"Fuck, it's hot," Chris said.
"It's fucking hot," I agreed.
It was easy to hear that he was as frustrated as I was. At 26 and working as project managers, a good work/life balance is hard to achieve. It seems like problems only happen outside of "normal working hours". Both of us finally had a free weekend to pound the banks in search of bass and the fishing sucked. Work had been tough lately we were excited to finally get out. The weather, however, was not cooperating. Forecasts looked good all week, and our spot needs the wind blowing up against the banks to bring the baitfish shallow. The wind forecast didn't pan out. As a result, the bite is super slow. Not even a handful of catches between the two of us.
The lake campground we were fishing has a big section that is closed to camping because it floods regularly. Since its been closed for years, the road has been mostly wiped out. The concrete campsite pads and picnic tables are hidden in the trees and brush now, falling apart in disrepair. It has this post-apocalyptic feel, which makes me enjoy being there regardless of the fishing. All that makes for less fishing pressure, though, so I go there quite often.
Having little luck after three hours in the summer sun, we decide on a couple more casts before heading home. His honey-do list is calling and I'm hungry. So, we move along bank toward the parking lot.
A couple of small coves and a couple dozen casts later, I feel the familiar thump as a bass inhaled the jig I was bumping along the rocky bottom. A few heart thumping seconds and I land a decent largemouth. A quick photo and release, our spirits temporarily lifted. The excitement makes it tough to keep moving, but we press on into the last cove before parking lot. A hill rises and falls in our path, so we're still not able to see the cars.
Suddenly, a pair of large dogs bust out of the brush from behind, and Chris about leapt into the water. Startled, he wants to head out because he doesn't trust random dogs. We reel in and start walking, keeping some distance from the overly excited but friendly pups. I notice a shirtless guy up above, watching us.
"Must be his dogs?" I wonder aloud.
I look up at him and nod.
He throws up a half-smile and winks.
I quickly look away, an odd flush and flutter rippling through my stomach.
"The hell?" I mumbled breathlessly.
Normally I'm quite confident in any situation. Almost nonchalant to a fault. I'd consider myself 100% straight, even if I prefer porn with good looking, well hung men. Especially when the guy/girl ratio tips to the dicks! But something about this man and this situation has me twisted up. I've always loved the outdoors and constantly daydream about sneaking a camp in this closed section. Living naked a few days and fucking the chick(s!?) I coerce into coming with me constantly.
The guy chuckles a bit, breaking my thought process. He seems to notice my discomfort, and he is definitely taking some pleasure in making me uncomfortable.
He has to be ten years my senior, shirtless and tan, in the manner of a man who spends a lot of time at the lake and on the water, he stood watching us walk away. His hair was dark brown with sun-lightened highlights. Well-built, he stood about six foot, maybe more, a hunk of a man who laughs a bit, and I can feel his gaze as I leave.
Despite myself, I can't stop my head from attempting a sidelong glance back over my shoulder like a hottie in a short skirt had just passed me.
My imagining his gaze was not just imagined.
My cheeks heated when I saw that he was watching me. Just standing there, legs shoulder width apart and his toned arms hanging casually, in these tiny, loose, bright blue shorts. Bulging provocatively in front, they were a less-than subtle indicator of what hides beneath. I swear my 1/2 hard cock would drop out the leg!
He pushed his hips forward, and his cock head became clearly visible.
"Fucking turn away!" I think wrenching myself back into line.
"What is going on right now? Too much sun. That's gotta be it."
Shoring myself back up, Chris and I top the hill and make the short walk to the cars.
"Welp, that was mediocre," Chris said as he closed his tailgate.
"You caught more than I did," I replied.
"Yours was way bigger," he said, dejectedly.
"Ha! That's what she said!"
With a chortled laugh, Chris opened the door to leave. I dropped my sunglasses in my passenger seat. My gear stowed, i prepared to leave but my feet were oddly slow.
"You heading home?" Chris asked.
"I don't know, I may go try a few more casts," my reply sounded hollow to me.
Laughing, Chris said, "one measly fish and you've got the fever! See you later man," he said.
I waved and climbed into my car, but the keys stayed in my pocket. The image of his dick printing on the thin fabric of his shorts burned in my mind.
"I've got the fever all right."
Chris' truck rumbled off, and I sat.
"Could I really see his dick through those shorts, or was it all in my head?"
My own cock twitched at the thought.
"Why do I care? What the fuck, man?"
"Because I want to see it. If he didn't want people to see, why wear that?"
The battle raged aloud to an audience of none inside my car. Without too much of a fight from my more sensible side, the inner voyeur and the increasing strain in my shorts won out. If I wasn't free-balling, I'd be very uncomfortably snug in my boxer-briefs. I climbed back out of the car, and grabbed my baitcaster.
"Have to appear like i'm not trying to spy on him," I assured my conscience.
