Catfish Sort of Retires 7
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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The theory that Wilton and West were scamming the big-time looters was attractive. For the millionaires and billionaires at the top of the organization, losing several hundred thousand dollars was chump change. Our Blackbeard scam would have been comparatively low risk, given the rural character of the area and police forces that focused on traffic tickets.
Thor and I made a trip to Washington D.C. to meet with something called New Realities Consulting. They sounded like some political think tank. They were essentially a news service that distributed anything related to looted antiquities and stolen art to Europe. The Director Thomason DeWitt was Thor's friend. The Chesapeake problems had puzzled them too, and our possible explanation interested them.
DeWitt was tall and handsome. He dressed like a Victorian dandy and had a perfectly groomed beard that made him look dapper. I wore my just right-for-funerals suit, but I looked sloppy compared to him. After talking with him for an hour I realized he was intelligent and possessed an attractively devious mind. I thought Wilton and West were low level con men. DeWitt saw them as the weak links in the organization. I could almost see his mind developing ways to exploit them.
His staff consisted of eccentrics and loners united in an obsessive interest in their work. They were all intelligent, well-educated and lacking social skills. I assumed most were gay or lesbian. Edward, my computer guy seemed normal compared to them.
DeWitt's right-hand man was Liz, a formidable computer expert. His P.A. was Oliver, a short, Woody Allen type. He was drooling over Thor. I gave them an outline of Edward's discoveries. They were impressed he found so much using low tech equipment. They had access to super-computers in America and Europe.
Thor and I had dinner with DeWitt, Oliver and an ageing hippy they called Dead End. Dead End made me look pretty. It was clear the DeWitt and Thor were more than friends. I eventually discovered they were just friends with benefits. Oliver was Thor's special friend. DeWitt and Dead End were size queens. Dead End had a taste for off-brand men, and my missing leg attracted him to me. My high-powered detective skills went to work, and I assumed there would be a sexual night cap after dinner.
I should have been annoyed that Thor would think I would want to get sexually involved with this odd group of men. Thor understood me well. Once I get the slightest whiff of potential sex, my natural reactions take charge. If the opportunity arose, I would be ready, willing and able.
DeWitt was wealthy and his house had an indoor pool. When DeWitt asked if anyone wanted a dip, I was ready. Thor and Oliver connected immediately. As my Uncle Jake had noticed years earlier, my cock made friends quickly. DeWitt and Dead End came to my cock like iron filings to a magnet.
"The cock of yours is fucking beautiful," Dead End said. Dead End wasn't a brilliant conversationalist.
"It's strange that you should say that, fucking is one of my favorite entertainments," I replied. I can do witty conversation too. We all got along well.
I later found out more about DeWitt. DeWitt had been drop-dead gorgeous and when he was younger had many admirers. He could pick anyone he wanted. He had an unexpected encounter with a brick mason. The mason's thick, uncut cock filled his entire ass with room enough only for a generous sperm deposit. DeWitt realized that what he thought was sex with the beautiful young things was little more than foreplay compared to the mason. Of course, he was deeply embarrassed and didn't let his upscale friends know.
DeWitt was a bottom feeder. Ugly, crude men turned him on. I knew how to play that role. Dead End was his lover. Dead End was a more complex. He was from a wealthy family that was ruined in a financial scandal. They lost everything including a notable art collection. Dead End used drugs and booze to deal with the disaster. DeWitt found him in the gutter, saved him and used him as an undercover agent.
Luckily for Dead End, his erection and sperm supply survived his addictions. That was doubly lucky for DeWitt. Dead End sucked me to a full erection and then I plowed DeWitt. He liked it a bit rough. I don't do rough, but I can be energetic, and DeWitt loved it. Dead End tapped me on the shoulder. I pulled out and Dead End slipped in the well-used ass. Oliver and Thor also took turns. Dead End was a cheerleader, urging the fuckers to screw harder.
I was watching the action from a couch when Dead End took a seat on my cock. I couldn't see the action, but Dead End did an impressive dance on my cock. He had a tight, almost prehensile ass, so I didn't object much. He got up and went to DeWitt to refill his hole. Oliver came to me and sat on my cock facing me. It was a tight fit, but Oliver was up to the challenge. As each inch of my cock slipped deeper into his ass, Oliver became more attractive.
Oliver tended to be sullen and unresponsive, but the on button for his personality was deep in his ass, and when my cock head flipped the switch, his personality made an appearance. Like me Oliver, had never been a pretty boy. Unlike me he didn't have a loving mother or helpful relatives. He was gay, and while he never really had a lover, Oliver used his open ass and deep throat to please needy men. If you couldn't find anyone to play with in your little black book, Oliver's number was on the back page and was willing.
In some ways the relationships between the men were already set. I was a little afraid a new cock in the ass of your lover might upset this. It wasn't a problem. The men seemed to regard my cock as a natural phenomenon. It was like a trip to the Grand Canyon. It was spectacular and fun, but you never went there and said you would never visit the Blue Ridge again because you saw the Grand Canyon.
Apparently, they also discovered that a warm, tight, well-used ass has its attractions. When Oliver was worn out, he relaxed, and you could get deeper into him. I was in a guest room that night with Oliver. I asked him if he ever got tired getting fucked.
"Not yet," he replied. "For years, I kind of hoped someone would find true love in my ass. That didn't happen but I found some friends. Has your monster cock ever found true love in an ass?"
"I am in love about a minute before and two minutes after I shoot off. The feelings seem to vanish with my erection," I replied.
Oliver laughed, "I've been there and done that! I know the feeling."
"I am pretty sure that multiple orgasms lead to friendships. Being-head-over-heals in love tends to fade. Friendships tend to grow," I remarked. "A warm ass and a nice exchange of body fluids can seal the deal." We chatted a little longer and them fell asleep.
I was hoping for a weekend of seeing the sites of Washington and mindless sex with Thor and his friends when I got a call from Ralph. A Totten family member, Cooter Totten was were shot and killed and the Sheriff wounded in what seemed to be a well-planned ambush. That could have been a family feud, but it could mean that they knew too much about the treasure hunt. Ralph was worried since the shell casings recovered at the site had markings in Cyrillic letters. That suggested Russian or Central European connection.
I told Thor. "I assume connections between Russia and rural Virginia is rare?" he said. "Are more members of the Totten family involved?"
"The Totten family reproduces like rabbits and most are involved in something," I said. I called my office and told them about the ambush. They were already working on it. Thor called his European office and had them searching for unusual activity. DeWitt went to his office with his staff members. We drove back to the Bay.
Ralph had hired armed guards to protect Good Luck Farm and Carlton Hill. Mr. Strauss wanted his daughter and grandchildren to come back to New York. His daughter, Alex, pointed out that Russian gangsters were more likely to be New York residents than rural Virginia locals. He compromised and moved with his wife to Carlton Hill. Mr. Strauss arrived with some major muscle.
Since my house was between the two farms, I needed no extra security. Max had a running list of everyone who stayed in local motels. And had his local contacts watching every move every Totten made. Something was wrong. The violence was way more that the situation justified. I figured the situation was different from what we assumed.
Amy Strauss was still going through the writings of our local author, M. E. Smith. Her novels had gone out of style by the 1940s, but she was still looking for possible stories. In her diary for 1944, she recorded a sighting of a U-Boat in the bay. She thought it could have been either real or just an alcohol induced fantasy. A man named Clune Totter claimed he saw a U-Boat at anchor and that men were unloading something from it. One of the men dropped a box. Clune claimed he saw a flash of gold as the box fell.
Miss Smith noted that Clune had a special skill conversing with the dead, and believed Bigfoot lived in the next trailer park. Even by the generous standards of the Totter family, Clune drank a lot. Miss Smith lost interest in the project, but she did write a story for the Sunday magazine of a local paper.
Amy was good. She googled Nazi Gold and Chesapeake and found a reference in an obscure site dating from four years earlier. The headline was, Author Discovers Nazi Gold. The article covered the possible sighting into something just short of the D Day invasion. It seemed to me that hiding gold in enemy territory was an odd choice. I wasn't entirely sure Hitler would have been welcome in Virginia after the war.
Amy looked at several articles on the site. They were a combination of fantasy and improbability with no effort at historical accuracy. The Nazi Gold story was in good company. It did mention M. E. Smith and it was possible that Wilton remembered the name. We knew he was interested in treasure. I called Edward and told him of Amy's discovery. He would look for a connection.
Thor and I went to see the Sheriff. He had been shot in the leg. The bullet had grazed the bone but not broken it. He was awake and ready to get back to work. Doctor Philips wasn't too happy about that. I had a little heart to heart about following Doctor's advice. I don't know if I convinced him, or if my missing leg did the trick.
It was a pure ambush with no warning. Cooter Totten was the target, and the Sheriff got in the way. I asked him about the Nazi story. He had heard about it as a kid, but the submarine was landing spies not gold. Spies were slightly more probable than gold, but the earlier efforts to land spies on Long Island was a disaster.
"It was supposed to be some time in December. It seems the end was near for Germany by then. I don't see what a spy could find that would have made a difference," the Sheriff observed. "How the U Boat got by the naval base in Norfolk is also a problem. The base was at 150% activity level in 1944, I assumed the U boat had to get in line to get past the base."
"The story was said to have originated with someone named Clune Totten. Do you remember that?" I asked.
He laughed, "He died shortly after I was born. For five dollars he would contact your dead mother. It is possible that Cooter was a grandson.," he said. "We are pretty solid on the mothers in the Totten family, but the fathers tend to be whoever was nearest during a full moon."
The Sheriff's son, Darren came in. I had taken care of the Sheriff's desire to get back to work the next day. Darren told me later that he was there to talk his father out of that, so he was relieved. He was a school teacher who had taught Cooter's son. "Cooter Junior was not a bad kid, but he so full of bull, that he had a hard time getting friends, or more correctly good friends," Darren explained. I asked him about Nazi gold. Darren said that was the biggest of his tall tales.
Clune Totten was probably his grandfather, although he could have been his Great uncle. As Darren told the story, Clune had almost captured the Nazis as they went back to the U Boat after they had buried the gold. Clune claimed he had known were it was, but someone had hit him on his head and knocked him out, so he had no memory of the location except it was near Lucky Farm. Lucky Farm did not exist, but Good Luck Farm did.
This story was more elaborate that M. E. Smith's notes indicated. I assumed Clune Totten had expanded it during multiple retellings. The Sheriff said that Old Timers said that Clune got braver in proportion to his moonshine consumption. Cooter Sr. had the same problem.
"Would any big time New York guy believe Cooter Sr.," I asked.
"Cooter Sr. was a born con man," the Sheriff said. "If you are a local, he would have fucked you over in school, so by the time you were an adult you were immune. If you met him for the first time, he was an engaging, interesting redneck. He had an ability to seem smarter than he was."
The painkillers began to take effect, so we left. Somehow, Thor and Darren had exchanged the secret handshake and Darren and Dr. Philips came with us to the house to talk things over. Apparently, Darren and the Doctor were more than friends. Darren was average in every way, balding, bearded and slim. The doctor looked the same but was well over six feet tall. Darren knew all the school scuttlebutt on the Totten family. New teachers were given a Totten as a student as an initiation.
Back at the house I made sandwiches for lunch and the Doctor, Darren and Thor went off for a sperm desert. After fifteen minutes Thor came to me. "Darren likes them big. Would you like to try him on for size?" I should have said no but saying no is not my strong suit. Thor went upstairs and brought Darren and the Doctor down. Darren and the Doctor were joggers, so they were in better shape than I had thought.
Darren liked my cock. The Doctor thought my amputation was beautifully done. I think that may be a sign of old age when you get compliments on the quality of the stiches after an amputation. Doc Philips had a good time with Thor as Darren massaged my cock with hos sphincter. They went home, and Thor went to his computer to check on activity in Europe. There was an outbreak of activity there and Thor left the next morning for London. That seems to be the center of the activity. There were several major auctions at the end of the next week and he wanted to check them out. The activity could be due to the killings in Virginia or the auctions. Whichever it was he wanted to be near the action.
Doctor Philips came by on Tuesday, looking for Thor. I told him he was in London. "I noticed that you two were getting along well," I said. Philips turned white.
"You could tell?" he asked. "I hope Darren didn't notice. I love Darren but my cock sure felt good in Thor."
"Did it bother you when I fucked Darren?" I asked.
"That was okay, but it's different for me," he said. "I have never been with anyone other than Darren. I didn't expect to fuck Thor. I came in him. I've never cum in an ass before."
"Did he complain?"
"Oh no! He liked it." Philips said. "I feel like I cheated on Darren."
"Darren, we need to have a heart to heart. Your true feelings about someone can be different than your sexual sensations," I explained. "Gay sex is not the basis for having kids and a family. Sometimes it may be the start of a long-term relationship. Usually it's just two guys having a good time. You and Thor had a good time, that's all. It might someday turn into a friendship, but it might not."
"I think Darren's interest in me was plain old curiosity," I said. "Most guys either are curious, or they want to know if they can take it. A few want to slum. They think I'm an ugly redneck and that turns them on. On guy described me as a pint-sized King Kong with the dick of death."
"Isn't that insulting!" Philips exclaimed.
"Well, not exactly. I get to stretch their asshole two sizes bigger and unload my balls in their behind. One way or the other, I'm the one who is smiling after I climax," I explained.
The phone rang. It was Templeton with some information about Wilton from his banker gossip connections. Wilton was on a yacht named the Moonglow sailing in the Chesapeake. The yacht was owned by a little-known billionaire Sergei Rachmaninoff. The Billionaire's money was deeply suspect and associated with gun running. He supplied many areas also associated with looted antiquities. It was said he gave discounts to those who could provide art works for his private collection.
I called the Deputy Sheriff and my FBI connection and gave them the information. I then called Dewitt and told him about the yacht and Rachmaninoff.
"Holy shit! We have struck the mother lode!" he replied. "Christmas has come early this year!"