, we all went surfing again, which was something I figured fanatics didn't do. It was wicked fun, and I couldn't see fanatics being interested in fun. Mind you, it wasn't all fun. Some of those damn swells were way over my head, and I got trashed a stack, but that didn't stop me from paddling out again for another ride. Kyle had been pissed off 'cause his dad wouldn't allow him to go clubbing on Friday night -- his last paper, science, was due on Monday morning -- but the surf kinda chilled him out, and he was having a totally rave session.

Steve was a much better surfer than any of us. He even looked the part, with his awesome, tanned bod, and his long, blonde hair. He could stand on a board like it was part of him, screaming down the face of the waves, and was getting more green rooms than I'd had boners.

Later in the day, Steph arrived with her stick, and paddled straight over to Kyle on the back line. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! She leaned across, put her hand down the front of his boardies, and asked, "Were you lonely on Friday night?" Damn! Steph was sooooo damn cool! Candy would NEVER do anything like that! Anyway, I decided to get some attention and pulled by boardies down a bit. Getting the eye from Steph was totally fucking wicked, and made me feel important. That chick had wicked class.

School had wound right down after the exams 'cause I saw Kyle going there in his civies -- board shorts and a t. I figured he'd be home early, so I waited. And waited. And waited. When he finally did arrive, he was trashed big time. I followed him to his room.

"Oh, jeez, Wingnut, I just wanna sleep for a bit."

"You're smashed! Where you been?"

"Had a few beers with Mark."

"A few? Looks like you drained the whole fucking pub."

"Yeah, and I need some shuteye."

"No way! I picked up the dog crap while you were out getting smashed, so I want some time! Go jump in the pool or something."

"I'll drown," he moaned as he flopped onto his bed. "Sorry, Wingnut, but I really need some shuteye."

He looked like he was gonna puke when I jumped on his stomach. "Hey, Kyle, come swim with me, please? I'll let you jack me off, and I'll jack you."

He managed a feeble laugh, but it was obvious that the dude was totally wasted. His eyes were closed. "Hey, buddy, why don't you just gimme a blow job and lemme rest, huh?"

"Yeah, right! Me put your pisshole in my mouth? Right!" Well, he just faded right there and then. Out like a fucking light. Damn! At least I got the opportunity to check out his furniture up close. I unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his dick. It was lazy, but even then it was fucking huge… best part of six inches. I examined it for a while wondering what it would be like to suck it, but I chose not to. The head of his semi looked kinda neat, but not that neat. Besides, what would I have done if he'd shot his load? Nah. Some other time, maybe. I buttoned his fly and went home.

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 Wingnut Part 47