Catfish finds Old Gold 12
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
If you enjoy these stories. Please consider giving a donation to Nifty!
Some of my friends claim I am oversexed. I admit I might be classified as being sexually active. I do like sex, but I think that I am similar to most of the human race in that respect. I also think that my playmates like sex too. Most like it enough to come back for more.
I know some men like my cock more than they like me. One pal told me that he thought my cock was like a natural landmark. Many people like to visit the Grand Canyon, but they do not necessarily want to live there. I do not object to satisfying curiosity.
Usually satisfying a playmate's curiosity is good for me too. My cock seems to enjoy the tightness of an adult male's backside. It warm and cozy in there. It's nice when the man is moaning a little and twitching some. As I get older, I discovered that I love it when I can send a man to a place he has never been to before. It's good when a macho guy turns into a sex toy, desperate for my cock.
I think it would be nice if I could fuck for hours, but it seems it cannot. Even when I am leisurely probing a man's ass, the urge to climax begins to bubble up. Sometimes the man has an orgasm his twitching ass inspires me. Urges rise and come to the surface. When I was younger, I tried to hold back and avoid an orgasm. That effort was 100% unsuccessful.
I have also tried to pull out before I shot off and shoot on him rather than in him. I was never good at gauging when I was going to shoot. I figure that once a man has a few spurts of my ball juice in his ass or mouth, he might as well take it all. Some men do not like that, but I had noticed that doesn't affect them that much. Most come back for more, including those who took a mouthful of sperm.
At the Academy, I played guard more than I expected since the crowds were larger than anticipated. I enjoyed guard duty since the people were greatly varied and interesting. The event was a gold mine for the police. They reconnected with many suspect persons who had dropped off the radar screen. They were at the exhibit and had credit cards and plane reservations. The police could track them.
J.J. did not appear, but Rusty was happy anyway. Several known associates attended. They provided leads. When J.J. fled from his plantation house, he abandoned part of his staff. While the police knew some things about his staff, the abandoned staff people were bitter and filled him in about the rest.
Two men who had been with J.J. when he escaped came to the exhibit. One was an accountant named Douglas Delmar, and the other was servant, Roscoe Williams.
Roscoe was J.J.'s personal servant, his valet. They had been together for almost 30 years. He was rarely seen apart from his master. Roscoe was a tall dapper man with a carefully trimmed black beard. There were few photographs of him.
The man who visited the exhibit was tall, ill kept and had a wild white beard. Fortunately, facial recognition software had no problem identifying him. The software discounts hair color since it can be easily altered. According to one of the staff members in custody, Roscoe was a nice man. They described him as affable, harmless and by no means the brightest light bulb in the hardware store.
He was simply a servant. No one thought Roscoe was involved in anything criminal. Some of J. J.'s former employees seemed to think that J.J. had forgotten how to button his shirt. He was dependent on the servant.
In contrast, Douglas was a fixer. He did things for the multimillionaire. Rusty said he did not actually do things; he hired people to do things. That he was at the exhibition, indicated that J.J was in difficulty. He must not have had access to his normal flunkies.
"I think Douglas must had impressed Roscoe into service. Douglas had a real aversion to doing anything himself," Randy said.
Douglas vanished as soon as he left the exhibit. Roscoe went to a rundown motel near downtown. The police had him under observation. He stayed in the room all day and only went out to eat at a nearby Burger King. Randy thought he was waiting for instructions. He asked if I might be able to help him by checking out Roscoe.
The next afternoon I was outside the Burger King waiting for Roscoe. He appeared just before noon. I got in line behind him and we shared a table. It took a minute or two of conversation to realize that Roscoe was not a criminal mastermind. He was lonely and afraid. I asked him why he was in town. He said he was waiting for a friend. I said that I was just visiting and that I had been cooped[BW1] up in a meeting all morning. I was going to a park to get some fresh air and asked if he would like to join me.
Roscoe said he would like that. I took him to a city park that included some elaborate gardens and a wild life exhibit. Roscoe loved that. He was into animals big time. I liked him and wondered if he was a peon who was being groomed as a fall guy.
I wanted to help him, but had no idea how to do it. I had no plans once we finished looking at the animals. I made a visit to the men's room and Roscoe joined me. I got lucky. Usually I am good about picking out gay men. I had misjudged Roscoe. When he glanced at my cock, it was love at first sight. Roscoe was a size queen.
"Damn, you've got a nice one," he whispered.
"You like them big?" I asked. He nodded and smiled.
"Do you like to play?" he asked. I told him that I sure did.
We went to his motel room, stripped and went at it. At first, he just wanted to look, but he soon began to suck. I found out a lot about Roscoe over the next hour. He had a classic, burly bear's body. He was a polar bear with a fireplug type cock. He was also entirely passive.
When I sucked his cock, Roscoe seemed to be shocked. I always say cock sucking can only be so bad and that was the case with Roscoe. He loved it, but he apologized. After a little discussion, I discovered he was J.J.'s sex toy. J.J. also made him available to anyone who wanted a blowjob or wanted to fuck. Roscoe liked to be sucked, but that was a rare and enjoyable experience for him.
I also took a ride on his cock that was successful for both of us. When I sat on his mushroom, the knob formed a little pillow supporting my prostate. It was good. It hit the right place. When I fucked him, I discovered that my pleasure was minor compared to Roscoe's reaction. My man tool seemed to generate an impressive reaction in his ass. If you are a size-queen-bottom, my cock is Christmas and the Fourth of July wrapped in a single package.
Every movement of my cock generated intense pleasure for him. His eyes crossed; he moaned, shivered and all but convulsed as I plowed him. I pulled out a few times because I thought he needed to breathe. He begged me to fuck him more and harder. Roscoe shot off four or five times. It was no more than five or ten minutes after each orgasm that he wanted me in him again.
We talked between orgasms. As a child, his family treated him badly; he was a big dummy. J.J. met him when he was bellhop at a hotel. They connected. J.J. liked sex rough. Roscoe was used to that and could take anything J.J or his friends could dish out. He became J.J. valet. As long as Roscoe eventually climaxed, he was happy. Roscoe had beautiful orgasms. They were messy, plentiful and explosive spewing sperm everywhere as his body twitched and shivered.
His entire rectum seemed to convulse when he shot off. My cock found that to be an attractive feature. The first time it happened, I thought it was a fluke. When I realized it was a regular feature of his orgasms, my cock began to anticipate it. I was sure he was real experienced, but he was genuinely enthusiastic about my cock. All good things end; I had to get back to work.
I was dressed when I heard a loud bang outside. It sounded like an explosion or a bomb. I went to the window and looked out. A second later, a bullet shattered the glass and just missed me. I felt it wiz by my face. I ducked and two more bullets entered the room. A minute later, I could hear sirens, and a few instants after that, someone was at the door. It was the police.
Captain Miller appeared and all was well. I was sure the attack was on Roscoe, not me. I had just glanced out of the drapes when assailant shot. He would not have had time to recognize me.
Roscoe was scared from both the attack and the police. He was afraid of the police, but he did not know why. Douglas Delmar, the accountant, had told him they were after him, but he had no idea that they were really after J. J. and Douglas.
Outside police were everywhere hunting for the shooter. We were in the middle of the city and there was no real way to close off the area. Roads and streets led in every direction.
Miller is a good cop and a friend. He sized up Roscoe quickly and recognized Roscoe's limitations. He was calming and almost fatherly to Roscoe. He thought Roscoe knew something, which is why he was attacked, but there was a good chance Roscoe did not know the significance of that information.
"Do you think that Roscoe is involved?" Miller asked me.
"He may have seen something, but I don't think he would know the significance of what he saw," I said.
"Could he testify to it?" Miller asked.
"He could, but he could never survive cross examination," I said, "A good lawyer would rip him to shreds. He might be able to give us a lead, but that is as much as he could do."
"That's the way I see it. I think I will hold him as a material witness," he said.
"I don't think that's a good idea. For Roscoe, I think jail is jail. He wouldn't understand the difference," I said. "Could you turn him over to my custody? I could take him home and calm him down. I doubt he knows what's going on."
Miller agreed. I took Roscoe to my apartment. It was quiet and peaceful there. Billy, one of my oldest and most red neck operators was there. He was friendly and hit it off with Roscoe immediately. He would watch Roscoe when I was away. Miller said he would come over later to talk with Roscoe.
I went off to the Academy for guard duty. When I came back afterwards, Miller was with Roscoe. They were just getting out of the shower. It was late and Miller went home. I went to bed. Roscoe slept on the couch.
I knew that Roscoe was sexual generous, but had no idea Miller was interested. If he was naked in the shower, there was no way that Roscoe would have resisted temptation.
Only five more days remained in the exhibitions run. I was busy at the Academy and Miller came to visit Roscoe almost every day. When I got home on the last Friday of the exhibit, Roscoe was asleep and Miller was happy. Roscoe remembered that J.J. visited some place he thought they called Snake Island where he had a man cave. It was in the Dismal Swamp.
Roscoe told Miller that the man who we had found dead in the art vault had jokingly called the man cave the pirates' hiding hole. That had greatly bothered J. J. who told him to shut up. Miller thought the hiding hole was too secret to be mentioned.
Miller had called the local police chief who had the swamp in his jurisdiction, Jake Connolly. He knew the swamp as well as any man did. He did not know of Snake island, but knew of a Rattler Island and he had heard about something called Blackbeard's' Hole. Blackbeard's Hole was part of the elaborate pirate related myths of the swamp. Rattler Island was real, although it was not an island. It was just a less swampy area.
The myths said that Blackbeard's Hole was near the eastern side of the swamp. Rattler Island was well inland. Jack said he would check out the island at dawn. Miller told him to be well armed. Jake did not need to be told that.
"I got more involved with Roscoe than is right," Miller said.
"Don't worry about that," I said. "You know I'm the last man on earth to complain about that sort of thing. It doesn't bother me."
"It sure bothers me," Miller said. He had to go home and I went to bed.
On Saturday, Beauregard and Barton showed up with Wilbur and Roger. Wilbur and his research assistants had struck pay dirt. They had found a notice in a paper dating from September 1865 asking for information on the whereabouts of Timothy O'Malley and his crew, James, Titus and Jumbo. They were masons and had vanished in April of 1865. The request was from a Mary O'Malley of Dublin and anyone with information was to send a letter to the Catholic Bishop of Richmond. There was a $25.00 reward. That sort of notice filled the papers of that period. $25.00 was big money in 1865.
The papers were publishing again, but it easily took months for people to realize a family member was missing the in the confusion of the last days of the war. Thousands were missing, lost or dead.
Wilbur had also made contact with a man who was writing a book on the construction of the canal. He had made a study of mason's marks. Masons put a personal mark on each stone to make sure they were paid. The marks on the island vault matched some of those found on a stone bridge over the canal built in 1860. Researchers had found one master mason's list of marks. These included O'Malley's, a rotated square indicating the letter "O."
We had our victim. You would think that murdering four men would be a big event, but April 1865 was the best time in the city's history to commit murder. Richmond was burning and civil order had vanished.
That morning, the police found J.J.'s friend Douglas in the river. He was shot with bullets from the same weapon that shot at Roscoe and me. J.J. was cleaning up the loose ends. That was a good sign. Crooks are not the smartest men in the world, but they usually have good self-preservation instincts. When your boss is killing off his close associates, it is bad to be the last remaining associate.
Wilbur was close to the medical examiner and he filled Beauregard in on some of the details of his father's death. There was only one shot and death was instantaneous. He had been shot in the back of his head and probably had no idea he was in danger.
Beauregard look relieved. He had turned his father's notes over to the police. They established his father's interests in the gold were academic, not criminal. He had the misfortune of running into a con man, J.J. I am sure he had a convincing story.
Miller joined us and he had news. The police were in the swamp and when they found the island, they came under fire. The state police was mounting full scale, semi-military attack. Because of the swamp, it was a massive effort. The number of murders associated with J.J. and his men were mounting, and it was clear that there would be no happy outcome.
It was a media sensation, but the inaccessible location limited any direct reporting. The television stations could not even get their copters in. There were armed Apache helicopters in the sky. J. J. was wealthy enough to escape by air.
I had finished my work; I could relax. Beauregard went off and bought some beer. It turned into a little party. Most of the men did not know each other, or knew them only slightly. They all recognized like spirits. Roscoe was always ready for some fun. Beer meant a few trips to the bathroom, and Roscoe made a connection with Beauregard on one of these trips.
Miller went in a little later and found them playing. He joined in.
I later found out Miller's earlier interlude with Roscoe had been more successful than I had realized. I knew Miller had recently been through a bad divorce. The word was that his ex-wife made Lady Macbeth seem like Mary Poppins. He had a lot of pent up needs and Roscoe was more than willing to meet them.
I went in the bath and found Roscoe was sucking Miller as Beauregard pumped his cock deep into Roscoe's ass. It was a pretty picture. Miller looked at me. He had a slightly sheepish look, but Roscoe was a good cocksucker and Miller did not move; it was too good. Miller was the only one in the group who might even be a little bit shy. With the exception of Miller, I had played with all of the men. Wilbur, Roger, Barton and I joined the group in the bath.
Miller adapted to the situation easily. I had been with everyone in the group except for Miller and all of the men were comfortable sexually. My bathroom was crowded, but that did not bother anyone. This there was a cock down your throat or a cock in your ass, being close was not a problem.
Beauregard shot off and pulled out of Roscoe. I took his place and Roscoe loved it. Beauregard's semen made for a very easy entry. I went deep on the first stroke. It was smooth as silk.
"I had heard you possessed a world's fair exhibit," Miller said. "I never thought I's see in action."
"I'm not that shy," I replied. "You look like you are enjoying yourself."
"It embarrassing, but it's too good to stop," Miller said. Roscoe loved to suck and he was good at it.
"We are all boys here. We know what feels good," I said. "I'm not a kiss and tell kind of man. We all have similar feelings; I'm not embarrassed to show them. Relax and go with the flow."
"It's not private here," Miller whispered.
I smiled. "What is going in in Roscoe's mouth and in his ass is private," I said. "No one cares what you are doing. A few guys here might like to taste some of your special cop cum, but that is up to you."
Barton, Beauregard's pal, tapped me on the shoulder. He wanted to try Roscoe. Barton put his arms around Roscoe as he made a rear entry. Miller dropped to his knees so he could suck Roscoe's organ. I went over to a shower to rinse off. Wilbur bent over and I did him. In the other room, Barton moaned as he rear loaded Roscoe. That little trio broke apart. I dried off and went to the bedroom.
We soon had regrouped. Miller connected with Wilbur, and that was a complete success. Miller's fireplug organ hit the spot. Roger, Wilbur's partner, looked on approvingly. He was next to Miller, giving him advice as to how to ring Wilbur's chimes as he played with the cop's tits. Everyone seemed congenial and happy. After an afternoon of play, Beauregard, Barton, Wilbur and Roger left and I was alone with Roscoe and Miller.
"I'm embarrassed to say this, but I had a great time here. I had no idea it could be so good. I shouldn't have liked it but I did," Miller said.
"You noticed I liked it too?" I replied.
"I loved it," Roscoe added. "Your friends are really nice."
"I knew you guys liked that sort of stuff," Miller replied. "This may sound stupid, but it doesn't seem right for me to like it. I was thinking it was a bromance. In reality, it was really just 100% sex. I feel like I'm off the reservation."
"Just think of it as a quick trip to the wild side," I said. "I thought you were enjoying yourself?"
"The truth is, I loved it," Miller admitted. "I had forgotten that sex could be fun."
Roscoe was on the bed and hoisted his legs us exposing his ass. He wanted more. Miller's cock became fully erect. He stepped up to the plate and eased his organ into the expectant hole. Roscoe sighed as the cock slid in deep.
"If I was going to complain about man sex, I wouldn't do it while I was fucking a guy," I said. Miller looked at men and then burst out laughing.
"Perhaps I doth protest too much," he said. "Maybe, I should let my cock do my thinking for me." He began to moan as he shot off. He pulled out and I took his place.
"Would it embarrass you if I said your sperm is giving me a nice tingle as I churn it up?" I asked.
"Shit, Catfish. If my wife had said that just once to me I would be a happy man!" We all laughed.