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Double Entendre

By Maggi Whateverhername is

Double Entendre - by Some Tart who don't want her husband to find out that she wasn't really on a meditation course that week in a French nunnery (But her name's Maggi Howell) and Geoff Maynard

So. Taking a woman on a fishing holiday ain't always what it's cracked up to be. All the way back to Blighty she's nagging me. 'But you've got to write an article about it, you always do when you catch a big fish'. Huh. Tarts! I thought. I'll soon shut her up. 'Why don't you write it yourself dearest' I sez in my most loving manner. I must admit I got a bit of a shock when she did just that. Anyway. It's a bit slushy but you might find the new perspective interesting. So, oh - just read it....

He gently kissed my lips, tenderly pushing me down onto the bed. Our kisses became deeper and more urgent. He caressed me until I tingled with excited anticipation. My body rose - opened to meet his..... Or it would have done if the bugger had still been there! The noise I had just heard wasn't the earth moving, it was the buzzer on the right hand rod going off! I hadn't quite believed him when he'd told me that everything stopped for a run.

'It's a big 'un' he yelled, his rod bent over as he stood silhouetted in the moonlight - his fishing rod that is. 'Yeah, I can see that' I groaned 'Just get it back in the tent right now'. He ignored me.' Get the net, I'm going in after it'. I was outraged! 'Sod the net, you can't leave me like this'

All the noise had awakened our two French neighbours who scrambled out of their tent. They were somewhat startled by the sight that greeted them - a naked Englishman playing a large mirror carp. I think they were rather impressed, by what I'm not quite sure but I don't think it was just the fish. Anyway they treated Geoff with a great deal of respect the following day. Yes. My initiation into the world of carp fishing was quite a shock.

'Let's go to France' he'd said. 'You need a holiday away from that husband of yours and we could use some time alone together. You could tell him that you are going on a meditation course in a French nunnery and perhaps I could do a little carp fishing - if we're lucky we could catch a few doubles and maybe get a really big one. ' My ears pricked up at these words. I saw us in intimate little bistros - candlelight, music, wine - followed by nights of wild passion under the moon and stars. No kids, no phones, no husband - just us and France, the country of romance. We set off. Him, with rather a suspicious number of rods, and me, with lipstick. Zoot alors!

By the second night I was sick of him catching bloody fish. What about me? It was as if I didn't exist, except when it came to cooking and washing up of course. I decided that tonight was going to be my night. I was going to hook him! He'd caught two more carp that day, Grass carp. L'amour blanc as they say in France. L'amour! What a joke. Surely three fish would satisfy him - now it was my turn.

I planned the seduction. I showered, applied subtle make-up and perfume (Eau de fish slime not being the most alluring scent). It did not go well. My resolve to get Geoff into bed wavered slightly when, in the dark I mistakenly applied toothpaste to my cap instead of contraceptive jelly! How thoughtful of the makers to make it mint flavoured, I reflected. I have to stress that I am an intelligent woman - I have a BA Honours degree - but this was the first time that I'd used such devices. For any ladies reading this, I can give you a little tip here. Do not attempt to wash out toothpaste with water other than in your mouth. There it tingles, where I'd put it - it stings like hell! One fringe benefit - I won't get plaque. A whole new concept in oral hygiene.

Despite the pain, I grabbed an unsuspecting Geoff as he passed the bivvy. I thrust him onto the airbed, rather too eagerly I suspect, and jumped on him. Unfortunately, he had a baiting needle in his hand. It was the airbed and not me that went down on him! Calling me every sort of stupid cow he pushed me away, got up and rebaited! With the airbed, my ego and other relevant factors deflated, I gave up. I opened the red wine, and called over the two Kermits from the next swim. The four of us sat around the gaz lamp trying to empty the five litre barrel of vin rouge. I got pissed, Geoff got pissed and the Froggies got pissed. We all leapt up at every noise from the buzzers, French or English. Well, if you can't beat them (they're not all into S & M), join them. During the next few hours Geoff caught a respectable fifteen pound mirror, they caught an impressive twenty five pound catfish, or silure as they call them. Geoff was busted up by three more pussies, as he calls them. That was about the only pussy he was interested in!

Using my slightly rusty French I was forced to translate their stories about catching enormous carp until the dawn came up. Size is really important to men isn't it? Gradually I realised in amazement that I wasn't bored - I was hooked too. Carp fever had got me. I too was now fired with enthusiasm to catch a carp. I pumped the French guys (No, just for information) and was told of another lake full of monster carp with no snags in the water nor trees to impede a beginners casting ability. Directions were given, best swims to fish, etc. and I persuaded Geoff to leave that afternoon.

Three hours driving through the beautiful French countryside put us on the banks of the new lake. I put into practice all that Geoff had taught me, well almost all. I set up my rod, tied a rig, baited it and cast out - not quite where I intended, but close. On the third attempt the rig actually went in the water. Geoff, on the other hand, had at last succumbed to the moonlight and the continual coitus interruptus. His thoughts had finally turned to sex. The conversation became a little one sided. 'Can you put that thingy in my hand Geoff, please?' 'No, not that thingy, the baiting needle thingy'. And 'Not now, Geoff, I'm tying a new rig.' What a pain in the neck he'd become.

His incessant pestering finally got me to agree, just to shut him up. Well, why not. Everything was set up, alarms checked, baitrunners on etc., so I reluctantly let him take me to bed. 'OK, but be quick' said I ' I might get a run.' He was quick, but not quick enough. Five minutes later an ear piercing alarm split the night. I leapt out of the tent, sarong and knickers around my ankles. Grabbing the rod, I struck and started to give out instructions. 'Quick, pull them up, Geoff!'. He grabbed 'em. 'I said 'up' you bastard, not down! Oh soddit! Get the net, I'll need it to land it.' 'Sod the net!' sez he 'I want to land you'. 'For Chrissakes, man, can't you think about anything except that thing between your legs? I've got a bloody great carp on here'. He looked at me sorrowfully in the moonlight and complained 'And I've got a bloody great hard....Oh all right'. With his head hung low, he shuffled off into the darkness, his tail between his legs. He didn't look much happier when he returned two minutes later with the net.

Despite his mind being on nothing but bonking, he managed to net the fish at the first attempt. Into the sling and heave ho....Yuk yuk yuk. My first carp. Twenty two and a half pounds of stinking great mirror. Eat yer hearts out, boys! I shook with emotion as I proudly held the fish for the obligatory photo session. Thank God I'd brought that lipstick after all. Nice looking fish eh? Oh... and don't my teeth look white?

Our next trip is to India. My husband thinks I'm doing a transcendental meditation course in Tibet. Geoff thinks it's a romantic holiday under the palm trees. Wrong! I wanna catch a mahseer!!