Psychic Detective 14 By Jake Preston
This is a work of erotic gay fiction, intended for readers who enjoy a murder mystery in which fully developed characters interact sexually and in other ways. Their sexual encounters are sometimes romantic, sometimes recreational, sometimes spiritual, and almost always described explicitly. My attention is equally divided between narrative, character development, and sex scenes. If you don't care for this combination, there are many other excellent "nifty" stories to choose from. And remember that while nifty stories are free, maintaining a website is not. Please think about donating at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Writing is usually a solitary avocation, but not necessarily so on nifty.org, where a longer story appears in installments. If my characters and my story grab your attention, you can always intervene with suggestions for improvements. All sincere comments will get a response!
Jake, at jemtling@gmail.com
Chapter 14 Three Under Cover
Morning found Jack Jackson and Göran Svenson in Sheriff Andrew's office, signing the legal document that deputized them for the Eagle Cap investigation. It gave them law-enforcement authority within the limits of their mission. They could lean on a reluctant witness-not that they ever would. They had more effective ways to get gay men to open up.
Peter Durham was in the office. Jackson took stock of his smart figure and youthful face, and asked Sheriff Andrews if one of his patrolmen could assist in the undercover operation. "It's a low-risk assignment, not without one or two points of interest to make it a useful training exercise for Patrolman Durham. Andrews agreed. At Jackson's invitation, Durham drove to the cabin for dinner at six. They intended to leave for the Silver Stallion at eight.
After dinner, Durham asked Jackson and Svenson for tips on how to behave. "Just be yourself," Svenson said: "the more masculine the better. If a guy strokes your butt or puts a hand on your leg, don't look shocked or pull away. No one will suspect you're a cop."
"I think we should practice," Jackson said. He sat next to Durham on the sofa. "You're a tourist. You're talking about your ride up the cable car to the top of Mount Howard. The guy puts his hand on your leg, like this. Whoa, don't look startled, Peter. Just play it cool. It's okay to blush, but don't pull away. If he seems like a promising informant, you might need to get handsy, too." Jackson ran his hand up Durham's leg and rubbed his inner thigh. Durham pressed his hand over Jackson's hand. "That's good, Peter. You're a fast learner," he said. He groped Durham's crotch. Durham groped Jackson's crotch in return. "That's a signal that you both want sex," Jackson said. "If you want to slow things down, place your hand over mine, put some pressure on it, and slide it back to my thigh. Be sure to smile."
Their first stop was the Silver Stallion Saloon. They passed through double-doors to the pool-room, and upstairs to the parlor and the second set of pool tables. Svenson handed Jackson and Durham a little blue pill: "viagra," he said. "Your cover story will be more realistic with an erection." He popped a pill, too. Then they dispersed, not wanting to be identified as a threesome.
On opposite sides of the parlor, Svenson and Durham were approached by four young men-one after the other. After some inane conversation, they walked on by. Durham wondered if the undercover operation would end in futility. A husky red-headed man in his forties walked past Svenson and approached Durham. He bought Durham a beer at the bar. He seemed knowledgeable about sculpture and painting. He introduced himself as Rudy Finnegan, and said he was a sculptor. He gave Durham his business card. Durham used Rudy's talk about painting as an excuse to show him his copy of Albino's portrait. "It's an Anna Ravitch," Durham said. "I've seen the original, though I haven't met the subject. I'm told he lives in these parts."
"Oh, yeah, I know this guy. I did a sculpture for him a few years ago," Rudy said, effusively. Just when Durham thought he had a fish on the line, Rudy said he needed some air. He went to the men's room, and afterward, waved at Durham as he left the bar. 'Oh, well', Durham thought, 'at least I know who he is and where to find him'.
Three Wallowa youths in their twenties invited Jackson to join them in a game of pool. They liked him for his looks and his chiefly manner so long as they thought he was "F.O.T." ('from our tribe'). His stock went through the ceiling when they learned he was Lakota. One of the youths invited them all to his home on the Res. "I'm not going off on a drunk or drug high," Jackson said. The boys assured him they weren't. Jackson asked for the address and wrote it on one of his business cards. He gave it to Svenson. "Göran, I spoke prematurely when I said no undercover sex." "Say no more," Svenson replied. "Do what you must."
"Is that guy with you?" one of the Wallowas asked. "We thought you were on your own."
"That guy is my lover," Jackson said, "and yes, I'm on my own for tonight." They foursome started another game of pool. Svenson and Durham decided to try their luck in the garden behind the Gallery. They approached Jackson, to say they were leaving. Jackson gave Svenson a passionate kiss on the lips.
"I'll come get you in the morning," Svenson said. "We've got work tomorrow."
"Can you find your way on the Res?" Jackson asked.
"I'm a detective, remember?" Svenson laughed. Jackson was a man of mystery to the Wallowa youths who witnessed this exchange.
Svenson and Durham approached the garden in the yard behind the Gallery. They read a sign at the gate:
THIS IS A PRIVATE
GAY-FRIENDLY GARDEN
OPEN TO THE PUBLIC
A yellow brick path made a wide circle around a giant Douglas fir, lined with hemlocks, rhododendrons, azaleas, and many-colored floral beds. The path was lit with old-fashioned street-lamps. The four directions were marked by bronze sculptures: in the South, Ganymede holding a wine-cup, seated in the lap of Zeus; in the East, Gilgamesh and Enkidu wrestling with the monster Humbaba; in the North, David and Jonathan at archery-practice; in the West, Achilles mourning over the body of Patroklos after he was slain in battle by Hektor.
Svenson and Durham didn't want to be seen together, so they lingered at separate statues. When Durham was at Zeus and Ganymede, Svenson was at the Gilgamesh scene. When Durham moved to the Gilgamesh scene, Svenson moved to admire David's and Jonathan's archery. So they revolved, counterclockwise, around the garden path. Svenson was approached by a short, lean forty-something Wallowa man who asked if he knew the stories behind the statues. Svenson said he did, and-beginning with David and Jonathan-related a narrative for each one. Their discourse was lively and long, for Svenson was good at storytelling and took a liking to his companion. The Wallowa introduced himself, and explained that his name, Brave-Hearted Elk, was an English translation of a rather more elaborate phrase in Nez Persé.
While Svenson and Brave-Hearted Elk were engaged in this way, Durham was surprised by Rudy, who appeared at his side out of nowhere. Rudy greeted Durham as if he were a long lost buddy. He offered to explain how the bronze statues were made. "Each statue has technical difficulties unique to itself, if you're interested," he said. Rudy and Durham made the round of the statues, keeping their distance from Svenson and Brave-Hearted Elk. "Tomorrow morning I'll take you to the foundry, and give you a guided tour of the process," he promised, "assuming, of course, that you want to come home with me tonight."
When Durham got into the front seat of Rudy's car, Rudy couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his basket. Viagra, Durham remembered. "I guess I'm pretty obvious," he said. "That's all right, Peter, I'll take care of it," Rudy said.
Brave-Hearted Elk had no transportation back to his home on the Res. "If you want to stay with me at Wallowa Lake Resort, I'll drive you home in the morning," Svenson said. "That way, you can help me find this address." He showed the card with the address where Jackson would be. "Yes, I know the place," his companion said.
When Svenson learned that Brave-Hearted Elk hadn't eaten that day, he prepared omelets in the kitchen. Over omelets, orange juice, and slices of ham, Svenson told Brave-Hearted Elk the truth about who he was and why he had come to Joseph. He displayed pictures of Albino Perp and his mate. "I remember him, the tall one with white hair" Brave-Hearted Elk said. "He tried to mug me one night outside the saloon. I don't know what he was after. I didn't have anything to steal."
"You had a lucky escape, Brave-Hearted Elk," Svenson said.
"I ran away," he replied.
"You saved your life," Svenson countered. "You thought there was one. There were two." He ushered Brave-Hearted Elk to the living room where he lit a fire in the fireplace and served whisky in tumblers. He offered Brave-Hearted Elk a viagra, "to keep up with me," he said; "I took one earlier this evening." Brave-Hearted Elk appraised his companion's good looks, his athletic figure, his bulging blue-jeans. Svenson stripped to his jockey-shorts. A damp spot in his tidy-whitey betrayed bulbourethal leakage in the plumbing; the soft linen strained to contain his erection. "Oh," Svenson said, and stepped out of his shorts. He sat beside Brave-Hearted Elk on the sofa and flung an arm around his shoulders. Brave-Hearted Elk moved a hand over Svenson's torso and legs, and fondled his cock and his scrotum. He shucked off his clothes. Svenson fondled his smooth-skinned wiry-gracile partner and sucked six inches of uncut cock. After a quick shower, they went to bed.
Brave-Hearted Elk was overwhelmed at first, and a bit intimidated by the attentions of this youthful athletic hunk. He was self-conscious of his undersized dick. Like many men with average-size cocks, he thought it was smaller than average; it dwarfed in comparison to Svenson's party-size beer-can. "I'm no size queen," Svenson laughed. He nibbled at foreskin. He told Brave-Hearted Elk that he was just as self-conscious of being circumcised as some guys are conscious of size. "I don't see the problem," Brave-Hearted Elk said: "Uncut guys like me like to play with shaved cockheads. It's a difference that attracts."
"It's the same with size, don't you see?" Göran said. "A big cock might make a better first impression, but when it comes to playtime in the rack, I like to get the whole cock in my mouth."
During their foreplay, Brave-Hearted Elk assumed that Svenson would want to fuck. He psyched himself up to receiving, but subtly and by degrees, Svenson encouraged his partner into more aggressive sex-play. Brave-Hearted Elk got up the nerve to make a trial of Svenson's butthole with his finger. Svenson handed him the lube-tube. Brave-Hearted Elk administered a finger-fuck, lubricated and slow, and gradually move up to three fingers. Svenson responded erotically.
"I've never fucked a well-hung stud like you before, Göran, and I've never fucked a white guy. You're amazing," Brave-Hearted Elk said.
"If you want a squaw for the night, I'm your guy," Göran replied. "Fuck me bareback and breed me!"
Brave-Hearted Elk drove cock up the love-canal. The howls and yelps of Göran were mostly sincere, and loud and long enough to give Brave-Hearted Elk the erotic satisfaction of conquering ass. This stallion was his to ride. His inclination as a top kicked in. He moved Göran into a half-dozen fucking-positions. Göran complied. Göran's jizz fragranced their bellies while Wallowa semen whitewashed his canal.
Patrolman Durham knelt on the floor between Rudy's flabby legs. Rudy rested his ankles on Durham's shoulders. The anatomical panoply of Rudy spread before to his gaze. Rudy pulled Durham toward him. His lips pressed pulsating cock and worked down to the balls. His tongue went into action. Rudy guided Durham's head further down. Durham's tongue tickled Rudy's perineum. He licked precum from Rudy's mushroomy head and sucked as much of the shaft as he could get into his mouth. Rudy guided Durham's head downward. His lips touched the perineum. He licked it. At Rudy's insistence, Durham snorted a bottle of Amsterdam. A minute later, Durham's tongue was exploring the ridges of Rudy's butthole while Rudy praised his performance.
Rudy liked rim-jobs so much that he crawled on the bed doggie-style and fed Durham the poppers. "I call this 'Amsterdam doggie'," he said. Durham knelt between Rudy's legs and gazed on the crevice between two fleshy red-freckled moons. He knew what to do. He snorted poppers, ran his tongue down the cleft, and licked Rudy's hole. "Fuck my asshole with your tongue," Rudy grunted, commanding Durham to do what he was already doing.
In Tom Blue Fox's ramshackle home on the Res, Jackson and his Wallowa companions drew cards for the positions of top and bottom. Tom drew the King of Hearts, and Ricky Eagle Cap got Ace of Diamonds. That made them tops. Jack White Rock drew the Nine of Spades, and Jackson drew Seven in the same suit. That made them bottoms. Jackson kept silent about his suspicion that the card-draw was fixed. The boys found amusement in the prospect of fucking two 'Jacks', "and referred to Jackson as the other Jack. "White Rock and Red Crest," Jackson said; "my Lakota name is Red Crest."
A man in his later twenties, Jackson was seven or eight years older than his companions, taller, stronger, and more athletic. This, and his status as a Lakota stranger, made him the target of their erotic attentions. He may as well have had a target painted on his butt. Tom Blue Fox was the leader. He chose Jackson for his partner. Jackson and Jack White Rock knelt before Blue Fox and Eagle Cap and sucked cock. White Rock fondled Jackson's cock while they sucked. Jackson returned the favor. Blue Fox and Eagle Cap turned around and arched naked butts. Jackson nosed into Tom Blue Fox's cleft. When White Rock hesitated, Jackson pushed his head into man-cleft. "If Tom and Ricky want rim-jobs, who are we to refuse?" Jackson said. He told them to lay with their butts at the edge of the bed. The two Jacks knelt between the legs of their partners. Lips and tongues clashed with pricks, balls, perinea, and buttholes. The two Jacks changed places and partners. Tom got the idea for a rimming contest. He and Ricky would choose the best rimmer.
"What's the prize?" Jack White Rock asked.
"The loser rims the winner." Jackson won that one.
Tom Blue Fox and Ricky Eagle Cap had a disagreement about whether they should mission their partners or fuck doggie-style. Ricky favored doggie-style. "Naw, I want to see them squirm when our pricks go in," Tom replied. "Later we can switch to doggie." When Blue Fox entered his lair, Jackson groaned and yelped, and gave him the squirming action he wanted. When they flipped to doggie-style, Jackson and White Rock kissed and comforted each other for the butt-bruising they were taking.
Tom and Ricky switched places and partners. Jackson proposed a fucking-contest- winner to be chosen by the two Jacks: "Each fucker scores on a scale from one to ten. What's good for the geese is good for the ganders."
"What's the prize?"
"The prize is me for the rest of the night," Jackson said. He didn't want to spend the night in group sex. It was exhausting. Tom Blue Fox was certain that he'd be the winner, but Jackson had weighted his scores in favor of Ricky Eagle Cap. Nothing to do with sex: Ricky was more sensitive, more empathetic. Jackson figured that Ricky would be the most cooperative, once he broke the news about his hunt for two serial killers. Jackson was right. After a romantic night together, Ricky broke the news that Jackson was a sheriff on a mission. The Wallowa youths remembered Albino Perp-"He said he was an anthropologist, writing a book about our tribe," they said. "He interviewed some families on the Res, and then disappeared." They told him every detail that they could recall. "You know, Sheriff," Tom Blue Fox said, "we would have told you these things if you had asked us last night. You didn't have to have sex with us."
"I know that," Jackson grinned.
"Have you ever been fisted?" Brave-Hearted Elk asked Svenson when they woke at midnight.
"Is that an invitation to try?" Svenson replied.
"I've got the hands for it, slender, with nails short-trimmed," Brave-Hearted Elk said. Göran squeezed his right hand. "It's best done with Crisco, if you've got some in the kitchen." Göran said he'd try. They could do it by the fireplace, with a fire. They brought a blanket and pillow. Göran lay on his back with his butt propped on the pillow. He kissed the hand of Brave- Hearted Elk and sucked his fingers.
Brave-Hearted Elk knelt between his legs and fingered Crisco into his butthole. It didn't take long to get four fingers, up to the knuckles. "I'm gonna give a gentle twist," he whispered. Göran moaned. He pulled out his hand to add Crisco. "You've got a gape started,- very good, Göran," he said. His regained his position up to the knuckles and edged forward and back, forward and back, each time gaining a fraction while Göran groaned and sometimes cried out. He pulled out for more Crisco. He put his hand back in with his thumb folded over his palm. Knuckles pressed along the ridges of Göran's butthole, and disappeared with a forward thrust. Groans punctuated Göran's deep rhythmic breaths. When his knuckles passed through the sphincter, Göran's anal canal felt like a vacuum sucking Brave-Hearted Elk's hand inside. After a few minutes rest, Brave-Hearted Elk played Göran by wiggling his fingers and rotating his hand, each time sinking it further, until it got to the wrist.
The penetration of Brave-Hearted Elk's hand was complete. Göran was relieved, and relaxed into sex-play- a slow wriggle of fingers, a gentle rotation of the wrist. For Göran the slightest motion registered as an earth-shaking collision of drifting continents, but the earthquakes inside him cause anal orgasms, both felt and heard as 'snap, crackle, pop' like pouring milk over dry cereal. The experience was synesthetic: hearing overpowered feeling. Intellectually, he knew that these orgasms were mini-contractions of the rectum, but what is a seminal orgasm if not a contraction of the prostate? When Brave-Hearted Elk thought he'd had enough, he withdrew his hand slowly and gently. They awoke in the chill of dawn, surprised that they had slept through the night on the floor by the fireplace, where the fire had grown cold.
Would Göran do it again? He wasn't ready to sign up for membership in Fist Fuckers of America. He wouldn't try it on Jack. His hands were too big for a fisting-top, but that was a higher office to which he did not aspire. He wouldn't introduce Jack to Brave-Hearted Elk. He didn't regret it, but to him the experience was more education than pleasure.
Brave-Hearted Elk's takeaway was different. He took pride in his ability to give pleasure-an ideal in any good top. He admired Göran's nobility of character- his willing submission to a fisting-adventure was an incidental sign of that. He knew that Göran knew that he was just a poor Wallowa on the Res, but that didn't stop him from treating him as an equal. He understood why Jack loved him. Above all, he took lascivious delight in his status as the 'holder' of Göran's fisting-cherry.
While Svenson was getting fisted by Brave-Hearted Elk, Rudy fucked Peter Durham with staying-power fueled by viagra. When they awoke at dawn, Rudy surprised Durham with his greeting: "Good morning, Patrolman!" Durham's undercover pose in the Silver Stallion Saloon hadn't fooled him for a minute. He explained to Durham: "You're the hot new cop in town. Everyone knows you, even though you might not know them."
Durham blushed with embarrassment.
"Will he respect me in the morning?- that's what you're wondering," Rudy said, "and I'm wondering if a great stud like you is willing to seem me again."
"I am. I want us to be friends, and... well, fuck-buddies," Durham stammered.
"Good man!" Rudy exclaimed. "But there's something else on your mind, Peter, something besides the murder mysteries at Eagle Cap."
"Last night was my first time," Durham said. "I was a virgin. There, I said it!"
Svenson and Brave-Hearted Elk drove to Tom Blue Fox's home on the Res to pick up Jack. They took formal witness statements about Albino-sightings, and arranged for a follow-up meeting at the cabin, to include all the witnesses-the three Wallowa youths, Brave-Hearted Elk, Rudy, and Margaret; a "witness-convocation," he called it. It seemed like an unorthodox idea to Sheriff Andrews. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't do it, either," Svenson said, "but my intuition tells me that we're getting close to figuring out who Albino might be. A dialogue with the witnesses might push us through the impasse." Andrews agreed to attend the meeting.
Svenson's witnesses disclosed four contact-points with Albino Perp. Svenson attempted a summary: "First, when Albino was a guest at the Resort, his sociopathic companion conducted business while he stayed in the background. Second, Albino visited the gay scene in Joseph. He tried to abduct Brave-Hearted Elk outside the Silver Stallion. His abduction-attempt failed. Other gay men have had narrow escapes. I met with two such men in Superior. Third, Albino commissioned Rudy for a sculpture of a Wallowa shaman early in June, 2009. He collected it a year later. Fourth, in the summer of 2012, Albino visited the Reservation to interview some Wallowas. He said he was writing a history of the Wallowa people. He said he was a college professor, an anthropologist. During his interaction with the Wallowa youths, he asked questions that he read from a clipboard. That's what we know so far."
"Did he ask questions about the Wallowa language, or about Nez Persé dialects?- Wallowa names of plants or trees, herbs or medicines, mountains or rivers, that sort of thing?" Jackson asked. The Wallowa youths said there were no questions about language.
"What do you think, Jack?" Göran said. "You're the brain trust from Emory."
"I think that if Albino is an anthropologist, he's not a very good one," Jack said.
"Because he's not interested in Indian languages?" Göran asked.
"There's that," Jack replied, "but mainly because of the way he approached Tom Blue Fox, Ricky Eagle Cap, and Jack White Rock. It was a top-down approach, with predetermined questions read from a clipboard. He might as well have asked the boys to fill out a printed survey. A psychologist might operate that way, or a sociologist, but in modern Anthropology it's considered unscientific and arrogant to treat your informants as 'subjects'. A good anthropologist enters into dialogue with his informants as conversational equals. The best anthropologists 'go native' to understand native cultures. No anthropologist would trust conclusions drawn from a survey."
"That's who we're looking for," Jackson continued: "a failed academic-maybe a Ph.D. candidate who's working on a doctoral dissertation that will never be finished. He has a low- level teaching job, maybe as a lecturer at a small college or a community college. He does his crimes in the summer, because that's when he's free to travel."