Catfish Crash Lands 1 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
I have had a good life and been mostly lucky. I am short, ugly and tend to be pugnacious. I was now semi-retired, close to being wealthy and have many friends. I ran a successful detective-security agency for years. The only real hiccup was the amputation of one leg.
That was not a good experience but given the number of times I could had been shot or injured I think I had done well being just short one leg. I had a bad cold in the middle of a bad winter. My friends wanted to send me to a warmer climate. I received an invitation from two old friends, Ali Baba and Mandlebaum to visit them in Miami for a week or two. They were well known professional wrestlers that I had helped years earlier. Now retired, they owned a home for retired wrestlers in Miami.
The wrestlers and I shared common sexual interests and I had helped them both professionally and enjoyed them sexually. They were masters of the all but nude, you can almost see their cock's school of wrestling. Their costumes left them 90% naked, but no matter how vigorous the wrestling, their cocks never made an unplanned guest appearance.
Officially they were 100% straight, but every closeted gay man knew they were 100% gay. If you were lucky enough to attend one of their special events, you could see all of them. No one ever exposed them. They lived at the Atlas Arms Apartments which they converted into a home for retired wrestlers. These men shared common tastes with Ali and Mandy, but not the good fortune.
I wasn't sure I wanted to go, but my pal Templeton bought me tickets to Miami. A week later I was on my way. The flight was perfect and pleasant. More correctly the flight was 99% perfect. The one percent was the landing. One wing's landing gear failed to lock in position. The crew did all the things you see on TV. They emptied the fuel tanks to avoid a fire or explosion. The stewards and stewardesses were calm, collected, and confident. I was next to a man named Bubba Malloy who was a stevedore or something. He said he would get me out whatever happened.
I could see a massive deployment of equipment on the field. It was a mass of flashing lights and red trucks. A steward came and took my crutches away, he said they might become flying weapons if they got loose. I told him I understood that.
The landing was noisy and bumpy. It seemed like it took a long time to stop, but I assumed that was mental. We stopped. The crew popped open the emergency exists and deployed the slides. Bubba was a big boy and he carried me like a suitcase. The stewards pushed me down the slide. The man ahead of me somehow twisted around, so instead of going straight down the slide I went off the side and had five-foot fall. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I broke my good leg.
I always think of it as my good leg, but of course it was my only leg. There were Emergency people there immediately. I thought I might have sprained my leg. The woman EMT who carried me to the ambulance said she had heard it break.
Everyone was good, efficient, and fast. Somehow Ali Baba was in the ambulance with me. He was a local celebrity and a spokesman for of the Emergency Services. He was on the line to Mandy, who was on the way to the hospital. I had lost my jacket with my ID and insurance information. I worried about that, but no one questions Ali-Baba or Mandy. Broken bones are the meat and potatoes for wrestlers. After the emergency room ex-rays and pain killers all was well. I was in the hospital for re-setting the bone and then went home a day later with the wrestlers.
The Atlas Arms had nurses and doctors on call. My luggage was destroyed, and the residents went hunting for clothes. Most of them were former wrestlers, so I was about half their size the search amused them greatly. I couldn't get underwear on over the cast. I am comfortable naked, and it turned out that the residents of the Atlas Arms were more than comfortable with me naked.
I had a wheelchair, but my leg cast stuck straight out. I thought of it as a traffic hazard, but everyone was careful. Two of the retired wrestlers, Tom Terrific, and Ozark Ollie had become physical therapists after they retired from the ring. They had clear directions from the doctors about physical therapy. They had seen the x-rays of the break and told me it was a miracle they saved the leg. They demanded total obedience from me and anyone who came near me. I was untouchable until healing began.
With the underwear problem, it was look but don't touch. It turned out that looking was fine with the guys. Ali-Baba had an oversized shower, and one of the men had a metal and mesh wheelchair that could let me shower. I was drugged up the first week, but they reduced the painkillers. My leg hurt, but not as badly as my missing leg had hurt. That was phantom pain which both hurt and was unreal. Pain killers did not work on imaginary pain.
As the painkillers diminished, my cock began to rise. My semi hard cock did not diminish my popularity. I wasn't lonely at all.
The Atlas Arms was in a changing neighborhood. There were many Cubans and South American families as well as young couples with their first homes. It was active and busy.
A cop, Julio Martinez, came by to talk with Ali Baba. There was a purse snatcher-petty thief afflicting the neighborhood. The incidents had been moving in the direction of the Atlas Arms Apartments. Julio was a young, muscular Cuban. I had the feeling that he had been given the case because he was young, and it wasn't important.
I was sitting in the room naked and with my cast. Some guys claim I'm never naked. I have a fur coat. This was Miami, and Julio didn't bat an eye when he saw me. Ali Baba introduced me as a retired investigator from Richmond.
My specialty in Richmond was muggers. They made a neighborhood seem unsafe and terrified their victims. I was the small, skinny decoy that was ripe for the picking. I can be a mean guy and I had a 100% success rate in apprehending muggers. Somehow many of them sustained a broken arm or leg in the process. They were known as Catfish Casts by the police. One judge warned me to be selective. I was careful.
I discovered that some petty crimes were part of larger crimes. Terrorizing a neighborhood was a good way to reduce property values. I had a knack for finding the big boys too. My firm provided secret undercover security for neighborhoods and cultural institutions. The police officially provided security. We provided another layer of security.
Ali Baba told Julio about my firm, and when he described the incidents I asked if he saw a pattern. He didn't, but by the way he told me that, I knew he would be looking for it that evening. He also said the muggers all had different descriptions. I told him that was a bit suspicious. Muggers tend to lone wolves who repeat their modus operandi. I would suspect a gang.
It was a good conversation. I had a feeling that Julio thought he was straight, but he managed to glance at my cock every time he thought I wasn't looking. Ali went off to get coffee, and I asked Julio if my nudity bothered him.
"I am fine, but I come from a conservative Catholic family. Nudity was not part of my life," he said.
"Well, I come from the Presbyterian equivalent, but my Mom was a nurse. She had seen it all and never batted an eye," I said. We continued talking and he asked about my missing leg. I told him I interrupted a mugging. Ali Baba fleshed out the story. I had interrupted four men trying to rape a young woman. One of the assailants had been armed.
"You got them?" Julio asked.
"Actually, the guy got my leg, but the customers and staff of a nearby restaurant got the men. The kitchen crew had plans to make rape an impossibility for the perps, but the police got here in time to save them for jail," I explained.
Julio had finished his coffee and had to leave.
"I think Julio might do well as a cop," Ali Baba observed. He had not heard the full story about my missing leg and soon it was the talk of the building. They all knew that you win some and you lose some.
A week later I was in better shape. An x-ray indicated my leg was healing properly. The doctors changed my full leg cast to a half cast below my knee. I couldn't put any weight on it, but it was much more comfortable. The smaller cast made me look less fragile. It also made my cock more accessible.
Julio came by to see me the day after the cast was changed. He had been checking; the muggings were within three blocks of the vacated Simon Bolivar School. It now had a new, larger campus five miles away. The old building was being considered for sale. The building was dated, but the school occupied four acres. Four acres of property near downtown Miami was worth a bundle.
The muggers had varied descriptions, but each had made a get way in a late model grey Honda. Julio thought it was unlikely that three unrelated men all had a car the same make and color. One of the muggers was Black, one was White, and one was Latino. Miami gangs tended to be ethnically consistent. The gangs were not known for their tolerance.
I pointed out the ethnic variety would make it easy to differentiate, especially if you were a terrified mugging victim. That was Julio's opinion too. He also found out that the potential sale of the school property was not yet made public, but there were whispers. There were also whispers about the building inspection and zoning department personnel. Bribery was a traditional problem.
Ali and Mandy were away at a charity event so Julio and I were alone. I was naked except for my cast. Julio was not successful pretending he wasn't looking at my cock. My cock doesn't need much of an excuse to get excited. I wasn't hard, but I knew that being slightly hard did not diminish my attractiveness.
It was mid afternoon and hot. Most of the men took a siesta during the heat of the day. Julio scratched his balls. I rearranged mine.
"You seem much more comfortable nude that I could be," Julio observed.
I smiled. "I had a favorite Uncle who told me that since I was ugly as sin and hung like a horse, I might as well flaunt my horse cock. It was the only memorable part of me."
"How did that work out for you?" Julio asked.
"It seems to depend on how curious a guy is," I said. "It may be hard to believe, but a lot of guys are really curious. Some guys want to know how big it gets."
"It looks like it is too big," Julio said.
"It's too big for some guys, but more often it's just big enough," I said, "As a matter of fact, I suspect your cock is just about right for me."
"What if Ali Baba comes back?" Julio asked.
"My relationship with Ali and Mandy has never been platonic. They would probably get naked and join us," I said. I was on a couch with no arms, so Julio stripped, straddled me, and essentially did push-ups. My cock was in his mouth and his cock was in mine.
He was driven and business like. Julio was a straight arrow, but after a minute or so, his cock was oozing liquefied sexual excitement in his precum. I was afraid I would shoot off too soon, but he shot off first and I took his load as he took mine. Sometimes taking a man's cum is a step too far on the first time you connect sexually.
I seemed to be okay with Julio. That may have been because I was lapping up his semen with considerable gusto and he was just being polite. That was sort of right. Julio had been the low man on the High School wrestling team. He was a good wrestler, but he had his growth spurt in his junior year of school. He had been small, and there had been a problem member of the team. That was a big guy who liked to bully the smaller men. Sucking him off and taking his load was his personal "initiation."
That put Julio off gay sex for years. I was the first man to take his load. Julio discovered that voluntarily sucking a cock made the cum taste better. I also understood why he had been talking with Ali Baba; he was into wrestling. Ali and Mandy came back and made Julio's day.
They saw us naked, stripped and we all had a nice time. In the wrestling world there had been discussions about the skintight Speedos the wrestlers wore. Some thought they were padded. Julio told me he had wondered. They laughed and told Julio he could do an oral examination of their cocks if he still had questions. Julio said he didn't, but he undertook an exhaustive exam anyway. He sucked Ali as Mandy sucked him. All was well.
The old guys at the Atlas Arms tended to be chatty and mingled with the locals. Wrestling was a popular TV sport, and some remembered them. They knew some of the stars from the Latino-Cuban circuit. There had been a problem with muggings years earlier and the wrestlers had helped to solve the problem. Young toughs don't like to admit they were beaten up by residents of an old folks' home. One guy tried to claim they were the victims of an old guy. He was laughed out of court.
If I were to design a perfect spy network, I might work with retired old guys having a beer, playing cards or chess. Anything that is even possibly interesting sticks in their minds. They exchange the same stories over and over again and something new is worth remembering. As my leg got better, I sat next to the pool chatting and talking.
Sometimes I wore incredibly baggy shorts, sometimes I wore a towel that was prone to slip. Mandy told me you could see almost as much of my cock looking up the leg of my shorts as with nothing. Some guys stared at my cock like a deer in headlights. Most guys liked to be close and get a glance or two. Just about everyone was interested and I had a suspicion my cock was almost on the bus tours of local sites.
The dress standard at the Atlas Arms was informal. Many of the men had performed wearing only a Speedo. The building wrapped around the swimming pool which sat in a landscaped courtyard. I sat in a shaded area to the rear with an ottoman for my leg. Willy, one of the older guys made a triangular pillow to provide support for the cast.
I am not shy about my sexual interests. Some of the men were open about their sexual preferences, some were closeted. For some reason, the word got out that I gave free samples. Some thought I that I was usually as horny as a dog smelling another dog in heat.
That was totally untrue, mostly. If an older man were going to become dehydrated by drooling over my cock, I would let him suck me and might even replenish his fluids with some of some of my own homemade ball juice. Several men mentioned that spilling manly juices on the terrace surrounding the pool was frowned upon.
While they all had sympathy physical condition, I couldn't move easily or quickly. That was ideal for some of the older guys who moved slowly. I couldn't get away. I have always believed if you get stuck with a Lemon, you might as well make lemonade.
The oldest man there was Walter, an 80-year-old former trainer. Somehow, I think sucking my cock brought light into his sunset years. He told me he was a pre-cum fancier. When I got close to shooting off, he turned me over to his pal, Bruno. Bruno was a fifty-year-old muscle man who suffered a head injury with brain damage. He thought I provided the champagne of fresh sperm and took every drop.
Bruno had a gash across his face that gave him a mean and frightening look. I got him to straddle the chair in was in so I could sample his ball cream. His cock looked undersized, but that was because he was massive. It was regulation size and his sperm was sweet, tasty and mouth filling.
He was new to the Atlas Arms and was scary looking. He had been in a long dry spell and I had been the first to openly drink from his balls' spigot. He had a hard time talking, but there was a friendly man under the scowling face. Bruno needed a friend and he liked to hang around me.
Tom Terrific, and Ozark Ollie, my therapists, taught Bruno how to move me without injuring me. He did exactly what he was told and that simplified their lives and mine. He was 250 pounds of muscle and my 130 pounds didn't count as weight for him. It turned out that Bruno was a natural orderly. He did exactly what he was told and was gentle.
Walter mentioned that he had a friend, whose neighbor had been told that house values were going to crash by a visiting real estate agent. That had shocked the friend and he asked Walter if he knew anything about it. Walter got the name of the real estate agent, Delores Domingo. I called Julian and gave him the name.
Delores was not a licensed real estate agent. She was a "Senior Associate" with a newly formed company call New Neighborhoods. New Neighborhoods had the same Board of Trustees as a defunct organization called Houses Reborn with one exception. The Houses Reborn president Rodney Domingo had died in an accident six months earlier. His car ran off the road into a swamp and he drowned. He was drunk. The President had been under investigation for financial irregularities. His death ended the investigation.
Julian had a retired detective friend, Andy, who kept up with the scuttlebutt. Rodney was well known in night clubs and after-hours clubs. There were some who thought he provided girls for well known locals. Rodney was noted for being able to hold his liquor. Andy told Julian that Rodney didn't drink. He had a liver problem and would become violently ill if he drank.
Andy had told the coroner about the problem, but somehow it was not mentioned in the autopsy. Julian referred to this as an irregularity. I assumed the irregularity was due to intervention from on high.
Julian also discovered that Delores' maiden name was Bishop. Curiously, the head of the local zoning board was Charley Bishop. I could smell the odor of corruption.