Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be the fish? Swimming around, minding your own business, searching for a bite to eat, sticking close to the others in the school to avoid predators, until one day something unusual catches your eye. They way it’s glinting in underwater rays of sunlight, it looks so irresistible, so delectable that you leave the safety of the others. And before you know it, you’ve been hooked by a man with a rod, a reel, and a hunger.
Ever since I can remember, I loved to fish. Growing up in Oregon, I would take every opportunity to cast a line into any one of its thousands of lakes, rivers, and streams. I even fished the Pacific a few times from the beach.
Back then, I lived at home with my parents and my older sister (who was kind of a jerk to me). I did okay in school, I did my chores, I hung out with friends, and of course, I fished. Kind of boring, I guess. Except for the fishing.
I suppose most kids have things happen to them along the way that change the courses of their lives in unexpected ways. It’s like when they say, Life Happens. How it happens for other kids and what it adds up to for them, I can’t really say. But for me, by the time I reached the age of consent it added up to the fact that I had a need to prove what a man I was. The only problem was that I didn’t know how exactly to do it. So, I figured that fucking any girl I could get my hands on would probably be a good start.
And boy did I get busy. By the time I was twenty-three, I’d had sex with over 100 women. Then with girl number 127 (who’s counting?), life happened and I became a father. Then life took a twist, and I became a single parent. Then sixteen years after his mother flaked off to who-cares-where, I found myself alone in Florida for a new job, and my son back at home in Oregon with my parents while I was away.
It wasn’t easy being that I was a single father, but I was doing it for the both of us. The work was hard. Long hours at first, but it was good. And I kept in touch with my son as much as possible. After a few weeks, I began to settle in when the pressures of a new job eased.
Even through all of the difficult times over the last several years, I had never stopped fishing. And here, in Florida, it was amazing, like nothing back home! Neither were the bikini-clad girls, and not just on the beaches either.
Being alone in a new state and with a new sense of freedom … Well, it wasn’t long before I was up to my old habits. It was so damn easy on those endless beaches. All I had to do was cast a line and wait for a bite. And if I didn’t make a catch, there was always Hooters. Rarely did I go home empty-handed.
We had just finished a project at work, so I had a few days off. First thing, I packed up my fishing tackle and headed to a nearby beach.
And boy was it a hot one on the Gulf. Ninety-five Fahrenheit and a sweltering ninety percent humidity. The air had a heaviness that seemed to weigh down on everything. Even the gulf was flat, its small waves barely lapping at the shore.
I had been fishing the surf for a couple of hours but hadn’t caught anything. I was thinking about packing it in when an older guy in cut-offs and a floppy straw hat walked by.
He looks cute, I thought. Then, Wait, what the fuck? Cute? A guy??
He did a double take when he saw me and walked back, smiling. I could see he was in his fifties, with light red graying hair and a surprisingly deep tan.
“Red drum and snook mostly,” I said, as we chatted about my catches. “Sometimes Amberjack or Spanish mackerel …”
Then in a moment when the conversation went quiet, he said, “You’re the cat’s meow.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Then he asked me very directly, “Are you gay?”
“No,” I said abruptly, “I’m not gay.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d had guys approach me on the beach and hit on me. They would try and chat me up, I would be an asshole to them, they would go away. That’s how it worked. But there was just something about this guy. I was already wondering how big his dick was!
He looked me right in the eye, flashed a smile, and said, “But you have taken dick.”
And that took me right back.
~~~
John was my older sister’s boyfriend. He was twenty-nine, going on thirty, and to my thirteen-year-old mind he seemed like the coolest guy around. He told me about a lake near his house that I had never been to and said if I spent the night at his house, the two of us could fish early the next morning.
He asked my parents, and when they said yes, I was so excited. Not only was it a new spot for me, but it was a chance to hang out with John without my sister (whose favorite pastime was being mean to me).
We made plans, and the following Friday after he finished work, I loaded my fishing tackle into John’s truck, and the two of us headed off to his house near the lake.
He did most of the talking as we drove, not that it was much. Mostly single sentences such as: "Hey, exited for tomorrow?” or “It’s gonna be great!” or “Just us guys,” after which John confided that he thought my sister could be a bit of a nag.
Her face appeared in my mind. “Haayy Kennyy,” the face said, then laughed.
"Yeah, she is,” I agreed, and that broke the ice.
Our night at his place started out innocently enough with pizza and soda and conversation and music. Then he broke out a bottle of rum and a joint. I had never had a drink and had certainly never smoked weed, but I didn’t want to say no to John.
~~~
The man on the beach was still smiling at me. I didn’t have to say a word. He had his answer by the look on my face and by my hard-on that he was eyeing through my shorts. He told me he was visiting the beach for the day. He lived about 40 miles inland and would drive to the beach occasionally.
“I come over looking for fresh meat,” he said.
"I’m not fresh meat,” I said, flatly. “And I’m not gay.”
He just laughed. Then he handed me a piece of paper and strolled off. I looked at the paper; it had a phone number written on it.
I went back to fishing, but my mind was far away from the surf. After about twenty minutes, I gave up and walked back to my car, trying to hide the hard-on showing through my shorts. I was too excited to drive all the way home, so I to a went to a nearby secluded spot I knew of and pulled my hard little five-inch cock out. It’s normally four-and-a-half inches, but when I’m really turned-on, it easily gains an extra half inch. Alone in my car, I set to it with horned fury and soon had jerked out a huge load of cum.
I had taken his bait.
During the next couple of weeks, I would pull that phone number out of my wallet and stare at it and think about having a dick in my ass. Then, so I wouldn’t get cum on it, I would put it away and jerk off while the fantasy continued.
Then one evening, I don’t know what it was, maybe I just didn’t want to jerk off alone again, but I said, “Fuck it!” and called the number on the paper.
The man from the beach answered. I said, “You probably don’t remember me but ...”
“Yes I do,” he said. "It’s about time you called.”
I wasn’t sure he knew it was me. “Well, I met you on the beach and—”
“I know. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
My dick was already getting hard.
“You have more will power then I thought.” He chuckled a bit, then his tone grew serious. “But I can tell by the sound of your voice you’re ready to take my dick.”
I could feel my little dick getting even harder, and my butthole got a tingling sensation.
I could feel his hook.
“But I don’t even know your name,” he said.
“Mine is Ken.”
“I’m Paul, but you can call me Scooter. Are you ready for directions?”
He didn’t waste time. I scribbled down the route to Scooter’s house.
“See you in about an hour, then?”
“Yes,” I said, though I knew I could, and probably would get there sooner.
“Don’t get a speeding ticket!” He laughed then hung up.
Could he hear that in my voice? The question stayed on my mind as I headed off to Paul’s, I mean Scooter’s with a hard-on.
He was reeling me in.
When I pulled up to his house about 53 minutes later (but who’s counting?), he was standing on the porch in blue-and-orange Florida Gators shorts and tank top.
Damn he looks sexy! I added that to a list of things I had never thought about another man.
We greeted each other and shook hands. Now, standing face-to-face on level ground rather than on shifting sand, I realized how similar our bodies were. Both of us stood around five-foot-eleven and weighed maybe 160 pounds. Then he invited me inside.
I rarely drink, but when Scooter offered me a beer, I took it figuring it would help calm my nerves a bit. We chatted about our lives. I told him I was from Oregon and moved here for a job. He was born and raised in Florida, hence the gator gear. And so on and so forth. Then at a pause in our conversation, just like that moment on the beach, Scooter asked me, “So why are you here, Ken?”
I felt a surge of embarrassment at what came to mind, but said it anyway: “To take some dick,” and I then felt that damn tingling again.
“Well,” he looked me over, “you said you weren’t gay.”
“I’m not, but ...” I struggled with the words, “something happened to me when I was younger. My older sister’s boyfriend did things to me."
I could see the sympathy in his eyes.
“He was a loss prevention officer at a local grocery store chain.” And I told him the story—the fishing, John, his cabin, and everything that happened, including that he was sent to prison two years later.
“But not because of me,” I said. “There was another boy …”
“You mean you never told anyone?” There was anger in Scooter’s voice. Only, the way he kept looking at me I could tell he wasn’t mad at me, but at John. Still, I was nervous and felt some of the old shame.
"You’re the first person I ever told”
Maybe that’s why I then told him about all the women I had fucked afterward, and about Number 127, and our son, and whatever else spilled out in that moment that I can’t even really remember now.
Scooter took my hands into his, and I felt him gently squeezing. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “That should never have happened to you.”
It felt a bit rehearsed when I said, “I’m over it,” so I added, “He’s a pervert and got what he deserved.”
We embraced. Sincere, warm … I’d never been hugged like that before, not by a woman and certainly not by a man. When we pulled apart he went to kiss me, but I turned my head.
“I’m not gay. I don’t want to be kissed, but ...” I hesitated a moment before I let it go and (I still can’t believe it!) I said, “Can I suck your dick?”
Scooter just smiled and leaned back on the couch. I pulled down his shorts and … What the fuck!?!
I backed off when I saw the thick ring that entered through his urethra and exited through a hole just below his glans. And the way his semi-hard cock hung there, it looked almost like a fish with an oversized hook through its mouth.
“Is that a cock ring?” I probably sounded like an idiot for even asking.
“To be precise,” he said, “it’s called a Prince Albert.”
I didn’t like the look of it. I wondered what it could do to my teeth.
“I don’t know about that,” I said, trying to hide my repulsion. “I guess maybe we should just call it off.”
Scooter smiled. “I can take it out.”
And he did. And once it was out, I got on my knees in front of him and put his pierced, ringless dick into my mouth. It was soft at first, but I could feel it getting hard and growing. I could feel the velvety softness of his shaft. As I was sucking and licking him, I noticed how long and thick his cock was compared to mine. It must have been at least seven-inches long and so mouth-fillingly thick.
"Wow,” Scooter said, “for not being gay you sure know what you’re doing.”
I looked up at him and said, “I’ve had some practice.” And I knew he understood.
After a few more minutes of my face in his crotch, Scooter said, “Let’s go to the bedroom … now!”
As I stood up, he tried to kiss me again. “No, I told you—I’m not gay. I’m not going to kiss a man.”
Scooter didn’t say anything, he just led me to the bedroom and instructed me to take my clothes off.
“For not being gay,” he said, “you sure have a hard-on!”
I looked down at my cock. He was right. I could see it throbbing.
Scooter pointed at the bed and said, "Get on the bed, on all fours.” He pointed to the side of the bed and added, “With your ass close to the edge.”
I began to regret agreeing to anything. I thought about putting my clothes on and leaving. Then an image of a cock in my ass flashed in my mind. I thought about my last lay (number 153 … yeah, I’m counting), and the one before that. And after a few more, I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind: No matter how attractive the girl, no matter how good the sex, I would imagine that I was the girl, and she was the man, and it was me being fucked!!! Sometimes I could lose myself in the sex and last a long time, but mostly I was lost in the fantasy, and I would cum within a few minutes.
Fuck it, I thought. Let’s get it over with, and I’ll never do it again.
I did as Scooter had ordered and got into position on the bed. He moved behind me and spread my ass cheeks. I braced myself for what was coming. But instead of his cock, I felt his whiskers, then his lips, then his tongue as he buried his face in my ass and started licking my hole.
Wow!!!! That feels good! I could feel his tongue moving over my hole. That feels really good!! Then he started pushing his tongue inside. My little dick was now rock hard.
After about 15 minutes of this, he stood up and I felt his finger enter my ass. He started pushing it in and out and then he put another one in. He moved them around and around and I started to get this feeling deep in the core of my ass, or my cock, or both, I’m not really sure—it was like nothing I have ever felt before. My dick got even harder, and I started to drip precum.
“That’s your button,” he said.
“My what?”
“Your prostate,” he said. He pushed it again and I moaned.
"I can feel it!”
“It likes to get massaged, doesn’t it?”
I was too caught up in his fingers to answer.
After a few minutes, he flipped me on my back and put my legs on his shoulders. He lubed his fingers and slid them back into my ass. Then he made sure I was watching as he lubed up his cock.
Oh my, this is gonna hurt, I thought, as Scooter lined the swollen head of his dick up to my tight hole.
“Here goes the head,” he said, and I felt the pressure building.
Only my hole wasn’t tight, and suddenly he popped right in. It only hurt for a brief second as his glans passed my sphincter. Then he started to slowly fuck me, just a little at a time until his cock was fully inside. Long slow strokes at first, then fast and faster. I was in pure ecstasy.
After fucking me like this for about twenty minutes, he pulled out and had me get on all fours in the middle of the bed. On his knees, he mounted me from behind. My ass offered no resistance as he inserted his dick and started pounding me.
I went wild. I backed up to meet every one of his thrusts until suddenly and without warning, I started to cum.
I cried out, “I’m cumming!” Scooter quickened his pace.
Then I had the biggest orgasm and shot the biggest load of my life, and it was totally hands-free! A minute later, Scooter came hard and filled his condom while his cock was still inside me.
I collapsed on the bed. Scooter lay down next to me and snuggled up. When he tried to kiss me again, I was still so lost in the moment that I didn’t resist, and soon our tongues were swirling around in each other's mouths.
Except for his whiskers, I thought, I guess it’s not much different from kissing a woman.
Then Scooter pulled his lips away from mine. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you said you weren’t gay.”
“I’m not.”
He leaned in and kissed me again, and we made out like a couple of hormone-crazed teenagers on a hot summer night.
When he pulled away this time he asked, “How was that?”
I had never kissed a man before. I didn’t know what else to compare it to, so I said, “Like with all the girls I used to fuck.”
Scooter ran a finger along my arm and said, “The girls you used to fuck?”
“What?”
“Used to… past tense.”
“Wait …” I tried to think. Used to?? I just banged that Hooters waitress a few days before that day on the beach, and now I’m saying, “used to??”
That’s not what I meant,” I said. Right?
I thought about what I Scooter and I had just done, and how my body had never responded in such a way before. The orgasm I’d just had was the most fulfilling I’d ever had in my entire life. Maybe I could get fucked like this from now on but … I'm not gay.
When Scooter was hard again (I got hard almost right away when we were making out), he moved between my legs, spread them a little, and had me cock my knees. He slid into my hole effortlessly and started to grind real slow. We fucked like that for hours until both of us came again. He held me in his arms afterward, and I could feel his manhood soften in me.
Wow, we just made love! But I couldn't understand how that was possible.
So, do you ever wonder what it’s like to be the fish? Well, I think I found out. I took the bait and I got hooked—so hooked that I kept going back for more. But I’m still not sure why because after all, I’m not gay!!!
