After I'd shot my sticky load all over my abs and chest, Kyle gave me some tissue paper to clean myself while he laid on his stomach. I straddled his back, then worked my fingers into his powerful shoulder and neck muscles. He'd told me before about the training he did with Mark at the gym, and, although Mark was bigger than Kyle, my bud was certainly no slouch in the muscles department.
After a few minutes of massaging his smooth, tanned skin, I could see that he'd nodded off, so I slapped his backside. "You sleeping?"
"Dozed off," he mumbled.
He rolled over onto his back so that I could massage his chest. It felt kinda strange to have handfuls of his firm, solid pecs, almost as if I were playing with tits. But, of course, they weren't tits… they were pecs… so it was OK. Kinda. But it was still a helluva sexy feeling to be moving his pecs around, and enjoying the sensation of his ripe, hard nipples rubbing against the palms of my hands.
I worked my way down to his stomach, where his boner was laying, then down the insides of his thighs. But there was no way that I could resist playing with his nads, which I knew would be totally full of juice just itching to explode. I couldn't wait a moment longer, so I wrapped my fist around his thick, rock-hard throbber, with its neat, cut head protruding above my thumb and forefinger. "Does that feel good, Kyle?" OK, so it was a dumb question, but I wanted a reaction.
"Yeah, it did for me, too."
The massage had obviously made him as horny as hell, 'cause he raised his knees, and contracted his stomach, then exploded a truckload of boy juice all over his chest. It was kinda funny in a way, 'cause he let out a little scream that sounded like it should've come from a younger dude.
After he'd returned from the bathroom, we laid there, next to each other, with him on his back, and me on my side so that I could play with his nipples while we chatted.
"How come nipples get hard?"
"Do girls' nipples get hard?"
"So why are you playing with them?"
"'Cause when I do stuff, your bod responds. Like when I play with your nipples, your dick gets hard, too. So they must be sending a message down there. Anyway, how come guys are allowed to show their pecs in public, but girls have to cover their tits?"
"Are you saying that my pecs are sexy?"
"They are to me. I guess you wish Steph was here to blow you, huh?"
"Truth? Yeah. But you can if you wanna."
"Yeah, right! Put your pisshole in my mouth? No way, Jose!"
Well, the fisherfolk we'd spoken to were right about the weather conditions on Sunday. The surf rocked, big time. The shape was totally perfect, and the waves were fast… not that big… about three to four feet… but big enough. The sky was overcast, and the water was cold, but we were so damn amped that we surfed in boardies.
Steve was styling big time as usual. Damn, he was good. On one wave that I saw, he took off over the crest, and did a beautiful air… turned a 180, then came down on the peeling wave, and just carried on like it was nothing special. Yeah, right. When I tried it, I saw my own ass for a fleeting second before I was totally trashed in the wash. Kyle also tried an air, but the wave had closed out by the time he got back to it, and he was also drilled.
"You're easy to spot," Kyle laughed as we sat on our boards, waiting for the next set.
"'Cause I'm styling?"
"Nope… 'cause of your wide leg-stance… and your boardies are so damn low that, when you crouch, your whole ass crack shows."
"You've been checking it out, huh?"
Steph arrived about lunch time, and also got some cool rides. She was wearing a wet suit that totally moulded to her bod, and she looked fucking wicked. Mark and Carol also showed up for a while, so Kyle and Steph beached their sticks to chat to them. And me? Well, I just kept on gunning for every damn wave I could get, like there was no tomorrow. Just 'cause the surf was up, didn't mean it was gonna be up again the next day.
Well, as it happened, on Monday after school, the surf was almost as good. Steve was there, but Kyle wasn't.
When I got home, just before supper, I hopped the fence, and breezed into his room. "Shit, Kyle, it was almost as good as yesterday. You should've come down!"
"Couldn't. I had swim squad and homework. Thanks for cleaning the yard."
"There's another pile of crap already. Does Sox do it on purpose just to annoy me? Anyway, I did my first real floater today! I was racing down the face, then turned, and went over the top… floated for like ages, or so it seemed, then dropped back into the wave. It was just sooo fucking cool! I wish you'd been there to see that! Steve was raving after he saw it."
"Hey, I wish I'd been there… honest... sounds like you really ripped it up!"
"I did, totally. And the girls were all staring!"
"Yeah, but that's probably 'cause your boardies were down around your ankles."
"Nah," I laughed. "They would've fainted then. Anyway, can I borrow one of your Alanis tapes? I can listen to it while I'm doing my homework."
On the way to school next morning, I was still raving about my floater, and I could tell that Kyle was really stoked for me… he knew what it was like to do something special on your stick for the very first time. And, to him, it wasn't like I was boasting… even though I was. But some of my friends at school kinda thought that I was fulla myself when I told them about the rad stuff I did in the surf. That was one of the things that made Kyle so special… he shared the thrill of my triumphs. Actually, we shared each other's.
The fact that Kyle and I supported each other in our challenges, made it all the more difficult that day at swim prac. Kyle was bombing out big time in the freestyle events. The free wasn't his best stroke anyway, but it wasn't just Ross and Mark creaming him… five other guys were also flying through the water. I desperately wanted to say something to encourage Kyle, but what could I say? I felt helpless as I watched my best bud continue to crap out.
Even Mark almost got his head bitten off when he remarked that Kyle mightn't be using his legs properly. Then, after prac, Kyle didn't even bother to shower. He pulled on his tracksuit, grabbed his bag, and split. I asked Mark about it, and he told me that Kyle's ego was taking a major battering 'cause we were both watching him bomb. "He's in no mood to talk to anyone right now, so just steer clear of him. OK?"
"But he's my bud!"
"All the more reason to give him space when he needs it. I'll phone him later tonight. Maybe I can say something helpful."
"Do you think he'll make the team for the tour?"
"He will if it kills me. The tour just wouldn't be the same without that spiky-haired bundle of trouble."
Later, I picked up the dog crap, but I didn't venture into Kyle's house. Next morning, though, on the way to school, I plucked up the courage to ask Kyle if he was feeling better. "Yeah," he mumbled, but gave me the distinct impression that he didn't wanna talk about it. It felt kinda weird walking with Kyle in total silence, but I figured just being there was better than not. At least he knew that he was my bud, and that I was there for him if he needed me.
It was no surprise that Kyle bombed outa the trials for the freestyle later that morning. Six guys were chosen outa each age group, and Kyle was the conspicuous loser. Mark, on the other hand, was awesome. He beat Ross by about half a second. He was disappointed for Kyle, of course, but it was like Kyle had told me once before about not having any friends in the pool when you were competing for a place on the team. When I caught up with Kyle, I suggested that maybe he could come on the tour as a coach or something.
"Hey, I'll be on the team."
"Not if you keep swimming like you have."
"Hey, that's my worst stroke, buddy. Watch me when they have the next trials this arvie."
"Want me to help you train before the trials?"
"No," he laughed. "I'll be fine."
"I'm serious, Kyle… I can help."
"Hey, stop stressing. I know that you mean well, but I'll be OK."
I'd made arrangements to meet some of my buds for a surf that afternoon after school, so I didn't see the trials. In a way, I didn't wanna. I was almost certain that Kyle was gonna bomb, and I didn't think I could've handled seeing the misery on his face.
As it turned out, the surf was crappo, so I came home early, and hopped the fence, expecting the worst. Kyle was in the kitchen making some toasted sarmies.
"Thanks for picking up the dog crap."
"It's my job."
"I wish you'd been there to see me at the trials."
"It wasn't so bad?"
"Third in the 100m fly, first in the 200m and 400m."
"First!" I went totally ballistic. "Cool! That is sooo damn AWESOME! Woohoo!"
"When Mark got outa the water, he just smiled at me and told me I'd gotten lucky… so, hey, I got lucky again. Second in the backstroke 400m." By now, Kyle's grin was stretched ear to ear.
"Totally fucking wicked! Hey, you missed seeing my floater, and I missed the trials. Damn! I'm so pissed off that I wasn't there!"
"You'd have probably wanted to belt the crap outa a dude named Kenny… he's only fifteen, but he's the guy who beat me in the backstroke 400. I offered to shake his hand, and congratulate him, but the asshole just shouldered past me."
"So did you punch his lights out?"
"Nope… there was a prefect watching me."
"Mark? He would've helped."
"Nope… he would've busted me."
"Hey, he's got a job to do. Anyway, this Kenny is still a lighty."
"I can't remember seeing him."
"You will… he's an awesome swimmer. Hey! You're wearing Speedos under your boardies!"
"Yeah… my dick gets cold…. so I just pulled them on."
"You should just surf in your Speedos," he grinned.
"Oh, yeah? And look like a real fucking dork on the beach? I can just see all the guys taking the piss outa me."
"Well, you can let the girls take the piss outa you… with their mouths."
"OK, I'll phone Steph."
Yeah, right! There was no way he was gonna do that, so I called his bluff. "OK. Go for it."
"Serious." He picked up the phone. "I'll phone her now." He punched in a bunch of numbers, then said, "Hey, babe. Wingnut wants you to suck the piss outa his dick."
Hey, I hadn't come down in the last fucking shower. There was no way that he was talking to Steph like that, so I wasn't gonna fall for his lamo trick. "Yeah, right, Kyle," I laughed. "Like you're really talking to Steph. Yeah."
"Here," he said as he offered me the phone. "Ask her yourself."
OK, I figured I'd go along with his dumb joke, so I took the phone and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Hey Steph," I laughed. "I like your tits, and I want you to give me a mindblowing blow job."
I held the phone away from my face, which had turned the brightest of all possible reds, and stared at the piece of plastic in my hand. This couldn't be happening! No way! Eventually, I put the phone to my ear again. "Steph? Shit, I'm sorry! Damn! I thought Kyle was just playing around. Shit, I'm sorry! Anyway, I gotta jet. Bye." When I'd replaced the phone, Kyle was rolling around on the floor, pissing himself laughing.
I jumped on top of him, and used all my strength to give him a mousey on his shoulder. "Fucking hell," he groaned, "you really pack a punch!" Then he got on top of me, and gave me a mousey on my thigh. Fuck! That hurt!
After that, I hung around in his room while we listened to music, and he sorted out his homework, but I couldn't help wondering what Steph was gonna say to me the next time we met.
"You might get lucky, Wingnut."
"Yeah, sure. She probably thinks I'm a total fucking dork."
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