Exploring, Part 29 By Jackinnm@yahoo.com
Back home, Brad and I again got together for lunch, sitting in a booth at the back of a fast food outlet. It was after 2 PM, and few customers were present. He'd indicated when he'd phones me that he had something important to tell me.
"We just got the news," he began. "Another doctor's been shot, this time in Mobile, Alabama. I don't know the doctor's name, but this was just a couple of hours ago, in broad daylight. A witness saw the shooter."
"Any identification of the shooter?" I asked, as I was apprehensive that the shooter might have been captured.
"No, the witness was too far away to make out the face. The shooter was on the fourth level of a parking garage, and fired into a hospital parking lot, where she brought down the doctor with a head shot while he was unlocking his car. The witness was looking out of her apartment window just at the moment the shooter fired. The rifle obscured the face and the shooter turned away after the shot."
"Anything special about the shooter, though?"
"You bet there is, Jack. I saved the best for last. The shooter was a woman!"
"If the witness didn't see the face, how?...." I began, but Brad had more to say:
"She's sure it was a woman because of the long brown hair. Also, the woman was wearing a tight jumpsuit and that showed off her figure. She's sure it was a woman."
"This opens up a whole new ball game," I suggested, employing a cliché I didn't like. "Maybe the woman had had a kid who was circumcised by this doctor against her wishes."
"Maybe she consented but the doctor botched the job," Brad countered.
"I hope the Mobile cops don't make the connection. If they started looking at the doctor's patients or former patients, they might have a short list of suspects."
"If they look at patients who sued him, or who had complaints against him, they'd have an even shorter list," Brad pointed out with a grimace.
"Was this doctor a high-profile circumciser?" I asked.
"Hell, I don't know. I don't even know his name at this point. Anyway, I didn't think there were any high-profile circumcisers left."
"I think you're right," I agreed. During the couple of years that a person or persons unknown had been shooting or otherwise killing doctors promoting circumcision, the number of circumcisions performed had declined drastically, almost to zero.
"Well, I'll try to find out more when I get back to the office," Brad exclaimed as he got up. He was a police detective and we often compared notes on high-profile cases.
"I'll check around with my sources," I contributed. "Something might come my way. Want to come over after work?"
"Sure. Suppose I come to yur house at six?" he suggested.
"That sounds good," I said as we parted. Back at the newspaper office I scanned wire service reports, looking for additional information regarding the latest shooting. This search provided a few new details and some unconfirmed information.
"Come on in," I said when I opened the door, and Brad walked into my living room.
"I'm not hungry," he said. "We ate late."
"I feel the same way," I replied. "How about a beer?" I offered. He nodded, and I returned from the kitchen with two bottles of Dos Equis.
"My information is that the slant range for the shooter was about 110 feet," I said. "Slant range" is the distance between gun muzzle and target, not the range along the ground.
"Not too bad shooting," Brad said.
"That's right. The shooter made a head shot at that range. A four-power scope would have been just right for that shot."
"She was wearing a black jumpsuit. You know what that suggests to me?" he asked.
"I can guess- a police sniper, precision marksman, maybe on somebody's tactical team," I replied, confident of my answer.
"The bullet recovered appears to be a Federal .308 caliber 168-grain International Match," he added. "That pretty much clinches it for me. The .308 is pretty much standard among police precision marksmen and the 168-grain bullet is the most accurate they've got."
"If it hit the brain case the bullet would have blown the top of his head off. His brain would have been a bloody cloud. The one-shot kill shows she's had training," I said.
"Right," he added. "She's got skill and she's got confidence." As he spoke he moved closer to me on the sofa and I found the contact of his tight against mine arousing. He sensed it too, because when I got up he followed me into the bedroom.
"That means a very short list to work from," I suggested as I stripped off my clothing. "If she's a police SWAT Member, it'll be very easy to narrow it down."
"Theoretically yes," Brad said as he dropped his clothes to the floor. "However, I don't think the investigators are going to be working very hard at it." He pulled at his prick as he said this, and I suspected that the anticipation was arousing for Brad because his hooded member began to swell.
We sat next to each other on my queen-size, and I reached for his prick. I admired his natural foreskin because it was long and tapered, swelling at the corona and narrowing down to almost a point beyond the end of the glans. Mine was the same way, but it was not the foreskin with which I'd been born, but reconstructed by plastic surgery. Now Brad's strong fingers grasped my foreskin at the end and pulled outward away from my body. I felt the gentle friction in my helmet as the sleeve of skin pulled forward.
"I like the way the shape of your tip shows through your foreskin," I commented as I pulled lightly on his hood, as he was pulling on mine.
"Your tip shows up too," he said. "I can see the outline even though your skin's thicker than mine." Now both our helmets were fully swollen, having responded to the stimulation. I began easing his foreskin back over the swollen dome of his helmet, stretching the orifice.
"I know you're feeling the stretch in your nerve endings," I said as I watched the orifice of his foreskin widen as it rode over the nose of his glans.
"That's a delicious feeling," he said. Now he pushed my foreskin back to reveal my dome. "You don't get the same sensation, I think you said."
"No I don't," I replied. "Mine doesn't have the nerve endings yours does. I do feel the friction against the helmet, though." My heartbeat was loud in my ears, and I knew that I was very aroused by his magic touch.
"Your tip's already dark," he commented. "Looks like you're ready to pop." He pushed my foreskin back more aggressively, stretching it hard over the crown until it snapped down into the deep groove behind it. The burst of sensation triggered my orgasm, and I began howling as the contractions began deep inside me. I squeezed Brad's prick as I shot my first load, and felt it throb hard through the covering skin.
We'd been so worked up we'd begun unloading involuntarily, and we were both gasping and sobbing as we grasped each other's pricks to heighten the sensations, spewing all over the sheet. Brad fell back onto the bed and I rolled on him, bringing our pricks in close contact their entire lengths, and I felt the throbs of his shaft and glans against mine. Our hot fluids poured between us, wetting our pubic hairs, as we floated in blissful agony.
Both of us became very still because our tips had become super-sensitive after several ejaculations. We clung to each other, gasping as our life-force poured from our straining pricks. We became still as the hot thick juices continued to ooze from our swollen tips, sinking into a delicious daze. We revived in a few minutes, staring at each other in disbelief.
"Premature ejaculation! Can you imagine that?" Brad asked.
"Well, we were really wound up today, and it shows also how much we turned each other on," I said.
"There was hardly any build-up," Brad continued, "but the orgasm was so intense that I'm totally drained."
"Me too," I added as I got up off him and led the way into the bathroom.
"How many more shootings you think there might be?" Brad asked me as we stood under the warm shower. We'd kept our helmets skinned back and the warmth of the water flow had stimulated our bladders.
"I can't say, really," was my reply. "There aren't any big-time circumcisers left. The only possible targets are those who clipped a kid who later resents it and comes back for revenge."
"Maybe the parent or uncle of a kid who was clipped," he added.
"Or aunt," I pointed out. "The important thing is that hardly any baby boys are getting ripped off these days. Doctors are afraid to do it anymore. They're even shit-scared that a circumcision they performed years ago is going to return to haunt them."
"As it well might," Brad said.
"As it already has, for some," I appended.
"I'll take a wild guess and say we'll see maybe one shooting a year," Brad speculated.
"One will be enough," I commented.
The end