Psychic Detective 35 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 35 Two Vultures in the Square
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: So what are we doing in Yucatán this time of year? There's not enough road-kill in South Dakota? Last year you dragged me to Lake Ashawa where we quarreled with gulls over the stinky corpses of dead perch. Now we're in Mérida pecking at morsels littered by tourists in the Square.
CRAIG CLARK: Don't dis the cuisine, Old Shaman. If the Great Spirit hears you complaining about food, He'll pluck off our borrowed feathers and send our displumeated souls to nirvana. Yesterday we dined on tamandua, a magnificent white specimen half-vested in black.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: A banquet to the eyes, but odiferous!
CRAIG CLARK: If you were a real vulture, you'd have savored the fragrance of tamandua... Our days on earth are numbered, so try to act the part. No need to hasten our final departure. Anyway, we're not in Mérida for the food. We're here to check up on the skeleton- whisperer and his companions.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: The skeleton-whisperer. Now he's got an Aztec acrobat, and the Lakota sheriff's got himself a Maya magician, and Jésus is sleeping with a Mexican cop, even though Jack's in love with Calvin, who he left behind in Lakota, and Göran and Jésus are in love with each other, and Jack's and Göran's friendship is the deepest love of all, yet they hardly ever have sex together. And Pablo has a crush on Göran but shares him with two Paplanta acrobats, while Xiu the magician is besotted with Jack, but swaps him for Jésus, while Salvador gives up Jésus for a go at Jack. These gay romances are complicated and confusing. Try to imagine a score-card to keep up with them! It's a wonder they don't consume each other in jealous quarrels.
CRAIG CLARK: Jealousy? A man who gets jealous over sex has no business being gay. But we're here to watch over Skeleton-Whisperer. If he gets close to Albino there might be some danger.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Does it matter? We can't change destiny.
CRAIG CLARK: We can send him a warning, a dream, an omen.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: What will become of Albino when he joins Spirit? Maybe he'll be a rock at the bottom of the Gulf Stream. Scuba-diving spear-fishers will mistake him for a shark and shoot him with spear-guns. Maybe Sagittarius will swoop down and sever his balls from his groin. That would be a cosmic pageant we're entitled to see, since we've already paid the price of admission for these ghastly spirit-world theatricals.
CRAIG CLARK: More likely he'll be a hammerhead shark off the reefs of Bimini. You came here to watch him die, didn't you? Where's Albino now? You're the Shaman. You must know.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Where Albino is now is of no importance, but if you must know, he's in Uxmal, looking for the Maya magician who, he says, had promised him a private tour of the secret chamber in the Temple. One of the guides says that maybe he went home to San Francisco Campeche. Another says he might have gone to Cancún to work as a tour guide on a bus, since he knows English and German. Another says he's in Chichen Itza, because that's where so many mexicanos go for Holy Week, and tourist, too.
CRAIG CLARK: You know what I think, Old Shaman?
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: I'm supposed to guess?
CRAIG CLARK: I think you besotted the Maya magician with the splendor of Jack so he'd go with him to Mérida.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Jack didn't need any help from Spirit for that! Didn't you see how Xiu reacted as soon as he laid eyes on Jack? Why do you think he showed him the chamber that no other tourist has seen? Whatever Albino told the guides at Uxmal, Xiu never promised a tour of the chamber, not to Albino. It's a family secret. None of the guides believe it exists.
CRAIG CLARK: I think you're besotted with Jack yourself. You inhabited the Maya magician's body so you could fuck Jack. Then you covered your tracks with a bed-trick and left Jésus with Jack and Xiu with that middle-aged police detective in the Juan Carlos Hotel.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: This may be false. It may be true. I can't deny it all, but if you keep it secret, I won't tell Manitou about how you played Peeping Tom outside Señora Dorothea's window while Skeleton-Whisperer entertained three Aztec acrobats in his bedroom, although one of them is really a Mexican pretending to be Aztec, unbeknownst to the others.
CRAIG CLARK: How can you say that? You were busy with Jack in the Juan Carlos.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: I'm the Old Shaman, remember? I can be in two places at once, even when I'm dallying with the Lakota warrior.
CRAIG CLARK: I think you're guessing. You're good at that, Johnnie Elk Heart.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: If I'm guessing, how do I know that in the morning light, Göran anticipated Pablo's cock up his culo, until Pablo pivoted him hole-to-pole and lowered his torso. At that moment, two Paplantas named Antón and Arcaño— Göran had met them the night before— burst into the bedroom. Pablo had left the door unlocked for this purpose. Antón and Arcaño doffed their trim jockeys, knelt on either side of Göran, and offered their pendaments to his grasp and his lips, like bulls' udders in a topsy-turvy dairy, while Pablo churned butter on their captive's upthrust pole. Magnificent lithe dark acrobatic Aztec bodies dallied around Göran like Three Graces dancing. "Our Conquistador," they called him and proffered a three-man full- service massage. "My Aztec acrobats," Göran replied. "Strictly speaking, I'm Mexica," Antón said. "My three Aztec acrobats," Göran insisted, and when they turned the tables and flipped him, he offered just enough resistance to motivate Pablo and Antón into holding him down while Arcaño thrust his throbbing almost-black rod into Göran's supple culo. Saving the best until last, they piston-straddled Göran onto the pole of Arcaño while Antón and Pablo took turns fucking him from behind. In their acrobatic ménage à quatre, thrice they traded positions, taking care to omit no possible combination of legs, arms, torsos, culos, and cocks in their drama of picaresque romance.
CRAIG CLARK: So that's how you know that one of the Aztec acrobats is really mexicano.
JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Not mexicano. Mexica, the Indian nation in Veracruz, once hostile neighbors to the Aztecs, but they seem friendly enough now.