Surfing

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Hit your local surf spot for a free peep show

By Elisabeth Gause

April 10, 2006

San Diego--There's a free peep show and it's at every beach and along every highway where surfers change into and out of their wetsuits.

People often wonder what, if anything, surfers wear under their wetsuits. Guys for the most part go commando. Northern boys do anyway. Y-chromosomes from the Southern Hemisphere often wear Speedos underneath their suits. A boyfriend of mine from South Africa wore a “banana boat” and it was almost more than I could handle.

Some chicks stop there and don’t wear bottoms, but I do because I’m particular. See, the ocean roughs up swimsuits worse than chlorine or a boyfriend’s jealous dog, so if you want to wear that swimsuit anywhere besides under the wettie, you wear both pieces. (Yes, we mix and match suits, but one ocean-worn, color-faded, sand-embedded piece with one pristine piece just doesn’t go.) I also wear two pieces because I teach and we have to change on the beach in front of students. And surfers already have enough of a reputation for being carefree.

Regardless of our underwear, we all peel off everything. Beginners go to public restrooms, prudes drive home, but everybody else changes in front of the world. Enter the towel.

Towels are very important to surfers. Alongside our cars on the streets and in parking lots, we step into our buckets and onto our mats, unzip our soaked neoprene and start peeling. When we’re half-naked, the towel wraps around our waists, almost by itself. Then we shimmy out of the rest of the suit. Copasetic, right? Well, there wouldn’t be much of a story if things didn’t go awry.

Most of us like to dry off a bit before we don clothes, so we air dry. We walk around, sit on the tailgates of our trucks, all the while coming precariously close to exposing ourselves in public. Because we air dry all the time, we sometimes forget we’re not always decent. For example, when a guy sits with his legs apart and his towel sits above his knees, I look at him and he looks at me, with all three of his eyes.

Where I work, there is always some million dollar house under construction. When we disrobe, we usually turn away from the workers, since they’re not paying for the performance. However, turning your back just gives them a different view, so some women choose to face their audience.

Last summer, two fellow instructors were changing during a lunch break, facing the crowd. One of the girls said of the workers, “Look at all of them chomping down on their sandwiches, gawking at us. You’d think they’d get tired of girls in bikinis.”

“True,” the other girl replied, “but guys never seem to get tired of looking at those.” The flat-chested woman pointed to her friend’s accidentally exposed voluminous assets. Like little boys caught, they looked away, except one who had the gall to whistle as she tended to her bikini. (She flipped him off—she’s tough.)

While the towel is sacred, I must acknowledge its pitfalls. Sometimes, when we don’t firmly tuck in the corner of our rag, the thing falls and we end up entertaining the masses. One entertainer dropped towel right in front of me one winter morning. After snatching the towel off the pavement, he looked up at me and said sheepishly, “Damn that cold water!” It wasn’t that cold.

My best flashing story took place on the side of the 101 up in Encinitas. Just as I’d changed into a black tank top and yellow mini sarong, my boyfriend’s roommate drove by and honked her horn. She slowed her truck and pulled over, and I strolled up to the driver’s side to say hello. My relationship was new so I was still trying to get everybody in my boyfriend’s house to like me.

We were right in the middle of a lovely chat about how good the surf was when an obscenely large truck drove past us, going at quite a pace. The gust from its drag shot my skirt straight upward. Like Marilyn Monroe in “The Seven Year Itch,” I rushed to push it down, but since my skirt was shorter and the air more powerful, my attempt was futile. Nothing was said for a moment. Finally, my boyfriend’s roommate, who is very cute, very nice, and very gay, said to me, “Well, at least your hair’s dry now.”

So, if you’re looking for a free peep show, check out the parking lots by the beaches or drive very fast along the 101 and keep an eye on your rearview mirror.

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Elisabeth Gause is a freelance writer and frequent contributor to Vyuz.