Crestwood 7
by Bald Hairy Man
This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you don't like that DON'T read it. You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, not for minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual. No effort to portray safe sex practices has been made. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com.
The Admiral and Gus went visiting the next day. I was working near the administrative offices. Jon was away for a day or two and Henry was in charge. Henry liked to through his weight around and give orders. I noticed he liked doing this as a pure demonstration of power, not to achieve any positive objectives. He would get me to move a bush two feet so it would be "perfect". He did the same thing to the cooks in the kitchen and made Larry redo some reports because he didn't like the indentation of the paragraphs.
All in all, Henry had the characteristics of a petty dictator. Tiffany was his accomplice, but I wasn't too sure she was a loyal follower. When Henry wasn't looking she had a odd look on her face. It wasn't a look of pure hate. That I saw after she had talked to one of the old ladies. I think Tiffany saw Henry as a rung on a ladder. He was someone she would step on as she made her way up. I was lucky enough to be weeding a flower bed next to the offices when Henry met with the Art Gallery owner, R. Winston Jones.
R. Winston struck me as a grade B actor playing the role of am art gallery owner. He was perfectly groomed with a small mustache and every hair in place. He wore a tweed jacket with an Ascot. He was effeminate enough to be arty, but not offensively so. R. Winston was also a big, imposing man, maybe 6'-3" and 250 pounds. My guess was that not one of those pounds was muscle, but I wasn't sure about that.
"These paintings aren't cheap," R. Winston complained. "The originals cost two or three thousand, and the restoration adds another thousand or two. Can we up the price?"
"I guess we could up them a little, but there is a limit before the heirs' notice," Henry said. "We can't make any waves, only ripples. I'm not sure anyone here has enough marbles left to notice the new paintings, but if there are too many, someone might catch on."
"What about that woman who . . ." R. Winston began to ask.
"Not a word about that," Henry interrupted. "Not even to your closest and dearest."
"Any need for house boys here?"
"There's always a need for boy toys, but not here," Henry said. "How did Kim work out?"
"All that I could wish. He's a jewel," R. Winston said while chuckling. They went back to the offices and I returned to weeding. I discovered that the area next to the side door of the offices was a favorite place for private cell phone conversation. I decided to re mulch the bed next to it and get it back into tip top shape. I thought I might pick up on then office scuttlebutt.
I learned a lot about the personal problems of the cook and several of the maids. They all saw me working on the bed, but a gardener is just a gardener. I struck gold when Tiffany came out for a call. She kept her voice low at first, but as the conversation continued she got louder. Fortunately she also got louder when she was annoyed. That was for a good part of the conversation.
She talked about "that fucking fag." At first I couldn't tell if she was referring to Jon, or Henry. It later became clear the fucking referred to the man's favorite activity. John didn't fuck, so Henry was the object of her contempt. She was pissed at his "sideline." It might get them in trouble. "There's big jail time for that," she said. Later I heard the word "minors."
I couldn't hear the name of the person she was talking with. She referred to him or her as "dear" or "honey", but I wasn't sure if the person was a man or a woman. Who ever it was, I got the impression she was giving a report to a superior.
As soon as she went in the offices again I called my office and told them to do an in depth report on Tiffany and her associates. Around three, a pair of men came out of the offices. One was a high powered executive type. The other man was a flunky of some sort. My nose told me the flunky was actually a body guard. I know the look and even a suit and tie can't hide it.
"I'll be in meetings for two or three hours," he told his flunky. "Wander around and check things out." The executive type went into the offices leaving the body guard outside.
The flunky walked over to me. "The flowers look good," he said. "Mr. Williams likes things neat."
"I do too. Will's the name, " I said as I stood. I was all hot and sweaty again and my pants were a little tight.
"Mitch here," he replied. Mitch was one of those guys who checks out a guy's basket before he looks at the face. When he finally got to my face I winked at him. He smiled. He realized he had gazed at my equipment too long, but I wasn't offended.
"I'm finished here," I said. "It's off to an unit we're getting ready for re sale."
"Empty?" he asked. "Maybe I should look it over, just to make sure it's ready." I nodded and we went off to 47 Crestwood Crescent. Mitch wasn't the brightest bulb in the hardware store, but he knew what he wanted.
The residents of 47 had moved from the assisted living to the total care section of Crestwood. It had stayed empty for six, or seven months while the former residents dreamed they might get back into it. They finally decided to sell it. Both had been smokers and a total repaint and redecorating job was needed. The painters were done, but the floor refinishing was next week. The key to the unit was at the back door.
Mitch was young, maybe 22 or 25, and he wasn't an actor. He unconvincingly asked me questions about the condition of the house we walked around the house. The minute we got inside he had one interest, my cock. We looked around the house and went straight to the master suite bathroom. This had been totally renovated in pink marble focusing on a jacuzzi.
"Does it work?" Mitch asked.
I turned it on. "Want to give it a spin?" I asked.
"Sure, if you want to," he said. I stripped off my shirt. Mitch took off his tie, and then his shirt.
"Damn, usually I'm the hairiest man in the room," I said. "You're a caveman."
"Sorry about that," Mitch said.
"I like a man who looks like a man," I said. "No one's going to mistake you for a girly man. You're a body builder?"
"I go to the gym," he answered.
"It shows," I said. He had barrel chest, above a perfect six pack. Mitch was burly so he didn't have the figure for a physique contest. He was more like a circus strong man. Every inch was covered in curly, black hair. "Are you Italian?" I asked as we got in the whirlpool.
"Mom is Italian; Dad was Armenian," he replied. "I got a double dose of the hairy gene." We were both naked now. I stoked the hair on his chest and tweaked his tits. He moaned. Mitch fondled my equipment.
I was about half his size except in the cock and balls. He had beer can type cock, except it tapered as it vanished into his thick bush. It was almost a butt plug. I didn't know what Mitch was into. It turned out Mitch was 100 % a size queen and his only desire was to worship my cock. He loved it. At first he just looked at it. He moved on to licking, and then to sucking. He wanted to take it all, but it wouldn't fit.
I licked him a little. Mitch rewarded me with a mouth full of cum. He had a full load of man cream in his balls. I had to swallow twice.
"Damn, I don't believe I did that," he said. "I wanted it to last longer. I'm no good once I've shot."
"What's your recharge time?" I asked.
"Fifteen, twenty minutes," he replied.
"It's the end of the day. I've got some time," I said. "How about you?" Mitch smiled and then his attention wandered back to my cock. We talked. Fortunately he was distracted. I was still stroking my meat and I coaxed some precum from my balls. A bead appeared on the slit and dripped into the water. Mitch loved that.
"I hope you don't get in trouble with Mr. Williams," I said.
"My Uncle is okay," Mitch said. "To tell you the truth, he's always happy when I'm out of the way. When dad died, Mom got him to hire me to help out financially. He doesn't like me much. I'm too much like dad. They didn't get along well."
"Why is that?"
"He thought my Uncle played his business too close to the wrong side of the law," Mitch said. "It was a family business. It's better now than it use to be, but Dad didn't like it."
"A family business?" I asked.
He nodded. "My Uncle says every thing is legit now." Mitch said. "He owns a series of retirement communities. They're all top of the line. No funny business at all. Mom says so."
"Why is your Uncle here?"
"He doesn't like it when things happen," Mitch said. "He heard there were questions about that woman who died. My Uncle doesn't like that sort of thing. He doesn't like it at all."
As Mitch's balls recharged, his interest in my cock increased. I rotated back to the 69 position so he could take more of my cock. He was uncut. His cock was firm, but not hard yet. I worked my tongue into his pucker. Normally I like my cock juices fresh. Inside his foreskin was a rich stew of slightly fermented cum and precum. It didn't taste as good as the fresh stuff, but for some reason my cock got rock hard.
I knew Mitch wouldn't be able to deep throat my cock, but I figured his ass might be able to stretch enough. I fingered his hole. He jumped a little, but he also oozed a big glob of precum. I played with his hole. Soon he flooded my mouth with his man seed again.
"I'm going to have to get back," he said.
"How long are you going to be around here?" I asked.
"Until tomorrow night," Mitch said.
"Maybe we can work something out tomorrow," I suggested. He was interested. He went back to the office area.
Back in Richmond, I called Jonathan Lewis, one of my younger operatives. He was 27 years old, but looked as if he was 18. I asked him to make a visit to R. Winston's gallery. "Do you think you can be a young and eager intern?" I asked.
"All my roommates in college were art majors," he said. "I can talk the talk if I need to. Unless it gets too technical."
"There is a chance being young and cute would be enough," I said.
"Should I play it swishy?" Jonathan asked.
"Young and vulnerable would be my guess," I said. "If he got the impression you're looking for a sugar daddy, that might just hit the spot. I think R. Winston maybe running an upscale prostitution racket. He's into boys. He seems to be a forger too."
"Damn it, Catfish. You seem to run into some odd social circles," Jonathan remarked.
Gus called me later that night. He was staying with the Admiral for another day. "We found a Constable in one house and a Georges Seurat. One house had a genuine Gilbert Stuart. It was a family portrait," he said. "The Constable was a good copy, but the Seurat was off, way off. Bad brushwork, and the forger used acrylic paint."
"The French Impressionists didn't use acrylic paints?"
"They weren't developed for 75 years after the impressionists," Gus explained. "My guess is that the painter was making copy, but didn't know it was to pass as a forgery." I told Gus about the conversation I overheard between Henry and R. Winston.
"The copies were setting them back for $4,000.00 and $5,000.00. According to the people I talked with they paid between $15,000.00 and $75,000.00. That's one hell of a markup," Gus said. "He wanted more?"
"It sounded that way to me. Con artists don't have a tradition of modest financial expectations," I said. "Over reaching can be their downfall. One thing bothers me. There is a con game, but I don't think Henry or R. Winston had any idea anyone knew there was suspicions about the paintings. Why was Mrs. Carlisle killed?"
"Could she have had a moment of lucidity?" Gus asked. "Would she have known. Was she educated?"
"I'd ask the Admiral about that." I said. "He might know."
Jon was back at work the next morning. He was meeting with Mr. Williams. I spent the day working on the golf course. It was pretty on the course, but there was no interesting conversation. I was surprised when Mitch and Mr. Williams came out to see me.
"Joe Williams," he said in introduction. He shook hands. "Unless I've I'm very mistaken, you're a guy called Catfish?"
"He's my twin brother," I said. Williams smiled.
"Sure, I believe you," he replied. "Let me level with you. I think something is wrong here. I'm not sure what, but there's a odor. Crestwood is owned by the Home Atlantic Corporation. HAC develops high quality housing for wealthy families. Thirty or forty years ago, some members of my family were rumored to have underworld connections. That's ancient history now. No rumors have ever been connected with HAC."
"I'm not interested in ancient history," I said. "I suspect the Statute of Limitations had resolved most of the problems any way. I am interested in what's going on here now."
"If any rumors pop up now, it could ruin the corporation." Williams said. "We've been over the books frontwards and backwards. We can't find anything. I can't believe Jon is involved. He did mention a problem with several staff members."
"Henry and Tiffany?"
"Oh shit. You know? Jon said they had attitude problems."
"It's a lot more than attitude," I said.
"Working their way into wills?"Williams asked.
"More subtle than that," I said. "but it's a con all right."
"Their fired!" he exploded.
"I'd rather keep them unaware they are under suspicion," I said, "As far as I can tell, they have no idea anyone knows." I explained the outline of the scheme.
"Penny ante stuff," he said contemptuously. "but what about the murder? Con men don't do that."
"There is the problem," I admitted. "We have a missing link."
"The police know?" he asked.
"Right now it's a Fire Marshall thing. The Fire Marshall is a friend of mine."
"Arson and bomb squads are your thing, aren't they?" Williams remarked. He knew about my earlier cases. "If you can keep our name out of it, I'd appreciate it. If you need help, give me a call. I have connections, if you get my drift. Mitch is going to be spending a few weeks here, getting to know the business. If you need something, just ask him."
As they left the Admiral and Gus drove up to us in a golf cart. "We've found the connection!" Gus exclaimed.
"Emily was excited that an old friend from Bryn Mawr was coming to visit her. She was planning big party," The Admiral said. "Her friend, Elinor, married a Englishman who hit the big time. He got knighted."
"We found the order for the engraved invitations," Gus said. "The nobleman was Sir Frederick Harter!"
"Well?" I asked. I had never heard of the man.
"England's foremost art historian," Gus went on. "He wrote Art & Civilization. It's the basic textbook for Introduction to Art History 101 across the nation. Good book, by the way. Well written for the layman, but sophisticated."
"It was going to be a big party, almost everyone was going to be invited," the Admiral said.
"Some one would certainly say, "Oh sir Frederick, I have a Georges Seurat, or a Frederick Remington, or a Thomas Eakins hanging over my sofa, you must come to see it." Gus said.
"Is he the the guy who did the special, "Genius and Frauds" on PBS?" I asked. I remembered him now.
"That's the man," Gus said. "He made his reputation exposing some fake Vermeers. Sir Frederick must be well over 80 now. It would be a real coup to expose a fraud in his sunset years."
We now knew the motive for the murder and had suspects, but we hadn't closed the deal. I went to the employees' locker room. Larry had driven his own car so he could go out of town to a conference. I went by Glenn's office to see if he as ready. Joe Williams was with him.
"Sorry, I didn't know you were busy." I said.
"We're not busy at all, come on in," Glenn said, "I was just helping Joe with a bout of indigestion."
I entered the room. I had the feeling I had interrupted something. "Glenn's friend of mine," Joe said. "He said you were his friend too."
"I told Joe you are a popular guy," Glenn said. "Joe's really tense. He needs to relax more."
"Don't we all," I said. I glanced at the door to the back room. Glenn smiled and the three of us went to the former women's locker. Glenn began to take of his clothes immediately. In his suit, Joe was commanding, naked he was uncomfortable. He was hairy, but not as hairy as Mitch. He had a line backers build, but had gained weight.
When I looked him in the eye, he was looked down. He was looking directly at my cock. He quickly averted his eyes. I realized he was shy. I went over to him and put my arm around his shoulders. "Guys look all the time. I don't mind," I said. "We've all got the same basic equipment."
"It looks to me that you got the king sized version," he said.
"Don't worry," I said. "I share my toys." We went to the cot on the side of the room. Joe got on it and I fed him my cock while Glenn sucked him. I somehow thought Joe was new to the scene, but he didn't suck that way. He was enthusiastic and skilled. Glenn began to rim Joe's ass so I leaned over and we sixty-nined.
It was no surprise when Glenn coated his cock in lubricant and began poking at Joe's rear entry. Glen wasn't huge, but he had a nice piece of meat. Glen was a playful fucker. He probed and pulsed and pushed. He took his time and had fun on the way, but after five or six minutes his cock had vanished.
A cock is a lust thermometer. You can't fake an erection, precum or an orgasm when a guy's sucking your cock. Joe was a shy, but very sensual man. His cock wasn't at all reserved. It liked everything Glenn and I did.
Glenn pulled out to catch his breath. I switched positions on the cot. I wasn't sure he could take mine, but I figured I give him the option. Joe had other ideas. He got Glenn on his hands and knees and then rear ended him. Joe's cock was long and thin. Glen had no problem at all. I was pretty sure this wasn't the first time Joe had fucked Glenn. I would have been left out of this pretty little scene, if Joe hadn't spread his legs and ass wide.
Joe had a bubble butt ass. Hair swirled around his ass cheeks, and his puffy hole was pink and pretty. Glenn's fucking left it juicy, and his stance meant there was no way to defend it. I heavily coated my cock with lubricant. I nosed my knob into his hole, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed it in. He tried to resist for a split second, then he surrendered. It was a total, unconditional surrender. My entire cock slid into his ass.
As soon as my curly pubic hairs tickled his ass, Joe tightened his buns and grasped my cock. I have some extra foreskin, so his sphincter held my skin, but mt shaft and head were free to probe deeper. I held his shoulders tightly and pulled him back on to my cock. Joe shivered and moaned. I slipped still deeper in his love tunnel.
Somehow I knew I was in unexplored virgin territory. I slowly pumped. Joe was purring like a satisfied cat. Life was good. It may sound odd, but sometimes I'm a regular Mother Theresa when it comes to fucking. My motives aren't as virtuous as hers, but I do a good deed. I did a good deed for Joe. He went somewhere special. I don;t know it it was nirvana, or heaven, but it was good. The bible doesn't say anything about getting the heaven but being fucked by a horse hung hairball, but that's what happened.
I felt the glow, so did Glen. We three were cock linked into a single fucking organism. I don't know how long we stayed that way, but I began to shoot. My first ejaculation was matched by Joe's a second later. Glen cried that he was shooting. It went on for ever, or at least it seemed that way.