"Hey, Football Stud, remember me?" the punk kid from the beach who was pissed that Chad was surfing on his beach.
Chad said, "It's a public beach, wanna do something about it?" He recalled walking to the punk kid who was a head shorter and a lot thinner, and getting in his face. He might have even grabbed the punk kid's wet suit by the collar and lifted him. He and his teammates had put away more than a few cans of Fosters by the time he had the run in. Shit, he'd hung the kid up by his wet suit on a hook by the bathrooms. The suit probably ripped, and now he was replacing it? That wasn't possible. Shit the kid was taking off his board shorts, and lifting him out of the locker.
"Always wanted a custom wet suit, but they're usually so expensive," the punk says as he steps into Chad.
"Please don't do this?" Chad begged, except he didn't have a mouth to speak it, so he only thought it. The punk kid seemed oblivious to Chad's thoughts. He just pulled up on the ribbon secured to the zipper tab, and sealed Chad tightly around his lithe lean body. He did have muscles, Chad could feel them inside him. His mind was racing, apparently his cock was the zipper or the ribbon, and yanking the zipper up had got him superhorny. He now realized where his mouth had ended up in the suit. The punk's junk seemed huge inside Chad's mouth. The guy spent the next four hours in the surf. He came out finally, and stretched out on the sand next to his board.
"You brought this on yourself, Chad. You told me to do something about you. So I did," Chad couldn't see his face, but he could feel the punk popping a major boner inside him, so he was sure the punk was smirking.