 |
A poor fisherman once lived with his boyfriend in a tiny fishing village by the seashore. Every day the fisherman would go down to the shore, cast his nets into the sea, wait around endless hours twiddling his thumbs (and occasionally something else), then draw his nets back in and head home to his partner with his meager catch. That the two of them were gay was an open secret. Everyone in the village assumed that they were, but no one talked about it, since of course one only finds people like that in big cities. People who live in a healthy environment far from the hustle and bustle and other temptations of major metropolitan areas with nothing but life’s simple pleasures available to them do not go in for perversions of that kind. Everyone knows that, right?
One afternoon when it came time to go back to his house, the fisherman pulled in his net and found in it a single fish. Unusual, but not altogether unprecedented. Now two fishes, that would have surprised him. Still, there was something quite out the ordinary about this fish. For one it was a flatfish, a flounder to be exact, a bottom feeder that is seldom caught by netting. Moreover, it was wearing a golden crown!!! The fisherman thought nothing of that at first, having in his day fished up any number of old boots, tires, tin cans, used syringes, etc., but this flounder was exceptionally large, nearly the size of a small halibut, and it looked up at him pathetically with sad eyes as it flopped around in his net and gulped helplessly at the air.
“Well, this is my lucky day!” said the fisherman out loud. “A fish this large will provide my buddy and me enough food for two weeks if we get right to work and salt it down before it rots and starts smelling like you-know-what.”
“Don’t!” the fish pleaded breathlessly.
The fisherman was so surprised to encounter a talking fish that he exclaimed, “Holy mackerel!”
“Flounder,” the fish corrected him.
“I know that,” the fisherman said. “But why on earth shouldn’t I take you home and salt you? I caught you fair and square, didn’t I?”
“Because I am the king of all the fishes. If you do me harm you will anger all the fish in the sea and never have any luck fishing. Didn’t you notice my crown?”
The fisherman looked doubtfully at him. “I seldom have much luck,” he pointed out. “Anyway, I would have thought the king of the fishes would be a shark or a barracuda,” he said.
“Those are our lawyers,” the fish explained. “Now will you kindly throw me back before I suffocate?”
In his befuddlement the fisherman tossed the largest flounder he had ever caught back into the sea and went home empty-handed. “No luck again, I see,” his boyfriend grumbled. “What are we supposed to eat for dinner tonight? Bouillabaisse?”
“Today I caught the biggest fish ever,” the fisherman informed him.
“Yeah, the one that got away. Tell me about it.”
Much to his surprise, the fisherman did tell him about it, and when he’d listened to his whole story and asked him many questions, his boyfriend concluded, “It was very foolish of you, Oliver, to let him go without asking him to grant you a wish. Kings are supposed to reward us commoners for services rendered.”
“What would I have wished for?” the fisherman asked.
“We’re dying of boredom in this God-forsaken village. We could use a modern home entertainment center with a widescreen plasma TV, Dolby surround-sound and high-definition speakers, a huge collection of DVDs, a satellite dish (’cause this dumb village doesn’t have cable), a top-of-the-line computer with all the latest bells and whistles, a play station, an iPod, and…”
“You better write all that down,” the fisherman said. “It’s more than I’ll be able to remember.”
So his boyfriend made a list, and Oliver the fisherman headed down to the sea to have a chat with the fish.
King of the Fishes, O royal flounder,
Do you hear me way deep down there?
The fish popped his head up through the surf and said, “You called?”
“I did,” said the fisherman. “My partner says that seeing that you are king of all the fishes, I ought to have asked you to grant me a wish in return for sparing your life.”
The fish rolled the two little pop-eyeballs on top of his body when he heard him mention his “partner” since he never expected to run into that sort of people in a tiny, wholesome fishing village (everyone knows that, right?), but he didn’t make a big thing of it. He merely said, “The fellow is perfectly right, and I would have mentioned it myself had I been in less of a hurry to get back in my element. I drown in air, you know. Well then, what is it that you wish for?”
“I couldn’t keep track of it all, so my partner made up a list for you,” said Oliver, feeling more than a little embarrassed.
“Hand it over,” said the fish, “and I’ll see what I can do.”
When Oliver the fisherman got back to their little hut he found his boyfriend multitasking at the computer, where he exchanged messages with members of his new gay chat group while engrossed in some awecum hot stories by Donny, Juzjamie, Rodney, and a few other writers, including an elderly gentleman with the odd name of Anel Viz whose maddening penchant to use big words made him regret he had not thought to ask for an on-line dictionary. (He had started “Elven Sword” and found the adventures very exciting until the het sex squicked him out and he stopped reading.) At the same time he kept an eye on a steamy gay porn video on the life-size TV screen while he jacked off with his free hand and sat on the mouse wiggling his backside ecstatically, the sound system blaring to deafen their nearest neighbors a quarter of a mile away.
“It certainly looks like you’re having fun,” said the fisherman.
“Am I ever! You should read some of this stuff! I sure wish I could write like that! But nothing ever happens to us that would interest them much.”
“You could tell them about the flounder.”
“Are you for real? People don’t join that group to read fairy tales. It’s not that kind of site.”
It wasn’t long before word of their new toys spread around the village and made people jealous, and before they knew it their neighbors started talking about them behind their backs and making disparaging remarks about their gay lifestyle. They soon felt very uncomfortable and unwelcome in the village where they’d lived all their lives.
“We gotta get outta here,” the fisherman’s boyfriend told him. “Go find the king of the fishes and tell him we want to move to the big city where we can hang out with people like ourselves. Just about everybody in the big city is gay or into some kind of kink. Everyone knows that.”
So Oliver went back down to the shore and called the fish:
King of the Fishes, O royal flounder,
Do you hear me way deep down there?
“Yup,” the flounder answered, poking his crowned head up through the waves. “What brings you here?”
“Our neighbors have been making our lives unbearable with all their snotty remarks about pansies and faggots ever since we came by all that cool stuff we wished for. My boyfriend thinks you should move us to the big city where we’ll blend in better. The people who live in big cities are almost all gay or bi.”
“Everyone knows that,” said the fish, “and it can be easily arranged. Where would you like to live?”
“Somewhere near the ocean. I don’t think I’d be happy living far inland.”
“Genoa? Mumbai?”
“Oh no. I was thinking of somewhere in the United States if at all possible.”
“New York then.” And he gave the fisherman careful instructions on how to get to their new apartment, many hours away from their tiny village.
It turned out they were wrong about everyone being gay, but life was no less exciting in the big city and required some adjustment. It wasn’t long before Oliver’s boyfriend said, “If we’re going to get out and explore and discover all the neat things there are to do here, we’re going to need new clothes to fit it. No bouncer will let us into a disco dressed like a couple of hicks. You should ask the fish to fill our closets with designer clothes all of the latest fashion.”
“It’ll take me over a day to get to where I speak to the fish and back again,” the fisherman objected.
“The ocean is all around us,” his partner said. “Just go down to the port, walk out to the end of the pier, and call him.”
“Do you think he’ll come?”
“He will if you use the right incantation.”
“Incantation?”
“Yes. Some thing magic, something that rhymes.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, the way I call him does rhyme, sort of.”
“What is it you say?”
Oliver recited his little couplet, but his boyfriend wasn’t impressed. “That will never do. It’s much too short, and ‘flounder / down there’ is at best a slant rhyme. Here’s what you should say… ”
So Oliver the fisherman went down to the docks and summoned the fish:
Your Majesty, King of all the Fishes,
Whose life I spared though you looked delicious,
My significant other,
A pain and a bother,
Has sent me to you to grant us our wishes.
The fish stuck his head up through the murky waters of the port and said, “That’s one powerful incantation you got there to bring me all the way here from the depths of the ocean. What is it you want?”
“My boyfriend points out that we stick out like sore thumbs. We have nothing to wear if we mean to get out and make new friends and enjoy big city life. He says I should ask you to fill our closets with designer clothes all of the latest fashion.”
“I’m glad to hear you guys want to be more sociable,” said the fish. “Your wish is granted.”
The fisherman returned to his apartment and found his boyfriend delightedly prancing around the room in his new duds and looking like a million dollars. He tried a few outfits on himself and thought he looked quite handsome, but his boyfriend said, “What we really need is perfect bodies to fill out these expensive clothes. You should go back to the docks and get the fish to give us broad shoulders, flat, muscled stomachs, slim hips, square chins and straight, gleaming white teeth.”
“I just asked him for all these clothes not fifteen minutes ago,” objected Oliver, “and he’s already done so much for us. How can I keep on annoying him every two minutes? I’m surprised he’s put up with as much as he has.”
He resisted his boyfriend for the next week or so, but in the end he gave in to his nagging and went back down to the docks to ask the fish for a complete makeover for the two of them.
Your Majesty, King of all the Fishes,
Whose life I spared though you looked delicious,
My significant other,
A pain and a bother,
Has sent me to you to grant us our wishes.
“What is it that boyfriend of yours wants now?” the fish asked in a surly tone.
“He wants us to have beautiful bodies to match our beautiful clothes. This is the big city, and looks mean a lot here.”
“You look just fine to me, but what do I know about it? I’m just a fish. Well, if I’ve done this much for you I may as well go whole hog. Go on back to your boyfriend. I’ll give him what you’re asking for.”
Back in their apartment he came upon his boyfriend flexing in front of the full-length mirror looking very pleased with himself. “What a hunk you’ve turned into!” Oliver exclaimed. “You look fabulous! A real movie star!”
“You should have a look at yourself,” his boyfriend replied, pulling him in front of the mirror.
The once humble fisherman could scarcely believe his eyes. “God, but we’re gorgeous!”
His partner shook his head sadly and said, “It was stupid of you not to insist that we have dicks to match the rest of our perfect bodies. Now you turn around and go straight back to the docks and see that he fixes that. I won’t take no for an answer. You asked for perfect bodies and there’s no doubt that a perfect body means a bigger dick. And make sure to specify that we want them nice and thick with a big mushroom head… uncut.”
The fisherman saw that it was pointless to object, and since his boyfriend was right in the sense that one’s dick is unquestionably a part of one’s body, he gave in once again and soon found himself standing on the same dock he had left only half an hour earlier.
Your Majesty, King of all the Fishes,
Whose life I spared though you looked delicious,
My significant other,
A pain and a bother,
Has sent me to you to grant us our wishes.
“Jesus H. Christ, are you guys never satisfied?”
“My boyfriend says that our bodies aren’t quite perfect yet. You forgot to give us bigger dicks.”
“What’s a dick?” the fish asked, since fish eggs are fertilized externally and the males have no such organ.
The fisherman launched into a brief explanation of what was required, but the fish didn’t catch on and asked him countless questions and even asked him to draw pictures, which Oliver refused to do since he was no artist and was afraid what their dicks might end up looking if the fish relied entirely on his sketches. It took him close to an hour to get the idea across to their mutual satisfaction.
“Okay, how much bigger?” the fish asked.
“Gee, I don’t know. I couple of inches ought to do, I guess.”
“Well, I hope you’ll have fun with them. Good-bye. For now, that is. Somehow I think I’ll be seeing you again before too long.”
The fish was absolutely right about that. Oliver returned home to find his partner playing with seven and a half hard, new inches. He stared at them wide-eyed and felt an equally large boner growing in his own jockey shorts. “I wonder what it’s gonna feel like,” he said. “It sure looks scary.”
“Fooey!” his disgruntled boyfriend shot back. “I was counting on at least ten and a half.”
“Ten and a half! Are you crazy? We’d split each other in two!”
“Speak for yourself. Come bend over and I’ll show you how good it feels.”
The fisherman bent over and his boyfriend rammed his seven and a half inches up his ass. “Ow! Go easy there!” he yelled. “Watch what you’re doing!” It took quite a while before it started to feel good.
“What a sissy you are, Oliver!” his boyfriend grumbled, but when his turn came he said, “Maybe you’re right after all. Maybe we should wait a week to get used to our new size.”
The fisherman liked how it felt the next time they fucked, but they waited two months before his partner was ready to move on to something bigger and sent Oliver back down to the docks to ask, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”
“I asked you how big you wanted it last time,” the fish pointed out.
“Well, I got it wrong,” the fisherman admitted. “It seems ten and a half is the magic number.”
“Then ten and a half it is,” said the fish.
The fisherman headed back to the apartment expecting to see a monster hard-on. He was in for a big disappointment. His partner sat exhausted in a chair with a dreamy expression on his face, a sticky white puddle on his stomach, and a flaccid penis hanging over his leg, larger that it had ever been when soft, but no ten and a half inches, not by a long shot. “Are you satisfied now?” he asked. (He sure as hell looked satisfied.)
But as usual his partner was all complaints. “A ten and a half inch cock should make a better showing than this. Where are our large, hanging, cream-filled bull-nuts? I shot twice as much last night.”
“May I point out that if you hadn’t you would have shot twice as much just now?”
There was no getting him to listen to reason, however, and Oliver the fisherman had to go right back down to the docks to demand bigger balls and more copious ejaculations.
“What a demanding, selfish person your boyfriend is!” scolded the fish. “At least he’s asking for the two of you. If he hadn’t been doing that all along I never would have gone along with his outrageous requests. Okay, then. Bull-nuts it is.”
One would think that now the two had everything going for them a gay couple could possibly ask for and that the fisherman’s trips down to the dock finally came to an end. Think again. Before a week was up his partner was bitching that it did them no good to have enormous cocks that shot huge loads of cum every time they came if after two or three or four or five orgasms at the most they no longer stayed hard and had to wait till the next day to get back down to business. He wanted to get hard just by willing himself aroused and to be able keep it up indefinitely.
Of course he had his way and the fisherman reluctantly went back to beg the fish to satisfy his partner’s latest whim.
Your Majesty, King of all the Fishes,
Whose life I spared though you looked delicious,
My significant other,
A pain and a bother,
Has sent me to you to grant us our wishes.
“This had gone on long enough,” said the fish. “I’ll grant your absurd request, but I’m warning you that if you ever come back again it will be for the last time, so be careful what you wish for. In fact, this would have been your last wish, but I didn’t let you know that in advance. Don’t ask me why, but somehow I feel I still owe you.”
Oliver’s partner sent him back sooner than any of them thought. Now that they could fuck each other for hours on end with ten and a half inch dicks there was no stopping them, and the next day their puckers were so sore they could hardly walk.
“This will never do,” said his boyfriend. “You better ask the fish to grant us buttholes that can take just about anything before we die in agony of terminal hemorrhoids, or else we’re in big trouble.”
The fisherman agreed with him or the first time since they’d started making wishes. He didn’t hesitate to drag his raging asshole bow-leggedly down to the docks and call out:
Your Majesty, King of all the Fishes,
Whose life I spared though you looked delicious,
My significant other,
A pain and a bother,
Has sent me to ask for the last of our wishes.
“I’m listening,” said the fish.
Although poor Oliver was completely in accord with the request he was about to make, he felt somewhat apologetic coming back the very next day after the fish had all but chewed him out the day before. “I really wish my boyfriend wasn’t a dick and that he didn’t have the balls to always…”
“Your wish is granted,” the fish interrupted, “but I’m afraid there’s only so much I can do. You know how it is: ‘Once an asshole, always an asshole.’”
“But I haven’t told you my wish yet…” Oliver began. But the fish had already disappeared under the oily surface of the port never to be seen again.
He went back to find that his significant other no longer had either a dick or balls. His asshole was still there, however, and Oliver the fisherman was as well-endowed and indefatigably randy as the fish had made him over the past few months. Since he had never got around to stating his last wish, his partner’s asshole remained raw and tender for the rest of his long life and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
|
The Fisherman and His Significant Other