0 comments/ 8571 views/ 0 favorites Fish Store By: RobbWarren For better or worse, I married a "fish guy." No, not the kind of guy who goes out drinking in a little boat lamely trying to catch some totally stupid critter who doesn't have the sense to drown in water. Or the kind of macho Neanderthal who sits in a shanty on top of a frozen lake drinking and freezing and waiting for some equally demented frozen finned beast to bite his pathetic hook. Those guys at least have the sense to fuck their women when they come home. I hope. But I wouldn't know that. I'm talking about the kind of guy who likes big tanks of water in the house and little critters swimming around in them. That's my guy. I love him. But sometimes he's frustrating. Like the other day, we both get home from work. I pour some drinks. I'm thinking a little pre-dinner play might be nice. Take the edge off, you know. I change from my drab work clothes into a cute little blouse and skirt. The blouse has a tendency to gape open, showing the sides of my large and deliberately un-bra-ed breasts. The skirt is white and flouncy, and in a wind or if I sit carelessly on the couch, tends to show a lot of leg. I sat carelessly on the couch, showing a lot of leg. Trying to get a little attention. Hell, if he'd look half hard he'd see I wasn't wearing panties. Seriously guys, if you had a woman in a short flouncy skirt with no panties sitting in front of you, wouldn't you at least notice? Apparently not if you're a fish guy. He's studying his fish catalogs on the coffee table. Soon he gets the brilliant idea -- "Let's run by the fish store and see if they've got any new tropicals in, and then we could go out for Chinese afterwards." His idea of a hot date. But I agree. Hell, he's the only date I've got tonight, and I do try to be the perfect wife. The drive to the fish store takes awhile. The drink went to my head, and I start fantasizing about what a loving husband could do to a hot wife on the way to a fish store. He's not really perceptive about these things, so I decide to help out a bit. I reach over and hold his hand as he drives, the right hand that is in his lap. I can feel there is no hard-on in that lap, but maybe I can change that. I drag his hand over to my knee. He's a bit surprised, that brings him out of his reverie. He's a bit more surprised when I drag his hand down my thigh, all the way to my unclad pussy. I can see that got his attention. The light bush of pussy hair tells him he's in goal zone, even if he didn't know he was in the game. Using my hand to guide his fingers, I gently have him start massaging my public mound. When I feel the wetness build, I separate his middle finger and use it to spread my pussy lips. I use his finger to slide up and down by wet slit, and to flick the clit at the top. He's letting me do this, but only half-heartedly. He wants his damn tropicals. I reach over and feel his lap. There is a half hard-on going on there, more than nothing, but not what a woman would call paying attention to the subject matter at hand. I try, but as we pull into the parking lot, he says, "Quit screwing around honey, let's check out these fish and then we'll have dinner." So the parking lot seduction didn't work out so well. We went into the store. Now I remember this store. Actually, I remember the son of the old man who used to run this store. One problem with living in a small rural town is that no one ever actually disappears or leaves, they just show up again later. The problem was is that I didn't remember him well. He was the friend of a boyfriend of mine in senior year of high school. There was one evening at a party, and I and my boyfriend had been drinking a fair amount. I danced a lot with my boyfriend, and he was being very frisky, caressing my butt as we danced, then he had a hand up my blouse feeling my its, then his hand was between my legs and inside my panties as we danced. I remember his touch was magnificent, and that I came when he touched my clit. I vaguely remember dancing with a number of his friends after that, and each one of them touched my nipples under my blouse and fingered my wet pussy. I don't really have a clear memory of who the guys were, but now that I was in the fish store, I was remembering that the son of the fish store owner was perhaps one of those boys. My husband quickly went to the tropical display. A woman came from behind the counter and went over to see what he was interested in. Soon they were engaged in an animated discussion about fish, and equally as soon, I was bored and drifted away. Towards the back of the store I found some hokey fish art pieces, the kind of thing you'd hang on your wall if you had zero taste and a love of fish. But they amused me for the moment, and O spent some time looking at the various objects. That's when I felt him behind me. I was surprised and turned around quickly. "Hello, Sasha," he said, "I haven't seen you in quite awhile. How are you?" It was definitely him. Her old boyfriend's friend. I couldn't remember his name, but I did recognize his face, and was a bit impressed that he had grown up into a fit and handsome man. "Hi, yeah, I'm still around. Never figured out how to get out of here. What are you doing here?" "Well, when my dad got ill, I took over the shop. Me and my wife, she's the one helping out the guy up front. Is that your husband?" "Yeah, he is." I must have sounded a bit defeated in my tone, because he said, "That's okay Sasha, I understand, things happen, life goes on, but you never forget when you were real, do you?" I laughed. He may be a bit philosophical for my tastes, but he did find an inner chord with me. "You seem to be interested in the art pieces, can I show you some of my own creations in the back room?" "Sure, I'd love to see them." Actually, no, I really couldn't give a flying fuck about his art pieces, because they no doubt had to do with fish. But, on the other hand, my hot date for the evening was engaged in tropicals, and I was a bit bored. He led me into the back room, and to a wall of fish art. Look, I'm not going to tell you it was great art, or that it wasn't. It was fish, and I'm no fucking art critic. But the fish art isn't what got my attention. What I noticed is that as soon as we moved into the back room, I felt his hand on the back of my waist, and then immediately dropping down to my butt. "Ah..... I think your hand isn't supposed to be there," I said. "Neither my husband nor your wife in the other room would appreciate that much." "But Sasha," he said, as his hand slipped further down, past the skirt line, and then up under the skirt on the back of my bare thigh. "You're in heat." "What?" I said, "What the fuck are you saying, who do you think you are?" "I know you," he said simply. "I know what you smell like when you're in heat, and believe me, you're in heat now. I know it wasn't me that got you going, but I've been next to you before, I've had my hand in your pussy, and I know what you're like when you're hot." I turned around, with a half a mind to slap him, but the other half of my mind was in control at the moment. I've gotten used to that half of my mind and generally I decide to just go with it. As I turned around he stepped into me, leaning down and kissing and then biting my neck. Jeez, this guy knew the magic button. That always got me going. And made me relax. I wasn't surprised when one of his hands slipped up and started massaging my breast. And the other hand raised the front of my skirt and touched my bare pussy. "See Sasha," he said, "your pussy is bare and wet and you're in heat and we'd better finish this now." His hands reached behind my ass and he picked me up. God, he was strong. And put my ass on a counter. He already had my legs spread and my skirt open, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I suddenly felt a hard cock separate my pussy lips and push into my vagina. I know he'd probably fingered my pussy "back in the day," but I'd never seen, much less felt, his cock. And I didn't see if coming now. I just felt how big it was, how my pussy was expanding out to accommodate its length and girth, and then clamping down to feel it. Damn, that thing was big. When he bottomed out on my cervix I knew I had to just relax. And I did. The sweet thrusting began, my pussy responded by coating that cock with juices and trying to milk the come out of him. He did come in my pussy, but only after I had convulsed and squirted a half dozen times. I still didn't know his name, but held him tightly after we both came. We were almost sad when he finally pulled his cock out and got some towels to clean up the mess we'd made. "You know you were the hottest girl in high school, don't you?" he said. "I guess so," I said, "thanks for reminding me. Sometimes I forget." Twenty minutes later my husband had purchased the tropical fish he had his heart set on. The fish store guy's wife was pretty enough, but she would up with the wrong partner and finished the day unsatisfied. Her husband had a contented smile on his face that would last another ten years of quiet desperation. I went home with a smile on my face. The fish store guy helped me have some lovely orgasms, sure, but more importantly, he reminded me of a strong and ancient part of me, the sexual being I've always been. Fish Story I met this girl who looks like a fish and smells like a fish. That's not as bad as it sounds, because I've always wanted a fishy girl. The story goes like this. I went to Vietnam for a two week vacation. I'd been there before, years earlier, and I felt nostalgic. Sounds normal, but it was supposed to be a lot more than a vacation. And a lot longer than two weeks, if I could swing it. It was supposed to be a permanent escape. I'll get into 'from what' later. Now I want to talk about my new girl. My fish. After all, she's the kind of fate I wanted to escape to. I met her a week after I got in-country. It was at a place where men go to drink beer, eat snacks, and rent the company of young women. Not to fuck, just to sit with, fondle and kiss. Like fake girlfriends. I was with my Vietnamese friend Tran; the place was in the backstreet labyrinths of Ho Chi Minh City, off the beaten path, where lonely white guys looking for exotic thrills seldom know to tread. I could tell because of the stir I caused with the rent-a-girls. Tran and I were led upstairs to a private room with long leather couches and a big table. First they brought the beer, then the snacks. Then the girls. They brought them in one at a time for us to choose from. My fish was the first girl they brought in. Now, when it comes to women, especially of the Asian extraction, I tend to lose my critical faculties, turn into a lust-crazed fool, and jump all over the first one I can get my hands on. It's a fault that has caused me beaucoup trouble in the past. So when my friend asked me if I wanted this creamy-smooth Vietnamese woman in a very small black dress, high-heels and erection-inducing makeup to stay or go, it was probably not humanly possible (for this human) to send her away. Even if she hadn't been a fish. But as it was, she looked like a fish. An Asian fish. And, as I've mentioned, I've always wanted a fish. Girl. I have to be candid here. We all know that some Asian women look like fish: round watery eyes, architecturally extreme high cheekbones, clownishly giant lips. No, I couldn't tell you exactly what kind of fish they look like. Maybe clownfish. I don't think I'm being racist or sexist. It's just a fact that women of certain races tend to sometimes resemble certain other species. Probably men do too, but I don't spend a lot of time looking at men. So a fair proportion of Asian women look like fish. And a goodly herd of white women look like cows. My point is that I'm not putting Asian women down for tending to resemble our ichthyological cousins. I'm just making what I think is an appropriate comparison. So why would I lust after women who look like fish? Well, high cheekbones. Big eyes. Big lips. These are some of the features that set Asian women apart, give them their distinct look. And fishwomen, as I've noted, have them in the extreme. So, if, like me, you've got a thing for Asians, then what's not to like? What's not to drool over, crave, jerk off over? What's not to absolutely helplessly adore? So I saw her fishy face and said yes, yes, yes. She sat down next to me, giggling nervously. I guess she'd never been that close to a big white orangutan before. And I had never been that close to a fish. So we were both nervous, giddy, excited. Interspecies introductions tend to go that way, I suppose. Then they brought in another girl. She wasn't very fishy; her lips were big enough (to understate horribly), fat little puckers glistening with ruby lipstick, like the best thing one could ever conceive of to stick a cock in. But she also had little eyes and plumpish rounded cheeks. Not fishy. But gorgeous. I wanted her, fishy or not. But she was for Tran's consideration, not mine. I had already hooked my fish, or vice-versa. We were both wriggling, but we weren't going to let each other go. The new girl also had something else sizable. Two things. So even with my fish in hand, I felt a bit envious of Tran: I like Asians, and they aren't known for their huge chests, but an Asian girl who does have a healthy shelf definitely gets me going. So imagine my shock when Tran said flatly (so to speak), without hesitation, "No. Sorry." Jesus, I thought, maybe he's a fish man too. Or maybe he's going blind. The next candidate was quite petite, much more so than my fish, who seemed downright jumbo for an Asian lassie. Her breasts were bigger than Fish's, though (which isn't saying much), and her features were fine, in the sense that she had small, regular eyes, nose, mouth, etcetera. She was an Asian doll, no doubt, but an Asian Barbie doll: unquestionably but (to my eyes) unspectacularly beautiful. Tran laughed and invited her over. She started to sit near him, but he launched her toward me, laughing explosively. "Two for you! You want two girls, right? Ok?!" She nestled down next to me on the other side from fish. Like Fish, she kept giggling and glancing at me. If I had known this was Tran's plan I'd have told him to choose the second girl. The one with the ineffably fuckable pucker. But I'm not the kind of guy to send any girl away. If she's Asian. I had heaven in each hand, a heavenly Barbie and a heavenly Fish. Who was I to complain? Tran took the next gal for himself, a round-faced cutie with a very respectable volume of titflesh and a dress that left no doubt of it. If I were marketing her I'd use the name 'Top Shelf.' Normally I would have been envious, but I didn't have time for that. Even with the small-breast factor, I had my hands full. I had never really been with two girls before. Not two girls that I was free to kiss and fondle at the same time. I hadn't realized how hard it was to give enough attention to both. I knew from the start that I preferred Fish, but any man gets turned on by any new pretty woman, and Barbie was not exactly hideous. I would spend a few minutes with her, kissing her face, feeling her breasts through her dress, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. They really were nothings, because she had no idea what I was saying. Then I would remember Fish (as if I'd forgotten) and give her the same treatment. Then I would relax for a bit, sip some beer, chat and laugh with Tran, enjoying the feeling of having my arms casually wrapped around the waists of these two sweeties. I was reasonably close to a state of nirvana. It wasn't perfect; of course I would have preferred that these bright flowers let me revel in their exotic charms completely of their own free will, not just because they needed money. Because they were doing it for a living, they weren't exactly returning my attentions with fervor. They were probably crashingly bored, just like I always was back at my job in the States whenever I had to enter yet another piece of data into the computer. But at one point Barbie got up and left the room to pee. I decided to take the opportunity to really concentrate on the fresh young Fish that sat beside me. I had already told her she had beautiful lips, with Tran translating. Now I began kissing those lips lovingly. I massaged each one in its turn with my own lips, then both, coaxing them to open. Finally they parted a little. I kissed the wetness that was revealed, holding back my tongue until I felt hers push indolently into my mouth. Her tongue was thick, sluggish, sticky. She just sat there with it lolling in my mouth like a sea cucumber lying on the ocean floor. Her mouth tasted slightly sweet, slightly like rotten teeth, slightly like fish. I felt like a deep sea diver who had found the treasure he was looking for. The treasure was a Fish, and I was kissing her. That's when I knew that this gorgeous young fish wanted me to make love to her. After a few minutes Barbie came back and we casually pulled apart. I went back to alternating between the two. But fish and I knew, and even Barbie could tell, that Fish was the one I really lusted for. She suddenly blurted out, "I love you." I know, given the circumstances, that it is absurd to think that she was even remotely close to loving me. But I loved hearing it anyway from the big sexy mouth of that soft young fish girl. After that we just did some more cuddling, kissing, giggling and the like. At one point Fish and Barbie huddled, I'm sure to decide which one was going to try to hook up a pipeline to the white ape's cash. I had no fear that they would come to the wrong conclusion. After a while I mentioned that I was hungry. The girls excitedly agreed to join Tran and me for dinner. They ran out to change. I looked at Tran and said, as seriously as I could, "I love the Fish." His English is pretty good, but he didn't get my analogy. "Which one you like?" When he finally got my drift he told me her name. It was difficult, but it sounded like "Quan Yin," the female Chinese Buddhist deity, which is pretty appropriate. But I preferred Fish. I sat there anticipating tasting fish at a restaurant. But then somebody got the hilarious idea of introducing me to all the rent-a-gals who worked at that fine establishment. I went into there holding pen, where they were lined up on a long couch watching a throbbing dance video. There were seven or eight of them including Fish, Barbie and Top Shelf, and they all started laughing wildly when I stepped into the room. I guess I really was, to them, like some massive white ape on the loose. But with all that firm young Asian flesh grinning at me I felt like an ape in heaven. Then someone had the further cute idea of dancing to the throbbing video. I got up and danced with abandon, as usual, but all they did was laugh. And laugh. Until they were falling over. I prefer to think that they were laughing with me, not at me. But I didn't really care. I love to perform for young Asian girls. But through it all I kept an eye on Fish. She's the one I really wanted to perform for. But then the manager of the place, a nice guy who looked like Chairman Mao, started asking me if I could track down an old American buddy of his from the war days. Before I knew it all the girls had slipped out, and after about the twenty-third round of telling Mao that I'd try to find the guy but it wouldn't be easy, Tran suddenly said, "Let's go." I feebly inquired about our plans for a grand banquet with Fish and the other assorted savories, but he just said, "Okay, but then the disco happened; no more dinner." I was too baffled to even get him to explain. Besides, I thought that maybe they didn't want to be seen in public with me after the show that I had put on. If that was the case, I didn't want to know it for sure. So I reluctantly got on the back of Tran's bike and we headed off into the night in search of beer, Tran's favorite substance. I was of course devastated about having let that amazing young tuna with the undersea lips slip through my net. I wasn't content with being able to tell my chums back in the States about the one that got away. I had to have her, I had to let her scales fall away and plunge into her raw pungent sweat-salt fish-flesh with my ravening harpoon. I had to. But I didn't think I'd get to do it the very next day. Some of what I was feeling must have gotten through to Tran's beer-pickled brain, because the next morning he called to say that he had set up a meeting for me with Fish. She was coming to my hotel at about three pm. I was overjoyed, thinking of how I would fillet her, but I was also a bit worried. My hotel had once been a residence for American military officers, and so the Viet Cong had inherited it when they took over the city. So now the Vietnamese military still ran the place. So the security was great, with imposing-looking guys in uniform protecting all the entrances, elevators and stairs. But it also meant that, unlike at the privately-run hotels in Ho Chi Minh City, guests were frowned upon in the rooms. I foresaw trouble when fish swam in. But my concern was hard to communicate with Tran over the phone. I decided to just let whatever happened, happen. I went downtown to stroll around, have some tea, try to get my mind off of Fish. But it was no use. I was obsessed with the idea that she would soon be surrendering her strange beauty to me. I was back in my room by noon, on my bed, tossing and turning in the rising heat, baking in my lust for her. Hot weather doesn't exactly act as an aphrodisiac for me, especially in the afternoon, when I turn sluggish even in polar weather. But thinking of Fish cut through all that. She was so cute, so firm, so beautifully weird-looking. I tried to deny my erection its due, tried to save all my passion for the real thing, but it was no use. I got up and jerked off at the bathroom sink, then flopped back into bed feeling sullied, spent, drained. I was running with sweat, gulping for air like a fish out of water. I had betrayed my Fish, spread my tartar sauce on a barren platter. Her juicy secrets awaited me, anticipating, but now I might have nothing, no lust with which to fill her underwater cave. I was deboned, a jellyfish with no sting. I slowly drifted off in a fog of self-loathing. I had come six thousand miles to this exotic land, burning bridges behind me, building new bridges toward gorgeous ecstasy, only to jerk off into a sink. I could, as I often did, have done that at home. I woke up in a haze of ringing bells. It was the phone. "Hello?" My voice was marshy with phlegm. "Hello Misa Bob. I'm here. I'm Quan Yin." Fish's splintered English was even harder to decipher over the phone. But I'd know the voice of that sizzling minnow anywhere. I told her I'd be right down. My heart was pounding madly. She was sitting in one of the elegant lobby chairs. She looked dangerously young in her fashionably torn jeans, tight bright sweater and tiny fashion-statement backpack. I realized with panic as she jumped up, her fishy grin huge and ecstatic, her arms outstretched, beckoning, that I didn't even know how old she was. I had never asked. But she could easily have lied anyway. What if she were underage? I was hard enough for a pampered albino ape like me to live in a Vietnamese hotel, let alone a Vietnamese prison. Jesus, they would have no mercy on an American interloper caught desecrating their young Quan Yin. She might be a fish, but I felt like I was going to be the main course at the fish fry. I responded to her succor half-heartedly, and she seemed to get the picture right away. Luckily, the Fish had a head on her shoulders. She led me over to the front desk, where they explained what I already knew, that room visits were usually not permitted, and in any event Fish didn't have her ID with her. That last bit of info got me sweating and pounding anew. Why else would she 'forget' her ID, except that she didn't want her age revealed? I felt sick. I felt as if all the eyes in that place, those of the front desk staff, the other guests, and especially the guards in their martial uniforms, were trained on me. Me and Fish. I looked at her weakly. "They think something's fishy." Of course she didn't understand, but she understood exactly. With hand gestures she told me she was going to make a call. I knew she would try to get in touch with Tran. She went to the public phone. I sat in a lobby chair off to the side, but I still felt under the gun, under the scrutiny of those stern young members of the People's Army. I tried to will myself not to exist, but my meditation skills weren't quite up to the task. Not even close. I felt huge, a beached white whale surrounded by army ants who would waste no time in stripping my carcass to polished ivory if they got the chance. Fish came back. "I call Tran. Tran come. We wait." "Oh! Okay." I loved her voice. It was the essence of bubble gum, pink elastic sweetness popping from her mouth in a spray of fishy spittle. But right now that bright pink music just made me cringe. I tried to smile casually. We sat there next to each other, thankfully separated by a mirror-polished coffee table. Fish looked happy. Innocently happy. But I thought I detected an edge of worry too. Maybe she was reconsidering this tryst with the hoary money-laden ape from far away. I kept trying to look casual, normal, reassuring, cool. But I wasn't doing something normal. Maybe I had known that all along. Maybe it was really her youth and not her strange fishy beauty that had lured me. And I didn't want to look too reassuring. Too in-control, too smug, too—fatherly. And I certainly couldn't really feel cool, even with the hotel's frigid air conditioning. Sweat was running all over my body, making my clothes slip and slide every time I moved an inch. After an infinite number of eternities Tran showed up. Fish explained the situation to him. He laughed and said, "Don't worry, sir!" That was his favorite line of reassurance, but with his shock of unruly hair, beer-ravaged eyes and careless grin he looked an awful lot like a greasy pimp arranging a tawdry screw for his hot little property and some well-heeled trick. Actually, that's pretty much what he was, except that he was working pro bono. What a guy. But I couldn't blame him. He was only giving me what I wanted, what I had been seeking all along when I boarded a plane to fly far away from the troubles, sadness and chaos of my life in the USA: a ticket to the far reaches of the sexual wilderness. But was it going to be a one-way ticket? "Come with me, sir!" We followed Tran to the front desk, where the gorgeous clerk in the immaculate blue ao dai didn't seem to react too reassuringly to whatever Tran said. But he kept grinning. Fish and I followed him again, sheepishly, like two ludicrously mismatched innocents who had bonded solely through the shared knowledge of their impending slaughter. The uniformed guards seemed to multiply, until they outnumbered the milling crowd of hotel guests, until they filled the lobby, pushing the guests aside, a platoon of young men drilled and trained to stop Caucasoid ogres like me from plucking and ravishing the beauteous flowers of youth that grew rampant in the lush green hills of the motherland. In their starched uniforms they looked a lot more like NVA than VC, but they also looked fully capable of engaging in warfare, whether in a muddy jungle or a spic and span hotel lobby. I kept following Tran to the elevator alongside fish, wondering when they were going to bare their bayonets. We got on with several other guests. Tran smiled and pushed the button for the second floor. It looked like we would soon be cruising upward toward heaven. Then one of the stern guards jumped into the elevator, barked sharply at Tran, reached up, jammed a big red button that froze the elevator in place with the doors open. I froze too. The sweat that swam on my body turned to ice. My heart, plunged to absolute zero, stopped beating. I felt like the guy in Midnight Express, with all the eyes, guns, and hatred in the country focused upon his hashish-laden body. I had no hash. No illicit substances concealed from sight. But I did have a seemingly innocent, sweet, virginal, fishy-looking young woman beside me. And, truth be told, I had really pursued her because deep inside I felt her youth and her bizarre beauty would be an intoxicant, an opiate, a tonic against the pain of the open wounds that covered my soul after the mocked promises, the humiliation, the crushing deaths, the love found and lost that filled the bitter years since my last visit to this place. But Fish was not a drug, and she was not some lower species. She was a woman. I broke through my icy fear, broke apart that frozen moment, to smile at her. She smiled back. The guard ordered all three of us politely but firmly off of the elevator. I started wondering what the food was like in Vietnamese prisons. Tran laughed and headed jauntily for the front exit. Fish Story Author’s disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction written for the entertainment of adults. All character are fictional and adult. This story is authorized for posting on the EMCSA at www.literotica.com and may be downloaded for personal use. Publication on any other site or in any other form with out the author’s permission is strictly prohibited. Comments and criticisms are welcome at the link below. A bell on the door clanged as Mike and Steve entered the little bait shop up the canyon. No one was behind the counter but there was muffled noise from the back room and after a few minutes, a disheveled old man appeared, grinning broadly. “Hello, young fellers,” he greeted them. “Welcome to Gibb’s bait shop. I’m Gibb. You fixin t’ do some fishin?” “Yeah,” said Mike. “Trout.” Mike was a man of few words. A man that size didn’t have to say much. “Any advice on where to drop a line?” asked Steve. “Oh, you’ll catch somethin if y’ take any of the trails about a quarter mile further up the canyon,” said Gibb. “Provided, a course, that y’ got the right bait.” Steve grinned and Mike grunted. “So what sort of bait works best?” asked Steve. “Well, fer rainbows, I like to use these little red jobbers with either salmon eggs or velveeta on the hooks,” he said, showing a bright red oval with three hooks on the bottom. “Fer brown trout, I’ve had better luck with garlic-scented lures--these little rubber doolies are pretty good.” “A course,” he said with a conspiratorial grin, “This here lure is m’favorite.” He pointed to a shiny silver lure hanging behind the counter. “HYPNOLURE” was written across the cardboard backing, the O filled with a black and white spiral. A cartoon fish was staring at the thing with similar spirals in its eyes. ‘Fish Can’t Resist It!’ claimed the packaging. There was a $40 price sticker on it. Mike snorted derisively. Steve was more forgiving; He didn’t intend to buy the thing, but he figured the old timer must have a great story to try and sell the over-priced toy. Steve loved a good fish story. “So what’s the biggest fish you ever caught with the ‘hypnolure’,” he asked. “Oh, I ain't never caught a fish with it,” says Gibb. “Truth be told, I don’t hardly never even put it in the water. Don’t wanna risk loosin it.” “Well what good’s a lure if you ain’t gonna catch fish with it?” Steve asked, perplexed. “Well young feller, as much a sacralige as I might a once thought it was t’say so, there is one thing in this world more pleasurable than fishin! And God-as-my-witness, this little hypnolure is the best thing a body can have when yer fishin fer somethin that ain’t got gills!” “What the hell you talkin ‘bout old man?” asked Mike, his longest sentence that month. “Glad you asked, young feller. Listen up an I’ll tell ya,” The old man settled in to serious old fart story mode: ******** Now, I love t’ fish--that’s why I bought the bait shop! But Social Security don’t pay shit so if I’m gonna make a livin, I gotta be here. I can’t sell bait ‘n’ tackle t’ gentlemen like yerselfs if’n I’m off fishin, now can I? An what kinda man would I be if I didn’t try out new products afore I sold ‘em? I got no choice--I gotta fish outta season!” I always got away with it, too! Old Rex Statin was game warden in these parts fer damn near 30 years an he ‘n’ I, we were buds. As long as I didn’t make it too obvious and didn’t over fish any one area, he was fine with it. Hell, sometimes he’d even join me--not like a game warden gets a lot of time t’ fish durin the season either. But that ended when Rex’s wife Polly got it into her head that they should retire to Miami. Damn shame, that. I lost a good friend and wound up with a headache: A young spitfire name a Laurie Kettinger, Rex’s replacement. Pretty young thing with wild curly hair who filled out her uniform right nicely, but she was a damned zealot about the fish and game laws. That little lady filled out more citations her first year than Rex did in 30. Every sorry sonuvabitch comin’ outta the canyon had a sob story about Officer Kettinger levyin $50 to $100 fines and not even lettin ‘em keep the fish! Well, it weren’t good fer business but I figured it served um right fer bein stupid enough to get caught. That was, a course, until the day that I got caught m’self. It was only a week afore openin day and I had me a sampler pack a new lures that this damned salesman kept pesterin me about, askin if I’d tried ‘em and which ones I liked and blowin smoke up my keester about how he valued my opinion when we both knew he just wanted me t’ sell his shit fer ‘im. But rather ‘n keep blowin him off, I took the sampler pack and a six-pack a Coors and headed off to try ‘em out. It was a pretty good day, fishin-wise, an a damn near perfect day sittin in the sun and drinkin-wise. Most of the fish I caught were too scrawny an I tossed ‘em, back fer catchin later, but I did pull in a bute of a rainbow that was supper material. I had just finished cleanin the dang thing and was puttin on this here hypnolure to give it a go when damned if that pretty little game warden didn’t come along right outta nowhere. Now when I was a younger man, nobody that hadn’t made a deal with the devil could sneak up on me in the woods. I’m part injun, y’ know; My papa’s mama was Nez Perce. But I guess I’m goin deaf cuz there she was and there I was lookin guilty as the devil himself with fish guts on my boots and m’ rod in my hand. She clucked her tongue in disapproval like a goddamned chicken. “Shame on you, Gibb!” she says, “You of all people ought to respect the fishing laws! Your very livelihood depends on this area not being over-fished!” “Now, now, Miss Kettinger” I says, “Don’t go gettin a bug in yer britches. I certainly don’t mean no harm. I jus’ don’t get much time t’ fish durrin’ the reg’lar season what with runnin my shop an all.” She didn’t answer me though. She was starin off t’ the side a me. I turned but damned if I saw what was so interesin. She just kept starin, though, like she done fergot I was there. Finally I figrued out she was lookin at this here jobby, the hypnolure, as it was a spinnin an a sparklin in the sunlight. “Thas right pretty, ain’t it Miss Kettinger,” I says, hopin’ t’change the subject and avoid a fine. “They calls it a hypnolure. They say the fish jus’ can’t resist it.” “Can’t resist it...” she says in a dreamy sorta voice. Now this seemed a might strange t’me, I must say. Here this little spitfire was all set to give me a fine and a sermon t’ boot and now she was all smiles and sighs starin at m’bait. It was the damnedest thing! “Yeah,” I says, “They say the fish jus’ can’t help but watch it. They’re drawn to it. One look ‘n’ they’re completely under it’s power.” And damned if she didn’t repeat me again. “Completely under it’s power...” she says like she’s all hypnotized like in them movies y’see on the T.V. late at night. Now I didn’t know shit about hypnosis apart from what I’d seen in them movies, but I figured what the hell did I have t’loose? “You jus’ can’t look away from the lure, can you Laurie,” I says, “You don’t wanna look away.” “Don’t wanna look away,” she says, sure as yer born. So I keep goin, I do. “You want to watch the lure,” I tells her, “Watch and listen to the sound a my voice.” An sure as shit she agrees! “You trust the sound a my voice, Laurie,” I says, “You want t’do what I tells you.” An she damn well says that she wants to do as I tells her! Well, I try t’recall what I seen on the T.V. I tells her that she feels warm and relaxed and happy. Afore ya know it, she’s a smilin like she h’ain’t a care in the world! I tells her she don’t wanna give me no citation, that I’m a special circumstance--and she damn well conceeded as much! I gotta tell ya, I thought fer a while there that I musta been dreamin. But hell, dream er not, damned if I weren’t gonna go with it. An old geezer like me don’t find a sweet young thing like Miss Laurie Kettinger in such an agreeable mood every day! I remembered sumpin I saw on the T.V. once an’ I figured I’d give it a try. “It’s awful warm out here,” I says, “Damned uncomfortable t’ be wearin so much clothes.” “Damned uncomfortable,” she says, all dream-like and God-as-my-witness, she started sweatin! “You should take yer jacket off, too” I says an sure enough, she unbuttoned it and let it drop to the ground. She had a little white tank-top on underneath that clung to her. Can’t say as I blamed it. With the Ranger’s jacket out of the way, it was clear what a truly impressive rack our dear Officer Kettinger had. Nicest set a hooters I laid eyes on in my 72 years on this earth! “You should take yer tank top off,” I tells her, “It’d be much more comferbal an we’re all alone. Nobodys gonna see.” “Yes,” she says, “Take it off.” An she pulls the sweaty tank up o’er her head and is standin there in her brassiere! “That bra is real uncomferbal,” I tells her, “So damn tight. You should take that off too.” “Bra too tight,” she says, “I should take it off.” An lordy, lordy, but she reached back and snapped that sucker open, let it fall to the ground, and them gorgeous jugs were right there starin back at me, nipples risin in the breeze. “Damn those are nice tits,” I says, cuzin they were an it just needed sayin. “Damn nice tits,” Laurie says and reaches up to give ‘em a squeeze, lookin proud as could be. “Yer proud of yer tits, aren’t ya Laurie” I says. “Yes,” she agrees, “Proud.” “You want fer me to touch ‘em, don’t cha?” I says. “Yes,” she says, “Touch ‘em” Well, she did offer and damned if I was gonna pass up the opportunity! I stuck my rod under my arm so as she could keep lookin at the perty lure while I took a boob in each hand. As nice as they looked, they felt twice as nice: firm and round and lucious! I tell you, I was in heaven! “You love t’have yer boobs squeezed, don’t cha,” I tells her an she smiles. “I love it!” she says, pleased as punch. Well, I gave her a thrill playin with her boobs fer a while an then I figured, why not get a look at the whole package? “Laurie, it’s very uncomferbal t’be wearin pants. Y’ got yer shirt off; Y’ might as well take yer pants off. An she agrees an she takes off her boots, undoes her belt an slips her trousers right off! I never did care fer pants on a woman an damned if these perticiler pants weren’t hidin from the world one a the loveliest sights ya ever did see! I mean fuck all mighty what a set a sticks! I been t’ Vegas a time er two in my life an I ain’t never seen no showgirl that could match’em, even in silk stockin’ and Laurie weren’t wearin nothin but white cotton panties and knee socks! Well, why stop there? I tells her if she’s gonna be out in the woods in her underwear, she might as well be completely nekkid. An she agrees, as cheerful as ever, hooks her thumbs in her panties, slips em down about her tootsies, and kicks em off in t’ the bushes, never takin her eyes off my lure the whole time! She took her socks off as well and there she was, completely al fresco as them foreigners say it. Nekkid as a jay bird and not the least bit embarassed about me watchin’ her lil’ red beaver! Damn! What a sight it was! ******** The old man fell silent, drifting off in memory. After a moment, Steve began to think he had fallen asleep standing up, eyes open. “And then?” he prompted. “Then what?” the old man says. “What did you do next?” Steve demanded. “Oh, well, I told her t’put her clothes back on and sent her off on her merry way, tellin her t’fergit that she had seen me an’ that she had taken her clothes off an all that,” Gibb said matter-of-factly. “Shit” said Mike. “You mean to say that you had her completely under your control, naked in the woods, and you didn’t screw her?” Steve asked, flabbergasted. “Now look,” said Gibb, “I’m an old man. It was a hot day and I had downed a whole six pack a’ Coors. Now if I was yer age, yeah, sure, maybe I would have. But spontaneity ain’t really an option with my old tallywacker. Besides, fer all the toutin of ruttin in the raw you might get in them sex stories, what you really get out of the deal is a bunch a dirt ‘n’ twigs up yer keester. It ain’t sexy an it ain’t comfortable and y’ risk gettin’ ticks ‘n’ chiggers in places where you really don’t wanna to go puttin no hot match head if ya know what I’m sayin. So, I let her go.” “Just let her go?” Steve asked. “Yep,” he affirmed. Just then a pretty young woman with tossled curls wearing only a shirt which barely covered her ass came out. Her legs looked better in bare feet than most most women’s look in heels. Her belly bulged expectantly. “Gibb,” she whined, “Quit your gabbin’, make your sale and come back to bed!” The old man held up his lure on the end of a length of fishing line and the girls eyes went wide, her jaw slack. “Laurie, you need to go back to the bed and play with yerself. But don’t come until I tells yuh.” “Don’t come until you tell me,” she agreed, then wandered back into the back room “A course,” the old man told them, pulling a bottle of Viagra out of his pocket, “The whole point a throwin ‘em back is so you can go back and catch ‘em again later.” He popped a pill then turned to the young men. “So, what’ll it be, young fellers. You can see I got things to do.” In the back room, Laurie let out a long moan. “I’ll take a hypnolure,” said Steve. “Two,” said Mike. The old man chuckled and opened the cash register. The End Let me know what you thought of it! Fish Story "I was thirteen when I got him-my first Piranha. I had to go across the bridge into Washington state to buy him because pet stores in Oregon weren't allowed to sell them. He was sort of a drab little fish but a real eager eater. He, or possibly she, I didn't figure out their sex until later, preferred bits of raw hamburger scattered across the surface of the aquarium. It was neat to watch the fish rise swiftly and with sudden small splashes engulf each morsel in turn. "Something about the eight inch fish's appetite appealed to me. Perhaps I saw a kindred spirit; Mom fondly refers to me as 'the bottomless pit'. "I saved up and got several more of those little eating machines. I soon discovered, the hard way, that each fish required a separate small aquarium. If they were in the same tank their appetite drove them to consume each other when they were hungry. "I'm fifteen now and you can see that I'm kind of a gangly kid. I think I kind of look like a red-headed daddy long legs. Not a big hit with the girls if you know what I mean. So, don't be surprised when I tell how easily I fell for the utterly fabulous Crystella Baumgarten. "It was a new term. We met in study hall. At least that's the way I think of it. Really we were just assigned to the same table. She had barely acknowledged my presence with a small smile the first couple of periods. I amused myself by stealing glances at her when she wasn't looking. Then one day we were sitting at our assigned table during our assigned hour when out of the blue she actually spoke to me. "'Jason,' she said with a toss of her long golden hair. 'I really need help with these stupid Algebra problems.' "I couldn't believe my ears, she hadn't spoken to me personally ever that I could remember and I have a very good memory. "'Sure Crys,' I said. 'Let me see what you're doing.' She slid her book and paper across the blond oak library table. I'm not a superstar in school but I get along okay. Math has always been pretty easy for me. I checked over Crystella's paper. She was making a consistent error. "'Look here, Crys. All you need to do is remember to invert when you divide. Like this.' I showed her how to do it. "Anyway, one thing led to another-my first real date, a movie. There I was sitting with sweaty palms beside that gorgeous creature in a dimly lit theater trying to work up enough nerve to reach for her hand. To this day I couldn't tell you what the movie was about. Finally I made my move. I lunged for her slim graceful hand and jammed my little finger on the wooden armrest. Pain shot through my hand and I winced. Tenderly Crystella took my aching sweaty paw between her cool palms and stroked it. The pain vanished. We sat through the rest of the movie with me frozen in that pose. I remember thinking that heaven couldn't be any better than this. "As the term went on I suppose you could say that our relationship matured. We sat together in study hall, dated once a week and I discovered how warm Crystella could be when I did her homework for her. Between school, homework, mine and Crystella's, and my fish, the school year sped by. "One day in May Crystella invited herself to my house. She needed major assistance in studying for her Algebra final. I'm kind of uncomfortable having kids over. Me and Mom live in a two bedroom town-house in Tigard. Mom is divorced and sells Real Estate. We never see Dad, just his check. Anyway, Mom isn't exactly crazy about housework. "I took the key out from under the planter that sits on our front step, the one with the blue plastic flowers in it, and let us in. Everything was okay, Crystella didn't even seem to notice the messy house. We sat on the couch and I packed all the information I could into her gorgeous head. When we were both tired of studying I asked her, 'How would you like to help me feed my fish?' "'Sure,' she answered following me into the kitchen where I took a dish of hamburger from the fridge. 'What have you got? Sharks?' she giggled looking kind of puzzled. "I was pretty close-mouthed about my fish, after all, I knew they were illegal in Oregon. But by this time I felt that I could trust Crystella. "She followed me up the stairs. When I opened the door to my room she gasped, 'My God, look at all the aquariums!' "I have to admit that it was a pretty impressive sight. By then I had twenty three of them. They occupied nearly all of one wall in my room. I found the low hum of the aerators soothing. It was even more impressive when I turned on the lights. The fish knew it was time. All twenty three of them broke water, splashing in eager anticipation of dinner. "'Watch this, Crys,' I said scattering a little burger over the surface of the closest tank through the screened top. The resident fish splashed again as it raced down the length of the tank sucking in the burger like a miniature vacuum cleaner. As usual not a single morsel made it to the bottom. "Crystella just stood there looking stunned. After a minute or two she stammered a question, 'What are these things? Piranhas?' "I just smiled and nodded as I fed a couple more of my eager eaters. She watched me for a minute then asked, 'Can I feed one?' "'Sure,' I said moving on to the next tank and handing her the right amount of hamburger. "'Why the screens over the tanks?' she asked dropping the hamburger through it. A piece stuck on the coarse hardware cloth and the fish jumped twice biting at the screen twice before successfully dislodging it. "'Two reasons,' I answered. 'That's one of them. It's nice to have that wire between your hand and their teeth. Also they jump out of their tanks and die if they aren't enclosed.' Crystella insisted on feeding the rest of them and it seemed to me that she was nearly hypnotized while watching their feeding frenzy. "Anyway to get on with the story, she just barely passed Algebra. Then the school year was over and we didn't see much of each other. She was always busy when I called. I found out that she was dating Brad Menger- Mister School Stud. Boy was I frustrated. I even considered turning my fish loose in the Menger's swimming pool. I didn't though, the chlorine would have killed them. "Actually Crystella and Brad only went out together for a short time. I heard that he ditched her and started dating Cherie Sullivan, the only girl in school who some might consider prettier than Crystella. Cherie had, like, a really well developed figure. "I was away at summer camp in the Coast Range when it happened. The way I figure it Crystella must have been carrying a big time grudge against Brad and Cherie. She knew where the key was hidden and let herself into our house when Mom was at work. She caught and bagged up my fish, all twenty three of them, in Ziplock bags. Then armed with the fish and a pound or so of hamburger, she drove out to where the kids skinny dip in the Willamette. She must have found out they would be there alone. "Anyway, she probably caught them naked in the water. Even if they saw her I can imagine that they were too embarrassed to come out of the river. I can just see her opening the bags and turning my fish loose in the water one by one. All she would have had to do then was throw a handful of burger toward the swimmers. It must have been awful when the fish attacked-the blood and all. Crystella obviously had an attack of remorse or something when Brad and Cherie began to scream. She went in the water to try and save them. The Piranhas got her too. "The first thing I knew about this was when I got back from camp. Mom picked me up at the bus station in Old Town. She had a clipping from the Oregonian. PIRANHA FOUND IN WILLAMETTE, the story led off. "Mom answered my unspoken question, 'Yes, Jason. They're gone.' "'What happened?' I asked not comprehending how my fish could have wound up in the river. "'I came home one evening last week,' she said. "The door was unlocked and they were gone. Nothing else was missing. There were some water spots on your rug and a couple of Ziplock bags laying by the tanks. I just can't imagine why someone would steal Piranhas.' For the moment that was a question I couldn't answer myself. "Well, you can imagine how I felt the next day when Jerry Fenster called and asked me if I'd heard that Crystella, Brad and Cherie were missing and presumed drowned. Suddenly I saw it as clearly as a program on TV; I knew exactly what had happened. When I told Mom she insisted I tell you the whole story." The heavy set, rumpled detective sat up and leaned his elbows wearily on his desk. He looked me in the eye. "That's a mighty interesting theory, son. I'll just have to look into it next week." Mom and I walked down the marble steps of the Police Station and headed for home. My room seemed so empty I couldn't stand it. The first thing yesterday morning I took the bus across the Columbia to Washington and "World of Pets". The OPEN sign was out and Mr. Shumaker was behind the counter. He smiled and greeted me by name. "Mr. Shumaker," I asked. "How much is it going to cost me for a breeding pair of Piranhas?" Fish Story "We can't go in," he said. He must have recognized the look of panic washed with relief that was transforming my features. "It's to protect you. Security." We headed into the raging sunshine, which never felt so good on my delicate albino flesh: so much better, I was sure, than the musty shadows of a third-world prison cell. Tran spent a few minutes on his cell phone while fish and I stood there smiling at each other. All the other women that I had ever been attracted to may have been smarter, wittier, classier, worldlier, even better-looking than Fish. But none of them had a nicer smile. "Okay," said Tran, "Everything is okay!" He led us to a taxi, gave the guy instructions, and turned to me. "Everything is set up. You can go to another hotel. It's cheap. Call me if you need help." "Great! Thank you!" We got in. In the taxi I felt almost free to touch Fish unabashedly. We cuddled together, me hoping that the place we were going would be no problem, hoping I wouldn't have to call Tran again, hoping we could finally express whatever love or lust it was that seemed to rage in both of us since she had parted her lips for my kiss. I don't know what was going through Fish's mind as we plowed slowly through the maddening traffic of Ho Chi Minh City. But I could feel the anticipation coursing through her body. It looked like a fly-by-night hotel, a tiny place staffed by a bunch of grinning young guys. But in this socialist paradise even they had to follow some rules. They needed my passport. Of course, it was the one time I'd left my hotel without the photocopy. My hotel kept the original in its safe, as much for their own protection as mine. I saw no alternative but to call Tran, which I had really hoped to avoid. He had work (and drinking) to do. But I felt I had no choice. I gestured to Fish that we needed to call him, and the hotel let us use their phone. Tran was not pleased. He showed up pretty quickly, haggled with the desk staff, then informed me that I would have to pay a hefty fee because I didn't have an ID. But it came to about six dollars, so that didn't bother me much. What bothered me was Tran's look of exasperation as he accompanied us up to the room. They had insisted that he leave his own ID at the desk, so I guess he wanted to make sure we were all safely tucked in before he left. The room was very nice, much more modern than my 60's-era spread at the Victory, with a marble floor, beautifully embroidered red drapes and a big comfortable bed. It was only when we got into the room that I remembered I had my California ID in my wallet. I took it out. "Hey, can they use this?" Tran said they could, and that he would bring it down when he left. I didn't ask whether I could get my six dollars back. Tran said something to Fish in Vietnamese. She looked shocked, then started laughing. "Sir, I told her I want to watch!" After all his trouble I figured it was the least I could offer him. But I knew he was joking. He came over and put his hands on my shoulders. "You owe me a lot of money! I had a lot of trouble!" "Of course, whatever you say! I thank you so much!" "I'm going now. I hope you have a very good time today, sir!" I looked at Fish, who was grinning broadly. "I will, sir! I fucking will!" He laughed and went out. Fish came over to me, smiled, put her arms around me, sighed "ahhhhh!" with her cute bubblegummy sound. I said "Finally!" and held her tight. We fell to the bed, arms and mouths interlocked, and just lay that way for a long time, enjoying the feeling of really being together. I was content to suck on her slothful tongue until she moved. Finally she started unbuttoning my shirt. She gasped in wonder when she saw and felt my hairy chest. I'm not even that hirsute as Caucasian primates go, but I'm sure that to her I felt like a polar bear in heat. She fumbled me naked, and for a few minutes I reveled in the feeling of being bare in the arms of this teenybopper-clad young woman. I wanted to undress her slowly, to extract the maximum erotic value from peeling each piece of cloth from her body, but she pulled off her sweater and then had herself stripped naked in what seemed fractions of a second. I went wild on her, kissing, licking, and sucking. I looked up at her while sucking on one of her small shapely breasts. She looked down at me with that benevolent woman's smile, that magnanimous smile of giving, of giving a man the pleasure of her breasts, the pleasure that she knows he has craved until the moment he finally kisses them. Seeing that motherly look on her young face drove me crazy. I kissed her everywhere, loved her everywhere, made sure to miss nothing. When I got to her vagina I saw that there was only a whisper of fine black hair above her clitoris. I licked her bare open slit, abandoned to happiness, determined to give her pleasure. Her bright bird-like sighs belied her fishy nature, but with my nose in her crotch the smell of warm tuna was overpowering. Overpoweringly delicious. After a few minutes she pushed my head away and pulled me on top of her. At first, as we tongue-kissed deeply, she kept her legs together. I had a condom, and I assumed she would want me to use it. I knew I should use it, even if she didn't say anything. But my raging erection had thoughts of its own. When she opened her legs the feel of her wet vagina against my cockhead almost destroyed any caution, prudence or intelligence I had left. She put her hand down to guide me in. But at the last moment I jumped up and put the condom on. Even behind a wall of rubber, entering Fish was like entering heaven. At that moment she was not Fish but Quan Yin the Buddhist goddess, the one who could answer human prayers. I made love to that goddess, I fucked her, I held her and kissed her, and together we spun through eternity. I had never been inside anything that felt so good. Most of the time orgasms take forever for me, especially with a condom. But I knew I could explode whenever I wanted to. I held back, went slowly, then fast, then slowly again. Quan Yin was gasping, laughing, urging me on. I knew an ecstasy divine, like no other. When I burst inside her it only drove me to fuck faster, to ram into her with blinding speed, to smash my years of unhappiness with a fury that gave her pleasure, that made her tremble in shock when it was over. She smiled and said "Wa!" breathlessly. I assumed that was Vietnamese for "Wow!" I smiled back and kissed her, my cock still strong inside her. After another long tongue kiss she giggled, got up and went to the restroom. I heard the shower. I got dressed and sat in the chair near the bed. I was in a daze, drunk on sexual fulfillment. Quan Yin came out of the bathroom fully washed and dressed, her hair a beautiful wet black. She smiled, straddled my lap, kissed me. "Quan Yin love Mr. Bob." Her bubblegum voice never sounded so sweet. "Mr. Bob love Quan Yin." I kissed her. "Okay?" She laughed. "Yes, okay!" We embraced for a while, then she said "Let's go," and led me from the room. I saw her three more times after that. The second time she brought her long-lost ID. It said she was twenty years old. It felt good to know that I wasn't a vile criminal. Each time I saw her was pretty much the same except once when, under Tran's influence, I was so drunk that I couldn't come when we fucked. Quan Yin seemed disappointed; I wasn't sure whether she just felt it was a failure on her part, or she really wanted me to fall in love with her, possibly with the goal of marrying her way to the United States. Or maybe she really was in love. But I didn't mind not knowing. It was our ignorance that led us to physical bliss. After a month, feeling horribly guilty about the mess I had left behind in the States, I went back. I left Quan Yin, my fish, my goddess. I want to return to her, but if I do I fear that the emptiness between us will be gone.