The Fishing Trip

"What on earth do you want with washing line?" I asked.

"Because I want to wash my socks," he said sarcastically.

"Socks...?"

He looked at me like I was daft and, when the penny dropped, that's how I felt.

Because we had got to Brodick early we left early and it was still broad daylight as we headed into the bay. We tied up the boat, packed up our stuff, and headed for the cottage. Even as we walked up the pathway Jerry was swinging the bag with the washing line in it in a way that made it quite clear that it was soon to be put to use.

"OK, so which one of us is going to get tied up?" I asked almost as soon as the front door had closed.

"That's a good question," Jerry said thoughtfully. "How about this. You put your hands behind your head. I'll undo your jeans and take a look. If you've got a stiffy then I get to tie you up. If you haven't then you get to tie me up. Is that fair."

"Why me?" I asked.

"Because I'm the one who thought of it. Anyway, what are you scared of? Scared that you'll lose? Have you got a stiffy?"

"No, of course not."

"So why are you so worried then?"

"I'm not worried, it's just that...," but I couldn't think of a reason why not. "OK, OK, get on with it then, if you have to," I agreed reluctantly. As was so often the case it was easier just to give in to Jerry rather than squabble over the details. I stood in the middle of the living room with my feet apart and my hands clasped behind my head. Somewhat disconcertingly, just doing this made my prick stir in my boxers but it was too late to back out now. Jerry knelt down in front of me and undid my jeans. However, that's all he did. He didn't pull them down.

"I wonder what we'll find in here," he said, mockingly. He gently pulled back the sides of my flies as if unpeeling a fruit. "Are you stiff or are you soft?"

"Jerry, please..."

"Oh, no, I'm having far too much fun down here." He took the waistband of my jeans and eased them down a couple of centimetres. I could tell I was on the edge of losing, again. I defy anyone to stay soft with that going on.

"If you touch it, even through my jeans, then the deal is off and I win, OK?" I said desperately.

"I think someone is worried they're going to lose. Don't worry, I won't touch it, that's a promise."

And he didn't touch, well, not directly. He eased my jeans down until they were around my knees and then started stroking my inner thighs with the tips of his fingers.

"Oops! Is something stirring in the undergrowth," he mocked. "I think someone is getting harder."

"For Pete's sake," I complained. "That's cheating. Anyone would get a stiffy with you doing that."

"But I'm not touching it. I'm not breaking the rules." He slipped the tips of his fingers up, into the legs of my boxers and whilst, no, he wasn't actually touching my prick, he might as well have been. The way my prick was bulging under my boxers was more than obvious and it was quite clear that I was in the process of losing. By this point I was beginning to wish he would touch it.

"So, what will we see if we look in here?" Jerry continued as he took his fingers out of the legs of my boxers and pulled at the waistband until there was quite a gap between it and my tummy. He peered in over the top of the waistband. "Oh, dear, it looks like gay boy has lost again. Have you got a stiffy? Have you?"

"Yes, you know I have," I replied.

"So, who gets to be tied up?"

"I do."

"Yes, you do. But first let's have a proper look. Let's make completely sure." He pulled at my boxers until they were down around my knees with my jeans. "Oh, yes, completely stiff and hard, aren't you."

"Yes," I said with resignation.

"Stay there," he ordered as he got to his feet and went into the kitchen to get a can of McEwans from the fridge. When he returned he sat in one of the armchairs facing me. For a while he just supped his brew and looked me up and down. My stiffy got, if anything, even harder.

"You're a bit overdressed," he commented. "Get your kit off and get back in position."

"Yes, Sir!" I mocked.

"That should be 'yes, Master Jerry', shouldn't it? Shouldn't that be how my little gay boy addresses me?" he said sweetly. Jerry had a big smile on his face and was obviously enjoying this immensely. While there was nothing nasty in his tone, and I could tell he wasn't serious, it was obvious that, just like in the boat, he wanted me to play along with this 'gay boy' thing he had going. Funnily enough, just like in the boat, there was something really thrilling about Jerry calling me that. Sure, it was a bit kinky but it was certainly fun and my prick was all for it. Spurred on by Jerry's orders I kicked off my trainers, pushed down my jeans and boxers, pulled off my tee-shirt and got back into position.

"What are you?" Jerry asked.

"A gay boy," I answered, playing along.

"Whose gay boy?"

"Your gay boy." I saw the look he gave me. "Err... Master Jerry's gay boy," I corrected myself.

"That's better. Now, come and stand here," he pointed to the floor beside his armchair. I went over and got into position. He continued to sup his beer but, with his free hand, he reached out and grasped my prick. But that's all he did. He didn't stroke it or anything and I badly wanted him to. All this mucking about had brought back to me that I hadn't actually come after all that wanking on the boat. I couldn't help myself; I gently rocked back and forth on my heels so as to rub my prick against his hand.

"Did I say you could do that?" he asked without looking up.

"No, Master Jerry, "I replied.

"Well stop fidgeting. You're disturbing my pint."

That just made it worse. I was boiling with frustration. His hand felt so good around my prick and I could do nothing about it. There was also something going on in my mind about the way that he was still dressed and I was naked. This all tied in with the Master Jerry, gay boy thing. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he supped his can. At last he leaned forward and put the can down on the coffee table.

"Go to the bedroom, take the duvet off the bed and get into position," he ordered.

While I folded up the duvet and stashed it in the corner, he gathered together the washing line and a sharp knife from the kitchen. By the time he entered the bedroom I was, as instructed, stretched out on the bed with my arms and legs pointing at the four corners. The bed was a divan without a footboard but, by running the line under the mattress, he soon had me securely attached. The washing line was plastic covered which made things a bit awkward but he kept the knots tight enough to hold but lose enough to be comfortable and his experience with tying nylon fishing line ensured that the knots would hold.

If I'd felt exposed and vulnerable before it was nothing like I felt then. My whole body seemed to focus on my prick which stood tall and strong inviting him to... inviting him to.... I was well confused. I didn't know what I wanted. I knew I wanted release but if Jerry had just wanked me off I would have felt somehow cheated. The line between role play and reality was getting blurred. I actually wanted, in some perverse way, to really be Master Jerry's gay boy.

Once Jerry was happy that I was fully secure he kicked off his shoes and lay down next to me. Immediately his hand went to my prick but, instead of holding it as he would to stroke it, he cradled my balls and gently squeezed them.

"Do you want to come, gay boy?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I replied.

"What did you say?" he asked, squeezing my balls harder.

"Yes, Master Jerry, gay boy would like to come," I tried.

"I bet you would," he laughed, "but I'm going to have my fun first. I'm going to have fun with my little gay boy because he's not gay, is he?"

"No, Master Jerry."

"No, Master Jerry, he's not, is he? He'd just hate it if I did this," Jerry mocked before leaning across my body and taking my right nipple in his teeth. He bit, hard, until I couldn't suppress a little squeak of pain. Then he let go with his teeth and used his tongue to flick it back and forth. It hurt, he had really bit quite hard, but my nipple seemed to be directly connected to the tip of my prick and both the biting and the thing he was doing with his tongue were driving me wild. He leaned further across so as to do the same to the other nipple. This time I determined not to cry out, to take whatever is was he could give me. He bit harder and harder but I clenched my teeth together and held it in. When he finally stopped I gave out a sigh of relief. He sat up a bit and looked me in the face. I looked straight back at him, feeling slightly triumphant. Then he looked down at my prick, and, with the hand that had been cradling my balls, he gave it a squeeze as if checking whether it was still hard. This seemed to satisfy him as he leant back down again and did that trick with his tongue. As he had bitten harder this nipple was more sensitive and the little bolts of lightning that his tongue seemed to cause were completely delicious.

But then he did something really cruel. He sat up and, using the tips of his fingers, started to gently brush my body. Sometimes it was a bit ticklish but mostly it was completely amazing and was driving me crazy. In particular he would brush his fingers up the inside of my thighs, right to the top, letting the tips of his fingers just graze my pubic hair. He even brushed against my prick once or twice but not enough, nowhere near enough.

"For god's sake, Jerry," I said after a while, "that's far too teasy."

"I beg your pardon?" Jerry, or rather Master Jerry, asked and I realised my mistake.

"Please, Master Jerry, gay boy begs you to stop teasing," I tried.

"Does he indeed? And why should I?"

"I'll do anything, anything Master Jerry wants."

"Ah, but you'll do that anyway. You're my little gay boy and you'll do whatever Master Jerry wants, won't you?"

"Yes, Master Jerry," I croaked. I'd really got off on playing along with this gay boy thing and was so deep into role that I actually meant it. I mean, in real life, the idea that I would be Jerry's gay boy and do anything he ordered was completely laughable but, right there, right then, I would do anything, say anything, whatever he wanted.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" He held my prick with the tips of his fingers and started stroking.

"Oh, please, oh, yes, please, Master Jerry. That feels so good, oh please!"

"Does my gay boy want to come?"

"Yes! Oh, yes! Please!"

"Well, you'll just have to wait." To my amazement he stopped what he was doing and got off the bed.

"Jerry!" I all but screamed as he walked out of the bedroom. "Jerry, you bastard! Come back here!"

He poked his head back through the door. "I'm not sure you're in any position to be calling me names," he joked. "Now don't go away."

I could hear him pottering around, going to the bathroom and tidying up the lounge. He certainly wasn't in any hurry. After a while he returned to the bedroom and got undressed. I was expecting more teasing, and, in a way that is what I got because, to my amazement, he took the duvet and spread it over me before switching out the light and getting in to bed beside me.

"Goodnight," he said before giving me a peck on the cheek and rolling over as if going off to sleep.

"Jerry, please, this isn't funny," I said.

He rolled over towards me and snuggled up against me, resting his head on my outstretched arm.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

"Please, Jerry, I can't stay like this all night. Really I can't."

"And if I gave you the choice. Wank or untying, which would it be?"

I thought for a moment. "Can I have the wank, please?"

Jerry pulled down the duvet, wrapped his fist around my prick and, slowly and gently, started to wank it.

"Do you know my problem," he half whispered.

"No, what's your problem."

"I'm too soft on you. Now, lie back and enjoy."

It was gorgeous. Jerry really knew how to push my buttons. Not that they needed that much pushing, I was still pretty much on the edge. I have no idea how much was down to being tied up, how much was down to all the teasing and how much was down to the way that, on and off, I had been hard for most of the day, but, when I finally did come great sticky globs of thick white spunk shot all over me. The sense of relief was amazing, a high it took me quite a while to come down from. And then, when I did, there was Jerry with a big grin on his face.

"He gave me a few minutes and then he was reaching up and untying my arms.

"I thought you were going to leave me here all night," I said.

"What, and have your disgusting spunk covered body taking up all the available space. I don't think so. Fuck off to the bathroom and get cleared up."

And so I did.

********
Thursday
********

I ought to have known better, I ought to have listened to the weather forecast, and the shipping one at that. There were so many things I ought to have done and I did none of them. It was undoubtedly all my fault. But let's backtrack a bit to first thing Thursday morning. What with one thing and another, we had both overslept a bit and were in too much of a hurry even to have what had become our usual quick wank before getting dressed, grabbing a slice or two of toast for breakfast and making our way down to the bay where the boat was moored.

During the night the weather had changed. The stable high pressure that had given us all those long sunny days had given way to a depression moving in from the Atlantic bringing with it strong winds down from the Arctic. As I said, I should have listened to the weather forecast. Even going back to the cottage to grab a jacket each would have helped but, as I said, we were in a hurry.

With the weather so changeable, we decided we'd had enough of fishing and we'd prefer to take a trip down to Lamlash, another town on the Isle Of Arran, one which was actually bigger than Brodick, not that that's hard. Lamlash is a 'no-take' zone so we left the rods behind and just went for the fun of it. I'd got out the charts and had a look. It was the thick end of ten miles and the little outboard was struggling against the choppy waves so it took us over three hours to get there. We had a quick lunch in the pub before deciding to head back again. The sky was a bit overcast but I didn't think it was that bad. Anyway, we'd be staying mostly inshore. Big mistake.

We were maybe two miles short of home when the rain started in earnest and, worse, the squally wind that came with it. The tide had also turned and the previously short, choppy waves had become larger, steeper, and harder to deal with. We were cutting across Brodick bay so the course lay maybe a mile or so out to sea with but then the wind and the tide started working against us to sweep us even farther out and we were losing sight of the shore. I wanted to alter course but, if I tried heading straight for the shore, we would be taking the waves side on and we'd be swamped in no time. I had to point the bow of the boat into each wave as it came and then make my way toward the shore as we slid down the other side. Each wave became a challenge as I struggled to meet them right, zig-zagging enough to make some headway but not so much that we got swamped. I was so busy steering that I hardy noticed Jerry until, as we climbed a particularly big wave, I called out to him and he didn't respond. I couldn't really leave the tiller but, by timing it right, and choosing the gaps between the waves, after four or five attempts I managed to pull him to the back of the boat next to where I was sat. He was drenched to the skin, as cold as ice, his speech, when I could get anything out of him, was slurred and his attention kept wandering. It didn't take even the minuscule first aid training I had done to diagnose hypothermia.

I began to despair. By my own stupidity, by not checking the weather, or even asking one of the locals, I had put us both in danger. What is more, because we had planned to hug the coast I hadn't even bothered with my mobile and had no way of calling anyone. I had to do the best I could, it was all going to be down to me as Jerry was in no state to do anything. Maybe it was because I was concentrating so hard on steering that the hypothermia hadn't got to me as well. There was a piece of old tarp in the bottom of the boat, not much but better than nothing. I got Jerry up on the seat next to me and wrapped the tarp around him and then, wave by wave, knocked back by the wind and the rain, we inched towards the coast.

It took two more hours to make it home. Two hours of struggling against weather I should never have gone out in. Two hours before we reached the shelter of the shore and the end was in sight. As soon as we were home I tied up the boat, half helped and half carried Jerry to the cottage and set about making him well.

Dry and warm, that was the thing. Dry and warm. The heating in the cottage was pathetic but I switched it all on anyway. Then I stripped off Jerry's sodden clothes and rubbed him down with a towel. While I was doing this something came back from my Duke Of Edinburgh's Award scheme training where we had dealt specifically with hypothermia. I could hear the instructor as plain as day saying 'Your own body can be the best heater there is. If all else fails, get in the same sleeping bag as the patient'. I took Jerry to bed, stripped off, towelled myself down and got in beside him. There was no mucking about this time, we may have both been naked together but there was nothing even the slightest bit sexy about any of this. I just held him and hugged him tight as we cuddled under the duvet and waited for us to warm up.

After what seemed like forever Jerry shifted in my arms.

"I thought that would never end," he said groggily. "What a trip!"

"I'm so sorry, so, so, sorry," I replied.

"Why should you be sorry? You're the one who brought us home."

"But I should never have let us go out in the first place."

"Shh, you're my hero, my brave captain who brought us through the storm." He snuggled in closer and lay against my chest. "I could just lie here forever."

Grateful that we were both there, alive, I hugged him back. He turned his face towards me and, as we looked at each other, it was all different. Something had changed. He was still Jerry, still my best mate and mucker, but there was something else as well. He reached up and kissed me. For half a second I fought it. Kissed by a guy! But half a second was all it took before I kissed him back and that was it. It was like when you look at clouds and, suddenly, they look like a bird or a castle or whatever and you can't ever imagine how you didn't see it before. All my feelings towards Jerry made sense now. Not just the sex, although that was part of it, but the way I didn't feel whole unless he was around. The way that his joys, his highs, and his lows, were mine as well. I knew it was going to be complicated but that didn't matter. The one thing that mattered, the only thing that mattered was us. I broke away from the kiss and looked him in the eye.

"I love you," I said, and boy did I mean it. I'd never had a clue what the word even meant before that.

"I love you too. Always have, always will. If you knew how long I've been waiting to hear you say those three words," Jerry said back at me. "I didn't dare say it first. I was so scared, so scared you'd hate me."

"Hate you? Why on earth would I do that?"

"Well, you kept telling me you're not gay. Even when you were sucking my prick you were telling me you're not gay."

"Do you know," I laughed, "I think I might have been wrong. I think I might be gay after all."

And then it was back to holding each other. There was nothing else to say, not for a while, anyway.

In the end it was hunger that got us back out of bed. Now that we were warming up our bodies were telling us how long it had been since lunch and we badly needed some food. There was a can of soup in the cupboard so I got out of bed and went and warmed it up. I threw on a sweater but didn't bother with anything below the waist. I had nothing to hide from Jerry, not any more. I loaded up a tray with the soup and bread and took it back to the bedroom. There we polished it off and put the dirty dishes to one side. At some point we'd do some washing up but that could wait. First of all we had some serious kissing to do.