Exploring, Part 25 By Jackinnm@yahoo.com
The news had been stunning. The only possible suspect in the shootings had turned out to have been completely cleared by the police investigation. Jim and I were cheered, of course. We decided to go out to eat to celebrate. In a corner booth at a Chinese Restaurant we speculated on possible developments:
"Now that it's pretty clear that the owner of the rifle didn't do it, what do you think might happen next?" he asked.
"I don't think the cops will ever close the case," I replied. "That only means that by policy they never officially close a homicide case, but they won't be making too much of an effort from now on. The only good prospect they had turned out to be a dry well."
"I really hope that guy had nothing to do with it," replied Jim. "I'm sure that the cops are going to be watching him carefully from now on. If there's another shooting, especially with a Lapua Magnum, he's going to be the first one they visit."
"I sure hope there isn't another in the Indianapolis area," I reflected. "Anyway, the cops have to consider all possibilities."
"Like what?" Jim asked.
"The shooter may not even live within 500 miles of Indianapolis," I said. "He might have been driving through and decided to ice a couple of people he didn't like."
"Anyway, we've seen a new trend the last couple of weeks," Jim expounded. "At first it was only doctors who promoted or performed circumcision who got shot. Now it's also inventors and manufacturers of products used for circumcisions."
"You're right," I said thoughtfully. "Given that, I wonder who's going to get it next? My guess would be the guys who make that plastic tray with the Velcro straps they use to immobilize kids when they cut them."
"If the cops think the same way you do, they might already have that covered. There might be a stake-out for the people who make that thing. If the shooter shows up they might well nail him." With that, Jim chewed the last bite of his food and, as I was also finished, we left and returned to my place.
"I'm so relaxed, after all that food, that I just want to go to sleep," he said. "How do you feel?"
"I feel the same way," I replied as I led the way to the bedroom. "Anyway, tomorrow's Saturday, and we'll have the morning to ourselves." I kissed him goodnight after we'd undressed and gotten into bed.
"I really like being with you," he whispered after I'd turned out the light. "It's not just the sex; it's the company."
"Same here, Jim. I enjoy being with you too." With that, we fell asleep. When we awoke, shortly after seven the next morning, we were both hard. I realized that we'd been holding each other's pricks for some time before we'd awakened. The pressure in our bladders added to our excitement.
"We're ready to go," he murmured in my ear as he kissed it.
"I know we are," I answered. "I've got to pee, but I'm sure I can hold it until after we cream."
"We can't take too long, though, or I'll burst. Any way we can come together?" he asked.
"We can do Princeton," I said. "That's intracrural intercourse. One of us slips his prick between the other's thighs. At the same time, he strokes his partner to orgasm."
"Oh, I'd love that," Jim said. "Can I put mine between your thighs?" Hearing this, I stripped Jim's foreskin back completely off the helmet and locked it behind his rim.
"You sure can," I replied. "There's one thing, though. You want to wear a rubber to avoid hair burns. I'll get you one." I reached into the bedside table's drawer and withdrew a condom and a bottle of Astroglide. Tearing open the envelope, I squirted a few drops of Astro into the condom and unrolled it over Jim's straining prick, leaving some slack at the end.
"It's got a lot of slack," Jim observed. "I guess that's because my cock's on the small side."
"No, not just that," I explained. "You'll need the slack to be able to thrust inside the condom. Here, I'll turn over and you slip it between my thighs." I rolled to my left, and I felt Jim sliding his prick as far as he could as I lifted my right thigh. Now I lowered my thigh and felt Jim begin to thrust slowly.
"My cock slides pretty well between your thighs," he said. His hand snaked around to find my prick and he began working my foreskin back and forth over my swollen helmet. For the moment I forgot the pressure in my bladder as the sweet sensations swept over me.
"We'll come together, too," I added. "You just go ahead and pump, and keep stroking me. Try to time it so that you make me come first. When I'm ready I'll put my hand between my thighs and press your prick right there." I slipped my hand down and probed for the underside of his thrusting glans through the rubber."
"Oh, yeah, pressing there can make me come in seconds, especially when I'm close," he said. Jim continued thrusting as he pumped my foreskin with renewed vigor.
"I can feel your prick between my thighs," I said. "I feel it each time the head touches my balls." Jim's helmet lightly bumped my scrotum with each thrust, not hard enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough to add to my sensations. If his prick had been longer than its five inches, the bumps would have been harder.
"I really love this," he said as he increased the length and speed of his thrusts. "I can feel it building up inside me."
"I know you do, Jim. Just keep stroking me. Your hand feels so much better than mine on my prick." At the same time, I felt Jim's prick sliding smoothly back and forth inside the condom between my thighs, lubricated copiously by the Astroglide and his own secretions.
"I can't feel as much as I did before," he said. "Now that my cock's lubing it's too slippery." I had not foreseen this, that the mixture of Astro and his viscous lubricant would begin masking his sensations.
"I'm going to tighten my thigh muscles," I said. "That should help you feel more." I clamped my thighs together tightly, providing increased resistance as he thrust between them. I felt his turgid glans push aggressively through them.
"Yeah, that's much better. It's not just the friction; it's the pressure." I knew what he meant. Even though his helmet and shaft were well lubricated, squeezing my thighs together compressed the nerve endings in his prick. I felt his fingers tighten around my foreskin, compressing my rim with each stroke.
"I knew it would," I said. "You're doing my prick good, too."
"I know, Jack. I can feel how the head's gotten harder through the skin." He raised his head to peer over my shoulder as he increased the length of his strokes on my prick. "I'm going to strip you back all the way with each stroke," he continued. "I want to see that big helmet shoot."
"I'm almost there," I gasped. Jim's insistent manipulations had brought about the familiar tickle in my rim, and I knew I didn't have far to go. Jim, too, was gasping with excitement, and I poised my right hand on my thigh because I knew that the instant I started coming, I'd drive it behind my scrotum to press into the underside of his glans and massage his hot spot. I knew from experience that this would bring on his orgasm.
"Your tip's gotten really dark now that I'm pulling the skin all the way back. It's so shiny..." He trailed off as his breathing grew heavier.
"I know your tip's gotten bigger and harder, I said. I can feel it between my thighs." My own tip felt swollen to the bursting point, congested with blood and aching for the sweet release of orgasm. Now my eyes closed as I withdrew into myself to await the onset. I was totally focused on my prick, relishing the change in sensations as the heavy tickle spread throughout my glans and turned into a hot tingle. I was breathing hard now, poised on the edge, and Jim's flying fingers were pushing me hard towards the precipice.
"HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted as the hot tingle in my helmet exploded and rushed down my shaft, causing the root to contract and send the first hot torrent burning up my tube. My right hand pushed between my thighs and found the bifurcated underside of Jim's helmet thrusting behind my balls, and I pressed in to trigger his orgasm.
"AAAAAHHHHH!" Jim cried out as the pressure of my fingers in his hot spot unleashed a spasm in the root of his prick, and I felt his shaft and helmet throb hard between my tightly clenched thighs as his first spurt filled the condom.
I cried out again as Jim yanked my foreskin back hard to stretch the nerve endings and another spasm gripped me. The exquisite hot-sweet sensations filled my prick as it throbbed again to release another jet. At the same time, Jim's prick jerked again between my thighs and I knew that he'd shot again.
Now Jim pushed my foreskin all the way forward abruptly, providing friction over the entire length of my helmet, and the root of my prick contracted again. The burning stream pushed up my urethra and slammed through the lips of my slit. We were both grunting and groaning and I knew that Jim could feel the hot throbbing of my prick-root because he was pressed right against the tender flesh behind my balls.
Our pricks throbbed together several more times as we drained ourselves in ecstasy. Jim's hot and sweaty body strained against mine as he expended his final thrusts between my thighs. Then the storm was over and we began to relax, sinking into a contented daze as our pricks softened.
After a few minutes we got up and headed for the bathroom. Jim's condom had stuck to the insides of my thighs, allowing his shrunken prick to slip out easily, leaving a trail of semen and lubricant on my body. I grasped the condom and carefully peeled it away, dropping it into the toilet. I was glad that I'd placed a wad of tissues on the bed under my prick to catch my discharges, as they were a sodden mass.
The shower's hot water immediately triggered our sphincters, and we watched silently as thick yellow streams parted the lips of our slits to fall on the shower floor. We sighed contentedly, knowing that we were flushing out any residues from our urethras. After we'd finished we soaped each other thoroughly, but not before we'd pulled our foreskins forward to protect the tender helmets from the soap.
"Don't need soap," Jim laughed. "My dick doesn't get that dirty."
"Neither does mine," I responded. "I'm going to be extra careful in rinsing, though, just in case some leaked under my foreskin." We both skinned back to give our helmets an extra rinse before I shut off the water and we began to dry ourselves. Jim watched as I squirted a drop of Astroglide behind my flaring corona before pulling my foreskin down to cover the head.
"You always use the Astro?" he asked.
"I have to, since my foreskin doesn't secrete any natural lube. That's why my prick doesn't smell like a naturally uncut one." We dressed and went into the kitchen, where I began to prepare breakfast. When I turned on the TV, the same news bimbo was narrating the death of a man in a mining accident in the same tone as if he'd won the lottery.
"A shooting death in Texas this morning has the police in a manhunt. Mr. Jack Snipper, a business executive, was shot from long range outside his home and the police do not have a motive. Police say that Snipper was wearing a bullet-proof vest at the time because of fears of assassination." I changed channels in the hope of getting more details.
"Police say that the first shot ripped right through Mr. Snipper's bullet-proof vest and the second one hit him in the head. Either shot would have proved fatal, said the detective in charge of the case." Other channels failed to give more information, except that the suspected weapon was a rifle firing the .338 Lapua Magnum. I clicked off the TV.
"I think I know what might have happened," I said to Jim. "This just might be Mr. Lapua again. Snipper might have been worried about his safety since he heads the Child Circ-Board Company. I recognized his name from when I'd looked them up on the internet."
"But it said he was wearing a bullet-proof vest," Jim said in consternation.
"There's no such thing as a bullet-proof vest," I countered. "There are only bullet-resistant vests. These come in different models. Some stop pistol bullets. Others stop rifle bullets. The ones that stop rifle bullets are a lot thicker and heavier, and my guess is that Snipper was wearing one of the lighter models, like the ones police use, because most of the shootings in this country are with handguns. A powerful caliber such as the Lapua would go through it, almost like a knife through butter. I think that Mr. Lapua took a body shot first. That bullet ripped right through the vest and put Snipper down. Because he shot from long range, our Mr. Lapua wanted to make sure and took a head shot. That must have ripped the top of his head right off, I bet."
"Well, it looks like maybe the same guy did three shootings now, and he traveled to the third one," Jim concluded.
"I'm also guessing that Mr. Lapua was operating independently from the other shooters," I said. "The way the government eavesdrops on phone calls and e-mails, they would have uncovered a conspiracy if there were any link between the shooters."
"I think that Mr. Lapua also drove from Indianapolis to T exas. It's not that far, and he avoided leaving a paper trail with the airlines," Jim concluded.
"If he drove, I think he was smart enough not to use any credit cards. They'd pin-point his movements pretty accurately," I added. "If he used cash to pay for gas and meals, there would be absolutely no record. He could even have used cash for a motel."
"Maybe he didn't stay at a motel," Jim speculated. "He might have stayed with a friend or relative. Then there'd be absolutely no record."
"That could be," I said. "He seems to be a pretty smart guy. I don't think he would have gone off on an adventure like this half-cocked. He must have planned this to the last detail. That's why the cops haven't a clue."
"Speaking of planning," Jim said. "This guy knew he wasn't on a schedule. There was no time limit. It didn't really matter if he shot Snipper this week, next week, or next month."
"You're right, Jim. Taking his time gave him a tremendous advantage. He wasn't under any pressure and didn't have to take unnecessary risks."
"I'm still pretty sure these shootings were done by a bunch of guys who don't know each other, Jim said. "The different locales, the very different weapons they used, all those details point to more than one person, all acting independently."
"I think you're right," I agreed. "That makes it much harder for the police to work. They're looking for multiple suspects, and even if they catch one, it won't give them a leg up on identifying any of the others."
"This sounds like what one FBI Agent said a few days ago about the lone wolf terrorist, Jack. He said that this is what the government fears most of all, the unaffiliated single operator."
"I can see why. With a conspiracy, a group, there's always a weak link. One member makes a stupid mistake and gets caught. They have to communicate, and communications are always subject to interception. If the cops catch one guy, they can sweat him to make him identify other members. However, with unconnected strangers, none of these avenues of approach are open to the cops. See what I mean, Jim?"
"Oh, I can see it pretty clearly," Jim answered. "They don't know each other. These guys aren't connected by anything except a shared ideology, and shared purpose. They can live in different parts of the country, work at very different jobs, and even have very different lifestyles. There's really nothing to connect them."
"Yes, Jim, and since they don't know each other, there can be no pattern of contact that authorities can find. You know the government keeps a record of every phone call and every e-mail made in this country to trace patterns of contact. If these guys don't know each other, obviously they never make phone calls to each other, and they don't send e-mails to each other. This leaves absolutely no pattern to trace."
"Well," said Jim. "I guess we just have to wait for the next one."
Continued in Part 26