Chapter 12: Pan Fry the Big Ones

The following Monday morning dawned bright and clear. Dawned literally. My phone was insistent at 5.15.

“Jesus woman! Can’t you sleep or something?”

“Sorry – I guess it is a bit early. It’s just that it’s going to be a fine day and you said...” Pauline trailed off.

“It’s too late to go out in the dinghy this morning. You are the best part of 45 min away...”

“That’s only 6am. That’s not too late is it?” Her eagerness was palpable.

“You haven’t done this before, and I don’t want to rush. I haven’t got gear together, I haven’t thawed any bait or berley, and the tide’s not brilliant for an early morning fishing expedition.

“Oh” Pauline’s disappointment was equally palpable.

“How about you have some breakfast, pack a bag, and come out around ten. Plan to stay the night, and we’ll launch my big boat and go out a bit further.”

By the time Pauline arrived very shortly after nine, I had gassed up the boat, hitched up the trailer, and loaded cold chicken, bait, berley, ice, and fishing gear. I also loaded a big beanbag. I had a plan.

“You call this ten o’clock?” I almost managed to sound stern. Pauline’s face fell and she looked at me keenly. My own face must have given me away, because the sad look was quickly replaced by Little Red Riding Hood.

“I can think of a few interesting ways to pass an hour!” I was tempted, but stayed strong.

“Let’s do the basic safety stuff first, then go to sea. You are here for the night aren’t you?” She was and we did.

It took half an hour to sort Pauline out with sunblock, clothing, neoprene boots, and an inflatable lifejacket. She could swim in the pool, but had rarely swum in the sea, so I encouraged her to follow my example and wear it as a matter of routine. We went over the location and use of the VHF radio, the flares and sea anchor, and talked about staying with the boat no matter what.

“What if it sinks?”

“It won’t. It’s unsinkable”

“So was the Titanic”

“This one really is. Besides - if we see an iceberg, I’ll eat it!” I figured Pauline was already pretty nearly overloaded with information and I saw no sense in telling her all about the watertight compartments and design for stability blah de blah. This was supposed to be fun!

We towed the boat to the ramp near my place and with Pauline already aboard, we launched without drama. I was very conscious that this was her first time aboard a small boat, and I was watching to see how quickly she learned to transfer her weight to maintain our level trim as we bobbled a little in the relative calm of the Bay. She seemed quite comfortable. I hoped it lasted, but was mentally prepared to abandon the trip at the first sign of anything more than minor discomfort.

“When can we fish?” We were barely two hundred metres off the ramp, still threading our way through the boats moored in the bay. This woman was keen!

“Soon. Grab me the blue rod” I pointed forward through the companionway. Pauline stood, just as we hit a small wave and rolled to starboard slightly. She lost her balance, gave a squawk, and fell down against the starboard cockpit seat, fortunately not hard.

“Shit!”

“Are you ok?” There was no point in throttling back. We were only doing about four knots through the anchorage.

“I think so.” She didn’t sound it. I decided to distract her further with the prospect of catching a fish.

“We can start fishing as soon as you get me that rod. Be careful with your balance and feel which way the boat is leaning from moment to moment, and shift your weight to lean against it. Hold on to the cabin when you reach through for the rod.” She did, and I soon streamed a small white plastic lure 20m astern.

“You hold the rod.” She did, somewhat gingerly.

“How will I know when I’ve caught a fish?”

“The rod will bend and you will feel the fish kicking and tugging on the end of the line. If it’s a big fish, it will pull line off the reel, and it will make a clicking sound.”

Pauline was distracted by a gull swooping close to check us out, and I reached out and gave her line a solid tug. The rod bent, and as the tension overcame the drag I had set on the reel, line peeled off and the reel clicks were so close together they sounded like a shrill scream. Pauline just squawked.

“Jesus! You bastard!

“You never know when your lure will get hit.”

“I’ll hang on tight. Why would a fish bite it anyway? It wouldn’t taste good and doesn’t look much like a fish”

“The predatory fish see it in silhouette from below. It looks like a small fish trying to escape. It triggers a strike reflex”

“Sort of like when you see the silhouette of my nipples from below it triggers a spurt reflex?” Her grin was devilish. I was glad I had loaded the beanbag.

We were a hundred metres or so from the place where the harbour merges with the open sea. The outgoing tide was meeting an incoming swell, and the waves in the rip that resulted were quite steep and chaotic, even though only a metre high. I knew that the next few minutes would test Pauline’s resolve.

“In a minute or two it’s going to get lumpy. Let’s put the rod in a holder so you can hold on with both hands.”

Pauline slipped the butt of the rod into the piece of plastic pipe designed to hold it upright, and held on to edge of her seat and the coaming round the cockpit. I watched her carefully as we hit the first of the steep waves, and bucked our way over, round, and through them. For a moment or two, our movement was quite violent, but although her knuckles on the coaming were white, Pauline seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Reassure me his is safe!”

“These waves are about a metre. This boat has survived four metre waves”

“Shit!”

“It wasn’t nice. But it was my own stupid fault, and I’ll never put the boat or myself in that situation again.” By now we were through the rip, the waves were smaller and smoother, and the boat rose up and over them gently. “See, things are smoothing out now. We are through the roughest bit of the trip.”

The scenery was magnificent. The whole area is volcanic, and the shoreline consists of craggy peaks covered in native forest. Pauline couldn’t have cared less. She was solely interested in killing fish.

I steered towards a headland where the little swell was breaking on the rocks, producing a small area of white water where I knew the bubbles produced by the breaking waves would provide cover for the predatory fish to hang out until a meal came by. I hoped our lure would elicit a strike. It did. A good one.

The reel screamed, the rod bent, and Pauline grabbed for it without being told, as I put the motor in neutral and we slowed to a stop. The fight was on. Kahawai look a bit like trout, but pound for pound, they fight at least three times as hard. Five pounds is a good one, and the one Pauline was hooked into was a very good one. It kept taking line.

I coached Pauline to tighten the drag on the reel, and the bend in the rod increased, but the fish stopped taking line, and as Pauline began to pump the rod tip up and down she soon found she could recover line as the fish tired. She was blown away when the Kahawai jumped clear of the water five metres from the boat and shook its head in an attempt to get free of the hook, but she kept pumping the fish closer until I was able to grab the line just above the lure and swing the fish aboard.

She watched closely as I immobilised the Kahawai with my fingers and thumb in it’s gills, and carefully dispatched it with a practiced thrust of the bait knife into its brain, then bled it before putting it into a slurry of seawater and ice.

“You can do the next one.”

“Okay, but you’ll have to point where to put the knife again”

Except there wasn’t a next one. Fishing is sometimes like that. We towed a lure through the white water round three or four headlands. We towed a lure through patches of feeding terns and petrels. Nothing.

So I shut down the motor and we rigged a couple of rods to drag weighted pieces of freshly thawed squid along the bottom as we drifted very slowly back towards the harbour entrance with the light wind behind us. I washed the squiddy smell from my fingers, and broke out some cold chicken. Pauline had brought some very fine chardonnay that had been sharing the ice with the Kahawai. We ate and drank and chatted in the sun. Pauline was clearly having a very good time, and so was I.

“You’ll notice I brought a beanbag”

“So you did. I can’t imagine why.” The cheeky grin again. Little Red Riding Hood in control. It struck me that I hadn’t seen the sad and ugly old hag for quite a while. Neither of us said anything, but we both started to shed clothes, and very soon we were lying together naked on the beanbag in the forward part of the cockpit.

“I see why they call it a cockpit”. She reached out lazily to fondle my length, and I toyed with her nipple. We moved together and started kissing. I was half on top of Pauline, and the kissing quickly led to panting and squirming. It was only the sudden awareness of the heat of the sun on my naked arse that stopped me going further.

“We need to sunblock properly. We’ll burn our bits.”

“Okay, but we can’t put it on our bits, it tastes terrible.”

“I bet Sister Louise didn’t tell you that!”

“Honeymoon in Fiji.”

I got the sunblock and we applied it liberally everywhere else. That felt nice. Then back to kissing and squirming and humping belly to belly in the beanbag. That felt even nicer. I scootched down further so I could attend to Pauline’s nipples, and there we were. Just like last week in the back of my SUV, I was on top of Pauline with my cock between her lower thighs, and my mouth on her left nipple.

Just like last week, the nipple stimulation and my belly squirming on her mons was enough to start Pauline cumming, and she kept wriggling and jerking and moaning until I scootched down further to get my face into her groin. I had tasted her before, kissing her after she had licked her own juices off my belly, and trying to keep pace with her copious secretions as I licked her pussy, but I was surprised by the intensity of her taste this time. She was sopping wet.

I set to work, licking and sucking, and blowing gentle raspberries around and eventually on her clit. She came repeatedly and energetically. At first she pulled my face hard against her vulva. If there had been more of her, I would certainly have had trouble breathing, but there was space between Pauline’s thighs even with her legs together and she had a boy’s arse, so there was room to breathe comfortably.

In any case, she soon pushed me away, and pulled my body up on hers. Not that that took much effort. I was very keen to nestle my cock back between her thighs, and I knew she was so wet that the whole area would be slippery since my face was covered in her juice.

“Fuck me!” I started to move, but it was evidently too slow for Pauline.

“Come on. Fuck me!” I kept moving to get my knees between Pauline’s thighs but again evidently not quickly enough.

Pauline’s face darkened, and she looked really sad. The hag was back.

“Shit! Do I have to beg?” She sounded almost desperate. Some internal switch seemed to have tripped, and in a second and a half, Pauline had at least started to feel unwanted. Or something. For her, there was now something very much not ok about the situation. Since I had no idea what had happened in her head, or what the “something” was, I decided to wing it again with our roleplay.

“It’s just that I don’t really know what to do. What if I can’t find where it goes? What if I cum too soon? I really really want to, but I’m scared!”

Pauline relaxed. The switch evidently flipped back, and Little Red Riding Hood replaced the hag. “Let me help you.”

She opened her legs and drew up her knees outside my thighs, feeling between us for my cock. “I’ll tell you when to push.” She began to rub me against her smooth and very slippery labia.

For a few seconds it was touch and go whether I came all over her crotch. I was throbbing and twitching, and my glans was so swollen and tight it felt like it could burst. But something in the energy between us changed, and the danger passed. Pauline slotted me.

“Push gently. Aaaahhh.” My push was very gentle, and she was quite tight, but she was so wet and slippery that I went in to the hilt in a single stroke and Pauline gave a long sigh.

“Don’t move. Just lie still” She straightened her legs and brought them together under me. I followed her instructions, and as we lay together on the beanbag, I made a conscious effort to keep very still. After what seemed like a few moments, but may have been longer, our breathing began to synch, and I became aware of the gentle rocking of the boat, and the subtle movements and changes in pressure around my cock caused by tiny changes in our weight distribution and tiny movements in the filling of the beanbag. This was new. I liked it. So, evidently did Pauline.

“That’s amazing! I’ve never felt anything like that before! It’s electric. It’s like there’s an electric charge in my cunt. It spreads all the way up into my belly!”

I just grunted. I was having lots of new sensations myself. It was a bit similar to some tantric exercises I had tried briefly before embarking on “spiritual celibacy”, but at the same time different. I had had some sex afloat, but it had not been too different from fucking ashore. Thrusting and grinding, with most of the sensations centred on my dick until they spread as I started to build to orgasm. It had never been like this.

There was no pressure to orgasm. I was still very hard, and the warmth and slipperiness of Pauline’s grip on my length was exquisite, but it felt as though there was no hurry whatsoever, and from the look on Pauline’s face, she was blissing out. We stayed motionless for what seemed like a very long time.

Then the tip of the blue rod bent slightly and the reel gave a dozen clicks as about a metre of line was slowly taken.