Laurel Creek Journal

"Would you teach me how to fly-fish?" asked Amy. "I'm pretty good with a spinning rod, but I've never tried fly-casting. It looks so... so... I don't know, artistic, maybe. It's like, more beautiful than it needs to be to catch fish, if you know what I mean."

"Because Brad Pitt does it, is that why?" I asked, with a little snark.

"Well, maybe that has something to do with it," she said with a grin. "Still, I would like to learn, and since Brad Pitt isn't around, maybe you could teach me. How about tomorrow?"

"Okay, I'll teach you on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to wear clothes."

"Aw, come on, don't you like seeing me naked?" she replied, with mock consternation.

"If you're standing naked next to me, there's no way in hell I can concentrate on fishing. If you're a good student and learn to cast well, then you can go naked."

"Okay, but if I catch a fish, you have to get naked too. Deal?"

"Okay, I guess so." (Right now I was picturing both of us naked with my cock inside her, her long legs wrapped around me and.........)

"It's a deal, I'll be up to your camp bright and early in the morning."

They gathered up their gear by the light of the campfire to head back to their own campsite, then realized they didn't bring a flashlight. It was long past dark, and even though the moon was almost full, some clouds had moved in about dusk and it was too dark to see the trail.

"How are we going to make it back to camp?" This from Jeanie, who couldn't believe that Amy didn't think to bring a flashlight -- she was the one who was always prepared.

"You probably won't make it halfway before the bears get you," I said. "But in the dark, at least you won't have to watch the bear chew your leg off."

Amy giggled, but Jeanie socked me in the shoulder with her fist.

"Okay, chivalry is not dead in the south. I'll walk you back to camp."

I got my headlamp on and had them get on either side of me -- arm in arm like I was escorting two girls to the Prom, and we headed up the trail. It was slow going since the trail was rough and rocky and I kept having to switch between putting the light at our feet so we could see where to step, and shining the path ahead to see what was coming next. And I was in no hurry because they were both sticking close and bumping into me -- I could feel Jeanie's pillow-soft breast against my left arm every few steps, and Amy's warm hands clutched my other arm. Feeling bold, I slipped my arm around her back, and when she moved closer and put her arm around me, I slid my hand down to the small of her back, with just the fingertips sliding into the waist of her shorts.

Warm, bare skin. Two beautiful girls. Big soft breasts brushing against my arm. I felt a hardening in my crotch, the beginning of a tent in my shorts. This camping trip was taking an unexpected turn toward the kind of fantasy you read about in Penthouse, and never expect to experience in real life. I wanted to slide my hand further down into Amy's shorts, caress her ass, but I was afraid of crossing a line and going too far.

We reached their tent about the time the tent in my shorts reached full peak. I let go of Amy and shined the light so she could retrieve both their flashlights from the tent.

Jeanie hugged me and said "Thanks for walking us back, you're a real gentleman." Then she took her flashlight and headed on past the tent. "I really have to pee; I'll be back in a little bit."

I flicked off my light and Amy and I stood in the darkness as Jeanie's light moved on up the trail.

"Alright, fly-fishing pupil, I'll see you in the morning bright and early."

"Not unless you give me a goodnight kiss first," she replied.

"You're pretty demanding for someone who just had to be walked home because you forgot a flashlight."

I pulled her close and kissed her, and the sexual tension that had been building up between us all day exploded into pure lust. We kissed like hungry animals, trying to devour each other. My headlamp clattered to the rocks as she clutched the back of my head. My hands went to her ass, squeezing her buttocks and pulling her against me, my hard-on now raging again and pushing against her belly. Our tongues searching, exploring, tasting, making love. I slid my hands down inside her shorts, underneath her panties, and felt the smooth bare cheeks of her ass.

She slipped her hand between us and felt my erection through my shorts, as I ran both hands up underneath the front of her shirt and caressed her bare breasts, rolling the nipples between thumb and forefinger -- they were instantly hard and begging to be sucked. I leaned down and sucked one into my mouth -- first the nipple, then the whole breast -- as much of it as would fit in my mouth anyway, as she moaned and tightened her grip on my cock. I licked across her chest and tried to swallow the other breast the same way. She moaned louder, and I kissed her again, muffling the sound, feeling her moans now more than hearing them, as I slid my hands down inside the back of her shorts again, cupping her ass with both hands and almost picking her up off the ground, grinding my cock against her crotch.

We had just enough external awareness to sense that Jeanie's flashlight was coming back toward us again, and reluctantly broke off the kiss. She relinquished her grip on my cock, and I slipped my hands off her ass and just held her close. Another quick kiss, and I felt around on the ground at my feet until I located my light, and then another kiss on the forehead, and a whispered "Good night."

Laurel Creek Journal, July 4, 1993:

"Okay, with a spinning rod you are using the heavy weight of a lure or a sinker to pull out a very tiny, light line. With a flyrod, it's just the opposite -- you're using the weight of a heavy line to pull a very tiny, lightweight fly along with it."

We were standing next to a big, flat pool, with minimal current and no low-hanging trees behind us to snag a backcast.

"And with a spinning rod, you're putting all your energy into the forward cast; with a flyrod you have to keep the line moving through the backcast as well. And you have to use both hands -- the right hand moves the rod, but the left hand has to deal with line control -- pulling out line from the reel as you cast, and stripping in slack line off the water as you fish."

"You're making this sound awfully complicated," she said.

"Well, if pretty boy Pitt can do it -- I have faith you can learn."

"Hey, are you making fun of my heartthrob? Watch out, buster."

"Sorry."

I stripped out about 20 feet of line and tossed it into the quiet pool in front of us, and handed her the rod. "Okay, pick the line up off the water and cast it behind you, then just false cast back and forth to get used to the rhythm of casting."

She picked up the rod smartly, and the line hit both of us in the face, the leader wrapping around my neck, the fly that fortunately I'd had enough foresight to cut the hook point off of dangling at my chest.

Laughing: "That's what you get for making fun of Brad."

More serious: "Okay, this is not as easy as it looks. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Well, hold the rod off to the side of your body at a slight angle, so the line isn't moving in the same plane as your body," I said as I untangled the line from around us and tossed it back out in front. "And you stopped the cast before the rod even got vertical, so the line didn't have enough energy to get behind you."

On the next try the line went behind us, then back to the front, and she was actually false casting, in a manner of speaking. On every forward cast the line slapped the water in front of us, and on every backcast it smashed into the rocks behind us. Like almost every beginner, she was moving the rod in a 180-degree arc, and with too little power to keep the line in the air.

"Something doesn't feel right. Is the line supposed to be hitting the ground like that?" she asked.

"You're almost fly-casting -- we just need to tweak the timing a little bit. Here let me show you."

I moved in close and put my arm around her, and put my hand over hers on the rod grip. "I'm going to do the casting, I want you to turn and watch the line in the air as it goes back and forth, and just move with me."

I picked the line up off the water and shot it back behind, then powered a forward stroke just as the line straightened out in the air behind us.

"It's all about timing and the movement arc of the rod. The line follows the rod tip -- if you move the rod too far and point toward the ground, the line is going to follow and smack into the ground. If you stop the rod at the right place, but start the forward cast before the backcast has time to unroll, you meet yourself coming and going and have a big mess. And you have to have enough power and speed to make the line want to unroll."

I cast back and forth for awhile, with Amy watching the line intently. I cast the line to water in front of us, and stepped back. "Now you try it, and keep watching the line like you were doing."

She got a look of intense concentration on her face, like a batter on a 3 and 2 pitch with the bases loaded, and steadied her feet, took a deep breath, and started casting. And casting pretty well.

I took a few steps back and sat down on a big rock. "You're fly-casting," I said. "Just keep practicing until it feels comfortable."

She practiced for about 10 minutes; false casting 10-12 times and then laying the line out in front of her in a pretty good forward cast, over and over until she seemed to have a pretty good rhythm.

"Okay, now what?" she asked.

"There are two parts to fly-fishing," I said, "casting, and fishing. They aren't the same thing. Casting is all about getting the fly to go where you want it to. Fishing is about fooling the fish into thinking there is a tasty insect on the water free for the eating. And these fish in small streams are skittish -- you have to sneak up on them. If the fish see you, or see your fly line smack the water before they see the fly, you aren't going to catch them."

I pulled the leader in close and clipped off the dummy fly, and tied on a #14 parachute adams. "Now you're fishing with a sharp hook -- be careful."

We moved up to the next pool -- a fast riffle pool with no flat water.

She stripped out line and made 5-6 false casts, feeding out more line each time the way I had showed her, then made a decent cast into the upper third of the pool. Then waited.

"Where's my fly?" she asked.

"Exactly. Where's your fly?"

"Well?"

"Look downstream. Your fly and all your fly-line is trailing downstream. That's the thing about fishing in moving water -- you only get a few seconds of float before the current takes the fly and line downstream. That's where line control with your other hand is important."

I have to admit it was excruciating for the next hour -- watching a beginner fish -- resisting the urge to grab the rod and put the fly where it needed to be, and keeping the curses silent when a perfect pool was ruined on the first cast when the line smacked down hard through the middle of it.

But she gradually got better, and everything came together on a nice plunge pool with whitewater at the head and relatively flat, calm water below. She put the fly in the perfect spot just below the bubbles, and a 10-inch rainbow smacked it immediately. She played and landed it, and I took a picture of a proud fisher-girl with her first trout.

*************************

When we got back to camp Jeanie had their sleeping bags spread out on the big rock and was as naked as Eve in the Garden of Eden, her feet dangling off the side of the rock into the water and her beautiful tits hanging leisurely halfway to her belly button.

"I caught a fish!" said Amy excitedly, as she pulled off her top, releasing braless tits. Then her shorts, wet from wading in the creek, and her wet panties, peach-colored this time. "And Kevin has to get naked too."

I was a little nervous and embarrassed about this. I'm certainly not a prude, but going naked in public in daylight along a trail where I knew there were likely to be hikers (we had already seen a couple of groups of backpackers that morning) was intimidating.

I took off my shoes, then my shirt. Then hesitated. With Jeanie's tits on view and Amy's wet panties coming off, it suddenly occurred to me that I was on the verge of having a raging boner. Another thing to create embarrassment, naked here on the rock.

"Oh, come on, you promised," said Amy, as she moved toward me and reached for the snap on my shorts. "I'll take them off for you if you won't."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it." The last thing I needed was her hand anywhere near my crotch. I slid the shorts off and was nude in public in broad daylight with two hot naked girls for the first time in my life. Cold water; that's what I needed right now, I took two steps to the edge of the rock and made a cannonball leap into the deep pool. The icy water was refreshing, and instantly took care of the impending boner. As I surfaced, Amy landed a couple of feet away, splashing me in the face. We swam around for awhile, touching each other innocently underwater just in passing, legs brushing occasionally as we treaded water. Then not so innocently; I stood on the bottom in 5 feet of water as she wrapped her legs around my waist, arms around my neck, as I supported her with both hands cupping her ass cheeks, and we kissed. Passionately, dizzyingly. For long minutes we kissed. If not for the cold water, my cock would have been hard and would have been inside her.

"Let's get some sunshine and warm up," she said.

As we moved toward the rock to climb out, we were suddenly staring at Jeanie's naked crotch head on. She was lying on her back with a shirt over her face to block the sun, her legs bent at the knees and spread slightly apart, dark patch of hair between her legs, with long pink labia slightly spread apart, noticeable moisture glistening between the lips in the sunlight.

"Like the view?" Amy whispered, cupping my balls and what was left of my shriveled dick in her hand (as Seinfeld's George Costanza would say, "there was shrinkage").

"Have to admit I do," I replied.

"She's a sexy girl," said Amy.

"You're both sexy girls."

Her look told me that my comment was unnecessary, but appreciated anyway.

We sat in the sun on the edge of the rock with creek water dripping off, until we mostly dried off, then moved onto the sleeping bags next to Jeanie. I stretched out on my belly, wondering how much sun my pale body could take before getting burned. Amy got out some suntan lotion and rubbed it all over the front of her body. As I watched her fingers dimple the soft flesh of her breasts as she rubbed in the lotion, my dormant cock came back to life a little.

We lay there half-dozing for 20 minutes or so, when Amy woke up and turned over onto her stomach. "Would you rub lotion on my back?" she asked.

She reached over lazily and handed me the bottle of lotion with a smile.

I scooted over and squirted a big dollop of lotion down her back, then started rubbing it all over her back, the back of her arms, the back of her neck. Then I ran a squirt down one leg, coating her thighs, rubbing it into her calves, and then massaging it onto the bottom of her foot. Then I did the other leg, then hesitated. She already had a good bikini tan, but her ass was white as a sheet, and would easily burn if I didn't do my job. So I squirted a glob of lotion onto both cheeks, put the bottle down, and began slowly, sensuously rubbing it in. Using both hands, I massaged all the white skin that her bikini usually covered up. Well, almost all. With each circular pass on her buttocks, I squeezed her cheeks a little more firmly, and moved a little closer to the cleft between them, not touching her there, but teasing her -- teasing both of us, as my fingers slid down the inside of her butt cheeks, spreading them apart, giving me a view of her little pink asshole.

My dormant cock was dormant no longer -- it was fully recovered and banging against the side of my thigh as rubbed her ass. I got some more lotion on my fingers and ran both hands down her butt from her lower back, thumbs together at first, separating just slightly and passing within half an inch of her anus, then spreading her lower cheeks; pulling her pink pussy lips apart to show the wetness that was developing inside. I wanted to dive into all this pinkness, face first into her ass and her pussy, taste the wetness, feel the heat.

But I stopped with a final rub of lotion and a playful pinch of butt cheek, and lay back down, slightly crossing my legs and wondering what to do with this erection.

"Thank you," she said.

She raised up on one elbow and saw my hard-on. "What's this? It looks like somebody got over the frigid-water shrinkies."

"Sexy naked girls can have that effect."

She scooted closer and kissed me, and her hand went to my cock.

"I think we better get some suntan lotion on this thing before you get burnt." She got the bottle of lotion, squirted some into her palm, and the next thing I knew she was rubbing lotion onto my cock. I lay back and closed my eyes, blissfully contemplating the unreality of this situation; naked on a rock in the middle of the day next to Laurel Creek, a beautiful, sexy, younger girl that I had just met a couple days ago, with her hand on my cock. She was thorough and gentle, slowly rubbing the lotion all over my shaft, down onto my balls, coating my sack with more lotion and rubbing and caressing my balls, then a firm grip on my cock, sliding slowly from base to tip and back again.

Then again, slowly. Then again, a little faster. All pretense of putting on lotion was gone now -- she was giving me a hand job, and my erection was straining toward the sky. I pulled her close and kissed her, tongues swirling and sucking as her hand slid faster up and down my cock. I was in heaven as we kissed and she jacked me off, her grip getting firmer, her hand moving faster, our lustful kissing more intense. So close to cumming; my toes curling in the sunshine, the roar of the creek in my ears, the voices in my head, the voices...

Oh shit! The voices were real. Sing song voices, loud youthful voices, coming from down the trail. Lots of them -- yelling and joking and laughing. We both jumped up and ran toward the creek, waking Jeanie up as we went.

"We've got company," Amy said to Jeanie as we dove off the edge of the rock into the creek with a splash.

Jeanie splashed in a second later and we all swam out to the deepest part of the pool, trying to keep everything but our heads under the water. The first hiker came within sight a few seconds later. Then another, and another, and another. It was the Boy Scout troop I had cautioned the girls about the day before, finally arriving. At the worst possible time, it goes without saying.

Two adult scout leaders giving us the evil eye and at least 15 scouts, giving us somewhat different looks. We were mostly underwater, but the water was pretty clear, and the sleeping bags spread out and the clothing -- shirts, short, panties -- strewn out all over the rock made the situation pretty clear as well.

"Come on troop, let's move on up the trail," one of the scout leaders said, with a final disgusted but lecherous look back at the girls as he hustled the pack upstream.

We stayed in the water for another 10 minutes, wondering if another group of hikers was imminent. The girls thought it was funny, but I was kinda over the public nakedness and public sex fling; there were just too many people in the woods on the 4^th of July. We finally climbed out and took turns drying off with a towel that Jeanie had brought, and quickly put some clothes on.