He was an old man, his hands gnarled and weather-beaten from six decades of fishing, first with his father as a small boy, then on his own for the past forty-odd years. He would sail his skiff out of Drumnadrochit in the morning and fish most of the day, coming back in the evening to sell his catch. He had a small motor he could attach to the boat, but he much preferred to old school it.

When he was a younger man, Callan would often come home with a dozen of the large brown trout, which paid well. As time went on, his hands were not as quick to set the hook, and often the fish would escape, usually with his bait. Lately, in the past year or so, there were days when he would come home with nothing. This was becoming more and more commonplace, as were his delusions, first noticed by Finn, his young Scottish helper.

Callan had taken Finn in when the boy was eight. Finn’s father fled when his Mom died of pneumonia. Callan heard of the tragedy, and rather than see the boy put into the system, he took him in and taught him how to help clean fish, gather bait, and do other chores. Finn loved Callan like the father he never really had.

Now 18, Finn noticed Callan’s aberrant behavior but chalked it up at first to Callan playing tricks on him. It started with small things. Callan referred to him as Manolin, which Finn thought was some kind of funny insult and didn’t ask further. Then it happened a few other times, but what got him was when his girlfriend stopped over, and Callan said, “Mollie, come give your Uncle Santiago a hug!” Mollie had looked first at Callan, then at Finn, who shrugged, and then went and hugged Callan, not understanding except for the hug part.

Over the past few months, things got worse, and Finn finally figured out what was going on. Callan was living out a Hemingway novel, The Old Man and the Sea. He knew that Callan had read the novel several times, in fact, years ago, because he had told Finn about it. And now, sadly, Dad was delusional, thought Finn, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Callan didn’t have to sail his small boat far to get to the deep section of Loch Ness. Pretty much in the middle, between the two shores, one would find a depth of 700 feet or more. Most times, he would fish much shallower, seeking the prized brown trout.

Today, though, Santiago brought along his large coil of hemp line and planned to bait it for the giant marlin. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew that saltwater marlins were not going to be caught in the freshwater lake, but that part of his brain wasn’t engaged at the moment.

He hadn’t caught any fish in over two months (he had, he simply had not in his mind as Santiago), so it was important for him to try and catch something special. He’d already set out two poles for trout. Now he baited the large, triangular sharp hook with some especially rank fish innards and then set it carefully into the water, feeding out line and counting the one-hundred-foot markers. When he got to seven, he stopped the descent and tied off the line. He felt in his pocket for his old camera to take a picture of the giant fish when he landed it.

And he waited.

Hours went by.

Finn was working on chores when Mollie stopped by mid-day. Setting her jacket on a chair, she moved to the kitchen, where Finn was working on a particularly stubborn pot.

“Hey, Moll,” he said, turning his head to kiss her but keeping his soapy hands to himself. After kissing her boyfriend, she disengaged and looked down with disdain at the old, crusty pot.

“Chilly outside?” asked Finn.

Still distracted by the pot, Mollie answered. “Yes, it’s a might bit cold, but how did you--” then stopped when she turned her attention to Finn, whose attention was on her breasts. She noticed that her nipples were hard and poking through both her bra and shirt.

“Perv,” she said, smacking his arm.

“Hey, not my fault you have extraordinary nips, babe,” he said, going back to the pot with his eyes.

“Speaking of extraordinary,” she teased, reaching around his front and rubbing his crotch, “are you sure you want to keep working on that pot?” She felt his cock starting to respond.

Finn turned and saw her smiling as she aroused him. “C’mon baby, my hands are all messy,” he began, but when she dropped down to her knees, he stopped talking.

One of the wonderful things about Mollie, Finn knew, was her absolute obsession with giving him head. He’d never known a girl who loved to suck as much as her, and he asked her about it one day. She’d told him that it was a combination of loving him and the feeling of power when she’d, on her own, coax an orgasm from his body. She asked him if that was a problem, and Finn, to his credit, never brought up the subject again.

After pulling his pants down, Mollie slipped Finn’s half-erect cock into her mouth. She knew she didn’t have a lot of time before work, so of the various techniques she’d developed in the past few years of giving blowjobs, she turned to “turbo mode” for today.

Finn watched as she moved her head forward and took in everything, pressing her lips against his belly. He felt her tongue sliding all across his shaft as her mouth and throat began a rhythmic suck and release, suck and release. He groaned and knew that there was no way he would last more than a minute or two. He so wanted to crawl between her legs and first lick her sweet kitty and then slide inside, but he knew there wasn’t time now.

Mollie moved one hand behind to grab Finn’s ass and keep him cemented deep inside her mouth while she did her magic. With her other hand, she reached under her chin and found his sack, and began caressing his balls, already churning with a fresh load of cum for her.

Finn closed his eyes, having put down the pot, and now gripped the counter hard, trying desperately to hold off his orgasm, wanting this great pleasure to never stop. He thought of Callan out on the water.

Having dozed off, dreaming of lions on the beaches of Africa, Callan was startled awake by a sudden jerking motion, and then his skiff was quickly moving through the water. He saw that the sail was as he had left it, furled so as not to catch the wind, so at first, he didn’t understand the movement. Then he saw it. The hemp line was taut! Something had grabbed the other end and was pulling his small boat rapidly through the water.

Marlin, he thought. The game is afoot!

Mollie felt Finn’s body start to tense and knew that her efforts were about to be rewarded. She kept up the strong suction but slid her mouth back along his now very hard shaft until only the head remained inside, then quickly slid forward once again, pushing her lips tight against Finn’s tight belly, taking all of him deep. Back and forth, she repeated this, now looking up with her eyes to meet his. That, combined with the little mewling sounds that she was making, essentially begging for his release, was something that no human male could further resist.

Finn cried out as his orgasm rushed over him, feeling himself release a half-dozen shots of warm cum into her mouth. Mollie moaned as she felt the warm liquid coat her tongue, her mouth not ceasing the coaxing until Finn’s knees started to buckle. She stopped her motions and released his spent cock, knowing it was in a very sensitive state.

Savoring the taste of his cum, she swallowed, looking up at Finn and opening her mouth to show him that it was all gone. She smiled, then returned to his cock, gently licking it clean, her hands now on his hips, feeling his body twitch with each contact between her tongue and his softening dick. When she had gotten every last drop, she grabbed a nearby dish towel and ever so gently dried him off and then helped pull his pants up.

When she rose, she told Finn she needed to scoot off to work. Before she finished talking, Finn reached for her, leaning forward and kissing her hard on the mouth. Pulling back and looking into her lust-filled eyes, he smiled.

“I love you, Mollie,” and gave her another quick kiss on the lips.

“I love you too, Finn. Hey, how’s your Dad today?”

Fantastic, thought Santiago, having tightly gripped the gunwales to steady himself as the skiff rocketed across the water. A marlin, a great marlin, he thought, money to pay bills, money to help Manolin go to college. Fantastic!

A few other fishermen took note and wondered when the old fool had added an outboard motor and why he was racing across the loch. Some laughed or shook their head in disdain and dismissed it as a fool’s errand.

Callan judged that the great fish had been towing him for a good twenty minutes or so. Suddenly, the line went slack, and he coasted to a stop.

He is trying to fool me, thought Santiago, well-versed in the tricks of the great marlin. He is a crafty old fish, but I am a crafty old man. I will outthink him.

Callan started pulling in some of the line and making a coil of it until he felt resistance. He pulled on it a bit and then felt a quick, powerful jerk from the fish. He tried to pull on the thin rope to start bringing it closer to the surface, but it didn’t budge.

Fantastic, thought Santiago, his pride swelling.

Mollie was close to Finn. He could smell the scent of her shampoo, and as he held her, hands cupping her butt, Mollie could feel his cock starting to swell.

“Down, boy,” she said, giggling and pushing away from Finn, “I told you I have to get to work.” She stepped back a bit. “Now, tell me about your Dad.”

Finn studied her for a second. “Dad was good this morning. No Santiago stuff. No DiMaggio talk.” Finn got a grim look on his face.

“I am sorry, baby,” said Mollie, once again moving close to Finn and kissing him, wanting to make him feel better, feeling that she was the one to make him sad.

Finn kissed and then hugged Mollie, both of his arms going around her, then lifting her and setting her on the kitchen table. As he kissed her once again, one hand moved to her breast and began gently squeezing her nipple while his other hand dipped below her skirt and then started rubbing her inner thigh.

Mollie pushed back from the kiss, her eyes now wide with mock fury. “Finnegan McAllister, you asshole! I thought you were sad. Stop that,” she said, her hands pushing his away from her breast, “you know I have to get to wor--.” She stopped talking and moaned into his mouth as it once again covered hers, and she felt his other hand caressing her pussy lips outside her panties.

Pulling back once more, her eyes closed, her voice a little husky, “Bastard,” she said softly, “make it quick.”

He’s quick, thought Santiago, the rope taut once again, and the little boat was skittering across the water, the small waves providing just enough height to make the ride bumpy, wearing away at the old man.

They were again traveling away from Drumnadrochit, heading southwest, and Callan could see the occasional car on the A82 heading toward Alltsigh. They’d passed Grotaig a while ago. A barge passed, then a speedboat, and there were a few sailboats off in the distance toward the far shore.