"Whoa, Jeff, you were made to adorn my cock!" laughed Jeremy, "I had no idea you'd pick that option. I
figured you'd choose towel or surfboard or something, but I didn't want you distracting me by me constantly
thinking, oh, I have to be careful that's my bro not whatever. So, while I'm totally aware of my changes, I
set my perception of your changes to only 15%. Which means 85% of the time, I'm going to just think of you as
my PA, my property, like is engraved on your tiny metal chest. Well, hang on to the ride, bro. I'm just going
to borrow your board shorts," Jeremy added stepping into the lightning bolt pair that Jeff had worn earlier.
"Ha, they're a size too small on me - perfect, they really emphasize my package. Look out Aussie shielas, here
comes Jeremy," he said developing a thick Australian accent.
The room quivered and faded. It was suddenly blindingly bright. He was standing on a white sandy beach
watching some gnarly waves crash in front of him. He was holding on to a brilliantly colored white, red, blue
and yellow board with lightning bolt insignia to match his shorts. He pulled the board out of the sand, and
ran toward the waiting roaring surf.
Jeremy was exhausted after 4 hours in the ocean. He only was up on the board less than a third of the time.
Most of the time was spent paddling out, and waiting for the next good wave. But there were lots of good
waves. He stumbled into the pub on the nearby pier and ordered a Fosters. He glanced around at the other
shirtless Speedo clad buff surfers and realized there weren't any women. He didn't think much of it, as there
weren't that many women surfers. He was drinking his pint, when I guy wearing a tight orange-red Speedo sat
down next to him, and pressed his thigh against Jeremy's.
"Say, mate, saw you hanging ten out there. You're a damn good surfer. Haven't seen you around here before,
where do you hail from," he asked.
"Oh, I'm from the States," Jeremy answered in his heavy Australian accent, and hearing his own voice he added,
"I've been there for the last few years. It's good to be back home."
"Ah, right then, that explains the board shorts. You really ought to be wearing a Speedo," he said opening
his fist to allow a wadded up piece of bright blue-green fabric to unfold on the bar, "Why don't you try it
on. You'll feel a lot more comfortable."
Jeremy realized a lot of eyes were locked on his tall muscular frame. It suddenly occurred to him that he was
in a gay bar, and that this buff dude in the red Speedo was hitting on him. He didn't want to make a scene. So
instead he asked, "You always carry around an extra Speedo, mate? This one looks a bit small for me."
"Hah! Crikey, no. I took that one off of Wallaby," he said said pointing to a blushing petite lad sitting in
the corner with his hands covering his crotch. He was naked.
Jeremy's jaw dropped.
"Does he always strip naked in pubs?" Jeremy asked. He was finding the situation strangely erotic, but he
needed to get out gracefully.
"Well, this pub is called the Changing Room, mate!" laughed the man, "My name's Tom, but everyone calls me
Cap'n. Causing I used to be in the Navy."
"You're kind of young to be a captain, aren't you?"
"Aye, I never said I was a captain in the navy," laughed Tom, "Now shuck those shorts and put tha' Speedo on."
"Well, I- uh?" Jeremy hemmed and hawed, "Need another drink." He drained his glass. Tom nodded, and the
bartender set down another pint filled to the rim.
"Now hurry up, we're anxious to see what ya got, and I want to see Wallaby swimming in those shorts of yours,"
Tom laughed.