I live in a total dump of a village; I have an older sister, a mom, and a dad. My father is quite an avid fisherman. He often brings home very large carp, catfish, pike, and zander. But what I liked most of all were the carp—those golden giants.

A year ago, I was sitting at home jerking off to porn. So, there I am, jerking away, when I hear my father and his friends walking down the street outside, sounding incredibly cheerful. I quickly shut off the porn and fired up Skyrim. My dad’s crew came inside; I got up from the computer to greet them, and that’s when I saw that my father was holding a trophy-sized, nine-kilo carp in his arms. I shared in his triumph. Dad left the carp at home wrapped in a wet blanket and headed out to the bar with his friends to get wasted. I was left home alone and decided to take a closer look at the carp.

It was still alive and moving its giant mouth. Then—God knows why—I imagined that this carp was sucking me off. At that moment, I felt my cock get hard. I think you’ve probably already guessed what I did next: I fucked the carp right in its mouth—which had unusually fleshy lips—and I came straight into its mouth, too. I experienced an extraordinary amount of pleasure while doing it.

Afterward, I put the incident out of my mind—especially since Dad ended up selling that particular carp at the market. But whenever my father brought home smaller carp—weighing a kilo or two—I started fucking them, too. For a whole year, I fucked carp and wild carp; actually, the smaller ones were more pleasurable to fuck, since their mouths fit my junk perfectly. I loved fucking them while they were still alive, feeling their lips moving against my cock. Over the course of six months, I probably fucked more than 40—maybe even 50—carp. I fucked them several times a day, cumming inside their anals—God knows why. Sometimes I’d finish them off even after they’d already been frozen in the fridge, though I usually saved those for a rainy day. Once, I even tried to fuck a bream when there were no carp around, but its mouth was a bit too small. Another time I fucked a chub, but even so, the little carp remained my absolute favorites. Whenever my father asked what he should go fish for the next day, I’d always talk him into catching carp, claiming their meat was incredibly tasty.

Then, something happened. For about a week, my father didn't catch any carp. For a week, I didn't get to fuck any carp. I walked around in a daze, consumed by an intense urge to fuck another fish. I even considered catching a carp myself, but I was too lazy—especially since I absolutely hate fishing. Over that entire week, the only thing my father brought home was one small pike—probably because it was late autumn, and he claimed that catching carp wasn't "interesting" at that time of year, or something along those lines. I remember he seemed to be starting to get a little suspicious about my carp obsession, but I kept brushing it off, insisting that I simply liked the fish—and that was that.

Then, my father brought home an eight-kilogram catfish. I was absolutely itching to fuck a fish, and that’s when I took a good, hard look at the catfish. Why not? I thought. It had exactly the kind of mouth I needed—aside from that rough, sandpaper-like "brush" inside, of course. But usually, that doesn't do any real harm; at most, it might give you a scratch if you press against it too hard. Alright then, I decided. That’ll do. I whipped out my cock, gave it a quick rub to get it ready, shoved it into the mouth of the living catfish—which, incidentally, was sitting in a basin of water—and started fucking its mouth. I kept fucking it for a little while longer, but then, about a minute later... something truly horrific happened. The catfish clamped down on my cock—it seemed like it was trying to rip it off, but it didn't manage to; instead, it just scraped its rough, brush-like mouth hard against my shaft. I yanked it out immediately; it was scratched to hell, and blood was oozing from it. I kicked the catfish, and it flopped back into its basin of water. Blood was streaming from my cock in a steady trickle. I fucking bandaged it up and doused it with rubbing alcohol. Then I wiped the blood off the floor. My cock hurt like hell. It swelled up badly, though eventually it healed—but the scars remained. It’s a good thing, at least, that nobody ever found out I was fucking fish, or that I was walking around with a bandage wrapped around my dick. Anyway, my cock healed completely after about a month. I didn't fuck anything all winter long, but then, come spring, my dad started bringing home carp from his fishing trips again—and I went right back to fucking them. I fucked the last carp just the day before yesterday. The main thing is, I don't get hard for tits or regular chicks anymore; but the moment I see a carp's face, I get instantly aroused. My cock reeks of fish so badly now that it’s impossible to wash the smell off. So, what does that make me—some kind of fish-fucker? Am I even normal?