Catfish and the Debutant. By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have, comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
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Mrs. Harrington Berrington came by my office, mid-summer, during a lull in my work. Sometimes crime takes a holiday even in Richmond. It was an unusually hot summer and crime seemed to take too much effort. She was a member of the Museum Board of Trustees. We did security jobs for them. She had a problem, or more correctly, her niece had a problem. Her niece was coming out that fall in Charleston, South Carolina. The debutants of the year before had been afflicted by some nasty and embarrassing practical jokes.
One of these jokes resulted in a death Mrs. Berrington explained. "The police considered the death to be an accident. It was a chance happening, but my sister is sure it was a murder. It's complicated."
"Why are you here?" I asked. "Charleston is outside of my usual service area. Have there been threats? Are there reasons to be concerned?"
"There have been disturbing things. My niece, Eleanor, received a gift of dead flowers. The caterers of a luncheon found a turd in the salad. She and several of the other girls received nasty notes," she explained. "You would be totally unknown there. I would like you to check things out."
"Do you think it is a jokester with no sense?" I asked.
"You know I am a sensible woman. My sister makes me seem like a wild Hippie. Sally is into horses, you know what that sort of woman is like. She'd down to earth and sensible," Mrs. Barrington said. "She is worried. I think she had good instincts. I would like for you to take a look."
"I don't think I would fit into the debutant scene in Charleston," I said.
"Would I insult you if I said that is an understatement? A friend of my sister is an event planner. He is in charge of most of the parties. He needs casual labor; they fix up the gardens, decorate the houses, cater, and erect tents. I think you have done some gardening," she said. "Pinkney, the event planner, is gay as is most of the staff are gay."
"You think I would fit in?"
"Well, if you could close your eyes and think of England, I suspect you would fit in," she said. "Sally thinks the prankster has some inside information. Pinkney firm knows everything. Someone in the firm could be involved." Mrs. Berrington was wealthy and well connected. She had three boys, so her niece was special. She told me her sister had marred well, very well. Helping persons in high places is meat and potatoes for my firm. I went to Charleston.
I met with Pinkney as soon as I got in town introducing myself as Catfish Nolen. Pinkney Dabney Donaldson was a trip. I was not entirely sure his accent was real. It took a little while to realize he was a competent man, underneath all the affectations and mannerisms. He was worried. He specialized in fabulously expensive parties and hoped to rival Martha Stewart. Any sort of scandal would ruin him. Pinkney thought something was wrong too. He was a Charleston native and this sort of thing had never happened before.
"The pranks are getting bigger and more dangerous. Last year the temple we erected for a party fell over and killed a man. The police said it was improperly supported. Well I checked it and it was fine. All the supports were properly installed. They said the guy wires had come loose since we had re-erected it so many times. I checked that. Someone tampered with it," Pinkney was firm about that.
"Could it be a disgruntled employee?" I asked.
"That could be, but I doubt it," he said. "I don't go to man-power to get my staff. I work for wealthy people and so there can be no stealing of accidental damage. I pay well and give benefits to my permanent and semi-permanent people. If they fuck me over thye lose their insurance and their job." We talked a while and then he took me to what he called the dorm. The dorm was a semi-restored house provided housing for some of his employees.
That was the theory. It housed the men who were recently divorced or had just broke up with their lovers. It also housed men who had financial problems or were battling demon rum. There were eight people there. I had a room on the second floor.
It had been a nice house, but someone in the 1970 had renovated it Playboy Pad style. Pinkney bought it after Hurricane Hugo removed its roof. He had plans to restore it as sell it for a million or so. It turned out to be so useful to him that he delayed that plan.
The main floor was normal with a parlor, a large room they called the ballroom, a dining room and the kitchen. The second floor was the playboy pad. It was six bedrooms originally. It had become a vast master bedroom, with a study, exercise room, dressing room and bath. The bath was huge with a shower, Jacuzzi, and all the bells and whistles. The toilet was in a compartment. The rest of the bath opened into the main hall and the master bedroom. The shower was in the middle of the room and was glass on all sides. The bath was the reason the house had been unsellable. The top floor was conventional bedrooms and baths. It served as the divorced men's refuge.
The top floor and the main level were air-conditioned. The middle floor had lost its air-conditioning in the hurricane. There were fans but it was warm. Like most Charleston houses the side of the house had a three-story porch facing a garden, it faced a blank wall of a warehouse so the veranda was private.
A big black man named Mason was the building manager and in charge of all the heavy lifting and construction for Pinkney. I was in a small room in the back. Mason was in the former master bedroom. Ray and Lee were in the study. Ray was an electrician and Lee a plumber. Both had drinking problems and served as handymen. Mason both took care of them and watched them. Roscoe and Hal were in the former exercise room. They were laborers. They were friendly but not too bright. Roscoe was barely five feet tall. They did anything you asked them to do but were mostly cleaners.
Most men would have had a problem with the public shower. I am at my best naked and wet. I had dinner with the men downstairs. Roger, one of the divorced men on the top floor was a good cook and the food was good.
I have a south West Virginia drawl; most of the men had pronounced South Carolina accents mixed in with the Gullah accent of the barrier islands. At first, talking was like a Saturday Night Live skit on Southern Rednecks. We worked it out. After dinner, I went into the overgrown garden. It is hard for me to resist pruning. There were tools in a shed and I went to work. After an hour and a half, there was a noticeable improvement.
I has hired to be a handyman but there were many garden parties lined up. Mason watched me work and he approved. By then a storm was on the horizon. I put the tools away and went to my room. Richmond is hot in the summer but the humidity in Charleston was much higher. I went to take a shower.
Mason was pretty close to being naked as he sat at his computer. His room was open to the bathroom. In the Playboy Pad period, this made for an easy transition from the shower to the bed. I was not very bunny like, but as soon as I had the water going, Mason looked.
While he looked, Ray and Roscoe walked by. When the saw me, they stripped and joined me in the shower. Ray was a red bear, beefy and furry. Roscoe was almost a dwarf, but his body was normal except for short legs. Usually men pretend to be showering and just glance at a cock incidental like. Ray and Roscoe stared and Ray may have drooled a little.
Mason stripped off his jock strap as he watched. A semi erect cock makes it hard to pretend to be uninterested.
"Hey Mason, is Catfish here what you would call good for a white man?" Roscoe asked.
"It certainly makes a statement," Mason said with a smile.
"Are you the shy type?" Ray asked. "It's kind of laid back around here."
"I see it too hot to wear a jock," I said as I looked at Mason's meat.
"Are you a competitive man?" Mason asked.
"I don't want to sound crude, but as far as I am concerned the more cocks the better," I said.
"Mine's pretty average, "Roscoe said.
"As long as it works I'm happy," I said "I have a pal who says it not the size that counts, it's the taste."
"I guess you aren't that shy," Ray said. I completed my shower and went back to my room. By then it was raining heavily. The room was hot, but the porch was cooler. I went out and sat on a bench. Ray was in the next room. He was on the porch too; he was naked and came over to me.
"The dress code is informal," I said.
"Is that a problem?" Ray asked. I leaned over and licked the tip of his foreskin. "It is nice and private here. No one can see us except for the guys who live here. They are with the program," he whispered.
Ray had a thick, short cock that grew to become a beer can. His skin was thick. I sucked it into my mouth. I worked my tongue into the pucker and tasted his cock juices. He had been oozing and storing it in the skin. He was oozing a lot, since he had cleaned it out in the shower ten minutes earlier. He had made sure I saw him clean it.
I knew he had a drinking problem, but he was soon rock hard. That doesn't happen to drunks. Five minutes later Ray flooded my mouth with his thick and creamy man seed. He had a spectacular orgasm. His whole body shook and twitched as he unloaded.
"I'm no good after I shoot," he said in a whisper. "Will you take a rain check?"
"No problem," I replied.
"Roscoe likes you a lot. He a bottom, but I'm not sure he could take yours," Ray whispered. "He is a little simple, but he is a nice guy. He would like to play with your cock. Could you help him out?"
"You recruit for him?"
Ray nodded. "He is short, shy and afraid. Some guys just make fun of him. No one makes fun of me."
"I'm still fully loaded. I can help him out," I said. Ray left.
A few minutes later, there was a timid knock on my door. It was Roscoe. He was wearing boxers. I was still naked.
"Ray said you might drop by. Come on in," I said. He came in, but never took his eyes off my cock.
"You like it?" I asked. Roscoe looked frightened. "I like it too," I said as I put my hand on his shoulder. His cock has tented his boxers.
"He said it would be all right if I can to see you," he said. I slipped my hand into his shorts and stroked his cock.
"I was hoping to have some fun. Do you know what kind of fun I like?" I asked.
"Ray told me you took his load, but he shot off to fast," Roscoe said. "He doesn't really like man cream, I do." He paused. "I like it in my mouth or up my ass."
"Which is best for you?"
"Whatever you like is fine with me?" he said. "Ray fucks me. You are bigger than he is. He doesn't think I could take yours."
"Does my cock turn you on? You like them big?"
"I sure do."
"Let's see what we can do. I like to fuck too," I said. "I'm a small guy too. Do like to be stretched?" He nodded.
Roscoe was into it big time. I knew that short men work harder to keep up. Roscoe was active and imaginative. He liked cock and you could tell. He wasn't a hobbyist; he was a pro. I got into it too. We had an increasingly good time. As we sixty-nined my finger touched his hole. His precum flow doubled. I knew he wanted it.
He was both tight and eager. He wanted it so badly that I was afraid I might hurt him. I did not need to worry. I was a tight fit, but Roscoe didn't mind at all. His sphincter was tight, but when my cock head met his prostate, his ass opened like a garage door. His ass was shrink wrapped to my cock. Every movement, every jiggle was good.
I knew he wanted my cream so I just kept at him until I popped. He loved that. I pulled out and I realized we had an audience. His pals, Hal, and Lee had been watching. My cum was drooling from Roscoe's ass. Hal licked it up. From the way they reacted, I knew they are sex buddies too.
"Hal likes thing neat," Lee said. "He has a nice long tongue." Our little group broke us and I went to bed. When I went work the next morning, I was one of the guys. A naked show and tell in the bathroom, followed by some sucking and fucking established me as one of the crew.
Pinkney took Roscoe, Hal and me to "Summer Retreat," the home of Mrs. Barrington's sister. She was having a garden party that weekend. We were to begin the makeover of the garden.
Sally was Mrs. Robert Lee DuVallier. He was a stockbroker. The house was big as was the garden, but it was old and uninspired. Sally wasn't a gardener and it was maintained by a landscaping service. I had a feeling they did mostly suburban office parks. It was ordinary.
Pinkney talked with Sally as I went to work on one of the over grown crepe myrtles. When they came out it looked like a new tree. I had timed out the suckers and turned it from an over grown shrub into an elegant tree. Both Pinkney and Sally loved it. With twinkling lights they would create a fairyland at night. Pinkney was into fairies big time. The gaarden had thirty of them and they were used as a hedge.
Pinkney told me to do the rest of them, and then he left. Roscoe and Hal were doing basic cleanup. During a break, Sally came to me. "Are you Catfish?" she asked. "My sister described you."
"Did she mention I look a bit like Brad Pitt?" I ask. Sally looked at me and burst in laughter.
"Let's just say her description didn't do you justice," she said. Sally had skills as a diplomat. "Would you come inside and help me move some things," she said in a loud voice. Roscoe and Hal saw us talking. I went into the house. She showed me some letters and newspaper clippings. I looked over the letters.
"The writer has a flare for obscenity," I said. "He is educated, but trying to imitate a redneck."
"How can you tell?"
"He or she misspells things incorrectly. The writer also used the phrase "If I were to get you." Were is pretty fancy tense for a redneck. I also think the letter was written and then the writer added some random fucks to give it some spice," I explained.
"Could it be a woman writing it?"
"Sure, poison pen letters are often written by women," I said. "A girl entered the room she did a double-take when she saw me.
"Moma, is everything okay?" she asked as she came to her mother's side. Her instincts were to protect her mother. That was a good sign
"This you Aunt Betty's friend from Richmond, her detective friend. Catfish, this is my daughter Eleanor."
"I've got to get back to work or I might blow my cover. I can be here tomorrow alone. There is a lot of pruning to be done. Will you be here? I need to get some background information."
"We will be here," Eleanor said. "I have a file."
I went back to work. My Mom and Aunts were good about pruning and they said I had an eye for it. I took an hour per tree so I had a good excuse to be at the house. Sally was the head of the hosts committee, so many of the mothers who were involved would be coming to the house for meetings. I had a chance to see many of the participants. Sally was leader of men, and seemed decisive.
The ladies seemed to think I was a pet chimpanzee in the garden, but luckily, a chimpanzee who can prune is a real find. I think I heard the phrase, "Good help is so hard to find these days," a thousand times.
I had my old Dodge convertible with me so I could get around on my own. It looked like shit but had a good engine, but was the sort of car you never notice. It was in a gated community, but Sally got me a pass. When I went to pick it up the guard did not want to give it to me. He called Sally. She told him it was okay. He still didn't want to give it to me, but she insisted.
The security people were sincere, but ineffectual; they were typical collection of former military men and retired cops. Their main objective was to provide the allusion of safety. The area had thirty to forty houses on five to ten acre lots. I figured there was a good chance the problem was with an upper class person who was left out of the festivities or was just plain crazy. I doubted that many working people gave a shit about debutant balls. Pickpockets and jewel thieves might be interested, but apparently, there were no incidents of that nature
I got to the house before seven so I could do as I could before it got hot. I had lunch at 11:00 in a sandwich shop in a nearby shopping center. I was back at the house in time for luncheons. I like to look over the cast of characters. Eleanor had friends over later in the afternoon. They lounged around the pool. I guess they were typical post reality television kids, catty, rude and cruel. Most had finished college and were looking for jobs.
Several seemed nice, but others were auditioning for Bridezillas. Eleanor was in the nice group. They boys seemed very boyish to me, but they were not the type to notice the help, with one exception. A kid named Fred was a college football player and a neighbor. He was 22, and seemed out of place. His father was a former pro player, so Fred was a celebrity of a sort. He was well over six feet tall and 250 pounds. He was hairy and stood out among the shaved and coiffed boys in the group.
Fred was there to swim. His folks didn't have a pool and swimming was some sort of therapy for an injury. I was working on the hedge that hid the fence around the pool. When Fred was in the water, the others giggled about Godzilla.
I was sweat soaked and my tee shirt and shorts were plastered to my body. That left nothing to the imagination. Fred looked at my crotch when no one was looking. I noticed him. He saw that I noticed, but I smiled. He smiled back.
I was taking a load of pruned branches to a dump area in the back of the lot when Fred came by. His house was a back yard neighbor in as much as a ten-acre lot can be a neighbor. It was in a wooded area, out of view from the house.
"It's hot as hell out here," he said. "You must be hot as hell."
"Well, the early morning chill is gone," I replied.
"I use to mow the lawn. I used to hide back here when I needed to take a break," he said as he looked at the outline of my cock. "You have a big one there," he added.
"It looks big in proportion to my body," I said. "You like them big?"
"I guess I do," he said. He was wearing speedos so he was showing. "Do you choke guy when they blow you?"
"I'm careful, I have stretched a few assholes," I said.
"My parents are away." Fred said.
"My day is over here. I got here early." Fred started walking toward his house. I joined him. "I've never done much, but I've like what I have done," he said.
"I've done a lot and liked it all," I said. "I'm ugly and horse hung, that works for some guys. By the way, most of them come to like it a lot too."
"I'm a football player. You would be surprised how many fans are willing to blow me. That is quick, easy and fun," he said. "Damn you turn me on."
"Do you fuck?"
"I've fucked a few girls. It was nothing special. One girl told me she was pregnant. That scared me shitless. She was just trying to get married. Dan knew the type. She wasn't knocked up," he explained. "I told him about the blow jobs. He said that men don't get pregnant."
"Have you ever given a blow job?" I asked. Fred shook his head. We were at this house, went to his bedroom, and took a shower. Fred had a grower, not a shower, but I got it to show. I told him that it was his turn and he took my cock. He liked it. Fred was ripe and overdue for a real sexual experience.
We went the bedroom and sixty nined. Everything was good for Fred. I then sat on his cock. It was an easy fit.
"I'm really close," he said. "Are you close?" I told him I was.
"I want your cock scum real bad," he said. I got off his tool, leaned forward and fed him my cock. I began to spurt. Fred was like a man dying of thirst, he took every drop. When I was done, I returned to sitting on his cock. As soon as my hole touched his cock head, he began to shoot. He squirted the whole time I sat back on him.
I had to get to the dorm for dinner. Before I left he said his folks would be away for two more days. I told him I would be works for a few more days next door. "Can we do it again?" he asked. He paused. "I'll do anything you want."