South Africa
Part 95

The surf was totally funky, and we were all having a rave session, including Steve and his buds. I'd just finished a ride when I saw one of Steve's buds drop in on the inside of Kyle's wave. Typical surfer aggro trip. Anyway, Kyle couldn't kick out 'cause he would've been totally trashed by the wave. So that meant a collision for sure. As the two surfers flew across the wall of curling water, the nose of Kyle's stick hit the tail of the other dude's and took the fibreglass off my bro's board.

Both guys headed for shore, and I followed. There was gonna be trouble. No fucking doubt about that. When they got to the beach, I saw the dude push Kyle on his ass. But Kyle was back on his feet in a second and gave the dude a knuckle sandwich right on the chin. Thwack! Mark's boxing training was coming in pretty handy, but the dude was no pushover.

Within a minute or two, both fighters were surrounded by Steve's friends... and one of the assholes wanted to join in the action. Steve intervened and stopped the fight, but not before Kyle and the other dude had each copped a bloodied nose.

"Hey! I saw that guy drop in on Kyle's fucking wave." All my buds were watching me so I figured it was my responsibility to be the main man. "You should've carried on and flattened the asshole, Kyle."

"Chill, Wingnut. It's over."

"Anyway, it was cool seeing you sort him out."

By then, Kyle's dad had arrived on the scene, and gave me a glare... first time he'd ever given me a hairy eyeball, so I figured I'd better keep my mouth shut.

"Do you feel good about what you just did?" he asked his son.

"No, dad."

"That's the first time I've seen you swing a fist in anger."

Keep my mouth shut? Me? Yeah, right. "It was the other guy who started it, Mr T... he pushed Kyle on his ass."

"I didn't see that. Is that true, son?"

"Yes, dad. But, hey, it's over now. No biggie."

"You should've flattened him," I continued.

"Shuddup, Wingnut."

Next day, after school, I was out surfing with my buds again while Kyle was working at the shop. Surfing wasn't like any other sport I knew. It was something I could never get bored with. Each wave was different to the last, and each ride was a thrill. Some better than others, of course. But the challenge to avoid getting trashed never ceased, and the hope that the next ride would a green room would keep you going 'til your arms felt like lead, or the sun was about to set.

That particular afternoon wasn't without a bit of drama, though. I managed to ding my board. Damn! It's wasn't a major ding, but Kyle had always told me that dings needed to be fixed as soon as poss. He was in the garage repairing the damage to his stick when I waltzed in and noticed something different about the nose of his board.

"What's that?"

"A diamond tip... stops the nose from getting damaged."

"I got a fucking ding today, dammit... can you fix it for me, Kyle? I put silver tape on it to keep it waterproof."

"Good thinking, 99."

"Was your dad mad at me yesterday? He gave me a real hairy eyeball."

"He didn't see what started the fight. He's OK now. I think he got a bit of a fright when he saw me fighting, though. He knew that I got into fights at school, but this was different."

"You shoulda kept hammering the guy."

"You've got a bit to learn about getting a fist when you're eighteen, bro. It's a little different to when you're thirteen."

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I wish my dad surfed... I think it's really cool."

Just then, the phone rang. "It could be Mark. I'll see ya later. OK?"

Time to jet. But I rocked over to Kyle's again the following night to collect my board. "Cool! Great job."

"You'll need this," he said as he handed me some fine glass paper. "Just sand down the repair and it'll be as good as new... almost."

"Sorry about getting a ding, though."

"Hey, dings happen. No biggie. You've really looked after that board, and I appreciate it."

The rest of the week, including the weekend, was as hot as hell... mid 30s to 40 C [90 to 100 F]... so the beach was no longer a luxury, it was a necessity. Real rock lizard weather. But, since Kyle had gotten the job at the shop, and given me some of his neighborhood chores, I spent some of the weekend working. There was one old biddy who was always harassing me with a truckload of gardening and other odd jobs, so I asked Kyle if he could help me out. We were weeding the flower beds when he started to diss me.

"I think she's got the hots for you."

"Fuck off, Kyle."

"She's probably checking you out right now... peeking through the curtain cracks. Maybe you should put your shirt back on."

"It's too fucking hot."

"You're wetting her panties, boyo."

"She's after you... she likes older guys."

"Yeah, right... that's why she keeps phoning you to work at her place. I mean, c'mon, Wingnut."

"C'mon what?"

"You're a miniature fucking hunk with ripples in all the right places. And here you are wearing your cargo shorts with the waistband of your damn boxers showing, and your calf muscles and every other muscle popping like crazy, and the sweat making them shine even more. And you wonder why all the old biddies in the 'hood are after you?"

On Saturday night, I was with Candy, Brian, and his girlfriend at the pizza restaurant when Kyle and Steph arrived. They'd been to the movies. They joined our table, and we chatted about a whole bunch of stuff. It was totally cool how Steph and Kyle could mix with us grommets... like there was no age diff. Yeah... we all had a pretty good time.

A few hours later, I was walking home from Brian's place when I spotted a shadowy figure standing near a tree. While my brain was wondering if I should freeze or run, my legs kept carrying me closer to the figure. Eventually, I recognized the clothes, and the hair. It was Kyle pissing against the tree. Looked kinda cool, actually.

He was flicking the last few drops from his six inch semi as I approached. "Kyle! Hey, Kyle! It's me."

"What are you doing here?"

"How come you're pissing on the tree?"

"It's my tree. I jacked off here once... kinda put my mark on it."

"Cool. Is it OK if I piss on your tree?"

"Sure."

I reached into my jeans, pulled out my dick, and watched my stream splatter all over the trunk. "Anyway, I was gonna sleep over at Brian's, but I couldn't."

"You should've arranged it with his folks first," he said as he buttoned his fly.

"We did... but Alan's drunk, and he started smacking Brian around. Then he wanted to start on me, but I scarpered."

"You guys never learn. Leave him alone."

"Brian started it. One of Alan's friends wanted him to go fetch a beer, and Brian told him to piss off and fetch his own. So Alan smacked him, and I thought it was best to get outa there."

"Don't you feel guilty about leaving Brian behind with those asshole thugs?" he asked as I squeezed the last few squirts outa my cock, gave it a few flicks, then put it back in my jeans.

"I asked Brian to come with me, but Alan said that Brian had to hang around. Alan's such a prick. And it's such a fuckup 'cause my folks aren't expecting me home. What am I supposed to tell 'em?"

We began to walk the rest of the way home through the dark streets when Kyle came to the rescue. "If you want, you can sleep over at my house. We haven't had a chance to be together for a while."

"You sure? I wasn't sure if you wanted me to."

"Why?"

"You've been different... like I'm pissing you off or something."

"Sorry about that. It's just that I miss Mark, and I've been kinda moody."

"You guys were good friends, huh? It's weird. I never thought you'd be friends 'cause of the way you guys used to fight and argue. So it's OK for me to sleep over?"

"Yeah... I'd like that."

Woohoo! He'd like that? This was sounding like old times. "Whoa! Me, too! Hey, thanks for letting me piss on your tree."

"No prob. Just so long as it wasn't my leg."

"Can we go for a walk or something? I'm not helluva tired."

We took a stroll down to the beach where we left our silent footprints in the sand, and watched the moonlit waves for a while. It was magic to see the eerie fluorescence of the swirling foam sweeping up the sandy gradient, only to return to mother ocean in a noisy backward rush as the next wave rose in readiness to follow its predecessor.

"Waves are so fucking awesome. They just keep coming."

"Yeah... like the days or hours... one after the other. I guess that's why the sea is never boring."

After that, we went to Wipeout. I waited outside while Kyle went inside to get us a beer each. After he'd reappeared, we sat on the wall outside the club, and drank our amber ales.

"Just keep that thing hidden, Wingnut. I don't want someone from school seeing me giving you a beer."

"Too late. There's a stack of guys here already. Some of them are only one grade up from me."

"There goes my rep."

"What fucking rep? We're bros. Right? So what if you buy me a fucking beer?"

"You're thirteen."

"Going on fourteen."

"Still too young."

"So how come you hang with me?"

"'Cause I've got a bigger dick. It's good for my ego."

"Har-de-fucking-har. Anyway, one day my dick's gonna be bigger than yours."

"Yeah, right. And pigs will fly."

"So what did Mark say when he phoned you?"

"He hardly got a word in at first... I gave him a fucking earful about not phoning me earlier. So what did he do? He started laughing!"

"You're funny when you're mad, though... well, sometimes."

"I am?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I can understand why Mark laughed... you were showing him that you missed him. Hey, Kyle? If you went away, I'd miss you, too. Big time."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you gonna be best man at my wedding?"

"You and Candy?"

"Yeah. We've talked about it... about you being my best man, I mean."

"That's a long way down the track, Wingnut."

"Is that a no?"

"No... it's not a no."

"Cool! And Steph can be the bridesmaid."

"Fucking hell, Wingnut! You're talking maybe ten years from now!"

"So who's gonna be best man at your wedding? Mark?"

"Hey, listen. A week or two ago, I figured Mark and Carol were a certainty to get married and have a bunch of awesome looking kids. And now? Now, they've split, and Mark's in fucking Joburg. He's even got a new girlfriend. So what does that say about certainty? There's no such thing, Wingnut."

"You're not gonna marry Steph?"

"One day at a time, bro. One day at a time."

"Anyway, my beer's finished.  You wanna go back to your place now?"

Copyright 2001 All rights reserved. mrbstories


 

 Wingnut Part 96