Date: Tue, 19 Apr 2011 12:44:28 -0700 (PDT) From: Bob Archman Subject: Catfish goes to School 9 Catfish goes to School 9 By Bald Hairy Man 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 Walking back to my apartment, I felt a sting in the shoulder, sort of like a bee or a wasp. It took me a second or two to realize that was unlikely and another second to realize I was passing out. When I woke up, I was tied to a chair in a darkened room. I could hear men talking in the next room. One of the voices was Gerald III. He was whining. "I told you to get him and we have him now!" Gerald said. "He works for that fucking Bishop. We need him out of the way." "Kidnapping is a different matter than a clean kill," another voice said. "At least dead men don't talk. If he gets out were done for!" "Let's be real, you didn't do that well killing Frank Putney and Wilda-beast is still alive too, isn't he?" Gerald whined. "I paid top dollar to get these men killed. That red-neck ass-wipe in the next room has been the fly in the ointment." "Are you sure about that?" the other man asked. "As far as I can tell he's a janitor who was in the wrong place at the wrong time." "He was at the fire in the art building, helped break up the attack on Frank Putney and at the Bishop's side during the board meeting," Gerald said. He looks like shit, but he looked like a Pit-Bull ready to strike. There was something nasty in his eyes." "Let's see if we can wake him up and find out what we can get out of him," Gerald said. "Put on your mask." A second or two later two masked men entered the room. Gerald slapped my face. I was still groggy and had no problem playing groggy. "Wake up, Sleeping beauty," the other man said. "Where in hell am I?" I moaned. "Damn I need to take a piss. I feel like shit." All of that was true and required no acting at all. Gerald hit me again. "Randy and Bull, come in here and take this sack of crap to the pisser. I don't want this guy to stink the place up." One very large man and his small friend came into the room. They wore masks too. They got me out of the chair and man handled me to the bathroom. The room I had been in was a storage room with old furniture piled here and there. The bathroom was fancy. I had thought I was in a shack somewhere, but this was a whirlpool and walk-in shower place. It reminded me of the Playboy pads of the 1980s. It was in an expensive house. "Don't untie him!" Gerald ordered. The big guy, who I assumed was Bull, carried me to the toilet. The smaller man unzipped me and went fishing for my cock. This may sound superficial, but my cock tends to make friends easily. I had an early morning piss hard. I wasn't 100% hard, but my 50% erection is pretty good. Randy pulled it out and then pulled back the foreskin. "Look at that thing," Bull said under his breath. I had a full bladder so the boys had a long, uninterrupted time to look. They liked what they saw. Randy, the smaller man stroked my cock a few times. He seemed to understand the recreational potential. He zipped me up and Bull dragged me back to the storage room. Bull and Randy were very country; I assumed they were muscle for hire. I wondered if they had any idea what they had gotten themselves into. They weren't local. Their accents were West Virginia, not Blue Ridge. Gerald hit me a few dozen times, once between each question, but then he seemed to lose interest. I was a janitor and that was my story. Gerald and his friend had to leave, so I was alone with Bull and Randy. Gerald told them to keep on questioning me. I had a chance to do a little history lesson. I told them I lived in the Headmistress's garage and so was around all the time. The boys were clueless and knew nothing about Frank's mugging. I told them I walked into it by accident and the muggers threw me into a bush. I also mentioned the men who did it were found shot and burned a few days later. Bull and Randy weren't brain surgeon material, but that they didn't like at all. They were pondering this when we had visitors. I could recognize the voices of Gerald IV and Dee Dee. I suspect Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were a bit more down home than Gerald and Dee Dee. They were frank in their lack of admiration for me and my physical attractiveness. Gerald hit me a few times while combining obscenities in new ways to express my ugliness. Cuts on the head tend to bleed a lot so I was beginning to look like hamburger. He didn't ask any questions so the blows were just recreational for him. Dee Dee slapped me around some, but she was careful not to damage her nails. She had them done the day before for a party that evening. She didn't like my blood on her hands either. They said no one had noticed my disappearance and they took that as confirmation of my insignificance. "I'm a fucking janitor," I said. "Why would anyone notice?" They were rude to Randy, calling him a pipsqueak, but a bit nicer to Bull. Bull was too big to take for granted. Dee Dee and Gerald IV laughed about the fire and the distress of their fellow students. "Did you see Marti crying, "Oh, I never get in school without a portfolio! All my work is gone!" Dee Dee said. "Dad said he would give the school that takes me a new building," Gerald said. "It worked here, and he hasn't even produced the building yet. I told him Wilda-beast was getting suspicious." Gerald hit me a few times more and after a half hour, they left. That no one had noticed I was gone was a relief to me. At Catfish & Company we keep in contact with every operative in the field; I had not called in that night. We all have a little button on our key chains that sends a beep to the office, if we can't call in. I am regular as clockwork about that, so missing a contact would have raised red flags at the office. With several operatives in Randall all ready, they would have had no problem checking up on me. We usually keep the disappearance of an operative quiet as long as possible. This would be normal operating procedure. We like to lull our adversaries into a false sense of security. I assumed the main office was on the ball and searching for me. The local police were on the ball too. I later found out there had been an event at the Sikh girl's room just before dawn. A drunk tried to get in. Melissa, the head of the Student Council had the girl staying with her in another part of the dorm. In place of the intended victim were four Women's field hockey players and their sticks. Sally, my operative was playing janitor in the hall. The drunk who was paid to attack the girl and was told the girl "needed a real man bad." This had been before midnight, and the drunk had spent the intervening hours drinking courage. The man was halfway through the window when the hockey players struck. They weren't understanding and had no tendency to be tolerant, but they were models of restraint compared to Sally. Sally wanted information. While the drunk tried to bluff his way out of it, that wasn't in the cards. Sally asked if any of the girls had ever dissected a frog before. One of the girls volunteered she had done a science project on the reproductive system of a frog. "Do you have a scalpel?" Sally asked. The girls said no. "Well, I have a pen knife," Sally said. "It's sharp enough." Several minutes later, the drunk told all. He confessed a person named Jerry gave him $500.00 to attack the girl. They met in a bar and went to a big, fancy house on the side of Martin's Mountain. Jerry had assured him the girl wanted it. They found $467.00 on the drunk, and assumed the rest had been paid for booze. He also had a card from a man named Latimer Ridley with a Pennsylvania phone number. They turned the drunk and this information over to the police. Sally had already set out to see if I was at my apartment and discovered I was missing. She also made contact with Wally who had been with me earlier that evening. Wally was at the police station when they brought in the erstwhile rapist and he realized Latimer Ridley was a fake name. Latimer and Ridley were fellow martyrs with Thomas Cranmer in Renaissance England. By noon, the computers found a property owned by Latimer Ridley on the side of Martin's Mountain. My office had two crews of hikers in town ready to search. Catfish & Company does a lot of work for Cultural organizations. We provide protection against muggers, pickpockets and similar low life, but we can also mingle in the audience and can be decoys too. While we always protected our own, the first obligation was to our clients. My office staff is made up of ex-cops, private investigator types and business people. The field staff covers every base. By the afternoon we had our own people in the bars chatting up the locals; we had culture vultures wandering the streets and shops before they went to the big choral event that evening, and hikers wandering the hills. I was tied up and in a storage room and I had no idea what was going on, but I had my own project, Bull and Randy. I had sown seeds of doubt and it was time to make them grow. The visit from Gerard IV and Dee Dee was not a success. The boys didn't like being treated like dirt. Dee Dee commented that she didn't understand why Gerald's father only hired stupid trolls. She was into gratuitous insults and Bull and Randy didn't take it well. Gerald commented that at least they were disposable. He was trying to be cool, but there were three burned bodies illustrating the extent of disposable. When they left, I went on about the dead men, saying I didn't know if they were dead before or after the fire. I told them I had heard one had inhaled flames, so he must have come to after the fire was set. The phone rang. It was Gerry telling them they wouldn't be back until after dark. He said Randall was filled with visitors and it was too risky to move in the daylight. "Are you at the hide out?" Randy asked. The answer apparently was affirmative. Randy hung up. "I hope Gerald is paying you a lot for this," I said. "He has big bucks to pay his way out of things." "$10,000.00," Bull said. "Well that works out to $500.00 per year in jail if you get caught," I explained. "Shut up," Bull ordered. He sounded firm, but he was thinking. Math wasn't his strong suit, but he was working it out in his mind. After ten minutes of silence, I asked if I could go to the bathroom again. This time Bull lifted me out of the chair gently as if he were afraid he might hurt me. I took a stab in the dark. "Bull, you're not the kind of man who needs to tie a guy up to do some damage," I said. "You can win in a fair fight, can't you?" "I sure as hell can!" he replied. "Bull's a real man," Randy said. "This isn't what we thought we were getting into. We were supposed to scare someone, rough them up a little, not kidnap them." "I wonder if they picked you out to be the fall guys," I mused. "They hired you to rough up a guy, then they switch to a felony, kidnapping, and I bet they plan to kill me eventually. They are rich; they can fly away to some distant land and you are left holding the bag in a state that likes lethal injections. Murder for hire is on the list of capital crimes." "Shit, we're up shit creek!" Randy said. He was the brighter of the two. "I'm thinking you boys haven't actually done anything to me yet. You haven't laid a hand on me in anger," I said. "I think you have been tricked. You were hired to do one thing, but they switched the job and now you are looking at hard time. Being hired to teach a guy a lesson ain't the same as kidnapping and murder. I think you can get out of this." "How?" Bull asked. "You were ticked and when you discovered that you helped me," I said. "If you were to tell the truth to the police, you could help them get the real bad guys." "I don't think they would believe us," Randy said. "You have a witness, an impartial witness." "Who?" they both asked. "Me," I replied. "If I get out of this alive, I have a good reason to be grateful. I will try to help you." "What if you are just tricking us?" Bull asked. "That lethal injection requires a dead body. As long as I am alive, you are in better shape than if I am dead. I've never shot and burned up anybody. You are safer with me than with your other playmates." We were in the bath now and Randy was unzipping me. I hadn't had anything to drink since the evening before, but I produced a modest amount of piss. Randy seemed to be more interested in my cock than the last time. "Randy likes piss sometimes," Bull whispered in my ear. "I'm out of the golden juice, but I may have some of the white, creamy stuff if he likes it," I said. Randy was stroking my cock and I was fully erect. They both liked that. "He likes the cream, but not as much as I do," Bull said. "I like it in the mouth. Randy likes it in the ass." Somehow, we changed from a captive and two guards to a trio of sex crazed horn dogs in heat in seconds. I assumed Randy was into man sex big time and Bull could take it or leave it. Randy was more adventurous and forward, but Bull truly loved cock. Fortunately, Bull was also a size queen. When his lips touched my cock, it was as if he had died and gone to heaven. We had fifteen minutes of wild and crazy sex. Randy wanted me in his ass. I was a few sizes bigger than he had taken, but he was game. Bull loved to watch. They liked it natural, bare back and spit lubricated. Randy and Bull sixty-nined, with Bull rimming Randy's ass between licking my knob. It took ten minutes for me to get into Randy's quivering hole. It was rough but Randy never lost his erection. I think Randy had a prehensile ass. Once I was in, he played with me. I climaxed quickly, shooting one volley deep in Randy and then pulling out and feeding the rest to Bull. Everyone was happy. We got dressed and then I got them to settle down and face reality. I was sure Gerald planned for Bull and Randy to take the fall for my kidnapping and eventual murder. I got them to tell me all, in exchange for me putting in a good word for them with the Sheriff. I was going to call the Sheriff when my guys knocked on the door. I heard a woman's voice asking for directions. It was my operative Helen Jones. They were playing hikers and purported to be lost and needing direction. Bull and Randy didn't know what hit them, but I was good to my word and they went off to the police to tell their tale. I went with them to ease the way. I told the police they had been tricked, and wanted nothing to do with the crime. Both men were too scared to lie, and they got brownie points for that. They also had heard more than they realized. They knew of three other foot soldiers. They had names and descriptions. The Police began to organize a raid on the in town hideout. It was in an old factory on the edge of town. I wanted to go to my apartment, clean up and get back to work, but Calhoun took me to the hospital instead. They professionally cleaned me up and gave me a few stitches. It was mostly bad bruises and two cracked ribs. Calhoun then took me to my apartment were Aunt Sarah and my mother were waiting with Mr. and Mrs. Putney. My second on command, Johnnie Williams appeared to direct our operations and coordinate with the cops. Johnnie was a good man, but I thought of him as a pencil pusher. I underestimated him. He was firmly in command and coordinating with the police. He was efficient and firmly in control. I wanted to get to work but they wouldn't let me leave. "Let me be frank, Catfish. In your current state, you are scary. No one could see you and not know something is very wrong. You need to direct things," Mrs. Putney explained. "You look like Frankenstein after a bad night." I looked in a mirror. She was right. I didn't want to agree with her, but she was right. The choral performance was in an hour. Everyone left except for Mom and Johnnie. I fell asleep. I slept for twelve hours straight. Apparently, 30 or 40 people came through my apartment, and I slept though it all. Mom made coffee, distributed doughnuts and made breakfast for the crew. Frank Putney was much recovered and he did some of the cooking duties with my mother. We had an impressive outbreak of brownies and cookies form the girls' dorms. Wilda-beast was out of commission, but Mrs. Wildhurst ( Wilda-beasts wife) sent her cooks and household staff over to help Mrs. Putney deal with the social demands. There was a round of receptions and teas associated with the week's events and they went on as normal. While the school events went on without incident or confusion, behind the scenes the police and Catfish & Company were busy. Police operations went on like clockwork as I slept. The raid captured Latimer Ridley, but missed Gerald III. Latimer Ridley was the Reverend Cannon Eustace Smyth-Wilson. His real name was John Eustace Wilson, and the hyphen, as well as the title were self-awarded. He was a nasty piece of work, but since his was in his early 70s, he had no desire to spend the rest of his life in jail. He was one of those men who knew everything, but was responsible for nothing. His plan was to blame everything on Gerald III and give enough detail to make anything short of the Electric Chair seem inadequate. Elsewhere, one of my men foiled an effort to set off a smoke bomb at the choral event with the aid of Killer-poo, my bomb sniffing Cock-a-poo. Killer-poo had the endearing characteristic of leaving the perpetrator with permanent bite marks on his or her legs. The bomber knocked my man over so he was slow in calling Killer-poo off. The perpetrator, a minor thug from Roanoke, needed 123 stitches. Killer poo was a cute, cuddly, ragamuffin of a dog, playful, good with children and old people. It was the scent of explosives that set him off. One man tried to sue us for gratuitous cruelty after an abortive pipe bomb attack. He was laughed out of court when Killerpoo entered the court room. Killer-poo wore pink bows in his hair for court appearances. By the time I went to bed Tuesday night, everyone associated with the plot was in jail, except for Gerald III. Bull and Randy gave reliable information to Calhoun. Eustace was lying through his teeth. The rapist was telling all. Gerald IV was in the County lock up, as was the charming Dee Dee. Johnnie arranged that one of my operatives be a cellmate for Gerald and another for Dee Dee. Tony DeMarco was a gifted painter form the Bronx, but he sounded like a cast member from the Sopranos. He got Gerald into a bragging contest over who was the most hard-boiled. Tony discovered Gerald IV had slipped Wilda-beast a Mickey that induced the heart attack. Gerald didn't know it was intended to kill him. He thought it was to put him out of commission for a few days with food poisoning. Wilda-beast was an ox of a man and survived. Gerald was also feeding his father information for the dirty tricks. Gerald IV was a pussycat compared to Dee Dee. Helen Jones, my fake hiker, bunked with Dee Dee in the county jail. Helen could play the country girl and gave the impression of being a total ditz. She pretended to be awestruck by Dee Dee's beauty and sophistication. Dee Dee ate that up. Dee Dee saw herself as a master puppeteer. She pulled the strings as others did her bidding. "Dee Dee isn't the brightest light bulb in Bloomingdale's window you know," Julia explained. "She thinks that only the person who committed the act is guilty of the crime. She doesn't know that conspiracy is a crime too. She preys on the weak and the lost. She looks for the deeply troubled or vulnerable girl to do her dirty work. Of course, she ditches them as soon as the deed is done. One of her minions tried to commit suicide afterwards. Dee Dee thought that was funny." We began pulling our people out of Randall on Wednesday. Only Gerald III was at large and his car had been spotted in Northern Virginia, heading north. I assumed he was heading for Thailand or some South American country. Things settled down in Randall and the end of the semester events proceeded without a problem. I returned to Richmond, but I left several operatives at the school, just in case. Three weeks later, I had to go back to made statements to the police for the record. There was an oversupply of confessions, and they needed help deciding which were real. Several men confessed to lesser charges, hoping to avoid the major crimes. Bull and Randy had been consistently truthful and helpful. The Police chief told me they would be given a suspended sentence and would serve no jail time. The drunk had a history of sexual misconduct, and would be out of commission for years. I did six hours of statements, and we decided to resume the next morning. Calhoun had plans for the night that very much included me.