W
wozniasm
Well, this may not be on for long, it's somewhat suggestive.
I was in a writing class with free reign on the subject so I picked the “The sensual art of Fly Fishing”.
Afterwards, there was silence. All were shocked that some old man came up with this. Here goes:
Stephen Wozniak – “The sensual art of Fly Fishing” :shock:
A young novice to fly fishing purchased a fly rod and with no experience with his equipment prepares for a rendezvous with destiny. Not to be seen and not to be embarrassed by the awkward casting of a novice, he practices in private alone in the dark for hours on end often referring to photos in a fishing magazine to hone his skills.:naughty: He knows that perfecting the art takes much patience and when he gets the courage to try in real life, wants to make his first time memorable.
The boy arrives at the river, a temple of the gods to a fisherman, settling in and waiting for the moment when the fish are rising. This tells him that the prey he desires is eager and willing. He prepares for the experience of a lifetime by donning hip waders, a protective coating that should be tight fitting to ensure nothing can penetrate. Once on, he gazes upon the area of conquest contemplating what needs to be done to satisfy his needs. He proceeds to slip into the moist fluid nearly to the edge of his protective coating. Once acclimated, his eyes wander over the area he intends to possess then bending down; he inserts his hand into the fluid extending it towards a stone. Using a gentle caress of his hand turns over the stone delicately and browses for any signs of life. If you’re lucky, you will find what you seek and now know what will quench the insatiable appetite of what he seeks to covet.
The fly of choice is attached to the tip of his line which will hopefully tickle the fancy of his prey. The boy pulls out his rod with a firm grasp settling into a well known grip he perfected in private. At this point, he starts to move his rod. Gently at first as he tries to set the timing of the strokes. Once a rhythm has been achieved, the pumping of the rod increases in intensity. Pumping and pulling, pumping and pulling and with each cycle, he extends his rod even further lengthening the strokes. He anticipates the explosion of line from his finger tips and rod but not yet, not yet. He continues the thrusting motion of his rod while, the line, begging to be released, twitches uncontrollably no longer wanting to be contained. With his limited experience, he focuses on what he considers a good spot; one may call it a G-spot that he can only hope contains the trophy he came for. He knows from what knowledge he has that if he doesn’t get it just right, there will disappointment and humiliation.
To the boy, the pumping and pulling seems to last an eternity and with one final cock of the rod, injects one final pump and extends his rod forward. He releases the grip on the line as the power of the stroke lunges it forward. The once twitching line in his hand is now alive and willingly leaves his sweaty grip as it ejaculates through the eyelets on the rod seeking nothing less than its moist, wet fortune. But no, it’s not meant to be; as many novices do he released his load too quickly. He drops his head in embarrassment and mutters “Damn, not again”. His eyes looking downward only to see the line dispersed into a limp puddle of waste upon the water. Disappointed but not dismayed, he waits a while to gather back his strength, courage and confidence.
Aware that he must continue so as to not to disappoint, he attempts to control his emotions, shrugs it off and prepares again. Recovering his line, he twists it into coils and ever so gently, caresses it between his now trembling fingertips. With a much firmer grip on his rod, he regains his rhythm and repeats the motions that seemed to work so well the first time. This time, a sixth sense tells him that the time is right and with one final stroke, lunges his rod forward releasing the now moistened line of disappointment and this time, the timing was perfect. Again the line ejaculates from his hand and up through the rods eyelets. This is it! Oh dear God!
His loaded line now fully dispensed lies perfectly content drifting in the current with the anticipation of the connection it was destined to meet. He now waits for some sort of response that tells him he was good.
On the other hand, the fish, quite aware of the commotion going on above is not sure what to think of it. :think: Due to the refraction that the water plays on the eyes, the fish pays some attention to this ritual but not enough to be impressed. The fish seems to recall seeing this many times before but is unsure. Maybe this is just Déjà vu but the fish doesn’t linger on the thought for long. The fish sees nothing more than a show of false hopes and promises. Since the boy’s line is far upstream, it is not yet aware of the coming attraction.
As the fly meanders downstream into view of the fish, the current stimulates the reaction of the fly causing the hackle to twitch erotically while simultaneously bobbing up and down, up and down. Though the fly is of meager size, the bending of the light in water enhances its size and the fish, now aware that something is finally happening, becomes excited and the anticipation builds as the fly draws near.
Always at the perfect moment from many attempts before, the fish goes down on the fly, mouth open and willing to accept this offer. Since the hunger of a fish is never satisfied and requires a sufficient amount of nourishment, it cannot contain its primeval urges; it takes the offering gratefully into its mouth. The eyes of the fish roll in ecstasy, lips quivering uncontrollably at the mere touch of the fly and greedily engulfs the offering to savor the flavor. Within microseconds, the fish becomes aware that this is not what it had anticipated now knowing that the fly is artificial and not the real deal. Now knowing this is a trick, the fish uncontrollably gags from the tickle of the hackle and metallic flavor in its throat.
This is the point that separates the men from the boys. If the boy’s line is not tight and he is not quick to react, the fish will reject the load of metal and fur. The boy feels the tap of the fish now knowing that the fly has reached its destiny. The boy must act quickly or both will be disappointed with the merger. He inhales deeply as he arches his back and quickly draws the rod back to ensure the offering cannot be rejected. Adrenaline flows through his veins as he screams to himself “This is it! Don’t blow it!”
The fish now understands something is wrong. It feels the prick of the fly’s hook but alas, the fish is wise from many feeble attempts in its past by more seasoned veterans. It arches its back twisting to and fro and with one final attempt of desperation, spits out the fly rejecting the offering in disgust. The fish, again disappointed, returns to its abode only to hope that soon, the real thing will come.
The boy, now distraught and humiliated, cannot take the chuckling of an older and wiser fly fisherman who arrived in time to see the boys’ dilemma. The old fly fisherman is not laughing at the boy but with the boy as he recalls many accounts in years gone by when he too shared the same defeat. The boy is unaware of the old man’s thoughts and takes it personally. There is nothing more the boy can do to regain his honor therefore returns home to lick the wounds of defeat.
I was in a writing class with free reign on the subject so I picked the “The sensual art of Fly Fishing”.
Afterwards, there was silence. All were shocked that some old man came up with this. Here goes:
Stephen Wozniak – “The sensual art of Fly Fishing” :shock:
A young novice to fly fishing purchased a fly rod and with no experience with his equipment prepares for a rendezvous with destiny. Not to be seen and not to be embarrassed by the awkward casting of a novice, he practices in private alone in the dark for hours on end often referring to photos in a fishing magazine to hone his skills.:naughty: He knows that perfecting the art takes much patience and when he gets the courage to try in real life, wants to make his first time memorable.
The boy arrives at the river, a temple of the gods to a fisherman, settling in and waiting for the moment when the fish are rising. This tells him that the prey he desires is eager and willing. He prepares for the experience of a lifetime by donning hip waders, a protective coating that should be tight fitting to ensure nothing can penetrate. Once on, he gazes upon the area of conquest contemplating what needs to be done to satisfy his needs. He proceeds to slip into the moist fluid nearly to the edge of his protective coating. Once acclimated, his eyes wander over the area he intends to possess then bending down; he inserts his hand into the fluid extending it towards a stone. Using a gentle caress of his hand turns over the stone delicately and browses for any signs of life. If you’re lucky, you will find what you seek and now know what will quench the insatiable appetite of what he seeks to covet.
The fly of choice is attached to the tip of his line which will hopefully tickle the fancy of his prey. The boy pulls out his rod with a firm grasp settling into a well known grip he perfected in private. At this point, he starts to move his rod. Gently at first as he tries to set the timing of the strokes. Once a rhythm has been achieved, the pumping of the rod increases in intensity. Pumping and pulling, pumping and pulling and with each cycle, he extends his rod even further lengthening the strokes. He anticipates the explosion of line from his finger tips and rod but not yet, not yet. He continues the thrusting motion of his rod while, the line, begging to be released, twitches uncontrollably no longer wanting to be contained. With his limited experience, he focuses on what he considers a good spot; one may call it a G-spot that he can only hope contains the trophy he came for. He knows from what knowledge he has that if he doesn’t get it just right, there will disappointment and humiliation.
To the boy, the pumping and pulling seems to last an eternity and with one final cock of the rod, injects one final pump and extends his rod forward. He releases the grip on the line as the power of the stroke lunges it forward. The once twitching line in his hand is now alive and willingly leaves his sweaty grip as it ejaculates through the eyelets on the rod seeking nothing less than its moist, wet fortune. But no, it’s not meant to be; as many novices do he released his load too quickly. He drops his head in embarrassment and mutters “Damn, not again”. His eyes looking downward only to see the line dispersed into a limp puddle of waste upon the water. Disappointed but not dismayed, he waits a while to gather back his strength, courage and confidence.
Aware that he must continue so as to not to disappoint, he attempts to control his emotions, shrugs it off and prepares again. Recovering his line, he twists it into coils and ever so gently, caresses it between his now trembling fingertips. With a much firmer grip on his rod, he regains his rhythm and repeats the motions that seemed to work so well the first time. This time, a sixth sense tells him that the time is right and with one final stroke, lunges his rod forward releasing the now moistened line of disappointment and this time, the timing was perfect. Again the line ejaculates from his hand and up through the rods eyelets. This is it! Oh dear God!
His loaded line now fully dispensed lies perfectly content drifting in the current with the anticipation of the connection it was destined to meet. He now waits for some sort of response that tells him he was good.
On the other hand, the fish, quite aware of the commotion going on above is not sure what to think of it. :think: Due to the refraction that the water plays on the eyes, the fish pays some attention to this ritual but not enough to be impressed. The fish seems to recall seeing this many times before but is unsure. Maybe this is just Déjà vu but the fish doesn’t linger on the thought for long. The fish sees nothing more than a show of false hopes and promises. Since the boy’s line is far upstream, it is not yet aware of the coming attraction.
As the fly meanders downstream into view of the fish, the current stimulates the reaction of the fly causing the hackle to twitch erotically while simultaneously bobbing up and down, up and down. Though the fly is of meager size, the bending of the light in water enhances its size and the fish, now aware that something is finally happening, becomes excited and the anticipation builds as the fly draws near.
Always at the perfect moment from many attempts before, the fish goes down on the fly, mouth open and willing to accept this offer. Since the hunger of a fish is never satisfied and requires a sufficient amount of nourishment, it cannot contain its primeval urges; it takes the offering gratefully into its mouth. The eyes of the fish roll in ecstasy, lips quivering uncontrollably at the mere touch of the fly and greedily engulfs the offering to savor the flavor. Within microseconds, the fish becomes aware that this is not what it had anticipated now knowing that the fly is artificial and not the real deal. Now knowing this is a trick, the fish uncontrollably gags from the tickle of the hackle and metallic flavor in its throat.
This is the point that separates the men from the boys. If the boy’s line is not tight and he is not quick to react, the fish will reject the load of metal and fur. The boy feels the tap of the fish now knowing that the fly has reached its destiny. The boy must act quickly or both will be disappointed with the merger. He inhales deeply as he arches his back and quickly draws the rod back to ensure the offering cannot be rejected. Adrenaline flows through his veins as he screams to himself “This is it! Don’t blow it!”
The fish now understands something is wrong. It feels the prick of the fly’s hook but alas, the fish is wise from many feeble attempts in its past by more seasoned veterans. It arches its back twisting to and fro and with one final attempt of desperation, spits out the fly rejecting the offering in disgust. The fish, again disappointed, returns to its abode only to hope that soon, the real thing will come.
The boy, now distraught and humiliated, cannot take the chuckling of an older and wiser fly fisherman who arrived in time to see the boys’ dilemma. The old fly fisherman is not laughing at the boy but with the boy as he recalls many accounts in years gone by when he too shared the same defeat. The boy is unaware of the old man’s thoughts and takes it personally.
There is nothing more the boy can do to regain his honor therefore returns home to lick the wounds of defeat.
