Author's Note: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.
Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
**..**
The narrow strip of beach was crowded with beautiful bodies glistening with sunning lotion. The waves were numerous but were not too rough.
The young man was obviously not a native to this small California community. His swim trunks were far too snug over his wide hips and his skin was a pasty white. Even his hair was almost white and his eyes were a very pale blue, almost colorless. He resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy as he waddled up to the small plywood stand set back from the beach.
"Hi! I uh, I'd like some lessons," the young man asked, double chin wobbling as he spoke.
"The muscular surfer did not smirk as he greeted the young man and told him the prices; it was this much for just the lessons on dry land and it was that much for lessons out in the waves. If he paid the second amount, they would first do some training on dry land before braving the waves. The second amount also included the board's rental.
At first, it did look like the chubby young man would balk at the prices, then he steeled himself and reached into the wallet strapped around his waist. He paid for the 'whole kit and caboodle.' His words, not the words of the surfer. Whole kit and caboodle.
Bart Jensen had trouble on flat land. Balancing his weight was unnatural and ungainly. The surfer got onto the board behind Bart and put his large hands onto Bart's hips. He guided Bart on the board, gently talking to his client.
"All right. You're getting the idea," the surfer smiled as Bart did manage to balance himself for a few moments. "Now, let's try the suspended board."
The suspended board was roughly two feet above the ground, strung up by four ropes. Each rope was tethered to a stake driven far into the sand. The surfer did not say it, but he wondered if he had the stakes far enough into the loose sand to support Bart's immense bulk.
Bart had great difficulty even getting onto the board; lifting his foot that high seemed problematic for his heavy legs. And, once on the suspended board, he forgot everything he'd learned on the flat board. Again, the surfer placed his large hands on Bart's hips. He strained to hold Bart in place as he stood on the ground to Bart's right.
"Okay, let's do it again," the surfer said, stepping slightly away from the board.
It took several tries, but finally, Bart was able to maintain his balance for several minutes. The surfer patted Bart on his pale white back and grabbed a board from the rack. He then let Bart choose his own board; gently guiding Bart toward the slightly wider bright yellow and green board.
"How are you at swimming?" the surfer asked.
"It's like I was born in the water," Bart bragged.
"Good, good, but I'd still feel better if you wore a vest," the surfer said, finding a large bright orange vest for Bart.
He made sure Bart was properly cinched into the vest and nodded with his head toward the rolling waves.
Predictably, Bart's first few attempts of getting onto the board and into a standing position were disastrous. The surfer did think he was earning every penny and then some as he constantly retrieved Bart's board and paddled out to the where Bart bobbed in the waves.
After almost two hours, Bart managed to get on, catch a wave, and actually stay on his board for a goodly distance. The surfer smiled and beckoned Bart out to make another attempt.
"Well, dude," the surfer said. "You're now a surfer."
"Yes I am!" Bart crowed.
Arriving at the plywood stand again, the surfer's friend admitted no one had come for any lessons in the surfer's absence. With a good-natured shrug, the surfer suggested they take a long lunch break and go to Catching Waves. The friend immediately agreed and they lowered the flap of the stand.
"What, what's Catching Waves?" Bart asked.
"Hmm? It, it's this surfer's hangout," the surfer said.
"But, hey, you're now a surfer," the friend said.
"Yes he is," the surfer said, putting a friendly arm around Bart's chubby middle.
"Yeah!" Bart agreed and followed the two handsome young men a few hundred yards to the beach bar Catching Waves.
The sign on the door announced 'No shoes, No Shirt, No Problem.' Bart laughed at the playful notice as they opened the heavy glass door. Old air inside blew in their faces as the door opened. The bartender greeted the surfer and the friend, already reaching for two beer mugs. At a nod from the friend, the bartender poured a third mug of Gratchley's on tap. Bart magnanimously paid for the first round of drinks.
The bartender smirked; he saw the surfer's right hand drop down. He saw the pudgy young man's pale blue eyes open wide and knew that the surfer had his large right hand squarely on the chubby young man's backside. The friend's left hand dropped down and Bart's eyes goggled.
Over a large plate of meatless nachos, Bart told the surfer and the friend that he was there on his honeymoon. He and Hannah Jensen nee Watson were from Bergeron, Idaho where he was a stocker at the local Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store. Hannah worked at the First National Bank of Bergeron as a teller.
"Yeah, she wanted to go to this stupid glass blowing class," Bart said, now into his second draft beer. "I told her, that's fine; I want to surf."
"And now you're a surfer," the friend encouraged, gently rubbing Bart's swelling manhood through skimpy swim trunks.
"That's right," Bart said, swallowing nervously as the friend cupped his heavy balls.
"Hey, surfer boy," the surfer whispered into Bart's left ear.
"Huh?" Bart gulped as the surfer squeezed Bart's left buttock.
"You uh, you ever suck a cock?" the surfer asked.
"I uh, I got to go uh, I got to pee," Bart squeaked.
"Last door on the right," the bartender nodded with his head toward the hallway. "You guys ready for another beers?"
"Be right back," the surfer smiled as he and the friend followed Bart down the hallway.
"You make a mess, be sure and clean it up, huh?" the bartender said and poured a drink for a very cute, very skinny blonde.
"Thanks!" the girl smiled brightly, showing off a mouthful of shiny metal orthodontic braces.
Entering the bathroom, the surfer and the friend saw that Bart had wedged himself into the last stall, the handicapped stall. The surfer and the friend smiled; the heavy panting and occasional grunts coming from the stall did not sound like Bart was urinating or relieving his bowels. Both the surfer and the friend shimmied out of their swim trunks and looped the garments on the hook in the first stall. Then they waited.
"I uh, oh! Uh, hi!" Bart stammered, waddling out of the stall.
"Hey," the surfer agreed, slowly stroking his fat cock.
"Hey," the friend agreed, slowly stroking his own cock.
"So, Bart, ready to see what running the pipeline is like?" the surfer asked, gently pushing Bart to his knees.
