The Return of Keoni the Chill Surferdude by kooldoggie
The team had scored a recent victory against the University of Hawaii, and now Zach, the super stud basketball jock mainly responsible for the win, decided to chill with his teammates on the beach, take in some of the tropical rays to compensate for so much time spent indoors, either on the court or in the gym pumping up, keeping handsome Zach rather pale. It had been a kick-ass game, thought Zach, as he checked his perfect fauxhawk in the mirror of their hotel room before going out to the surf. The games were usually pretty easy for him, his long strides, propelled by muscular calves, allowing him to cross the court lightning-quick, while his superior height meant he barely had to jump to slamdunk, scoring a win for his team by a wide margin. Yeah, his jock's life was good, thought 21 year old Zach, sighing as he leaned into the mirror, though he was a little irked he always had to bend a little to achieve that deed, even having to duck to go through doors pretty often. Despite that, he loved his life and being able to enjoy it with fellow teammate and lover Tanner, who shared a room with him. They had fucked up a storm in their room last night, pumped on the adrenaline of the victory, and although Zach was now recharged and wanting to check out the beach, Tanner still needed more sleep, his long brown hair tossed around him sexily as he lay sweetly in bed, his lower legs sticking out of the sheets, big feet having to hang over the bed.
After concluding he looked his best, Zach, in just his long basketball shorts and chunky high-tops, put on some wrap-around sunglasses and grabbed a towel, giving sleeping Tanner a quick kiss before heading out. Long strides took him down to the sand quickly, everyone looking up to admire the youthful gigantic jock with the muscular bare chest, hard pecs over long, bulging abs. Once outside, the sun glinted off his diamond stud earrings. He had made sure to slather plenty of sunscreen on his pale flesh. He didn't want to get any nasty sunburns that would fuck up his performance in the next game.
But, frankly, he sort of wished he didn't have to continue the tour, thought young Zach as he drank in the beach air, trying to find a spot to lay out. What the fuck, thought the jock, why the hell did that come into his mind? He was always such a competitive boy, trying hard at whatever sport or physical activity he found most challenging. Maybe not that ambitious at scoring the good grades, perhaps, but he only wanted to get by to continue his scholarship so he could continue to dominate on the court. But as he watched the totally chill Hawaiians, especially the surfers out on this sunny, humid morning, he found himself kind of wanting to be like them, not have a care in the world, just chill, all the timeÉ And with that thought the change was triggered that would bring back Keoni, dormant for way too long down in his soul.
Zach was feeling dizzy, not at all well, as he shuffled his long legs around, scratching at the dark hairs on his shins. Something was off, definitely, but he couldn't really target exactly what. He kind of felt out of place here, some dumb jock who tried waaay too hard, when the point of life was to enjoy each day, especially out here in the surf, communing with nature. Zach sucked in the fresh, island air, something in it making him feel a lot better, able to withstand whatever may come. Already, a nice pink flush had come to his chest, deepening every second, a rising tan highlighting his ponderous muscles. But those gym-jacked muscles were just a touch too fierce for this beach, where young surferdudes got by on natural athleticism coming from paddling out to shoot the curls. Every so slowly, they began to retract, causing Zach to breathe harder, thoughts of chillin' and surfin' increasingly on his college-boy brain. Did he even go to college? He didn't know anymore.
Suddenly, a whiny, petulant, surf-twanged voice was in his brain, telling him to bail from the stupid b-ball games, fuck the gym. Zach was due to join Tanner for a quick pump-up session in the weight room later, and then a practice game on the court before the actual game that evening. But suddenly the competitive jock was completely turned off by the thoughts of his responsibilities to the team. He just wanted to chill, dude.
He shuffled his big feet, now finding it too hot for his chunky high-tops. Why the fuck would he wear shoes to the beach anyway? He quickly removed them and the athletic socks, allowing his size 17 1/2 pale feet their freedom. The long toes wiggled in the sand. He watched as the feet reshaped ever so slightly, reducing to a size 15 while broadening and flattening, now the feet of a total barefooter who perhaps had never worn shoes in this island environment. After all, a lot of the island kids could go to school barefoot, and shoes weren't required in many establishments. And that suited Keoni just fine, as he fucking hated footwear in any form. Huh? Zach's brain was now feeling pretty cloudy, the panicky jock teetering between his love of sports and competition and his intense desire to again be the chill-as-fuck, naked surferdude whose only goal in life was catching waves, smoking some bud and hanging with his surfer posse. And Keoni was beginning to win out, as the young stud on the beach suddenly couldn't remember any other name.
Confused and groaning as he doubled over, falling to the sand, Keoni ran a trembling, darkening long hand through his fauxhawk, finding it now messy and shaggy, the spikes having collapsed and starting to fall into his eyes. That totally upset him. That perfect hairdo was his pride and joy, making him feel even taller on the court, but he was distracted from the upset by the feeling of bones cracking and resettling, becoming lighter and more suited for a slim, lighter-weight surfer. The height retracted, ever so slowly, those many extra inches no longer necessary for a boy who really didn't do any other sports except surfing constantly, and occasional skateboarding and playing hacky-sack with his stoner buds. He now knew the cloudiness in his brain was from being stoned, for young Keoni loved the locally-grown herb, making sure he was constantly in a pleasant haze as he went through life. Much of his persona was calming now, starting to enjoy that mellow haze, as his body resettled at a much more sensible height of 6'6", still very tall Ð he could even be a basketball star, had he the ambition to be one Ð but Keoni had no ambitions at all. He had dropped nearly fifty pounds of unnecessary muscle weight as well, every small, lean muscle on his body now gliding gracefully across his long skeleton, much smaller bulges now appearing in his biceps and calves. He took off his wraparound shades, his now large, bright blue eyes staring with a bit of worry at the changes and the tattoo of FORMIDABLE that was still struggling to stay on his much skinnier, now darkly tanned mahogany bicep. He was still a formidable boy, a competitor and champion, wasn't he? But as the laughing answer of "No, and why the hell would I want to be, dude," drawled through his brain, the ink at last broke up, reforming into a much cooler tribal tattoo of intersecting branches and leaves, tracing from his upper arm to across his round shoulder.
Keoni sucked in the tropical air, feeling a lot better, a lot mellower now, his weed-soaked brain now taking control. He got off the ground, stretching out his still long legs, only now darkly tanned, the brown hairs fallen out to be replaced with just the lightest layer of shimmering, fine blonde hairs crawling across his shins. He felt a growing excitement, understanding who he was now, happy to be freed from whatever prison he'd been in for so long. Last thing Keoni remembered, he'd been scared as fuck, a feeling rare to him, in that shitty ghetto with no sign of nature, not even a blade of grass, feeling naked and exposed as hell on the sidewalk in just his board shorts.
Now he was back in his niche, where he could stay in his boardshorts all the time if he wanted to, even ride the waves naked, as the ancient Hawaiians had done, right here where it all started. "Aww, fuck yeah, dude!" Keoni exulted now in his barely comprehensible surf twang, filled with ease and glee for life. His tan deepened even more, settling in at the deep dusky brown that he had shared with tiny skateboarder Ryder, as he watched his long mesh shorts morph into knee-length, flowery blue boardshorts, slung so low they showed off nearly all of his trimmed golden pubes. His tribal sun tattoo returned to grace his concave navel, shortly after the jock's silver ring fell out of it. No more brown hairs remained on his dark golden torso, so much leaner and appropriate for the hippie surfer he had become. At last the growing hair on his head was reaching its ultimate length, having been twisting the whole time to return his locks to the thick, bright blonde dreadlocks gone for so long, falling into his friendly blue eyes, framing his face, and cascading down his upper back to his tan shoulderblades.
Keoni rose to his feet and stretched again, everything feeling so gnarly and righteous. He felt for his treasured puka shell necklace, finding it again on his slender neck, as well as a hemp band around one slender wrist and an anklet of the same material. The blue eyes clouded a little more, still bright but gentle and relaxed, a dopey smile constantly on his cute, deeply tanned face. Yeah, he was Keoni, man, surferdude for life, and no one could tell him different. He found his shortboard stuck in the sand and grabbed it, remembering there was a nude beach nearby where he could ditch the shorts, even those too much for him right now, and spend the day naked and chillin' . He trotted on his big, tan bare feet past a group of tall jocks exiting the hotel, finally coming out to enjoy the surf. They no longer remembered magnificent Zach, that jock stud dead and gone, but for Keoni, it was the beginning of an extremely dank life of ease.