Gone Fishing

As I walked through the woods with my best friend Jason and his father, I tried to count how many times we had walked this same route to the same spot at Long Lake. It had to be close to a couple of dozen times, having gone at least a couple times a year since I was 9, and that's been ten years.

One of these times would eventually be the last, because we were starting to go our separate ways, Jason and I. It was more of a natural thing, with Jason now starting his second year in college out in Colorado, that we were not quite as close. He had a new life of sorts out there most of the year, while I had stayed local in choosing college, mostly because of costs.

So I tried to treat each trip like it was the last, savoring every moment in the company of what seemed to be like my second family. Oh, I had a Mom at home, so it wasn't like I was an orphan, but my father had taken off long ago - just went out for a drive and never came back, like that Springsteen song went.

Jason was lucky. His father always came back, and although I always told Jason how lucky he was to have a father, I don't know whether he believed it or not. Perhaps he will one day when he's gone, but I hope that day never comes because I'll probably miss Will Simpson as much as Jason would, maybe more.

I've never been much for praying, but when I did back in my younger days I often wished that somehow I would get adopted my the Simpson family so that Jason's Dad would be mine too. I love the man, and as I've grown older that love has changed, evolving from a sort of hero worship to what it is now.

Will Simpson - Mr. Simpson to me then and now and probably forever - is talking with us as we walk down the trail, pointing out different varieties of tress and noting how a couple had fallen since our last visit. I'm nodding and paying attention, but more to Mr. Simpson than the foliage.

There was a time when he was twice my size, and while he still towers over us kids the differences aren't that great any more. At about 6'4" and around 200 pounds, Mr. Simpson has a few inches and a few pounds on me, and even thought he's about 50 he's still in great shape and still is athletic as ever.

Mr. Simpson looks stern and imposing - resembling Iron Man in a way with his bald head and muscular physique, but he's a teddy bear inside. Jason doesn't think so and claims he can be a hard-ass on occasion, but that's all right. He's a Dad and sometimes they have to remind you of what his and your responsibilities are. I guess that's the way it goes, but obviously I don't know for sure.

I'm just glad Mr. Simpson lets me hang around with them so much, especially on these little fishing trips. Jason doesn't seem to mind either, so it works out great for me. I don't even care that much about fishing. It's their company I enjoy most, especially Mr. Simpson.

As we fished, I wondered what Mr. Simpson would say if he could read my mind. Would he recoil at the things that go through my mind when I look at him? Does he know that, while maybe I'm not homosexual, I sure as hell am bisexual? If he did suspect that, would he expecting that his son was not the object of my desires?

Jason's not, although he's a lot like his father, a Will Simpson in miniature. I'm never felt anything toward Jason that's remotely sexual. Not like his Dad, and although I don't know when I started feeling this way, I do know that the feeling only gets stronger as time passes.

One thing I knew for sure, as I watched Mr. Simpson reel in another fish while we laughed and cracked open the celebratory beers he allowed us to have on these trips despite being a year or so shy of legal in that regard, was that I knew Will Simpson sure didn't have those feelings toward me. He was 100% straight.

"Gotta go," Mr. Simpson announced later in the day, and when he asked whether we wanted to join him only one of us did, and that of course was me.

It was a ritual of sorts, and back in the day it was all three of us whizzing away after making our way a good distance down and away from the water, but Jason had stopped joining us. I guess he felt weird taking a leak with his Dad but I sure didn't.

As we unzipped and let loose, I tried to make my staring not look as obvious as I feared it was, and could hope that it worked. There he was, Will Simpson, after giving his cock a couple of tugs, standing there with his hands on his hips waiting for the flow to start.

It was a thing of beauty, that much was for sure. I used to be terrified when I would glance over and see that enormous hose hanging out there. Medium brown and scary looking, and recalled thinking in my youthful ignorance that there was something wrong with it, because it didn't have a head on it like Jason and my dick had.

It doesn't scare me any more though. Like with our heights and weights, I've caught up somewhat with Mr. Simpson, and while I'm still not close to him size-wise I no longer hide myself when we go side by side.

I still lose in our contests, because he can whizz halfway across the forest with that weapon, but I came pretty close to beating him this time. I hoped he didn't notice that the reason was that I was beginning to get a hard-on while I went.

"Who won?" Jason asked when we got back.

"Guess," I muttered in fake disgust, although his father claimed that I almost dethroned him this time.

"Everything is falling apart on me," Mr. Simpson joked. "Comes with getting old."

We all chuckled, but while I want to tell him that he's not getting older, he's getting better, I don't. I also don't tell him that when I get home and am under the covers, I won't be thinking about the ones that got away while fishing, but about seeing that beautiful hunk of manhood once again and fantasizing about it doing other things besides peeing.

***

Months later...

The phone call came early in September, and when I heard the voice on the other end I feared the worst. It was Jason's Dad, and the only reason I could imagine him calling was that something had happened to Jason. To my surprise and delight, it had nothing to do with Jason.

"I'd love to!" I said when Mr. Simpson asked me if I felt like going fishing with him the next day.

"With Jason out west and all it's kind of lonely around here," he explained.

There was a Mrs. Simpson, but judging from what I witnessed and from comments Jason made in the past, they really didn't have much of a marriage any longer. Without Jason there, I suspect that hanging around the house wasn't all that much fun.

This was going to be strange, being alone with Jason's father, but I was looking forward to not having to share him with my friend, as selfish as it sounded. Because I was so fired up, I got a lousy night's sleep, but was raring to go the next morning when Mr. Simpson came to pick me up in his Range Rover.

From the second I hopped in the front seat I sensed something was different. Mr. Simpson seemed nervous, and while he was very friendly his manner seemed forced, as if he had something on his mind besides fishing.

"You know, some of the best times I've had have been with you fishing," Mr. Simpson said, and I noticed that he had gone past the turn off for the lake, but figured that maybe he was going a different route or maybe to another spot. "You and Jason of course."

"Same here," I said.

"In a lot of ways I've always thought of you as a son - a son I'd be proud to have," Mr. Simpson confessed, and then he put his hand on my knee and squeezed it lightly. "But I've often thought of you in a different light, do you know what I mean?"

"Uh - I'm not sure," I said, my eyes on Mr. Simpson's long fingers as he kneaded my leg as the Range Rover slowed and he made a right turn.

"If I'm wrong about this, I'm sorry, sorry beyond words," Mr. Simpson said as the car stopped, and when I looked up I was staring at a brown door with a gold number 8 on it. "But I've always felt that you had feelings for me too. Feelings beyond friendship."

I don't know what I looked like at that moment as it struck me that we weren't parked at the lake but were in front of a room at the Three Bears Motel, but when I looked over at Mr. Simpson he looked like I felt. I'd seen him happy, mad and every emotion in between but never like this. Never scared.

"Please say something," Mr. Simpson finally said after I sat there with my mouth open for the longest time. "Was I wrong?"

"No," I managed to say, my voice barely audible. "You weren't wrong."

"You don't have to, you know," Mr. Simpson said. "If you..."

"I want to," I said. "Just scared."

"Me too Steve," Mr. Simpson said. "Me too."

***

The motel was nearly deserted, which meant that no one watched as we entered the room with out luggage, which consisted of a little cooler that usually held a few beers and a container of bait. It didn't register until later that there was no bait in the cooler this time, and fishing was never on the agenda.

"Gotta go," I said after we entered the room of the dated motel room, even though I didn't.

I stared at the mirror, trying to keep from hyperventilating or fainting. I was 19 but was acting like a little kid. People do this stuff all the time, I kept telling myself, but that wasn't the case with me.

I had been with 2 guys in my life, but they were dudes my age. I had been propositioned once by an older guy but I chickened out, and now I wished that I hadn't because I was in way over my head.

Adding to my confusion was the realization that Mr. Simpson was no more straight than I was. Never in a million years would I have suspected that, and to think that he all those times I was looking at him and fantasizing, he was doing to same about me.

Even when I opened the door to rejoin Mr. Simpson, I half suspected this was some kind of joke. Jason's Dad did have a weird sense of humor, but when I saw Mr. Simpson sitting on the edge of one of the beds wearing only his boxers shorts, I knew this was for real.

"Here we are," Mr. Simpson said, rising up from the bed, and he looked even bigger without clothes as he stepped toward me.

"I wanted to do this for so long," Mr. Simpson said, and his hands were shaking when his hands came up and cupped my face.

When his lips met mine my knees buckled, not expecting this, but when I realized that this was no different that kissing a girl. I returned the passion, and after we separated it struck me that my first real kiss from a man had just happened.

"Haven't been with a guy since college," Mr. Simpson explained as he started unbuttoning my shirt. "Do you and Jason... sorry. None of my business."

"No, not me and Jason" I said quickly. "I've only been with two guys. Not really sure about - I don't know. Myself?"

"Me too obviously," Mr. Simpson said with a nervous chuckle as the last button came free and he pulled my shirt off my shoulders and ran his hands over my smooth, scrawny chest. "Nice."

"Can I hug you?" I said timidly, and after he nodded and opened his arms I found myself leaning into Mr. Simpson chest.

Like a cloud. That was the way the mat of hair on Mr. Simpson's chest felt again my smooth skin as we embraced. The thick billowing hair, which was all dark brown when I first started noticing things like that, now had a little silver mixed in, but what I relished was the feel. I had always wanted to run my hands through the rich pelt to see what it felt like, but one doesn't do that to a friend's father. However, here in Room 8 it was different

While I held Mr. Simpson I felt his hands down at the button of my shorts, undoing them, and after they came loose and dropped to the worn carpet, Mr. Simpson's long bony fingers were squeezing my butt through the cotton of my briefs while pulling me tight against him.

Was I supposed to do something? All I wanted to do was hold Mr. Simpson just like this, reveling in the feel of our bodies together. I wasn't hard, but not because I wasn't excited. I was scared, and even though Mr. Simpson was nervous too, he still intimidated me, and not just because he was a head taller than me.

I let my hands slide down Mr. Simpson's back until they got to the elastic of his boxers, and I heard Mr. Simpson take a deep breath through his teeth when I started doing to his butt what he was doing to mine.

"Want to see you - all of you," Mr. Simpson was saying as he stepped back from me and sat on the bed behind him.

His hand rubbed my limp dick through the cotton before coaxing them down over my pubes and freeing my dick, and as he worked the underwear down my thighs he leaned down and kissed the head of my dick.

Naked except for my socks, I looked down and watched Mr. Simpson's fingers grab my dick and give it a couple of pulled before taking me in his mouth. My hands went to his bald head, gently rubbing the smooth skull while he sucked on my dick.

"Probably not doing this well," Mr. Simpson said after lavishing affection on my flaccid tube without getting any reaction. "Been a while."

"No - it great," I said. "I'm just scared - nervous."

"I'm nervous too Steve," Mr. Simpson said. "But don't be scared of me. Please. I love you.

He rose and kissed my forehead and gave me a smile, and I found myself going down to my knees on the threadbare rug like I had dreamed of doing so many times before. My hand went to the bulge that snaked down the right leg of the boxers, and when I touched it I could tell Mr. Simpson was hard.

Hard and excited about being with me, and as my fingers went down the bulge - so far that it was almost sticking our of the end of the leg of the boxers - I felt my dick start to stiffen. I tugged the boxers down, past the salt and pepper bush that grew wildly above his manhood, and then I started to expose his cock.

I thought it had looked huge when I would stand next to it in the woods, but that was nothing compared to the way it looked as I eased the boxers down along the length of his cock as it stayed pinned against the fabric.

How could a man be so large, I wondered as the thick shaft of his manhood was exposed, the thick vein that meandered down the top seeming to be twitching, and then came the outline of the head of his cock, visible under the dusky foreskin.

Finally, I got the boxers down from Mr. Simpson's cock, and as I ducked away his erection rose like it was being jacked up, his manhood lurching up in a series of bobs until it stood straight out in front of him.

Only the very tip of his glans was visible from the end of his long foreskin, and as I took the boxers from around his ankles I glanced at the underside of his mighty organ and shuddered at the veiny undercarriage and the sight of his balls, which hung low in an over-sized pouch.

My right hand came up and took Mr. Simpson's cock by the base of the shaft, my fingers not even close to meeting. I could feel the blood surge through his member as I held it in my grasp, the organ very warm to the touch. My left hand joined my right, and as Mr. Simpson's hand ran through my hair I opened my mouth.

Unlike the other two cocks that had been in my mouth, I had to stretch my jaws to the limit to make sure my teeth didn't scrape Mr. Simpson's cock. My lips went down to the ridge of the head before retreating and after I pulled my lips back to the end I wiggled my tongue into the opening, tasting the pre-cum that I had coaxed out.

I started to move my lips down the dusky shaft a little further each time, but it was clear that I would never be able to get more than half way down. I took one hand down between Mr. Simpson's thighs, which he bowed apart to make his balls available.

I was shocked at the size of his nuts, which were pretty much the size of mine, only they hung in a incredibly long and loose sac. I rolled the ping-pong sized orbs in my hand, and as I did Mr. Simpson's hand came down and covered mine, clamping down hand and making it clear that was the way he liked them handled. Rough, and though I didn't want to hurt him, I learned that didn't seem to be possible.

So I squeezed his balls, kneaded them roughly and damn near twisted them into knots while continuing to suck on his cock, and all the while he told me how good it felt. Then I felt myself being lifted upwards and pulled on top of Mr. Simpson on the bed.

He rolled me over onto my back and started kissing my neck and collarbone while grinding his body into mine. I felt our cocks, both now very hard, rubbing against each other while Mr. Simpson nuzzled into my neck and nibbling my shoulder, even pushing my hand up above my head and licking the sparse spray of hairs hidden in the hollow before working his way down my body.

My cock was so hard that it was arched back against my stomach, and I felt Mr. Simpson pull it upright as he leaned across me. His broad and muscular back hid what was happening below, but when I felt my dick being taken into a wet and warm place, I knew what was going on.

Up and down the length of my cock I felt Mr. Simpson's lips travel, and each time he got down to the base he shook his head and sucked hard before his mouth went back up to the tip. He was having no problem deep throating me, and with his hand milking my nuts it wasn't long before I was about to cum.

I cried out, trying to warn him while clawing at his back, and then I erupted, with Mr. Simpson swallowing and siphoning out the seed from one of the most intense orgasms I had ever experienced. Even after I went limp he continued to suck my cock, pulling and stretching out my flaccid tube with his mouth while my hands stroked his back.

Even through the pelt of hair that coated Mr. Simpson's back I could see the scratches I had caused when I came, and apparently what I was doing with my hands met with Mr. Simpson's approval because he leaned back and let out a sigh.

"That's nice," Mr. Simpson said as my hands went over his back and shoulders, kneading the muscles that were rock hard under my fingers, and he leaned back even further so I could kiss the back of his neck.

That also allowed me to reach around and grab his cock, which was hard and curled up toward his stomach, and as I stroked his huge manhood he told me how much he was enjoying my touch.

"Glad the hair doesn't bother you," Mr. Simpson said, and then he proceeded to tell me how Jason's Mom over the years had come to loathe his hirsuteness, even suggesting he get the fur professionally removed.

"Can you imagine how long that would take?" Mr. Simpson laughed, and all I could say that I thought hairy guys were really sexy, and it was once of the things that always excited me about him.

Still slowly jacking him off, I let Mr. Simpson reach his arm back around me and bring my face to his chest. His nipple was in that thick mat of silver and black, and when my mouth found the plump bud I sucked on it hard, Mr. Simpson's groan telling me all I needed to know about how that felt to him.

I kept sucking and as I did he started to thrust himself into my hand, but I didn't want him to cum like that so I eased my grip and slowed my stroke while biting his nipple playfully. My finger slid up to the tip of his cock, which was dripping pre-cum, and as my digit rubbed the opening Mr. Simpson let out a groan and told me I was driving him crazy.

"Am I too heavy on you?" he asked, since he was draped partly across my chest, but I was relishing the feel of his body on mine so much that I didn't even notice his bulk.

Just to the side of the nipple I kept gnawing on, my eyes drifted up to the thick tuft of hair that filled his armpit, and as I looked I remembered that time a while back that we were all screwing around down by the lake and Mr. Simpson had put me in a headlock.

I recall Jason laughing and telling his father that it was gross, but it was anything but that for me. Mr. Simpson had been wearing a tank-top, and during the wrestling my face had gotten turned around so that my face was buried under his arm.