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To pay the piper
The best way, I find, to start an afternoon drink with friends is with a little amoral tale, and what better place to start than with the Fisher. The version I know of that fable has the Fisher playing a bagpipe to the fish which ignore the music when they are in the water but dance to the music when they are landed on the boat; that is to say they only do what the Fisher commands when there is no choice. I love that the Fisher plays the bagpipes. I reckon the person who penned my version had a thing about bagpipe music. Me, I love ceilidh, if ever we can go to one of those again we most certainly will.
Another thing I like is it uses the word Fisher, rather than Fisherman, and the story Snowy told me one fine evening in this very pub most certainly included him doing what a woman instructed though I am not certain exactly when he was landed on the metaphorical boat.
The fine young woman sitting with Amaro and Snowy is Morwena. And though she does not come here often I have had many conversations with her. Indeed, I have had many conversations with Snowy too, he is a very easy person to talk to. And he is very forthcoming with detailed anecdotes. A low filter that comes with being the first to finish their first, nay, third beer first.
The trouble with asking people what was their first erotic encounter is, is either they have to admit to something they were too young for, or they admit to being behind the curve, and what fine curves Morwena has, I am sure you must have noticed.
Snowy’s first with Morwena was when they were young, younger than when they started coming here, though they are still clearly young still, perhaps even too young to be coming here. Who could say? It was a beautiful time in their lives when they had so much time. Time to drift from one thing to another. Time not to arrive if they didn't get there. Time to chat about something and nothing. Youth had that opportunity of time for us, so imagine how much time today’s youth must have with all the lockdown time added into the mix.
I hear many people complain how they don’t have the time they had in their youth, to which I say: pah, time is a choice. I think the choice most of us old folk make is to talk about nothing. We settle into the conversations we think will entertain our companions until we believe those conversations are all that is entertaining. Which is why the young are mute: they are overwhelmed by the quality of the wit available at the touch of a screen. They are bamboozled by quantity over quality. They don’t even realise the platitudes they find so aspirational are no more than verbal diarrhoea. And most of it is robot verbal fucking diarrhoea. Fuck AI.
Sorry for the rant. As I was saying I love a conversation with a little risk which is why I enjoy asking people for their firsts. Snowy reminisced with me about the times himself and Morwena dawdled and lingered. He could not remember what their conversations were about. He suspected they had been about friends, films, memes, the usual.
They fairly often found themselves detached from their groups of friends, but it was only momentarily before she would be called back by her friends or him by his. They were not girlfriend and boyfriend, though it would have been obvious they were heading in that direction. They had not kissed. They had not held hands. All they had done was talk.
One day they had drifted off to collect some work from a classroom. It was after school, they had been doing some work on a drama production with the drama club but with a back in a minute they found themselves alone. She had sat on a table while he sorted through his things. When he looked at her Snowy thought wow. She looked incredible. A few buttons of her shirt were undone and her skirt had ridden up her leg resting on a chair. The buttons had been undone in the drama rehearsals, it was not immodest, but at that moment he was captivated by her body. He caught himself and looked at her face embarrassed. But she was smiling. She kept eye contact and started undoing the remaining buttons on her shirt. Then she reached in and undid her bra clasp and dropped the straps off her shoulders. If he had not been hooked before this moment, now he most certainly was caught, well and truly landed on the boat, he was the little fish dancing to her tune.
He moved towards her, he reached out his hand and cupped her breast. He swears the first time he purposefully touched her body was that moment when he cupped her breast, then rolled his fingers over her nipple. Of course they must have touched at some point in their many conversations before that but this was the first time he remembers reaching out to her to touch her. Not a kiss, no holding hands, straight in with a nipple roll. He leaned forward to kiss her but she looked down. She undid his button, pulled down his zip and reached in for his cock. His cock was stiff by the time she touched it. He looked down at her small hand sliding up and down his cock which he said was as pale as the rest of him. He played with her boobs, she played with his cock and he came. Shot his jizz onto her shirt.
Before he had a chance to lean forward and kiss her, before he had a chance to think about the mess on her shirt, there came a cheer from outside the window to the corridor. The drama group had wandered in their direction and stopped to watch the little erotic tableaux. Morwena put his cock back in his trousers before turning away from their friends. She pulled a jumper out of her bag, stripped off the shirt and dangling bra and pulled on the jumper. She looked over at Snowy, who was standing next to her, facing in the same direction as she was, still sorting out his zip and button. His cock was taking a while to go down even with the audience. She laughed and danced away. Snowy listened to the group squeal as they left before turning around himself. He stopped at the door to look back into the now empty room, in that moment he enjoyed the memory forming of when he had first danced to Morwena’s tune.
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