Catfish Looks for Loot By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have, comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
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The summer is slow and quiet at my office. Many of our jobs are to provide security at upscale events. These are rare in the summer, although we do some work at festivals. I'm getting older and a quiet time is nice.
A year earlier had encountered an up and coming, assistant curator at the Art Museum, Townsend Tyler Smith III. Townsend was a young, bland looking guy who happened to a first class size queen. I was at the museum planning security for an upcoming charity auction when we happened to be in a rest room at the same time. He took a look. When I went back to my office later that day, he was waiting.
I had noticed he had taken a glance and noted his interest. I was surprise he was so eager. Many guys look, but few make it a point to meet me later. If I was a better person I would have told him to go home. Resisting temptation is not my strong suit, especially when a guy is so obviously into it. We went to my apartment, got naked and began getting to know each other.
He wasn't in shape, but he wasn't fat either. He was pretty hairy and liked horse hung, hairy men. While being a size queen was typical for my partners, many men have bigger eyes and aspirations than their ability to suck or take a big one.
Townsend had no problems sucking me, and it was clear that my cock rubbed some virgin places in his ass. That was a considerable achievement since Townsend virgin days were well in the past.
I'm not much into young men as many seem to be the Prima Donna types, and think an old troll, like me, should appreciate any sexual crumbs they get from a young stud. I like men to be willing and appreciative more than just pretty faces with shaved bodies.
Given that we had no common interests, we got along well. Good sex is good sex and we both appreciated that. Townsend told me the liked being completely filled. Once I was in, he squirmed and gyrated, massaging my cock. We had a good time. He called once and a while and then dropped by. It was just sex, but that worked for both of us. he was popular at the museum because he was always willing to help out and took projects that didn't interest the senior curators.
About a year after I met him he came by to talk about a project. He had been researching and project on early 20th Century paintings and found a collection of photographs of the paintings in their original gallery in Germany. The gallery was owned by a German Jewish family, the Hirsh's, who owned a department store in a smaller German city. A portion of the family was able to escaped to Sweden and then to the United States. The remainder of the family died in the Holocaust, and the art work vanished.
Townsend told me that two weeks earlier he had been browsing in an Antique Store in Petersburg and saw what he thought was one of the paintings on the gallery wall in the photograph. While he had a good visual memory, he thought he must have been wrong. There was no conceivable way the painting could have traveled from war torn Germany to Petersburg of all places. He took a picture with his phone, and went back to the museum. A week later he bought the painting for $150.00 and took it home. He found the name of the Hirsh family's department store was stamped on the back of the frame.
Townsend seemed like an innocuous person, but when it came to research, he was a demon. I have to admit that I wouldn't know where to start looking into the fate of German art during World War II. It was no problem for Townsend at all. While there was more information about Jewish art collectors in larger cities, the surviving members of the family had made efforts to find the missing collection.
Townsend found the collection had been "given" to a Nazi official to allow the family to escape. The collection had two parts. Israel Hirsh, the founder of the department store, collected old master drawings and prints. His son, Franz, collected modern art. That was modern as in 1900 to1930 art. The family had smuggled a few works out, but the major works remained in the department store gallery.
When the Russians began to advance to the west, the Nazi official took the works to his home in Dresden. There was no mention of seeing of the paintings since the fire-bombings of 1944 that destroyed much of Dresden. For the Hirsh family, this was a nightmarish dead end. Townsend's painting suggested the collection or at least a part of the collection survived.
He asked me to do some investigation and find out how the painting ended up in Petersburg. The shop was semi-reputable. Townsend told me his friends at the museum were way too reputable and some were distinguished. He thought I could investigate the antique shop without raising alarm. I could pass for a redneck, metal detector sort of guy. A portion of the Hirsh family lived in Richmond and were involved. I said I would help.
I have my own sources in Petersburg. It tends to be a clannish city, both rundown and pretentious. While it is on I-95, it always seems out of the way. One of my men knew of the Old Virginia Antique Emporium. Tom said it existed on the borderline between being an antique store and thrift shop. It also sold works by local artist and had a gallery. Once and a while it had a good artist, but usually these were wildlife paintings or carvings. For $500.00 they would have an exhibit for anyone.
"I don't think they are full time fences, but I kind of doubt they are too careful about the background of the things they sell," he explained.
I drove to Petersburg the next day. The front area of the shop was a gallery and looked like an upscale shop. To the rear was an entirely unrestored warehouse. There were bare lightbulbs and cobwebs everywhere. The owner wasn't there, but the clerk, Eubank, was running the place. He was a big, slightly overweight man who was dressed in work clothes, and I thought he might be a janitor.
I told him I was looking for Civil War stuff. I was dressed in well-worn jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Eubank showed me some cheap reproduction stuff. The sword he tried to sell me was not good enough to be a forgery. They had filed off the made in China mark, but it was a half-hearted effort. I asked if he had any good stuff. Eubank said he had some other stuff, but it was pretty pricy. I said I would like to see it.
He locked the front door and put a sign in the window saying he would be back in fifteen minutes. We went upstairs. The stair was ramshackle, but we went into a nice apartment, that was now used as a show room. There was a case of more convincing Civil War stuff, some furniture and some paintings.
I'm not an art expert, but these were not standard, antique store portraits of old Confederates or your great aunt's landscapes. I have a good memory and looked them over. Luckily, Eubank had noticed the ware marks on my jeans and in the privacy of the apartment, he showed more interest. He scratched his balls, and I did the same.
I told him this stuff looked more interesting and asked if his boss would be back soon. I scratched my balls again. Eubank smiled; his pants were slightly tented. "There are some things in the back room," he said.
Just the someone as banging on the downstairs door. We went to the window and saw the UPS man with a package.
"Let me take care of that and I will be right back," he said as he raced downstairs. I took pictures of the paintings on the wall and then went into the bedroom and photographed more paintings.
By the time, Eubank got back I was walking out of the bathroom. "I hope you don't mind, I took a leak," I said as I rearranged my basket. Eubank didn't mind at all.
"No problem," he said as he scratched his balls again.
I was clearly looking at his crotch. "I need to get back to Richmond for meeting, but if you've got an itch, I might be able to scratch it for you." I paused and then added, "If you don't swing that way, I hope you aren't annoyed."
"For a small guy, you've got a big one," Eubank said.
"Do you like that?" I asked. "Is your boss coming back today?"
"He won't be back until Thursday," he said. "Do you want to get comfortable?" He began to unbutton his shirt. I did the same and we were naked seconds later. Eubank was better looking outside of his ill-fitting clothes. He was quite muscular. I mentioned that and he said that he moved quite a bit of furniture for his boss. He was smooth except for his thick bush. I didn't get to see much before he dropped to his knees to suck me.
Eubank obviously liked to suck and he came real close to deep throating me. That was always a good sign. We went to the bed in the back room and 69ed. The had an average cock but a well above average supply of precum and big balls. I could tell he was pretty experienced. From the 69 position he could deep throat me.
During a break I complimented him on his sword swallowing skills. I had taken all of his and he was pleased.
"I've never taken on as big as yours," he said. "Do you fuck?"
"I sure do, are you interested?" I asked.
"You are too big for me, but I have a cousin who would love it," he said. "Cousin Eddie likes them big."
"You like a little family fun?"
"I mess around with Eddie and Uncle Freddy," he said.
"Mess around?"
"I thought it was just messing around, but I discovered when you do it with someone who isn't a relative it's called sex," he explained with a sheepish smile. "I also thought it was just a phase I was going through."
"Are you still going through that phase?" I asked.
He smiled. "It seems so. I talked to Uncle Freddy about it. He told me he had been going through that phase for 40 years," he confessed. "He was the first guy to fuck me."
"Was that a problem?"
"Nope, he has a long thin one. It slipped in with no problem," Eubank said. "Eddie is my real cousin, but Freddy is my aunt's brother. He isn't related to me. Freddie wouldn't fuck Eddie, but he sure liked doing me."
"Do you top" I asked.
"Not yet," he said. He was hard again so I straddled him and sat on his hard cock. That was a complete success; he shot off seconds later.
I told him I had to get to another meeting, but I might come by tomorrow to take a good look. Eubank said that would be fine.
"If cousin Eddie was here, would that be a problem?" he asked.
I smiled at him and said that I doubted that would be a problem. I said I would be there around 1:30. He said that would be fine. I raced back to Richmond and called Townsend. I told him I had pictures. He asked me to come to the museum.
I asked for him at the desk and a guard took me to his office. He was waiting for me. He downloaded the pictures from my phone, pulled them up and said, "Oh shit, it's the mother lode. He called another guy on the phone and we went to another room with his laptop.
There I met the director and a Board member. Townsend had the slides of the Hirsh Gallery in Germany and my photos. Townsend had found two matches. A half hour later we had found twelve matches. The museum people were very excited. The museum director wanted to get the police involved immediately and raid the gallery.
"I wonder where the rest of the paintings are?" I asked. The room went silent.
"What do you mean?" Townsend asked.
"Am I right in assuming that you thought all the paintings were burned in the Dresden bombing?" I asked. "Townsend found one painting. You have now identified twelve more. It seems to me that the rest of the paintings may well exist, somewhere. The story was wrong. There is no reason to think that only 13 paintings made it."
"I may have a devious mind, but if I had stolen a bunch of old master paintings and was trying to hide them, the Dresden fire may have been a lucky break. The paintings are safer if everyone thinks they were burned. That takes the pressure off," I said. "The odd thing is that some paintings are now in Petersburg being sold for peanuts. Maybe the Nazis were headed for Dresden and the guard had to stash them somewhere along the way. Maybe the guards deserted and went running for the American or British lines."
"The Petersburg guy knows nothing about art. He doesn't know what he has," I said. "I think we should hold back and see what we can find." The group discussed the problem. They would contact the major art theft people and Nazi art hunters, but I would see what I could find. I was a little worried that the museum might have a problem keeping a secret, but that wasn't a problem. Most of their negotiations to buy acquisitions were in secret and publicizing their intentions in advance could easily double the cost of an artwork.
I was back in Petersburg the next day. Eubank was waiting and said his cousin couldn't get there for an hour. I said that was fine, I wanted to look around more. He called and told Eddie an hour late was fine.
I asked if he had a portrait of General Lee, Stonewall or J.E.B Stuart. He said he had some paintings in the rear and we could look and see. He had a customer down stairs, so I had a chance to look around. I would a pile of paintings and prints. I did find a spectacular picture of Lee done by a Chinese artist. It was odd. I took a picture of anything I thought might be a good painting.
I had a solid 45 minutes of looking around, before Eubank and Uncle Freddy came up the stairs. Uncle Freddy reminded me of a rough version of my Uncle Jake. A few minutes later Cousin Eddie arrived. He was a security guard at a local plant. He was a toned version of Eubank, fit and with a hairy chest showing from his partially unbuttoned shirt.
Uncle Freddy was what is technically called a horn-dog. He was ready to get at it and was willing to be the sparkplug if necessary. Eddie not was very impressed by me until I dropped my Jockeys. I love size queens and Eddie had it bad. Eubank had lube ready; I coated my cock and went to work.
Sometimes there is an uncomfortable period as men get to know each other when they get naked and go at it. These guys had no problem with that; we were all naked and fucking in minutes. It was as if meeting a guy and having him shove his cock up your ass seconds later was the most natural thing in the world. These men weren't amateurs.
I am usually described as a little twerp, short and thin. I have to admit I like it when a big, macho guy is squirming on my cock and begging for more. Eddie was begging. He was really tight but he wanted it all. As he took it, Uncle Freddy popped into Eubank's ass. Freddy had a stubby, thick fireplug cock. I could tell Freddy's tool had visited Eubank's ass many times.
"Does Eddie just like to be fucked, or does he want the cream?" I asked Eubank. Eddie was in no state to talk.
"Eddie loves it," Uncle Freddy said. "Eubank likes it too. Is there any chance we could trade places? I'd love to do Eddie."
"I need a rest," Eddie whispered. I pulled out and Uncle Freddy replaced me. Eubank thought I was too big for him, but my cock's diameter, not the length that is hard to take. His ass was wide open, glistening with lube and inviting. I went deep in the first thrust. Eubank and Eddie kissed as Freddy and I plowed them. I changed places with Freddy a few times, and ended up shooting off in Eddie. Eubank later licked up the sperm drooling from Eddie's ass.
We cooled down an I went back home, sending my new photos to Townsend. There was an accident on I-95 and it was an hour and a half before I got to my office and there was a message asking me to go to the museum.
I had taken 40 pictures; 15 had been part of the Hirsh collection. Townsend told me that I had an eye for good paintings. That shocked me. We now had almost 30 paintings and drawings from the collection. We now knew there was a good chance the entire collection survived.
I had not yet met the owner of the antique store, a man named Stapleton Drew. I would need to negotiate with him to get the paintings and try to find out how he came into possession of them. He was due back this in two days.
At this meeting we had a looted art specialist from New York, Saul Bendheim, and a big time FBI agent, Grover Mills. Saul had many European connections. This was potentially interstate shipment of stolen goods, explaining the FBI guy. I also think that a Martian would have been less foreign to Saul than I was.
Luckily I had a long history with the Museum. They had their own security, and the city cops were good. I provided an additional line of protection, not at the museum itself, but in the surrounding neighborhood. No one guessed my people were operatives. They tended to look like victims. They presented no threat. A mugger might think the old man down the street was no threat, but if he tried something he sudden discovered he was in deep shit.
In the newspapers we were always anonymous "public minded resident." No one knew my people were on the prowl. Muggers are our basic targets, but we've caught a few rapists too. Over the years, malefactors have learned to keep away from pubic events, concerts and exhibit openings.
Saul was already working his European contacts. Grover knew the usual suspects in this sort of case. Neither had any understanding of an antique store in Petersburg. Townsend had bought a panting by Corot for $150.00. It was worth $100,000.00 plus. They obvious didn't know Corot. I guessed that they knew probably knew Rembrandt and Picasso, but that was the extent of their knowledge. I wondered aloud if the people who had the paintings knew the big names, but sent the lesser known works off to a fire sale. That suggested that they were not sophisticated art thieves.
"The man who took the paintings was a minor nobleman and mid-level official, Kurt Schmidt. He was not directly associated with the holocaust," Saul said. "But, he was not opposed to enriching himself at the expense of local Jews. The Hirsh's gave him the paintings in exchange for letting them escape. He did let them escape. Many of the Nazi's didn't do that. Schmidt was from Dresden, and almost certainly died in the fire-bombing. It now seems the paintings were not with him. We are trying to trace his other relatives and possible residences."
When I got home I had a message on the burner phone I used when I was under cover. It was Eubank.
"My boss won't be back until Saturday now, but he told me I might show you his special collection of war memorabilia. It's expensive, but he might part with it if the price is right," he said. This was typical antique dealer's spiel. They always have "special" somethings for a good customer. Of course, I told him I was interested. I was curious if I was going to see the high priced forgeries, or the real thing. If it was real, it would almost certainly be what the museum people would call of questionable provenance. I said I would see him after lunch the next day. I added that I enjoyed meeting Eddie and Freddie.
"They liked it too," he said, adding "I have another friend who might like to meet you."
"You have a lot of friends?" I asked.
"I do, but not many are like Eddie and Freddie," he said. "My pal is a good guy."
That night Townsend and a friend, Eric, came over to see me. They had a power point presentation of the Hirsh paintings. They had been photographs of the gallery, but Eric was a master of photo retouching. He had been able to take the pictures that were at an angle on the side wall and turn them and then change the proportions so you could see them head on.
Townsend had found some old auction catalogs, and some of the paintings there. The photographs were all murky, but Eric could make them look crisp and sharp. That would help me searching for additional paintings. He rattled off a slew of names of artists I didn't know. I told him I had a hard time remembering them all.
I think playing dumb would be a good approach," he said.
"That I can do!" I replied.