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Chapter 10: The Surf Shop, Part II
What happened next was a blur -- a literal one. The next thing I remember was laying down in a warehouse-like room filled with boxes of shorts, swimwear and a few surf boards. I would have been laying down if it hadn't been for someone cradling me in their arms. I looked up and saw Colin's face. He was sitting on the floor, cradling my head in his arms while I laid on the floor in nothing more than my speedo.
"Hey, you're okay!" Colin said, a relieved look on his face. I instantly felt hot -- and not in the sexy way I felt earlier. Literally hot, as if I was in a restaurant kitchen where all the broiling oven doors were wide open.
"What...what happened?" I stammered as I felt my mind slowly coming to.
"Hey, Ryan, he's alright!" Colin shouted at the door. Ryan walked in a few seconds later, carrying a small paper cup of water.
"Oh good, dude! You're okay!" Ryan said with the same worried expression on his face. I think it was the first time he'd said dude or squirt or stud without that trademark grin or smile on his face.
"What happened?" I questioned again.
"You passed out," Colin said as he helped me sit up. Ryan handed me the cup of water, and I instinctively knew to take a drink from it. With more of my nervous system kicking in, I felt strands of water -- sweat -- seeping from every pore on my skin.
"You know where you are?" Ryan said as he crouched down to me and Colin.
"Surf shop, right?" I asked. "Except, maybe not?"
"You're in the storeroom," Colin said. "We brought you in here after you fainted."
"How long was I out?"
"Few minutes," Ryan said. "Maybe five."
Actually, I'd learn later on it was less than two minutes. Ryan and Colin later recounted exactly what happened: After Colin suggestively asserted we were going to fool around -- but maybe not in the shop -- he pulled me in close to his body. With my erection pressing into his shorts through my speedo, his hands moved their way to my back, where his light rub sent me over the edge. Except, instead of jizzing right there in my swimgear, I passed out, falling forward into Colin's arms. Good thing he was already sort of hugging me.
"Where's my stuff?" I asked.
"Still in the dressing room," Ryan said. "Don't worry, it's safe."
"Slow part of the day," Colin said. "Nobody's going to come in here until later this afternoon."
My mind was firing on all cylinders now, and the more I realized what happened, the less concerned I was and the more embarrassed I became. I grabbed my temple with my fingers, massaging lightly, as if I had a headache, but really I was trying to hide the pained expression on my face.
"You got a towel?" I asked Colin.
"Yeah, one second," Colin said. He looked around the storeroom, finding a cleanup kit in the corner. He motioned to Ryan, and Ryan took the hint, grabbing a box stuffed with old rags and tossing me one.
"They're clean," Colin said.
"Thanks," I said, wiping the sweat off my face, arms and chest. "So, that's...kind of a buzzkill, huh?"
Ryan and Coin grinned -- the kind of smile someone shows you when you crack a joke, but they're still worried about you.
"We just want you to be okay," Colin said, rubbing my shoulder. His touch felt good on my bare skin. Comforting, but also stimulating.
"I'm okay," I said. "So...yeah, I think I'll take these," I motioned to the speedos.
Ryan laughed. "I think passing out in them is an automatic purchase."
"I already rang them up," Colin said with a wink. "The trunks too."
Ryan and Colin helped me to my feet. I tossed the towel to the side as the three of us walked out of the storage room. As Ryan and Colin headed to the front, I walked back into the dressing room to put my clothes back on. After a few minutes, I emerged with the speedo and the swim trunks in hand. Colin grabbed them both from me, tossing them in a bag and totaling out my purchase. I handed him Dan's credit card -- after yesterday's little stunt, he owed me this at the very least, I rationalized -- and he placed my newly-purchased threads in a small plastic bag.
"So where are you two headed next?" Colin asked.
"We haven't decided that," Ryan said, speaking for both of us. But he was right. This was basically it as far as we'd both planned. And after what happened toward the end of our visit to the surf shop, I wasn't sure if he even wanted to hang out anymore.
The more I came to, the more I felt embarrassed by what happened. At the very least, there's no way Ryan and Colin would want to get close to me, you know, in that way, I figured. I would be sidelined to the casual acquaintance zone for the rest of eternity, unable to recoup the cool points I'd lost through my fainting spell. At least that was my worry.
As I'd come to find out, my fears were far from reality.
"Food?" Ryan asked, turning to me as we walked out of the surf shop.
"I guess," I said, shrugging at his suggestion.
"What are you in the mood for?"
"I don't know, what's good around here?"
"Let's see," Ryan said, putting a finger under his chin in contemplation. "You like sushi?"
"Nope." I always felt like sushi was for pretentious people -- nobody really likes raw fish dipped in spicy sauce, they just pretend to like it because it's chic. But I wasn't about to tell Ryan this.
"Okay," he said, giving me a sideways look. "Well, how about Japanese food?"
Isn't that the same thing as sushi? "Pass," I said.
"Vietnamese? Thai? Indonesian?"
"How about something closer to this continent?"
"Ethiopian?" Ryan giggled.
"Uhh..."
"Hey, I may not be as smart as you, Mr. Smarty Pants," Ryan said in mock jest, poking me in the temple with his index finger. "But I know Africa is closer to us than Asia."
"Technically," I said, "Asia is closer to California than Africa."
"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes. "I guess that's a no then."
I started to feel bad. All of these places, I'm sure, were just fine. I just wasn't in the mood to try anything new -- not after what just happened inside the shop.
"Look," I suggested, "why don't we go someplace a little more familiar, where we can both get something we like?"
"Dick's Diner?" he said with a grin.
"Someplace a little closer to home," I added.
Ryan pointed to a small suite a few doors down. The sign above it said Deli. "How about that place?" he said.
"Works for me," I said.
We entered the deli, ordered our sandwiches at the counter and took a seat at a two-person table near the window. The cashier, pulling double-duty as the waiter, brought us two glasses of water while we waited for our food.
"How about him?" Ryan said, motioning to the cashier-waiter.
"What about him?" I asked.
"What do you think of him?"
I took a closer inspection of the deli staffer. He was taller than me, but not quite as tall as Ryan. Jet-black wavy hair. Toned skin. Average body build. Average looks. Honestly, not someone I'd give a second glance to.
"He's alright," I said honestly.
"Mmm," Ryan answered back. "I like his hair."
"You do?" I started to feel slightly self-conscious about my own hair. Suddenly I wish I could have black, wavy hair too.
"Yeah," he said. "It's cute. Probably fun to tease too."
I just sat there, watching my glass of water as if it would suddenly entertain me with some kind of distraction.
"But," he continued, "straight hair is much more fun to run my fingers through." I blushed. "Less tangles," he added. I smiled.
A pause, and then, "What are you thinking about?"
"Dunno," I replied. "Wondering if I should eat something after what happened."
"Well, are you diabetic?"
"No. At least I don't think so."
"You're probably fine," he said, brushing off my concern. "Anything else you're thinking about?"
I looked back down at my glass of water. "Wondering how I'm going to recover from what happened earlier today."
"What do you mean recover?" Ryan asked.
"You know, recover my reputation," I said, spitting the words out before my brain could process if they made any sense.
Ryan laughed. "You worry about a lot of things, don't you?" Before I could answer, he continued: "Don't worry so much. We're still hanging out, right?" A pause, and then, "You're still cool in my book."
"Well, thanks," I said as our sandwiches arrived. Ryan took a bite, and then with his mouth somewhat full, said: "You know what your problem is?"
"What?"
He swallowed his food. "Your self-esteem is out of whack."
"It is not!" I protested, offended, but I knew he was probably a little right.
"Sure it is," Ryan said. "I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just an observation."
I didn't respond.
"Anyway," he continued, perhaps sensing my building offense, "I know how you feel."
"Do tell," I said dryly.
"I didn't use to have much confidence in myself either," Ryan answered. "When I was little, I was always worried people were judging me or comparing me to..."
He paused, interrupting his own thought. "Well, that's not important," he continued. "What's important is, I used to not have a lot of confidence."
"So, what changed?"
"Me. I did. I changed." He grinned at his own words.
"Go on."
"I realized that life isn't worth living if you're always worried about what other people think. It's not even worth living if you're always worried about what you think. Especially of yourself. You ever hear people tell other people that they should just be themselves?"
"Yeah."
"And you've probably thought to yourself, well, what if I don't like myself? Why would I want to be something I don't like?"
"Exactly, why would I?" I questioned.
Ryan took another bite. "Here's the thing: You only have one of yourself. But you can always reinvent into a different version of yourself. Don't like being fat? Lose weight. Don't like being skinny? Gain muscle. Too muscular?" He paused a moment. "Well, I don't really know what you're supposed to do there. Stop exercising as much?"
I giggled.
"Anyway," he continued, "you can always change something about yourself. Change your hair color with dye. Change your outfits by buying new threads. Change your eye color with colored contact lenses. You can even get a nose job if you don't like your nose."
I grabbed my nose instinctively. "Not that you need one, of course," Ryan said, winking at me. I blushed out a grin.
"But," I countered, "what about those people who are constantly getting nose jobs? It never seems like they're very happy with whatever version of themselves they've invented."
"Because they're doing it for the wrong reasons," Ryan said. "You can't reinvent yourself just to make yourself attractive to other people. You have to do it for yourself. Those people who are always getting nosejobs..." He took another bite, then continued, "...they're only doing it because they think their new look will make them attractive to someone else."
"Uh huh."
"Let me ask you this: What's one thing about yourself that you want to change?"
"Um," I thought. "About my personality or my appearance?"
"Both! One of each."
"About my personality, I wish I was a little more outgoing," I confessed. "I wish I could approach people I found interesting and just...go for it, you know?"
"I know what you mean," Ryan said. "I used to be the exact same way, believe it or not."
"So, what did you do that changed it?"
"Well," he said, glancing up out of the corner of his eye. "The thing is...hmm..." He thought for another moment. "You ever hear the saying, you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take?"
"I might have somewhere."
"You're probably someone who doesn't take a lot of shots, huh?" Before I could answer, he continued: "And you don't because you're not very confident in the outcome if you did. What's the worst that could happen? Someone says no. And if they did, you'd dwell on it for a bit -- what is it about me that made them say no? You'll replay that question in your head over and over again until you get an answer, right?"
I nodded.
"On the other hand, you could not try, and you spare yourself all of that wondering. Because you know what the answer is -- you know the answer will be no if you don't try."
I nodded again.
"But that doesn't make for a very fun life. You're missing out! What if the answer was yes? What if you took the shot, got a yes and something great came from it?"
I didn't respond. I was soaking in his perspective.
"Even if you took a shot and the answer's no, that's not rejection. That's just an opportunity to take a shot somewhere else. Bounce from opportunity to opportunity until you get a yes from someone."
"But," I interjected, "haven't you ever felt the sting of rejection?"
"Like, when you ask someone to the dance, or ask someone out on a date, and they say no?"
I nodded.
"Well, yeah, everyone goes through that," Ryan answered. "Rejection sucks. But when you look at it as an opportunity to find someone who wants you for you, it sucks a little less. Rejection just means that other person didn't or couldn't appreciate what you brought ot the table, you know?"
I nodded.
"I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't already know," Ryan said. "But knowing it and doing it are different. And when you're deep in a rut, it can be hard to get out of. You just have to be assertive. Try it a few times. You might get a few nos. You'll eventually get a yes. And that yes might come way sooner than you expect."
"Is that what you do?" I asked.
"Hell yeah man!" Ryan said enthusiastically, finishing off his sandwich. "If I see something I want, or if there's something I want to do, I go for it! I might be subtle and sly about it, but I definitely go for it."
"The frisbee?" I asked.
He nodded, understanding what I meant. "Exactly. The frisbee. I saw what I wanted, and I went for it. And I got a yes, didn't I?"
"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "But...why me?"
"Let me give you some advice," Ryan began, as if he hadn't already peppered our conversation with lots of advice already. "Don't ask people that. Don't give people a reason to question or doubt you. If you ask people 'why me?' they're going to ask themselves that same question. If someone says yes, they've already got their reasons. Don't give them the opportunity to change their minds."
"I see," I said.
"Be assertive. Don't question everything. Go with the flow. All that stuff."
"Gotcha."
"Let me give you an example of being assertive," Ryan started. He pushed the basket that once held his sandwich off to the side, folding his hands and placing them on the table in front of him. "Jamie -- will you suck my dick?"
I nearly choked on my own sandwich. I definitely wasn't expecting that. "What?"
Ryan looked at me square in the face, a sly grin appearing on his face. He slowed his speech, enunciating each word clearly: "Will you suck my dick?"
"What, like, here?" I asked, confused, looking from side to side.
He laughed. "No, not here! Just, in general. Let's say we're in your bedroom, or my bedroom, or the beach, or the car, or wherever. Would you suck my dick?"
I could feel my face turning bright red, and my dick twitching in my pants for what must've been the 20th time that day. "Uh..."
"It's a yes-or-no question," Ryan said matter-of-factly.
"Sure, I guess?"
He put his hands up to his chest. "Good enough for me!" he pronounced the moment. "Now you ask me a question. Don't be afraid."
"Uhh," I said, unsure of what to ask.
"Don't hesitate, just ask me something. Anything!"
I lowered the volume of my voice before starting: "Will you...well, you know...the same?"
"The same what?" he asked playfully.
"Come on, you know," I replied back.
"I don't know," Ryan said. He knew, but he was going to make me say it.
"Will you..." I was almost at a whisper, "...suck my dick?"
He giggled. "Yes, squirt. Yes, I will suck it anywhere and anytime!"
My dick grew semi-hard at the answer, and all I could muster out in the moment was: "Good to know." I drank a large gulp of water.
"See, was that so hard to do?"
"Big step for me," I said earnestly.
"But you got a yes, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?" Ryan asked.
"But did you say yes to prove a point, or did you say yes because you actually want to?"
"I don't ever say yes to anything I don't want to do," Ryan answered bluntly. "If I don't want to do something, I say it. But there's not much I don't want to do."
Well, that did it. My dick was now rock hard in my pants. Not quite as hard as earlier in the day, but hard enough I had to casually adjust myself -- something I'm sure Ryan noticed.
This was wild. Just a few days ago, Ryan was someone I knew of but barely even spoke to or acknowledged in class. He was someone I'd know by name -- maybe -- but wouldn't give a second thought to. I'm sure I fell into the same camp on his end. But after a chance encounter on the beach -- and a few days of hanging out -- we're suddenly promising blowjobs to each other at a later date. I tried to wrap my head around this as I finished off my sandwich.
"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Ryan asked, changing the subject.
"I don't really have any," I answered. "Probably go home at some point."
"Obviously, I didn't think you were going to move in to the shopping mall," Ryan retorted.
Smart ass, I thought to myself.
"What are your plans?" I asked back.
"Nothing, really," Ryan said. "If I hadn't gone two days in a row, maybe hit the beach. But I'm kind of tired of that drive right now. Weather's supposed to be nice tomorrow, so maybe I'll go then."
"Uh huh." My cock was starting to deflate in my pants, so the change of conversation was welcome.
"So maybe just hang out at home," he continued. "What are you doing at home?"
"I have a chore I need to start working on," I said.
"What's that?"
"Install a locking knob on my bedroom door."
"Sure there's a story behind that," Ryan said. He had no idea, I swore he didn't. "That'll take you all of five minutes."
"I've never done it before," I said.
"That'll take you all of ten minutes to do," he laughed as we got up from the table.
"Other than that," I replied, "not much else going on."
"Well, then, it's settled," Ryan announced as we headed for the door. "We're going back to my place!"
My cock twitched to life once again.
That's it for Chapter 10! What did you think of this installment? A lot more is coming up, so keep an eye out for Chapter 11! E-mail me your thoughts, or just say hello: cullen.dyer@gmail.com.