Through the Waves

By TickledPink published March 2, 2019

Some sound waves by the waves helps set some homophobes straight.

“Check out the fairy in the dick-stickers.”

I barely heard the comment, walking past. And most days I probably would have kept walking. Never really been one for physical confrontation. I was fit enough, I thought, I certainly didn’t think I looked too bad in my skintight square-cut trunks, but apparently I looked comical enough to be pointed out by some pricks on the boardwalk. I glanced back at them, walking along. No, I wasn’t one for physical confrontation. But the sun was nice, I had my beach stuff with me, umbrella under my arm, pulling my esky along on its big, sand-friendly wheels, and I just wanted to lay down a towel, have a swim, and enjoy the weekend. I’d decided to ignore them.

It lasted about 10 minutes. I’d walked faster than they did, at their ambling pace. Finding a secluded spot on the beach, just me, the waves and some rocks to either side. It was perfect. I set up my umbrella, laid out my towel, and sat under it, fishing a drink out of my esky, and opening my book. Until the sound of the sand shuffling made me raise my eyes from the book. It was the two gentlemen from before. As a precautionary measure I reached into my bag, tapping at my phone as subtly as I could manage. Not to call the police, or to alert anyone though. I had a different safeguard in mind.

The taller one reached my towel first, kicking some sand onto it as he came to a stop. I looked up at him, getting a better look this time. He was blond, I assumed, from the hair peeking out from his blue cap, with a trimmed blond beard, though I couldn’t make out the colour of his eyes behind his sunglasses. He was was wearing a thin white shirt, unbuttoned halfway revealing a chest with a thick coating of chest hair. His green and blue boardshorts that fell well below his knees, and were at least two sizes too big for him, based on the amount of his red underwear was visible over his sagging waistband.

His friend arrived shortly behind him. This one had black hair under a black cap, and looked to have some Greek or Italian heritage. He had a long, handsome face, with thick stubble covering a sharp jaw. He wore a Hawaiian shirt over a pair of loose, drawstring pants, with a pair of boat shoes. Vastly more fashionable than his friend, but still quite tacky.

“Oi.” The first one said, aggressively.

I sat without speaking, looking up at them. I suspect he expected me to respond, but I just let the awkward silence continue.

“Oi.” He said again, slightly uncertainly.

“Oi, faggot, he’s talking to you!” The Hawaiian shirted friend piped up.

I stopped myself from raising an eyebrow.

“Well, hello.” I said, evenly. “Can I help you?”

My pleasant demeanour did not go well with the shorter one. He kicked the sand violently, making me squint as it rained down on me. I brushed it off, annoyed.

“Yeah, you can fuck off, this beach isn’t for fucks like you.” The aggressiveness had dialed up really quite quickly for my tastes. I decided defusing the whole situation would be the best course of action, and there wasn’t really time to check if the tone would be audible over the waves and through the bag.

“Now, now, we’re all calm, reasonable men here.” Now, if I had said that to two men like this, lying down in my trunks with them towering over me, without the tone in play, well I’d have likely got a kick to the ribs for my troubles. But instead they quivered, and blinked. The tone was audible, and they knew the truth. That they were calm and reasonable men. The aggressive stances softened, hands which had been curled into fists unconsciously relaxed, hanging back down by their sides. Seeing this, I breathed out, the tension flowing out from me.

I regarded the two men above me, now standing slightly confused. They obviously needed help to be better. And I could give them that help.

We walked along the boardwalk. They were carrying my stuff for me back to their room, except for my phone, which I’d taken out. After all, they knew it was only fair, since they had been the ones to ask me to leave the beach they should provide me with somewhere else to go. We chatted as we strolled. Well, I say chatted. I asked questions, they answered them, I corrected their answers.

“But why me?” I asked.

“Well, cause like, fuck man, look at you, in that gay shit.” the blond one, Duncan answered.

“Interesting. This gay shit. You don’t like gays?”

“Nah man, fuckin-”

“Because homophobia, you know, homophobia actually stems from a persons repressed homosexuality. All homophobes are secretly gay, and just incredibly embarrassed about anyone finding out.” I said, matter-of-factly.

They paused. I could see them twitch slightly as this processed.

“So why do you wear hideous clothes like that?” I asked, bluntly.

“Uh, because nut huggers like yours are for poofs?” The shorter one, I’d learned his name was Henry, replied with equal bluntness. Duncan, sniggered at this display of wit. Despite the obvious hostility in the wording of the answers I’d been getting, the two of them knew that they were just being friendly, and so their tone of voice was still light, even with their dark answers. The disconnect was audible to the people around us, as a few guys from a group of 20-somethings we were passing turned with a surprised expression, but said nothing.

“See, it’s strange that you’d say that.” I began, “because speedos are definitely the best swimwear for a man. They’re comfy, they’re sexy, and all men should wear them. Why, you wish you were wearing a pair right now, rather than the burlap sacks you’ve basically got on.”

They didn’t respond for a long moment while digesting this information. They knew it was true. And I knew they knew it was true.

“Yeah, but like-” Duncan began

“Ah see!” I interjected, cutting the blond man off, “what do we have here?” We were passing by a swimwear store. This might have seemed contrived, but we were at the beach front in a tourist town after all. Nothing particularly special, but it was the first opportunity I’d seen to help them get on the right path. “Let’s head inside.”

They left my stuff with the guy behind the counter, who knew it was a store policy that they should keep it safe. And to not interrupt customers (plural) in changing booths. We beelined to the mens section, where I started sorting through the options. It was fairly slim pickings. There was a mountain of unflattering board shorts to choose from, but the acceptable swim briefs were rather more limited in number. I grabbed two I thought would look good on the pair and we headed over to the changerooms (they knew it was perfectly normal for men to go to the changerooms together). Mercifully, they were large enough to accommodate the three of us. I sat on a small bench that I assumed was used for holding clothes, giving Henry and Duncan their new speedos.

“You two don’t mind changing like this. I know the two of you need each other’s help getting undressed, and you don’t mind me being here either.” They nodded in assent, probably wondering why I was bothering to say something so obvious out loud.

Duncan undid the button on Henry’s pants, who tried stepping out of them. They caught on his shoes, and so he had to stand, one leg up at a time, as Duncan took his shoes off too. Then, Duncan helped him peel off his black boxerbriefs, and slide his new red and white striped speedo on. Henry slid his shoes back on and helped Duncan slide out of his boardshorts. Not a big task, with how far they’d been hanging off already it was honestly a surprise they hadn’t come off on their own. He then slid off his boxer briefs, and returned the favour, assisting Duncan with his green and gold speedo. Duncan slipped his thongs back on his feet, and the two of them stood, looking at each other, awkwardly close inside the changeroom.

I pursed my lips, something wasn’t quite right yet. I informed Duncan he’d be much more comfortable with his white shirt completely unbuttoned, and Henry would be happier without the Hawaiian shirt entirely. We left the changeroom, making our way over to the counter. I noted with some surprise that a couple of guys carrying speedos waiting went straight into our vacated changeroom. I saw that the other chagerooms were also currently occupied, and that a few men were still hanging around the speedo section of the store. It dawned on me that I’d been speaking rather loudly outside, and that these were the men we’d passed by while I was explaining how good speedos were. I smiled. An unexpected good deed is still a good deed.

Grabbing a few more items on the way out we headed over to the counter, and I let the checkout guy know they were going to wear their purchases out of the store. Henry paid, tapping his phone against the card reader. As they collected my bags and we headed out, I noted that they were becoming quite overloaded, so I informed my two homophobes that they could lighten their load by throwing away their old clothes and tucking their phones into the sides of their speedos.

As we covered the remaining distance to the hotel I admired their new fashion sense. I admired the curve of Duncan’s arse, peeking out from underneath the almost see-through white shirt, and his strong legs, dusted in almost invisible blond hair. Henry, without the shirt was even more fun to look at. His dark hair played across his body, contrasting with both the tanned and untanned skin on his legs, clearly marking to everyone in sight that it was his first time being so exposed outside.

We headed up to their room, and I could see the relief on their faces. Apparently, despite speedos being their favourites, wearing them out in public for the first time had been rather embarrassing. No matter, they’d learn how much they loved it soon. We arrived and I saw that they had a very fancy room indeed. Two bedrooms each with an en suite, with a central living room about as large as my entire flat. Their balcony boasted a spa with a view of the ocean beyond. I didn’t know what these blokes did for a living, but apparently it paid very well. After they’d put my stuff off to the side, we headed out onto the balcony.

I checked the hotel room service app and scrolled through their menu in search of something to eat. The sun was still quite high in the sky, so I reminded Henry and Duncan about how important it was to wear sunscreen, and how there’s just so many places that it’s so hard to rub in.

“Really, the only way to do it is for you two to do it for each other.” I gestured to the bag, from the store. Retrieving some sunscreen and zinc cream from it, they got to work, discarding Duncan’s shirt. As I ordered some cocktails and food, I watched as the two friends spread sunscreen over each other’s bodies, and then dutifully rubbed it in. As Duncan was busy rubbing at Henry’s thigh, making sure to slip his hands under the speedo in order to get the swimwear line covered too, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of room service.

I yelled out for him to bring it in. As the porter wheeled it in I was treated to the comical sight of his eyes doubling in size as they took in the sight of the men before him, glistening from the sunscreen. Duncan was dabbing coloured zinc cream under Henry’s lines, two straight lines of pink, contrasting with the yellow lines under his own eyes. The porter shifted his position. I went to have a chat with him while the two gents finished up.

His English name was Cyrill, 23, Chinese and working here while paying for university. He also, while looking at the two men, had developed a massive erection. He’d quickly learned that he didn’t have to hide something like that while in this room, that it was perfectly normal and that he should stand proudly, while he stood at attention.

“Ugh, another poofter.” Duncan said, seeing the state Cyrill was in. The fact, that while making this statement he was standing in a green and gold speedo, shining in the sun with an equally shiny speedo-clad man next to him, didn’t seem to register.

“Bet it’s this ones butt buddy.” Henry said, the crude phrasing belied by his still pleasant tone. Duncan snorted.

“Yeah, bet they’re all ‘mlalaugh mlagh lau’” He had started making obscene gestures. It looked like he was faking sucking a cock. Henry snickered, joining in.

The two went back and forth a few times, simulating various acts. I wasn’t particularly interested in their poor impersonations though.

“You know…” I said, cutting into the charades, “this joke is much funnier when it’s actually acted out.” Henry frowned.

“We… we are acting it out.”

“No,” I responded, with exaggerated patience, “both of you acting it out. Not miming it, not pretending. Act it out. Show, don’t tell. It’s a way funnier joke that way.”

They both frowned now, before nodding, giggling to themselves at their own joke.

“Yeah, like fags right, they’re all” Henry said, before pushing himself forward onto Duncan. They kissed. Timidly at first, but after being informed that gays use a lot more tongue, showed more determination. Their tongues flashed between their lips as they made out. Hands roamed across each other’s bodies, groping at their backs and arses. Their caps clashed as their faces met, and Henry reached up, turning his backwards. The sound of smacking lips were only paused when one would break off from the kiss to interject with another “and then they’re like” followed by yet more exaggerated making out.

I watched with a sense of satisfaction as they pressed their chests together, dark and light hair slick and intermingling. Duncan reached down, pulling Henry forward at the hips, and their speedo clad cocks pressed into each other. Whether they had registered how hard they were at any point during this, it couldn’t be ignored any longer, as both men gasped at the contact. Seeing how hard they both were set both men flushed red. Trying to recover some face in the situation, Duncan jutted his chin out at me.

“Yeah, that’s what you two look like. Faggots.”

Cyrill was standing next to me this entire time, and I offered him a cocktail. I grabbed one for myself and started whispering into his ear. As we sipped our drinks I felt Cyrill’s hand reaching into my trunks, tickling at the top of my cheeks. I invited the guys to continue, I didn’t think I quite got the joke yet, so they should go on a bit more.

Henry was explaining how all fags love to suck cock. This started with a demonstration of him mouthing greedily at Duncan’s bulge, wetting the speedo with his mouth and licking up and down. The moisture on the bulge wasn’t just saliva however, with Duncan precumming more and more by the moment, helped along by his insistence that “and then it’s all ‘fuck yeah, fucking feels so good, suck that dick’” which was quite helpful establishing as truth, that it did, in fact, feel so good.

Cyrill was fingering me by this point. Slowly working a finger in and out of my hole, seeking my prostate as he went. Henry had taken Duncan’s cock out of it’s speedo, dangling it over the waistband, and sucking on it slowly. Duncan, seeing Cyrill’s attention to me, had been inspired to start an entire hilarious side-section of the joke, fingering Henry as he sucked.

When Henry exclaimed that there’s so much food here, but when they’re horny all the gays just want to eat arse, I was treated to the sight of the two homophobes eating each other out, 69ing each other’s holes, tongues tasting and probing at each other. Cyrill, hearing the truth in this statement, dove on my arse, spreading my cheeks and tongueing at my hole hungrily. Cyrill was, less than an expert in the task at first, but soon improved. The two homophobes continued their ministrations to each other’s arseholes, as it took a while for either of them to move their joke along. As both of their mouths were thoroughly occupied licking and probing at the other’s rosebuds, the only change would come when either of them came up for air. The first few times just had them exclaiming about the feeling of each other’s facial hair on their arse, and how amazing it felt. But they did, eventually, move on.

They shifted positions again and again, their expressions revealing the mixture of lust they felt, and the embarrassment of having others know of the lust they felt. Finally the joke ended. The two stared, cocks tucked back into their speedos, tented painfully from their erections. They stood, watching, fingering themselves and tugging on their nipples as they watched Cyrill fucking me. And with a final thrust from Cyrill I exploded, shooting cum across the balcony towards them. I felt Cyrill’s arm across my chest pull me back, and we kissed. Lost in post-orgasmic daze I didn’t notice the two homophobes cumming themselves, but when I recovered they were sitting down, leaning against each other, cum oozing through their speedos.

I had a quite pleasant weekend after that point. The beach was much more interesting, due to the sudden, unexpected spike in the population of speedo-clad men on it. A few who definitely hadn’t been in range for the tone, and so must have simply been waiting for the chance. I saw Henry and Duncan only once more after that. I had been strolling along the boardwalk and heard someone call out:

“Check out the fairy in the dick-stickers!” I turned around just as he continued, “I’d like me some of that!” I saw Duncan and Henry, walking hand-in-hand, (and very well dressed in speedos of sky blue and pink respectively) and checking out the men they were walking past. It seems they’d taken the last truth I’d given them to heart. The homophobes may be embarrassed by being found out, but once you’re out, you can have pride for all to see. I smiled and continued on my way. It’s nice to help people, but for now, I just wanted to find a secluded spot on the beach, where I could read my book.

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