Catfish Finds Old Gold 7 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 bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
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Every once and a while my cock acts as a truth potion. Sometimes I fuck the entire man, not just his ass. One or two guys have told me I fucked their brains too. Rupert seemed to lose all sense of discretion while I was in his ass. I think he normally played his cards close to his chest.
His ass was muscular and his hole was tight; he didn't resist me at all. His hole was a little bit smaller than my cock. That was good for me and it felt as if his ass was shrink wrapped to my cock. This may sound odd, but fucking him was intimate. Luckily, Rupert was a no pain no gain man. I think he was more into my cock than he was into me. If the boys had been there, he wouldn't have let me fuck him. He would have lost face.
Once my knob was on the dark side of his sphincter, he forgot he wasn't into me. When I rammed his prostate he became downright affectionate. As long as my cock and his prostate were intimate, he became talkative and frank. I had misjudged hm. I assumed he was a true believer in the Southern cause. Rupert was a retired military officer and he was a gun for hire, a mercenary. As long as you paid him he was happy.
He knew that Donaldson had delusions of grandeur and wanted to be a Patton-like man of action. Since he had no actual military experience, he needed someone to do the nitty-gritty work. He was wealthy and that was fine for Rupert. He was willing to take Donaldson's money.
Rupert also lacked the most general characteristic of the men seeking the gold; he wasn't delusional. He knew things didn't make any sense, but as long as the paychecks arrived, he was willing to play along. He didn't say it, but Willy and Danny were a bonus from Rupert's point of view. He was a sexually repressed gay man. In the army he couldn't make a move on an enlisted man. Donaldson's boys were just play soldiers and they were prone to hero worship. If I were a betting man, I would have guessed the boys made the move on him. They liked real men, and Rupert was macho and strong.
I don't think I was the first to pop Rupert's ass, but he was really tight. His gung-ho attitude was a plus. I did him doggie style and had pushed his legs wide to get his prostate into position. Once I was in, my cock worked its magic. I hit the bull's eye over and over again. Rupert lost his military air as I did this. After ten minutes, he was my cock slave.
I admit I had a good time too. Luckily I had shot off earlier and was able to work on the case and question Rupert as I fucked him. I didn't lose my erection so I continued pumping as we talked. Rupert was a careful man. He had checked up on Donaldson to make sure he was solvent. He was loaded and the money he spent on his militia was pocket change.
They boys were Donaldson's special interest. Rupert got Willy and Donnie because they were the oldest of the boys. They were beyond the sell-by date for Donaldson. He had met J.J., the millionaire. Donaldson was not impressed.
The millionaire was a collector of objects. He was into Mesoamerican antiquities and had a minor interest in Civil War memorabilia. The mention of Mesoamerican antiquities set off a small alarm in my mind. Central America is the wild-west for looting antiquities. Wealthy men could acquire almost anything with enough cash. There was also a huge market for black market Civil War memorabilia. J.J. was wealthy, but not wealthy enough to buy what he wanted. I suspected he was the sort of man who would have preferred the black market to legitimate collecting anyway. He was a bit of a pirate on Wall Street too. J.J. bragged about his collection and told Donaldson he would show him his special collection someday. That day had not arrived as yet.
We talked about the planned attack on the island. Rupert said it would never happen. "If the CIA or the Navy Seals attempted it would have one chance in a million to succeed. The SOS is made up of drunks, mental patients and rednecks. I don't think they have a chance of finding the island let alone getting the gold," Rupert said. "Donaldson is one of the brighter stars in the group."
"Donaldson also has real money," Rupert continued. "Most of the guys here are working for a percentage of the take; Donaldson can pay in cash."
"How much is he paying you?" I asked.
"Thirty thousand a month," he replied.
"Shit, I'd work for him for that kind of cash," I said.
"You ain't pretty enough!" Rupert replied. I gave him a real hard thrust to make him regret that remark. He liked that a lot, as did I and we concentrated on more immediate pleasures. His prostate turned real hard and I could feel it fill up as I pounded him. When he shot off I could feel his entire rectum contract. When I popped I gave his rectum a sperm bath. Rupert cried, "I can feel it! It's wonderful." I left my cock in him and let him cool down. I collected some of his special sauce on my finger and tasted it.
Rupert liked that and had a final ejaculation. We pulled apart. He had to join his men. I took the chance to get back to Richmond and see what was up on the home front.
Archaeologists and detectives share many of the same characteristics and interests. Archaeologists have fewer live interviews and no problems with trials, but they are both seeking out the truth about situations. For the field people, they share a common tendency to be detail oriented and anal retentive in their approach to investigations.
Livingston called me and said that his assistant, Rick had found an anomaly in the gold stacks. The piles were in an orderly, rectangular array, with 18 ingots per layer and three layers per pile. There was a three foot space between the rows. All were covered with a layer of mud and dust. Water had filled the vault several times over the last 150 years.
The dried mud layer was disturbed near the body. It now appeared that 12-13 ingots were missing. In these locations the gold color showed where the gold bars had been removed. It was possible that Giles had taken some. It was much more likely that his murderer had taken the gold.
Livingston and I knew there was a high possibility Giles was killed for the gold. His son certainly didn't have it and his interest in the gold was scholarly. Of course a scholarly interest in the possible existence of Confederate gold is not the same as being confronted with a room filled with gold ingots. A vault filled with Confederate Gold is one thing. A vault filled with Confederate gold and a murder victim is another. He who had the gold would immediately become suspect number one.
"If I had the gold I'd melt it down to get rid of the evidence," I said.
"That would be the logical thing, but that isn't what a Civil War buff would do," Livingston explained. "To have an actual ingot of gold from the actual Confederate Treasury would be the ultimate relic. Those guys go crazy over a belt buckle. As far as I know these are the only genuine ingots surviving from the Confederacy."
"If you were a Civil War relic collector, these would be the ultimate piece of Civil War history," he continued. "It's hard to say what the value would be. These are the only examples in existence."
"It seems to be a cruel twist of fate. A man murders Giles to get the gold, but he can't get it because the discovery of the body and the gold would automatically point the finger at the discoverer of the treasure trove," I said, thinking out loud. "We can also assume the murderer knew Giles, since an investigation of the death would lead the police to him. A complete stranger wouldn't need to worry. If he had no connection to Giles, the investigation wouldn't lead to him."
"How easy is it to sell a gold ingot?" Livingston asked. "I assume you can't take it to a local gold dealer and get it melted down."
"The store front gold operations are after jewelry. A good portion are fronts for fencing operations anyway. Some are more or less payday lending operations or run by loan sharks," I said. "That stuff is pretty small time. They deal with thousands and not hundreds of thousands of dollars. I don't think you could walk into one of those places with a gold ingot and say you found it in Dad's sock drawer. The gold hoard is too spectacular."
"I assume organized crime would be interested?" Livingston said.
"Sure, but if I was a Civil War buff who found the Confederate Treasury, I wouldn't want to get involved with big time crime. Organized crime isn't much into sharing," I said. "They do not carry period weapons and they are not Southern Gentlemen. It is hard for me to believe that a man who had just found millions would live for long after he showed his pals the location on the main hoard."
"They could shoot him and solve the problem with the murder, then there would be the new murder," Livingston observed.
"I think the big boys outsource that sort of thing," I said.
"Norman's murderer would just disappear," Livingston said. "If I had killed him, I would look for a collector. I think I would buy the gold, and then hide it in my secret gallery."
"You think some millionaire would lock it in an underground bunker and just hide it?" I asked.
"Well, I think if he had a nice chair and a bottle of very good scotch or bourbon and he would be quite happy," Livingston said. "I think the scotch and owning the sole remaining portions of the Confederate Treasury would make for a satisfying evening."
"I have thought of that scenario, but I had a Vermeer of a Rembrandt as the object of admiration. I guess that if you don't give a shit about art or beauty and your sole interest was in money the gold would do the trick. It seems sick to me. Wouldn't it just the thing for a man who has everything?" I asked.
"I know a lot of collectors," Livingston said. "Many of them love the objects they collect, and become expert in the subjects. There is something about an art work, or even baseball cards that excites them. Sometimes the collection is auctioned off when they die, but most want to save the collection and leave it to a museum. They want others to share the beauty or whatever it is that made them collect."
"Giving things away isn't part of everyone's personality. Some can't part with anything and they are willing to let their collection destroy them before they dispose of anything," I said. I asked Livingston to contact some of his collector friends.
"I'm the wrong man for that," he said. "I'm known for my opposition to the black market and the looting of historical sites."
"I assume you have some connections to men who are not as squeamish?"
"One or two of my board members aren't as fastidious. I think a few are reformed, or at least mostly reformed collectors of black market artifacts," Livingston said.
"Do you think they might know something? Can you make some calls?"
"I can do that. Either they know something or they might know someone who knows something," Livingston said.
"These events are 20 years in the past," I said. "How are their memories?"
Livingston smiled. "I'm not sure about memories, but I do know they hold grudges. They wouldn't forget missing something like the Confederate treasury, or being tricked."
Livingston went hunting among his Civil War buff friends. There were a lot of them and they did have good memories. While obsessive people can be annoying, they are helpful when you want to learn about twenty year events. A number of them remembered Norman Giles and his disappearance had caused a stir. Since his car had been found near Norfolk there was an assumption he had vanished there.
The search for Confederate gold was a cottage industry and there were some fellow searchers. Giles was a few levels higher on the treasure hunters' food chain than most of them. Several men had been intrigued by his quest.
The next morning the Richmond Police moved the gold from the island to the Federal Reserve Bank vaults. When the gold reached the safety of the bank vaults, the treasure hunters dispersed to their homes. This included most of the Civil War buffs and most of the crazies. I returned to the farm and Stonewall's RV to see who was left. I wondered if some true believers might remain to cause trouble. Rupert was there with three of the men. When Donaldson left, Rupert had acquired an additional aide. Stonewall was in Richmond taking care of personal business.
While he was no longer working for Donaldson, Rupert was in a good mood. He was cleaning up the site and removing various booby traps they had set around the place. Wills had children and once the lure of the gold vanished, he became concerned one of his brood might fall victim to the traps.
Rupert had been let go, but he said there was always a need for a hired gun and he had parted with Donaldson on good terms. His new boy, Teddy, was a little older and heavier than the rest of the aides. He was borderline muscular and must have worked out. He also stared at my basket continuously. Rupert noticed that and winked at me.
I later found out Willy and Danny had described me in glowing terms to Teddy. Teddy had been close to Donaldson and had been his liaison to J.J., the mystery millionaire. He knew what was going on at the plantation house east of Richmond.
Teddy gave off the impression of being an affable and harmless yes man. He was brighter than he looked. He also had the sex drive of a chimpanzee. Rupert took Willy and Danny off hunting for booby traps, leaving Teddy alone with me. Teddy wasn't shy.
"Danny told me you have a big one. He said you could give a Trigger a run for the money," he said. "I've never taken a cock as big as he says yours, but I'd sure like to try."
"You're a size queen?"
"I don't know about that," he said. "I've never taken a really big one, but the idea turns me on. Rupert told me I have a good ass."
"I'm not sure I want to give samples. If you want a poke followed by a quick spurt, I'm not the guy for that," I said. "Ass holes are delicate. I'm not a rough guy, but I'm hard on the hole. You can't change your mind once I'm in."
"This may sound odd, but I've never been fucked by a man as old and ugly are you are either," he said. "I can't tell you how turned on I am." He took off his shirt and was dropping his pants. I'm not particularly good about resisting temptation. A minute later I discovered he had a potential career as a sword swallower in a circus. His nose was in my bush and my entire cock was down his throat.
Teddy had some attractive characteristics. He had no gag reflex. He could breathe and suck at the same time and he was insatiable. He was better hung than I had guessed and while his hole was small and needy, it was elastic too. At first I just popped my knob into his hole a few times. He wanted more of it. I gave it to him and he got all hot and bothered.
When I pushed deeper and used his prostate as a punching bag he lost it. He had almost started breathing again when I went still deeper and winded him again. Even when he was gasping for breath, he must have had a little brain in has ass that kept him undulating his hips and squeezing his sphincter.
We took a breather. I was a little worried Teddy was too excited. He got a grip on his emotions. While he calmed down he didn't lose his erection. I was feeling good. I straddled him and sat on his erect member. I don't know if I can unconsciously read a gay man's needs, but Teddy glowed as my ass swallowed his cock. I bounced on his cock a few times and a felt a tickling sensation as he gave it up.
I hadn't had a man pop so quickly in years, but Teddy didn't lose his erection. I got off his cock and re- entered his ass. Very few men can show affection with their ass. Teddy was one of them. His sphincter kissed and caressed my cock. I was excited but not quite enough to shoot. We had a really good time. When I climaxed he begged me to leave it in for a while. We talked.
I hadn't realized it, but J.J. was one of those men who figured if he paid for you, you served him. His sexual relationships were one sided. Teddy thought he was an aide, not a whore. J. J. had a short fuse and once he popped he lost all interest. There was no reciprocity. Rupert was more appreciative, but he kept his affection secret. He felt he would lose face if he was seen doing a fancy dance on one of the boy's cocks. I am one of those guys who never had any face to lose.
Teddy had a nice one, not too big and not too small. Fortunately, God made his cock must the right length to rub my prostate the right way. I sat on him again and he lost it again. His warm semen felt wonderful as he flooded my ass. It was indeed a flood. When I got off of him I said, "Damn! It's drooling from my ass!" Teddy was nice enough to roll me over and lick it up.
"Just relax and let it flow," he said.
"Some of your cream is in deep," I said.
"I have a long tongue," he replied. It was a good afternoon.
"J. J. says I am too slutty," he said after he had licked my ass clean.
"It seems to me that you are just slutty enough," I remarked.
"Do you ever get in the situation when you just can't get enough?" he asked. "I seem to want more and can't get satisfied."
"I do once and a while. Sex is good for me, but once and a while I keep on hoping it can still be more intense, more mind blowing. Are you satisfied now?" I asked.
"Yes, but I get urges all the time," Teddy said. "I thought J. J. might be the man who could satisfy me. He's good looking and loaded. I was a star football player as the small college I attended. When you are a star, no one asks much of you. I hoped life with be that way. I hoped J. J. presented the opportunity do a little work and live well as his man."
"That didn't work out?"
"No it didn't." Teddy said. "He doesn't have friends or lovers. He likes possessions. I think he can love possessions, but not flesh and blood people. He collects things but I discovered he doesn't collect them because they are beautiful. They are valuable and belong to him and no one else. He owns a Rembrandt, but he owns it because it is a Rembrandt, not because it is beautiful. He likes because it's his and no one can see it except for him."
"Apparently you saw it?"
"There was a leak in the roof of his underground gallery," Teddy explained. "I have to move it out of the way. No one else was available. One of his body guards told me there was a gold room down there, but when I took the painting in the wrong direction, J. J. got all excited told me to leave. Parts of the gallery were off limits."