Make your own free website on Tripod.com

Gone Fishing


By Doug R


During the summer of 1978, when I was thirteen years old, I went for a weekend boating trip with my friend Scott (13), his father, and his uncle. While I was considered a quiet, shy boy. I paled in comparison to Scott. With black hair and glasses, Scott was an intensely shy young man who usually preferred the action inside his own head, as opposed to playing sports, or hanging out with other people. What was interesting was the contrast between Scott and his father, who was an avid outdoorsman who prided himself on his macho nature. I have to admit that I wasn't very crazy about Scott's father. While the man never hurt Scott in any way, he never appeared to go out of his way for his only son, either. In retrospect, Scott appeared to have been always just barely tolerated by the "great sportsman".

But I was friends with Scott, not his father. And I liked Scott a great deal. We were close enough friends that we affectionately called each other "bro" from time to time. And so when Scott invited me to go with him on a fishing trip, I was more than happy to oblige.

Scott's family had just bought a brand new cabin cruiser. This boat was huge, with a spacious forward cabin with v-berth cushions. Scott's father had bought it used, but it was still in fine shape, with many years of service ahead of it. Scott's home was land-locked, with no direct access to the water. So this monster usually sat on a trailer in the driveway of Scott's house. However, the family also owned a small cabin on the other side of the lake, a place with a dock that they rented out to people during the summer. Scott's father arranged the schedule so that the cabin would be free every now and then during the summer. This was where they launched the boat into the water and served as our home base.

When we first shoved off, I looked forward to a grand tour of the lake. However, all dreams of having a high adventure on the water quickly vanished when, after a ride of only a few minutes, Scott's father steered the boat to a desolate lagoon on the lake and dropped anchor. I figured I could at least watch and see how well the "Great Outdoorsman" did at fishing, especially since fishing was all they spoke about since I arrived at their house earlier that day.

However, I watched glumly as Scott's father and uncle then took their seats on the stern and popped open a couple of beer cans. Both men talked...and talked...and talked. They pontificated on such serious topics as the looming end of western civilization, and whether or not Farrah Fawcet Majors ever had a boob job. Scott sat cross-legged by his father's feet, and dutifully paid attention to the conversation. Whenever Scott tried to interject an opinion, the men merely bulldozed onward with their comments as if they never even heard him. The sad fact was, he was wasting his time, because both men acted as if Scott and I weren't even there.

To say that I was bored was putting it mildly. I decided that since we weren't going either sailing or fishing, I would just have to make my own fun. I was going swimming. I went forward to the v-berth, where I stripped off my clothes and changed into my bathing suit. Once properly clad for a swim, I decided to try something new. Instead of going all the way back to the stern of the boat, I climbed out the v-berth through a hatchway in the ceiling. I emerged on the forward deck of the boat, feeling very much like a special agent who had infiltrated an enemy vessel. Once I stood up on the deck, it was but a hop and a skip over the side, and I dove into the water. It had been a hot and muggy summer day, and I felt relief the instant I hit the cool water.

I swam underwater for a spell, and when I surfaced, I found myself near the stern of the boat. Scott's father and uncle were standing near the side of the boat, and both men glared murderously at me. I stared back at them, perplexed, until I saw the fishing poles that they held in their hands. They had decided to do some fishing after all -right at the same time I dove into the water, thus scaring away whatever fish had been there.

I was so embarrassed I could die. Scott's Uncle, who we'll call Jerry, hauled me back aboard the boat with this cutting comment: "Apparently not all dumb blondes are women...." (This was a snide reference to the fact that I had sandy brown hair)

I sheepishly scurried back below deck. Scott came into the v-berth as I was drying myself off with a towel. He told me that it might be a good idea if I stayed away from his father and uncle for a while. “They're moving to another location,” he told me, as we heard the boat's engine rumble to life, “and they wanted me to make sure you don't try and go swimming again.”

Scott abruptly got a thoughtful look to his eyes. Then he broke into a smile. “I got an idea,” he said, excitedly. “It's really wild, and if you don't want to do it, that's ok, but it might make them forget what you did.”

Knowing my penchant for playing bondage games, Scott suggested that he tie me up, right there in the v-berth. Then, he would go on deck and tell his father and uncle not to worry, that he made sure I would not go swimming. They would come down, see me tied up, and hopefully have a good laugh, thus forgetting the whole incident.

I have to admit that I was stunned at this suggestion. And my first impulse was to say no flat out. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. If nothing else, even if they didn't find the idea of me being tied up funny, maybe Scott's father and uncle could actually take solace in the fact that they could go fishing without me ruining things for them.

As the boat sailed to a new fishing location, Scott and I got busy. I decided that I would stay as I was: barefoot and shirtless, and clad only in my bathing suit. My hair was still wet from my brief swim, but I simply slicked it back against my head with a brush.

Scott retrieved a bundle of unused rope and laid it out on one of the v-berth cots. I turned my back to Scott and allowed him to bind my wrists together behind my back. He tied a good, secure knot: I couldn't move my wrists apart for nothing.

We decided that I would look best sitting right in the center of the v-berth cushion, and so I sat down there. Scott knelt before me, grabbed my bare feet and bound them together at the ankles. It was at this point that Scott turned into a Hollywood director. He stared at me critically and stated that my bondage wasn't “convincing enough”. I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I allowed him to bind my knees together. Then he criss-crossed another strand of rope around my torso and called it good.

“Too bad you can't gag me,” I said. I actually meant this to be a joke, but Scott took me seriously. He produced several handkerchiefs, and after assuring me that they were clean, he cleave-gagged me with one of them.

Now fully bound hand and foot and gagged, I stared at Scott in disbelief as he gave me yet another critical look-like an artist giving his latest creation a final once over before displaying it to the public. Finally, Scott placed another handkerchief over my eyes, blindfolding me.

“There, that's should do it,” I heard him say with satisfaction. We waited until the boat had stopped at our new destination, then Scott went above deck. I didn't hear him leave because he was barefoot, but I heard the cabin door swing shut. I anxiously sat and waited.

I found out later that Scott went above deck and proudly told his father and uncle that they would not have to worry about me diving in the water while they were fishing this time. When they asked him what did he do, Scott's answer was to lead them to the V-berth to see for themselves.

When I heard the cabin door swing open, I braced myself, hoping that this crazy idea would work. I heard Scott proudly announce: "As you can see, Doug won't be going swimming anymore today!" To my relief I heard both men erupt into belly laughs. This encouraged me to start writhing, as if I was struggling against my bonds.

I heard one of them, Uncle Jerry, walk up to me and place a hand on my bare shoulder. "Jesus, this is no joke," he exclaimed. "He's really tied up here!"

“Good!” I heard Scott's father say with a chuckle. “Leave him like that for a few hours!”

The laughter faded as they went back above deck. I stopped my play-acting of trying to free myself and waited for Scott to untie me. I waited...and waited...and waited.....

After what seemed like several minutes, I finally started struggling against my bonds for real. By this point of my young life, I had been tied countless times by people who were masters of the knot. This was the first time I had ever been tied up by Scott, and I was shocked at just how securely he bound me. He had always been an avid listener of my tales of bondage games with the "Usual Suspects"--and he was even once tied up himself by Becca, the Dragonlady of Bondage herself--but I never suspected that his "binding talents" would be this good.

If only I had not been blindfolded. It would have been a big help for me to at least see the situation I was in. I decided to try an old trick. I slowly leaned over on my left side, swinging my bound feet upwards, until I lay on my side on the V-berth. I then rubbed my head against the cushion in an effort to catch the blindfold and pull it off of my eyes. Thankfully, the handkerchief that blindfolded me was tied loosely, and I was able to work it off of my left eye.

But what I saw with that eye made me stop dead in my tracks.

Scott sat on the opposite side of the V-berth, with one leg tucked underneath him, watching me with slack-jawed fascination. He had been there all along, and apparently, he liked what he saw. "Don't stop," he said, waving a hand at me. "Keep going! I wanna see how you can escape."

"You're very strange," I said through my cleave gag. (NOTE: although a cleave gag might look very effective, believe me, it's not)

"Hey, I'm not the one who allowed himself to be tied up," Scott shot back.

I let out a weary sigh, then rolled over so that I lay face down on the cushion. I completed the task of removing the blindfold from my right eye. Once I had the use of both eyes, I craned my head over my bare shoulder and glanced down at my bound legs. The knots for both my knees and ankles faced my bound hands. I rolled over on my side and bent my legs up behind me, as if I were hog-tied. I used the back of the V-berth cushion to support my bound legs while I reached for the knot that secured my ankles. After a few good tugs, it came loose, and I pulled the ropes from my ankles. I then went to work at removing the bonds from my knees.

I glanced up at Scott, who now stood up. His eyes were wide behind his glasses as he watched me intently. After I undid the knot, I spread my legs, which effectively freed them of the rope that had been wrapped around my knees. With my legs free, I sat up on the cushion and stared expectantly at Scott.

"Aren't you gonna free your hands?" he asked.

"Are you gonna stop me?" I asked.

He quickly shook his head in the negative. "Just pretend I'm not here."

I glanced around the cramped cabin for something I could use to free my wrists. When I couldn't find anything, I got up and went into the adjoining cabin. The men had their belongings in here, and I could faintly hear them talking above me on the deck as I searched for some kind of tool I could use. I found it in the form of Uncle Jerry's hunting knife. I grabbed it with my bound hands, unfolded the blade from the handle and while being very careful not tot cut my wrists open, I delicately sliced through just enough of the ropes that surrounded the knot until I felt the ropes that bound my wrists grow slack. I put the knife back on the counter, pulled my wrists free, and removed the ropes that criss-crossed my torso. I reached up and removed the blindfold from my head, then I pulled the gag out of my mouth and let it hang from my neck.

Scott nodded, impressed. "What would you do if you couldn't get your feet untied?"

"Probably hop around," I answered. "The really important thing was getting the blindfold off so I could see everything."

What followed next was a lenghty conversation on the joys of bondage. Scott basically peppered me with questions: What would I do if this happened, and so on. After a while we went up and joined the men, who both reacted to my presence with mock-fear. "Oh cripes! He's loose! Don't let him near the water!"

As it turned out, there wasn't anything biting at the present location anyway, and after two hours of getting nothing, Scott's father decided to move the boat yet again into deeper waters. When we dropped anchor at the next fishing spot, Uncle Jerry turned to Scott and said, "Now that the boat's secure, it's time for you to get Doug secure."

Scott gave me a questioning look, as if to say, "Do you want to do this again?"

When I replied with a firm nod of my head, Scott grabbed me by the arm and led me below deck once again. I was loving every minute of this. I imagined that I was a secret agent--a special member of the Junior Spy Squad--who had been sent to infiltrate this boat. But I got caught!

Scott brought me back to the forward stateroom, where he roughly shoved me face down onto one of the v-berth cushions. He pulled my hands behind my back and bound my wrists together. Then he grabbed the gag that hung around my neck and pulled it back up into my mouth. After he tied my ankles together, Scott made a big scene of lounging out on the opposite side of the v-berth with a magazine. Not only was I bound hand and foot and gagged, but I was under guard, as well.

I gave the bonds on my wrists and ankles a few furtive tugs--but just like what I suspected, I was tied very securely by my friend. I couldn't very well try to untie my feet like I did before--not with Scott sitting right across from me. So I just lay my head down against the cushion and quietly bided my time.

Wouldn't you know that the creep must have sat and read that damn magazine for over an hour? He would look up and give me these little smirks every now and then. Finally, he got up and left the stateroom. Even after he had shut the door and left me alone, I continued to lay there quietly, just in case he might quickly come back inside.

After a few minutes, when I was convinced that Scott had left me alone, I rolled over on my side, bent my legs back--

--and got the shock of my life.

The knot that bound my ankles together was tied directly above my feet, out of reach of my bound hands. After watching how I had untied my feet earlier, Scott had deliberately tied the knot so that it was well out of my reach this time.

The little bastard!

It was time to go to plan B. I sat up on the v-berth cushion, then I carefully stood up on my bound feet. I tried walking over to the door using these tiny steps--which was all my bonds would allow--but that became too agravating. So I hopped like a bunny rabbit. I made better time that way, and I soon found myself standing right next to the cabin door. I was just about to reach for the knob with my bound hands behind my back, when I saw what I needed right before my eyes: there was a folded up pocket knife on the sole--or the floor of the cabin.

I sat down on the edge of the v-berth, then planted my bound bare feet directly in front of me. I shoved my butt off the edge of the v-berth and allowed my body to slide down until I sat on the floor with my knees up to my chest. I now sat right next to the knife. I picked up the pocket knife with my bound hands and opened the blade. It wasn't the same knife I used earlier, but a much smaller one, and I suspected that it might have belonged to Scott. In any case, I sat forward and peered over my bare shoulder as I very carefully used the knife to cut the outside rope that surrounded the knot. After a few selected strands of rope were cut, the bonds on my wrists grew slack.

I pulled my wrists free and yanked the gag from my mouth once more, letting it hang from my neck. I bent forward and untied my feet. Now fully free, I got up and went to the cabin door. I opened it a crack and peered outside. I could see nor hear anybody. Even though I was now untied, this was still very much a exciting part of the game for me, because I now had to somehow make my escape from this boat of terror. I decided to do what any self-respecting secret agent boy would do: climb up through the hatchway again. But once I was halfway throug the hatch, I saw a pair of familiar-looking bare feet on the deck. I glanced up into the smiling face of Scott. It turned out that he has been watching me through the windows all along, and was even more impressed at my escape.

"I'm gonna tie you up even better this time," he said with a smug grin. "I think I've finally figured out how to keep you securely tied up."

Alas, we would have to wait to see what he had in mind, because Scott's father overheard us talking and came around to offer us a lesson in "catching the big one".

My heart sank when I heard this. And it was obvious that fishing was the last thing on Scott's mind, as well. But I couldn't very well tell his old man what I wanted to say, which was: "To hell with fishing, I just wanna keep playing tie up games with your son!"

Nevertheless, we dutifully went around to the stern of the boat, where Scott and I proceeded to learn the "joys" of fishing. For the record, we still didn't catch anything, and after a few more frustrating hours, we proceeded back to the lakeside cabin and docked the boat for the night.

At one point during the day, while we were out of earshot of Scott and Uncle Jerry, Scott's father pumped my hand and thanked me for being such a good sport. He appreciated how I put up with what he called "Scott's silly games". I don't think he ever realized just how much I enjoyed playing these "silly games" myself.

Thankfully, Scott and I would play more of these silly games before the weekend was over. Those stories are next. As always, thanks for reading.

Click this line to see the next story.


Back to Main Page