Ryder the Emo Skateboarder Becomes Keoni the Chill Hippie Surfer
by
kooldoggie
Since transplanting from Seattle a few weeks earlier, Ryder felt like a fish out of water, unable to relate at all to the relaxed Southern California atmosphere, where it was always unbearably hot and sunny. Ryder was your typical emo skaterboy, lithe, lanky and pale, his flawless face framed by meticulously kept black hair that fell almost to his shoulders, shading his mysterious cat-like green eyes. Constantly sullen and moody, he hid his perfect frame under form-fitting black clothes, tight skinny jeans, tight band shirt hugging his slim but firmly muscled torso. Checkerboard Vans on his long, narrow feet, and at the other extreme, a black beanie pulled over his scalp. A few star tattoos on his pale, slender arms, and some leather wrist straps completed his ensemble. A couple of silver snakebite rings pierced his kissable lips, setting off an otherwise angelic Goth-model face with black eyeliner around those soulful eyes, and a studded black leather collar embraced his neck.
He had just finished a cigarette as he wrote his latest poem about how life sucked, and now he skated alone on the sidewalk lining the beach, as he grumbled about the constantly laughing, sunny surferboys, all of them nearly naked and darkly tanned, as they ran out into the high surf. He was lonesome, making the best out of being so alien to this world, but a part of him longed to join the happy, clueless surf jocks out there. Riding a surfboard couldn?t be all that different than riding his favorite skateboard, which he loved, right? It would, however, require him to shed his black clothes, and the sun was constantly oppressive, wreaking havoc on his pale complexion, which he treasured, and couldn?t lose to a conformist tan.
Yet he felt the change coming on him, pulling him away from his emo persona and demanding he join the crowd on the beach, where he would be happier. No, his emo self kept telling himself, he just couldn?t give up his intelligence, his angst, his crusade against the world, No! Yet it was so damn hot, the black clothes making it even more stifling, tight as they were on his slim limbs, and it would feel so much better just to take off his shirt, letting the light wind remove the sweat from his smooth skin.
He looked down at his shirt, feeling it even tighter and smaller on him, a few inches of pale flesh and his lower abs showing up to his indented navel. Huh? He had been an even six feet tall, a lightweight 135 lbs. since he was 15, two years ago, and yet he felt as if he was stretching taller, his light bones cracking, reforming into a slightly thicker, stronger frame, as he topped out at 6?5?. He also had gained nearly 30 pounds, just enough so he wouldn?t look totally emaciated, but he would be covered in hard, svelte muscle, perfect for surfing. He removed his shirt, allowing his reforming chest to take in the powerful, life-giving sun. He already felt so much better, a little more in tune with his environment?
He saw his once flat, pancake pecs had pushed out a bit, forming a deep crease over his thickening eight-pack as they rounded out, the tiny brown nipples forced to increase in diameter as well. Already, his pale complexion was lost, now a light tan giving a healthy flush to his skin. His size 12 feet also felt tight in those Vans, and he knew lots of guys skated barefoot. He was sure he could do that too. He took off the shoes and black socks, and they vanished, as if they never had existed. A guy like him didn?t need to wear shoes at the beach anyway. His long, tanned toes curled around the edge of the skateboard, and he rode a lot stronger as he rocketed down the concrete. He could swear his feet seemed bigger, at least size 14-15 now, and broader, as if they rarely wore anything, the soles calloused and tough for constant barefoot lifestyle.
A smile now graced his once sullen, frowning face, which also had a natural tint to it, no longer as pale as a vampire?s. The eyeliner had disappeared, and his eyes, which gradually turned from green to a bright, sea blue, seemed much gentler, as a stoned haze creeped into them. His scalp felt much too hot as he skated, and he removed the beanie, tossing it away as he shook out his lengthening bangs, now chestnut brown and shaggier, with dark blonde highlights starting to meander through the locks. The studded collar also had disappeared, replaced by a tight, puka shell necklace.
Yeah, man, thought Ryder, who was now thinking more of himself as Keoni, for some reason. It was all coming together now, but why was he wearing uncomfortable, black skinny jeans? He stopped his board, his big feet again feeling the pleasant warmth of the hot sidewalk, and he pulled down those dumb jeans, tossing those away, too, where they disappeared as well. He now saw instead of his boxer shorts, he wore loose, knee-length board shorts, worn very low on his tiny, firm waist, showing off his sparse, bright blonde pubes.
In fact, whatever dark hair he had had was now gone, only a light covering of tiny pale blonde hairs glimmering on his brown shins. His legs were long and sculpted, the calves firm and thick from constant surfing. Why the hell was he skating anyway? Sure, skating could be fun when the surf was low, but not on a perfect day like this, the sun continuing to deepen his tan until it seemed almost too dark a mahogany to grace such a blonde guy like himself. But his skateboard already had been replaced by a stylish shortboard, and Keoni went to pick it up, noting with satisfaction how his once slender, pale arms were now sculpted and as dark as the rest of him, the star tattoos replaced with an elaborate tribal pattern that traced its way from his broad shoulders down his muscled bicep.
He ran down the sand toward the surf, enjoying the feel of his bare feet on the warm surface, and he stopped only once to stretch once more, his bones popping as he grew one final inch to 6?6?, putting on only a few more pounds to bring him to a graceful 170. He stared with his clouded yet bright blue eyes at the welcoming surf, running his long-fingered brown hand through his hair, only to find it was now a mess of bright blonde, thick dreadlocks that fell down past his shoulders, ending around the shoulder blades of his well-muscled back. He loved whipping around that long sun-kissed mane as he surfed.
Keoni had become the perfect chill surferdude, his deep brown face still model-pretty, only a bit more pronounced and athletic, a very fine blonde stubble on once baby smooth porcelain cheeks. The snakebite piercings had vanished from his lips and reappeared in one of his thin blonde eyebrows, giving him enough of a punkish appeal among the surf crowd. His torso was as sculpted and perfect as a David statue, only dark rather than the white of the original, and a tribal sun tattoo traced around the still deeply indented navel, below the thick, stretched out eight-pack. This was a dude who lived at the beach and hated clothes, rarely wearing more than his low-hanging boardshorts, even favoring surfing naked at the nude beach pretty often, in order to better show off his naturally-built stud body. And a goofy, friendly smile always adorned his face, the result of constantly smoking weed that kept him chill and free from worry, his gentle blue eyes heavy-lidded. He took a deep breath, inhaling the salt air and drinking in the sun, thanking Nature for giving him this life. Keoni whooped as he saw the surferboys he always chilled with, and he ran toward them, deeply kissing one tanned, blonde surfer with a ponytail. That at least hadn?t changed, although Ryder?s angst had kept him rather closeted, his romantic fantasies confined to his poetry. Keoni didn?t care for poetry, his IQ had dropped quite a bit anyway, and he rarely thought of more than waves and sex. But he did have romantic thoughts for this boy, and he wasn?t afraid to express himself. All the chill beach boys were cool with it, most of them being bisexual anyway. Life was meant to be lived, and, finally, Keoni was living it as he ran into the surf with his friends and lover.