West Otter Lake

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2013 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 18
 

"Early manhood might be the most glorious time of all were it not that sheer excess of life and vigor gets a fellow into continual scrapes."

– (Don Marquis)

Saturday evening, the next weekend, I kept my promise to the Twins; gathering up fishing poles, night-crawlers, needle nose pliers, insect repellent, a tackle box, and two eager boys, the three of us trooped our way down to the end of the main boat dock in front of the Lodge.

As I explained to the boys, tonight we were going to fish for bullheads; a fish many people see as a "trash" fish and not good to eat. How wrong they are! The bullheads in West Otter Lake are not the smaller, brown, yellow-bellied variety of bullhead, but the much larger, black, white-bellied variety, weighing from one to three pounds. This time to year, early in the fishing season when the water is cold, the flesh of the fillets of the fish are firm and, when marinated in buttermilk, dredged in fine cracker crumbs, seasoned with salt and pepper, then deep fried , they're delicious! I hoped the boys could catch a fine mess of fish; enough for breakfast.

There was no doubt in my mind we'd have more than enough for breakfast; the bullheads would come into the shallows at dusk to feed. They're basically night feeders, but a person could catch them during the daytime. An abundant fish, leaning toward the "rough fish" side of the spectrum, and a voracious feeder, the beginning fisherman could have a delightful experience catching the fish. Action could be fast once the fish decided to feed. The bullhead is not a flashy fighter like bass or trout, but stubborn, pulling strong as it heads toward the lake bottom trying to dislodge the painful hook in its jaw or a fleshy part of the mouth or gullet.

The needle nose pliers are used to dislodge the hook from the fish, however, if lodged too deeply, I generally cut the line and toss the fish into the live box for cleaning later, cognizant there was a hook in there that just might catch me as well.

I baited the boy's hooks, showed them how to cast the line out, and waited. The red and white bobber, now floating on the water surface and attached to the fish line, would signal a bite when it bobbed up and down, moved steadily away, or went completely under the surface. Terell and Treyvon were very patient waiting for the first bite. We waited for, maybe, five minutes in the gathering dusk, the water surface and us illuminated by the flood light on the pole at the end of the dock, when Terell's (I think) bobber took a nose dive and disappeared from sight.

"Set the hook!" I shouted, and with a jerk of his pole, pulling the line taut, the fight was engaged, both determined to be the victor; the fish escaping and the boy landing him. The fiber glass pole bent, almost doubling, signaling a pretty good sized fish, and the line sang as it was pulled from the reel, the drag holding it back as Terell cranked on the reel, attempting the hold the rascal in check.

"Reel him in, Treyvon," his brother squealed excitedly (my mistake) and Treyvon began to crank, muscles straining as he began trying to contain the fish's attempts to get away.

"Keep the rod tip up," I instructed, "so the fish fights it and has more resistance, instead of fighting you."

The closer the fish came to the surface, the harder it fought. I grabbed the dip net and when it broke the surface, its head thrashing about trying to free itself, I scooped it up. It was a nice fish, perhaps two pounds, fat, long, and black and "grunting" its anger and discomfort as it flopped about in the net. I no sooner removed the fish and tossed it in the live box, when Terell's bobber went under and the fight was joined again. This time, Treyvon was coach, expert that he was after catching one fish, so I let him net his brother's fish, while I re-baited his hook.

Another fat fish for the larder! I took a minute or two to show the boys how to thread a night-crawler on the hook and, once done, I told Terell to get fishing again. While he was doing that, I casually mentioned, "Treyvon, why don't you land the fish on your line?"

A whoop and a holler from him, and we were off again! The Twins and I fished (well, they fished, I took the fish off of the hooks) about two hours and I saved twenty-five of the biggest fish. Ollie and Luis wandered down to the dock to watch and were caught up in the excitement watching the twins, encouraging and praising them for each fish caught and sharing their disappointment if they lost one. I gathered up the fish from the live box into a five gallon bucket and walking up the dock toward the fish cleaning house, nodded to Ollie and Luis.

"No time like tonight to learn how to clean a bullhead. You need to know, just in case a guest wants to pay you to clean theirs." That was all the incentive the boys needed to eagerly agree to the task.

All four boys gathered around the cleaning table while I used a sharp fillet knife to make a cut just through the skin of the fish behind the head, around the top and sides. "Make certain," I emphasized, "you hold them with the head pointing toward your wrist and the sharp, hard stingers on the sides of the head are positioned between your thumb and forefinger on one side and the little finger and ring finger on the other. If those stingers jab you, it can be quite painful."

The cut made, the fish secured in my left hand, using a pair of pliers, I gripped the skin with them and pulled toward the tail, skinning the fish from the cut to the tail, except for a small triangular patch on the belly. With a flick of the knife, I eviscerated the bullhead; laying the fish on its side, another swipe from head to tail along the backbone produced a nice, bloody, red fillet. I repeated the process on the other side and the fish was done.

The Twins, curious as always, spotted the clusters of yellow eggs in one of the fish as I cleaned it, and just had to know what they were, so I told them.

"This fish is a female and those are the eggs she lays in the water."

"Do the boy fish have a weanus like us?" asked one.

"No, not really, they fertilize the fish in the water after the female deposits them."

"What a bummer," muttered Luis.

"What's a boy fish look like?"

Fortunately, the next fish I cleaned was a male so I showed them the sperm sack lying along the back bone.

"It looks like that white stuff that comes out of your weanus, doesn't it, Ollie?"

Okay, the Twins have witnessed more than I realized, but it's also understandable given they have an older brother with a boyfriend.

Ollie just blushed, scuffed his feet back and forth a couple of times, then gave Luis a punch in the shoulder when he commented, "Yeah, but not as much!"

At that point I decided Luis and Ollie needed some practice cleaning bullheads so I produced two more pliers and fillet knives and set them to work. With three of us cleaning fish, it didn't take long before we had a bowl full of nice, fresh fillets for breakfast. Ollie and Luis were fast learners and by their third fish, they were more than adequate at cleaning bullheads.

The Twins smelled of insect repellent, worms, fish guts, and little boy so I marched them upstairs for a bath. It wouldn't be long until they could shower themselves, but while they wanted me to give them their bath, I would. I think they'll grow up too fast for me anyway.

Carefully washing their heads and faces with the wash cloth, I lathered it up again and scrubbed arms, legs, and torsos. Rinsing them off, I instructed them to stand and soaped up their butt cracks and crotches, cleaning away any debris which might linger there – none – the boys were too fastidious to allow that. They skinned back their foreskins for cleaning and once washed they stepped out and stood on the bath mat while I dried them.

I gently dried each boy, again inspecting them for any difference which would allow me to distinguish one from the other. They seemed to be identical in every sense of the word, height, weight, coloration, and even cock size. I was having no luck whatsoever! Finally, out of exasperation, I groaned, "Okay, boys, I give up! What's the secret?"

They looked at each other, smiled, and turned to face me.

"Look closely; what do you see?" one asked me, eyebrows raised.

"Two naked little brown boys with hard-ons," I responded.

"No, you silly goose! Look at our faces, not our weanus's!"

I looked again, no luck!

They both smiled and then, by all the Saints, it hit me!

One had a dimple, ever, ever so small mind you, almost undetectable unless you really looked closely and I mean real close, on the right cheek and the other boy had one on the left cheek. It was so simple a solution and right before my eyes, if you knew where to look and what for. The right dimpled twin was Treyvon (TR- get it?) and the left dimpled twin was Terell (LL- now do you get it?). Thank God, I won't have to go to my grave unable to identify my own brothers!

Leandro walked my night rounds with me while I checked the campgrounds and cabins. Sometimes it was the only opportunity we had to visit with each other. Everything looked good, so we wandered down to the camper's dock to check it. A slight breeze was wafting from the lake toward land, pushing the mosquitos and other pesky bugs back into the woods making it tolerable to stand on the dock and enjoy the view.

He stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, head resting on my shoulder as we gazed out over the water, watching the ripples created by the breeze dapple the water's surface. I felt him begin to stiffen as he pressed his crotch to my butt so I pressed back. Leandro nibbled lightly on my ear, bringing my own rod to a painful, trapped erection, loving the attention my soul-mate was giving me. Feeling his hands drift from my waist to behind the waistband of my cargo shorts and slowly, imperceptibly migrate lower still, tickling and kneading a path to my cock, caused me to whimper in expectation and demand.

My turgid rod, gripped by his caressing hand, manipulated up and down several times over the throbbing head, brought a tingle to my balls and another giggle of delight from my mouth. Removing his hands, I heard a zipper slide, and then he pushed my shorts down far enough to expose my waiting and eager portal to his own, hard cock and my own maleness to his waiting hands. One thrust buried him balls deep in that now familiar tunnel of love as he began fucking me and jacking me off. The faster his rod moved back and forth in my bowels, the faster his hands moved on my cock. We both knew neither of us would last long and it was just as well, we were fornicating on a dock used by our guests so we couldn't be certain of the privacy.

With a final push, he spewed ropes of his thick, creamy essence deep into me as a decorated the lake with my own creamy offering. According to Luis, Ollie came a bunch, but so did Leandro. He stayed plugged into me, twitching and pulsing, the thick tube on the underside of his brown, velvety, hard shaft throbbing with each addition to my body, until I could feel it began dribbling out and wicking to my balls. Leandro pulled out, stuffed his handkerchief up my bung to stop the leakage, pulled up my pants and we walked sobriusly back to the Lodge.

The cabins were booked solid for the entire month of May and the campground had about fifty percent occupancy. If the past years were any indication, the campground would fill once school was dismissed downstate for the summer. We have very few weekend campers, those who arrive on Friday night and leave Sunday afternoon, but enough that I always leave a couple of sites open for them and the travelers who don't make advance reservations. If the summer continued busy as May, we could have a very successful and profitable season.

School in the Otter Lake School District was dismissed for the summer the first week of June. All four boys were eager to work, but I insisted they take time off during the week and tried to schedule a couple of days off per week for Ollie and Luis. Generally, those days in the middle of the week were the least busy, so that's when they had their time off. Saturdays and Sunday morning were far too busy to have them gone. Besides, that's when their best tips came through and they were reluctant to give those up.

Terell and Treyvon, because of their age, pretty much had every afternoon off. Yet, they were always around, helping, playing on the playground, fishing, swimming, or piano lessons every afternoon. Craig taught them, along with Ollie and Luis, how to swim, spending an hour three afternoons per week with the boys at the swimming beach in front of the Lodge. I thought they learned quickly and did quite well. That still didn't excuse them from wearing PFD's (personal flotation devices) when boating.

Ollie and Luis each had a birthday in June; Ollie's was the eighteenth and Luis' was the twenty-sixth. They both would be fifteen and, although Ollie was a few days older than the two, quieter, and slighter of frame, Luis was growing a bit taller, a bit more toned, and Ollie's protector but the real leader of the pair was the quiet one. Where you found one, you found the other. They wanted a joint celebration, so Leandro and Mae baked cakes; I bought ice cream and had a Resort-wide party for the boys. They each received I-pods for presents and were thrilled to death.

The day after the party, I sent the Twins down to the dumpsters near the county road with a couple of garbage bags full of paper plates and other garbage from the household. I was heading toward the campground to check on an electrical problem a camper was having when I heard the most God-awful screeching and caterwauling coming from down the lane in the direction of the dumpsters. I thought I heard a little boy shout, "Get out of here you dumb-son-of-a-bitch," and another one snarl, "Don't growl at me, Asshole!"

This didn't bode well and put me on instant alert, with my legs and feet hammering the gravel as I sprinted toward the dumpster and the noisy ruckus. Standing side by side were Terell and Treyvon, pitching rocks and shouting at a medium-sized black bear. Before I could say "stop" or "fuck me proper, Bubba," they each grabbed a stick for a club and charged the bear! The bear, just as surprised as I was at their aggressive action, swapped ends and with a "woof," high-tailed it to the timber, ass hunched down as it galloped away.

I shuddered to think what could've happened had that been a sow bear with cubs; the Twins would've been in a world of hurt. I breathed deeply, gathering my wits and trying to remain calm even though I was frightened and angry because of their seemingly unafraid attitude, and walked calmly up to the boys.

"What happened, boys?"

Terell, eyes wide with excitement, wonder, and possibly fear, stuttered, "That big bear tried to grab a garbage bag away from Treyvon."

"...and?"

"He scared me" jabbered Treyvon, "so I hit him with the bag I was carrying and he ran."

"That's when we started throwing rocks at it," added Terell, "but he'd only run so far, turn around and look at us and the bag. That's when we picked up the clubs and chased it."

"Well boys, that's probably something you shouldn't do, it can really put you in danger. Many times, the bear will just run away after they see you. Let's get the garbage picked up and go back to the Lodge."

Terell and I started picking up debris and tossing it in the dumpster, but Treyvon just stood there. I finally asked, "What's the problem, Treyvon?"

"He really scared me, Conner!"

"Yeah, but he's gone now," I offered reassuringly.

"I know, but he really, really, really scared me!"

Terell rolled his eyes; "What he's trying to tell you, Conner, is he pooped his pants. That's how close the bear was to him."

I looked more closely and he sure enough did!

Stripping his cargo shorts off of him, along with his boxers (which followed the rest of garbage into the dumpster, and covering him with own shirt, we hustled our way back to the Lodge for a quick shower and clean clothes.

Mae had Leandro post the "Bear Warning" signs on the various bulletin boards throughout the Resort and Campground and inform campers and others to keep things picked up. If the bear returned, we'd have to call the DNR Ranger to trap it. Craig decided the boys should carry some sort of protection, so he went to town and bought a couple of sling shots, "wrist-rockets" I think they're called. The Twins became adept at wailing a stone one hell of distance once they became proficient with them. He also picked up a couple of boxes of metal projectiles that looked like ball-bearings to use with them along with a couple of cans of bear spray. It's a hot pepper spray similar to the Mace® police officers use to subdue unruly suspects. A dose of that will stop any bear in its tracks and send it scooting.

Ollie and Luis took Luis' birthday off to go fishing and have a shore lunch on one of the many islands in West Otter Lake. Mae packed them a simple lunch, but "plenty for boys to eat" as she put it. They were home before dusk and said they had a great time, but the fish were uncooperative.

The next morning, Leandro was already up and in the kitchen when I walked past Ollie's room to join him the next morning. Hearing me, Ollie peeked out of his door, saying softly, "Conner, can you come in and look at something?"

Shrugging, wondering at his secrecy, I stepped in to find him and Luis quite naked, both with a rather sheepish grin on their faces.

"Okay, I'm here, what's to see other than two deliciously naked, handsome, young men standing before me?"

Motioning with his head, Ollie said speculatively, "Take a look at Luis's back; its got red spots and blisters on it and he says it itches. Do you think he caught something?"

I stepped closer, inspected Luis' back, noting the red spots liberally decorating it, his butt, and legs, then nodded my diagnosis.

"Poison ivy; leaves of three, let it be. Haven't you guys ever heard of that?'

They both nodded sheepishly and Luis said, "That means you have it too, Ollie."

A quick looked confirmed that statement. "How did you both end up with it on your backs and legs?"

In the short time Ollie, Terell, and Treyvon came to live with us, I find my half-brothers very open in their conversations with me and quite inhibited, unless there's strangers about. They don't seem a bit bashful concerning their state of dress or undress or anything else. Ollie was not in the least bit bashful about letting me examine his bare torso nor was he embarrassed about explaining how they came to have poison ivy.

"The fish weren't biting and it was hot so we went to Thomas Island; you know - the one with the nice sand beach back in that bay?"

The boys beached the boat, ate their lunch, stripped naked, and went for a refreshing, erotic swim. After fondling each other to a rather stiff erection, nibbling on each other in various and sundry places, decided to take it to the next level, except on land. Ollie thought beach sand would be irritating to sensitive parts if it should accidentally get lodged in where he wanted to plant his seed, so they walked a little further from the beach until they found a nice grassy, shady spot.

Luis lay on his back, legs lifted and spread, while Ollie tongued his private portal, preparing him for the invasion which was about to occur. Lubing himself some more with lotion, Ollie positioned himself between Luis' open legs, looking deeply into his lover's eyes, set his hard shaft at the puckered opening, and leaned forward, easing that maypole deeply into that warm, undulating, cock-sleeve, his large, low-hanging balls resting against Luis' butt cheeks and the grass under them. Luis wrapped his legs around Ollie's waist, locking him in and tight to him, meeting every forward thrust with a squeeze and push back, enjoying the wonderful long-dicking Ollie was giving him. Ollie pumped until his ass-cheeks clenched and he began rocketing his jet-fuel into Luis' launch pad. After his final jolt, he pulled out, rolled over on his back, and begged Luis to fuck him in return; of course, Luis did, royally.

As wonderful as their conjugal lunch had been, the grassy area where they chose to serve dessert was loaded with poison ivy. Their backs, from rolling around on it, were covered with the poisonous, itching liquid the ivy extruded. I applied Calamine® lotion liberally to Luis' back and legs and turned my attention to Ollie. I couldn't help but notice, while applying the lotion to Ollie's back, he was starting to chub up. I just didn't see my application techniques as being particularly arousing until I looked over at Luis and saw him slowing stroking his very erect dick while looking at Ollie.

Finished with the backs of his legs, I was about to stand up, when Ollie said hoarsely, "My balls, I think they dropped in the ivy while I was fucking Luis."

I scooted around front and kneeling in front of him, careful not to get poked in the eye by his large man-piece, I lifted his balls in one hand and began applying lotion with the other. He had a few spots of ivy infection on them, as he indicated. Ollie's cock doesn't stickup straight like mine, but tends to stick out in front with just a bit of a droop, not much, but a bit, when he's hard. It is, without a doubt, a nice long, thick, delectable cock. I can see why Luis loves it so much.

Ollie casually rested it on my left shoulder while I worked, but finding my light obstructed I was about to comment when another cock joined the first on my shoulder, one from the front and one from the back as Luis stepped forward. Using his hands, he lifted Ollie's face to his, and kissed him, his tongue begging for admittance, and was granted. Ollie's cock jumped up and down on my shoulder several times while he moaned and pulled Luis closer, all the better to engage his lover's passion.

Fearing I'd be either crushed or flogged to death by both of those healthy pieces of meat resting on my shoulder, I pushed Ollie back far enough to wriggle out and stand.

"Boys, you've been doctored and will have to repeat the treatment on each other before bed and perhaps a couple of times per day for three or four days, until it's gone. Hot showers help so don't be afraid to take them. However, I'd advise you to be careful in your amorous attentions to each other that you don't spread the itch to a spot I wouldn't be able to treat and a doctor would have to."

They both straightened and looked at me as I raised my eyebrows in warning.

I never bothered to tell them I was just joking!

To be continued...

Posted: 03/13/2020