Date: Fri, 5 May 2006 13:15:13 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jackinnm@yahoo.com>
Subject: Exploring, Adult Friends, 18/?

Exploring, Part 18
By Jackinnm@yahoo.com

	It was several days before Brad and I had an
opportunity to compare notes over lunch. Over pastrami
sandwiches, we discussed the progress or lack thereof
in the Crenshaw homicide.
	"Saw the autopsy report yesterday," he began.
"Crenshaw had most of the bones in his body broken."
	"I can understand that," I said. "There was a double
impact, first the truck hitting him and then his body
slamming against the tree."
	"It goes without saying that he died instantly. The
ends of his broken ribs gave him massive internal
injuries. Even if the paramedics were on the scene
when it happened, they wouldn't have had a chance of
saving him. He was too busted up inside."
	"Well, I guess he didn't suffer," I concluded.
	"I'm sure the first impact knocked him cold," Brad
confirmed. "There was another thing though. The doc
who did the autopsy is pretty thorough. He noted in
his report that Crenshaw was circumcised."
	"That doesn't surprise me," I countered. "Some guys
who got cut are so jealous of intact guys that they
don't want anybody else to have a foreskin either. I
think that's what motivates them. Then they try to
circumcise kids every chance they get, like a
crusade."
	"There's another thing, too," he added. "I'm
beginning to think this was a local thing. I'd been
wondering why we had no hit on the truck or the damage
done to it. I'd been thinking that maybe it was an
out-of-town truck and driver, but now I see that's not
likely."
	"How come?" I asked.
	"Someone from another city or state wouldn't know
that Crenshaw went out jogging every morning. He
wouldn't know the geography, maybe he wouldn't even
know Crenshaw's address. It's got to be a local guy."
	"Well, that throws out the theory of a traveling
assassin, I guess."
	"I'm pretty sure these killing are the work of
several local people. Maybe one might have branched
out to hit somebody in another state, but it's pretty
much out of the question that one guy could travel
across the country so fast to hit all of them."
	"One thing I've though of," I began. "What happened
to the truck? How did the guy keep it out of sight or
get it repaired?"
	"That's not too hard to figure out. I think he drove
it to another state right after he hit Crenshaw. He
could have gotten it fixed there, or maybe fixed it
himself, depending on the damage."
	"Wouldn't that have been a little difficult?" I
asked. "Wouldn't he have to report for work? What
would he tell his wife?"
	"I've got no answers to that because I haven't even
got any questions," Brad said firmly. "Look, we don't
know anything about this guy. We don't know if he's of
working age or retired. We don't know if he's married,
widowed, or divorced. Hell, we don't even know if it's
a guy. Remember there were no witnesses. The driver
might even be a woman."
	"Less likely, but possible," I mused.
	"For all we know, the driver might be someone local
who has a vacation home in another state. The truck
might be a thousand miles from here, inside a barn,
while the driver works on it."
	"Do the guys assigned to Crenshaw seem hopeful?" I
asked.
	"They just know they have to keep going, even though
as of this morning they haven't got jack shit," Brad
answered. "I think they know their chances are poor,
without witnesses, without the vehicle, and the driver
wasn't even nice enough to drop his wallet at the
scene. They know they can't just come out and say they
haven't got a chance. That would be poor public
relations."
	I paid for the lunch and Brad went back to police
headquarters. I returned to my desk at the newspaper.
As I was working on an article I heard voices coming
over the wall of my cubicle. Baxter and Finch, two
other reporters, were talking and I heard Baxter say:
	"You know my sister's a nurse. She works in the
maternity ward at the hospital where this Doctor
Crenshaw worked. She told me that nobody, absolutely
nobody, is doing any circumcisions on babies anymore."
	"That's where this guy George worked too, the guy who
got shot dead?" Finch asked.
	"That's right, that's the place. My sister told me
that the word she gets from other hospitals is that
none of the doctors are circumcising babies these
days."
	"Well, I can't say that's bad news," Finch replied.
"They circumcised me when I was born and I've always
hated it. I wish I could have grown up with skin like
my father and older brother did."	Finch and Baxter
returned to work and I continued writing my piece
about auto theft in the city. Before leaving the
office I phoned Jim at Intermedia to see if we could
get together to compare notes. He told me he was free
that evening and would bring a pizza with him.
	He showed up around 6:30, holding a big pizza box,
which he placed on the kitchen table. As we ate, I
asked him if he had any more news from around the
country.
	"My sources tell me that doctors petty much have
stopped clipping babies," he began. "They're keeping
this very, very quiet, but they're afraid that there
are several copycat killers out there shooting doctors
who perform circumcisions. The doctors are especially
afraid of telling the police, because once that
happens, there would be so much publicity that even
people who wouldn't have ever thought of it might
start shooting doctors."
	"That might mean that doctors know that some guys
they clipped years ago aren't too thrilled about it,"
I suggested.
	"Hell, yes!" he exclaimed. "I guess both ou and I
know that lots of cut guys don't give it a second
thought, just accept it because most of their friends
are clipped too, but doctors know that it takes only
one dissatisfied customer to do them in."
	"My police sources tell me that they're sure it's not
just one shooter running around the country popping
doctors. They think it's definitely several."
	"Is that good or bad?" Jim asked.
	"I'd say it's definitely good, Jim. If it were only
one shooter, sooner or later he'd leave a trail or
make a mistake and the cops would get him. The more
involved in the shootings, the harder it becomes to
establish a pattern that can pin it to one person."
	"I think the doctors know this too," Jim went on.
"They realize that it's bad enough as it is, with
hundreds, maybe thousands, of guys they once
circumcised out there like time bombs waiting to
explode. Publicity would detonate more of those time
bombs. Hell, anybody with a jagged circumcision scar
would feel it just became open season on the guy who
clipped him. The doctors know, too, that it would be
impossible for the cops to catch them all. It could be
any circumcised male, or maybe his father or mother as
well."
	"I guess the best outcome will be for the shootings
to continue, not too many, but maybe one a year, just
as a reminder to doctors that the sword is hanging
over their heads," I concluded.
	"That sounds a bit cold-blooded but I agree with you
a hundred percent," Jim said. "As long as they
continue cutting babies, somebody will have to take
one or two of them down as a deterrent."
	"How have you been doing with your restoration?" I
asked. "Has Chris got you started all right?"
	"Oh, it's been going very well," Jim replied as he
finished the last slice of pizza. "I've been keeping
the skin taped, and I've seen some extra length
already."
	"Any other improvement?" I asked as I cleared the
debris from the table.
	"Oh, yes!" Jim said, his eyes gleaming as he spoke.
"My tip's gotten more sensitive since I've been
keeping it covered, and I've even been getting a
little bit of cheese under my skin."
	"Time for show and tell," I suggested, leading him
into the bedroom where we quickly shucked our
clothing. His limp penis arced forward over his
scrotum, a band of tape at the end holding his
stretched shaft-skin beyond the glans. The bulge of
his helmet distended the skin behind the tape band.
	"Yours looks pretty much the same," Jim said as he
began unwrapping the tape from his artificial foreskin
nipple.
	"Nothing much has changed," I said. "How about yours
now? Have you been using betamethasone cream?"
	"Oh, yes," Jim answered. "Chris gave me a tube and I
was able to get a couple more from a guy in my office
who travels to Mexico every month. It seems to help."
Now that he'd removed the tape the covering skin
slowly peeled back off his helmet until about half of
it was exposed.
	"Your tip looks more purple than the last time I saw
it," I commented. "Can you skin it back more to show
the ridge?" Jim complied, and bared his flaring ridge,
which was darker than the front of his glans.
	"My rim's gotten really sensitive," he said. "Look
closer, Jack. I've even started developing those
little buds like you have on yours." I leaned closer
and saw that the back face of his corona had grown
those little studs, nerve endings that contribute so
much to a male's sensations.
	"I think you've always had them, Jim. It's just that
they dried out and shrank after the covering skin was
cut away. Now they're growing back, or maybe I should
say filling out." We sat together on the edge of my
queen-size, and Jim reached for my prick.
	"I know you enjoy this, Jack," he said as he began
squeezing my glans through the covering skin. Each
squeeze made the root of my prick throb and I felt it
begin to engorge. I grasped his prick behind the head
and began pulling the slack skin up over his rim.
Within seconds he'd swollen to his full five inches.
	"Your reaction time is faster now, Jim. I think your
prick's definitely more sensitive."
	"It's also psychological, Jack. Now that I'm growing
my skin back I feel more like a real man."
	"I know what you mean," I said. "I always felt I'd
been  un-manned by my circumcision. Once I got my
foreskin back I felt better about myself." By now my
prick was fully hard, an inch longer than his. Jim
commented on this:
	"Nature didn't give me as much as you have. I never
could afford to lose any of it." I gave his prick a
squeeze.
	"Well, you're getting it back, and I think you'll
feel even better about yourself once you're done."
	"I want a foreskin like yours or the one on Chris,"
he said. "I want an overhang, a long skin for those
long strokes you enjoy so much." He demonstrated the
long strokes on me, sliding my foreskin all the way
back to expose the rim and groove, and then bringing
it forward in his fist to form a thick pucker in front
of my covered helmet.
	"You were lucky, though," I said as I pulled his
loose skin back to bare his helmet completely. "Look
here on the underside," I said as I pointed to the
vee-cleft under his glans. "You've still got your
gee-string. The doctor didn't remove that." I touched
it as I spoke and Jim shuddered.
	"Oh, that felt good," he said. "You're right, I've
still got it. Did you say they cut yours off?" He
pulled my ample hood down to check it out, revealing
the deep vee-shaped groove on the underside of my
helmet where the two halves met.
	"Yeah, the doctor who circumcised me really trimmed
it tight," I answered. "I think by the time you were
born it wasn't the fashion to cut babies so tightly
anymore." Jim's fist began to pump my foreskin
rapidly, to get my attention. He succeeded, because I
looked at him quizzically.
	"Lie down, Jack. I want to get you off so you can
dock me like last time," he explained. I obeyed and
Jim spread a towel over my abdomen. He took long
strokes up and down my helmet, keeping his grip loose
to allow my glans to engorge fully.
	"That's nice, Jim. Go ahead, drain me so that I can
dock you. I know you'll enjoy it even more because
your tip's more sensitive now." His skilled fingers
worked my hood expertly up and down my glans, twisting
slightly on every up-stroke to enhance my sensations.
I felt myself slipping into an erotic trance as my
awareness of the world outside my body diminished and
my mind focused primarily on the delicious sensations
in my groin. I felt the root of my prick throb each
time Jim jerked my hood down, stretching the nerve
endings, and I was finding it harder to remain
relaxed.
	"I love watching you come, Jack. I love the way your
tip gets harder and turns dark purple when you get
close. When you start to come I'll strip you right
back so I can see that big tip shoot," he said as I
felt the fingers of his other hand cup my balls. My
excitement rose rapidly and I felt the blood rushing
into my already engorged helmet to bring it to its
final swelling.
	"Your tip feels really hard now," Jim said as he
slightly slowed his strokes. "You're even seeping a
little lube at the end." His caresses now produced a
tickle in my helmet, first around the rim but quickly
spreading over the entire surface. As he worked the
foreskin in slow, twisting strokes over my straining
glans, anticipation built up inside me and the tickle
turned into a hot tingle. I knew this was it. My eyes
closed.
	HUNH! HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted loudly as the feeling in
my helmet burst and spread down to the root of my
prick to release the first spasm. A hot jet shot into
my urethra, sending me into mindless ecstasy as it
seared its way up my tube. I felt it slam through the
lips of my pouting slit to shoot into the air. Jim's
fingers jerked my hood back hard to trigger another
hot spasm deep inside me,
and I cried out again as another torrent of cream
distended my urethra in its passage. His other hand
released my balls and caressed the twin lobes on the
underside of my glans to bring forth another gush from
my straining prick.
	Now he held my prick still, letting the rest of the
jets erupt, because he knew that my tip had become too
sensitive. The grip he retained on my shaft kept the
nerve endings tightly stretched, sustaining the last
spasms of my climax.
	Now we were both still, and I began to relax as my
breathing returned to normal. I felt my prick losing
its rigidity, shrinking, the helmet retreating into
its thick fleshy hood. Jim's lips brushed mine in a
dry kiss, and a warm feeling filled me. After a couple
of minutes I opened my eyes and turned to face him:
	"Okay, Jim, now you'll get what you want. I'm ready
for you." The inside of my foreskin was very wet with
lubricant and cream, and the tip of his prick strained
with desire, dark purple and glossy in the soft room
light.
	I didn't have to instruct him how to slip his hot
hard glans into my waiting foreskin. He thrust his
hips towards me gently, easing the rounded helmet into
my thick foreskin pucker. I felt my hood expand as his
helmet slipped inside, and then felt the hardness of
his tip pressing against mine.
	His mouth was open and his eyes half-closed as he was
lifted up into the rapture of docking, feeling his
sensitive glans totally enclosed by my thick
enveloping foreskin. Without my erect glans, there was
plenty of room for his prick, and I stretched my
foreskin forward to cover his prick halfway down his
shaft. I stroked it gently, full-fisted, as I felt him
thrust into me.
	I knew he wouldn't, and couldn't, last long, excited
as he was. He'd been primed by stroking my foreskin
and watching the inevitable result, and now he was
lost in the heavenly sensations of docking, feeling
his naked glans caressed full length by my ample
foreskin. His increased sensitivity brought on by
keeping it covered foretold his inevitably rapid
response to the stimulation.
	Jim was breathing hard, eyes closed and head jerking
with every thrust. I felt the hardness of his engorged
helmet pressing into mine rhythmically, sliding off my
front dome and along the broad upper surface of my
helmet until it reached the root of my foreskin.
	"HAH! HAH! HAH!" he cried out as I felt a hard throb
in his penis. A moment later a hot torrent shot into
my hood and bathed my corona, infiltrating behind it
to fill my deep groove.
	Jim cried out again as his prick hammered against my
glans, erupting again to drench the inside of my hood.
Mindless joy filled him as his throbbing prick
discharged another gush to swirl around my helmet, the
excess seeping out between the end of my foreskin and
his straining shaft.
	Now I held still, unsure of how sensitive his tip
would become. I let him thrust as long as he felt
comfortable, and felt his orgasm gradually taper off,
each throb milder than the last. Finally, the last
soft throb pulsed against my glans and I felt him
beginning to soften and shrink inside my hood.
	As his prick shrank I pulled him to me, and now we
lay close, his warm body against mine. I knew that his
docking experience had taken a lot out of him,
draining him until he was dry. For myself, I'd had my
own intense climax minutes before and just now had
experienced his vicariously, feeling his hot helmet
hammering against mine as he emptied himself in a
surge of masculine sexuality.
	When Jim opened his eyes I hugged him tightly and
asked:
	"Hungry?" I suspected he might be because the intense
activity had brought about a resurgence of my
appetite.
	"Yeah, I think so," he said as he kissed me on the
lips.
	"Okay," I said as I let go of him and got up. "Does
another pizza sound okay to you or is that too
unimaginative?"
	"I'd like something different, something lighter," he
responded.
	"Shrimp salad okay, then?" I suggested. "I've got the
fixings right in the refrigerator." Jim nodded and I
went to the kitchen to fix our snack before we went to
sleep.

Continued in Part 19