Something way too small

Big Earl, while working in LA, used to live in a section of Long Beach, California, called Belmont Shore. A wonderful place to live. It was like being in a small town set down right by a wide, white sand beach. Everything you needed to live was within walking distance of his apartment. Five or six blocks to the south of his place was a cove known to the local teenage boys as “Horny Corners”. High school girls up to girls in their mid twenties would go down there to lie out and get even browner and more beautiful. The worst looking girl on that beach was about a six. And there seemed to be a contest to see who could get into the smallest bikini. Apparently the contest had gotten far enough along that butt floss and band aids were the largest suits allowed. Big Earl was from Texas and had seen some of the most gorgeous women on the planet since he was very young. That did not prepare him for the amount of pulchritude available on that small stretch of beach. He was in voyeur heaven.

This is not about that section of beach.

Big Earl used to take his laundry to a Laundromat in Seal Beach. That was the next beach town down from Belmont Shore. The Laundromat there had one distinct draw as far as Earl was concerned. He did laundry on Sundays and this place kept their television on whatever NFL game was being shown while he was there. Earl could keep up with his beloved Dallas Cowboys and get his skivvies clean at the same time. Winner. Then one day Big Earl lost all concentration on the game. A blond walked in carrying her dirty clothes. Not just blond, but a true Southern California, blue eyed, perfect lipped, big hootered, long legged, tight butted Goddess. She had on high heels, spray paint tight white, Daisy Duke short shorts and a Brazilian bikini top that just barely covered what were obviously happy nipples. Earl had to remind himself to breath. Earl had to admit it. He stared. Not just a covert look every so often. He put his chin in his hand; leaned over and stared so hard it is a wonder the Goddess didn’t burst into flame. After several minutes of Big Earl being embarrassingly blatant she walked over to him and said, “You’re staring.” Earl told her that a man like him had no chance of ever winning a woman who looked like her. And that he was just trying to memorize her before she left. Much to Big Earl’s surprise she found that funny. Bambi, the Goddesses name, ended up dating Earl for a while, but there is no accounting for taste.

This isn’t about that Laundromat either.

No, this little tale is about something that was too small on a Biblical scale. And it happened on the combination family beach/gay beach right at the end of Big Earl’s street. You have to understand about Southern California to know about the family beach/gay beach thing. Earl lived in the forth building from Ocean Boulevard on his street. On the other side of Ocean Boulevard was this great section of the long beach that the city was named for. And during the day families would take kids down there and have a great day at the beach. Then about sundown the families would all pack up and head back home to dinner and TV. That is when the gay population would head down to that section of beach. Why that particular section you might ask. Well it seems that facing west between Earl’s street and the next street south of his was one of the oldest gay bars in Southern California. And since that bar was there, the patron just naturally seemed comfortable on the beach right across the street from their bar. Everyone seemed to be fairly comfortable with the situation. The straights didn’t bother the gays and Lord knows the gays had no interest in the straights. And those folks that bat from both sides of the plate had a field day with their choices.

That is the section of beach we are talking about here.

Oh, one more little bit of information about the situation there. The local gay men seemed to almost have a uniform they wore to the beach. Damn near all of them wore Speedos. Now Speedos are not the largest suits in existence, and they don’t necessarily leave anything to the imagination. Given that, most of the guys were into staying fit and if they thought they looked good in those skimpy suits, more power to them.

Most of the guys did not mean all of the guys, however. So now we come to the heart of the matter.

Big Earl had walked up the beach to a little brewery about a half mile from his place. He had a few drinks and was headed back to the apartment before the beach had its evening sex change. There was a tall stone seawall between the beach and the road. Just before Earl got to where he was going to turn for home a guy came around the corner and headed Earl's way. It was still light. Earl could see way too well. This guy would have taken a good 5xl to 6xl shirt. If he had been wearing a shirt. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He wasn’t wearing anything at all was Earl’s first thought. Then Earl saw something that is burned into his minds eye and refused to leave. The guy was wearing a black Speedo. God only knows where he found it. He may have had to have it made for him. Earl thought nothing could look worse. Earl was wrong. Speedo Man turned back to say something to his buddy behind him. Not only was it a Speedo, but it was a full fledged, butt floss, tee back Speedo. Not only that, but the guy had been waxed. All the hair on his chest and back was gone. His forearms and hands looked like he was wearing long furry gloves, but his back, chest and a truly enormous beer belly were clear.

Now friends there are certain things no straight man should ever have to look at. A 350 to 400 pound fur bearing man who has been waxed till he was shiny is one of those things. He looked like a tanned balloon with a tiny black rubber band on it. This was just wrong. There ought to be a law that if you can’t see your feet, you can’t wear a Speedo. That is wrong as two boys kissin’.

That is when Big Earl thought, “I think I just explained it to myself.”