Catfish Goes to Tinseltown. 2 By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you do not like that, DO NOT read it! You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, and is not for minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual. I have made no effort to portray safe sex practices. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
Over the night, the police and the arson investigators worked diligently. There was a potential turf battle between the homicide and arson men, but they seemed to resolve that quickly. The fire chief and the police chief had an aversion to turf wars. Homicide took the lead, with the arson investigator as his second in command.
The technical people had come up with one bombshell. The bomb fallowed a recipe used in one of the studio's movies. In Boy Bomber, a happy-go-lucky, but misunderstood boy, played by Rocky Master, built a bomb to get back at a school principal who did not like him. It was Rocky's first role. It was not a hit but it became a cult favorite among teen-age boys. The movie focused on building the bomb and gave do-it-yourself instructions on building the bomb.
As far as I can tell, a cult favorite is a third rate movie that appeals to immature boys and the girls who like them. The movie had a short run in theaters, but an extended after life in video form. It was responsible for eight deaths. The movie glossed over the dangers inherent to bomb making and most of the dead were bomb makers. The recipe was used in forty or fifty school bombings. Most of these were set in boy's bathrooms.
The movie was withdrawn quickly from distribution but there had been no way to get the videos. The ATF gave no publicity to the bombings, since they knew that would only encourage more people make use of the videos. There had been an effort to put it on You Tube, but that had been nipped in the bud.
The movie had been good for Maury. He was not associated with it and had opposed making it. The Chairman of the studio over ruled him. That Chairman was out of a job a month later and Maury took his place. Maury cleaned house after the incident. He fired the creative people who came up with the plot. Rocky was just 20 then and had just done what he was told. The movie was not listed as one of his works.
That information provided an oversupply of potential suspects. There was the former chair and his henchmen. The parents of the would-be bombers as well as the victims of the successful bombings all might be involved. We also knew that Rocky, the other actors in the movie and the crew all had detailed knowledge of bomb making.
They quickly ruled out the janitor, Juan Escobar, as a suspect in the arson. He was well liked and just a man doing his job. He worked from a Janitor's supply closet next to the alarm room. His room had flammables in it, but he locked them in a cabinet and did they not play a role in the fire. The assumption was that he heard or interrupted something going on in the Alarm equipment room.
I was in a good position. Maury wanted me to talk with as a many of the actors as possible so they could hear my accent. That gave me an excuse to meet almost everyone, and the conversation turned to the fire and the pranks. I talked with a good portion of the staff too.
I did not look Hollywood and was a bit of a sideshow, since many of them moved only in Hollywood circles. Their connections to rural Virginia were limited. Several of them had little connection to the real world anyway.
I also discovered that news of my porn career had spread in some circles. There was some interest, and many looks. That was helpful.
Dan, the Fire Marshal, Ed, the detective in charge, and Sara, an ATF agent were asking questions too. No one guessed the redneck porn star was connected with the investigation. The ATF people were checking the families of the school bombings to see if any were in LA. That seemed like an outside chance. If you wanted revenge, the bomb was in the wrong place. You would want to kill a heavy hitter, not a janitor. The police were checking the former Chairman, Malcomb Dewey. I knew nothing about him, but Ed did.
Maury kept some of the usual backstabbing to a minimum. He was a domineering man and had not risen to the top of the food chain for a lesser person to take him down. When you worked for Maury, you were on his team and it was a team effort. If personal backstabbing got in the way of making a good movie, you were out. Maury was also notably successful. You might not like him, but he was the goose that laid the golden eggs.
I had a long talk with Rocky and Brenda, the stars. Brenda was smart and talented. She had played Juliet in a college production and had dazzled all. She was an English major who was completing her masters and moving on to a doctoral program.
Rocky was not working on a doctorate. He did barely make it out of High School. He was a show off and he liked to act. Rocky looked great, and he had one great virtue; Rocky did what he was told. Rocky was only as good as his director. Needless to say, directors loved him. He was on the wrong side of thirty now and he had change his image. This movie was part of that image change.
Rocky was personable and pleasant. We talked about the Boy Bomber movie. He remembered his co-star, she was hot, but the bomb making part did not impress on his memory. He remembered that you hooked up different colored wires, but that was it. Rocky knew Juan and he did not think he had anything to do with the bombing. "He was a nice guy," Rocky said. "He cleaned my dressing room and fixed anything that broke."
I do not like to operate on hunches, but I suspected that Rocky was not the man. Even if he could remember how to make a bomb, I could not see him bashing Juan, the janitor.
Brenda had not seen the Bob Bomber movie and did not know it existed. She had done research for her parts and had been reading Steinbeck for background. She told me that her father had lost his job in the 2007 recession and she knew what it felt like to have your world fall apart. He had been a broker in a firm that vanished along with his retirement and savings.
"How did he take it?" I asked.
"Dad found another job, not a good one, but a job. Mom went back to nursing. I was in high school, but I got a scholarship. I had always thought that mom was a spoiled housewife who sat next to the pool at the club," she said, "She turned out to be a trooper saying "No use crying over spilt milk," and went to work. Dad was not high enough in the company to be involved in the fraud part of the collapse. He was happy to be not facing jail time." I had the feeling she was on her way up, and she would not detour to make a bomb. Bombs are typically boy things anyway.
Rocky was with his pal, Joey, and a man name Martin. Rocky moved with an entourage. Joey was a childhood friend. I guessed Martin was a baby sitter. He was a preppy type with every hair in place and manicured nails. Rocky had been told to listen to the way I talked. Rocky seemed to have a hard time paying attention and Martin would attempted to steer him back on track. Some times when Rocky attempted to do a Southern accent, he slipped in the Beverly Hillbillies with a touch of Mayberry. Edith would need to work on that.
When they left, Martin hung around. "Where are you from?" he asked. "I was thinking Carolina."
"Southside Virginia," I said. "South of Richmond, but west of I-95."
"I was raised in Towson, a suburb of Baltimore," he said. "I came out here for college and stayed."
"Will Rocky get the accent?" I asked.
"Sure, he's good at memorizing things. They don't last long in his memory, but he can get though a scene and do well," he said as he looked at my crotch. He paused. "Have I ever seen you in a movie or video maybe?" Martin scratched his balls
"Well, I heard they were making a new version of Gone With the Wind, I was hoping to get the Rhet Butler part, but if not, I might audition for playing the ruins of Atlanta after the fire," I said. Martin laughed.
"Either aim high or very low," he said. "I tried acting once. I wanted to play Hamlet, but I ended up as the gravedigger."
"You are too good looking to be the gravedigger," I remarked.
"I can get real down and dirty if I need to," he said. He glanced at my crotch again. "I liked playing with down and dirty types. I like it a lot."
"Do you think I am a down and dirty type?" I asked.
"No, I was just hoping you were," he replied. "Are you free for lunch?" I said yes, I had the afternoon off so we went to his car.
"Are you a size queen by any chance?" I asked.
"Does it show?" Martin asked. He looked shocked.
"No, but this isn't exactly new territory for me," I replied. "I'm not a rough man, but reaction to my cock seems to be related to my playmate's interest and his anatomy. It can be bumpy if things aren't right." We talked until he drove up to his apartment house. We had lunch in his kitchen. He was a nervous wreck by the time we finished eating.
A man came into the kitchen. Martin looked taken aback. He dressed in a suit and tie. He was beefy, bald and bearded.
"What is this?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"I was hoping he would be your birthday present," Martin said. "I hadn't quite got the point of asking him."
The man looked at me closely. "Shit, it's the guy from the video!" he exclaimed. "I'm Dusty, I'm Martin's vastly better half." I introduced myself. I knew the birthday present was a wild guess for Martin, but there wasn't any reason to make trouble.
"When is your birthday?" I asked. He gave me a date three weeks away. Dusty took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing is chest pelt. He was my type.
"I will be back east by then," I said.
"Damn, Martin is a size queen. I've got a thick one, but he lusts after long ones. I would love to watch him be split in half," Dusty said.
"Do you bottom?" I asked.
"Not often. I need to be inspired," he replied.
"I have the afternoon off," I said. "Let's see what I can inspire." They were game. I was more game than I thought I would have been. Dusty was my type and Martin was more of my type naked than dressed. He was toned and moderately hairy, although he was definitely manscaped. He was well equipped and enthusiastic.
Dusty suggested he was more laid back and casual about sex than his partner was. He was laid back for a solid minute and a half and then he gave up the battle and became a full participant. Dusty wanted me to fuck his partner, but I had a suspicion that Martin's ass was just a trial run. If it was good, my cock might be playing tag with Dusty's prostate next.
Martin was an uptight preppy type. Once he was naked and erect, he lost every inhibition and was a wild animal in heat. He wanted my cock deep in his ass seconds after we stripped. I took my time. Making him wait made him more desperate and needy. I had the impression that Dusty was going to watch. He watched whenever there wasn't a cock in his mouth.
Once I was fully lodged in Martin's ass, all was well. He opened for me and greeted my cock as an honored visitor. I did not know what sort of relationship Dusty had with Martin. Dusty was an enthusiastic observer at first, but he wanted to join in. He and I double-teamed Martin for a while. Dusty liked to talk as he fucked and wanted to know what Martin felt as I screwed him. Martin loved it. He liked variety and having two men fuck him was good.
Dusty shot off and then reloaded. I screwed Martin using Dusty's sperm as lube. Martin loved it; his partner was indeed thick. I was a touch thinner and much longer. I touched some good spots and having Dusty open him wider and lubricate the way was all I could asked for.
There was a phone call from the studio. There was an emergency and he needed to deal with it. Luckily, it was a personnel emergency, not another bombing. He quickly dressed and left. I was still naked and fully loaded. Dusty was revved-up too.
"Maury pays him big bucks, but that means he is on 24/7 call," Dusty explained. "Martin is a fixer and has a way with actors. He tends to reassure. Maury does not put off things until tomorrow. You have to deal with it or you are out of a job. Martin is an up and coming man, he doesn't want a black spot on his resume." He looked at me and at my erect organ. "Can I help you with that?"
"I pretty sure you can," I said. "What's your poison?"
"I was versatile until I met Martin. He is such a good bottom it seems a shame to waste him," he said. "I haven't taken anything as big as yours in years."
"Did you like it?" I asked.
"I'm pretty sure I did," he replied. Five minutes later, I knew that Dusty was not casually interested in the bottom. My cock was shrink wrapped to his ass lining, and he enjoyed every movement. We were still at it when Martin returned. He stripped immediately and joined us.
There are threesomes and there are threesomes. This was not three men coupling in sequence; it was three men shearing a common experience. Each of us reached a sexual high together and none of us was shy type. During a lull, Martin talked. He was a company man, but he also liked to gossip. He had to watch Rocky like a hawk. Rocky was a major star and Box Office gold, but he was not the brightest bulb in the hardware store. He needed to be protected from saying inappropriate things.
"Joey is smarter than Rocky is and would like to be more than a pal to the stars," Martin said. He was fucking Dusty as I fed Dusty my cock in the mouth. I wanted Martin to talk not suck. Luckily, Dusty liked being skewered from each end.
"Does Joey have any acting skills?" I asked.
"If being two faced is an acting skill, he is a wonder. At one time, he may have liked Rocky. He hates Maury, because he doesn't recognize his true talents."
"Are there others who dislike Maury?" I asked.
"Maury has a good eye for talent and he knows what the public wants. He also had Godzilla's diplomatic skills. As long as he produces hit movies, he fine. If he slips, Hollywood is like a river filled with piranhas," Martin said. "The previous head, the producer of Boy Bomber fame, has his spies."
"Are they possible pranksters?" I asked. Before he answered that, he shot off in Dusty's ass. He lost his train of thought. I took his place in Dusty's hole. He was still tight and welcoming. His man-seed filled ass was almost steamy. I came close to losing my train of thought. Luckily, Martin was a gossip and a talker.
"If the pranks involved stabbing you in the back, there would be a lot of possibilities. I did hear that the man who wrote Boy Bomber was on the weird side, so was the director," Martin said.
I laughed, "What in hell constitutes weird in Hollywood?" I asked.
"I have heard the writer, Charles Davis, was interested in the pain and dismemberment aspect of the bomb. Most bombers are into the big boom. The film editor cut out that part of the movie. She said challenging the audience was fine, having them puke in the theater was too much," Martin added. The editor, Liz Sherman, is the one who told Maury about it. He raised a stink and the rest is history," he said. The writer was a friend of the studio head, and they won the first battle: Maury won the war."
At that point, I shot off. It was great sex, Martin loved it; Dusty liked watching. I pulled out slowly and globs of sperm dribbled onto the bed from Martin's well-used hole. That excited Dusty again. After Dusty popped a second time, he took me back to the studio.
I saw Maury and asked him about Charles; he barely remembered the name. It had not been his project and was not close to the people involved. He again mentioned that he was "weird." Men who have a taste for bombing tend to be odd in my experience. Maury's secretary was much more helpful. Mrs. Boot knew everything. She had been with Maury for years and was his protector.
Mrs. Boot was over sixty and rather innocuous looking. She thought Charles was sick or perverted. "I didn't think he was living in the real world," she explained. "It was as if he was raised by wolves. He didn't have a grip on what normal people thought or how they acted. I had a feeling he tortured small animals as a child." She knew his address and that he was now bartending at a strip joint called the Excelsior, and he was claiming it was research for his next movie.
I spent the rest of the day talking with Phil George. He turned out to be a smart man with a knack for accents. His glory days were over and the hoped this movie would restart his career. "I thought I had it made but I forgot that you get older. I was in a bad accident four years ago and after recovering, I was thirty pounds heavier. I got depressed and gained another ten pounds."
"You seem to be back in the saddle again," I said.
"The accident was with a horse so the saddle is not an option. Maury knew me from my glory days. No one would hire me because I had been a top billing star and they assumed I would not take character roles. I told him I didn't give shit about that; I wanted to work. He gave me a chance," he explained. As we talked, he gradually acquired my accent and mannerisms. I asked if he knew about Boy Bomber.
"It was supposed to be aimed at teen aged boys, but I think it was after paranoid-schizophrenics. Schizos are people too, but there are not enough to fill a theater. That was mistake number one. In this town, you can be forgiven for bad taste and poor judgement, but empty seats in a theater are unforgivable," he explained. "It had another problem, other than the obvious; it was slow moving. Teen age boys want action, not a lecture on bomb making."
Late that afternoon, I went to the "Excelsior, a Club for Men" looking for Charley. The Excelsior was not upscale. It smelled of booze, cigarettes and urinal deodorant. The girls were all a bit used looking. Then did a little show for fifteen minutes and then went into the crowd to increase drink sales. I went to the bar. The bartender wore a nametag saying Charley.
The place was crowded. I soon knew why. The dancers wore only G-strings and several wore see through G-strings. Adding to the atmosphere, several of the dancers were big-breasted trannies. They seemed to be popular and the trannies and girls were willing to do just about anything for a fee. Charley seemed to be running the place, serving as both a bartender and bouncer. He had a pair of brass knuckles on the back bar.
Charley did not notice me; I am just an average Joe kind of person. He was talking with another man at the bar. They were talking about Bombs. Charley was a bland, ordinary looking man. He seemed disinterested in the activity in the bar. He only became animated when talking about the finer points of explosives. He was interested in the destructive potential of different explosives. There was something askew with him, but he was talking about it in the bar in public. A man who recently killed a man would be more careful I thought.
Charley's friend was disheveled and smelled. His interest in Bombs was not casual. His name was Junior and he sported a swastika tattoo on his arm.
That night when I was back in my hotel room, I called the Fire Marshall and told him about Charley and his friend Junior. He didn't know about them but told me he would follow up with ATF men.