Catfish goes to Washington 8
by Bald Hairy Man
If you are underage or if gay sex offends you, Don't read this story. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com
Abdul was 24 years old, but this was his first time out of the sight of his bodyguards and servants. He was educated at Oxford, but had been in a protective cocoon. His father was a government official for a Gulf state who had suffered a heart attack. Abdul was delegated to fill in for him. It was apparently a hereditary position. While he didn't say it, I guessed he was a Prince of some sort and filthy rich.
He had some sexual experiences with his school mates, but had never been with an adult male. Abdul liked it. He wanted sex with a real man, not another boy. He had never been to the United States and had hopes he would find a hillbilly, or cowboy fantasy here. I was as close as he could come in Washington, D.C.
I think he would have been disappointed if it hadn't been for my cock. He was use to pretty English boys and boy cocks. My cock is big, uncut and oozing. It's not at all pretty. He liked my deep voice, southern accent and hairy body. I'm a home grown, all-American red neck, and Abdul thought I was exotic and exciting.
I have to admit I'm not that use to having sex with a handsome Arab prince, but I sure can go with the flow. In some ways he was like Cal, inexperienced, but eager. He wanted intense and exciting sex, but didn't know what it would be like. He was willing to experiment.
I wasn't sure how far he would go and was a bit uneasy about doing it with a prince. It might be a shock.
Abdul was nervous. "Are you rough?" he asked.
"Nope, I just look that way," I said. "I like sex to be good for me and good for my playmate. I can't enjoy it if my partner doesn't have fun."
"Are most men like that?" he asked.
"The men I know are," I replied. "Some guys are into power, or proving something. I'm not into that. I'm not into sadomasochism at all. Why mix pain with pleasure?"
"That makes sense to me," Abdul said. "I don't know the rules. I've seen some movies. Sometimes the men aren't nice. I didn't know if that was part of sex."
"It's not for me," I said. "Man sex can be messy. It's good when cum and precum are all over the place. Sex isn't good if you're a neat freak. What are you interested in?"
Rather than answer me, he returned to sucking my cock. I eventually discovered Abdul was more experienced than I thought. His ass wasn't virgin and he had enjoyed several well-endowed friends.
Abdul had no experience with grown men, hairy men, or working class men. All three turned him on big time. I had no idea what happens to a man when three of his sexual obsessions occur in the same person, but I found out. Abdul turned into a six-foot high erogenous zone. Every time my furry body touched his, it was acutely pleasurable for him.
We sucked, sixty-nined and then he guided my cock into his quivering ass. He loved it and took his time savoring it as each inch slipped into his body. Most of the time I notice a man's hot spots, but Abdul's asshole, sphincter and rectum were all tender and responsive. He shot off when five inches was in and again when the entire organ was embedded. He collapsed in exhaustion after the second orgasm. I held him and rubbed his back as he recharged.
My cock popped out of his ass, so I turned is over and entered from the rear. He loved it when I pumped my cock and rubbed my chest hair against his back. I'm not a particualarly cuddly man, but I think Abdul was use to the slam-bang-thank-you-ma'am school of sex. My approach alternating a slow build-up with wild climaxes was good. He liked the body contact too.
He fucked me too. Abdul was a pile driver. I got him to slow down and smell the roses. He was easily converted to my approach. He seemed to have been with guys who were single mindedly directed toward the orgasm. While I like ball draining ejaculations as much as any guy, I also like quality cock-time. Fifteen minutes of cock stimulation before an orgasm is a lot better than five.
We were together an hour and a half before he had to go back to the meeting. Abdul was discrete about the meeting, but it seemed to be a low-key sales effort for weapons and software. They could afford to be low key if the actual purpose of the meeting was to get the potential buyers into embarrassing situations for future blackmail. I wondered of the blackmail involved favoritism for a particular product rather than cash. That would be hard to trace or prove.
If it worked that way, it would also be particularly financially rewarding. You usually measure blackmail in thousands of dollars, but given the price of weapons the return would be in the millions. The papers are filled with stories about multimillion dollar software systems that fail, or weapons that are scrapped after years of development. Ten or twenty million could vanish in the blink of an eye and no one would be the wiser.
I went on a walk after dinner and Red appeared. I must have been under surveillance every time I left the Club. I was four or five blocks from the club when he appeared on the side walk ahead of me. He turned into an apartment house and I followed him. He went into an apartment and left the door open.
When I entered, he asked, "I was wondering how long it would take for you to notice I was with you?"
"How long was it?"
"Less than a minute," Red said. "You're good at this. Any news to report?" I told him about my interlude with Abdul.
"Prince Abdul is one of the rising stars. He is tapped to be the defense minister when his father dies," Red said. "He's pro western and rational, as far as we can tell." I explained my theory about the blackmail scheme.
He agreed with my thoughts. "There seemed to be conventional blackmail at the beginning," Red said. "Most of the men are well off, but not wealthy. It seems they switch to providing false recommendations when the guys are financially desperate. Most of them think they are just shaving the truth a little bit. Commander Willamette had a strong technical background. He realized the system he was asked to push was shit."
"What's the story about the America First Group?" I asked.
"Technically it's a conservative think tank," Red said. "In reality its members have string relationships with defense contractors. DeBoer is getting "finders fees." His side kick, Hatfield, is secretly on the board of the Enterprise Group. The Enterprise Group is made up of a cluster of fly-by-night "consulting" firms. Most of these have a few retired army officers on the staff with some former staffers from Capitol Hill. Until three or four years ago they got what was left over by the big boys. They began getting bigger contracts from Homeland Security and Defense in the post 9/11 panic."
"As long as you are patriotic, you might as well make a profit?" I suggested.
"A profit is all well and good, but they have moved into the fraud level," Red said. "They are basically anti government types. They don't have a problem cheating it. The budgets are huge, mostly unaccounted for and much is being wasted in fraud and inefficiency. You have men fighting a war in a desert with poor weapons and intel while the consultants sitting in plush offices are raking it in. Nasty business."
"What happens next?" I asked.
"Maybe you could mention to some of your pals you found recording devices in one of the rooms," Red said. "That might mix things up some. It would be interesting to see what happens." I left the apartment went to the coffee shop where I had the run in with the pan handler earlier. It was crowded. I was finishing up when Jack came in. We chatted for a while and went out. "Jack, while I was working in the garden at the club I found something odd," I whispered. "There is a video recording system in one of the rooms."
Jack looked shocked. "Which room?" he asked.
"The room in the garden, Room 8."
"Oh shit!" he exclaimed. "How did you find out? Who's doing it?"
"One of the repair guys told me about it," I said. "You know we had an electric problem last week. Mr. DeBoer seemed to be giving directions to the electricians."
"Thanks for the info," Jack said as he left hurriedly. When I got back to the club, a man was waiting for me outside the rear entrance.
"Are you Noland?" he asked in an English accent. "Catfish Noland?"
"That's me."
"What's going on with Abdul?" he asked in a tone that could be interpreted as menacing.
"Who am I talking to?"
There was a pause. "I'm Ali, his bodyguard."
"Let's go inside and talk," I said. "I need to tell you something." I unlocked the door and we went to my room. Ali was big, and had a fierce looking face, mostly covered with an ink black beard.
"Who are you working for?" he asked. "The British?"
"I'm working for a private client," I said. "His interests and the British interests seem to coincide. There is some sort of a blackmail scheme going on here. One of the rooms is fitted with cameras."
"Is Abdul in danger?" Ali asked, "He told me about you."
"Not to my knowledge," I said. "Certainly not from me. This room isn't under surveillance."
"How do you know?"
"I gave the place a good going over," I said. "Looking for bugs is my business. One of the camera installers was here. He wasn't at all concerned. I think he'd have been uneasy if there was a camera."
"Is the America First Foundation involved?" Ali said. "The head of security thinks something smells with that group."
"I don't know if it's the foundation, or just the members who have the problem," I said. "It could be a front, or it could be an unwitting accomplice."
"They are rude, rather stupid men, I think," Ali remarked. "They think they know it all, but they know nothing. They are like bulls in a china shop. We couldn't figure out why they were doing so well. It didn't make any sense. They produce inferior products, but got some choice contracts."
"Are you Abdul's friend or a hired hand?"
"I'm his cousin. We are family," Ali replied.
"I don't think he has a problem," I said, "Others do. They seem to have a knack for finding men who are susceptible to blackmail. They are conservative men who haven't come to grips with their sexual preferences. Being exposed as gay would be an embarrassment for many men, but for these it would be the kiss of death. DeBoer and his pals have them trapped. I don't know how to get out of it. It's a crooked scheme, but exposing it would destroy their victims. The boys they use are all adults, but in a photo they could all pass for teenagers."
"Blackmail is that way," Ali observed.
"These boys play hard ball too," I said. "It's probable Commander Willamette was murdered to keep him quiet. I suspect he was going to expose the scheme. I have no idea who the actual hit man was."
"I need to get back to Abdul," Ali said. "If I find out who the killer is, I will let you know." He glanced down at my crotch. "I wish I had more time." Ali left.
I figured I had stirred up the water enough for one day and went to bed. Johnson was in the excise room the next morning. I told him about the cameras. He looked like someone. Suckers punched him.
"You're kidding?"
"Nope, that's what the guy told me," I said. "There are cameras in room 8. He didn't mention any other rooms."
"Any in your room?"
"No, I checked," I said. "How did you end up getting a room here?"
"Senator Thornhill suggested it," Johnson replied. "I was just elected and was lost. He said it was economical and convenient. Do you think he knows about it?"
"I have no idea. The whole place seems strange to me."
"It's beginning to seem strange to me," Johnson said. "Everyone was so friendly here. Maybe they are too friendly. I got an odd feeling about the waiters once or twice."
"Were they making a pass at you?"
"To tell you the truth, they may have been doing that, but I was too dense to know what was up," Johnson explained. He looked me in the eye. "Am I in trouble?" He was almost crying. "Are you going to expose me? It would ruin me."
"Not in a million years," I said. "There may be something going on here, but I'm not part of it."
"I have to get to the Capitol. Is there any where we can meet away from here?" Johnson asked.
"Let me think about that," I said. "Drop by this evening, if you can."