Fishing Porn

I had run the gauntlet of booby traps that have become an accustomed part of our bedroom furniture of late. Hastily discarded clothes lying in a pile suggest nothing of the wild and abandoned dishabille that they might and more of the rapid climb into pyjamas and nightwear of a bitterly drafty bedroom. The crack of an opening bedroom door and creaking stairs of timber, coming to terms with the sudden onset of winter gave away my position but I crept as quietly and as deftly on as possible, this was a mission that I had gladly chosen to accept, as they say in the movies.

It was tricky enough to explain why I was leaving the warmth of a soft and comfortable bed on a cold winters’ morning with no reasonable excuse at the best of times but this was a mission of great danger and potential consequences too terrible to bear. Thankfully the Aga drew me towards its hearth like a moth to a flame; otherwise I would have given in to the subtle rustles of the warm duvet calling me back to its encompassing and enfolding comfort.

Trying to lever a grumpy mastiff off the sofa in a desperate attempt to cover for her master is no easy task at the best of times but on a bitterly cold day as the sun barely has the strength to let us know it does still survive is beyond compare.

So much for mans’ faithful friend, it will not be forgotten I assure you. Needless to say the subtlety sort from inducing this rabid excuse of a canine from the confines of tattered upholstery was rapidly causing more of a kafuffle than it was trying to disguise.

My early warning system had a lot to answer for and appeared to have serious issues about her new role of employment. There will be serious repercussions for this blatant disobedience and ignorance of commands but now is not the time to take issue with this sadly, and so it shall remain for the moment, unpunished but not forgotten.

I knew it was wrong of course, sitting nursing a rapidly chilling cup of tea as I desperately tried to keep my eye lids from crashing down and returning me to the insistent tugs of my finest catch to date, all be it one imagined in the warm folds of the sub-conscious. Dappled light reflecting off the ripples and dancing a chorus to the headline act as we continued a battle that had yet to be won and would no doubt continue for many years to come. Even in my sleep I seemed to have perfected the fine art of not being as good at fishing as I would have liked and more to the point as good as I implied when recounting such tales to the family after the latest expedition and the returning to the fold empty handed.

Only the gentle creeks of a house rousing itself from darkness forced me to hold my attention. I listened to every creek and groan as though I were sitting in a forward observation post on the front line, expecting the enemy’s dawn attack at any moment, that quiet time known as the graveyard shift and often for a very good reason. The attack would of course come down the stairs in a surprise pincer movement but I was ready, alert and prepared. I awaited my messenger and the camouflage was poor but holding out to uncompromising odds.

It wasn’t the shame of being caught with elicit material that I was so concerned over. The disappointment and shock of this act of treason would understandably undermine the group collective but I was willing to take the risk. It was not even a choice that might have undergone a reasonable amount of subjective consideration given the fact that I just could not resist. I knew it was a weakness but I had no other choice but to submit to this act of deception.

The plain brown envelope that I eagerly awaited was almost as convicting in its obscurity as it might have been had it just displayed its contents in bold print. I waited with bated breath and a clear path of retreat to the bathroom planned and constantly cleared of enemy booby traps. The wait would be worth it I knew.

The click of the gate drew me from my reverie as blood coursed through my veins and a cold sweat drew pearl drops on my top lip. Stale tea created a desert in my mouth as my heart hammered out a staccato chatter that must surely give away my position and draw down an enemy fire. The soft plop of mail hitting the mat was mortar fire to my ears and I instinctively ducked and moved swiftly in a crouch, seeking the shadows of the stair case and making me as small a target as I possibly could. My prize awaited me and thoughts of shame and deceit were washed away in a joy of forbidden fruits about to be consumed. There before me lay not one but two large brown envelopes, their contents threatening to burst the fragile confines at any moment.

Eagerly I tucked the envelopes away in my dressing gown, their very weight giving me the impetus to ascend the stairs at a rate that would have put a mountain goat to shame. The gentle undressing of this flimsy covering was merely the prelude to the final act of consummation and the relief of pent up desires.

Turning the pages displayed whippings of silk, delights of rubber in all its’ splendor and that wonder of modern coverings, neoprene. Glossed wands of the finest manufacture lay in provocative recline as each page turning brought renewed delights. Skills of engineering mastered through the ages offered heart stopping pleasures yet to be explored. This was my nirvana and the manna from heaven lay before me, all be it briefly.

Of course being caught in any act of subterfuge leaves us with the feeling of incompetence and a wish to revisit those carefully laid plans to discover our failings. Not locking the bathroom door was unforgivable and could only be blamed on the irrational need to seek that early gratification. There was no excuse available to explain this self pleasuring pastime and none would have been acceptable anyway. The glossy pages lay before me in a disheveled array and the credit card slipped from my fingers to land at my feet in a final salute to my inability of deception.

There really can be no justification for the subversive purchasing of illicit fishing tackle but those pre-season catalogues exist purely to tempt my resolve. As ever I am found lacking in any consideration that I really could do without that latest of gadgets or the new addition to fly lines that had previously served me so well. Once again I am to hang my head in shame at the breakfast table and smother the smug little grin that says I got the order through before you caught me.