Exploring, Part 18 By Jackinnm@yahoo.com
It was several days before Brad and I had an opportunity to compare notes over lunch. Over pastrami sandwiches, we discussed the progress or lack thereof in the Crenshaw homicide.
"Saw the autopsy report yesterday," he began. "Crenshaw had most of the bones in his body broken."
"I can understand that," I said. "There was a double impact, first the truck hitting him and then his body slamming against the tree."
"It goes without saying that he died instantly. The ends of his broken ribs gave him massive internal injuries. Even if the paramedics were on the scene when it happened, they wouldn't have had a chance of saving him. He was too busted up inside."
"Well, I guess he didn't suffer," I concluded.
"I'm sure the first impact knocked him cold," Brad confirmed. "There was another thing though. The doc who did the autopsy is pretty thorough. He noted in his report that Crenshaw was circumcised."
"That doesn't surprise me," I countered. "Some guys who got cut are so jealous of intact guys that they don't want anybody else to have a foreskin either. I think that's what motivates them. Then they try to circumcise kids every chance they get, like a crusade."
"There's another thing, too," he added. "I'm beginning to think this was a local thing. I'd been wondering why we had no hit on the truck or the damage done to it. I'd been thinking that maybe it was an out-of-town truck and driver, but now I see that's not likely."
"How come?" I asked.
"Someone from another city or state wouldn't know that Crenshaw went out jogging every morning. He wouldn't know the geography, maybe he wouldn't even know Crenshaw's address. It's got to be a local guy."
"Well, that throws out the theory of a traveling assassin, I guess."
"I'm pretty sure these killing are the work of several local people. Maybe one might have branched out to hit somebody in another state, but it's pretty much out of the question that one guy could travel across the country so fast to hit all of them."
"One thing I've though of," I began. "What happened to the truck? How did the guy keep it out of sight or get it repaired?"
"That's not too hard to figure out. I think he drove it to another state right after he hit Crenshaw. He could have gotten it fixed there, or maybe fixed it himself, depending on the damage."
"Wouldn't that have been a little difficult?" I asked. "Wouldn't he have to report for work? What would he tell his wife?"
"I've got no answers to that because I haven't even got any questions," Brad said firmly. "Look, we don't know anything about this guy. We don't know if he's of working age or retired. We don't know if he's married, widowed, or divorced. Hell, we don't even know if it's a guy. Remember there were no witnesses. The driver might even be a woman."
"Less likely, but possible," I mused.
"For all we know, the driver might be someone local who has a vacation home in another state. The truck might be a thousand miles from here, inside a barn, while the driver works on it."
"Do the guys assigned to Crenshaw seem hopeful?" I asked.
"They just know they have to keep going, even though as of this morning they haven't got jack shit," Brad answered. "I think they know their chances are poor, without witnesses, without the vehicle, and the driver wasn't even nice enough to drop his wallet at the scene. They know they can't just come out and say they haven't got a chance. That would be poor public relations."
I paid for the lunch and Brad went back to police headquarters. I returned to my desk at the newspaper. As I was working on an article I heard voices coming over the wall of my cubicle. Baxter and Finch, two other reporters, were talking and I heard Baxter say:
"You know my sister's a nurse. She works in the maternity ward at the hospital where this Doctor Crenshaw worked. She told me that nobody, absolutely nobody, is doing any circumcisions on babies anymore."
"That's where this guy George worked too, the guy who got shot dead?" Finch asked.
"That's right, that's the place. My sister told me that the word she gets from other hospitals is that none of the doctors are circumcising babies these days."
"Well, I can't say that's bad news," Finch replied. "They circumcised me when I was born and I've always hated it. I wish I could have grown up with skin like my father and older brother did." Finch and Baxter returned to work and I continued writing my piece about auto theft in the city. Before leaving the office I phoned Jim at Intermedia to see if we could get together to compare notes. He told me he was free that evening and would bring a pizza with him.
He showed up around 6:30, holding a big pizza box, which he placed on the kitchen table. As we ate, I asked him if he had any more news from around the country.
"My sources tell me that doctors petty much have stopped clipping babies," he began. "They're keeping this very, very quiet, but they're afraid that there are several copycat killers out there shooting doctors who perform circumcisions. The doctors are especially afraid of telling the police, because once that happens, there would be so much publicity that even people who wouldn't have ever thought of it might start shooting doctors."
"That might mean that doctors know that some guys they clipped years ago aren't too thrilled about it," I suggested.
"Hell, yes!" he exclaimed. "I guess both ou and I know that lots of cut guys don't give it a second thought, just accept it because most of their friends are clipped too, but doctors know that it takes only one dissatisfied customer to do them in."
"My police sources tell me that they're sure it's not just one shooter running around the country popping doctors. They think it's definitely several."
"Is that good or bad?" Jim asked.
"I'd say it's definitely good, Jim. If it were only one shooter, sooner or later he'd leave a trail or make a mistake and the cops would get him. The more involved in the shootings, the harder it becomes to establish a pattern that can pin it to one person."
"I think the doctors know this too," Jim went on. "They realize that it's bad enough as it is, with hundreds, maybe thousands, of guys they once circumcised out there like time bombs waiting to explode. Publicity would detonate more of those time bombs. Hell, anybody with a jagged circumcision scar would feel it just became open season on the guy who clipped him. The doctors know, too, that it would be impossible for the cops to catch them all. It could be any circumcised male, or maybe his father or mother as well."
"I guess the best outcome will be for the shootings to continue, not too many, but maybe one a year, just as a reminder to doctors that the sword is hanging over their heads," I concluded.
"That sounds a bit cold-blooded but I agree with you a hundred percent," Jim said. "As long as they continue cutting babies, somebody will have to take one or two of them down as a deterrent."
"How have you been doing with your restoration?" I asked. "Has Chris got you started all right?"
"Oh, it's been going very well," Jim replied as he finished the last slice of pizza. "I've been keeping the skin taped, and I've seen some extra length already."
"Any other improvement?" I asked as I cleared the debris from the table.
"Oh, yes!" Jim said, his eyes gleaming as he spoke. "My tip's gotten more sensitive since I've been keeping it covered, and I've even been getting a little bit of cheese under my skin."
"Time for show and tell," I suggested, leading him into the bedroom where we quickly shucked our clothing. His limp penis arced forward over his scrotum, a band of tape at the end holding his stretched shaft-skin beyond the glans. The bulge of his helmet distended the skin behind the tape band.
"Yours looks pretty much the same," Jim said as he began unwrapping the tape from his artificial foreskin nipple.
"Nothing much has changed," I said. "How about yours now? Have you been using betamethasone cream?"
"Oh, yes," Jim answered. "Chris gave me a tube and I was able to get a couple more from a guy in my office who travels to Mexico every month. It seems to help." Now that he'd removed the tape the covering skin slowly peeled back off his helmet until about half of it was exposed.
"Your tip looks more purple than the last time I saw it," I commented. "Can you skin it back more to show the ridge?" Jim complied, and bared his flaring ridge, which was darker than the front of his glans.
"My rim's gotten really sensitive," he said. "Look closer, Jack. I've even started developing those little buds like you have on yours." I leaned closer and saw that the back face of his corona had grown those little studs, nerve endings that contribute so much to a male's sensations.
"I think you've always had them, Jim. It's just that they dried out and shrank after the covering skin was cut away. Now they're growing back, or maybe I should say filling out." We sat together on the edge of my queen-size, and Jim reached for my prick.
"I know you enjoy this, Jack," he said as he began squeezing my glans through the covering skin. Each squeeze made the root of my prick throb and I felt it begin to engorge. I grasped his prick behind the head and began pulling the slack skin up over his rim. Within seconds he'd swollen to his full five inches.
"Your reaction time is faster now, Jim. I think your prick's definitely more sensitive."
"It's also psychological, Jack. Now that I'm growing my skin back I feel more like a real man."
"I know what you mean," I said. "I always felt I'd been un-manned by my circumcision. Once I got my foreskin back I felt better about myself." By now my prick was fully hard, an inch longer than his. Jim commented on this:
"Nature didn't give me as much as you have. I never could afford to lose any of it." I gave his prick a squeeze.
"Well, you're getting it back, and I think you'll feel even better about yourself once you're done."
"I want a foreskin like yours or the one on Chris," he said. "I want an overhang, a long skin for those long strokes you enjoy so much." He demonstrated the long strokes on me, sliding my foreskin all the way back to expose the rim and groove, and then bringing it forward in his fist to form a thick pucker in front of my covered helmet.
"You were lucky, though," I said as I pulled his loose skin back to bare his helmet completely. "Look here on the underside," I said as I pointed to the vee-cleft under his glans. "You've still got your gee-string. The doctor didn't remove that." I touched it as I spoke and Jim shuddered.
"Oh, that felt good," he said. "You're right, I've still got it. Did you say they cut yours off?" He pulled my ample hood down to check it out, revealing the deep vee-shaped groove on the underside of my helmet where the two halves met.
"Yeah, the doctor who circumcised me really trimmed it tight," I answered. "I think by the time you were born it wasn't the fashion to cut babies so tightly anymore." Jim's fist began to pump my foreskin rapidly, to get my attention. He succeeded, because I looked at him quizzically.
"Lie down, Jack. I want to get you off so you can dock me like last time," he explained. I obeyed and Jim spread a towel over my abdomen. He took long strokes up and down my helmet, keeping his grip loose to allow my glans to engorge fully.
"That's nice, Jim. Go ahead, drain me so that I can dock you. I know you'll enjoy it even more because your tip's more sensitive now." His skilled fingers worked my hood expertly up and down my glans, twisting slightly on every up-stroke to enhance my sensations. I felt myself slipping into an erotic trance as my awareness of the world outside my body diminished and my mind focused primarily on the delicious sensations in my groin. I felt the root of my prick throb each time Jim jerked my hood down, stretching the nerve endings, and I was finding it harder to remain relaxed.
"I love watching you come, Jack. I love the way your tip gets harder and turns dark purple when you get close. When you start to come I'll strip you right back so I can see that big tip shoot," he said as I felt the fingers of his other hand cup my balls. My excitement rose rapidly and I felt the blood rushing into my already engorged helmet to bring it to its final swelling.
"Your tip feels really hard now," Jim said as he slightly slowed his strokes. "You're even seeping a little lube at the end." His caresses now produced a tickle in my helmet, first around the rim but quickly spreading over the entire surface. As he worked the foreskin in slow, twisting strokes over my straining glans, anticipation built up inside me and the tickle turned into a hot tingle. I knew this was it. My eyes closed.
HUNH! HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted loudly as the feeling in my helmet burst and spread down to the root of my prick to release the first spasm. A hot jet shot into my urethra, sending me into mindless ecstasy as it seared its way up my tube. I felt it slam through the lips of my pouting slit to shoot into the air. Jim's fingers jerked my hood back hard to trigger another hot spasm deep inside me, and I cried out again as another torrent of cream distended my urethra in its passage. His other hand released my balls and caressed the twin lobes on the underside of my glans to bring forth another gush from my straining prick.
Now he held my prick still, letting the rest of the jets erupt, because he knew that my tip had become too sensitive. The grip he retained on my shaft kept the nerve endings tightly stretched, sustaining the last spasms of my climax.
Now we were both still, and I began to relax as my breathing returned to normal. I felt my prick losing its rigidity, shrinking, the helmet retreating into its thick fleshy hood. Jim's lips brushed mine in a dry kiss, and a warm feeling filled me. After a couple of minutes I opened my eyes and turned to face him:
"Okay, Jim, now you'll get what you want. I'm ready for you." The inside of my foreskin was very wet with lubricant and cream, and the tip of his prick strained with desire, dark purple and glossy in the soft room light.
I didn't have to instruct him how to slip his hot hard glans into my waiting foreskin. He thrust his hips towards me gently, easing the rounded helmet into my thick foreskin pucker. I felt my hood expand as his helmet slipped inside, and then felt the hardness of his tip pressing against mine.
His mouth was open and his eyes half-closed as he was lifted up into the rapture of docking, feeling his sensitive glans totally enclosed by my thick enveloping foreskin. Without my erect glans, there was plenty of room for his prick, and I stretched my foreskin forward to cover his prick halfway down his shaft. I stroked it gently, full-fisted, as I felt him thrust into me.
I knew he wouldn't, and couldn't, last long, excited as he was. He'd been primed by stroking my foreskin and watching the inevitable result, and now he was lost in the heavenly sensations of docking, feeling his naked glans caressed full length by my ample foreskin. His increased sensitivity brought on by keeping it covered foretold his inevitably rapid response to the stimulation.
Jim was breathing hard, eyes closed and head jerking with every thrust. I felt the hardness of his engorged helmet pressing into mine rhythmically, sliding off my front dome and along the broad upper surface of my helmet until it reached the root of my foreskin.
"HAH! HAH! HAH!" he cried out as I felt a hard throb in his penis. A moment later a hot torrent shot into my hood and bathed my corona, infiltrating behind it to fill my deep groove.
Jim cried out again as his prick hammered against my glans, erupting again to drench the inside of my hood. Mindless joy filled him as his throbbing prick discharged another gush to swirl around my helmet, the excess seeping out between the end of my foreskin and his straining shaft.
Now I held still, unsure of how sensitive his tip would become. I let him thrust as long as he felt comfortable, and felt his orgasm gradually taper off, each throb milder than the last. Finally, the last soft throb pulsed against my glans and I felt him beginning to soften and shrink inside my hood.
As his prick shrank I pulled him to me, and now we lay close, his warm body against mine. I knew that his docking experience had taken a lot out of him, draining him until he was dry. For myself, I'd had my own intense climax minutes before and just now had experienced his vicariously, feeling his hot helmet hammering against mine as he emptied himself in a surge of masculine sexuality.
When Jim opened his eyes I hugged him tightly and asked:
"Hungry?" I suspected he might be because the intense activity had brought about a resurgence of my appetite.
"Yeah, I think so," he said as he kissed me on the lips.
"Okay," I said as I let go of him and got up. "Does another pizza sound okay to you or is that too unimaginative?"
"I'd like something different, something lighter," he responded.
"Shrimp salad okay, then?" I suggested. "I've got the fixings right in the refrigerator." Jim nodded and I went to the kitchen to fix our snack before we went to sleep.
Continued in Part 19