Catfish Retires 2 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.
Dunstan tended to be reserved and careful. Julian was open and enthusiastic. I don't want to toot my horn, but my cock tends to be inspirational. Dunstan was older and it was a new experience for him. I had known men who said they sort of liked to be fucked. My cock cannot do "sort of" fucking. Julian went home. Dunstan and I had a shower and I fell asleep.
I took on Julian as an early warning system. He could identify potential problems with a single glance. I knew some Richmond neighborhoods well. After a while I could tell when a person belonged there, was a stranger or was a stranger with bad intentions. I knew that many dogs could identify problem people. They have standards and seem to be able to identify bad eggs.
Julian was born and raised in this part of Bath. The district was well off the tourist paths, so most of the residents had been there for years. Julian was born and raised in the areas, so he knew who belonged there as well as their parents, cousins, and friends. Julian's youth was checkered so he knew the local bad guys. Normal pick pockets that you might find at the Roman Baths, or the Abbey depended on being invisible. Ideally it would be hours before anyone discovers you had robbed them.
The people at our museums were trying to create fear. They wanted trouble and a quick escape. Julian has a nose for trouble. When he saw a suspicious character, he gave MacDuff a call. MacDuff would launch a decoy in the suspects direction. Sometimes it was a false alarm, but about a quarter of the times it resulted and an arrest. A 25% success rate was remarkable.
MacDuff had another plan. He had men follow some of these men back to where they came from. After several days of doing this we found that four of the men went to the same place. The chance that four of the men just happened to return to the same place was all but impossible.
That place was the office of Dennington & Annandale, accountants. MacDuff and Templeton immediately searched for that name. The name was just that, a name. No such organization existed in any public records. The building that housed the non-extant organization was owned by New Bath Limited. That was also a non-existent operation. The checks that paid for the purchase of the building was a limited partnership.
As the path became cloudier, I could almost feel the excitement of Templeton's accountants. Mystery is not typical of an accountant's daily life. Undoing a clever scheme was a wonderful entertainment for them. Cloudy chains of ownership were fairly ordinary in business. Why was this ordinary business in Bath so secret?
MacDuff's non-standard operatives were perceptive. A small building next to the museum warehouse seemed to have more foot traffic than one might expect.
Fortunately, MacDuff's regular staff of retired police and military men were alert and perceptive. MacDuff had connections. Art theft is usually a specialty service not offered by normal criminals. By definition arts works are unique and easily identified. Money stolen from a store register looks like the money stolen from any other register. As a kid when you lost a quarter, and someone picked it up there was no way to identify that particular quarter. If you steel a Rembrandt from a collector, you can't claim that it is just a standard Rembrandt.
It can be problematic with ancient antiquities. Museums have identifying marks on their ancient works, but recently excavated works are not marked and if the excavation is illegal, the works have not even been photographed.
Mr. Deal's usual problem was authenticating works from old collections. Many of his works had been in mansion owned by the heirs of the original collector. It would be nice if the was a bill-of-sale saying, "sold to Bunny Smith by Rembrandt, 1625." That is rare. Signatures are good, but forging signatures is common. Deal hired anal-retentive, obsessive, art historians for authentication. He paid them well, but Deal trusted their obsessive nature.
One of these historians, Trevor Jones-Marshall, came to a meeting at the house. He had come from Amsterdam which was his base since he specialized in Netherlandish paintings. I made the mistake of calling them Dutch paintings and was corrected at great length by him. Deal was in New York and was flying over the afternoon. That was before a volcano in Iceland erupted and the winds blew the ash over Britain ending trans-Atlantic flights.
This should have bothered Trevor, but Deal paid so much, that delays were not a problem when you were paid by the day. He stayed and we had a good dinner. Trevor liked good wine, so he loosened up some.
Trevor was an ordinary, poorly dressed academic type and in theory we had nothing in common. I mentioned I had done jobs for museums and had recovered some looted art, the Hirsh Collection. I mentioned the name and seconds later we were best friends.
He knew all about the Hirsh Collection. The details of the recovery were never released, and he wanted to know all. The recovery had sent shivers though the collectors who possessed looted art. They thought there had been an informant, and they suddenly found that some of their art works were looted. They were able to return it without arrest or embarrassment.
When I told him about my discovery "dirty pictures" of naked men that included Albrecht Durer's drawing for the Men's Bathhouse, Trevor almost choked he laughed so hard. I told him that I didn't know art, but I knew what I liked.
"Are you talking about the man with the well stuffed jock?" he asked. It told him it was the quality of the drawing that attracted me. Trevor laughed again.
"By the way, the detailed study of the drawing indicates it was Durer's cock. The codpiece was added by Durer to make it suitable for the public," I explained. Durer was proud of his body.
"I've never been to a bathhouse," Trevor said. "Have you?"
I told him of my stints as a locker and shower attendant. "It turns out that when you're in a locker, sauna or steam room, no one looks at the guy with the mop and pail," I explained. "One of the nice things about being naked in a steam room, there is no where to hide a gun or a knife. It's a good place to talk business. I don't look much like a cop."
"There is a lot to you that doesn't meet the eye," he said. He had enough wine to notice my crotch.
"That all depends on what you are looking for," I said.
"Looking for love in all the wrong places?" he remarked.
I smiled. "When you are in my line of work, I spend most of my time in the wrong places," I replied. He asked me how I lost the leg. That's when I knew he had drunk a lot of wine. I told him the story. "Is all this true?" he asked.
"As a matter of fact, it is," I said. "Guys rarely chop off a leg to make a story better."
"Damn it. I've done it again. I suffer from foot-in-the-mouth disease. I'm sorry for being so offensive."
"Trevor, you have lucked out. You have tried and failed to offend the most insensitive man in the world," I said laughing
I was not entirely surprised when we ended up naked in my bed. I think Trevor was accustomed to men with more modest cocks. He was shocked, eventually decided to give my cock a try, and seemed to have no problem taking my cock in his mouth or ass.
Trevor was a skilled cock sucker and came close to deep throating me several times. We got into the sixty-nine position and his cock was enjoyable. It was average, but if the florists tell you to say it with flowers, cocks said it with plentiful percum, along with a few pre orgasmic spurts of sperm.
He told me my cock was too big for his ass. I told him that if he didn't try it, he would spend the rest of his life wondering what it would have been like. He conceded that and he carefully impaled himself on my cock. He later told me he felt like a virgin taking his first cock.
I knew things were good when his eyes crossed and began chanting something that he later said was a Tantric Hymn. Luckily, when the sex is good enough, a guy spouting bullshit doesn't bother you. He later fucked me. his cock was a perfect prostate massager, and he had the stamina of a bull elephant. He fucked me to sleep and the fucked me awake the next morning.
Dunstan came in to help me take a shower, and he had a good time with Trevor. Trevor thought he was rough trade, and Dunstan played the part.
Deal arrived at noon, getting to Bath by way of Dakar, Paris, and the channel tunnel. Trevor was as smart as I guessed and he validated two old masters, and discovered that three old masters dated from 1929, 1943 and one from 1970.
Trevor left at six, and he asked if I might want to get together again. I said I would. He looked surprised and told me he didn't get many repeat engagements. "I used to think it was them, but I am coming to think it may be me," he said.
I wanted to see more of Britain, so I went on a trip with Dunstan and Julius. We went to Stonehenge which was suitably impressive and then drove to a Cathedral town called Wells. I had never heard of it, but it was almost a Hollywood fantasy version of an English medieval town. Everything was charming, beautiful, or stunning. It was also relatively flat, so I could walk it with crutches. Deal knew people so I was given the red-carpet treatment.
While the Cathedral wasn't much like my Mom's Presbyterian Church, it wasn't much like any other I had ever seen. I asked our guide, the Senior Warden if the architect had been on drugs. He almost bent over laughing. "I think I may so some research on that," he said after he stopped laughing.
We went to something called the Chapter Room. It was spectacular but was on top of the strangest stairs I had ever seen. Dunstan carried me up the stairs. We returned to the main floor and were standing in the stone plaza in front of the Cathedral and a man carrying a big parcel ran across. He bumped into an older woman and knocked her over. In the distance I heard a woman calling, "Stop Thief!"
The man was in front of me, Dunstan was behind me. The man was too far for me to reach, so I threw my crutch at him. Somehow the crutch clattered across the stone paving and reached the perfect place to trip the man. He fell down, throwing the parcel into the air.
Dustan was close enough to mostly break my fall before I hit the ground. Julian had played a goalie in football and caught the parcel. By that time assorted passers-by, Police; and guards had pounced on the man, assisted by all the members of a women's football team that had been in the square. It was not completely clear if the police arrested or saved the man.
We heard an automobile crash nearby. That turned out to be an accomplice trying to make a get-away and running into a bus.
The parcel was 14th century illuminated Gospel, encased in a 18th century, gold, jewel-encrusted binding. I wasn't entirely sure what such a thing looked like, and I certainly did not know binding could be gold. I am more of a paperback type guy.
The media cover the event in detail. "Elderly cripple foils robbery of million-pound manuscript," was one way they described it. "Pensioner Hurls Crutch of Death at Fleeing Burglar. Hits Bull's Eye," was another. I had a sprained ankle and bad bruises.
I was interviewed after my ankle was bandaged. I am not sure England was ready for a South Side Virginia accent. Apparently in Scotland they provided sub-titles. I said I was shocked at the speedy appearance of the police. I said I just happen to be in the right place and didn't think it was right for the man to knock over the nice lady. I said "The Cathedral was purdy, and it was the most beautiful book I had ever seen. You guys sure know how to make books." I was hoping to sound brainless. I think I may have over done it. I may have sounded extra-terrestrial.
I had some nice chats with the police. The found out who I was working with and my history with art thefts. Our two book thieves were well known on the continent but had never tried anything in Britain. I asked if they had been associated with certain names and then I listed the names of several men we suspected. Count Antonio Grasse and Jean Tremont came up.
The detective, John Miller, and I had a nice conversation about coincidences, and it turned out we were of the same opinion. With the names of the thieves and possible connections, there was something to work with.
The police thought the hotel was too public a place for me. I was sent to the director of the Cathedral Choirs house. It was near, but on the Cathedral site. The director was away at a conference, and we had the house to ourselves, except for the staff. Justin, Dunstan, and I felt a little like barbarians invading Rome.
I guessed the staff was gay. They weren't sure what I was, but the guessed Dunstan was rough trade. I thought that might scare them away, but I was 100% wrong about that. Rough trade turned them on. The Butler, Norman, was the leader of the pack. He was having a party weekend while the Director was away. The house was secluded and little known.
The Butler made a pass at Dunstan. Dunstan turned the pass into an opportunity for anal exploration. Norman discovered his ass was more accommodating than he suspected. That evening Norman had a diminutive friend Gussy who came to see me and fell in love with my cock. I had encountered that problem before.
Gussy had a friend named Lugg, who I thought might be the Loch Ness Monsters half-brother. He held Gussy above me so I could fuck him without hurting my ankle or bruised body. Gussy shot off and I sucked Lugg. His cock had been hidden in his oversized body. I later found out Lugg wasn't used to reciprocation.
Lugg seemed like he was semi-comatose most of the time. His cock was fully awake and ready to boogie. His balls joined in the danse and he flooded my mouth with his cock juices. After maybe five minutes, he tried to pull away. I held him close and he ejaculated. I'm not sure if a man can store several months of semen in his balls, if you could, Lugg had done it. He emitted a low growl as he unloaded.
Gussy had been Lugg's friend for years. Lugg had come from what Gussy refer to as a "difficult background." He was mute, and apparently no one fully knew his limitations, or strengths. As far as Gussy knew, I was the first man to suck him and to take his seed. From the way Gussy talked he seemed apologetic. I suspected Gussy had sucked him many times.
Julian had to get back to Bath, so Lugg temporally replaced him to do the lifting I needed to get through the day. Lugg wanted to stay with me during the night which made Dunstan's life easier. Dunstan preferred the role of guarding the priceless works in the museum, to being a personal servant. I was in Wells for a week. The sprained ankle was on the remaining leg that was broken in the plane crash, so the doctors were extremely cautious.
Norman, Gussy and Lugg were just the tip of the gay iceberg. Malcomb, the assistant organist; Thomas, the sound recorder and Stephan, the music historian were members of the club. While my specialty as an investigator is vanishing into the shadows, I know my cock has star qualities. My mother always said it was better to be known for the good you do, rather for your good looks.
I knew from an early date; I would not be noted for good looks. My Uncle Jake told me that my cock was my best, and maybe my only good physical feature. He also told me I might as well go with what I had. I know that in general men took notice of my cock. Most of these were just site seers. They were interested in distinctive physical features.
A portion of the men who see my cock want an up close and personal relationship with my cock. That is cheap and tawdry, but it doesn't bother me at all. Over the years the cheap and tawdry has turned in to close personal relationships and I have made many good friends.
Stephan, the music historian, was an incredibly shy, tall, slim, young man. His specialty was in recreating ancient musical compositions and then recreating the original sounds. The job market for this skill was sparce. He was at Wells for the rest of his life.
Norman was the perfect butler. He had discovered Julian's charms and knew of my cock, not my charms. The word got out. Stephan was a size queen of the first order. I don't think he knew that, but when he heard of my cock, he was drawn to me.
Stephan was Norman's favorite cock sucker, and a gossip, so he knew about Gussy's interlude on my cock. He talked to Gussy and got the full details about my cock, my cock in his ass, his orgasm and said that when I ejaculated in him it felt like fireworks in his ass. He said my cum was still dripping from his ass the next day.
Norman, Stephan and Gussy belonged to something called the BBC. It was a nude swimming and exercise club Its full name was the Bath Bath's Club. Norman asked if I would like to visit it and I said yes. It was a warm summer day, so we went in the late morning on Friday. Lugg was not a member, but they needed him to move me without injuring my ankle. Friday was the staff's day off since Saturday was spent getting the Cathedral ready and Sunday had four services.
The club was a wooden Victorian room for clothes, the toilets and shower. The Club's sandy beach was surrounded by trees and bushes that provided privacy. I soon discovered the club members were not particularly interested in privacy. I also realized that the club members seemed to be either peeping toms or exhibitionists. The fifteen or so men there seemed cheerful and almost jolly. Lugg and I were new, and we were the center of attention.