South Africa
Part 8

"Hiya, Wingnut. Are you thinking about moving into my house?"

"Sorry, Kyle. Are you busy or something? Should I go home?"

"Nah, just kidding, bud. You're welcome here any time. You know that."

"Cool!" I sat on Kyle's bed and watched him do his homework. He was such a way cool guy to watch. I didn't know why, exactly. I guessed it was just the way he kinda moved and talked. There was something totally wicked about him, and it was so damn rad just to be with him in his room with all its surfing posters and stuff. "Can I talk?"

"Can't promise I'll listen," he mumbled without looking at me. "I've got exams coming up soon. Gotta study."

"Me, too."

"So why are you here?"

"I'm studying you," I laughed.

"You're not the only one, dude. There's this asshole prefect at school. I'm in some crap, and I might end up in detention on Friday. The prefect fucko dissed me this morning -- told me that I should cut my hair 'cause it looks like a rat's ass -- or something like that. I told him to put his cock in his ear and inject some brain cells."

I cracked up totally and slapped the edge of the bed. "I've gotta remember that line, man. It's way fucking cool!"

"Fuckwit wrote me up, though. I kinda got mad and called him a heap of shit -- like a bully with a badge. And I told him he was a fucking wuss without that damn badge."

"So what happened?"

"We went to the school gym. There was nobody else there, so we took off our jackets. So he spreads his feet and takes this Rocky stand -- y'know, like a boxer -- prancing around like some ape on steroids." 'Come, shithead,' he says."

"And I'll bet you whopped him good!" I gushed.

"Not quite, Wingnut. I was busy watching his right hand while his left found my ribs. Ouch! Damn!"

"He beat you?"

"Well, I guess he did," Kyle said, turning a page of his text book. "But I decided to leave it at that. He walked with me back to the quad. At least he didn't brag about what happened in the gym."

"But you could've beaten him to a fucking pulp if you'd wanted to, right?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Fighting's dumb, anyway, Wingnut. It only happens 'cause I've got a short wick. I should've chilled when he dissed me." Kyle looked up from his homework and studied my eyes for a moment."Are you disappointed?"

"A bit. It would've been cool to hear how you beat that guy."

"I've got better things to beat, Wingnut. And, as soon as I finish my homework, I'm gonna do just that."

In my room that night, I thought about Kyle beating his meat, and how it would be to see him do it. He had such a big dick, much bigger than any of the guys at school had. Jeez, they were practically invisible compared to Kyle's. Mine wasn't too bad, though, except my knob didn't poke out of my fist like I'd imagined Kyle's would poke out of his.

"Dad? Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Depends."

"Well, it's kinda dumb, I guess, but how big was your penis when you were my age?"

"Are you serious?" he said, folding his newspaper and removing his reading glasses. "That's a long time ago, son, and I'm not sure that I was all that interested in the physical dimensions of what ultimately helped to bring you into the world."

"You're saying that size doesn't matter?"

"Why should it?"

"I dunno. It's just that the guys at school say it does. And I've seen Kyle and Steve when we shower at the beach. Kyle's is awesome."

"Let me tell you something, son. Do you compare me to Kyle's father? Or your mother to Kyle's mother? Do we compare you to Kyle?"

"I don't get it."

"Comparing one person to another person, or one penis to another, isn't the point, son. There's no such thing as a forest with identical trees. Each tree has its own identity, and is special in its own way, the same as each person is special in his or her own way."

"But what about at school where some guys are smarter than others, or better at sport than others?"

"So, you get a kid who's better at rugger than most other kids. But is he better at swimming or art or science than those other kids? Nobody can be the best at everything, son. Let me ask you something -- how big was Einstein's penis?"

"I dunno. It's not in my science book."

"I'm not surprised," dad laughed.

"Mom?"

"Yes, son."

"You know how guys are always going on about how big a girl's, uh, chest is? Is it the same with girls? I mean, do they talk about how big a guy's thingy is?"

"Thingy?" A broad grin spread across mom's face. "Well, yes, they do. But that's just the result of curiosity and peer pressure. I certainly didn't marry your father because of his penis size, and I'm quite sure he didn't marry me because of my ... chest."

"Why did you marry?"

"We fell in love. There was something about your father that I admired -- his sensitivity, generosity, the way he walked and talked, the way he smiled, the way he singled me out for special attention. It's hard to describe, son, but one day you'll understand."

Back in my room, I thought about what mom had said, and I guessed that's the way I felt about Kyle, except I didn't wanna marry him. Sure, his dick was fucking huge, but I figured even a moron could have a big dick. There was a lot more to Kyle, a lot more. Like how he was cool about me hanging with him and Steve, and how they bought me a stick just 'cause I was their friend.

"Mom?"

"Why all the questions all of a sudden? Have you finished your homework?"

"Almost. Just one more question. Do you think Kyle's hair looks like a rat's, uh, butt?"

Mom cracked totally, and it was a full minute before she composed herself enough to answer me. "I have no idea why you asked that question, son, but no -- I don't think Kyle's hair looks like what you said. I like it very much. It's very individual, and I like the way it's sort of..."

"Spiky?"

"Yes. It's got a mind of its own."

"Cool!" I gave mom a peck on the cheek. "Night, mom."

I laid in bed thinking about Kyle's hair. Was it OK to think that a guy's hair was cool? Did that mean I was kinda gay? Nah. Why should it? It wasn't like I was gonna fuck his hair or anything. I just liked the way it looked.

I reached down and played with my boner while I imagined Kyle, Steve and I jacking off in Kyle's room.

"Hey, Wingnut! Your throbber! Jeez! It's fucking huge all of a sudden! What happened?"

"I ain't no Einstein, dude. I figure I've gotta have something awesome to brag about."

I fantasized about the guys watching me as my boner sprayed a truckload of thick, sticky boy juice all over the walls and ceiling. The stuff was splattered all over the place, slowly dribbling down the walls and hanging off the ceiling like huge, molten stalactites. The CD player and desk were covered in a gallon of my cum, not to mention both Kyle and Steve who looked as if they'd come off second best in a cream-pie fight.

"Whoa, Wingnut! How the fucking hell did you do that?"

"That was only one ball's worth, man. I haven't offloaded the other one yet."

I dunno what Kyle was doing the next day, but he wasn't around when I headed to the beach with my stick. I met up with a bunch of guys I knew from school and we hit the waves. After about half an hour, I saw my bud a bit further up the line. "Hey, Kyle," I shouted, and paddled over to where he was. "Hi ya, man! Hey! You should have heard those guys raving about my stick! They said it was totally wicked! Cool, huh?"

"How come you're not wearing a wetsuit? It's fucking freezing out here!"

"Haven't got one. Don't need one."

"You're fucking blue, man. I dunno how you handle it!"

"Piece of piss."

The rest of the session was way neat. The waves weren't all that big, but Kyle and I made the most of them and had a totally rad time. Wetsuit or no wetsuit, the challenge and thrill of catching a cool barrel and riding it to the end was something that got into your blood -- like an addiction. You and Nature -- not as enemies, but as friends in a kind of spiritual way. Sure, a wave could nail me if it wanted to, but it was up to me to tame it and earn its respect. And, when I did, the high was higher than anything I'd ever experienced before. Even a grommet could earn a wave's respect. Woohoo!

Back at the beach, while I was showering, Kyle peeled off his wetsuit. I saw a mark on his side. "What's that?"

"Huh?"

"That blue spot on your ribs."

"Fuck! I hadn't noticed that before. It must be from the prefect fucko's punch." He touched it gently. "A bit tender, but it's not all that painful."

"You wouldn't admit it even if it was," I smiled. "Hey, Kyle, next time you get into a fight at school, you'd better holler for me, man."

"Yeah, right," he cracked. "That dude would've picked you up and thrown you away."

"Wanna bet?" I flexed my muscles. "Check this out, dude. How's this for going on twelve?"

"How's this for way past twelve?" Kyle pumped up his muscles and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"I'll look like that soon, asshole. You just wait and see."

Kyle invited me to hang at his house for a while when we got back. "What do you want on your sandwich?"

"Peanut butter. And can I have a second one with cheese?"

"Sure, dude."

It was just so damn cool to be Kyle's friend. It was like he really cared about me and wanted to be with me. The fact that he was making some sandwiches for me was like totally special. I mean, mom made sandwiches for me but she was my mom, and that's what moms were supposed to do. But Kyle didn't have to if he didn't wanna. I watched him spread the bread with butter, then smooth on the peanut butter. He placed the top layer of bread over and handed it to me. "There ya go, Wingnut." This was one fucking special sandwich. Why? 'Cause he made it, but there was no way I was gonna tell him that. He'd only think I was a wuss.

"Thanks, Kyle."

"Come and listen to my Offspring CD, man. You'll love it. I'll tape it for your Walkman.

"Cool!"

Copyright 1999 All rights reserved. mrbstories


 

 Wingnut Part 9