Intimate Investigations 3
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 winarch47@yahoo.com
Fabien Luck was almost legendary for investing in the next big thing. It was eccentric and his thought processes were opaque. He was interested in science, technology, medicine, history, and the arts. He had an incredible memory, but he had a great grasp of concepts. He kept a low profile and never appeared on any mass media talk shows. Aaron, my accountant, said you had to have a few hundred million to get him to answer a telephone call.
He arrived at my office driving a ten-year-old Ford sedan. He wore a suit and tie, but they weren't high style or that new. My office does not impress, and that seemed to appeal to him. I offered him coffee. It was the same coffee my parents drank thirty years earlier. He liked it.
"I assume Aaron told you the basics of my business," he said. "One of my clients is having a problem of the sort you have delt with. He encountered someone who claimed to know stuff. My client was planning to convert some of his investment into cash to pay for silence." Fabien explained. "We discourage that without our complete study of the situation."
"Of course, we do not meddle in our client's personal problems," he continued. "My most trusted advisors said this was obviously extortion we should not be involved. I word got out that we were even tangentially involved in that sort of payment, I would encourage other low life types to do the same."
"I have written out by hand an account of this problem. Our computers are well secured, but no one has been able to hack a handwritten letter. I will leave it with you. Once you had considered it would you let me know if this is something you can help us with. Aaron tells me that your fees are reasonable. I do not want a written contract for this work." He handed me a burner phone that I was to use to contact him.
"I'm sorry but I have another meeting in an hour. I await your call," he said as he rose. I went with him to the door, and he drove off.
His client was Stanford F. Gillford Jr. I had heard the name. I asked Doug to check on the web on his private computer. It was a standalone unit with its own line, unlinked to the office computers.
Stanford was a pillar of a conservative Free Baptist Church. It was the type of church that thought Billy Graham was a communist. They were less conservative than the drink the poison Kool-Aid groups. Stanford's son was happily married with a loving wife and three kids. He also was fucking a gardener and sleeping with a county-western singer, Tommy Buckskin. To keep this information way from the television talk shows would set Stanford back a million.
This was a standard, textbook extortion scheme. It would be embarrassing for Stanford, but not the end of the world. I assumed Fabien Luck knew this. I assumed there was a bigger problem. If Stanford was willing to get the cash from one of Fabien's accounts, was there a way for the blackmailer to trace the cash he received back and gain access to Fabien's accounts?
I wondered if the son, Stanford F. Gillford III, was involved, the pool boy or Tommy Buckskin. I made a huge intellectual jump and wondered if Stanford III might have relationships with other gay men. There was a chance that Stanford III had previous lovers. There were two options. There might be a low life character after cash, or an upper tier low life after big bucks.
I called Fabien. He listened quietly without comment. He then said my analysis was sound. His accounts were continuously examined for efforts to gain access. "This is unlikely to happen, but we are alert. There are other places that may be less alert," he added. I told him I would do some looking. He thanked me for that and ended the call.
The next morning Doug found $30,000.00 in our bank account. I began work. Stanford III's wife was the former Sally Smith. She had gone to college with Stanford, won the second place in the Miss Virginia contest. She was what was once referred to as smart cookie. While she liked money, her real interest was in social position and respectability. She and her husband led separate lives and got along well. The got together often enough to have three children.
We checked up on the gardener. He was the maid's son. When she died, they hired him. He had a border line IQ, and this was a charity gesture.
I also found out that Sally was close to Walter Bigham. He owned the Atlantic Shipping Company. It owned thirty or so freighters that served Europe and South America. I assumed he wasn't short of cash. I mentioned him to Aaron, and he said Walter had no financial problems.
A day later Sally and Walter came to see me. She heard that I was poking around. Sally was a beautiful woman. Walter was heavy, graceless, bearded, and rich. I was worried that Aaron might have said something. Sally said the Sanford III told her about the extortion. She knew his sexual preferences when she married him, and she was getting a divorce to marry Walter. She said it was an amical divorce.
"Sanford is a nice man. He was terrified of his father, and he had to get married to please him. I was a Beauty Queen-art major with no real prospects. We married and much to my surprise I loved being a mother and I love my children. Things worked out." Sally explained. "My children are grown, and Sanford and I are ready to move on. I will be moving in with Walter."
I must have looked at them oddly. They were the ultimate mismatched pair.
Sally noticed the look. "Walter has double the I.Q. and three times the personality of Sanford. It just happens that marrying a man that looks like a caveman is a turn on," she said.
"Shit, we have the same taste in men," I said. Sally and Walter burst of laughing.
"I do have one suspicion," Sally said, "The Free Baptist Church has deeply suspect theology. I'm Presbyterian and have standards. Four years ago, they got a new minister, Donny-Boy Delancey. Donny-Boy is unctuous and disturbing. Stanford Jr. thinks he the second earthly coming of Jesus. The preacher and many of his close associates are interested in earthly riches. The preacher hopes he would disinherit his son and give his wealth to God's greater glory and a private jet for the preacher to spread the word at higher speeds.
"That won't happen," Walter said, "My lawyers are vastly superior to anything the church could produce. He will be rotting in his grave long before he gets a penny." Walter spoke in a way that suggested he was not speaking metaphorically. One glance at Walter assured me that Sally had no fears for her safety. Walter wasn't pretty but no one in his right mind would tangle with him.
I did more searching. I got a list of recently fired employees of Sanford's companies. While I suspected this was a high-tech attack, there was a possibility that a recently fired employee wanted revenge, and accidentally set of sophisticated warning signals.
I called Fabien Luck after the meeting as asked if there had been any cyber attacks on his business. He said no. I asked if he had increased security. He told me had had only one level of security.
I then talked to Doug as asked that he check on Donny-Boy Delancey. I called Aaron about the Free Baptist Church. The church had been a street corner chapel that hit the big time when it's minister pacified a bank robber. He had been using a screwdriver in place of a gun. The encounter was captured on camera, and broadcast in television.
This story, enhanced, started his church's explosive growth. He retired 20 years later, five years after Alzheimer's disease had enhanced his popularity. Donny-Boy Delancey took his place. He preached that all problems, disease, or ailment could be cured by a combination of prayer and generous donations.
I decided to give Free Baptist Church a personal look. Doug found an ad looking for a janitor. I did a little rework of my hair and clothes and went to apply for the job in a full-scale Redneck get up. The business manager did the hiring and was rude. I was willing to work sixty hours a week for the sub-minimum wage. The church had services scattered though the week, nights, and weekends. I had the job.
They did not ask for references or search any records. A rapist, or a recently released guy from an institution was not a problem. The church has a day care center, so I knew they were not meeting state standards.
My office was an eight-by-ten closet filled with toilet paper and cut-rate cleaning solution. There was a buffer, and I did the main corridor. It had been last cleaned in biblical times. My cubical was next to the music suite. That room had a desk and choir robes. The Choir Director was a young man who made RuPaul seem macho. His name was Lonnie and he had recently graduated from college. I vacuumed his room, and he immediately became my best friend.
That might have been because cleaning was rare outside of the lobby and auditorium where the public saw it. I also saw a few glances that might have been an indicator that he like rough trade.
After a few days I realized that most of the employees' only job was to sing the praises of Donny-Boy Delancey. The Pope was an insignificant figure compared to Donny-Boy. Some staff members referred to him as "The One."
I moved up in status when I smelled smoke, called in the alarm, and evacuated the Day Care Center. I asked the business manager to say he called the fire into the fire department. I said I liked avoid publicity. That was fine with him. The staff knew it was me. One person said it was impossible for him to call in. he never personally made a call. He had his secretary make calls.
A day later I had an accidental meeting with Lonnie in the men's room. We exchanged the gay urinal handshake. He liked what he saw, and I felt better about him. He much better equipped than I expected.
As the janitor I had the keys to every room except for one room. I did not have the key to a locked door to a room between the Business manager and Donny-Boy Delancey's office. The room did not appear on the floor plan. There was one nice thing about the upper tier of staff; they were incredibly sloppy. Lockable doors and drawers were left open overnight. That might be a potential gold mine.
Lonnie was a gold mine if you didn't mind sifting the gold from the sperm. He had a brand-new degree from a university and had been cut loose from his family's support due to an argument. He didn't like the Free Baptist Church, or the minister. He asked me over to his apartment after work.
Lonnie desperately wanted sex. He had been through a long period of no sex, and rough looking rednecks turned him on. I can't do rough sex; it doesn't turn me on at all. I did look the part and Lonnie loved my look.
His apartment was nice. He has a favorite aunt who doated on him. He loved sex but was inexperienced, my trip up is behind was his first full penetration. He had a nice cock that was on the high side of average. I shocked him when I sat on it. it was good for me and great for him; he shot off after a minute. That was his first experience as a top.
I was also the first to suck him to completion. He had oversized balls and I took every drop. For some reason I kissed him with my sperm filled mouth. He loved it and eventually he ate most of his own opalescent load. I had a feeling expecting him to take my load in the mouth was a step too far.
While I looked good to him, my cock was a dream come true. We sucked briefly and I told him I like to fuck. His ass was tight, and his sphincter was not into receiving guest, but I was insistent, and a hard thrust and multiple little pokes did the trick. Lonnie was tense and he was nervous. When my knob poked deep into his ass, he relaxed.
"It's beautiful," he said when my nuts were using his nuts as a pillow. and I did all the little cock tricks I knew. I don't think Lonnie knew any sexual things that could done in less than a minute and a half. For him, sex had been quickies. He didn't know much sexually, but I could do no wrong. We had a good interlude.
Lonnie was a good musician, intelligent and an Olympic Class gossip. He was born to overhear things. His father had been a pastry chef at a good restaurant. Lonnie inherited that skill. He brought in cookies, pastries, and cakes for the staff. Donny-Boy was on a permanent diet, so he missed out.
An intelligent boss would engage with his staff. Donny-Boy had favorites and avoided the peasants. That insured he was a focus of gossip. Lonnie knew it all.
Lonnie was a Methodist and had no interest the Donny-Boy's homemade theology. Lonnie's musical interests were in the classical oratorios of the Bach-Hayden era. To say that was not the taste of Donny-Boy understates the case. Donny-Boy was a money-grubbing fraud. He claimed he loved Stanford Jr. and hated Stanford III. Officially that was because Stanford III was gay. Lonnie told me that Donny-Boy usually referred to him as "the Heir." Stanford Jr. was the "Fat Man." Being fat was a sin.
Lonnie was one of the girls when it came to gossip. One of the bookkeepers told him that while Donny-Boy's income and net worth was modest, his mother had millions, some in the states, but much more in overseas accounts. She liked banks on Caribbean islands.
His mother, Belle Delancey was just shy of eighty years old. She was regularly paraded out in her wheelchair. Back at my office, Doug discovered she had been on disability since she was sixty. She was still getting checks from the Treasury. She had three million in assets in the American accounts and an unknown amount in the Caribbean and in Switzerland. Those Social Security and Disability check sure added up.
Lonnie's friend thought the clue to the money was in the locked rooms of records. She said she had gone in one of the rooms. It contained paper files. She was surprised since the church records were on a hard drive. Paper files cannot be hacked.
I knew that Lonnie had a warm spot for bad boys. They excited him sexually, but he had no desire for a relationship. Bad boys did not fit into his circle of friends. As he left for home one night, he whispered to me that he had a friend coming over that night. I told him I wouldn't finish cleaning until eight. He told me nine would be fine. I said I would be there.
I had never met any of Lonnie's friends and I was not interested in them. I realized the asshole side of my personality was acting up. Lonnie was my main source of information, and he was both a nice guy and a generous sexual playmate. Meeting a friend of his was the least I could do.
Lonnie's friend was what I expected. Charlton was an odd-looking man who dressed like a teenager from when he was young, fifteen years earlier. He was a technician at a recording studio. Talking to other human beings was not one of his skills. He was the man who recorded the Free Baptist Church services.
Lonnie was direct. "Charlton and I discovered we shared common interests six months ago. I told him about my good times with you. He was interested," he said. There was a long pause. I don't think he had enough nerve to be that direct.
"If the common interest is what I think it is, why don't we get naked and see what happens?" I said. Lonnie didn't know what to say, but Charlton broke into a wide smile. He looked a lot better with a smile. I began to unbutton my shirt. Carlton pulled off his tee shirt, and Lonnie brought up the rear.
"You've got a big one," Charlton said. Sparking conversation was not his best skill.
"You like them big?" I asked.
"They are nice in videos," he said. "Lonnie told me you were big. He said you nailed him good."
"Do you want me to nail you?" I asked.
"I think so, but I've never taken a big cock," he said. "I've never had a guy squirt in me either."
"I like to fuck, suck, and shoot," I said. "Sex is fun for me. It's not a contest to see who can take it. It's not a dare. Have you tasted cum?"
"Yes, but not on purpose. A guy surprised me," Charlton replied. "Lonnie told me yours was good. If yours is good, I'll take his."
By this time, we were all hard or semi-hard. Since I was the most experienced, I made the first move and sucked Charlton's cock. Of course, a hard cock is a lot bigger than a soft cock, but Charlton was big. While I like to think I am interested in the man, not his cock, once and a while I make exceptions. When Charlton began to ooze precum I made an exception.
While Charlton was weak on the social graces, he had no problem learning sexual skills. Sexual activities are often quick and have immediate rewards. Fifteen minutes later Charlton discovered he was a size queen. My cock is museum quality sized, but it is ideal for intense daily use. Charlton was happy.
Charlton did the broadcasts. He was good at what he did and faded into the background. Donny-Boy ignored him. The preacher was brutally frank about people and his plans. Charlton was like an unimpressive piece of furniture stuck in a dark corner. Charlton had an incredible memory.