We drove up to Curt’s uncle’s cabin for the July 4th weekend. Curt bragged that he was going to catch us a fish for dinner. “Have you ever caught a fish before?” I asked him. “Uh, not in real life,” he admitted, “but online, ha ha, on line, get it?” He said not only had he caught plenty of fish on the Internet, (“Inter-Net, get it?” he chortled), he’d studied the instruction videos.

So we went out pretty early in the morning, nothing but OJ and love for breakfast, though the OJ was good and the love was fantastic.

Curt decided that the best spot to fish was from the bridge. He showed me the fly he’d use as bait. I liked the look of it, bright and feathery, and if I were a fish I’d surely consider taking a bite. He dropped the line into the stream. We watched it float there for a while. Then we saw some ripples. Then, oh my god, something bit!

“I got one, I got one, I got one!” Curt yelped just like a little boy. He worked the reel and this darling little goldfish, flipping and flapping as he dangled, appeared. I couldn’t help noticing that Curt had a substantial erection.

“Pretty exciting, huh?” I chided him. “Are you going to land the brute or are you going to play him some more? What do you think, should we fry him up or have him mounted for the spot over our someday-to-be fireplace?”

“Very funny,” Curt said, and he unhooked the little fish and tossed him back into the stream.

“I’m so proud of you,” I told him. “Even if your fish was no bigger than a little boy’s weewee.”

Curt scowled.

“Aw,” I said, “don’t pout.”

“Maybe I just need to cast further out. That’s probably where the big ones are.”

He cast out. The fly sat on the surface, gleaming in the sun. It sat there and sat there.

“While we wait, why don’t you cast your big boy fishing pole into my tight little fishing hole,” I suggested. I didn’t need to offer twice. Curt’s cock sank smooth and deep into my cunt.

“Oh yeah!” I cried out, already on the verge of coming. “I caught you and I’m never letting you go.”

How fine it is to fuck in the great outdoors! One glorious orgasm after another. After a good long time, we lay on that little bridge over that little stream, satiated with love.

Eventually Curt reeled in his line. The cute little fly was gone. Something must have chomped it off. “The whopper that got away,” I teased Curt. “So much for fish dinner.” But we picked plenty of blueberries, and there would be delicious cock for dessert.