Fishing for a Trophy

My wife and kids were making the annual pilgrimage to visit the in-laws back in Chicago. Two weeks in mid-July in the sweltering windy city – not my idea of summer vacation. Not even a few nights inside the friendly confines watching the Cubs break the hearts of the city could make up for the torture of spending two weeks with Nanny and Pappy.

Lucky for me, I had a scheduling conflict. I’m a lawyer in Denver and a big case I had been trying for several months was locked in deliberation. Knowing the decision was likely to be adverse to my client, we were working up several appeal strategies.

“Sorry, honey,” I had argued. “But you know it’s this job that lets you and the kids take these leisurely summer vacations, pays for their private school, and keeps you in designer fashions.”

“Well don’t work too hard,” she had consoled as she pecked me on the cheek at the airport. “And remember to mow the lawn.”

What a wonderful wife! She really was quite a catch, a college cheerleader at University with a killer body, super-model good looks, and a never-ending devotion to our family. Unfortunately, the beautiful package hid a sad secret – she was a wet fish in the bedroom. Straight missionary with the lights off, my penis firmly wrapped in a plastic raincoat. Our lovemaking was regular as clockwork, once a month – even if it meant canceling her bridge club.

Unbelievably, I had never cheated on her. I was a second string quarterback in college and the senior class president. Blessed with rugged good looks and an athletic body, I had never lacked for the attention of the ladies. But since our marriage, I had been devoted to our family and my job, leaving little time for carnal pursuits.

That’s not completely true. I have a very active fantasy life and love to masturbate. My hand has replaced my wife’s pussy on an almost daily basis the last ten years of my life. I travel a lot with my law practice, and I really enjoy checking out the adult bookstores, pay-per-view hotel skin flicks, and live sex clubs in the cities I visit. My mental inventory of smut and perversion provides me an endless supply of stroking material. Rarely does a day pass that I don’t uncork a load or two in the executive washroom at work.

In fact, after I dropped the family off at the airport on Sunday afternoon, I hit one of the local purveyors of filth and bought a two-week supply of dirty magazines and DVDs to enjoy on my “working vacation”.

Getting home, I popped in a gonzo cumshot DVD, poured a glass of Merlot, and spread my work out on the living room table, planning to mix a little stroke session in with my case preparations.

I have to admit, I am fascinated with head. I love watching beautiful women deepthroat well hung men. A long, thick cock stretching a petite hottie’s mouth is pure art. Her eyes watering as she forces the length down her straining throat, I often imagine the intense longing and lust she must feel for the stud’s throbbing tool.

My dick is an average 6.5 inches, but I could model for Viagra. Ever since I was a kid, I could pop wood at the drop of a hat and my boners are frighteningly hard. I only wish I had another couple of inches. I imagine that a solid eight or nine inches could do for my wife’s libido what years of begging have failed to accomplish – turn her into a raging nymphomaniac.

As usual, the files on the table went unattended as I focused my attention on the widescreen TV. My fly unzipped, I fished out my balls and kneaded them tenderly as I stroked my hard-on, watching starlet after starlet reap the rewards of their hard earned work. A particularly naughty brunette was lapping the stray bullets of jizz off her abnormally well-endowed breasts when the phone rang, snapping me back to reality.

“Hello,” I stuttered, reaching for the mute button on the TV, my other hand still wrapped firmly around my raging boner.

“Hey, Curt, good news old buddy.” It was my partner at the law firm.

“What’s up Charlie? I was just looking over some of our draft briefs,” I replied.

“Well toss those in the trash, get a good nights sleep, and be in Judge Cornwallis’s court at 9am tomorrow. Word is, the jury is in and the verdict looks good.”

Stunned, I congratulated Charlie and hung up.

Hot damn. Returning my attention to a tight bodied blonde bartender that had served two horse hung studs a couple of beers and was now on her knees servicing them in a much more personal way, I let the good news sink in. We had won, but more importantly, I had a two-week free pass – no family and no work obligations.

As the bartender turned slut took turns throating the two strapping patrons, I picked up the pace on my own throbbing woody. Torn between the two cum spickets, unwilling to miss a single drop of their precious fluids, she grabbed a beer glass from the bar and held it between her tits as the customers deposited her hard earned tip on her exposed breasts. As the dripping cum from her chest found its way into the mug, I grabbed my own wine glass and with a final jerk shot my load into the empty goblet, thick frothy cream mixing with the last drops of red wine, creating a rose colored roux.

Raising her glass in salute, she downed the thick spunk, her tongue coaxing the final drops from the bottom of the upturned crystal, a look of pure satisfaction spreading across her face.

Caught-up in the perverted moment, I too raised my cum filled wine glass and toasted my firm’s victory, throwing back my head and drinking deeply of my own special vintage. I had never tasted my own cum - salty, thick and creamy, with a hint of pepper and citrus; not at all unpleasant.

As I slumped back on the sofa, smacking my lips, my spent cock deflating, I could only chuckle. Damn, I am one sick puppy.

As Charlie had predicted, the jury found in our favor. To celebrate, we gave the entire office the week off.

Rather than catch the next flight to Chicago to join the family, I decided to take a few days off and head to the mountains for some much needed R&R. I called my wife and told her the good news.

“So you can come to Chicago then?” she queried.

“I need to close a few loopholes here in Denver,” I lied. “I will fly up next weekend.”

I packed my camping and fishing gear in the SUV, ecstatic that I would have four days alone, just me and the pristine Rocky Mountains. A backpack, a tent, a fishing pole, and a week’s supply of porn magazines – what more could an ardent outdoorsman and card carrying pervert ask for?

I pulled into a remote trailhead in the San Juan range of southwestern Colorado about sunset, the only vehicle in the parking lot. I pitched the tent and organized my backpack before hitting the sack, eager to get an early start in the morning. The plan was to hike along Cibola Creek to the stream’s source, Emerald Lake and pitch camp. I had heard great things about the lake and was looking forward to landing a big trophy trout to mount on my office wall. I would have three days to explore the area, catch fish, and catch up on my “professional reading”.

The hike was demanding and I reached Emerald Lake about 2pm. After setting up camp well back from the lake under some towering pines, I stripped off my sweaty clothes and took a cooling dip in the crystal blue water. Grabbing a cigar from my pack and a smut magazine, I reclined on a big granite boulder to enjoy the serenity and beauty of the high mountains.

I was literally miles from the nearest paved road, alone in the wilderness. I didn’t expect to see anyone for the next three days and felt comfortable lounging in the warm afternoon sun in nothing more than my birthday suit.

As I thumbed through the porn rag, analyzing the hot erotic stories and studying the smoking pictorials, I stroked my stiff dick. I could handle this kind of work, I smiled to myself, as the sun tanned my exposed body. Too bad I didn’t have a wife willing to share my lust for the outdoors and dirty sex, but I did have my old friend, five-fingered Rosie. Rosie was going to get quite a workout this week – to quote Jackson Browne, “It looks likes it’s me and you again tonight, Rosie.” And tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon, and tomorrow night…well, you get the picture.

About two-thirds of the way through the magazine, I came upon an incredible pictorial spread. A gorgeous blonde with a firm round butt and six-pack abs was fucking two incredibly well endowed studs in the great outdoors. The storyline was evident; the woman’s car had broken down in the country and two mechanics had arrived to tune her engine. It was clear the men had brought the appropriate tools based on the dreamy smile spreading across the stranded maiden’s cute face as she wrenched their inflating peckers from their denim overalls.

As usual, I became infatuated with the stunning pictures of the little hottie struggling to pleasure the two large cocks, her petite hand not reaching fully around their impressive girth. Straining to ratchet open her jaw, she took turns working the mechanics’ tools down her talented throat, bringing each prick to full attention.

The photography was excellent and in the bright afternoon sunshine, I could see the intense look of desire building in the blonde’s eyes as the men achieved full erection. Squatting between the two, her pussy gleamed in anticipation of fucking the helpful duo. Oh that my wife could be driven to such sexual heights by merely giving head. I deeply envied the men’s towering proportions, confident that such dimensions were the holy grail of a repressed and boring sex life.

Unbelievably, the little vixen took the two massive cocks at once, one stuffed in her tight little backdoor, the other pounding her dripping snatch. Her cries of ecstasy leapt from the pages as the two big dicks drilled her hard. As I thumbed pages to the ultimate climax, I jerked my pathetic boner as I lay prone on the warm rock.

Ultimately, the two studs withdrew and blew thick, frosty loads all over the eager blonde’s smiling face, her tongue lapping at the stray jets of jizz, the excess puddling between her tits and dripping down her tight tummy.

Rosie picked up the pace and I blew a hot load of spooge all over my own exposed belly and chest. Resting my head back against the rock, I exhaled deeply, my heart beating wildly. Remembering the taste of my cum from the other night, I used my fingers to scoop up the sticky cream and licked them clean. Fuck I wish my wife would learn to love my special sauce – I already thoroughly enjoyed the salty treat.

Exhausted from the hike and a warm glow spreading through my body from my masturbatory success, I dozed off, the remnants of my ejaculatory bliss drying to a crust on my naked torso.

Startled by a splashing sound, I awoke to find a fisherman standing on the lakeshore, not twenty yards from where I slept, reeling in a large rainbow trout, it’s gymnastic struggle for freedom creating the loud ruckus.

As the fellow landed the big fish, he turned to face me. “Sorry to wake you up buddy, but these fish have no manners.”

Still half asleep, I realized I was completely nude. I reached for the only cover handy, the porn mag, and awkwardly tried to cover my exposed crotch.

“Looks like you been having a little fun too,” the stranger chuckled, as he unhooked the fish and dropped it in his creel. “At least I won’t go hungry tonight,” he smiled.

As I struggled to awake fully, my eyes focused on the fishing intruder. He was a little younger than me, probably in his late twenties. In a t-shirt and shorts, he handled his fly rod like an experienced outdoorsman. Several days’ growth of stubble framed his rugged and tanned face; a pair of well-used hiking boots his only other article of clothing. His physique was incredibly athletic, standing well over six feet he appeared chiseled from the local granite.

“Jake Smirnoff,” he offered, patting himself on the chest. “Good to meet you.”

“I, uhhhh, well……” I stammered, trying to regain my composure.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that, but I hooked the big rainbow over behind those trees and he pulled me your direction.” Trying to ease my embarrassment, he added, “Bet that warm sun sure feels good on your exposed skin. I sunbath nude whenever I get the chance.”

“Sorry,” I tried again. “You just startled me. I’m Curt,” I offered, still embarrassed, Jake’s steely gray eyes not leaving my nearly nude body.

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jake continued. “Looks like you work out a little.”

“I try,” I answered, unsure of where this conversation was headed. “I assumed I was all alone up here.”

“Just you and some intellectual reading material,” Jake joked, motioning toward my smut rag turned loincloth. This guy was not going to let me off easy - he appeared to be enjoying my discomfort.

“Yea, I uhh, just found this down by the lake. Some pervert must have dropped it to lighten his load.” As I stood up, the magazine dropped from my lap.

“Well Curt old buddy, it looks like you recently lost a load as well,” Jake smirked, nodding toward my now fully exposed dick, dried cum streaking my belly and crusting my flaccid pecker.

Unable to respond, I blushed bright red.

In a casual manner, Jake dropped his fishing gear and pulled his sweaty t-shirt over his head, revealing his massive chest and sculpted abs, covered in a fine fur. “Mind if I use your private pool for a cooling dip?” he asked, bending to untie and remove his boots.

“The National Forest is for everybody to enjoy,” I replied jokingly, trying to regain some control. “The water feels….” I trailed off as Jake stood and peeled off his shorts, his schlong slowly unfolding, gravity pulling his plum shaped head toward the ground as his length unfurled, framed magnificently between his muscular thighs. Even soft, his dick was huge and I was struck speechless.

“The water feels what?” he asked, gently tugging his balls as he freed his package from the confines of his shorts. “I don’t know about the water, but the cool mountain breeze feels great on my nuts.”

Leaving his clothes on the big boulder, Jake strode toward the water, his cock swinging mightily, reminding me of an elephant’s trunk. I was mesmerized, unable to take my eyes off his incredible tool as he slowly made his way into the lake. As he moved into deeper water, his tool slowly disappeared beneath the blue waves, the hypnotic power of his giant snake releasing me. I watch a lot of porn, and I don’t know that I have ever seen such a big, beautiful dick.

Jake dove under the water, reappearing several yards out in the lake.

“Great!” I shouted, the spell finally broken.

“What?” Jake queried.

“The water feels GREAT!” I finally finished my original thought.

“Yes it does,” Jake replied. “Why don’t you join me? Looks like you could stand a little bath yourself.”

My knees weak and my heart pounding in my chest, I longed to see more of his beautiful cock. A dick like that must drive women insane with pleasure. I tried to picture it hard and throbbing, but my limited imagination could not fathom the awesome power of such a fine piece of meat. He must have women eating out of his hand, I thought.

Hell, as far as men went, I guess he was actually pretty handsome as well. He had that rugged Marlboro man look about him and not an ounce of fat on his muscular frame. What a lucky motherfucker, I thought, shaking my head as I willed my legs to work, propelling me towards the water.

“Hope you don’t mind me setting up camp here for the night?” Jake asked as he splashed in the water. “I know you probably wanted your privacy up here, but I will pack up and move out in the morning.”

True, I did hope to have the lake to myself, but the appearance of this well-hung Adonis had scrambled my brains and I wasn’t at all sure what I wanted anymore.

“No problem, Jake,” I replied, struggling to compose my sparkling wit and sense of humor. “Make yourself at home and let me know if I can be of any service. As concierge of the world famous Emerald Lake Hotel and Bath House, we aim to please.”

“Bath house, huh?” Jake snickered. “Didn’t they outlaw those dens of sexual perversion and deviance? Although a massage does sound pretty good after a hard day on the trail –preferably an all over body massage with special attention paid to my man muscle, if you know what I mean.”

This guy was a piece of work. His every sentence appeared tinged with sexual innuendo and perversion. I was really starting to like him. Shit, I would pay good money to watch this stud fuck a hot bitch. I needed to figure out a way to hook this guy up with my uptight wife – if his big cock couldn’t unlock her sexual passions, maybe she was beyond help.

Jake emerged from the water and picked up my smut mag, “You really like this shit, Curt?”

Loosening up and effectively already caught in the act, I answered, “Yea, I love sex, unfortunately my wife doesn’t – that leaves me at the mercy of the porn world and my well practiced hand.”

“So you masturbate a lot?” he asked, thumbing through the glossy pages.

“Pretty much daily,” I replied, again finding myself staring at his incredible package, seemingly unfazed by the cold lake water, immune to the shrinkage problems of we mere mortals.

“I prefer to find a willing participant or two to relieve my urges,” Jake said, adding, “A few of these guys could certainly fill the bill.”

Wow – did he say ‘guys’? Maybe he was referring to everybody, like ‘all you guys’. But wouldn’t he say gals, or chicks, or babes, or pussies, or some such manly reference. No way this stud was gay. With his looks and his giant package he could fuck any piece of tuna on the planet.

“Have you ever thought of cheating on your wife?” Jake continued.

“All the time,” I lied, trying to sound macho. “But honestly, I am a pretty devoted family man. I rely on a very active fantasy life to quell by my manly urges.”

As Jake thumbed through the magazine, his cock began to stir. “This is some pretty hot shit,” he said, waving the magazine in my direction. He was enjoying the same pictorial I had earlier beat-off studying.

Playing a wild card, I continued, “Yea, that little blonde is smoking hot.”

“She’s OK I guess,” Jake replied. “She really knows how to handle all that man meat.”

Shit, he was more impressed with the dicks than with the hottie. But who was I to judge, I was pretty fucking enthralled with those big dicks too – not cause I was gay or anything, just cause I wish I had a horse cock like those guys. But Jake truly did have a horse cock – why was he getting all hot over the two beefcakes?

Trying to ignore the obvious implications, I gave Jake the benefit of the doubt – like a driver of a fine automobile, he was just admiring the other drivers’ machines.

Putting the magazine aside, Jake gave his hardening dick a quick tug, “Oops. All that hardcore action is going to my head. I better set up camp and clean my fish. As thanks for sharing the lake, how about joining me for dinner?”

Still treading water, mostly to cover the embarrassment of my again hard dick, I replied, “It’s a date.”

A smile spreading across his rugged face, Jake replied, “I love first dates,” as he picked up his clothes and fishing gear, heading toward the north end of the lake.

Why the fuck did I say ‘date’? This wasn’t a date; it was just two fishermen getting together to share the fruits of their labor. I immediately regretted my choice of words, but as Jake disappeared around a stand of pines, I already longed for another view of his incredible banana.

As the sun began to set, the smell of wood smoke signaled that Jake was firing up the kitchen. Putting on a clean t-shirt and shorts, I grabbed a flask of 15-year-old scotch and a box of wild rice from my pack and made the commute to Jake’s campsite.