Catfish Has a Death in the Family 3
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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I went to see my barber and acquired some Red-Neck-Who-Hit-It-Big clothes. I wanted to look the part to meet Gilbert. Wildridge Nolen is my full name. I was Catfish Nolen for a while, but I have been Catfish for 40 years except for checks and legal documents. There had been an error in my high school records, and I was listed a Nolan. That name was hard to trace.
I was a little worried that I was too citified after 30 years in Richmond. My pal Templeton told me I didn't need to worry about that. He had been close to rolling on the floor in laughter when I asked the question, so I assumed I was okay.
Locally, the word had gotten out that I was "different." That was not the sort of thing that people would talk about, so forgetting I was alive was a safe choice. Most people didn't want anyone to know they knew a "different" man. They knew me only as Catfish.
Mom was well known in Presbyterian circles and liked people she considered to be good and dependable. I bet those were not the circles our realtors moved in. I was right about that. Gilbert and Brandy Grove lived two counties to the west. In southside Virginia that was distant. I called Lloyd and asked if he knew anything about the Groves. He said he would check and call me back. He called tht afternoon. The Groves did not associate with local agents, used lawyers in Northern Virginia and got financing from an international operation. Lloyd had the names and addresses of the lawyers and financers.
I told him a had hired a new driver since the Groves' knew Thompson and asked if he knew anyone who would hire him.
"How would you describe Thompson?" Lloyd asked.
"He's bland nice guy, pleasant and lazy. He is not going to set the world on fire," I said.
"He seems to be very . . . accommodating?" Lloyd remarked.
"Let's just say he's lazy except in one respect," I said. "In that one area he is ready, willing and able."
"I could use a driver; would you recommend him?" Lloyd asked. "I am having a problem with peripheral vision." I told him he would be fine.
My new driver was a friend of Randy's Duff Baxter. Duff was an unambitious guy who knew every back road in Southside Virginia. His mother was the most formidable gossip in the area. My mother had described her as "not as bad as she seems." Duff remembered everything his mother told him. That information was not always true, but it was useful. It was what people thought was going on, not what was true.
Duff parents had recently died and left him enough money to live on, but not enough money to be wild and crazy. He liked little side jobs that provided extra cash but demanded no real effort.
His knowledge about back roads was due to his search for places to give or get blowjobs. Duff was good looking, affable and pleasant. He was well known by people with similar tastes and unknown by anyone else.
Duff knew nothing about the Groves who were newcomers. We drove to the Groves' office and dropped in unannounced. There was a salesman and a receptionist in the office. I told the receptionist I had inherited some properties and was going to sell them. I was looking for some realtors who could help me and who weren't too high priced.
The salesman overheard that and came over to me. "How do you do; I'm Phil Dorchester and I would be glad to help you. I introduced myself as Wildridge Nolan and we went to his desk.
Phil was a middle-aged man who had clearly seen better days. He wore a well-used sports coat and a polo shirt. He had lost weight and they didn't fit. He had a well-trimmed beard and every hair was in place. I told him my situation, and the character of the properties I wanted to sell.
He looked disappointed. "I usually handle the smaller properties. Mr. and Mrs. Grove handle the bigger ones. They are away on a Caribbean Cruise, but they will be back on Tuesday," he said.
"A Caribbean Cruise sounds pretty pricy," I said.
"Oh no, it was a free promotional cruise to introduce realtors to vacation homes in the islands. It was really just a good chance to have a vacation," Phil said. "We would be glad to serve you. Could we make an appointment for you next week?"
"I guess so," I said. We made a tentative appointment at 11:00 on the next Wednesday. I asked if I could use the rest room. Duff had been sitting in a corner. When we went back to the car Duff said the receptionist was enraged that Phil hadn't taken me out to lunch. Phil said he would be fired if he took a big listing. She said he was a good realtor and deserved to be treated better. I love unhappy employees.
I called Lloyd and asked if he knew of a Phil Dorchester. He did. Dorchester had been a rising star but fell victim to demon rum and a messy divorce. He didn't know where he was now. I knew where he was and where the woman who intended to be his next wife was living.
I went back to Richmond and did some research of complimentary cruises for real estate agents. As I had guessed there were no such cruises during the month. I wondered if the trip included a visit to offshore banks.
On Saturday I went to a party at Lloyds house for a friend's birthday. As I had guessed, Lloyd was a card- carrying member of the Chandelier and Wedgewood branch of the gay community. I thanked my mother in heaven for teaching me to use a fork and knife properly. The men were between 60 and 80 were mostly retired businessmen and were golfers, tanned and toned. The birthday boy was Maxwell Taney, a lawyer and patron of the arts.
Lloyd was also showing off his new chauffer, Thompson. Thompson was polite and pleasant. While Lloyd had him for now, several men would have hired him. They knew that Lloyd included sex as part of an employee's basic services.
I talked with Vernon Jolly, a set designer and decorator. I had run into him once or twice before. Vernon was a symphony in lavender and paisley. He was thin, tall and had an extravagant Victorian Gentleman's beard. He was talented and was Richmond's best party designer. He had a large art collection which was promised to the art museum. At the end of the party he offered to drive me home.
"I have heard about you for years," he said, "You have helped many friends avoid sticky situations. Their descriptions of you always struck me as odd. You may have noticed that I have always been as odd looking as possible. That works well in my profession. You are not a fake persona. What I see is what you are?"
"Does that bother you?" I asked.
"It does. There is nothing about you physically I find attractive," Vernon said. "I assume you feel the same way about me. We were not born to be sole mates. Would it surprise you if I said you have turned me on more than any other man in years?" he asked. "You must find me pathetic. Are you offended?"
"You like bad boys?" I asked.
"I like naughty, pretty boys who have to come to me and say they are sorry," Vernon replied.
"And you have to fuck them in punishment?"
"How and hell did you know that?" he asked.
"It was just a stab in the dark. You may have guessed that I'm not new to the scene. I've heard and seen it all. I fuck a guy because I'm horny and my playmate wants it," I explained.
"I guess you won't fuck me to teach me a lesson?" Vernon replied.
"No, I will not. However, I am horny, and you happen to be standing next to me. When was the was last time someone was up your ass?"
"Officially it has been ages. Unofficially your former driver, Thompson, fucked me yesterday. I thought he was a bad boy. He isn't, but he was remarkably focused when he was in my ass," Vernon said. "It was memorable."
We were in my apartment and I suggested he might have another memorable experience if we got naked and went at it. We got naked but it took a while to get up his ass. Vernon fell in love with my cock. I think he was shocked. He was used to the delicate tools of young, effete men. No one has ever described my cock as delicate. He later said I looked like a mini caveman with Bigfoot's cock. He told me he liked giving butterfly kisses which didn't sound appealing. My cock loved it.
Vernon said he disliked precum, but that didn't seem to apply to my cock's drool. He had lubricated many a twinks tender holes with his own sperm, but Thompson was the first to unloaded in him. "Thompson said he had royally fucked me. I hadn't heard the term," he remarked.
"Ask me that question in a couple of hours," I replied as I began to suck him. He was well equipped, longer rather than thick. I was able to deep throat him and he twitched when I took it all. He was ripe. When I pulled away from him, he immediately returned to my cock.
"Are you going to shoot in me?" he asked a little later.
"Probably, but you know cocks sometimes have a mind if their own," I answered.
"The first time I shot off in a guy's mouth it was a surprise. Uncle Joe didn't seem to mind," Vernon said. "It hasn't been a surprise since then. I tell the boys it's still a surprise, but it seems to happen all the time. Most of them know that is not true but they like the pretense. I admire a boy's ability to be surprised when I've been pounding his ass for ten minutes."
"Is your ass well used?" I asked.
"Uncle Joe and his pal Harry did me. It wasn't good. That was a long time ago," he said. A little later my cock head was knocking on Vernon's back door. It was slow going until my knob met his prostate. Not only did he like that, the prostate was long overdue for a massage. He loved it. I left a generous deposit. A little later he dressed and went home. I fell asleep and woke realizing he had been a good fuck.
The event with Vernon had a strange sideshow. When Thompson fucked Vernon, he met Vernon's current playmate, a slim, elegant man named Finn. At about the time I was with Vernon, Finn was with Thompson whose cock met Finn's ass about ten minutes after they first met Finn was one of those men who liked to talk while working to an orgasm. He was the house boy for one of Vernon's pals.
Finn was from the Eastern shore and his Grand Parents' farm had been sold for a song after they died. Finn was convinced they had been cheated. The realtor had been Gilbert Grove. Thompson came to me with Finn to hear his story. Finn looked like a Greek Statue of Adonis. He was beautiful. Finn was a nickname; he was called Huckleberry Finn because he was stunningly country. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the hardware store.
Thompson realized that Finn lying on his back and taking loads in the ass from Vernon and his friends was his highest intellectual achievement. Finn had thought his family would get big bucks from his grand parents' farm, but they got nothing. The story was the same M.O. as Gilbert Grove's other purchase.
Finn was not right mentally. In everyday conversation he was barely intelligible. When he was naked, he made more sense. He became more intelligent when Thompson's cock was in his ass. I realized there was something deeply problematic in his past. When they left, I called Lloyd and told him about the fraud part of the problem. I also asked Thompson to see what he could find out about Finn's background.
They called me back the next day. The basics of Finn's story were correct. His family was cheated out of a great seal of money. Finn's father was a bully and a fool. His mother had used the pregnancy to get married and it had not worked out well. She blamed Finn for her lost off good looks. A drinking problem was related to that. Finn was abused by his family. The next-door neighbor, a man Finn called Uncle Johnny, was his refuge. He ran there when things got violent at home.
Uncle Johnny never married and had only male friends. Since Finn seemed to find older gay men attractive, I could put two and two together. Finn mentioned to Thompson his Uncle like to play fun games with his pals. Thompson mentioned my cock to Finn. That excited him. "Maybe as an experiment, we could let him see it. He might make more sense," Thompson suggested.
My cock sometimes served as a truth serum. Men seems to lose their normal discretion when impaled. I was unsure about a man like Flinn. Thompson was unworried.
Later that day Thompson and Finn appeared at my door. Thompson said hello. Finn just stared at my crotch. "I told Finn that you are a nice guy and you might show him your privates," Thompson said. We went to the bedroom. I began to undress, but Finn was naked in a few seconds.
We spent the next hour enjoyably. I was a half-sized version of Finn's Uncle Johnny. I possessed an over- sized replica of Johnny's cock. Finn had seen it and discovered the joys of man sex with Johnny's friends. Finn was pretty much grown before Johnny joined in. Uncle Johnny took his father-like role seriously. I was careful and was afraid I might hurt Finn. He was more than ready. I was an easy fit for him. Uncle Johnny had died three years earlier, and my cock gave him satisfaction Finn thought was impossible.
He sat rocking on my cock talking about Johnny and his pals. The had been a safe place for him. When he was older sex provided the only intense pleasure in his life. His father was becoming increasingly violent, by the time he was fifteen he lived with Johnny and one of his pals, Big Bob. Big Bob had made it clear that if Finn's father tried to mess things up, he would be sorry.
Finn told us he was terrified of his father and Uncle Johnny had saved him from increasing brutal beatings. Johnny and his friends protected him. He had slept in Johnny's loft and had watched the older men frolic. He wanted to join in, but the men were reluctant until he was older.
When he was sexually engaged, he was coherent and spoke almost normally. I wondered if the speech problems were associated with his father and was some sort of an extreme stutter. I knew some speech therapists who might be able to help. It was good that he could speak but needing to be sexually engaged could be inconvenient. As I thought about those things, I lost my concentration and shot off. I watched Finn's face and the expression fucked to the moon and back came to mind.
Thompson was watching and caught Finn's first volley mid-air and the took the rest from the spurting cock. Finn collapsed on my chest with my cock still in his ass. Thompson moved and I couldn't tell if he was trying to lick my cock or get his tongue into Finn's ass with my cock. What ever he was doing it was good for me and Finn.
Two days later, I arrived to see Gilbert Grove at 11:00 as scheduled. He was 20 minutes late. That is always a bad sign for a businessman. A quick cell phone call telling me he was running behind is easy enough. Th receptionist, Monica, had coffee and pastries ready. She was sweetness and light making excuses for her boss. I had a feeling she was trying to figure out a way to slip poison in her boss' coffee without being detected.
He arrived dressed for an afternoon at the club. I'm not much into clothes, but Templeton is. His first rule of being well dressed is that no one should notice you are well dressed. You must appear natural and unaffected. Your clothes should look right. If you look as if you are dressing to impress, you have failed.
Gilbert's sports club clothes seemed have been made of expensive fabric and endangered species. The coat was some sort of leather. The shirt was silk with three unbuttoned buttons. The shoes were a second type of endangered animal. I had seen one episode of Miami Vice years earlier and I felt that vibe. Brandy Grove arrived in a red sports car. She was in a low cut, summer dress, a lot a jewelry and must have bought mascara by the gallon. She wore huge pendant that almost filled her cleavage.
I was briefly puzzled, then I realized they were trying to impress the country boy with their success and sophistication. I also realized that Monica had not described me well. A short, one legged, 60-year-old man was not what they expected. This was ideal for me. They were unprepared.
I pretended to not notice that, and Templeton was right. I didn't need to soup up my country accent. I was a convincing rube. I felt a little like an experienced cat playing with ugly but tasty rats. I was worried that they might have been smarter than they looked, but the more we talked the less concerned I became.
As my Uncle Jake said, everyone is well equipped to play stupid. Given my impressive physical presence, I am particularly well equipped. I told them I had talked to other realtors, but I thought they were too expensive. I showed them the plots of my properties. They became more interested.
Playing dumb is harder than you might think. Maintaining a blank stare and avoiding a flash of perception in your eyes is difficult.
I called Juan and told him of the lead from Finn. This was important because it was another lead and would help to establish a pattern. It also brought up the potential for interstate trafficking. The Eastern Shore farm was a mile away from the Maryland border. The corporation that owned it was base in Annapolis.
Lloyd was having a wonderful time.