More Mixup: New Romantic Austin Becomes Shawn the Edgy Surfer by kooldoggie
Now the only thing that was bothering Justin about the uber-romantic Austin was that he just saw too much goddamn beauty in everything, still neglecting a lot of the obvious darkness. They had been sitting down by the boardwalk again, the taller, studlier boy that Austin still was hugging his slender emo boyfriend tightly while they looked at the sunset, the androgynous youth looking at the scene with wonder. Justin melted into his chest, thinking the new persona looked like a cross between a romance novel cover model and some version of the vampire Lestat. Perhaps some black eyeliner would help...
But no, Justin was still a bit disappointed, so he thought a quick trip to see their old emo friends would be just the right dose to swing Austin in the right direction. But Austin pleaded with his boyfriend not to take him away; he wanted to see the full sunset and let the gentle breeze caress them. Justin rolled his eyes. But he told the pretty youth that he had to stay sitting exactly where he was so as not to get into further trouble. And Justin would go find the emos and bring them to him.
Austin agreed to the plan. And so he was now sitting on a low wall, watching a group of surfers pack it in after a long day in the waves. He had opened up his frilly silk shirt again, so that the breeze blew it back to reveal his barely tanned lightly sculpted chest, his long brown hair blowing in the wind. Yes, he looked just like a cheesy romance novel cover, many people would think, but Austin was enjoying this immensely. He even took off his ankle boots and set them aside as he dug his still pale toes into the sand. But his reveries were soon disturbed by a loud argument, and Austin's bliss was broken, irking him slightly, just enough to lay his emotions bare and sensitive.
It looked like the surfers had gotten into a scrape with a few dudes who looked like inner city thugs, visiting for the day, walking along the beach in their ghetto swagger way and not knowing how to behave like decent coastal folk. The trouble was, Austin being as sensitive as he was right now could see both sides of the issue, or at least he hoped he could. Young people could be very misunderstood, and both the surfers and the thugs just wanted to chill and enjoy the day, especially the beautiful sunset, even if the boisterous gangbangers got a little out of hand with their fun... And the part that was Dylan, way down deep, begged to be released, to join his bros, defend them like a true son of the hood would.
Too sensitive to tamp him down, Austin groaned, laying a delicate white hand with black nail polish on his exposed chest, kneeling over a little. Still, the surfers had a point. They were true sons of the beach, after all, and the beach needed to be respected. Nature needed to be respected. Cool surferboy Keoni understood this, hell, even the surfer-jock Galen who had absorbed half of that chill stud knew this as well. A confusion began enveloping the romantic boy, his bright blue eyes looking side to side for help, whimpering for Justin to come save him, but there was no escape. Austin desperately wanted to belong to both groups, surf with them, party-in-the-hood with them, but they were oh so different, or were they?
Austin groaned deeply again, feeling the change wash over him. The groan sounded an octave lower than last time. He stood on his bare feet, taking off his frilly silk shirt so that he stood barechested on the beach, in only his black leather pants with a silvery belt, an antique gold medallion around his neck. He breathed in the cool, early evening air, his sensitivity lowered ever so slightly. Yeah, he still respected nature and all that shit, but he was also a bit more practical now, not as poetic. He remembered now being a surfer, and so the leather pants changed, becoming a dark blue wetsuit, zipped down to allow his buff torso to breathe after a day in the waves. The nail polish vanished from slightly rougher hands.
There were a few hip-hop tunes going through his head, though, and so he understood he was quite a bit edgier than the average SoCal surfer. His body responded, taking him where he needed to be. The height retracted again, the tall, majestic beauty of the romantic soul no longer necessary. Inch after inch disappeared, but he stayed buff, growing a bit harder and muscular to fit his tough attitude, quite a bit more tan as well. He ended up at 5'9", 160 lbs., solid and compact. The ink once again bloomed over his hard pecs, but this time the dark script did not spell out DYLAN, but SURF FOR LIFE, the letters blending into wave-like patterns meant to abstractly represent the ocean.
"Awww, fuuuuck," Austin, now Shawn, groaned in a lower, more ghetto-tinged voice. He spread out his bare arms, allowing more energy to flow through them, pumping up the biceps more, one of his tribal tattoos reappearing. A fine coating of dark hair trailed out of the bottom of his wetsuit, where a large lump indicated a greatly expanded sex, and up his deep eight-pack abs, nestling between the pecs in just the briefest swirl of short, dark hairs. A gold ring appeared in one bigger nipple, while the antique medallion vanished, once again replaced with a choker of mahogany-colored beads. The androgynous, overly-pretty face had squared and hardened just a touch, just the hint of dark stubble growing across his strongly accented cheeks, under a more strongly defined nose. The face was actually looking similar to Marcello, the Euro-stud model, darker and more pronounced, but still handsome and sexy as hell. Another small ring appeared in the flare of a nostril, and yet another in a dark eyebrow. Shawn was pretty edgy all right, alternative, tough and boisterous, yet at the same time a total beach dude who loved to surf and chill with his boys. The hair was last to change, shortening quite a bit until it just hit his cheeks and fell over his eyes, a sort of Prince Valiant cut with a few blonde highlights in it. Shawn purred as the changes finalized, opening steel-grey eyes, wolf's eyes, some said, and Shawn could be pretty wolfish.
He took another deep breath, allowing the thick, strong muscle of his surfer's body to settle, then picked up the longboard at his side, trotting over on his more proportional size 11 tan feet over to where the two groups were simmering. "Hey, dudes!" he called out huskily, slapping skin with the gangbangers while offering some diplomatic words in ghetto Spanish which he had picked up from his frequent trips into the hood to party. A fist bump later, and tempers had been cooled, the inner city visitors sauntering away with apologies. "Thanks, Shawn!" offered his surfer buddies, as they also greeted each other enthusiastically, Shawn's touch lingering longer on a barechested blonde cutie, a few inches taller than him, but the blonde was both intimidated and turned on by the sexy, masculine but nevertheless cute stud. Shawn pressed up against his friend, allowing their crotches to rub together. He and Max had fooled around together in the past, and he was looking forward to a little more action with him at the beach BBQ tonight. He put his arm around the blonde's waist and walked down the beach with his surfer crew.
A few minutes later, Justin returned with the emos, only to find Austin gone. "Aw, fuck!" complained the ever-gloomy kid. "Not again!"