Calendar Mystery 5: EVENTS OF A WEEK
Monday through Friday, September 7-11, 2020
Characters:
Chris Josephson, age 29, creative writer and professor, owner of Sandy
Point lighthouse
Frank Zanetti, age 24, detective sergeant
Vera Ericson, in her 60s, owner of Vera's Cabins on the North Shore
Sebastian Ericson, age 29, artist; Vera's grandson, recently moved to
Duluth
Gertrude Grindahl, chair in the English department; technically,
Chris's boss
Jerry Turner, 30s, Chris's neighbor on Sandy Point
Many thanks to a Reader from Georgia for moral support and helpful suggestions. I strive to deserve them in this chapter! There's trouble ahead for Chris, and it's bound to get worse. Vera and Sebastian are out of the loop in this matter, so the question is this: Can Frank do anything to help him? – Goran: goranbixo@aol.com
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Frank and Chris got back to Duluth in time for Chris's Chaucer class.
Meanwhile, Frank called on Vera's grandson at his boardinghouse on West 5th Street, whch is walking distance from the harbor. "Does Sebastian Ericson live here?" he asked the landlady in the parlor. A look of concern fell over her face, seeing Frank in his police uniform. "Nothing to be concerned about, ma'am," he assured her. "I've got a message for him from his grandmother."
"He's probably working on a sketch in his room," the landlady said. "He's an artist, you know, so I gave him a two-room suite with the best windows." Frank followed her up two flights of stairs. Sebastian's door was open. Frank knocked on the door while the landlady called out, "Sebastian, you've got company!"
"Show him in, then," Sebastian called back from the second room, in his two-room suite. He leaned over a table, intent on his work. He didn't look up from the sketch. Paintings and charcoal sketches lined the walls, standing on the floor in various degrees of completion.
The landlady left Frank alone with Sebastian.
"Whoa!" Sebastian exclaimed, startled at the sight of a cop in his room.
"Your Grandma sent me to ask how you're doing, Sebastian," Frank said. "So, how are you doing?"
"Keeping busy," Sebastian said, noncommittally.
Frank looked over the new sketches that Sebastian had in his rooms. It was obvious that his specialty was naturalistic human figures, and he was good at it. I've come to the right guy', he thought to himself; in more ways than one'. Sebastian's mannerisms were vaguely `fem' and attractive to Frank in a way that he felt but wouldn't be able to explain if you asked him to.
"I've got a commission for you, Sebastian," Frank announced. "A series of sketches for a case I'm working on. Vera is helping me with my inquiries. Police inquiries. I saw some of your sketches in the lodge. That's why I've come to you."
Sebastian looked surprised. First time anyone had offered him a commission. "It's a private commission," Frank continued. "Twelve sketches, and maybe some paintings, too. You'll be paid for your work by Chris Josephson. He owns the lighthouse on Sandy Point."
Frank explained the `calendar mystery' and showed him the calendar. "We're searching for these pin-up boys, but we can't go around town showing people them nude in provocative poses. So, we'd like to have a sketch or each one wearing clothes, maybe like they were sitting for a portrait. Maybe a painting, too. Chris told me to offer pay $500 for each sketch, and $1,200 for each painting, not counting the cost of frames."
"I use charcoal for sketches, and I do tempura painting," Sebastian said.
"I know. I've seen some of them," Frank said. He gave Sebastian $300 for supplies to get him started. "Let's start with `Mr. August', the Ojibwe. We think he'll be the easiest pin-up to track down. Chris grew up with Ojibwe friends, so we have some connections to start with."
Sebastian was Frank's opposite in many ways. Frank was outgoing, an extraverted Italian. Sebastian was shy, an introverted Minnesota Swede with an unlikely first name. Frank was average in height and trim, with dark, curly brown hair and brown eyes. He looked muscular and smart in his uniform. Sebastian was slightly taller than Frank, but slender, blond with blue eyes, and looked anything but muscular in faded jeans and a dark green sweater that complimented neither his eyes nor his pale complexion. Frank made up for his average stature by a masculine bearing. Sebastian acted `fem' when he motioned with his hands, and swayed when he walked, although he tried to suppress his fem aspect in the presence of a police officer. His voice was naturally basso profundo, which sometimes made for a comic contrast with his lapses into fem mannerisms.
"Vera tells me that you're planning to start college at UMD in Spring semester," Frank said. "I'm an alum. Maybe I could show you around, let's say Wednesday morning. We could sit in on Chris Josephson's Chaucer class, and then take a campus tour."
Sebastian's gaze drifted to the promising bulge in Frank's uniform. Frank noticed. A quick exchange of glances and gaydar kicked in. The human eye is a miracle of evolution, noticing the most important things instantly, and what is seen cannot be unseen. Sebastian accepted the invitation.
On Tuesday, Frank got pulled into the investigation of an armed robbery in Herberger's department store on Superior Avenue downtown. Two suspects. A city-wide search. The cops in Superior, Wisconsin got involved because Frank found a witness who saw the getaway car crossing the High Bridge with the driver but no passengers. The cops surmised that the robbers ducked down in the back seat. Frank told his captain that he had an alternate theory: The getaway car was a decoy, and the culprits were laying low in the harbor district. Or else on the west side. "The getaway driver was a girlfriend. The culprits ran off at the entrance to the bridge."
It was a good week for Frank.
For Chris, not so much. On Wednesday at noon, he was summoned to office of the department chairperson, Dr. Grindahl. A student complaint. Chris Josephson got summoned to the English department chairman's office at noon. The chairman was really a "chairperson" named Gertrude Grindahl. She was only an associate professor, but she was elected as chairperson by the majority of English faculty, who accepted the theory that she was on an "administrative track" and didn't need to publish research as a prerequisite to advancement in rank. Fortunately for Chris, he had tenure. By age 28 he had already published two books on literature, and won early promotion to "full" professor. These things don't matter to students or to anyone outside academia, but to Chris it meant a relatively higher salary, and the protection of rank from the likes of "Ms. Grendel," as some of her male colleagues called her when no one else was around.
"It's my job to deal with a complaint from a student in your Chaucer course," Dr. Grindahl said. "The student claims that your class presentation is demeaning to women, and as a result, your classroom is not a safe space for the students. I wanted to hear your side of the story."
"My guess is that the student is complaining about the Miller's Tale," Chris replied. Following Dr. Grindahl's example, he avoided mentioning that the complainant was a co-ed. "We spent two class periods on the Miller's Tale. My focus was on Chaucer's narrative craft, how he borrows plot-lines from two French fabliaux. One plot is Nicholas's and Alisoun's beguiling the carpenter', Alisoun's jealous elderly husband. The second plot is a love triangle in which two university students, Nicholas and Absolon, are rivals for Alisoun's affection. The two plots come together in a comedic window scene'."
No male of the species could roll his eyes in quite the same way as Dr. Grindahl rolled hers. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
Postmodern times. An English department chair-`person' who proudly proclaims that she doesn't know a thing about Chaucer.
"Well, the class seemed to like it," Craig said. "Especially when we got to the part where Absolon stuck his derriere out the window and got burned by a hot plowshare. Everyone laughed when we got to Chaucer's famous line, "`Tee hee', quod she, and clapt the window to'."
"Some students didn't think it was funny," Dr. Grindahl said. "You should be more sensitive to their feelings." The interview had started even-handed, but by now Dr. Grindahl had morphed into Ms. Grendel.
"Some students? I thought it was one student," Chris replied.
"The complainant said she was speaking for all the women in your class," Ms. Grendel said, inadvertently mentioning the student's gender. "The student said that the way you presented the story, it was `patriarchal pornography'."
"I always teach from the text," Chris explained. Mostly I talked about Chaucer's French sources, and the structure of the tale, which I illustrated by reading passages from Chaucer. My only digression was a talk about window scenes' in the Bible and in the Nibelungenlied', how `window scenes' serve as fulcrum events, and how in Chaucer's case, the window scene ties two separate plots together. I've been teaching the Miller's Tale this way for years, and never before had a complaint about it."
"The student also complained that you make the course harder than it needs to be. You make the class read Chaucer in Old English, and you force them to memorize a passage in this language, which is as foreign to the students as German," Ms. Grendel said. "Why can't you make it easier by having them read a modernized text?"
"Every Chaucer course in the country reads the Canterbury Tales in the language it was written, and every teacher in the country requires students to memorize the beginning of the General Prologue as an aid to students learning the language," Chris retorted. "And anyway, Chaucer wrote in Middle English, not Old English."
Ms. Grendel's face turned beet-red. "Maybe Chaucer should be dropped from the curriculum," she said.
"That'll fix `im," Chris replied. "But, Dr. Grindahl, that's a question for the Curriculum Committee."
The interview concluded with no resolution. Dr. Grindahl wrote a memorandum about the student complaint and the interview. She ended the memo with the conclusion that "Professor Josephson is non-responsive to the needs of women students in his classes." She put the memo in Craig's personnel file, and sent copies to the Dean of Arts & Sciences, to the Dean of Student Life, and to the campus's new Assistant Dean for Equity.
Chris felt glum about his problem at work when he related the story to Frank.
"One thing I've learned about third-wave feminism is `Never apologize for anything, whatever accuse you of'," Chris said. "Whatever you say, they'll take it out of context and use it as ammunition against you."
"Did you write up your version of the interview?" Frank asked.
"I did," Chris replied. "I went back to my office and started a diary, written in longhand, word for word, as closely as I could remember. I' won't enter it into my computer, as I believe that the Dean of Student Life can gain access to it with the help of a techie. The feminists have painted a target on my back. There's more trouble ahead."
"Is that a vibe?" Frank asked.
"An educated guess," Chris replied. "I never get vibes about things that affect me personally."
"Next week you teach the Reeve's Tale," Frank said. "The `mistaken bed' fabliau in which the Miller's wife and daughter get swived by two college students."
"Ah, that's right, Frankie," Chris said. "I remember. You took my Chaucer course, was it three years ago?"
"The feminists will have a field day over that one," Frank said.
"I know, but I can't not teach the Reeve's Tale."
"Maybe I can help you with that," Frank said. "During my four years as a cop, I've handled several rape cases. I could visit your class and talk to the students about how complicated a rape case can be. I could work the `mistaken bed trick' into my lecture and ask students to read some of the relevant passages in the Reeve's Tale. The message would be that while Chaucer is comic, comedy has a serious side. In this case, a warning to male and female students about situational awareness and guarding against unwanted sex."
"Okay, it's worth a try. Let's do it," Chris said.
"Another thing, Doc. You need to keep a tape recorder in your pocket. Record all future interviews, especially the impromptu ones. I've got a miniature recorder that will serve the purpose."
"Got it," Chris said.
It was a chilly September evening. "Look, Frankie," Chris said, "I'm getting ready to fire up the sauna. A neighbor down the road told me he'd never tried a sauna, so I invited him to come over. You should join us."
"Is your neighbor straight?" Frank asked.
"Don't know. Never asked," Chris replied. "He's married. Thirty-something. Two kids. I warned him that he might witness some gay action."
"A tourist. Why not?" Frank replied. "I can be just as exhibitionist as you."
"I wouldn't call him a tourist," Chris said. "Think of him as the Q at the GLBTQ end of the spectrum. Anyways, he's a good mechanic. Last summer he helped me when I had car trouble. And I happen to like him, so be nice to him."
The neighbor walked barefoot down the beach to Chris's place, dressed in swim trunks and a sweatshirt. He was surprised to see a patrol car in the yard, and Frank in uniform. Chris introduced the new guy as Jerry Turner.
"Frank Zanetti," Frank said when they shook hands. "Good to meet you, Jerry."
"My friends call me Jay," he replied.
"Well, Jay," Frank responded, "this here is Doc, and you can call me Frankie, since we're gonna get informal." Having said that, he locked his service revolver in a cabinet that Chris had designated for that purpose, and got naked from the bottom up: shoes and socks first, then trousers and briefs, shirt and tee-shirt. He pretended not to notice Jay ogling his stupendous uncut cock and shapely hirsute ass.
"Are you joining us or what, Doc?" Frank asked Chris.
"You two guys go ahead. I'll join you shortly," Chris responded.
Jay removed his sweatshirt, but kept his swim trunks on. He followed Frank as they trudged through sand to the sauna. Frank chattered about his years as a night student at UMD. "I took classes with Chris," he said. "A year after I graduated, we reconnected and became friends. That's when I started calling him `Doc'. It's an act of friendship, to find a nickname for a friend. By the way, Jay, Doc says you're good with cars. Are you a mechanic?"
"An accountant for Strauss and Pressley downtown," Jay replied. "Most folks think it's a boring job, but I like it, and gives enough income to own a home on Sandy Point. I go jogging with Chris, sometimes, when he's in a mood to slow down for me."
"I'm a middle-of-the-pack runner myself. Maybe I could run with you guys sometime," Frank said.
"Sure, why not?" Jay replied.
They took a quick cold rinse under the showerhead in the anteroom, which made them eager for the warmth of the steam-room. "Not many saunas in Duluth," Jay remarked. "Chris's is the only one I know of."
"It's a Finnish custom, borrowed by Swedish dairy farmers north of the Iron Range," Frank explained. "Did you know that the Finns sauna in the nude? Even in mixed company with women and children. Not when they have guests, of course. Clothing is optional."
"In that case ..." Jay said. Without saying more, he stepped out of his swim trunks and tossed them on the bench in the anteroom.
"Let me know when you're ready for a cool-down," Frank said. "Then we'll make a run for the lake and dive under. The trail leads to a sandy beach. No need to worry about rocks. When Doc gets here, we'll start with the balsam boughs."
"Balsam boughs?" Jay asked. "Oh, yeah, I noticed the pile of balsam in the anteroom. I wondered what it was for."
"We rub each other down with balsam boughs. Balsam has a cleansing effect in the sauna. You'll go home squeaky clean," Frank laughed.
"Whatever you say, Frankie," Jay replied. He only said that to practice calling his new friend `Frankie'.
"I think it's time for a dip in the lake," Frank said. They ran down he sandy trail, careless of prying eyes, and jumped into the water. They knew the water was cold, but with elevated body temperature, they didn't feel it.
Frank dove under and grabbed Jay by the thighs, ducking him under. Jay worked himself loose from Frank's body-hold, then turned around and dove after him. Frank offered no resistance to Jay's full-body embrace, which included a brazen swipe of his cock and a copped feel of his scrotum.
Frank laughed. "Grab-ass is part of the sauna ritual," he said. Jay took this as an invitation to do it again, and he did, this time with an equally brazen hand in the cleft of his ass, which, if the truth be told, was a source of fascination to Jay.
They walked up the sandy trail, back to the sauna. "I've never touched another guy's genitals before," Jay confessed.
"You don't have to be gay to be a good sport," Frank said. "It's part of our sauna ritual. Touch and be touched. Satisfy your curiosity. Our only rule is this: What happens in the sauna stays in the sauna."
"Oh, yeah?" Jay grinned. He took Frank by the hand and pretended to drag him back to the sauna.
There they found Chris. He had just got there. "Time for the balsam boughs," he announced. "We'll work on Frankie first, to demonstrate how the balsam bath works."
Frank stood ready for action.
"Front side or backside?" Chris asked.
"Front, I think," Frank replied. He made his choice for Jay's benefit, having noticed the new guy's interest in his massive cock.
Chris stood at his right, and Jay at his left. Chris handed Jay a clutch of tender balsam sprigs. "Rub the needles firmly over his skin," Chris instructed. Jay followed Chris's example. They started at his shoulders. "Dig into his pit," Chris said. Down to his mysteriously hairy chest and abdomen. "Dig into his navel," Chris said. Down to his inner thighs. "Leave his genitals alone for now. We'll get to that later. Start at his feet and work up."
It should not go without saying that Jay administered a somewhat cursory massage to Frank's left leg and thigh, being eager to get to his midsection. There, Chris and Jay took turns rubbing tender balsam sprigs over his throbbing cock. Chris assigned Jay the task of balsamizing Frank's scrotum. Acting on an unfamiliar impulse, Jay moved his fingers behind Frank's scrotum. Frank responded by parting his legs and Jay copped a feel of his hole.
"Your turn, Jay," Chris said.
Jay took his turn at the center of action, submitting to the same anatomical massage. Frank took pains to pay him back for the digital intrusion in his butt-hole. "I'm a cop, so I get to cop a feel," he laughed.
Then it was Chris's turn. He was much more vocal than Frank and Jay, moaning and joyful, especially when their touch got intimate. Were it not for the heat of the sauna, they would have lost track of time. But they needed a cool-down, so they scurried to the lake.
Where they played grab-ass for three, omitting no anatomical detail from the fondling of hands and clutching of fingers.
Back in the sauna, Frank stood facing the benches and bent forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the third bench. Chris and Jay applied balsam boughs to his back; down to his feet; up his legs to his midsection. Chris grinned at Jay and motioned for him to work a clutch of balsam sprigs into Frank's cleft. It gladdened Jay's heart to comply. Chris flipped a bird, gesturing to Jay to stick a fuck-finger up Frank's hole.
"What's going on behind my back?" Frank laughed. Jay felt Frank's sphincter tighten around his finger.
Jay and Chris took their turns, offering their backsides to a balsam bath combined with outrageously joyful sex-play, until the heat of the sauna sent them scurrying back to the lake and another round of grab-ass. Afterwards, they warmed up in the sauna and jogged back to the house, reminding Jay not to forget his swim-trunks.
Chris served brandy in snifters. They kept warm by a fire in the fireplace while seated naked on a bear-rug on the floor by the hearth.
"I'm mighty horny, Doc," Frank announced. "Should we put on a demonstration for Jay's benefit?"
"Only if he wants to watch us fuck," Chris replied. He had already prepared the scene, with a lube tube at hand and a fresh bottle of poppers.
Jay could have left the party if he wanted to, but he stayed.
"You can join in anytime you want, Jay," Frank said. "Or you can just watch. Don't do anything you don't want to do."
Fair enough. Jay agreed. It didn't take much persuasion, what with the warmth of brandy in his belly and heavy breathing in an atmosphere heavy with testosterone. Male gender expression at its best.
Frank and Chris demonstrated mutual fellatio in a 69. Jay crept in for a closer look. He ran a finger along Frank's hirsute cleft, for him an irresistible attraction, and he cupped Chris's scrotum, copping feels that the lovers barely noticed.
"How about some anteater action, all in the cause of Jay's sex education?" Chris suggested. He freed the bottle of poppers from its cellophane wrap, and snorted. Frank did, too, and arched his ass doggy-style while Chris crept behind him and ran his tongue along the hairy cleft, down to the hole. They swapped places and Frank rimmed Chris.
"That's hot," Jay pronounced.
"Ever had a rim-job, Jay?" Frank asked.
"No. Never," Jay replied.
"Now's your chance," Frank said.
Jay assumed the doggy-position. Frank rimmed his cleft, down to the hole.
"Try it with poppers," Chris said. He helped Jay to his first-ever snort. Chris rimmed him thoroughly and Jay squirmed joyfully. To add to Jay's erotic feeling Frank fondled his cock and scrotum.
Spurred by brandy and poppers, Jay said he wanted to give rimming a try. Chris told Jay to lay on his back. When he did, Chis sucked his cock while Frank straddled his shoulders and lowered his midsection toward Jay's mouth. Frank planted his nether lips over Jay's lips. Jay tongue-fucked the ass that fascinated him so much.
Chris assumed the doggy-position. Frank invited Jay to assist by lubing his cock; then he drove it into Chris's anal canal in three steady strokes that sent Chris to groaning and crying out. Groans became moans while Frank fucked and their bodies moved in harmony.
Chris asked Jay if he wanted a turn in the cockpit. How could he refuse? Chris lay on his back. Jay knelt between Chris's legs. Chris frog-legged, resting his ankles on Jay's shoulders. Frank applied lube to Jay's shaft and lust came to Jay when he gazed at Chris's palpitating hole. Frank helped by guiding Jay's cock toward the target. Frank and Jay took turns fucking Chris, experimenting with different positions.
Frank tapped Jay on the shoulder and asked if he wanted his cherry popped. What with brandy, poppers, testosterone, and lube, Jay felt so horny that he said, "Yes, take my cherry." It took a long time, and lots of groaning and outcry, but Jay got the benefit of Frank's nine inches, fucking face to face while Chris frigged his cock with lubed fingers. Jay reached orgasm while Frank's cock moved inside him. When Frank orgazzed, his jizz acted as a soothing balm to the bruises in Jay's anal canal.
"That was the strongest orgasm I've ever had," Jay said afterward. Fucked by an Italian stallion. Said he hoped to do it again, and soon. Jay felt no regrets when he jogged home in his swim trunks and sweatshirt. However so, and even though he realized that Frank was a top, it was Frank's shapely hirsute ass that always appeared in his dreams and daydreams.