Psychic Detective 19 By Jake Preston
This is a work of erotic gay fiction, intended for readers who enjoy a murder mystery in which fully developed characters interact sexually and in other ways. Their sexual encounters are sometimes romantic, sometimes recreational, sometimes spiritual, and almost always described explicitly. My attention is equally divided between narrative, character development, and sex scenes. If you don't care for this combination, there are many other excellent "nifty" stories to choose from. And remember that while nifty stories are free, maintaining a website is not. Please think about donating at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
In the course of this chapter, there's a certain amount of word-play based on compound words ending in -lingus' (the Latin word for tongue'). Analingus' and cunnilingus' are familiar, but our characters extend the pattern to include other uses of the tongue in oral stimulation. I define them here for clarity:
Lingus (plural, linguses): any form of sexual stimulation with the tongue.
Axillingus: use of the tongue to stimulate a partner's armpits; based on Latin `axilla', armpit.
Navelingus: use of the tongue to stimulate the navel.
Pellilingus: use of the tongue to stimulate the foreskin; based on `pellicle' a general term for any sort of anatomical covering, such as a foreskin.
Prectalingus: use of the tongue to stimulate the perineum (the sensitive skin that lies between the back of the scrotum and the anus); based on prectum', a synonym for perinium'.
Scrotalingus: use of the tongue to stimulate the scrotum.
Writing is usually a solitary avocation, but not necessarily so on nifty.org, where a longer story appears in installments. If my characters and my story grab your attention, you can always intervene with suggestions for improvements. All sincere comments will get a response!
Jake, at jemtling@gmail.com
Chapter 19 Saturday Night and Sunday Morning
The MC announced the ballot results a half-hour later. The winner was Jack. He was invited to return to the mike. When he did, he kept his shirt unbuttoned and open, and asked to say a few words. "This here badge is real, it's no fake. I really am a sheriff from the Indian country in South Dakota, and you're all under arrest," Jack said.
Everyone laughed.
"Seriously, guys, I'm on duty," Jack said. "This is my boyfriend Göran. He's a lawman, too. And this is our friend Harv. He's also a lawman. Göran, whip that badge out of your bulge and show everyone what a stud you are." Göran smiled sheepishly and held up his sergeant's badge.
"This is getting better and better," someone in the crowd said, imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger. Everyone laughed while Göran pinned the badge on his shirt.
"You, too, Harv," Jack said. Harv did the same.
"We're looking for two serial killers who have been preying on young men in the gay community," Jack continued. One of them is a tall, slender albino with white hair, named Howard Coleman. He probably uses a fake name. His accomplice is shorter, with dark hair. Göran and Harv have pictures. If any of you guys think you might have seen them, we'd like to hear from you. We'll be mingling on the dance floor. Don't anyone leave until I've had a chance to dance with you, or at least talk to you. That goes for Harv and Göran, too."
The band played slow music when they saw patrons who wanted to get their arms around Jack. All three lawmen got offers for dates. After a couple hours, Harv went home with a preppy- dressed guy, a diver on the Wisconsin State swim team. Göran and Jack stayed until the bartender called `time' and everyone left— except for the bartender and the lanky guitarist.
Bar patrons were ogling Jack, but the bartender conceived a crush on Göran. He introduced himself as Jésus García Moreno. "My friends get creeped out about calling me Jesus, so they call me Wetback, but I was born in Stockton, California," he told Göran. "My folks are migrant farm-workers. Every year we traveled in a cycle from San Joaquin Valley to central Washington and back. My two older brothers are still farm-workers. I got kicked out of the family for being gay, even though I never had a boyfriend. I hooked up with some hobos on the railroad track in Nyssa, and rode to Duluth in boxcars. After a couple weeks, I got my job at the Apollo and I've been working here ever since. That was seven years ago."
Jésus had a lot going for him—good looks, good physique, searching brown eyes and curly brown hair; at five feet ten, taller than most Mexicans. More important, he had a tragic story to tell. Göran wanted to hear it. He asked if Jésus had ever seen the Wallowa Mountains. "Our family worked on farms around Baker and La Grande. That's the closest I've been. I've heard that Joseph is a nice town," Jésus replied.
Göran invited Jésus to come home with him. "I was hoping you'd want that," Jésus said.
Jésus was on friendly terms with Calvin Cohn, the band's leader and guitarist. Five feet six and lean, looking a bit awkward, Calvin introduced himself to Jack. "Friends call me CC," he said. Jack noticed a hint of fem in Calvin's manner. He was three years out of high school, and just finished his freshman year in college. "I got bullied in high school, and beat up a couple times," CC said. "That's why I was afraid to go to college. I thought I'd get more of the same, but it turns out I was wrong."
"You're not alone, CC," Jack said. "Every gay man I know suffered in high school."
"Yeah, but besides that I was a squirt, and Jewish, and no good at sports," Calvin said.
"You've got more going for you than you realize, CC," Jack said. "You've put together a great band, and you're a pretty good musician yourself. Are you majoring in Music?"
"I'm not sure. I'll be a sophomore this fall, so I've got another year to decide," Calvin said. "I really liked my Intro to Philosophy course."
"Philosophy"— Jack picked up his theme— "What interested you about it? Aesthetics? Ethics? Meaning of life? Logic? Metaphysics? Maybe history of ideas?"
"My professor made Ethics exciting," Calvin said. "He framed it as a debate between religious and secular approaches. Religious ethics is top-down, like Moses coming down from Mount Sinai with the Ten Commandments chiseled in stone by God Himself. Secular ethics is grassroots morality without divine intervention. When we debated this in class, the professor challenged the fundamentalist Christians to read Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics as an example of a totally natural system of ethics. It's a book that the Catholic Church accepts as valid. I doubt that the fundamentalists in my class ever read it, but I did."
"So did I," Jack said, sharing Calvin's excitement about an ancient book that is mentioned more often than read. "I like the way Aristotle starts out with the premise that it's natural for humans to look for goodness— a point that he argues with examples of professions and crafts, like the physician whose goal is good health, or a shipbuilder whose goal is a seaworthy ship. This is the origin of ethics without God."
"You have read it, Jack!" Calvin exclaimed.
"What did you take away from it, CC?" Jack asked.
"Just this," Calvin replied: "that the major Western ideas about ethics—striving for goodness through moderation and temperance— came from Aristotle, even though most people credit the Bible."
"Have you read Sam Harris, a book called The Moral Landscape?" Jack asked. Calvin shook his head no. "He tries the opposite approach: imagine the worst of all possible worlds, in which every sentient creature must suffer the worst pain for the longest time possible. We can all agree to call that `badness'. Anything else is better. Using absolute badness as the starting point, we can apply logic to derive a system of ethics in which goodness is the opposite of badness. We know, for example, that gay-bashing is wrong because it's the intentional infliction of unnecessary pain on other sentient creatures. The Christian fundamentalists argue that bullying is moral correction, or a boyhood rite de passage and proof of the bully's masculinity. Take my striptease act, for example. If the fundies had seen it, they'd be waiting outside Apollo's to beat me up because I violated their moral code and threatened their masculinity by acting gay."
"Somehow I doubt that they'd come after you, Jack," Calvin said.
They exchanged a smile and a silence. "You're not the only man whose been beaten up for being gay," Jack said. "CC, I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, but... we're going to Göran's house in Duluth for the night. I wonder, would you like to come with us?"
"Are you sure?" Calvin asked. "I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," Jack replied. "I'm asking you for a date."
"Okay," Calvin said. "Jack, there's something else I've got to tell you. This albino guy, Coleman, he and his friend were here last weekend, on Friday night. Coleman's friend called himself Brad. I asked if Brad was short for Bradley. He said no, he was Brad Nails."
"Let me guess, he propositioned you and left when you said no thanks," Jack said.
"Not exactly," Calvin replied. "He said that maybe we could go out sometime, like on a date. I gave him a blow job in the men's room. After that they took off."
"Would you say he was a smooth talker?" Jack asked. Calvin said yes. "Did you notice anything unusual about him?"
"Well, he has an uncut dick, about six inches. And a long scar at the top of his leg, about eight inches long. The scar showed signs of stiches," Calvin said. "There's something else, Jack. Our drummer this evening was a last minute replacement. Our regular drummer is a guy named Craig Clark. No one seems to know where he's been for the last three days."
On the drive across the High Bridge back to Duluth, Calvin rode in Göran's car, and Jack rode with Jésus. That way if Jésus got lost, Jack could get on the phone with Göran for directions. But of course, Jésus had lived in the Twin Ports long enough that he wasn't going to get lost. In reality it gave them a chance to learn more about their prospective bedmates. "One thing I like about being gay is that once you've agreed to have sex, the dialogue is just beginning," Jésus said. "You still have to talk about tops and bottoms."
What if I told you that Göran is an uncompromising top?" Jack asked.
"Ouch!" Jésus exclaimed. "I'd say he's lucky to have you, Jack. You must think I'm rather superficial... The first thing I bring up is the question about if Göran's a bottom."
"The TBV question," Jack mused. "It's gotten to be politically incorrect to say so, but it's the elephant in the room when two guys are negotiating a possible relationship. If a guy is adamant about being a top or a bottom, it's better to tell the truth up-front.
"When I was strip-dancing in the limelight, your eyes were on Göran. I don't think that's superficial, and neither will he," Jack said. "If you ask him if he's a bottom, I'm sure he'll give you an answer."
"Whoo-ee, I'm in love!" Jésus exclaimed. "I've got to tell you, Jack, I wouldn't have guessed that Calvin Cohn was your type. You got a lot of propositions from great-looking guys. You turned them down while you waited for CC to get next to you. What's up with that?"
"Do you remember gym class in school, when all the boys lined up to be chosen for a team in volleyball or baseball?" Jack asked.
"Sure."
"There was always some shrimpy boy, or maybe a fat boy who got chosen last."
"That was you?" Jésus asked.
"No. As a kid, I was a pistol, always getting into fights. When it was my turn to be captain, I always picked the shrimpiest boys first. The teacher didn't appoint me as captain very often. She thought I was subverting the ideal of competitiveness when I picked my teammates. My friends in school were unpopular boys. When I saw Calvin, well, he looks like one of those schoolboys from my past, except that he's grown up." Jack looked ahead to the right from the High Bridge at the cliffs of Duluth rising above Lake Superior. "It's an awesome sight, even at night," he said.
Calvin and Jack had fallen into mutual attraction. It was a low-burning fire, but sometimes a smoldering ember blazes suddenly into a bonfire, or a forest fire. Jack wasn't ready to burn down a forest, but two things about Calvin appealed to hem. First: his naïve honesty about his BJ-encounter with Brad Nails', which for tawdriness rivaled the most meaningless episodes in Queer As Folk'. Second: their discourse about Aristotle, however brief, disclosed that CC had actually read this philosopher, not just read about him in some college textbook. That by itself would have been enough to attract Jack, who saw in Calvin a mind full of intellectual curiosity. He recognized a kindred spirit, a youthful caterpillar destined to flourish as a butterfly. Never mind about Calvin's unimposing physique. When it came to that, Jack was looking for his opposite, and so, in a way, was Göran. Then, too, as for unmeaningful sexual encounters— all four of them knew that's what they were heading for at Göran's house— it's a path tried and true for two gay men to have sex first and get acquainted later, only then learning whether or not they have enough in common to form a true friendship. If random sexual encounters are debris-scattered ashes and embers, it is from them that friendship and love can be kindled. Apollo's was Babylon, easily condemned by outsiders based on partial knowledge of the characters of the men about whom they are judgmental. These were Jack's thoughts about Calvin, when he and Jésus drove across the High Bridge, turned right on Superior Avenue, and right again across the lift-bridge to Park Point, to the place that Göran called home.
In the car ahead, Göran asked Calvin how long he'd known Jésus. Calvin told the story about Jésus's life as a migrant worker in California and Oregon, how he became a bartender, and how he gave Calvin's rock'n'roll band some gigs at Apollo's, until they became a regular fixture on Thursdays through Saturdays.
"Jack really likes you. I think you already know that," Göran said.
"Does that bother you, Göran?" Calvin asked. "Because if it doesn't, I..."
"Don't worry about that, kid," Göran said. "Right now I've got the hots for Jésus, so I can't complain if Jack's got the hots for you. We're both okay with that."
They reached Göran's house on Park Point. Göran showed them the master bedroom and a guest bedroom for Jack and Calvin. "I've got a Jacuzzi in the back, overlooking the beach," he said. "We'll use it in the morning." They took turns in the shower, and gathered in the living room, naked, for whiskies. Göran gave everyone a viagra, and took one himself. When they exchanged jokes about tops and bottoms, four cocks jumped to attention.
"I think we should decide right now," Jésus said."
"You're pretty sure of yourself, Jésus," Göran exclaimed. "Tell you what, guys, I'll let Jésus top me if Jack lets CC top him. The top man's first job is to lead his partner by the hand to their bedroom, and CC and Jack must go first, when they're ready."
Jack and Calvin went outside to the patio for privacy, while Göran and Jésus fondled on the love seat. Jack pulled Calvin into an embrace. Calvin fondled Jack's butt and drove his fingers deep into his cleft. "I never fucked ass before," Calvin said.
"In that case, I'll have to make a man of you," Jack said. He guided Calvin's hand under his scrotum and between his legs. Calvin copped a feel of Jack's butthole.
"You mean you'll do it, Jack?" Calvin asked.
"All night, and tomorrow," Jack said. He held out his hand for Calvin. "Lead the way, CC Rider, and try not to smirk when we walk past the boys."
Calvin led the way, parading as if through the Arc du Triomphe, showing off his prize stallion while strutting effeminately. "Looks like Jack's got more than he bargained for," Jésus said, remarking on Calvin's seven-inch dick (and not all the way hard) looking party-size against his slight torso. Jésus took Göran's hand and led him to the master bedroom.
It didn't take Jésus the Bartender long to get inside Göran. He was an experienced top, and Göran was willing. Saturday night and Sunday morning were graced by mutual gratification. Later they became lovers. But the most interesting sex tales dramatize innocence, intrigue, or an initiation. For those we open the curtain on Jack and Calvin.
Jack and Calvin both self-identified as tops, and shared intellectual interests, but in other respects they were opposites— to put it bluntly, a stud and a sometimes feminish nerd. Jack was (and is) a dark-haired, brown-skinned beauty— so appealing that Calvin lingered with fingers and tongue over every inch of his body from earlobes to toes. He buried his face in Jack's pits, his tongue in the man's navel and crotch, his nose deep in the cleft of the sexiest ass he'd ever seen. Jack's foreskinned cock was an attraction, too. "Don't ever convert to Judaism, Jack," Calvin said: "I wouldn't give up this foreskin for anything!" More than physical possession, Calvin wanted romance. It was as if he feared that if he fucked, the spell would be broken and Jack would vanish. After a prolonged session of mutual axillingus, navelingus, pellilingus, scrotalingus, prectalingus, and analingus, Jack propped his ass on a pillow and invited Calvin into the cockpit. "We've coursed through all the linguses as though they were a linguistic curriculum," Jack said. "Now it's time to fuck."
Calvin obeyed, and fucked so romantically that Jack shot spooge between their bellies. His seminal fragrance inspired Calvin to some serious humping that set Jack to groaning. Later, when Jack saw that Calvin's cock was engorged in a second wind, he flipped over and told Calvin to fuck from behind. That's how he inspired Calvin to the self-confidence he needed to fuck like an animal, with the uncontrolled energy that Jack wanted from him.
Jack led Calvin to the shower stall, where they washed the perspiration of sex from each other's bodies while Calvin groped Jack possessively. "You're learning, buddy," Jack said. "You're a natural at this. All we need is a lot more experience." "Oh, yeah?" Calvin replied. He fucked Jack a third time, standing up under the flow of water from the showerhead.
In après-sexe pillow-talk, Jack and Calvin praised each other for their performance and for their bodies. Calvin raised the inevitable question— "What does an athletic stud like you see in a nerd like me?"
"Do you think I'm so vain that I want to make love with a mirror image of myself?" Jack asked. "I'm not a narcissist, and besides, you've got a powerful cock, CC. When I feel the weight of your body over me, it makes me feel strong. You make me feel good about myself."
"That should be my line," Calvin said. "For me you're a dream come true."
"I've got a proposition for you, CC," Jack said. "First thing Monday morning, Göran and I are driving up to Ashawa. I'd like you to come with us for a week, maybe longer. We can stop by your home tomorrow to pick up your clothes and discuss it with your folks."
"What about you and Göran?" Calvin asked.
"We'd be three in a bed," Jack said. "You can fuck Göran, too."
"Really? Calvin was incredulous. "Do you think he'll let me?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Jack retorted.
"My Mom and Dad know I'm gay, but they've never met any of my boyfriends, because, well... I've never really had a boyfriend," Calvin said.
"Then let's hope I make a good impression," Jack laughed. "I'll dress the part, in my Sheriff's dress uniform. I hardly ever get to wear it. Just the two of us— we'll visit your parents tomorrow. They live in Superior, right?"
"Actually, they're in West Duluth," Calvin said.
"I've got to be honest about something, CC," Jack said. "I like you a lot and I want us to spend time together, but there's another reason why you should come with us to Ashawa. I'll tell you when we meet your parents. It's something they should know, too."
"Now you've got me in suspense," Calvin said.
Abraham and Sarah Cohn weren't strictly Orthodox, but they were fairly conservative Jews who had come to grips with the fact that their only child was gay. When Calvin showed up at home with a lawman dressed in a dark blue uniform and sporting a badge, they thought that he was in trouble. "No trouble," Jack assured them. "Calvin's been helping us with an important investigation." He gave his ID to Abraham, and then to Sarah, so they could examine it.
"South Dakota," Abraham said.
"Lakota," Sarah said. "You're a long way from home, Mr. Jackson."
"Call me Jack, Mrs. Cohn. Your son does."
"Mom and Dad, Jack is sort of... my boyfriend," Calvin stammered.
"Maybe you should come in," Sarah said.
When they were seated in the living room, Jack broke an awkward silence: "CC is interested in philosophy. We've been batting ideas around, about Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics. He's a remarkable young man, Mr. Cohn, and Mrs. Cohn. He's the first person I've ever met who's actually read Aristotle, not counting classmates when I was in college at Emory."
"You graduated from Emory?" Abraham exclaimed.
"In Atlanta?" Sarah echoed.
"I was fortunate to get a scholarship there," Jack said. "I graduated seven years ago, and I've been Sheriff in Lakota for the last three years."
"I'm grateful that Calvin is making respectable friends," Sarah said. A tremor in her voice suggested misgivings. Until now, Calvin's homosexual had been an uncomfortable abstraction. Now it became a reality, with his boyfriend sitting in their living room. Even so, Jack Jackson was strikingly handsome, and manly. Her maternal instinct kicked in. "Not just respectable, but really quite a good looking boy," she added.
Jack blushed. Mrs. Cohn approved his modesty. "Mr. Cohn, Mrs. Cohn," Jack said, "I've invited CC to come to Lake Ashawa with me, and with my colleague, Detective Sergeant Göran Svenson. We'll be there for a week, maybe longer. We're following a trail of clues that leads us to Ashawa. It will be my first time in the North Country, but Göran grew up there and knows the lay of the land."
"And you think that Calvin can help with your investigation?" Mrs. Cohn asked.
"I do," Jack said. "But there's another reason, too. We're trying to track down a pair of serial killers. Right now, CC is the only witness who has actually seen both of them, but they've seen him, too, and they know who he is. I fear for his safety if he stays in Duluth. I want him with me, so I can watch his back."
Calvin giggled. "Well, that came out wrong!"
Mr. Cohn frowned.
"Forgive your son's nervous humor, Mr. Cohn," Jack said. "If I was in his position, I'd be making gallows-humor jokes, too."
Mrs. Cohn ended the tension: "Well, Calvin, you'd better get upstairs and pack your things. Take your time. Make sure you've got everything you need, and don't forget yarmulke and your Tanekh."
"There's a synagogue in Virginia, Mrs. Cohn. I'll make sure he gets there," Jack said.
"I'm going to the kitchen to prepare lunch," Mrs. Cohn said. "Abraham, you take Jack to the back yard and show him the garden. I'm sure you have things to talk about."
The Cohn's back yard was vibrant with spring flowers and roses. Abraham pointed out the variety of roses and named each one. When he was finished, Jack changed the subject: "CC and I met at the Apollo where he works. It was in the course of business. We were both doing our jobs, and we made a connection as friends, and then, well... as more than friends."
"When Calvin was in high school, he was bullied and beat up. That's how we found out he's gay," Mr. Cohn said. "We've never met any of his gay friends. You're the first one, Mr. Jackson."
"Please call me Jack, but if you don't mind, I'll call you Mr. Cohn."
"I respect that you came here to tell us, instead of just taking off to the North Country," Abraham said. "But I'm confused. Is he a witness or a lover?"
"Both, by his own volition," Jack said. "I'm not saying we're in love, but we like each other a lot."
"I want assurance that my son will be treated honorably," Abraham said.
"We've become friends, Mr. Cohn," Jack said. "Sex is important to us, but there's more to friendship than sex."
"I see," Mr. Cohn said. Jack sensed that he wanted to know more.
"You know that in the game of hockey you've got offensive and defensive players.
"Yes."
"The most important offensive player is the forward—well, two forwards. The forward's job is to shoot the puck into the goal. And the most important defensive player is the goalie," Jack said.
"Yes, of course."
"Well, Mr. Cohn, it's like this," Jack said. "In our game of hockey, CC is the forward, and I'm the goalie. I don't normally play goalie, but it's the only thing CC asks of me, and it's not too much to ask, so I do it."
Mr. Cohn couldn't hide his surprise. "I guess I thought... well, Calvin's always been such a sensitive boy, and, to be honest, maybe a little, ah..."
"I know what you mean, Mr. Cohn," Jack said. "But sometimes appearances are deceiving. CC acts fem when he's nervous. When he's feeling confident, there's nothing fem about him."
"It seems you know more about my son than I do, Jack," Abraham said.
"You know that's not true," Jack replied. "I've learned this one thing about CC, and now you know it, too."
Abraham took Jack by the hand and led him into the dining room, where Sarah and Calvin were already seated for lunch. "I see that you to have become friends," Sarah smiled. She wanted to know all about their conversation.
"Mr. Cohn showed me the roses, and named every species," Jack replied. "The rest was just guy talk."
"Why, Jack, you're blushing!" Calvin exclaimed.
"As me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," Jack said.
Jack gave Sarah a lot of names and contact info for people they could trust— Göran Svenson, Tom Preston, Anna Ravitch, Sam Black Bear, Red Hawk, and Dark Eagle. "Göran prepared this list. Don't speak to anyone else, especially not Deputy Sheriff Nelson. He's under investigation, too. We'll probably be staying in a cabin at Wayward Island Retreat. There'll be room for you in the cabin or in the lodge, if you decide to come up. I'd be delighted if you would!"