Fishing Hole Pt. 01

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Fish laugh at me.

Once upon a time, I was the Genghis Khan of the Greybriar River, the Napoleon of fly-casting. I was the great and renowned piscatorial conqueror. Both trout and spot kneeled before my omnipotent rod, jostling each other for the honor to jump onto my hook.

Now, here I stand, naked in the cool rushing waters of my Waterloo. Silver scales dash between my legs, fearlessly mocking my angling impotence. Spawn snicker at the stories their elders tell of my former prowess, barely able to contain themselves. “Him?” they ask. “He couldn’t catch us with a stick of dynamite!”

My ignominious fall from glory occurred on the first morning of our annual excursion. My waders were waist deep, and Dan, my best buddy since childhood, was about two hundred feet upstream – or so I thought. I’d already caught a couple of speckleds for breakfast so I sloshed to the bank and slipped the suspenders from my shoulders, then pulled my floppy dick over the waistband of my jockeys to drain three cups of coffee onto the shore. The river ran quicker and more noisy than usual, thanks to the previous night’s rain. That’s probably why I didn’t hear Dan come up behind me.

“Hey, Charlie, what’s shakin’?”

I jumped. “Holy shit, Dan! You scared the bejeezus out of me.”

He looked down toward my crotch. I had let go when he startled me, and my pee was splashing directly into the river, a cardinal sin. Before I could recover, he grabbed my dick and pointed the stream back onto the dirt.

“Stop poisoning the fish, dammit, Charlie.” he said gruffly. “Guess we won’t be fishing downstream today.”

I pushed at his forearm. “Okay, Dan, I think I got it now.”

He refused to let go.

“Dan?” I said, cocking an eye as I grabbed his wrist and tugged harder.

He gripped me a little tighter. The pee had stopped.

“Okay, Dan, you’ve had your fun. Can I have it back, now?” Despite my embarrassment, I felt myself swelling in his grip.

My best friend flashed a wicked grin and stretched the foreskin, giving it a slight twist.

My breath caught in my throat, and a flood of memories returned. Water gurgling over rocks. The lush, ripe scent of a summer creek bank. Two young boys, laughing, exploring, discovering a hidden gully. Peeing together, comparing, examining closer, touching, exploring…

“Stop it.” My voice had become weak and raspy.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t say anything, only squeezed tighter and pulled on me rhythmically. His hand was a man’s hand now, huge and rough, but his touch was knowing, gentle, as only a man can understand. His other hand was flat between my shoulder blades, holding me steady.

“C’mon, Dan. Please…” I said, but my conviction had evaporated. I wrapped my hand softly around his, with no intent to impede him, only to follow his motions, guiding him. My breathing grew more ragged, my eyes fluttered closed, and I couldn’t stop my hips from thrusting into his fist.

His tempo quickened, knuckles nudging my hairy balls at the bottom of his stroke. I was grunting, and felt the rise of the first waves. Dan sensed my imminent release; his hand shook faster and euphoric pleasure raced up my spine, fanning out to the nerve endings. My head lolled back, and I looked up at the blue mountain sky, moaning, “Oh, God, oh, fuck!”

I looked down to watch him tenderly squeeze the last milky drops from my dick, and watched them fall into the clear water, where several small fry swam up to snatch the pearlescent delicacies.

Still trying to catch my breath, I looked at Dan, questioning silently. He said nothing, only smiled pleasantly, and tucked my penis back into my shorts. He helped me pull up my waders.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he said.

We gathered our gear and hiked back to the cabin. No words passed between us.

Breakfast was prepared as though nothing had happened. I offered to clean the fish and cook while Dan put the gear away. He said he was going to take a quick shower. I filleted one of the trout and put it in a pan along with a few slices of bacon, and scrambled a half-dozen eggs. I hollered to Dan that everything was nearly ready. He didn’t answer, so I stuck my head through the bathroom door to tell him.

The hunched outline of his body through the frosted glass made it apparent what he was doing. He hadn’t heard me come in. Watching him, my conscience struggled against my guilt and sense of fair-mindedness. I shouldn’t have even been thinking of doing such a thing. I certainly wasn’t a homo. But this was Dan – the best man at my wedding, my confidante, my closest friend for as long as I could remember. I was just as certain that he wasn’t gay, either. I couldn’t explain why he…why he did what he did. I also couldn’t explain why I let him. How could amsterdam shemale I explain the compelling urge to return the favor? How could I explain my raging hard-on?

I pulled off my t-shirt, my jeans, and underwear as I told myself, “Just one time. This is it. Quid pro quo, and then it’s done.”

I surprised him when I opened the shower door and stepped inside. His massive hand still held his erection. We stared at each other for a long moment. Dan’s eyes seemed so helpless, searching for my intent. Had he gone too far? In response, I took him in my hand, stroking him as I would want to be stroked. Pushing squarely on his chest, I backed him against the wall. When I reached underneath and fondled his sac, his eyeballs rolled back in his head, and he groaned.

With half-lidded eyes, he smiled softly and laid a hand on my shoulder with a gentle downward pressure. I knew what he was suggesting. Long ago, we had done this, too.

I lowered myself to my knees on the hard tile floor. I had forgotten what his erect dick looked like. His knob was dark purple and large, nearly spherical, so different from my slender conical shape. Opening wide, I laid it on my tongue and closed my lips around the shaft, sliding slowly down his foreskin until he touched the back of my throat, and I could take no more. I reversed, withdrawing his dick little-by-little. My fingers coddled and played with his balls.

There was no sucking. I remembered that neither of us had liked that. Simply a gentle, succorous washing of his penis with my saliva, caressing it with my tongue. I realized that, even in those early years, we had somehow known what a pussy should feel like.

Warm water cascaded over us. While my lips tended to the upper half of his dick, my fingers and thumb encircled and jacked the lower half of his prick. His hand rested on my head, combing through my wet hair. He was groaning steadily, his hips moving in concert with my fellatio. I quickened my pace, recognizing that he wouldn’t last much longer.

Thinking of something my wife enjoyed, I allowed a fingertip to brush over the hairs on anus. I heard, “Mmmm.” Did he want me to? I touched the pucker. He jerked, and immediately uttered, “Oh, God.” I interpreted that as a ‘yes’, and pushed inward. He bucked and shivered, and I heard, “Fuck yeah, Charlie!” My thick, wet finger found easy and welcome entry into his backside, wriggling its way deeper, pulling back, pushing further, until I could curl it forward and massage what I was sure to be his prostate.

Dan was out of control, fucking my face furiously. I gagged several times when he thrust too far. He clenched my hair roughly, holding me in place. Suddenly, he lunged and froze, and emitted a long, feral groan. Despite his firm grip on my head, I could have withdrawn. I didn’t. Thick, salty semen filled my mouth. I swallowed some, but let most of it dribble out the corners. My index finger continued to plumb his ass, and I milked him until he had no more to give.

Dan slowly collapsed to the shower floor, staring at me with a stupid grin. He stroked my neck, my cheek, tenderly, then curled his hand behind my head, pulled me toward him, and we did something we had never done – we kissed. There was no hesitation – our tongues and lips intertwined passionately, and our hands wandered freely over each other’s body. His breath was dark – manly – and the day-old stubble felt scratchy, as I’m sure mine did to him. I discovered a new appreciation for what my wife had to deal with.

The shower had grown lukewarm. We dried each other off, and that’s when I smelled the smoke. The fish! I ran, naked, to the kitchen, but it was too late. The fish and bacon were burned beyond help. We could have cooked the eggs, but we were famished. We laughed and decided to go into town for supplies, and grab a bite there.

That afternoon, we fished again. I kept tangling the line because my mind drifted to other things. After a half hour of frustration and not a single hit, I saw Dan wallowing back to me. The message in his eyes was clear. We slipped our waders down, sat on the riverbank, and jerked each other off, our cream drizzling over our hands.

There had still been no discussion of our newfound pastime.

On the way back to the cabin, Dan stated, matter-of-factly, “I’m not gay, Charlie.”

I looked over at him as we walked. “Me neither,” I said. That was the last word on the matter.

For dinner, we ate the steaks we’d picked up in town, then relaxed by the fire in deep leather chairs and washed the fine meal down with several tumblers of Crown. We both felt pretty good. Sports, the economy, and work were the main topics.

At a lull in the conversation, Dan tilted his glass toward me. “Here’s to the best friend a guy ever had.” I clinked rotterdam shemale glasses, and we both took a long swig.

“Wanna’ play poker?” he asked.

“Nah,” I said, emptying my glass.

The fire crackled through a long pause. A log dropped, sending a shower of hot sparks up the chimney.

“Wanna’ get nekkid?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I had my clothes off first, and helped Dan pull his shorts down. I pushed him back into the leather cushions and pumped his stiff dick with both hands before swallowing him. The shower had masked his scent. Surprisingly, inhaling his heavy, male aroma aroused me almost as much as the smell of warm pussy, especially when my nose was buried in his dark curls. I caressed myself while I gave pleasure to my best bud.

When I tickled his rosebud, he groaned, then handed down a bottle of lube. When I raised a questioning brow, he grinned, “I stopped by the drugstore in town.”

I wormed my lubed finger in, and he squirmed and moaned. It wasn’t long before salty goo was dripping down my chin again. He pulled me up and kissed me, licking his own come from my face. We had both shaved – though we rarely did on these trips – and the dark flavor of his kiss, combined with the taste of Crown and man-come, was delicious.

Embracing, our sweaty bodies rubbed together and our dicks caressed each other, his soft, mine still hard. He shoved me off and fished a condom out of his pants pocket. Again, I gave him a curious look. He just grinned and crawled to the stone fireplace on all fours, looking back over his shoulder and pulling his cheek to the side to display his asshole: an unmistakable invitation.

This was far beyond anything we had done in our youth. I had enjoyed Carolyn’s rear a few times, but I always had the feeling she was just patronizing me. Dan’s eagerness was clear.

I rolled the condom on, lubed it well, and drizzled more down his crack. He grunted when I spread him wider, first with one finger, then with two, like I did with Carolyn. His hips responded seductively.

Dilated and glistening with silicone syrup, the dark hole beckoned. I kneeled, held his hips, and my helmeted crown poked in easily. A few more pushes, accompanied by Dan’s enthusiastic moans, and I was balls deep in his slippery butt. The heat surprised me, even through the latex. I didn’t recall the same sensation when I was with Carolyn. I drove into him a couple of times. He clenched his sphincter, and my dick felt like it was locked in a velvet vise.

I began fucking him, slow at first. He urged me on, and using my grip on his hips, I pulled him onto me, reaming him mercilessly. The powerful muscles of his back flexed as he squirmed, fucking me back, squeezing my dick and gyrating his ass. In front of him, the fire roared, hot as his rectum. In a half-drunk, sexual stupor, I felt on top of the world.

Dan was supporting himself on one hand. I realized that he had grown hard again, and was beating himself off. The tightness of his ass was intense. Our balls slapped together.

Dan started mumbling incoherently between ragged breaths, then arched his back and moaned long and loud. I followed quickly. Bellowing like a lion and ramming myself deep into his bowels, I emptied myself into the gossamer sheath.

We slept like lovers in each other’s arms that night, cuddling together naked, our legs intertwined. In the morning, a steady rain rattled on the tin roof. Dan rolled me onto my back, hoisted my legs over his shoulders, and made tender love to my virgin butt while he jerked me off, spurting all over his hand and my belly.

It rained all that day and the next, and we had little else to do. We eventually ran out of condoms, and I discovered the sublime sensation of cream trickling down my crack. From what started out as a prank, I found out how much Dan actually enjoyed being tied up. He found my sensitive nipples. Even after the rain stopped, we had little interest in fishing. We took each other every way and everywhere: bent over the dining room table and grasping the far edge, perched precariously on the rail of the rear deck, in the woods against a tree, and of course, in the river. We played and splashed like 9-year olds, dunking each other, trying to catch fish by hand, and fucking and sucking until we too tired to do anything but lie on the grassy bank and skip stones across the pool.

At the end of the week, we had only five trout and a short string of spot to show for ourselves, but we were both satisfied, well-fucked and contented. The drive home was silent. We knew we could never say anything about what happened.

When Dan dropped me off at home, I gathered my gear and set it on the grass. I looked longingly at Dan, and he just smiled.

“Well, that was some trip, blog shemale huh?” I said.


“Gonna’ do it again next year?” I asked.

He cocked his head and raised a brow. “Sure enough, bro. If you want to, that is.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I grinned, and we hugged like guys.

In the house, I grabbed my wife and gave her a long, deep, and soulful kiss.

“Wow!” she exclaimed breathlessly.

“I missed you, Carolyn,” I said. “I really did.” I gave her a peck on the lips.

“You’re going to have to take more of those fishing trips, if that’s the way you’re going to come home.” she said.

I grinned, and told her, “I’m not finished yet. I’m going upstairs for a shave and a shower. When I come out, I want to find you in the bedroom in your white thigh-high stockings, and nothing else.”

She grinned brightly, but turned coy and said, “We’ll see. You stink. Go get a shower.” She slapped my butt as I headed upstairs.

I cleaned myself up, shaved diligently, and found Carolyn just the way I wanted her. I ate her until she came twice, then I fucked her missionary, then doggie style, rolled her on top of me, and finally picked my wife up by her thighs and took her hard against the wall, where I finally came.

Our marriage changed from that day, for the better. I didn’t mind so much helping with things around the house, and even showered and shaved every day on the weekends. Carolyn commented several times that I seemed more sensitive and romantic. Arguments were fewer, and I usually let her win.

Over the next year, Dan and I never talked about the fishing trip. Everything seemed just as it was before. Well, mostly. Sometimes, like at a party where he stood next to me with his arm around my shoulder, we gazed at each other, each knowing what was on the other’s mind, and I resisted an urge to kiss him.

The next year’s week at the Greybriar was a replay of the last. Away from our families, we enjoyed each other every way from Sunday, and completely forgot about fishing. We had to pick up trout at the supermarket to keep the wives from asking too many questions.

We weren’t careful enough, though. When I got home, Carolyn was about to give me a blowjob when she found a small hickey on my inner thigh. She went ballistic, assuming the worst. She slapped me, hard, and began packing a suitcase. I had to tell her. Everything. From when we met in the second grade until the 69 in bed that morning.

I wasn’t too surprised that she didn’t believe me.

I dragged Dan to our house, cussing and fussing, and begged him to tell her. “It was your goddamn fault,” I told him. He reiterated my story.

She still didn’t believe us.

So I kissed him, right there in our living room, and Carolyn gasped, “Oh, my God…” Still, she said she wasn’t buying it. With my wife following, I led Dan to our bedroom, dropped his pants, and swallowed everything that came out of his bulbous, purple head. Carolyn sat on the bed, gawking.

Still on my knees, I pleaded with her, my lips quivering, “Carolyn, please forgive me. I love you. You are my wife. Dan is my best friend, but you are more important to me than any ten, or a hundred friends. I swear to you, this is the last time we will ever…”

She fell to her knees, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately. I was uncomfortable, certain that she could taste Dan’s residue. She gazed into my eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

My chin dropped to my chest.

“Do both of you…?” she asked, motioning toward Dan. “I mean, does he ever…you know, do that to you?”

I nodded, perplexed.

“Can I watch?” she asked, looking up at Dan.

I lay back on the bed and Dan began performing for her. Carolyn observed his talented mouth closely, and I suddenly felt two sets of lips, two pairs of hands.

This is the third year since the Downfall of the Empire. The fishing tackle lie in their chests, ignored, unused and dry-rotting. I’m standing naked, knee-deep in the cool river. Tiny fishes dart and play between my legs. Dan’s sexy, Nicaraguan wife, Muriel, is also playing between my legs. Her lovely, full Latina lips are wrapped around my cock, and I’m conflicted over whether I want to come in her mouth or deep in her luscious, auburn-haired pussy. Dan is lying on the grassy riverbank, and my wife is riding him for all she’s worth. From her repetitive little squeaks I know she’s about to climax. I’d love to suck him off after she’s come on his dick. Muriel reaches up, twists my nipple and lightly scrapes her fingernails down my chest, and I decide that I can fuck her cunt later, after Carolyn’s tongue makes it wide and juicy.

Swimming lazily just below the surface is a twelve-inch rainbow, close enough that Muriel could touch it. I’d swear he’s glaring at me, one eye cocked, thinking, “What the hell happened to you?”

I grin and flip him off, silently asking him, “When was the last time you got your worm sucked?”

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