Psychic Detective 18 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 18 Ricky Eagle Cap and Patrolman Durham in Joseph
Ricky drove straight from the Res to the Sheriff's Office in Joseph. There, Patrolman Durham sorted the personal effects of murder victims- combs, hairbrushes, caps, headbands, toothbrushes, and strands of pubic hair. He put them in evidence-bags and labeled them. The desk sergeant countersigned the labels while Durham entered his report on an office computer. "These are missing-person cases for now," Durham advised the Sergeant, "but we'll need to compare it with DNA evidence collected at four crime scenes." He updated the Sergeant on the case. Durham manned the front desk while the Sergeant carried the plastic bags to shelves in the evidence room that were dedicated to the Eagle Cap Wilderness murders. "This case is taking up shelf space," the Sergeant said. "Your material is sorted into four boxes."
"Stay with me tonight, Ricky. I can't be alone," Durham said. He hadn't realized that the Sergeant had finished his task in the evidence room and was within earshot of the front desk. He didn't seem to mind that the Sergeant overheard.
"Whatever you need, buddy," Ricky replied. The Sergeant looked puzzled, but he was sensitive to the enormity of the situation- processing the personal effects of four murder victims.
Ricky parked his car in the driveway of Durham's small rented house on a residential street in Joseph. In the fading light of dusk, it could still be seen from the street. "This is going to be awkward for you, Peter," Ricky said. "My car's at your place. Your car's at my place. How are you going to explain it?"
"Does it matter?" Durham asked. "The Sergeant knows. By lunchtime tomorrow, everyone in the department will know."
Sex started with Ricky's face in Pete's armpits. He responded with partial reciprocation, but Ricky told him to relax and enjoy. He played with Peter's nipples- fondling, licking, kissing. Ricky's attentive flattery was punctuated by jolting pinches and bites, accompanied by digital frottage along Peter's cleft and around his butthole. "Concentrate on your ass," Ricky whispered. "Let your nips telegraph messages to your butthole."
Ricky played 'milk the udder' with Peter's nips. "You can't get milk from a bull," Peter quipped. "Wanna bet?" Ricky replied, and continued his simultaneous play on Peter's nips and his butt. Peter interrupted the action by squeezing Ricky's nips. "Ouch!"- Ricky's nipples were super-sensitive. He couldn't endure pinching or biting. Nip-play on Ricky was limited to gentle finger-frot. "You're tougher than me, Pete," he said. Peter relaxed and gave Ricky control.
"Something is happening to me," Peter said.
"Concentrate your mind on your butt," Ricky whispered. He alternated his oral ministrations between Peter's ears, his neck, his armpits and nipples, all the while frotting his cleft and his hole. Occasionally he broke the cycle by straddling Peter's chest and feeding him cock, allowing Peter to nibble on foreskin- always returning to the original scene in a circuit of foreplay.
"You're turning me into your butt-boy," Peter said. "Ricky smiled and ran two fingers along Peter's lips. Peter sucked on his fingers while Ricky frotted Peter's butt. He swiveled into a 69 and tongued Peter's navel while Peter sucked dick. He teased Peter's cock by licking the shaft.
Ricky repositioned Peter with his ass at the edge of the bed, and knelt between his legs. He licked Peter's scrotum and sucked on his balls, all the while frotting his hole. He licked Peter's perineum. He fondled Peter's cock. "Close your eyes, Pete, and visualized your cock as a giant male clittie sending messages to your butt," Ricky said. He rimmed Peter's portal and frigged cock. Peter moaned. "Is it working?" Ricky asked.
"Yeah," Peter grunted.
"Why Peter, your sweet little butthole is winking at me," Ricky said.
"Get down there and eat some male pussy," Peter said.
Ricky rimmed until Peter could no longer wait to feel cock up his ass. Ricky gave him the lube-tube and told him to lubricate himself. He did. Peter caught the flash of lust in Ricky's eyes. "If you're liking this scene, hand me the poppers and I'll do some more," Peter said. He gave Ricky a popper-inspired spectacle of finger-fucking. Ricky contributed a finger. They fucked in the same position. Peter's ankles rested in Ricky's shoulders.
Later, in après-sexe, Ricky asked Peter if he minded talk about clittie and pussy. "Not if it's role-playing, and not all the time," Peter said. "If you wanted a fem, you wouldn't have chosen me."
"I thought it was you who chose me," Ricky said.
"Maybe it was a conspiracy between Göran and Grandma," Peter mused.
"That makes us three times chosen," Ricky said. "Next time we make love, you will fuck me."
In their cabin at Wallowa Lake Resort, Göran startled awake and sat up in bed. His sudden movement woke Jack. "Bad dream?" he asked. "We must go back!" Göran exclaimed. "Back to Lakota?" "No, we must go back to Ashawa."
The next day they flew from Boise to Duluth by way of Minneapolis. It was Jack's first time in northern Minnesota, so Göran showed him some of the sights. They drove up the North Shore and back. They crossed the lift-bridge to Park Point and walked along the beach. They skinny-dipped in the cold waters of the 'Big Friendly'. "Why do they call it that?" Jack asked.
"Because it's a treacherous lake, with winds and currents," Göran said. "See up ahead where the beach ends and the marshland begins? The currents off the shore are treacherous there. It's one of the places where Albino hangs out.... Howard Coleman."
"You know that?" Jack asked.
"Not empirically. My intuition tells me he's been here," Göran said. They walked to the end of the beach, where the sand mingled with marshy reed-beds below a foggy miasma. "The shoreline looks different every time I come here. A beach is a river of sand that flows in slow mition."
"Are you getting a sense of Howard Coleman?" Jack asked.
"Maybe," Göran murmured.
"What we need from you are some psychic vibes," Jack said.
"Psychic?- More like a dog that caught the scent of two roaming wolves," Göran replied.
Jack and Göran met Detective Harvey Winik for dinner at Harbor Light Sports Bar. They went over their notes about the evidence they found in South Dakota and Oregon. Harv reported the results of his efforts to identify victims: "Two college boys- we followed up on a list of college drop-outs that David Gabrioli emailed to me. We also identified an Ojibwe kid reported missing by his family in Orr. The other news is that Tom Eidan came to the Sheriff's Office on Friday, to tell Matthews that the FBI would be joining our investigation, but he didn't plan to take over." Tom Eidan was the senior FBI agent in Duluth.
They visited two bars near the Duluth harbor. Neither Göran nor Jack learned anything, but Harv found a guy who recognized Albino's companion. "I saw him last week. He made a pass at me. That's all I remember. I was here with my boyfriend," the guy said.
"They're cruising the bars for victims, just like Göran said," Jack remarked.
Göran and Jack followed Winik across the High Bridge and down to the Superior harbor. That's when Göran got animated. They visited three bars, but came up empty. Then they visited Apollo's. It was crowded with men of all ages: some preppies, some men in drag, and many wearing checked flannel shirts and tight jeans with holes in the knees. A live band played pop tunes while patrons took turns dancing solo on around a striptease pole on the stage. Apollo's sponsored a striptease contest every Saturday night.
"This is the place, I can feel it," Göran said. "Someone here has seen Coleman."
"Someone, but who?" Harv asked. "We'll never know, unless we can win their trust."
"I have an idea about that," Jack said. After the last dance-competitor was done and the Master of Ceremonies was preparing to collect ballots to determine a winner, Jack asked the MC if he could perform. The MC looked him over. "Oooooo, of course you can dance, sweetie," The MC said. "What's your name?"
"I'm Jack," he said. "I'm a Lakota lawman visiting from South Dakota... a sheriff, in fact." He showed his badge, and pinned it on his dark blue shirt.
The MC went to the microphone to announce him: "Girlfriends... and boyfriends, we have a dark horse competitor who will blow your minds. He's a red-blooded Sioux from South Dakota, and last but not least, he's a county sheriff and has a badge to prove it. Give it up for Jack!"
The crowd applauded. They oooed and cheered when Jack took the stage. Jack asked the band to play "I Shot the Sheriff." He encouraged the crowd to sing along. He unbuttoned his shirt to bare his chest, but kept the shirt on to show off his badge. In sync with the music, he kicked off his boots. He let one man in the crowd remove his right sock. A drag queen captured his left sock. He unbuckled his belt, and let a third guy slide it out of its loops while he swayed to the music. He unzipped his jeans and groped the pole. He signaled to a preppy to join him on stage and lower his jeans to his ankles. He stepped out of the jeans and kicked them aside. He swayed energetically to display his basket. The song was over, so he signaled to the band to play it again from the top. The crowd sang "I shot the sheriff" while a guy in tight jeans lowered Jack's white jockey-shorts. As his shirt-tails flapped around, the crowd caught glimpses of his bare ass, which, as anyone could see, was sensational. He planted a kiss on the lips of the band- leader, a lanky guitar-player with long light-brown hair. Jack was no eyes-only faggot- he liked audience participation. As the end of the song drew near, he signaled to a chubby guy to join him on stage and help him out of his shirt, which he tossed to Göran for safe-keeping because of the badge. When the chubby guy turned to exit the stage, Jack took his hand and invited him to dance. They danced holding hands as the song came to an end. Jack teased the crowd by hiding behind his chubby partner, but then switched places while the crowd ogled him swaying in his birthday suit. "You're a lucky guy, Göran," Harv remarked. When it was over, Göran and Harv helped him back into his clothes.