Catfish has a New Friend
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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Things settled down after my mother died. She had good taste in people, and the people handling her estate were good. It wasn't just the top executives in the lawyers and accountant's offices; the secretaries and bookkeepers were all good.
The estate came to me, and I transferred most of it to the Day Care center and local charities. It wasn't a huge estate, but it was big for local charities. A year later I had a call from Roddy. He had sold the farm and was hoping to start a new life.
He was enrolling in a local college and was looking for a place to live in Richmond. I told him to come over and see me. I was in a high-rise apartment overlooking the James in downtown. He came by and we talked. He knew he needed to get away from his past. At home he was just the dumb son of marginal farmer. Everyone knew he wouldn't amount to much. I thought Roddy wasn't quite ready for a big city like Richmond. Everything was new to him and overwhelming.
He was intelligent and had done well in school. His life had been home, church and school, so he knew little other than what they taught in a rural school system. He had no social life other than with relatives and church members. He had never had a drink with a friend or been to a concert or play. He had sung in the Church Choir. He was a bass by the time he was 14.
I suggested he stay with me. I had three bedrooms and he could stay rent free. Roddy wouldn't accept charity. I told him my driver had moved on and a little help around the house would be good. That worked for him. He mentioned that we had sex months earlier.
"Don't worry, sex is not part of the deal," I said.
"I wouldn't mind if there was a little sex involved. That would be okay for me, if you want it?" Roddy said.
"Not every day but maybe every week or too?" I suggested.
He nodded, but then added, "Maybe every other day would not be so bad." We laughed and had a deal.
I barely knew him, but he had some good characteristics. He was a neat freak and my apartment never looked better. He liked to cook and do laundry.
He also got along with older men. That oddly included most of most of my friends. I knew that I was getting older, but it surprised me that my friends were doing the same. He loved doing little home repairs and improvement projects for me and my friends. If anyone needed something done, he was willing.
Roddy got involved in a club softball team and met younger men there. He was a star, dependable and affable. The softball team wasn't officially gay, but it was gay friendly, especially if you were a good player.
The softball team introduced him to a modern social life. I was shocked to realize that my social life seemed to be sophisticated to him. My work with cultural institutions meant I went to art shows, plays and concerts. I was still loosely associated with my firm, and threats tended to evolve and change. My firm thought I had a good nose for these changes.
Roddy was shy and quiet but friendly. He was also sexually generous, not wild or promiscuous, but willing and adaptable. Roddy defined low stress, high enjoyment sex. I had discovered his high-test sperm. His balls must have been very productive. It took him some time to shoot off and I liked milking him. He oozed high quality precum and he loved it when I took his load. His father looked for the sticky remains of masturbation, so when I took his load and sucked until the post orgasmic drool was over, he was happy. There was no evidence.
His best friend on the softball team was an Electrician called Sparky. Sparky was slight, small man who was comfortable in small tight spaces. More importantly, he was a good and precise electrician. If he did it, it was right. You didn't need to inspect it if he did it. He was in his late 40ies but looked younger. Sparky made Roddy seem sophisticated. He was from somewhere in Southside and had problematic parents. His mother had married four times, and there had been a slew of interim "uncles."
Sparky thought Roddy was handsome and smart. I had a feeling that Sparky was more of the quick blowjob in the restroom kind of guy. After a rain delayed game, Roddy called me and asked if he could bring Sparky home to shower; they were both covered in mud. It said sure. They came up the freight elevator, carrying their shoes.
They dumped their clothes in the laundry room, and I told them to use my oversized shower. I am my mother's son and I did the laundry. They had a long shower. I looked in and told them their clothes would be ready in about an hour.
A little later Roddy came to me. "Sparky and I were thinking about having some fun. Is that okay with you?" he asked.
I smiled. "I'm not sure I have ever had a problem with fun. It's not a problem."
Roddy was uneasy. "I kind of told Sparky about you. He would sort of like to see it," he added.
"Is this a little show and tell session?" I asked.
"It might be a show and lick session," he explained. Roddy had been open to fun with my friends. I figured I could be friendly with Sparky. I went to the bedroom.
Sparky was slightly taller and much more muscular than I am. I stripped. "Damn, that thing belongs in a museum," Sparky said as soon as he saw my cock. He dropped to his knees and began sucking. He was a skilled cock sucker and was interested in my cock head.
After a short while I said, "Don't forget your pal, he looks ripe." Roddy got on the bed and Sparky bent over to suck him. His ass was open. He had a neat pucker around a pretty rosebud. I'm not into rimming at all, but the rosebud was so cute. I was going finger it to push it into his hole, but somehow, I used my tongue rather than a finger. I tasted soap from his shower and ended up tongue fucking it into the hole.
"Are you going to fuck me buddy?" Sparky asked.
"Do you like to be fucked?" I asked.
"Roddy's done me. It was good. You're in another weight class," he replied.
"You should try it," Roddy said laughing. "He might split you in two. I wouldn't mind having two of you." Just then, Roddy shot off. He and Sparky had a nice exchange of ball fluids and Sparky went home.
Later that evening, Roddy asked if I would have really fucked Sparky. I asked if Sparky was a special friend.
"Not really, but we are pals," Roddy said. "He really lonely and needs a friend. I guess I need friends too."
"You can't have too many friends and you definatly can't have too many friends with benefits." I said. "It's good to be close to a pal."
"He's fucked me. It wasn't a good as yours, but it was good," Roddy said.
"Don't mistake good sex with love. Sometimes your cock finds a different true love than your mind. Let's just say your cock can be short sighted," I said. "My cock is not a dream come true for every man, and that includes some size queens. They may want it, but it doesn't fit."
"Can you force it in?" he asked.
"I seem to have missed getting the rapist's gene. If the other guy doesn't want it, I lose my erection. It takes two to Tango."
Roddy laughed. "I can see your point. I have a feeling that Sparky has had his share of bad sex. Some guys think aggressiveness is part of being a real man."
"If you are a real man, your playmate wants it," I said. "You don't need to force it."
A little later, Lloyd invited me to a party on Wednesday at house in the West End. He liked mid-week parties because no one had plans unlike the weekend. Almost everyone is free on Wednesdays. I told Roddy about the party explaining it was more orgy than party. "All of the guests are pretty open minded." I told him he was welcome if he was into group play.
"Exactly how openminded are they?" he asked.
"There is a lot of sucking and fucking. I think just about everyone is versatile," I explained. "The men aren't aggressive, but no one is a shrinking violet either. Most of the men are my age but there are some guys your age."
He decided to join me at the party. Lloyd greeted me at the door, with Carl and Tony. They were already nude. A retired professor, Donaldson, was there with his house boy, Wellington. Donaldson much taken by Roddy. He was from that part of the state, even though he had replaced his southside accent with an Oxford accent. It had taken me a while to realize he was brilliant and had a degree from Oxford.
Wellington was a big, Black man who was desperate to escape from Southside. Donaldson was paying for his college. I had thought that Donaldson had brought his boy-toy to show him off. Wellington loved sex and seemed to be pretty much insatiable. I think Donaldson brought him so he could have a rest. Wellington had a shaved head, muscular body and an impressive cock. I never saw him soft. He was either semi-erect or spectacularly erect.
While Donaldson and Roddy talked, I walked by Wellington who was fucking a happy man named Ruprecht doggy style. Ruprecht was a visiting middle-aged, German businessman.
"You're sure good for a white guy," Wellington commented. "I had heard about you, but you're still a surprise. They didn't mention the missing leg." He was making deep strokes into the German's ass. He pulled out most of the way so you could see the full length of his tool.
Ruprecht looked up saw my cock and opened his mouth wide. I stepped closer and he began sucking it. Wellington smiled.
Lloyd's parties were typically more restrained than this. Overt sexual activity usually developed after an hour or two. I looked around. My friend Templeton was talking with Lloyd.
Ruprecht was there with an associate, Hans. Hans seemed to think I was a Hillbilly, an exotic type of person he had never met before. I thought that was a step up since most men think I'm the missing link. He liked me and Roddy; it was the Beverly Hillbillies come to life. He was Roddy's age, and a blond Nordic god. Sex can sometimes be a voyage of discovery and Hans discovered he was a bottom with Roddy and a sex-crazed bottom with me. It was a good night for all of us.
When Roddy drove me home, Sparky was waiting for us at the parking deck gate. He was with a young guy and they were scared. At the apartment they explained the situation. Sparky and his friend Gill had been at a country and western bar when a brawl broke out. Then there were gunshots. Sparky was smart and fast. He ran out the kitchen door pulling Gill behind him.
A brawl at a bar was not so unusual, but when ten or twenty police cruisers passed them on the way to the bar, Sparky realized it had been more than a brawl. He turned on the radio and found out it was a mass casualty situation. He wanted to hide so he and Sparky came to me. I called my office and found that 15-20 people were dead. That was everyone in the bar except for the shooters who had fled, Sparky and Gill. They had seen the shooters.
Catfish &Company has three levels of cooperation with the police. They were suspicious of us at first, but since we never claim credit for our work, we tend to work together. There are three tiers of co-operation. We have official liaisons with them, unofficial connections and third level of barely audible whispers. I immediately knew this was in the whisper category. A mass murder including the bar's patrons, waiters, bartenders and cooks was done by unusually ruthless perps.
I called my oldest Police contact, retired Captain John Knight. I spoke to his wife, who told John, "It's him again," and I talked with him. I told him I had two witnesses at my apartment, and I thought they might be safer if no one knew there were any survivors of the massacre. He said that made sense to him, but he would have to get back to me.
Knight was at my apartment an hour later. He interviewed Sparky and Gill. Four men came into the bar just before closing time. They wore denim jackets with a patch on the arms of a diamond shape divided into quarters. Two men had backpacks and one had a duffle bag. They sat at a table in the corner. They suddenly pulled out weapons and began to shoot.
Sparky was next to the back entrance and he pulled Gill out. Gill thought the men were aiming at specific people and was surprised they had killed everyone in the bar when he heard it on the radio. The men were tall, butch and two were bearded. Sparky's car was located a block away in a dark alley. I figured out it was there in case he needed a place for some sex in the car if he got lucky.
Knight knew of the diamond patch. It was a distorted swastika used by a group called "Homefront Guardians." They were mostly anti-Semitic, but they were generally anti-everything. They were mostly a West Virginia group. The police also had found literature of a group calling itself "The Christian Homeland" in a van parked near the door. Knight had never heard of that group. Knight went into my bedroom to make a private call.
Three hours later the vacant penthouse apartment next to me was occupied by an older couple and their college age children. They were all police. The apartment house souped-up security, but with mass murders on the loose, everyone increased security.
The next day, Catfish & Company was working at full staff and had called in retired and part time staff to fill in the gaps. The police revealed the name of the Christian Homeland group. They wanted to turn the country into a theocratic state with true Christian values. Heretical sects, such as Catholics, Greek Orthodox and most main line Protestant denominations were not Christian enough. They followed a prophet named Nelson Neumann. He wanted to establish camps to re-educate the false Christians. Nelson was one of the dead.
The Homefront Guardians were neofascists who believed the land belong to the strong and the well-armed. The weak existed only to serve. They were mostly atheist, although a few seemed partial to Wotan. Extreme violence was their weapon.
Neither group placed a high value on reality. The Christian groups assumed that God would intervene to carry them to power. The Homeland group placed its trust in musclebound men with automatic weapons. They both seemed to think that by simply stating their case, millions would convert to their point of view.
There was a feud between the groups, of which, no one seemed to be aware.
Gill was in town looking for a job. He was 22, not quite handsome, but cute. He had discovered his sexual preferences and left home to make his fortune and explore his sexual interests. He had dropped in the bar by accident. Sparky was the only guy at the bar to be pleasant to him. Gill was looking at Roddy with clear interest.
The plan was to keep the information about the Homefront Guardians secret. That gave the police and FBI a chance to investigate and a get ready for potential raids. Given the massacre, they weren't going to come without a fight. The official line was that the police were following multiple leads. We hoped this would lull the group into a false sense of security.
I was stuck in the apartment with Sparky and Gill being periodically interviewed, but they knew nothing other than being eyewitnesses. Sparky was useful because of his eye for detail. Knight asked us not to watch television. He didn't want something we saw or heard to affect our memories. The police were done with them by noon.
If you asked yourself, how would four gay guys entertain themselves, you might guess that we had no problem occupying the time. We also discovered some ways the take the edge off horrific experiences. Roddy and Gill hit it off big time. That left Sparky and me twiddling our thumbs.
Technically, we didn't spend that much time twiddling. Sparky was two inches taller than me, but we had matching sexual drives. He discovered his size queen tendencies. I had a suspicion he acquired the tastes of whatever man he was with. We took a shower, dried off and got on the bed. Apparently, there is a cock seeking gene affecting my prostate. I sat on his rock-hard cock.
He was shocked and dazzled. He told me that he tended to be a rest stop aficionado. The bed was exciting for him, and he topped only rarely. He fell in love as his cock slipped deeper into my ass. His cock was average, but it seemed like a good fit for me. He was uncut, and his knob loved rubbing my ass. I bounced a little and it was great for both of us.
When he got off, I sucked his drooling cock. He was close.
"Do you want me to sit on your cock?" he asked in a way that indicated he wanted me to say no, but he was willing to try. I said no. My cock is not for the timid.
Roddy knocked on the door and asked if we were busy. I said yes, but there was room for them. Gill had never played in a group. I don't know if he was interested, but when he saw my cock it exerted its usual hypnotic effect on him. I knew that being an ugly man was one thing, but a horse-hung, ugly man was another. Gill liked it and Sparky went to Roddy.
I'm not sure Gill knew what to do with my cock, but he was sure interested in trying it out. I solved some of his problems by getting him into the sixty-nine position. As soon as my lips touched his knob, his precum began to flow. A few minutes later it turned in what seemed like buckets of cum. I shot off and Gill took it. He fell asleep still nursing my cock.
John Knight came by at 3:00 in the afternoon to give us an update. They had discovered a lot, none of it good. There was to have been a summit of extremist groups in Richmond. They were to have pooled their resources to increase their influence. There were a half dozen groups.
The Homefront Guardians took this event as a chance to eliminate the opposition. "None of the groups have a firm grip on reality," Knight said. "To say there are mental issues understates the case."
"Are you saying there may be five groups of deranged extremists floating around the city?" I asked.
"That seems to be the case," Knight said. It was Friday. I assumed that Anti-Semitism was a common thread in all the groups. Since Catfish & Company provided security for several Synagogues, I called the office and gave them a heads up. It was Thursday so we could soup-up security. The Richmond Police provided the visible security, but we walked the neighborhood scouting for potential problems.