“Catch!”

That’s your only warning before twelve ounces of half-frozen beer nearly hits you in the face. You’re lucky to get fingers around it before it has the chance to cause any damage.

“Nice! You need more bait?”

You, in fact, do not. It’s been nearly an hour and you’re still on your third worm—the other two having fallen off of your hook from boredom rather than from anything more exciting, such as being bitten by a fish.

“You sure about your ‘Special fishing spot’ here? Seems to be sort of short on something important. Y’know, fish.” You ask, but your companion doesn’t answer. The particular river bend you’ve been taken out to is quite pretty, you have to admit. Willows overhanging the shores droop towards the lazy bend in the brook. The water is going just fast enough to prevent it from being a mosquito nursery, and the forest on either bank is impenetrable. If only there were fish, it’d be the perfect spot.

Five minutes pass before there’s a response. Almost as if waking from a nap, your fishing companion stirs. Even when he’s awake, sometimes it’s tough to tell when Nile is paying attention. The big gator’s face is stuck in the permament toothy grin, as if it (and the rest of him) were simply in a state of permanent stasis—waiting for anything interesting to happen. Slow as an earthquake, he shifts on his sagging hammock-chair and takes a long sip from his own beer. “Not about the fish. It’s the privacy.” The bayout boat you’re both sitting on bobs, lower on his side than yours.

“And the company.” He continues. Slitted eyes spin towards you. It’s a difficult gaze to read. You’ve known him for years, and never been able to quite put a pin in his personality. He’s loud and friendly, but reptilian faces are perfect for poker. Then again, maybe that’s for the better. Of all of your dad’s drinking buddies, Nile’s the only one you’d be willing to risk a day out with.

The day had started typically enough. His pickup truck had rattled alongside your apartment building, engine loud enough that you could hear it clearly even from the third story. You’d been down to meet him even before he’d figured out how to ring the right buzzer.

“Hey squirt! Yer dad’s told me to make a man of you!” His guffaws were uncomfortably loud for six thirty in the morning. You hope it didn’t wake any of your neighbors. “Nah, I’m fuckin’ with you. Ready to catch some bass?”

And here you are, doing exactly that. Except you aren’t. This river and bass seemed to have a falling out some time ago, and when bass left it took all its fishy relatives with it.

But maybe Nile was right. What would you even do with a fish if you caught it? Presumably eat it for dinner. For a moment, you wondered wither Nile just ate them whole. Just tossed them up into the air, opened that massive, long toothy grin, and snap! No more fish, and one fat, happy gator.

He seems to notice your attention, and his slitted eyes narrow. “Oy, you already finished your beer? Help a guy out. Got an itch on my belly and no hands left.” True to his word, he’s got his fishing pole in one hand and half-finished beer in the other. He could put down the beer, but the gator’s got such an advanced stage of lazy sprawl going on that you could forgive him for not putting in the effort.

You reach over to the broad expanse of flat-banded scales that are Nile’s belly. Laying flat as he is, his paunch has compressed to the sides to fill his hammock, almost as if he were a liquid rather than a solid. Across his front he’s a soft, leafy green, rather than the darker shade over his back. His shirt is unbuttoned, letting the sunlight warm the broad belly-band scales.

For a few moments, you get no reaction from your scratching. Then he lets out a satisfied sigh. He reaches down and unbuttons his fly. It’s a casual, thoughtless moment of relaxation that’s interrupted by the surreptitious hint of a monster shifting in Nile’s loose khakis. You only catch a glimpse of definition from the split fly. With rapt interest, you can’t help but stare, your hand scratching his belly on auto-pilot as the impression of a thick serpent rises momentarily in the folds of fabric hanging over Nile’s crotch.

How long has passed while you were watching him throb? Definitely longer than is polite. You gulp and glance up. Nile is watching you. He’s watching you stare at his crotch. The same hand that popped the button on his fly fiddles around and finds his zipper. The fabric gives up the fight as Nile’s cock surges upwards into the air. It’s only half-hard, and it’s already too thick to believe. He’s got thin foreskin that’s struggling to contain the bulbous head at the tip. A thin dribble of liquid hits his belly scales and shines brightly in the sun.

It’s a test. He’s watching to see if you’ll pull your hand back. How far can he push it ‘till you laugh it off? “Sorry. It’s just a habit out here on the river. No one ever comes by, so it’s a good place to get some sun on the scales. Guess I’m just not used to having company.” His gator grin smiles down at you. You haven’t moved your hand back, and he hasn’t zipped back up. His shtick is so corny and obvious that you could only imagine it coming from someone that thinks of your dad as a drinking buddy. Except out here, in the middle of nowhere on a boat on a fish-less river, it works.

“Yeah, not used to anyone being around. I should probably cover back up. You’re here to fish, right?” Eyelids close until you can barely see his slitted pupils. “Unless you wanted a more comfortable seat?”

You don’t hesitate. There’s something about the pudgy gator’s confidence that’s alluring, and that monster in his lap is so thick it’s making your mouth water. He puts his beer and fishing rod to the side, his line slack in the water. Fingers close over your hips as you pull your jeans down over your knees, feeling like scale-covered-sausages. The boat tips and sloshes as you settle on top of Nile in his hammock, tilting but not quite dipping below the surface as both of your weight cant it to the rear.

His foreskin slips wetly against your skin. You sit astride his hips for nearly half a minute, just trying to adjust to the size of his bulbous glans. When you finally relax enough that it pops in, you can feel him throb inside you. His head is bent to watch you. Jaws give a soft clack as you sink down around his shaft. You stop when you’re halfway down, but his hands tug you further.

Scales are sun-warmed beneath you as you feel his crotch smooth against you. He throbs again, and now that he’s slit-deep, you can see the faint outline of his cocktip bulging your belly.

“Fuck, kid. That’s the stuff.” He whispers as you squeeze tight around him. You’re about to start bouncing when you feel him shiver. Before you even get the chance to hump, his cock twitches inside you, and you can feel the gushes of gator cum further lubricating his shaft.

Before you can express your disappointment, though, there’s a loud sound to your right. The gator’s fishing rod lurches, then catapults itself over the side of the boat. A bite! The fish had to choose right now to finally take the bait!

“Fuck! My rod!” Nile exclaims. Careless of the fact that you’re still impaled on his shaft, the gator sits up, knocking you onto your back in the hammock. “That rod cost me two hundred bucks!”

The boat motor rumbles to life as the gator grabs the tiller. A moment later, you’re in heaven. Still throbbing thick inside you, the vibrations from the boat motor travel up Nile’s arm, down his body, and then straight through his cock into you. Willow branches whip past you above as you squirm in the hammock. A heavy hand with thick fingers pushes down on your chest. “Hold on kid, I’m gonna get my rod back!” Nile croons over the sound of the motor.

You’re not paying attention. You’re too busy writhing on the tip of the thickest cock you’ve ever taken while it vibrates in your guts. You hold onto Nile’s arm as you cum. You squirt a mess over the gator’s crotch and your own belly as you wriggle under his pin. Inside you, the gator cock throbs.

By the time you’re aware of your surroundings again, Nile is sitting above you, pole in one hand and a sizeable fish in the other.

“Hey, first catch of the day!” He beams, eyes staring down at you as you recover from the thunderous orgasm. “Guess all it took was the right bait and a little patience. Hold on, kiddo. Day’s just started!”

Nile holds you down as he starts properly fucking you. The lazy gator takes his time, recovered from his orgasm and already throbbing his way towards round two. The boat motor putters as he turns it around, and the two of you disappear back beneath the willow branches into your own private stretch of the river.

Story by Kandrel