Catfish Goes to Washington
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a sexual fantasy with no effort made at real life experiences. If you object to gay fiction, DO NOT READ. This story is not for you. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymen@aol.com.
I was surprised when Edmund Willamette came by to see me. He was a board member of the local university and I had done some work for some friends of his. He was the president of a large insurance company. We had met once, but I only knew him casually.
"Mr. Noland," he said. "I spoke with one of my friends and he told me you could be trusted. I have a peculiar situation that I don't know how to handle. I am a rather conventional man, and my experiences are limited. Please don't take offence at anything I say. A friend said you were gay and well acquainted with the gay community."
"Is that a problem?" I asked.
"Oddly, that is what I need," Willamette replied. "It's a problem with my older son. I realize he's gay, but there is something going on with him that worries me. He's in the Navy."
"Is this a, don't ask, don't tell problem?"
"I don't think so, but I'm not sure," Willamette said. "He has been dipping into his trust fund heavily for the last few months. He's not buying a house and doesn't seem to have any unusual expenditures. I think he's being blackmailed."
"Have you asked him?"
"I tried and it wasn't a success," he said. "I did find out the monies were going to something called the Mandrake Club. It seems to some sort of a gay social club in D.C."
"I'm afraid I don't much run in social club circles," I said. We talked for a while and I suggested he try to talk to his son again. "It may be something simple and innocent. I'd try talking again. Is he out?"
"Not at all," Willamette said. "He's moving up in the Navy and that would be disastrous for his career."
"Does he know you know?"
"No."
"Well, maybe you could let him know you support him regardless," I said. "He may be afraid of your reaction." Willamette agreed and left. I thought nothing more about the conversation until I saw a news story in the paper.
The headline read, "The body of Commander William D, Willamette found floating in the Tidal Basin in Washington. Cause of death unknown." The article went on to describe his career and background in Richmond. It was light on actual detail of the death. I was unhappy about this; afraid it might be a suicide.
The funeral notice a day later referred to his death "under suspicious circumstances." That means murder. If it had been suicide, they normally wouldn't mention the cause of death at all.
The day after the funeral, Mr. Willamette came to my office again. He had talked with his son and his son had told him he was gay. "It was a great relief to him," Willamette said. "He said he had made some bad choices, but he would work it out. I asked if I could help, but he said I already had. Someone killed him a week later."
"Any clues?" I asked. "How are the police doing?"
"They aren't doing much," the distraught father said. "I talked with one of his friends, Lt. Commander Frederic and asked if the Mandrake Club might have something to do with it. He turned white and said "Oh shit." He wouldn't tell me any more."
"That sure sounds like a clue to me," I said. "Have you told the police?"
"No, not yet," he replied, "After Frederic's response I thought it might be good to do more investigating. I don't know the lie of the land. Can you help me?"
"I'll make some calls and see what's up," I said. He left. I called a few of my friends in D.C. The first two guys had never heard of the Mandrake Club, but one had a friend who was a congressional aide. He gave me the aide's number.
I called him that evening. It took a while to get him to talk. He called my friends and confirmed I was whom I said I was, then called back,
"Is this Catfish?" he asked. When I said I was, he went on. "This is Roger, the guy you talked to earlier. You want to know about the Mandrake Club?"
"That's my interest," I said.
"Well, I really don't know much, but I have heard rumors," he said. I was sure he knew a lot more than rumors. "Technically it's a men's club, sort of like the sort you found in Victorian England. The members are all distinguished upper crust guys. Most aren't effeminate, but there is an air about the place."
"Bow ties and well-pressed shirts?" I asked.
"You got it. It has a distinctly conservative clientele," Roger said. "Some are Republicans, but others are to the right of that. Some are well to the right."
"Heil Hitler style?"
"Let's just say they like the great leader and captains of industry," Roger said. "Not my kind of guys. I did run into one of the boys who work there. Not my type either, but cute and very boyish."
"Virginal?"
Roger laughed. "He sure looked the part, but as Mae West said, I use to be snow white, but I drifted. This kid had drifted from the Arctic wastes to the equator."
"Did he provide special services to the club members?" I asked.
Roger laughed again. "I don't know, but I am surprised if he didn't. He liked older men and he wasn't the shy type. His interest in me dimmed when he discovered I wasn't a sugar Daddy." We talked for a while, and I decided to go to Washington and I asked if I could visit with him.
"Your friends told me you are a small guy," Roger said, "except where it counts."
"Are you a size queen?" I asked.
"I wouldn't say that, but I do have an interest," Roger replied. "You could say I'm a bit curious."
"I don't mind satisfying a guy's curiosity," I said. We agreed to meet on Friday. After the call, I contacted Mr. Willamette and told him I had a modest lead.
"You know there's no way to know where an investigation might lead." I said. He said he wanted to know what happened, "something smells in Denmark."
I met Roger for dinner in a small, out of the way Georgetown restaurant. The place barely had a sign, but the food was good and the atmosphere was quiet and pleasant. At first I thought Roger was forty, but as we chatted I realized he was much closer to 6o. He worked at looking young. He had been in Washington for a long while and knew the ropes.
The Mandrake Club was just barely in his radar range. He worked for liberal North Eastern representative, and was defiantly not one of the elect who joined the Mandrake. "I'm not sure there's enough oxygen in the place to permit intelligent thought." He said. "Died in the wool reactionaries aren't my type. Most seem to be of the pompous and sanctimonious bent."
After dinner we went to his apartment and Roger became a lot more talkative. We had a few drinks. I was taking a leak when he came in and checked me out. He liked my cock, but he loved the piss. This isn't my thing, but I don't mind helping a guy out. Piss is piss as far as I can tell, but Roger had a spectacular orgasm as he drank mine. After he apologetically told me he wasn't into anal much. I said it was okay.
We had a drink and he told me more about the Mandrake Club. He suspected there was a sexual aspect to it. His young playmate had mentioned the Club had lost its only horse hung top and the members were unhappy about that. The young man had been otherwise discrete and that was his only slip.
"From the way he talked about the horse hung top, I think it wasn't only the members who missed him," Roger said. "There was some longing in his voice."
"I'd like to talk with this guy," I said.
"You're not his type, except for your cock. I do have his number; do you want me to call him?" Roger asked. "We'd have a lot better chance of getting him here it there was some show and tell."
"I'm willing, but maybe you can introduce me as your cousin, Noland, from out of town," I suggested. "I don't want anyone to know I'm here on business. " Roger understood and called his friend, Lonnie.
Somehow I became Rogers distant and very country cousin. "The guy looks like a straggly monkey, but he's hung like a fucking horse," I overheard Roger saying. "You've got to see it to believe it." Lonnie appeared at the apartment door a half hour later.
It wasn't love at first sight, but as soon as Lonnie saw my cock, all was well. I had stacked the deck by wearing a towel when we met. Once it dropped, Lonnie was hooked. Roger was amused. Lonnie was a classic size queen. When he saw my cock, he had a deer caught in the headlights look to him. Lonnie just stared at it. Lonnie wasn't handsome. He was pretty. He looked a lot younger than he was, but he worked at looking like a teenager.
Lonnie wasn't my type at all. He had that annoying tendency to treat you as if you were just there on approval. He was self confident, self assured and he wouldn't have given me a second look if Roger hadn't clued him in on my cock.
Poor Lonnie was torn between desire for my cock and no attraction for me otherwise. I guessed my cock would win, and I was right. I also had a strong premonition that once my cock was in his ass to the hilt, Lonnie would lose his airs.
After introductions Roger said he was tired and was going to bed, but we could use the guest room if we wanted. The second Roger closed his bedroom door. Lonnie got naked. He was thin and hairless, except for his pubic bush. It took an entire three seconds to realize he wanted it in the ass.
Roger had cunningly left a tube of lubricant on the bedside table. Lonnie was small, but experienced. I fingered his ass and found he was already lubricated. He twitched and shivered as I played with his ass. He wanted my cock badly, but he was tight. It almost took a shoe horn to get my cock in his ass. It took some work, but it was worth it.
Lonnie complained I was trying to split him in half at first, but the complaints turned into whimpers, then moans. I'm not opposed to combining work and pleasure. Lonnie wasn't my type, but he had a good ass and was a responsive bottom. Lonnie coverted from being a stuck up twerp, to a genuinely appreciative bottom slut. From time to time I caught him doing his whore routine. He cried, "I've never felt anything so big before," and "I've always liked older men," from time to time. When he did this I give him a nice hard thrust and winded him.
After about fifteen minutes, had got the swing of things. He was one of those guys who almost has a prehensile ass. He would open up his ass lips to let me in, then would try to clamp tight once I was in. I was having a good old time pumping hard when he exploded. There was cum everywhere. He must have lost a pound of two of his body weight. His love tunnel contacted and squeezed my cock every time he ejaculated. I've only known a few guys who did that, and I shot my load deep in his love chute.
Much to my surprise, my climax set him off again. His second orgasm wasn't as spectacular as the first, but it was damn good.
"You're good at that," he said after he got his breath back. "I been worked over by one, or two guys and you're the best."
"I take it you aren't a virgin?" I asked.
"Well, to tell you the truth, if I have to be a virgin, it costs a little extra," he said. "I'm a waiter at a swank private club. For extra services I get more than a good tip, if you get my drift."
"If I could make a living fucking, I'd be a happy guy," I said. "It would sure beat working in a Seven-Eleven."
"Is that what you do?"
"I am between engagements," I said. "I'm here looking for a job. It has to be a lot easier to get a job here than in south West Virginia. I've been a janitor, a prison guard and a locker room attendant as well as a cash register jockey."
"You like sex a lot?"
"Couldn't you tell?" I asked. "Some people might say I like sex way too much. I'm not a young guy anymore, but it's still exciting to get into a new ass. My problem is I just like sex. I'm not much into romance. The modern style for gay men is to be all lovey dovie. That ain't my style."
"You're not looking for a LTR?"
"I like variety too much for that," I replied. "I just don't seem to be satisfied with one. To tell you the truth as far as I'm concerned the more the merrier. I got my start in man sex at an interstate rest stop. It was nasty, superficial and just sex. It was also hot as hell!"
All this talk about sex, got me going again. I got Lonnie to sit on my cock and we continued our conversation. My second trip up Lonnie's love canal was a revelation. I had fucked him for a solid half hour, but his ass was just as tight as it had been before. It was hard not to believe he was a virgin. He took his time to impale himself, but he had a slightly crazed look of determination on his face.
I'm no fool. I knew Lonnie was a calculating user, but once my cock was more than halfway in his hole, he lost his ability to think straight. That's happened to me a few times when the rush of sexual sensations totally overwhelms any other thoughts. When it happened to me, it was on a purely social occasion. This was business for me and I'm afraid I took advantage of Lonnie's vulnerability.
We talked as he bounced around on my cock. Every time Lonnie almost got his wits back, I'd give him a hard thrust and he go back to cock heaven. Lonnie was a farm boy from rural Indiana with the sex drive of a rutting bull. He got out of Indiana as soon as he could and his job at the Mandrake club was his ticket to the big time. He liked associating with the great and powerful.
He wasn't the brightest bulb in the hardware store, but he discovered his boyish looks and sex drive made up for that. He got paid for his extra services, but he really liked it when he got an invitation to go sailing, or to a party. One man was paying for him to go to college. He liked most of the men he slept with. "Even if I don't, how bad can a blow job be?" he asked.
"Are most of the guys who work at the club pretty boys like you?" I asked.
Lonnie nodded. "Everyone but Tyrone. He was the yard man who took care of the heavy lifting," he explained. "He was old, maybe 45, or 50 and hung like Godzilla. His cock was like yours, but thinner. Some of the members like a trip on the wild side. Getting fucked by a big, Black buck turned them on. Tyrone left a week ago and he is missed." Lonnie looked at me. He rotated his ass and moaned. I bounced my hips and my cock went deeper. Lonnie's eyes rolled back into his head. I had hit a new spot.
"There's a job opening if you want it," Lonnie said when he came back to earth.
"Do you think a redneck, hillbilly love stick can replace your black horse cock?"
Lonnie looked at me again. "You look kind of scary and rough. I think they'd like that," he said. "It's the cock that counts, and that you have." I hadn't planned to start a career as a male hooker at a private men's club, but I saw some real advantages.
"How do I get the job?" I asked. "Is there an interview process?"
"I don't really know," he said. "I can find out." I gave him another hard bounce and we stopped talking shop. When he left, I gave him my phone number at a hotel. He said he'd call me the next day.
When I got back to the hotel, I gave Mr. Willamette a call and gave him the lowdown. I left out a few details. "I was thinking I'd try working there for a week or two and see if anything develops."
"Is something illegal going on there?" he asked.
"Something's going on," I said. "Legally it's misdemeanors at the most, but as a career killer, exposure would be the kiss of death."
"My son was involved?"
"He could have been involved, or he could have discovered something," I said. "Something big enough to justify murder."
Later that day Lonnie called. I went over to the club to meet the manager at 3:00 that after noon. I thought I might brush up on my Southwest Virginia drawl, then laughed to myself. I had the impression my accent had mellowed through the years, but that wasn't the way anyone else saw it.
The manager's name was Rutherford Mills, and he looked like a 1930's era lounge lizard. He didn't like my look at all. It was late fall and I was wearing a parka. Under it I had well-worn jeans. When Rutherford saw the outline of my cock his interest in me peaked. If you had a transcript of the meeting, you would have thought it was a normal job interview. Rutherford outlined the duties.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Rutherford, I'll do whatever is needed," I said. "I've got no problem helping where help is needed."
"I like good attitude," he conceded. He hired me for a month probationary period. The salary was good, but not good enough to get an apartment in D.C. I asked if he knew of any apartments nearby. I hit the jackpot.
"If you want there's the old caretaker's rooms in the basement," Rutherford said. "It's just a small bedroom, sitting room and a half bath, but the price is right. You have to use the pool shower room."
"That sounds good to me," I said. "When do you want me to start work?"
"How about tomorrow morning?" I had a job.
The club occupied a big, Federal Style building in north west Washington. There was a small parking area in the rear and an elaborate, but overgrown garden next to it. Tyrone's strengths were genital, not horticultural. My Mom and her sister were picky on the subject of pruning and trimming, and on my first day I trimmed up some bushes. This was a success with the members. It originally had been a topiary garden and I discovered the lump of foliage was a topiary bird.
I also helped an elderly man get his Lincoln Towncar out of the parking area. I have no problems with tight parking lots. I made friends easily. I looked so different from the rest of the staff, they all knew me by sight.
On my third day there I interrupted a mugging on the street in front of the club. One of the neighbor ladies was walking her dog at 6:30 in the morning. I was on my way to sweep the sidewalk and walked right into it. I bellowed, "What the fuck is going on!" then tackled him before he realized what was going on. Somehow he managed to break a leg as he tried to escape. He woman's dog was a feisty Pekinese and did his best to relive the mugger of his nose. It was a satisfactory interlude for me and the dog.
The police were happy too. The mugger had been a problem. I almost got my picture in the paper, but I told the reporter I had some woman problems back home and it would be best if I kept a low profile. I suggested the attack of the killer Pekinese might be a better story. The dog, Puffball, appeared with a photograph of the mugger and his bandaged nose on the front of the local section of the Post.
I was getting along well with the members, if not the staff. The boys who waited tables seem to think I was an alien from another planet. No one had asked me for any special favors, but I had been wearing my older jeans. My Mom always said you shouldn't put on display what's not for sale. She spoke with respect to women's clothing. The wear pattern on my jeans made it clear what I was packing. My cock, balls and even my cock head were clearly indicated. I got glances, but no takers until after the mugging.
I was covered in grime and the mugger blood after he mugging. I took a shower during regular club hours. Normally I was the shower before or after the regular times of operation. Several men took long showers and we talked. They didn't know I was living in the basement and I let slip my schedule for showering. The rest of the day was spent pruning. The garden was slowly getting in shape.
The club had rooms for the members use on the upper floor. Several lived out of town and used them where they were visiting. One Senator and one Congressman were regular residents. The rooms had their own baths, so I didn't see the residents on the lower level of the building, unless they were swimmers.
When the pool and exercise facility closed at 11:00 I went to take a shower. I was sure someone would show up, but was wondering when it might happen. The place was empty when I got there, but a few minutes after I turned the shower someone came in. I didn't recognize the man.
"Is there room for another guy in here?" he asked in a thick Southern Accent. He was deep South, maybe Mississippi or Alabama.
"There sure is," I answered, "Are you finishing a late exercise session?"
"I don't seem to have hot water in my shower upstairs," he said. "Are you the new guy who got the mugger this morning?" I nodded. "The name is Noland. I'm the new gardener." I washed my hair so he could get a good look at me.
"I'm Johnson," he said. He was wearing a towel when he came in the room, he hung it up, and took a shower head across from me. Johnson was a tall, beefy, young man, maybe forty. He looked as if he had been an athlete. He had a gut, but made some effort to stay in shape.
"Damn, I thought I was hairy," he said. "You take the cake."
"We all get the cards we're dealt," I said. "I was short changed in the size division, but God must have doubled up on the body hair. That, or I'm the missing link between men and apes."
"Hair isn't the only thing God doubled up on," he said.
I laughed. "You noticed?" I said. "I had an Uncle who said if I was naked all the time, I'd be the most popular guy in town. He had the same cock I have, but he married a woman who had a lot of headaches. Sometimes life ain't fair."
"It looks like something you'd find in a museum of medical oddities," he said, laughing.
"When I die, I may give it to science," I replied. "As of now, I like it attached and in working order. I'm getting old, but there's a lot more fun left in it."
"You aren't the shy type, are you?" he asked, I looked at him and saw his cock was firming up. I smiled.
"I don't seem that shy anymore. We all have the same equipment. We all know how it works," I said. "You're looking good too." His cock was at half staff and getting harder. Johnson blushed. "It's nice to know everything's in working order." I turned off the water and dried off. Johnson looked as if he was at a loss of what to do next.
"I was thinking of having a night cap before bed," I said. "Would you like to join me in my ultra stylish in-town apartment?"
"I thought you had a room in the basement," Johnson said.
"It's all in the way you look at it," I replied. He smiled and followed me to my rooms. My window air conditioner was making an ineffectual effort to cool the room. I dropped my towel and made drinks. "Is Bourbon and water okay for you?" he said sure. He kept his towel on, but there was no way to hide his excitement.
Johnson took a quick gulp. "It's odd to be having a drink with a naked guy," he said. "It's never happened before to me."
"Believe it or not, it happens to me quite a bit," I said. "Most guys are naturally curious, and most guys are really curious about cock, especially when they are big, like me."
"Does that bother you?"
"Nah., it natural," I said. "It comes with the territory. There are two kinds of men in the world, those who are interested in big cocks, and those who are interested and pretend they aren't. Which are you?"
Johnson looked panicked for a second then said, "the later I'm afraid. Damn it's big!"
"That's more like it," I said. "Just relax and go with the flow." Johnson was sitting down and I was standing. I stepped closer to him and peeled back the skin, exposing my cock head. He leaned forward. I stepped closer. I was getting hard by now. That did nothing to reduce my cock's appeal.
"I've never done this before," Johnson whispered.
"Well, you're lucky to be starting at the top," I said. He didn't suck me at first. He kissed it and then flicked his tongue on the bloated gland.
"What should I do now?" he asked.
" I was hoping you would just relax," I said. I got on my knees, opened his towel and deep throated his organ. He must have shot off a year or two's supply of cum. Ejaculation followed ejaculation until he was drained. I took it all.
Johnson was weeping. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that," he cried.
"I loved every drop of it," I said. He leaned forward and took my cock in his mouth. When I started to shoot, he sucking on it like a baby on his mother's breast.