Catfish Has a New Friend 2
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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We had a quiet night at my apartment. A near death experience followed by wild sex leaves you very tired. I will say that everyone was getting along well.
I called my office at 6:00. It was busy. The police had a list of the extremist organizations. Since paranoid schizophrenia played a role in all the groups, tracking them down was difficult. One group had hotel rooms, the others must have been staying in private homes and apartments. The police raided the hotel and discovered that the group didn't know of the shooting and didn't know the victims were invited to the same summit meeting. They were shocked and left town immediately. They turned over the list of groups invited to the event. The list included the Homefront Guardians.
One of my people thought campers were a probable place to stay. Unfortunately, there was a big NASCAR race that weekend, and campers were everywhere. One of my more rustic operatives went looking. He was looking for suspect bumper stickers. Some men are into outlandish displays.
The Governor, Mayor and Police had a big press conference at 9:00. They released the names of the extremist groups hoping that would set the groups into motion. They did not tell the press that they were particularly interested in one group. The Police were careful about this. They knew one group in particular was into heavy duty violence, but didn't know how the other groups would react.
They came to Richmond because it had been the Capital of the Confederacy. Statues and monuments to the Lost Cause were historical artifacts reflecting a troubled past, not shrines. The courts of Virginia are not at all partial to civic disturbances and violence. At one time Outside agitators were promoting integration. Virginia hadn't like them; it liked heavily armed bullies from out of state even less.
A mini-Civil war between extremist groups was a possibility. The State Police sent several SWAT teams to the city as did several cities and urban counties. These were armed to the hilt. The FBI didn't know about two of the groups.
An extremist group can be a guy with a twitter account and his father's shot gun, or a delusional group of sadists with enough firepower to arm a small Balkan country. Lately gun fetishists have tilted the scales toward well-armed.
I called Robby, the guy at my former office that oversaw security for Jewish institutions. He was on top of the local hate groups. He thought that anti-Semitism was a marker for most of the groups. Guys who are anti Black, Muslim, or gay are rarely tolerant of Jews. Robby had moles in the most potentially violent of the local groups.
If you are a hate-filled, well-armed and violent man, you often have a hard time making friends. If you are the Leader, followers are fine, but uppity followers are not. Total obedience is required. Helpful suggestions and anything resembling criticism is not acceptable from a faithful follower. Robby found former members who had scores to settle and still had friends in the group. Robby told me he had a lot of calls to make, but he would call me back.
Since the next-door apartment was filled with police I turned Sparky and Glen over to them and went to the office with Roddy. We had a meeting with the senior staff. We agreed there were three problems. If it was a civil war between radicals, that would have been okay, if the guys had better aim. Automatic weapons can't be aimed. The bar massacre had four intended victims, and twenty bartenders, wait staff and miscellaneous patrons. The death total had been rising.
The second problem was the loner looser who just wanted to kill people and become famous. The third problem was statement makers; the manifesto makers. These were people who just wanted to blow up something just to focus attention on their "cause." Given their preferences, something related to minority groups was preferable, but they weren't that picky. A random group of concert goers or school children would do in a pinch.
The geek squad was working 24 hours straight. We made them go home to rest after 12 hours, but I knew if we were lucky, they would take a two-hour nap and be at it again. An event like this brought out all their compulsive-obsessive tendencies.
Many of my operatives looked like street people and another group hobnobbed with the drunks at the dark end of the bar. They never would have passed the physical test to be police, and many had what the police called "life-style problems." They could walk into a bar or dive and no one would guess they were checking things out.
One agent reported that she had met a 60-year-old Georgia Boy who said he was here to, "kick things up a notch." He was cagy about what that meant. Our operative couldn't tell if he was just playing the man of mystery or if he was a plain old kook. His name was sent off to the Georgia authorities and we had him under watch. Another had noticed a car with out of state plates had gone by the orthodox temple eight times. The Richmond Police stopped the car and found it filled with decorations for a wedding that evening.
After the meeting I called many of our older clients and told them what we were doing and asked if they had any suspicious activity. Most had cancelled any public events that evening. The major exception was the Institute of Art. It was opening a major exhibit attended by a large foreign delegation along with the Governor and Legislators. It could not be rescheduled. The museum was a classic soft target. An incident there would be high profile and dramatic.
Catfish & Company usually watched the outer periphery of the Institute site. The City police did the adjacent streets and the Museum's security did the museum on site security. The Mayor decided to close off some of the streets with Public Works street repair crews and heavy equipment. The equipment was semi bullet proof. The State Police used these as bases for SWAT teams. Our people were to provide early warning of suspicious persons and vehicles.
Four hours before the event, the Georgia police identified our Georgia Boy as the brother of a Neo Fascist Militia leader. They had quite a bit of information on the group, the Georgia Patriots, including names and license numbers. It claimed to have hundreds of followers, but the Police had never identified more than twenty, thirty if you counted girlfriends and hangers on. The Georgia boy had parked illegally near the Museum the day before.
My informant had been in a bar on the Jefferson Davis Highway and the police concentrated their search there. The Georgia material included descriptions of the groups' vehicles. They had a warm spot for 4x4's with extended cabs complete with Confederate and Nazi stickers. They were not designed for 130-year-old neighborhoods with narrow streets.
The civic groups sent out the list of the license numbers to their members. Calls came into the police minutes later. My guys had several of them under surveillance already. There were six trucks near the Institute. The City and State Police had been mixed in with the public works workers. Then moved on the bad guys simultaneously and without incident. It was a total surprise. These were not the men we were looking for, but they still were bad actors.
Amazingly, nothing appeared in the next day's paper. The Civic groups had said this was secret and undercover. The state's police forces and judicial system were not open minded about attempted mass murder. The interrogators emphasized that any leniency would require substantial and useful information. Georgia Boy and his pals sang like birds in mating season. They knew little about the Homefront Guardians, but they told the police what they knew and ratted out the other Militia types in the city.
The law enforcement agencies were pleased by their success with the Georgia patriots, but the Homefront Guardians were loose somewhere in Virginia. West Virginia had some information on them, but the man who had been following them, Karl Master, was on vacation and couldn't be reached. When he returned, he called the FBI immediately.
White Militias weren't regarded as a problem by the state, but the police didn't see it that way. Karl Master had informally kept his eye on the Homefront group. He had names and vehicle information on the group. There were some ex-cons in the group, and he had the mug shots. He transmitted the information to Richmond and said he was on the way. Sparky and Gill recognized two of the men as shooters.
The information was distributed statewide as soon as it was received. At 6:30 that evening Karl Master was at my door. He wanted to talk with Sparky and Gill. He was interested in the fine details of the attack. The backpacks and duffle bag interested him. From the way he talked there had been an incident in West Virginia involving those items. The denim jackets were of interest too.
Insignificant things often trip up the bad guys. Apparently, there had been a shooting near Charleston that included those items. The bar had been a prostitutes' hangout-dive with little light. It had been next to a motel that rented by the hour. Two pimps had died, and no one saw much of the killing, but one of the girls noticed two men were bearded and noticed the backpacks as the shooters fled.
One of the girls had a similar last name of one of the Homefront men. He was Edwin Mountjoy. She was Joy Mount. That was a perfect nom-de-slut for a prostitute; it was a coincidence. Neither Karl nor I believed in co-incidences. They were busy searching for Joy Mount's arrest record and list of aliases in police records. Sparky and Gill were taken to the police headquarters to look at mug shots.
Karl was polite, but had seemed a bit aloof as we talked. He warmed up as we got into the cases. He later told me he had been warned about my sexual preferences. He had asked if I would make a pass at him. They told him usually men made a pass at me and explained I was ugly but had one redeeming feature from the viewpoint of a gay man.
Karl was a 55-year-old bearish man who had been on a five-day fishing trip. He wasn't as fresh as he might be. Roddy politely suggested that Karl take a shower. He was about the same size as Karl and could lend him clean clothes. Karl took him up on the offer.
As he dried off, Karl mentioned Roddy that I was odd looking for a detective. Roddy told him my best feature was under my clothes. Karl told him that he had been warned of my sexual interests. Roddy told him he shared the same interests.
Karl was briefly quiet, and then said, "I kind of share some of those interests."
"That is sort of like me. I have the interest only when I get lucky," Roddy said.
Karl laughed, "I don't have much luck," he said.
"If you are in the mood, this might be your lucky day," Roddy remarked.
I was in the utility room putting Karl's laundry in the washer. Roddy came to see me and told me of Karl's interest. Unlike my normal approach to sex, I didn't even pretend to think it over. I told Roddy to meet me in my bedroom. I needed a shower, so Roddy and Karl joined me. I couldn't tell if Karl was looking at my cock as a natural landmark or considering its recreational potential.
He was doing a little of both. He wasn't a size queen, but he was interested none the less. I also suspected he had been in a long sexual drought, and he was like a man dying of thirst who found a cock shaped water fountain. He sucked my cock and seemed to be particularly interested in my foreskin. It took him a while to relax enough to enjoy sex. I had a suspicion that it took him a while to enjoy anything. He was a classic, anal retentive, workaholic cop. I have some of the same problems, but in me it is tempered by an over-active sex drive.
Roddy joined in and we soon formed a three-man daisy chain. I sucked Karl as Karl sucked Roddy and Roddy sucked me. I was sucking Karl when he began drooling precum. Even the most uptight man can't control precum and had even less control over his orgasms. I knew that if Karl could have controlled it, he would have.
We went at it for ten or twelve minutes and Karl lost the battle and flooded my mouth with sperm. I felt him tense up, then Roddy fed him his load. Karl relaxed. I fed Roddy and the chain was complete. I was afraid Karl would be embarrassed to have lost control, but when we all shot off, he was just one of the guys.
We relaxed some, but Karl was still hard. I managed to get on top of him and take a seat on his love pole. I think he was a bit shocked, but that sensation lasted only until my warm ass worked it magic. He told me that was the first time he fucked a man. When I got off, Roddy took my place. Karl loved that. I had a feeling that I was a novelty, and Karl was genuinely attracted to Roddy.
Shortly after that Karl had to get to the Police Headquarters and our fun was over. Sparky and Gill came back from the headquarters and I cooked dinner. It was clear that home cooked dinners were rare occurrences in Sparky and Gill's lives.
Mom had been a nurse and worked odd hours. She taught me how to cook so I wouldn't treat a peanut butter sandwich as dinner. When she was working odd hours or double shifts, I made dinner for her. She appreciated that, as did I. Some of our best conversations were at 10:00 or 12:00 at night. Sparky was dazzled by my cooking skills. I had a feeling his mother needed instructions for using a can opener. He also spent a good part of his childhood hiding from his multiple fathers and "Uncles."
My simple cooking was gourmet fare for Sparky and Gill. We talked for while after dinner. Roddy and Gill went to bed. Sparky held back.
"When you sat on my cock it was the best feeling I've ever felt. I didn't know it could be that good," Sparky said.
"I aim to please," I replied.
"I've never taken one as big as yours is," he added. "It was never that good before. The more I think about your cock, the more I want it. It might split me in half, but I'm willing to take the risk. You saved my life."
"I just took you in," I said.
"It's more than that," Sparky said. "I don't make good judgements in emergencies. I almost always make the wrong choice. My Mom was that way. She was a looser magnet. If you were a drunken lout who needed a shower, you were her kind of guy. She said she was just being neighborly," he explained.
"You are safe here and there are a lot of people working to keep you safe. As far as I can tell, no one knows anyone survived the massacre," I said. "You can stay here until the danger is past," I said. Somehow, fifteen minutes later I was probing deep in Sparky's ass. I had taken my time and gently worked his sphincter. It was tight, but I knew if I could open him, it would be good for me too. His sphincter slowly opened. He wanted me in him, and he didn't complain.
Sparky was not my type, but my cock was perfect for his ass and he was more than appreciative. I hate to let the little brain in my cock make judgements, but my cock was happy in the tight confines of his fuck hole. It loved Sparky and a little later I was liking him too. It may be superficial to like a man because he was a good fuck, but stranger things have happened to me.
Sparky told me he had been fucked by many men and hadn't understood why anyone like it. He understood now. He thought of a cock in his ass as an invader. He had never been filled. We tried varied positions, and all were successful.
We fell asleep, but I woke up a few times and re-entered his ass. I thought my need to shoot off had be satisfied earlier. Somehow, I refilled his ass each time.
The next morning Sparky and Gill went to the police headquarters to look at more mug shots. Roddy was at classes and I was surprised Karl came back to see me. I assumed that he wanted more information on the case. It was a social call.
"I guess you noticed I hit it off with Roddy yesterday," Karl said. "Last night I had some wild dreams about you."
I smiled. "Were you dreaming about me or my cock?" I asked.
"It was more about you than your cock, but I seem to get hard every time I think about your cock," he said. "I don't know what I am feeling."
"Am I right in thinking you aren't gay but you like sex with men?" I asked.
"I guess that just about sums it up," Karl replied. "You must think I'm stupid."
"No, I don't think that is so unusual. There is no reason to not admit it to yourself. My folks never mentioned sex, nor did any of my aunts. You don't have to be vocal about it," I said.
"I have one scheme that might help you. Pretend your gay when you're with a guy. Let yourself enjoy it. Become gay when you get naked and stay gay until you have both shot off. You will enjoy it more," I suggested. "Remember to stay gay until he shoots. If you don't do that, you will be stuck with one-night stands for the rest of your life."
"I guess I could do that," he said. "I try to hide my emotions."
I smiled. "You may be reserved, but your cock isn't. Your cock drools precum when you are excited. I could tell you were into it as soon as I sucked you. Why don't we get naked and see what happens?" I added. We went to my bedroom.
I wanted to drop to my knees and suck him, but the was a complicated operation with crutches. I sat on the side of the bed to get him going. He didn't need any help. He was already leaking. After brief playtime I suggested we get on the bed and he could sit on the bed. That was good for him. I guessed he like to be in control and he was more comfortable fucking himself than being fucked. Either way he would end up with my cock in his ass.
While, Karl had buns of steel, he possessed an elastic sphincter. I slipped by his sphincter easily, then he tightened his buns to grip my cock. That seemed to shift his prostate into direct contact with my cock shaft. He loved it.