The Fisherman

After twelve years of city living, I was fed up with the daily hustle and bustle. Being a writer, my work also encompassed editing and proofreading. Truthfully, there was no reason for me to live in the city. With modern technology, I was already performing all my tasks from home, and that being the case, my home could be located anywhere. My decision was, therefore, an easy one, when I resolved to buy a home in what was essentially a small fishing village.

The setting was beautiful but the home needed a great deal of work. Over the following few months, the work was completed with a great deal of aggravation. Thankfully, the final product was terrific and all the suffering worthwhile. During the restoration, I had mainly performed my daytime work at night, when all the hammering and noise of the day was over. I was, therefore, very thankful when my life finally returned to normal. With all the construction completed, I began tending to my small garden. This I did, early mornings and late afternoons, so that I could earn my living between nine and four.

Once my routine had been firmly established, I met Evans. He was passing by my home late one afternoon and struck up a conversation with me while I was working in my garden. His proper name was Jonas, which he hated and preferred to be referred to by his surname. Evans was a fisherman and as rough as a bear’s arse. He had an unkempt beard and moustache, and his long curly hair stuck out from under the beany he always wore.

My house had formerly belonged to an old buddy of his named Geoff, who had passed away prior to me buying the place. Evans complimented me on how good the place was looking. After a brief natter, I asked him if he wanted to see what I had done to the interior. Looking somewhat apprehensive in his dirty wellington boots and bib-overall, he said he would like to, but was afraid that he would sully my home. I persisted, saying that if he removed his boots it wouldn’t be a problem at all.

I offered Evans coffee once we entered my home. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he stated, still somewhat uncomfortable.

As I prepared the coffee, I invited him to take a look around. He looked like a fish out of the water, but on my insistence, he embarked on the tour. Five minutes later he re-joined me in the kitchen, gushing on about all the improvements I had made.

Seated at the kitchen table I was surprised to learn that he was only three years older than me (thirty-four) because he looked like a man in his forties.

Evans’ hands were extremely rough, no surprise given his job, but they were masculine and very sexy. As we spoke, it occurred to me that he was actually far better looking than I had initially thought. He had vibrant green eyes that were totally arresting. A further surprise to me was; that he was an inveterate reader and particularly loved nineteenth-century literature. Of course, when he mentioned that Joseph Conrad was his favourite author, my estimation of him skyrocketed.

During the hour that we chatted, he also told me about the best fish to eat. He said that he would bring me a piece of filleted fish the following day, and insisted that I write down a recipe of how to prepare it.

In bed that night I couldn’t stop thinking about him. ‘Why has this rough man made such an impression on me?’ I kept thinking. ‘Nah, he is really not my type,’ I concluded.

I was, however, intrigued by the fact that he wasn’t married and didn’t have a woman in his life.

The following day, true to his word, he delivered the piece of promised fish. I prepared it as instructed and the dish was out of this world!

The following day as he passed by, I complimented him on his recipe and informed him that the meal had been brilliant. Evans’ face lit up before he told me about an even better fish species that would be running shortly. He assured me that when it did, he would invite me to his home for dinner.

Over the following few days, we indulged in brief conversations, if I happened to be outside as he journeyed home.

A week later he approached my home with a packet held high, and a triumphant look on his face.

“Is that the fish?” I asked smiling.

“Sure is,” he replied proudly. “Tonight you will eat the best meal of your life… if that’s okay with you?”

How could I refuse? I took down his address details.

“See you at seven,” he concluded, before going on his way.

I was surprised when I arrived at Evan’ house that evening. Firstly, he had cleaned up rather well. Secondly, having never seen him without his beany I was amazed by Evans’ incredible head of thick, curly brown hair. He was wearing jeans and a green jumper and appeared several years younger. Actually, he was fucking hot.

Next, my mouth eclipsed my brain as I asked if he would mind me touching his hair.

“Sure,” he replied, with a warm proud smile.

The locks on his head felt like silk. As I raved, he went on to tell me that he had inherited his father’s hair.

Another surprise for me was how neat and tidy his house was. Although the outside and inside could’ve done with a fresh lick of paint and the furniture looked like it belonged to a bygone era, it was actually very cozy and really nice.

Having brought three bottles of white wine, we were soon enjoying the fruit of the grape. Evans normally drank milk stout but was happy to indulge in the alternative alcohol I supplied as a refreshing change.

The fish dish, as promised, was exceptional. It was served on a bed of colcannon, and Irish mash dish made from potatoes, cabbage, leeks, and cream.

I couldn’t help thinking about my former life and how I wasn’t missing it in the slightest. Evans was a breath of fresh air. My former existence had consisted of materialistic stuck up queens wallowing in their shallow and meaningless lives. Evan’s, in contrast, was a humble human being enjoying the simplicity of a noble existence. All his crockery was mismatched and most of it had a bad chip or two.

‘Who cares?’ I thought.

After dinner, I helped him clear the table and wash the dishes.

Shortly, we were standing before the fireplace in his lounge and glowing in its warmth.

“So… have you met any interesting ladies since you moved here?” He asked.

There are times in life when the ‘what the fuck devil’ that resides on one’s shoulder takes over. This was one of those times.

“Actually, Evans, I’m gay, so I am not really looking for women,” I replied, quietly.

“Oh… ” he answered. It wasn’t a shocked ‘Oh,’ but more of a matter-of-fact ‘Oh.’

“Never really had much time for women either, truthfully, they’re just much trouble,” he said, philosophically.

Again we stood contentedly observing the fire. After placing his glass on the coffee table, Evans then moved behind me and placed his arms around my body. As his hands began stroking me he asked, “Hope you don’t mind me touching you?”

“Evans… you are one of the most interesting people I have met in a long while, and I definitely don’t mind you touching me,” I answered.

“May I kiss you?”

“Absolutely,” I responded, before turning to face him.

Evans’ kiss was gentle and after a short while, he moved his head back and confessed, “I had a wet dream about you last night, Coulter.”

Staring into his naughty eyes, I replied, “Maybe it’s time to stop dreaming.”

“Are you sure Coulter?” he asked with a sceptical frown, “Will you seriously go to bed with me?”

“Definitely,” I replied.

Our lips locked once more as our bodies entwined. We kissed for a very long time before the warmth of the fireplace.

As we later moved through to his bedroom, he excused himself before entering the bathroom. Boldly, I stripped and got into his bed. After I heard the toilet flush, he re-entered the room and began to undress. I was surprised to find that he had no tattoos anywhere on his body.

“It’s funny,” I said, “I thought you would’ve had tattoos.”

“Nah,” he replied, “I’m shit scared of needles.”

Although Evans had a sinewy body, there was no doubt that he was powerful judging by the elongated muscles and prominent veins on his arms and legs. He wasn’t your typical gym bunny but simply oozed masculinity.

“I have a confession to make,” Evans said with a worried look.

“What?” I asked.

“Well… I have a really ugly cock,” he uttered, uncomfortably.

“Does it work?” I asked smiling, in an attempt to allay his discomfort.

“Very well,” he retorted, “but it’s ugly, seriously ugly.”

After I shrugged encouragingly, Evans gingerly he pushed his underpants down. His penis was definitely not lacking in size, but I was taken aback at the sight of it and did my best not to look shocked.

His knob arched downwards like a gnarled log and was covered with protruding veins. The skin on his dick was blotchy, and the odd dark blue vein surfacing here and there didn’t help matters. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he also had a long dark foreskin overhang that looked like a fat three-inch wrinkled tube hanging off the head of his cock. It was fucking ugly!

“I don’t have a social disease, it just ugly,” he said, with an apologetic look. “You cannot believe how I got ribbed about this thing when I was at school,”

“No doubt by all the guys with small dicks,” I replied, trying to boost his confidence.

First smiling, and then frowning he continued, “Yeah, but a few people have bailed on me with disgust over the years, acting as if they’d seen a swamp monster.”

“Well… it’s very impressive,” I announced, smiling.

“Why don’t you climb into bed?” I then concluded, hoping to assuage Evans’ self-consciousness.

Evans got in and immediately snuggled up to me. Up close and naked, I got a whiff of his strong virile odour. Ugly knob or not, with his masculine aroma I was hooked.

Shortly, we were snogging like two sex-starved teenagers. As he moved onto me, I was astounded by the strength of his powerful body as it conquered me. Evan was all man, one hundred per cent alpha. Unseen, the offensive log also felt pretty awesome up against my body and Evans definitely did not suffer from erectile dysfunction.

Lifting his head after a while, Evans grinned, before asking, “I’d like to give you a hickey… will you allow me to give you one?

“Only one,” I stressed, slightly uncomfortable by his unusual request.

Thank goodness it was winter and turtlenecks were part of everyday attire, because that night I got purple dots of passion all over my neck, shoulders, and chest, as Evans sucked to his heart’s content. I played along pretending to try and ‘fight’ him off, but quickly realized that dominance was an elixir to him.

He just loved holding me down and controlling my body. His approving grunts left me in no doubt about his predilection. Being a total bottom, I whimpered, groaned, and begged for ‘mercy,’ to fuel his appetite.

Evans became so overexcited by our lustful ‘wrestling,’ that he shot a massive load all over my stomach as he pinned me down firmly. There was a look superior satisfaction on his face as he grunted as if he just marked me as his territory.

If I thought a short break was in the offing, I was totally mistaken. He now continued his oral onslaught as our bodies sloshed against one another, fused by his spunk. With all our sexual activity Evans’ manly smell also kept intensifying, to my great satisfaction.

“Turn onto your stomach, Coulter,” he suddenly commanded in a voice laden with horniness, “I need to fuck you right now.”

I turned over, continuing to promote his lust with my whimpers. With his left elbow encasing my neck, his right hand frantically began guiding his knob towards my arse lips. The gnarled log immediately began seeking entry. I could tell from his excited breathing that his entry was going to be urgent.

Lodged at my backdoor, his hands clamped my upper arms before the monster began surging forwards. I cried out ecstatically, in acceptance of this blissful intrusion.

Once all in, his strong arms clamped my body as his mouth prolonged its oral onslaught on my hitherto unmarked back. It was like I had a predator that had not made a kill in over a week, on my back. Engulfed by his manly haze, I was in heaven. As Evans’ manly smell further amplified, and his ardour flourished, I became totally enslaved by my fisherman that night. After fifteen years of being gay, I was finally being fucked by a real man.

Soon, he began pumping my manhole with meaning. When Evans came again, I had already shot the biggest load of my life.

Between brief naps the gnarled log, which I had almost balked at earlier, continuously foraged in my contented den. The intensity of his lovemaking had become like a drug to me, and I felt like a junky mainlining with the purest heroin on the market.

When Evans was finally done, we both passed out from sheer exhaustion.

When I awoke the following morning, the room smelled like a men’s locker-room. I tried not to awake my ‘piscatorial’ lover as I moved through to the bathroom. As I stood pissing, I moved my left hand behind me and caressed my swollen arse lips. They were puffy and slimy. Turning, I sat down to expel all the jizz.

As I was about to get up, Evans entered the bathroom and stood before me. Holding his monstrosity in his hand he asked, “Did the Loch Ness monster please you, Coulter?” Laughing heartily, I nodded yes.

“Fuck… you’re very spotty,” he sniggered.

“A huge slug attacked me last night,” I replied giggling.

As I tried to stand he pushed me back on the seat. Looking up at him he had a wicked expression on his face. “How open-minded are you?” Evans asked quizzically.

“Very,” I answered.

“Are you sure?” Evans retorted as if issuing a warning.

“Try me,” I challenged.

After the previous evening’s bliss, I was putty in his hands. Simply put, there was no avenue I wouldn’t explore with this stud.

Next, gripping the front of his foreskin tightly, his hood began filling with liquid as he stared at me mischievously. Once a massive bubble had formed, he unleashed his yellow liquid all over me. After drenching Evans grabbed hold of my head and soon piss was spraying down my gullet.

“Drink, baby, drink,” he ordered, as I swallowed for all I was worth.

The monster now began its excavation of my mouth. I wasn’t able to accommodate the entire creature, it was simply too big. My enthusiasm, however, made up for my inadequacies. With his gnarled log arched over my forehead, he then demanded attention to his balls.

The hum of his crotch took my olfactory senses to an even higher level. Just when I thought I had scaled the highest level of manly odours, Evans began to withdraw the wrinkled tube that covered his cock head. The foreskin essence he liberated was incomparable.

I deliriously inhaled the finest perfume known to mankind as I hornily smeared his scent all over my face. Evans allowed me my indulgence and once done, he turned and bending over opened his butt cheeks, inviting me to explore his hairy crack. The sweaty aroma almost made me convulse with lust.

Falling to my knees I lapped his crevice while groaning with delight. Evans’ accompanying grunts of approval further crowned my oral festival. As I rimmed him my manhole began to ache from neglect, envious of my facial gratification.

“Evans,” I pleaded, “I need to be fucked right now.”

After I spun around on the toilet seat, the swamp creature dove straight into me as I howled blissfully.

Again my back got sucked upon as Evans feverishly thrust into me. As his climax began to boil, Evans ordered me to my knees before unloading into my mouth. My well-timed eruption also sprayed all over the floor as his monster nourished me.

Evans wasn’t working that day, as bad weather had prohibited any fishing. I also decided to take a well-earned, day off. Thankfully, there were plenty of leftovers from the previous evening. We spent most of that day in bed, the first of many.