The scariest, sexiest afternoon I ever spent in my life was on a trip to Australia with my boyfriend at the time, Chad.

We were staying with Jocko, a shark fisherman, a friend of a friend, at his beach shack in the sand hills on the west coast about 80 miles north of Perth. The guy was sort of a hermit, and lived alone here miles from anywhere. There were a few other shacks and cabins scattered round among the sand hills here, and locals would gather at the nearby windmill and pump and tank to get fresh water and exchange the latest bullshit. But the nearest general store was 10 miles away, and the nearest pub 15 miles away

For a young guy, only 28, he was quite the character. He had been a high-school teacher until one day a teenage kid lipped him off. He decided, "I don't have to live with this sort of shit every day." He told his class they had the rest of the day off, and walked out. He never went back.

Since that day he'd been making a living here on the coast, catching food fish, mostly sharks, to sell to the fish and chip shops in the city. He'd keep his catch on ice and make three runs a week in to Perth to sell then via the back door of the fish and chip shops, which were supposed to buy through the fish marketing board.

He had already baited his shark lines before we arrived on the night bus from Perth. He picked us up at the stop on the main highway, 2 miles inland from his camp, over a sand and gravel track through a sheep station.

The evening we arrived, as we settled in and got to know him, he explained to us that he rarely had to deal with a live shark. Each evening he would bait up his set line: 250 feet of nylon rope, with shark hooks on leaders every ten feet, and plastic ball floats every 25 feet and at each end. The rope was anchored at each end with long leaders tied to five gallon drums of cement on the ocean floor, twenty-five to thirty feet down. He would bait the hooks with sheep heads and other offal meat from the abattoirs. He would go out the next morning and haul in his catch, usually 3 or 4 six-foot sharks a night - usually already dead. They drowned on the hooks. Sometimes he had to put a rifle bullet in the brain of one that was still kicking, but that was rare. The 3 or 4 sharks would yield about 250-300 pounds of meat at 50 cents a pound. Most weeks he cleared $750, enough for him to live as comfortably as he wanted.

Chad asked him what was the biggest shark he had ever caught.

"It was a big white. I dunno it's real size," he told us, 'but it was still alive and furious when I went to pull in my lines. I had to shoot it in the head three times before it quite struggling. I managed to lash it to the side of me boat, which is a 10 footer. The shark's head stuck way out front of the boat, and the tail stuck way out the back. I'm guessing maybe 15 or 16 feet.

"I don't really know, because I never did actually get it to shore. A squall came up, and my boat was so lop-sided I thought it was going to capsize me, but a fishing trawler was passing by. I waved it down and gave the big fish to those blokes."

"About a month later I ran into the same blokes in the local pub. The skipper came up to me at the bar and gave me $50 and said it was my share of the shark. There was 4 of them and I dunno how they shared it out, but if they gave me $50, that was a lot of shark."

In his "shack", which looked very dumpy from the outside, he had internet, and satellite TV, and landline and cellular phones. Hs whole house was powered solar panels on the roof, and backed up by a very quiet generator system in a little shed at the rear. From in the house it sounded not much louder than the average fridge.

Fresh water was at a premium, however. He did catch some from rainfall on the tin roof in a large water tank at the side of the house, but he carted most of it from the local windmill pump in a couple of 40 gallon drums permanently installed on his "ute," a 4-wheel drive utility vehicle. He made that run daily as needed, and pumped the water into his main storage tank.

There was a bathroom with a sink and shower, but showers had to be kept short because of the water situation. Hot water was supplied by the same solar panels as the electricity, which gathered the sun's heat as well as its solar electricity.

The toilet was a "dunny" - an outhouse in the sand hills behind the house. Jocko warned us to be on the watch for snakes when we went out there in the daytime in particular. They liked to hide from the heat in its shade or interior.

Apart from snakes, there were also some scorpions to worry about. Other wildlife included tons of emus and kangaroos, some wild horses, wild pigs, wild goats, and even a few camels, originally brought into the country during the gold rushes to the desert interior.

At that time he was negotiating to buy 2 acres of the sheep station we was "squatting" on from its owner, and then sink his own well. A dowser had told him water was only about 60 feet down through sand and sandstone.

Our first morning there, we went out with Jocko to pull in his catch. It was a glorious morning, with miles and miles of sandy beach and blue skies and deeper blue ocean, broken only by a few rocky outcrops, or sand bars, and the dark line of the reef about a quarter of a mile out. However, I'm ashamed to say that both Chad and I got seasick in that small boat in the swell left over from a recent storm. Jocko had to bring us back in to shore and go back out for his catch.

While he brought in his catch, Chad and I went for a morning run along the beach. We didn't go in the water because we were afraid of sharks, especially since Jocko had related his Big White story.

We ran for about a mile, and eventually collapsed onto the sand, both puffing heavily. I had only recently quit smoking (for the umpteenth time) and was feeling the toll. We lay on our backs looking up into the clear blue sky.

"I'm glad you talked me into coming," Chad told me. "This is great."

His hand had found its way to my crotch and he was fondling my dick through the skimpy cloth of my bathing suit.

"My dick will be great, too, if you don't quit that." He didn't quit - I didn't want him to quit, anyway, and he knew that - but instead his hand slipped inside my brief bathers and grasped my dick. I was hard immediately.

"I'm horny," he told me. "I didn't get any last night." Jocko had put us in bunk beds in the spare bedroom. We had slept apart for the first time in months. I could have climbed down to his bottom bunk, but I thought we might waken Jocko in the next room. We didn't know whether he knew we were gay, or how he would react if he did find out.

"Well, I guess this means you're not feeling too seasick any more?"

"No, just horny," Chad had flipped my now-hard dick out of my swim suit by now. I lay back and enjoyed his masturbating me slowly, bringing me to full arousal. There was no-one else on the beach in the miles that we could see. Jocko's boat was way out by the reefs, tending to his shark line and some crayfish traps he also had out there. I doubted that he could see us at all.

We both wriggled our swimmers down and off, and now were fully naked. I lay back once more and let Chad look after my cock for me. He sat up, then bent his head to my groin. His mouth opened and close once more round the knob of my cock. I felt his tongue rubbing the underside of my dickhead, driving me crazy. I arched upwards and drove my dick further into his face. He pushed down at the same time to receive it. I could feel him sucking his cheeks in rhythmically to excite my already hard penis further. Finally he stopped.

"Fuck me, Rick," he begged, lay on his back in the sand, and lifted his legs up toward his chest, exposing his asshole, which was covered in sand.

"It won'r be too comfortable unless we get rid of some of this sand," I told him, trying to brush the sand off his butt and hole, stuck there with sweat. Luckily, in the hot sun it dried fast, and soon his butt was clean of sand.

I carefully wiped my cock and balls clean of sand, then spat on my hand and moistened my throbbing cock. I placed the tip at his asshole, which seemed to open to welcome it. I pushed forward gently, and his sphincter relaxed to welcome me. One more push and I slid inside him, driving deeper and deeper.

I leaned forward searching for his mouth, and Chad raised his head to meet me. I managed to get one arm under his shoulder and neck his to support his head. Our tongues searched each other out while I drove my cock deep into him again and again. We had never fucked like this, out in the open, before, and it drove both of us on to new heights.

It was hot sex - literally! The morning sun was pounding down on my back. Sweat was pouring out of both of us after this extra exertion after a hot run. We speeded up our fucking, and soon I was cumming, shooting my two day load into his ass. Finished, we put our swim trunks back on and wandered back along the beach.

By the time we got back to the trail which led into the sand hills to Jocko's shack, he had already returned. We helped him pull the boat well up onto the beach using two inflatable rubber rollers. Then he set an anchor well up into a sandhill. He told us he had lost boats before when unexpected storms came up.

He had three medium sized sharks about 4 feet each. As we helped him lug them back up the track in burlap bags, one for each of us, Jocko told us he actually made more money for this sized shark. The fish shops paid more for the smaller fish with the smaller-grained flesh, and the tanners preferred this sized shark for the finer skin.

As he prepared the sharks, skinning them and deveining them in a lean-to on the side of the generator shed, he explained to us that unless he removed the heads and a vein which ran down the back-bone fairly soon after catching the shark, ammonia in the dorsal vein would seep through the flesh, turning it grey and making it taste like bleach, and useless for anything. He cut the flesh into large chunks and stowed them in a freezer in the generator shed. He had modified the large house-hold freezer so that it didn't actually freeze anything, just kept it nice and cool. Jocko said that unlike most fish, shark kept its flavour after freezing, but the shops didn't want frozen or previously frozen product.

He let the shark skins soak in brine. He would take these into town to the tanners wrapped in salt-water soaked burlap bags. The tanners paid good money for the skins, especially if they had no flaws. Jocko made almost as much for his skins as he did for the meat.

He would also sell the cleaned, dried, bleached shark jaws to the general store in the nearby village. Tourists paid good money for them.

When he had finished, he suggested we all head back down to the beach and wash off the sand and sweat and shark guts and blood before lunch. He smeared some more white zinc creme on his nose - he was never without it; said his nose was always peeling otherwise - and we headed off back down the track.

At the shoreline, he dropped his shorts and was completely naked except for his sunglasses, which he also wore almost continually. He dropped those on his shorts, and turned to us.

"Clothing optional out here - as I think you have already found out. There's no-one for miles."

We took him at his word and dropped our bathing suits beside his shorts on the beach.

"That's better," he said. "Let the old fellas swing free. I always did like to see a nice bit of dick," he added, and you two certainly have nice ones." And so did he!

This was the first hint we had that Jocko, too, might be gay.

We followed him into the water.

"What about sharks?" I asked him, still thinking of his Big White.

"Not to worry," he assured us. "Sharks are scavengers. There's nothing for them to scavenge in close to the beach. They mostly stay way out, by the reef out there. The occasional one that does wander in to shore is usually small and more frightened of you than you are of it.

We did as he did, waded out, and dived into the small waves.

All three of us went naked for most the rest of our three-day, at least during the day. Nights cooled down considerably and we'd reluctantly drag on jeans and tees.

Jocko had also returned from his morning trip out with three crayfish, the Aussie version of lobsters. They were not huge ones, and didn't have the huge front claws of the American east coast lobster, but when Jocko boiled them up and served them to use whole for lunch, there was about a pound of meat in each tail, and quite a bit more in the legs. It was sweet and juicy washed down washed down with Emu Bitter, Western Australia's favourite beer.

After we had lain round the shack for an hour after lunch, Jocko suggested we might like to go snorkelling. He had two sets of goggles and snorkels, and two sets of swim fins. He said he had work to do on his boat, so he would stay on the beach. Chad and I had both taken a couple of lessons in Fiji on our way here, and had a little more experience on the Great Barrier Reef when we first landed in Australia.

"There's not a lot to see on this sandy bottom, but you will see some interesting fish. If you are worried about sharks, I'd stay well in from the reef," Jocko told us. "About halfway out to the reef there's a band of seaweeds and sea grasses. If you swim along it you might find a couple or three nice-sized crabs. You can stick them in this." He handed me a mesh bag with a loop for attaching it to your wrist.

The three of us traipsed back down to the beach through the hot afternoon sand dunes. Chad and I were stark naked, but Jocko wore his shorts. He explained that it was too easy to get badly burned while working by the water. His torso was already deeply tanned, but below the belt-line he was still pale enough to burn easily.

He had insisted that Chad and I rub zinc creme into our shoulders and backs thoroughly, because those parts would be exposed to the strength of the suns rays while we were snorkelling.

We helped Jocko roll the boat back down to the water's edge. He planned to give it a thorough washing out, and touch up a few rivets with caulking to stop some minor leaks.

Chad and I clumsily backed into the water, wearing masks, snorkels, and the the bulky swim fins, but as soon as we were waist deep, immersed ourselves and had a new freedom, gliding effortlessly out to sea, buck naked.

Once we got used to the idea of breathing through our mouths, and blowing excess water out of the breathing tube, we could turn our attention to the sea bottom some feet below us. The ocean floor fell away slowly, so that by the time we were at the the sea grass band Jocko had mention, some 200 yards out, it was still only about 12 feet deep, and crystal clear.

We saw all sorts of fish of different sizes and shapes, but none as colourful as those we had seen on the Great Barrier Reef.

At one point, we saw on the bottom what appeared to be a canvas bag, partly covered by sand. I dived down to investigate, and prodded it. There was an explosion of sand and silt as the canvas bag flapped its wings and flew off like a shot. I had been a large ray or flounder. I nearly shit myself in fright at the sudden activity.

When I surfaced, Chad was busy choking and spluttering, having tried to laugh while wearing a snorkel.

We had been snorkelling for half an hour or more, when I heard a sound like a slap or a crack through the water. It caused my to lift my face out of the water. Then I distinctly heard the sound of a gunshot. I looked toward the beach. Jocko was waving his arms frantically, holding his rifle aloft. He kept it wrapped in plastic, in a bench locker on his boat.

I raised and arm and waved back, wondering what was up. He made new gestures, waving, pointing gestures, indicating beyond us, out to sea. I swivelled round in the water to see what he was pointing to.

At first I saw nothing, but then the rise and fall of the undulation of the ocean showed me what I most dreaded to see - a huge fin, about halfway between us and the reef, maybe 100 yards from us. I got a vague look at its enormous body silhouetted in the swell. Even at this distance it looked gigantic.

I tapped Chad's shoulder to get his attention, and pointed out to sea.

"Shark," I cried. "Bloody big one."

"Oh, shit!" he gasped, pedalling water. We looked back to the beach, It was 200 yards away, and the shark was now only 100 yards away, and had turned toward us.

Jocko was now making different gestures. He was pointing to the north and making swimming motions.

I looked in the direction he was pointing. Directly to the north of us was a small outcrop of rocks poking their tops out of the water. The outcrop was maybe six feet above water at its highest, but at least it was out of the water. And it was only about 100 feet away.

"Swim!" I ordered Chad, "As fast as you can!" and set out toward the rocks, kicking my flippers as hard as I could.

In my panic, it seemed like a nightmare - the one where you run as hard as you can but get nowhere, and all the while your greatest fear is closing in on you.

Although both of us were ploughing through the water, it seemed like the rocky islet was getting no closer. I didn't dare look backward to see how close the shark was. I expected to have those mighty jaws close round me at any minute.

But that moment never came. The two of us reached the rocks almost simultaneously, and we awkwardly scrambled up, still on the swim fins. ignoring the barnacles that cut at our hands and knees .

Panting, we sat on the rocks, removed our snorkels and swim fins, and looked back the way we had come. The shark had obviously been attracted by our frantic splashing, and had come to investigate. It was now only about 20 feet out from the rocks we sat on, and we could get an idea of its actual size. From what we could see of its head underwater, its dorsal fin, and the tip of its tail as it swept by, I'd guess it was maybe fifteen feet long - long enough to eat me whole. A shiver ran through me - a shiver of fear, but also a shiver of excitement.

The shark circled the rocks. I am guessing it thought we were a couple of seals or sea lions, and would make good tucker for its afternoon meal.

We had clambered op on to the rocks at their steepest part. Nearby, however, was a little indentation, almost like a small bay, where storms had thrown up bottom sand which had gathered there over the years to make a tiny beach. Projections of underwater rock out from that kept the monster from venturing too close to it. We climbed down onto that "beach' as an escape from the cruel barnacles.

Looking out over the water to the beach, two hundred yards away, we could see Jocko. He had moved up from the beach to one of the sand hills. By shuffling along in the sand with his feet, he was slowly forming letters.

S ... T ... A ... Y

Stay? We sure as hell weren't about to go anywhere with that brute hovering close by.

Finished, Jocko waved to us once more. We waved back to signify we had seen what he had written. Then Jocko turned and headed back into the sand hills. I had thought maybe he would launch his boat and come get us, but no. He just left us there.

Chad went down to the water's edge to wash some blood from his foot, cut by the barnacles on the rocks. Only after he had done so did I recall stories of sharks in feeding frenzies, maddened by the scent of blood in the water. It didn't seem to make any difference to our killer shark out there a few yards beyond him, but the thought did give me another tingle of fear mixed with excitement.

It was with a little tinge of shame and embarrassment that I realized I had a raging hard-on.

"I don't know about you," I called to Chad, "but all this is making me terribly horny! There's something dreadfully exciting about almost being eaten by a bloody big shark."

Chad turned and the first thing I saw was that he also was stiff. I couldn't understand what was making us both so horny. I figured it must be like those guys that hang themselves while jerking off to get an ultimate orgasm.

"Get over here and suck on this, boy," I ordered him. But my dick was so hard it was stretching to the limit, and bending back on itself, almost pointing toward my navel. It was so hard that when Chad squatted before me on the small patch of sand and pulled my dick down to get it in his mouth, it actually hurt. It felt like it would break off any moment.

There was no pleasure in that for either of us.

"Let me do you instead," I suggested. I discarded the goggles I suddenly realized I was still wearing on my forehead like sunglasses. The patch of sand was too small and too studded with patches of the barnacle-covered rock which lay below to lie down. We chose to fuck standing, Chad leaning forward over one of the jutting rocks, while I entered him from behind, without any lube at all from behind. Not that I needed any. His hole was wet with salt water and sweat, and still fairly loose from our earlier fuck.

Chad let out a long "Ahhh!" of pleasure as I slipped up into him. It felt so hot and perverse fucking like that with the monster man-eater only a few yards away, still circling the rock, hoping for its dinner.

"Yes, yes!" Chad cried, "Do me hard!" I did as he wanted, the bulb of my dick riding up and down inside him. At times I would pull right out of him, and then press forward again. My knob would slide over his sweaty crack until it found its entry point, then plunge into his asshole once more.

While I was pounding his ass from behind, he was pounding his own meat with one hand in front.

"This is so fucking good!" he exclaimed. I agreed whole-heartedly. I must have pounded him for some twenty minutes while he masturbated himself, edging himself, bringing himself almost to ejaculation, then easing up.

Finally he pleaded, "I've got to cum. My balls are gonna explode!"

"OK," I agreed, and started really pushing up hard into his asshole, straining to shoot my own wad at the same time I felt him cumming. Soon I asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes!" he squealed. I could feel his ass start to clench my cock spasmodically as his cum shot out over the rocks. That was the signal for my own nuts to respond, and they sent the jizz squirting up my tubes into his ass in wave after wave. Eventually we were both spent, but clung together, me still buried in him, as the waves of passion and lust subsided. At last I pulled out of him, my cock softening still. A large glob of cum came with it and dropped to the sand.

We looked out to the water for the threatening monster, but it was nowhere to be seen. Was it still there and just hiding, waiting for an easy meal?

While we were still looking, we heard another rifle shot. We knew it must be Jocko, and scanned the beach looking for him. Then Chad spotted him. He was standing on top of the sand hill which hid his shack from the beach. He was waving his arms, signalling to us. We waved back. Once he realized that we had seen him, his arm motions changed to finger-and-arm pointing-to-the-north signals and "ta-ta" motions as if waving goodbye. We got his idea - that the shark had gone, heading north up the coast, continuing the journey it had been taking before we attracted it.

We waved back, indicating that we understood. Then his gestures changed to a broad "Come" motion, indicating we should swim ashore. We understood what he meant, and also understood that he had a clear view from his vantage point as to whether there was any shark in the clear water.

Somewhat hesitantly, we donned our flippers, masks and snorkels and slipped back into the water. We didn't panic, but by the same token, we didn't waste any time in swimming to shore. We went as fast as our flippers would propel us.

We dropped our gear into Jocko's boat, still at the water's edge, and went to meet him, as he came back down the trail once more.

"Bit of excitement, eh, guys?" he laughed as he approached us. He was stark naked now, just wearing his sunglasses and nose-smear of white zinc creme. He had discarded the shorts he had been wearing earlier somewhere along the way.

He too was or had been rather aroused by it all, because his large cock was larger than normal and swinging in the breeze.

"Went back to the cabin and got me binoculars," he told us. "Kept an eye on you all the time from the top of that bloody great sandhill." He pointed up behind him.

"Yeah, saw everything," he added. "Saw the shark get bored and take off up the coast almost as soon as you two blokes started playing dirty buggers with each other. Big White must've been too embarrassed to watch," he grinned.

If the shark was embarrassed, he was not as embarrassed as we were, but Jocko's huge grin and wink, told us that he was joking with us.

"Yeah," he added, "that was quite the show all round. You blokes got me so excited I stood up there watching and beat me meat. Shot a bloody great load of spunk!

"But not to worry! Don't suppose you two'd be interested in a three-way tonight, would you?"

"Maybe," I grinned back. "If Chad's up to it."

"Bloody rights!" agreed Chad, eying Jocko's dick and grinning from ear to ear.

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