Old Fisherman and the Lonely Girl
The Old Fisherman felt incredible lucky to housesit Harry's vacation place. It was out at the corner of the Cape, kind of a marshy region, where the Red Burn River spread out as it met the ocean. It was a magical place to catch bottom fish, flounder, plaice, and sole, with not much effort. Harry had a beat up skiff, but it was hardly necessary to use it. Fun though, because he could row leisurely down to where he could just hear the waves on the breakwater, a spot just before the river grew narrow and more swift. But there was this one fine eddy where the stuff fish liked to eat churned around and it was there he would drop anchor and drop a line.
Harry didn't usually give a shit about having the house watched. It was a beat up old shingled place, perfect for just letting it all hang out. But Harry had to go away and he had said that someone, probably kids looking for a place to drink and dope, had been leaving stuff in the place when he was away. He was mostly worried that some asshole would fall asleep with a doobie burning and set the place on fire.
"So, come on up and hang out for as long as you want, and see if you can't scare off these unwanted guests."
Piece of cake. The Old Fisherman gassed up the chevy pickup, leaving Sadie with the Honda and headed north. It was an easy drive. Picked up the key from the secret place and helped himself to some Sam Red Ale. Place looked okay. No obvious trashing. A Starbucks latte making a ring on the old hatch cover coffee table.
Nothing much to bother anybody for three days. Super quiet. Just the gulls and the wind. Some smooth, if unproductive fishing. He hadn't found the spot yet. But then....
On day four he had gone out really early. Wanted to catch the tide coming in, or rather, right at neap, so he didn't have to worry a lot about setting the anchor strong. It worked. He caught a flat fish and was looking forward to having it pan-fried for breakfast. Let himself in the kitchen door and stopped dead.
There were noises coming from the front room. Sexy noises. Now the Old Fisherman liked a good porno now and again. Sometimes it took something spicy to get him going, even with Sadie slurping his pecker while they watched. But he hadn't been watching anything here, much less leaving it playing all night or whatever.
But there were distinctly moans and groans coming from the front room. Well, Harry hadn't suggested that his place might be the local fuck palace, but it fit the picture. Still, how did they get in? He was sure he had left the front door locked. And whatever was still going on.... Loud.
The Old Fisherman picked up an axe from the pantry and crept into the kitchen. He'd love to surprise the crap out of these fuckers with their pants down.
He peeked around the arch into the family room that looked out over the marshes. A comfortable old Sears couch faced the big picture window. Someone was on the couch.
One
someone. College girl, probably, with thick messy dark hair and glasses. Pale with lots of freckles. Freckles all over, even down the long legs propped up on the coffee table on either side of an iPad. A pair of shorts were folded beside her with her undies neatly folded on them. She was still wearing a top. Looked like it was made out of red bandana cloth knotted above the belly button. But it was wide open and she was fondling a nice pale breast while her other hand was busy elsewhere. And it was really busy.
Her legs were spread and her sex was tilted up so the Old Fisherman could sometimes see how wet it was even from his cramped angle in the kitchen. Most of the fingers of her left hand were buried in it, and they were digging away for all they were worth, making very sexy wet sounds.
The iPad was playing a video of a muscular man with a very slick cock, and he was stroking it with some enthusiasm. No sound. His visitor was wearing earbuds, so she could clearly hear everything the man on the video was saying. To her.
But she wasn't really listening, because she was at the crest of cumming. She was just letting every ache and twinge in her belly trigger a deep groan. Which came out between constant pants as she struggled to reach the top, her hand whipping against her sex, the other hand diving to dip in the moisture there and then returning with slick fingers to twist a nipple.
"Oh, come on! Come
on
! Give it to me! I need it so
bad
. Come. Come. Come. Oh, yeah. That's got it. Here it is. Here it is. Ahhhhhhhhh."
The stud on the screen shot a rope of white that actually bathed the camera lens, and his uninvited guest knotted up into a long moan.
Now the Old Fisherman could have taken that lovely moment to pop out and confront this mostly naked invader. But he was too horny himself, and too curious to bounce into the room with an axe and a hard-on. So he waited.
And after a while she uncurled, took a sip of a fresh latte and quickly put her underwear and pants back on. He ducked behind the arch as she shuffled into her flipflops, picked up the iPad and left by the front door, locking it behind her.
"She has a key!"
He went and did what she had been doing. Only then did he cook his breakfast.
He "slept late" the next couple of days, actually waking up about seven, but she hadn't returned. The third day after a late night watching an old John Wayne western and drinking beer he heard the door clunk and lay there quietly, wondering if he had left anything in the family room that would clue her that he was there. He realized he didn't want her to know, yet. But he did want to peek again. So he waited until he was pretty sure she had her earbuds in and then crept out of bed.
This time she was watching two 'natural' women with plentiful hair everywhere. They were practically climbing inside each other. Swallowing nipples whole. Munching on thick slippery labia, two, three, four finger, fist. Mouths agape. Faces sweaty and red.
Meanwhile, his 'guest' had her knees well-splayed and she was churning away at herself, teeth bared, nostrils flaring. It was almost as though she was angry at her private bits, beating them up, slapping at them, digging in and twisting her hips up to meet her hand. Finally, she gave a little scream and sat frozen, her face red, her belly tight, fingers inside churning. Collapse.
He sneaked back to the bedroom and went to sleep. Beat off with some enthusiasm when he woke up.
Naturally, she was gone.
He assumed she came several days that week. He came out to the hall once. She was pretty close to finishing up because she was loud and announcing:
"Oh yeah! Oh yeah, I'm so close...oh yeah, here it is...no, wait...wait...not yet. Not...yet. Oh I can't....and, and, and, and, and..."
She yowled and the furniture rattled.
And he got so stiff it hurt, so he just let loose standing up; which almost made him black out. He crept back to his room and zonked out until noon.
In the evening, sipping an Adams pale ale he tried to figure the best way to take the situation up a notch. If he just popped into the room while she was patting the bunny she would likely freak and crash out of there never to return. A younger man might just take her however he wanted. But that just wasn't him. Finally, he came up with a plan.
He went fishing. Early. But he had her routine down well enough now that he knew she would show up right around 6:45. So he timed it so he would be coming up the path from the water, rod and bait bucket and creel in hand just as she was rolling up on her bike and unlocking the door. He could tell, even from a distance, that she was in a hurry and pretty agitated.
As she put the key in the lock he stepped up on the porch.
"Harry lend you a key? Funny, he didn't say anything to me about it. Didn't say anything to me about me leaving and you house-sitting this week."
She had frozen, key in the lock. Looking him over with a bit of a frown. He saw her mind say, "uh oh, a man. A stranger. He could be dangerous.... Nah, he's kind of old. I could kick him in the balls and run." All this in about three seconds. She went for the bold approach.
"Yeah, Harry gave me a key. He likes me to water his plants when he's away."
The Old Fisherman put down his fishing gear; held out his hand. Gave his name. Waited for hers. She didn't give it.
"Well, I've been staying here this past week and I haven't seen any plants that need watering. But I have noticed that you have come by pretty regular. Saw your Starbucks mug one day. And you did spill some 'water' in front of the settee one morning. Woke me up a couple of times. Pretty nice alarm clock. Couldn't get back to sleep before I did what you did.
"Oh. Oh well. Oh shhhhhit. Oh my goodness. Busted. So. I guess I'd better go, since.... Are you going to tell Harry?"
"Nope. And you can stop thinking what you're thinking. I'm not going to blackmail you and make you do me to keep my mouth shut. Not my style. Besides, Harry doesn't give a shit. He just asked me to come up because he thought some junkies or rowdies might be tearing up the place. You want to tell me your name? I'll say you stopped by to check his plants."
"Nan."
"Hi, Nan. Good to talk to you. You want to come in and drink your coffee as usual?"
"As usual? Really? You think I'm going to come in and sip my coffee and rub one out while you have your breakfast? I should go."
He could tell she didn't want to. Something was bothering her and it was a little more than being hot and bothered. Which she was. Kind of shifting from one foot to the other. He could almost feel the heat coming from her. He picked up his gear.
"You want me to go fishing again and come back in half an hour?"
She thought.
"Could you? Really? Oh what am I thinking? That's ridiculous. And you would probably peek in the window anyway, right?" She was very agitated, hands moving, talking to herself. "But wait, wait; you have been here all week, right? And you
know
what I have been doing, right? You
watched
me, right? But you didn't
do anything.
And now you are politely allowing me to leave. Only, only I
need
this. I don't know what it is. Maybe the phase of the moon, or
something
is going on in my
body.
But I just
need
this
release.
