Millstone, Chapter Two
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All Rights Reserved © 2020, Rick Haydn Horst Formerly known as Rick Heathen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Thank you for delving into this work; I hope you enjoy it.
Hanging the Chimney Hook: a Millstone & Roche Investigation, By Rick Haydn Horst
Chapter Two
Neither of us had made a trip across the continent. We had premium economy seats, and while I hadn't expected first class, I wished it were. Some complimentary champagne wouldn't have gone amiss; after all, it was my 38th birthday again.
The plane sat three passengers on one side of the aisle and two on the other. We had the two together-seats; I got the far-right seat next to the window as Max sat on the aisle, and nuns filled the three additional seats in our row. We saw a couple of older sisters in the far seats who fell asleep once they buckled in, and one, closer to our age, sat on the aisle. The awake one across from Max struck up a conversation with us.
"I'm Sister Foustina, and these two are Sisters Sleepy and Grumpy." She laughed. "Please, forgive my little joke; we're returning from the Vatican, so we've flown quite far, with delays and layovers. I've never been able to sleep on planes without help, and like them, I'm exhausted. I can get a little silly the longer I stay awake. I have a pill to take with dinner; I hope it works."
"That's okay, I understand. I'm Max Roche, and this is my buddy Howard Millstone. So, where are you headed?"
"We're returning to Franklin, and you two?"
"We're going to Franklin as well," I said.
She looked us up and down. "You're visiting someone?"
"No, we're moving there," I said. "May I ask why you thought we were visiting someone?"
"To utilize their terminology," she said, "the norm population of Franklin is quite low. If you see someone who looks like a norm there, they're probably from the LGBT community, and I could be mistaken, but I hadn't gotten that impression from either of you."
"Norm? You mean `normals,' like the three of us," I said, allowing her to make her assumptions.
"Oh no, if there were groups of people who belonged in Franklin, it's sisters and nuns." She smiled. "People who live outside of Franklin don't understand. They judge superficially. Without knowing them as individuals, they judge the goths, for example, by their appearance as objectionable, and they assume what's inside them is equally objectionable. They view them as freaks, but they merely express themselves in their appearance, as do nuns and sisters. They also view life and this world differently than most people, as do nuns and sisters. You've not been to Franklin, have you?"
"No, we haven't," said Max.
"But you're moving there."
"Yes," I said.
"Well, I admire your courage. It's not easy to move somewhere you haven't even visited, and that especially applies to Franklin."
"Have you any advice for novices like us?" I asked.
"Yes, I have. If you want the people who live in Franklin to accept you, accept them first. Years ago, some of our sisters decided to start an outreach in Franklin with the idea that they would minister to the people there and bring them to God, but they tried to change them. That's what much of the rest of the world wants to do to them. If urging them to change was acceptable to them, then Franklin wouldn't exist. The result was that those sisters eventually moved on, and we took over. We learned from the mistakes of the past, and so we listened to the people. The vast majority are good people, and what they needed wasn't what the Sisters were offering."
"What do you offer them?" I asked.
"Many younger people go to Franklin because their parents throw them out of their homes, or they leave home to escape rejection. They need support, love, and someone to talk to, and that's what we give them."
"That's very kind of you," I said.
"No, Mr. Millstone, that's my job, and I do it because I care. If you are kind, you will do things with kindness, but that's not motivation; beliefs are motivating. I believe in love and that lives have value, including those people whom the world rejects without just cause."
"Just cause," I said. "So, you would view a murderer differently?"
"For those people, that's between themselves and God. When it comes to the people like those in Franklin, if it must be me standing between them and the part of the world that might cause them harm, then so be it."
I had never spoken with a nun before, and I wasn't sure they were all like Sister Foustina, but she showed a fierce loyalty and a motherly conviction that surprised me.
"Thank you, sister. I wasn't sure about moving to Franklin, and I'm not sure how I feel about it now, but it sounds like there might be some light at the end of the tunnel."
After the in-flight meal, the lights dimmed, and everyone around us had fallen asleep, including Sister Foustina, whose pill had kicked-in well enough to knock her out.
Max whispered into my ear. "This airline fed us a decent meal here in Premium Economy, but I couldn't make myself eat that cheesecake. Care to feed me dessert?"
"Right now?"
"Why not? We have these complementary blankets, and everyone else is dead to the world."
His suggestion surprised me. "I think I'm enjoying this adventurous side of you." I looked around a bit. "Alright, but you must be quiet."
"Oh, I'll be as quiet as a church piglet."
I began fumbling with my pants, and it hadn't taken long to grow erect when Max laid hands on me. He flipped-up the armrest that separated us and pulled out just enough cock from beneath the blanket to get a good mouthful. His tongue dug into the slit seeking out more juice, and from experience, Max knew I had plenty. Premium economy had more legroom, but not enough for Max to get on his knees, so he worshiped my cock from where he sat, swirling his tongue around the head repeatedly and plunging onto it, again and again, baptizing it in spittle, then backsliding up to the head to give it the adoration he felt it deserved. I must confess, the sensation was divine and an indulgence that I intended to partake of often. He sped up when he sensed my impending orgasm, and just as I came, he sensually embraced the head with his lips and communed with my knob as I fed him two dozen shots, which I gave freely to him, and like a good and quiet little piglet, he made not one sound that anyone could hear over the airline noise and not one drop escaped his lips. He held my cock in his mouth for several minutes, and when he released it, I felt compelled, so I grabbed his head with my right hand and drew his lips to mine. I tasted the cum I fed him as he explored my mouth.
"I wondered how many times it would take before you kissed me," he whispered into my ear.
"In my defense, I've never kissed a man before," I said and kissed him again. Between playing tongue tag and his handsome, raw masculinity, I grew erect once again.
"Looks like you're ready to try and top-off my tank," he whispered. "To let you in on a little secret, the tank is bottomless." He busied his mouth with my cock, like the cum-hound he was, seeking another load.
I had never met anyone like Max. He made it rather clear that he would slurp on my summer sausage and guzzle my man-gravy at any opportunity. He showed no sign that he cared one whit who was around him. I placed my hand on his head, running my fingers through his thick, light blonde hair as his head bobbed on my knob. That was his natural color too, his eyebrows, beard, and arm hair all matched. I found myself curious to see the rest of him. On this occasion, Max was a tad less quiet, and the man in the seat in front of him watched us through the crevice between the seats as Max made love to my schlong. I found it impossible to sit still as his tongue brought me closer to orgasm. The man in the crevice looked me in the eye, and so he would know that I knew he watched us, I winked at him. He smirked a little. When I came, I gave my audience a good look at my member as I pulled it entirely from beneath the blanket. His eyes grew as big as saucers. When I was done filling Max's belly, he pulled away so he could kiss me, and the man's mouth dropped open when he saw the full length of my cock. It struck me that I had frightened him. He turned in his seat and wouldn't look back for the rest of the flight. I never told Max that the man had watched us, although I doubted that he would have cared. The rest of the plane flight, we leaned against one another and slept contentedly with my balls a little lighter, and for Max, a belly full of my best cream.
The international airport serviced the cities of Franklin and Boxly and all the little towns around them. Max and I had only one carry-on bag each. So, with no reason to wait at the luggage carousel, we left the building where the arrow directed us to the taxi stand, and we hopped into one.
The cabbie slid open the tiny glass window between the front and the back seats. "Where to?"
"I pulled the folded sticky note from my shirt pocket. "256 East 59th Street in Franklin."
"You're obviously both new here," said the cabbie. He tapped the sign neither of us had noticed on the glass that read: Nothing to Franklin, No Exceptions. "Sorry, I don't go to the freak show," he added.
"What? That's crazy," said Max in his deep voice. "Even in New York, you wouldn't find a cabbie in the city refusing to take you to Vinegar Hill at midnight if you have the money."
"Listen," said the Cabbie, "if you've got the money, I'll drive you to Vinegar Hill--whatever that is, but if you want to get to the freak show, you have to take one of their cabs. You'll find them parked on the north side."
We got out and couldn't slam the door of the cab hard enough to alleviate how we felt just then. That kind of ridiculous, blatant discrimination should have ended with the Jim Crow laws. We went back into the building and looked around for a sign indicating where we would find the north side.
"Mr. Millstone, have you lost your way?"
I looked down. It was the Sisters again.
Max thumbed over his shoulder, his bicep bulging beneath his shirt. "We just had an absurd interaction with a cabbie."
Sister Foustina nodded and closed her eyes. "I can imagine."
"Is that common here?" I asked.
"Unfortunately, yes, but that stops when you get to Franklin. Follow us; we know where to go."
We followed the sisters to the far-left exit, where several black hackney cabs, like those in London, waited for passengers. A pale man, about 26 years old, with short black hair, stood by the first one. He wore a raven-colored suit from the Victorian era with a blood-red vest in silk damask, which surprised me. I had seen photos of people supposedly wearing goth clothing before. Unlike those, this looked rather tame and stylish.
"Sisters!" exclaimed the man. "You're back; that's so great!"
"Hello Glenn," said Sister Mary, "what are you doing out this time of day?"
Glenn began putting their rolling bags into the trunk. "Oh, Sister M.," he said, "Tommy finally went on a date last night. I told him I would work the first half of his shift this morning."
"Well, I'm pleased," said Sister Foustina. "It's about time, poor thing."
"Please, don't tell him I told you," said Glenn. "You know how easily discouraged he is." He helped them into the cab.
"We will say nothing," said Sister Agnes.
"Thanks, Sister A.," he said. "How was your trip?"
"Our trip was enlightening and tiring." Sister Foustina stuck her head out the window. "Mr. Millstone, Mr. Roche, my apologies, this is Glenn. Glenn, this is Misters Millstone and Roche. They are new residents of Franklin. I meant to ask, what is it the two of you do?"
"We're private investigators," I said, and there, I heard a collective intake of breath.
"You wouldn't happen to be looking for anyone, would you?" asked Sister Foustina.
"No, just a new apartment and a relatively prominent location to hang up a shingle."
"So, you're opening a business here. Well, that's good," said Sister Foustina, and the sisters were visibly relieved. "It's a shame about Mr. Nevil, but he should have known better. Gambling is a terrible waste."
I laughed. "For a second, I thought you were going to say it was a terrible sin."
"Isn't waste an obvious sin?" she asked.
"Well, I can't argue with that," I said.
It was then that a man wearing jeans, a white button-up with a tan tweed vest, and a matching driving cap emerged from the building holding two coffees.
"Sam!" said Glenn. "This is Mr. Millstone and Mr. Roche. They live in Franklin now." He then whispered, "They're private eyes." He took the coffee Sam gave him.
"Ooh, good to meet you," he said, looking us over. "Do you gamble too?"
"Sam!" said one of the sisters.
"It's a question," he said.
"May we go, Glenn?" asked Sister Foustina. "Good luck to you both. I hope you will find a home here. We will undoubtedly cross paths again."
Glenn shook our hands, got into the cab, and carried the sisters away.
"Well, it looks like just us." Sam took a sip of his coffee. "Where you headed?"
I gave him the paper from my pocket, we climbed into the back of his cab and pulled away from the airport.
The passenger portion of the cab had lots of room. Sam couldn't see well into the back, and it had been hours since I had cum. Once they had awakened, sitting next to the nuns hadn't presented an optimal time to clean Max's throat beneath an airline blanket. Max glanced at me, and he correctly guessed what I needed. He still wore the knee pads, so he got into the floor in front of me and took a big slurp on my schlong. We had traveled a few miles down the road in silence when Sam asked, "So, which one of you are running from someone?"
"Why would one of us run from anyone?" I asked as Max throated my pole.
"It's just that you both give off a serious norm vibe. So, I figure the father of a jilted lover is looking for one of you."
I laughed. "No. No, jilted lovers." Max continued one of his incredible blowjobs, and I hadn't wanted Sam to think anything was happening, so I kept talking. "I heard there's a small population of norms that live in Franklin. Do you imply they all have similar stories?"
"The ones I know do," he said. "What made Franklin such a draw for norms like you?"
His inquisitiveness made me smile. "I heard that Franklin doesn't have a private detective. Being the only ones in a population of a million people has its appeal." I began fucking Max's face, holding his head between my hands, and moving it up and down my dong.
"That makes sense," said Sam. "It's your opportunity to corner the market, but that's highly unsporting of you."
"Hey, business is business," I said. "I gotta take whatever advantages I can get."
Sam shook his head. "You two must be lousy detectives."
Max began to laugh with my cock down his throat. He strained to pull it free so he could breathe, and as his throat constricted around my meat, I began to cum. He made a lot of noise, trying to catch it all.
Sam spoke up. "Hey! Don't get cum on the floor back there, will you? I just cleaned this cab."
Max coughed. "You don't mind us having a little fun?"
"Naw, it happens in all our cabs and various places throughout the city," he said. "Just keep it clean while you're in here. That's all I ask."
After I packed away the appendage, I asked Sam questions, and he gave me some valuable information. I only knew Franklin by its reputation, rumors, and innuendo. I discovered through Sam that its reputation was not one shared among the business community. Franklin had money. So, despite that other cab's refusal to service Franklin, most corporations had no problem taking money from Franklin's residents for whatever goods they needed. Their only problem was changing their business model to comply with the laws of the City of Franklin. The city rejected some companies that refused to comply. They rejected a major chain store on many grounds; the most egregious was that the company refused to pay their employees a living wage, wouldn't hire certain people because the company had a stringent dress code, and they wouldn't provide health insurance, all of which have local laws. As we intended to open a business there, that was good to know, but fortunately, we were far less likely to have those sorts of difficulties.
After I seeded Max's throat, we had a beautiful, enjoyable, and relaxing ride into Franklin. As per the map on the wall of the cab, I saw that roughly a third of the city sat on a peninsula in the bay, another third on a hill, and the other third alongside the river and the shipping canal. As we entered the city, it felt like another world. I saw many goths not dressed as tamely as Glenn, same-sex couples walking on the sidewalk holding hands, body modifiers, nudists, BDSM people, and generally an array of subcultures that the outside world would ostracize. Despite recent events with my own sexual awakening, I felt a bit culture-shocked, and for some reason, as though I were intruding, like it was their world and not mine. At the time, I hadn't known where I belonged, but I couldn't turn back. I accepted the repercussions of giving my testimony when I signed the paperwork before the trial, and I would have to make the best of it.
The apartment Sawyer found for me on 59th Street (the lower east side near the canal) wasn't too bad, but it was a bit dinky and not built for two men our size. To its credit, however, it had a quality higher than the abode of my previous life. It came semi-furnished with a living room suite in decent condition and a frame for a double bed, but for me, it had less of a draw for what it had than for what it lacked. The owner had kept it bug-free and hadn't painted the windows shut. In a lower rent district, a landlord that thought a little about comfort and sprayed their property was like striking gold.
Starting over with nothing meant that we both needed many things and acquiring them wasn't easy. I couldn't get much done without a photo ID, so we mostly worked on the domestic necessities, like clothing, a mattress and box springs, bedding, towels, and personal items. However, unlike Max, I still needed crucial things like two bank accounts, a car for business, a smartphone, an LLC, a business license, permits, office space, and probably a host of other things that I could not obtain without proper identification. Most of that day we spent shopping, setting up house, and waiting for the bed delivery, interspersed with the occasional milking from a hunky blonde stud who woofed down my offering like a castaway would a cheeseburger.
Apart from the usual breakfast of eggs, instant oatmeal, and coffee, I couldn't cook. New York had me spoiled for restaurants. We went up the street to have dinner at the greasy spoon where we had lunch.
While we ate, Max noticed someone had left the local newspaper, the Franklin Herald, on the table next to us. The front page showed a photo of a pale, platinum blonde woman with the headline, "Winter Housewarming, the Coolest Event of Summer." Besides the odd play on words, I found the photo of the woman eye-catching as well; she looked pretty in her white dress, and her appearance distinct. Below it, we saw the word "Winter." We hadn't known what that meant until Max read the article to me. It was about a big to-do housewarming hosted by a woman named Winter. That appeared to be her full name, no honorifics, no inclusions or indications of a first or last name, just Winter at every reference. The second page held a small advertisement for a lock-in party at the Ramrod, with a photo of a group of muscular leather men; some were in full black leather regalia.
"We should go to something like that," said Max. "I could suck your cock in public, so you'd have a chance to show off and perhaps drum-up business."
I laughed. "What business do you think we're in?"
"I'm serious," he said. "Want to get in good with the community? Get involved whenever you can."
"Maybe, but that? I don't know..." I said, staring at the advertisement. It all seemed so foreign to me. Would I ever grow accustomed to Franklin's unique peculiarities?
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