Surf's Up
by Beefy
While all my friends dove straight into college, I found my dream job and dream lifestyle on the island of Maui. After surfing all morning I'd work as 1st mate on the America II, a retired America's Cup yacht harbored in Lahaina. We'd take tourists sailing in the channels between Molokai, Maui, and Lanai. Occasionally, we'd have a private charter for the rich or famous. Jack Nicholson entertained his 20 year old girlfriend on our boat, and I once took Troy Aikman whale watching.
On this particular charter, we hosted a bachelorrette party of Brazilians. I could hardly believe my eyes as about 15 beautifully sculpted and bronzed women sambaed onto the deck. I'd learned from Jared and Royce to play it cool, so I ignored them while pretending to inspect the rigging and sails as we motored up the coast to Kaanapali. Once at the snorkel site, I dropped anchor and helped the girls into the water.
Although no piece of fabric on the bikinis of my guests was larger than a Dorito, I coolly and professionally played lifeguard, showed them some marine life, and got them back in the boat.
By now the tradewinds were picking up so we set sail as I laid out a buffet of pastries and fresh fruit on a bench centered in the cockpit amongst the beauties. As I straddled the bench, I sliced a fresh local pineapple, taking care to keep my biceps and abs flexed. Just giving the ladies something to enjoy. I started to hear muted giggles coming from a few or them. I just smiled back and continued preparing the fruit.
Soon, all the Brazilians were whispering and giggling and smiling in my direction. As I don't know any Portuguese, I assumed they were trying to decide who would have the guts to ask me out for a night on the town. "What would Royce do?" I asked myself. Yes, I would act as if I had no interest in them and let them come to me.
But these were no coy American girls. They were uninhibited, exotic foreigners. Surely I would be waking up tomorrow entwined with 2 or 3 of them.
So I flashed a smile over to the left, a wink over to the right. The giggles escalated to a few outright laughs."Is this how a girl comes on to a guy in Rio?"
No...they were actually laughing. At me?
The one thing worse than being laughed at is not knowing why. After a few seconds, I looked down and to my horror, I now knew why they were laughing. My shorts, soaked with water, had ripped open from the inseam all the way up to the drawstring.
I spent the final 6 hours of the charter wondering how to say (in Portuguese): "There was shrinkage!"
E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com
While all my friends dove straight into college, I found my dream job and dream lifestyle on the island of Maui. After surfing all morning I'd work as 1st mate on the America II, a retired America's Cup yacht harbored in Lahaina. We'd take tourists sailing in the channels between Molokai, Maui, and Lanai. Occasionally, we'd have a private charter for the rich or famous. Jack Nicholson entertained his 20 year old girlfriend on our boat, and I once took Troy Aikman whale watching.
On this particular charter, we hosted a bachelorrette party of Brazilians. I could hardly believe my eyes as about 15 beautifully sculpted and bronzed women sambaed onto the deck. I'd learned from Jared and Royce to play it cool, so I ignored them while pretending to inspect the rigging and sails as we motored up the coast to Kaanapali. Once at the snorkel site, I dropped anchor and helped the girls into the water.
Although no piece of fabric on the bikinis of my guests was larger than a Dorito, I coolly and professionally played lifeguard, showed them some marine life, and got them back in the boat.
By now the tradewinds were picking up so we set sail as I laid out a buffet of pastries and fresh fruit on a bench centered in the cockpit amongst the beauties. As I straddled the bench, I sliced a fresh local pineapple, taking care to keep my biceps and abs flexed. Just giving the ladies something to enjoy. I started to hear muted giggles coming from a few or them. I just smiled back and continued preparing the fruit.
Soon, all the Brazilians were whispering and giggling and smiling in my direction. As I don't know any Portuguese, I assumed they were trying to decide who would have the guts to ask me out for a night on the town. "What would Royce do?" I asked myself. Yes, I would act as if I had no interest in them and let them come to me.
But these were no coy American girls. They were uninhibited, exotic foreigners. Surely I would be waking up tomorrow entwined with 2 or 3 of them.
So I flashed a smile over to the left, a wink over to the right. The giggles escalated to a few outright laughs."Is this how a girl comes on to a guy in Rio?"
No...they were actually laughing. At me?
The one thing worse than being laughed at is not knowing why. After a few seconds, I looked down and to my horror, I now knew why they were laughing. My shorts, soaked with water, had ripped open from the inseam all the way up to the drawstring.
I spent the final 6 hours of the charter wondering how to say (in Portuguese): "There was shrinkage!"
E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com
posted by Kyle at 5:01 PM
