Date: Wed, 10 Mar 2010 20:48:39 -0700 From: dnrock@rock.com Subject: Of Man and Boy 8 Of Man and Boy by: dnrock(dnrock@rock.com) 8: A Little Adventure The Niño del Muchacho rounded Bull Point. Paul plotted a course, West-Northwest (305 degrees) between the north coast of St. Thomas and Hans Lollik Island, as they were to pass Outter Brass Land Island; he would correct to just north of west (275 degrees) and make a straight shot toward San Juan. San Juan is on the north coast or the Atlantic side of the island. It is a modern and vibrant city. Paul activated the radar, the navigation system, the autopilot and eased the throttles forward to three quarters. Grant was standing on the Captain's chair, with his head out the open hatch and his little penis flapping in the breeze. The weather forecast called for scattered rain showers and they were heading for one of them. Grant sat down and Paul closed the hatch. After they cleared the islands Paul made his course adjustment and set the radar's audio alert. Grant stayed in the wheel house or on the bridge as it were and watched, while Paul headed for the galley. The trip to San Juan would be about 5 hours, dock side to dock side. Paul was now more convinced then ever he needed a much faster craft. Something that would curse closer to 30 kn in good weather. Since the Niño del Muchacho was just under a million dollars used, he pondered how he could afford to get something considerably faster and probably smaller, without giving up this magnificent yacht. Something capable of quickly moving between Charlotte Amalie and the Poseidondoro was quite affordable. All he needed there was something in the 20 to 25 foot (6-8m) class, a gas powered inboard/outboard, with a rag top, would do. Paul put Grant to his studies while he read some of his medical journals. Grant needed some explanation of math but nothing that was to difficult. Grant switched to the local kids programming on the TV and Paul turned off the Autopilot, as they approached the Harbor entrance. In the dive shop Paul purchased all the things Grant would need. The staff thought Grant was still just a bit to small to handle a full fledged SCUBA package but they outfitted him, warning Paul that only a certified instructor should instruct him; they also suggested he start with the supplied Air Snorkeling for Youth (SASY) program. It is a kind of scuba for kids but keeps them in very shallow less than 40 feet (12 m) of water. Usually these kids are at least ten. Paul assured them Grant was a superior swimmer and that his instructor would be the best there was. "I'm the best there is." boomed a deep voice from behind Grant. Grant wheeled around to see who belonged to that voice. He confronted the biggest man he had ever seen. He was at least 6' 6" (2 m) tall and built like a Green Bay linebacker. He reached down and in one smooth motion, scooped Grant up with his long left arm, bringing the boy's face and his, into proximity. Grant was shocked, surprised and giggled as the man stuck out his right hand to Paul, who was smiling. "I'm Paul Grant Stum the Third and I swim like a sea mammal, who are you?" "I'm Francis Westerholm the proprietor of his humble establishment and the best damn diving instructor there is. Do they call you Paul, Grant, Stum or Three?" Grant giggled some more. "I like to be called on time for meals and Grant by my friends." Fran turned to his staff. "Package up Dr. Stum's stuff so we can begin Grant's lessons." He put Grant back on the floor and embraced Paul with a mighty hug. "So you swim like a sea mammal do you, what kind?" "A bottle nosed dolphin sir, I swim with them every chance I can get. They adopted me into their pod you know." The staff members were trying not to laugh because Grant was so serious. Paul opened up his lap top and brought up some photographs of Grant swimming and playing with his friends and one of him and the little one kissing in the water. "Dad swims with them too," Grant blurted out. Paul smiled and nodded. "Well dolphins are some of the best divers in the world so maybe you can teach me something Grant." Grant just blushed a very bright red. "I don't know about that but you can swim with us when we get to Poseidondoro." "Poseidondoro?" "Grant named our island home." " It means Poseidon's gift, named after me." "Hum, I would have thought it would be called Grant's place or something like that." "Dad said I was a gift from that old Greek God Poseidon, so I named it after me," Grant announce with a bit of a swagger in his high alto voice and body language. While they traveled back home with a new friend on board Grant played some computer games and more Cribbage. He mentioned that dad had started reading Treasure Island and how much he liked the book. That just got Fran going, telling all kinds of pirates stories and myths along with a few of his adventures. Grant loves to hear stories, his father would tell him stories and tall tails, while they were alone on the Jennifer's bridge. Fran showed Grant a wonderful internet site. It has all kinds of naval and pirate stories, dictionary of terms, and stuff an eight year old is fascinated by. About 3 hours out Francis finally asked Paul for a bit of an explanation, "you know, like what you want me to do besides swim with Grant's dolphin pod. Just where did this boy come from, you know, unimportant shit." Grant giggled, for one so young he understood irony quite well. He did want to know more about this man and how his dad and him had become friends too. Paul sighed and sat in a big chair next to the bridge. He told Francis the whole story. "Well young man, I now understand the gift from Poseidon reference. I guess you really are that. I take it your favor involves me going abord the Jennifer, hence my frog man costume?" "Yes, how did you guess?" "I figured you had some kind of undercover diving assignment for me, since you trumped up the need for my equipment on this trip." Grant told him about the coded numbers scratched in the bulkhead's paint near the radio, on the Jennifer's bridge. "Dad wants those numbers." "I think we should get them before the DEA figures out what they are. The boy's inheritance has already been diminished by the Jennifer's capture." "I figured it a fair trade, an old fishing boat for a new family and a new life." "Well, that may be mate but you can't just give all you treasure away. Why their must be pieces of eight and a whole lot more in those banks." "But what will you do?" "Why I'll just swim up to the Jennifer, board her and copy down the codes and none will be the wiser." "You will!" Grant's eyes were as big as gold coins. "Can I come with you?" "Hum, I don't know little Buccaneer, have you had any SEAL training?" Grant shook his head and look a bit sad, he knew their was no way he could go on a dangerous mission. "Well perhaps you can help in some other way. You know be part of the support team. I will know more when I size up the situation." Francis went on to tell Grant about his family, he has three children, all girls and they all dive. He told him how he met Paul and that Paul saved his life. He had been swimming and was attacked by a "fleet of jellyfish, Portuguese Man of War they was," that stung him terribly. Paul pulled him from the water and gave him several shots and treated his wounds with compresses. That he was a navy SEAL, for almost fifteen years and had spent a lot of time training for covert missions. "That's like sneaking on board boats to collect secret information." Fran admired Grants new neckless and heaped praise on him for helping his dad and the children in the hospital. All the while he took pictures of Grant, he sure liked the kid and his body even if it has shorts and a Tee on. He would get a lot more over the next few days, of the boy in a more natural setting, even some of Grant and Paul swimming with the dolphin pod. Fran was amazed at how quickly Grant took to the diving instructions and the equipment. He seemed to be a real natural. For the diving test they went west along the north shore of Thatch Cay to the well know and popular diving locations. For the nights Fran stayed at Poseidondoro, Grant realized he would sleep in is own room. Grant did not like it but he understood it. Paul softened the situation by making sure to give the boy a good loving time or two. Paul and Fran shared a bed on several occasions. Fran would have gladly played with Grant but he was not invited by boy or man and understood the ground rules. It had been a while since either man had adult male sex. It had been a while since Fran had any male sex at all. Fran and Paul are not lovers, they were friends that shared physical pleasures from time to time, this was one of those times. Without ceremony them removed their scant clothing, falling into the bed pawing each other's body, as if they had been sex deprived for some extended period ot time. The kissing, pawing, feeling, touching, cursing; general exploration, resembled two teenagers in the back seat of their parents late 60's or early 70' sedan, at a drive in movie. Not that either one was old enough to have been a teenager when cars were that large and drive in movies that popular. Fran, from the earlier description is a very large man. Paul is tall but much thinner and lighter and a bit shorter. In little time and with little effort Fran and moved to the overstuffed chair taking Paul with him. He just picked him up and carried him over placing Paul's back to his chest he lowered his ass on his skyward, slightly curved 7 inch, very fat cock. Letting Paul settle onto the phallus at his own rate. Fran began thrusting up into Paul with short quick fucking stabs. One massive hand was fondling him the other playing nipple tag. Fran is not one for cock sucking. Not that he doesn't do it, he does. Not that he doesn't want his given some oral treatments, he does. Fran likes to fuck best. On the bed they did a bit of smell, lick, kiss and suck but that was just foreplay. This was now serious, lustful fucking. Paul was not accustomed to such a fat cock in his ass, it hurt a bit a first but he was sure enjoying it now. Fran was not accustomed to such a tight ass, he was enjoying that too. When it was Fran's turn to take it he did so like the man he is, kneeling down on the bed, his ass high in the air, his hand pulling his butt cheeks apart in anticipation. Paul lined up his arrow straight long but not overly thick penis and pressed home. In one smooth but slow motion he delivered the sward full to the hilt. Paul's feet were firmly on the floor, his back straight, his butt cheeks flexed tight showing large hollows on each side, he fucked in long smooth three quarter length strokes. ................... They scooped out the Jennifer, she was tied up at the government wharf in downtown Charlotte Amalie. The long liner lay by itself on the end of the landward side, off to the side of the Coast Guard's area. It was a bit isolated. The lights from the city and the wharf made anything except a water approach risky. They docked the Niño del Muchacho in its usual berth and used the usual funny taxi driver to take them down town. Fran walked from Paul's office to the wharf taking some digital photographs and visiting the Coast Guard office. Grant went to the hospital to see Julia and Paul got caught up on some paperwork. Fran used the ruse of purchasing some charts and getting up dated information about currants in the areas, to ask some questions about the Jennifer. Being from San Juan he could hardly be expected to know about the triple murder and drug seizure. "The Jennifer is in very good condition," the clerk behind the counter told him, while rolling up his charts. "The engineers told me it was Lunenberg, Nova Scotia built and recently refitted in Mobile, top running order." "What happens to her now?" "The district attorney wants to keep her here as evidence in his murder trial. I believe they have suspects. After that it will be given to the DEA and they will auction her off in their annual sale. I understand they found quite a coke stash in one of the fish holds." Fran thanked the clerk for the maps, paid his bill and departed. Walking back to Paul's office. They headed back to the marina for lunch and a little planning. "Grant, does the deck to bridge/wheel house hatch, have a good lock?' "Yes, my dad kept everything working, he didn't like it when something was broken and not fixed." Fran explained he did not want to try and pick a good lock, he was not very good at that. Grant offered a suggestion. "We always kept a spare key hidden." He went to get some paper and a pencil. Grant drew some sketches showing Fran and Paul just were things were. "if you feel up inside the gunwale, just opposite the hatch on the stern, directly behind the stack, the key is taped on with duct tape. The codes are scratched into the bulk head on the bridge, next to the VHF radio. Get all the numbers and letters in exactly the same order as they appear." "Anything else I should look for?" "Yes, in my parents quarters are five drawers next to the hatch. In the bottom drawer, my mom had a photo album. I don't want any of my toys or books, dad has already replaced most of them anyway. Oh, my old dad had a little office in the galley, if you take off the fresh air vent, just above the coat hook and reach up, a long way, you should find a log book, also held in place by duct tape. I don't know what is in it but I think it must be important for him to hide it like that." "By the way what color is the paint on the bridge bulkhead?" "It is light gray, you can feel the numbers and letters if you have a hard time seeing them." "I think by using a special red light the numbers will stand out better. I will take a picture and write it down, both." "Ok, but you got to let me help, this is a real adventure, like that boy Jim Hawkins ... `Fifteen men on the dead man's chest- Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!' ... you know, in Treasure Island he got to go on a schooner, steal a treasure map and well all kinds of things." "Well Grant, you have drawn me a treasure map," Fran offered but that was not going down very well. "How about Grant and I, man your skiff just off shore some, we can go fishing while you swim in and back." Paul suggested. His idea was a hit with Grant of course. Fran thought for a moment and agreed. Paul went to rent a small fishing skiff 18' (3 m), 50 horse outboard and a 3 horse trolling motor, runabout with running lights and the like). Fran had several interesting additional pieces of paraphernalia that interested Grant. This is stuff in addition to his wet suite, tanks, regulator, diving belt with a huge knife, flippers and mask. Fran had a small plastic grapple with a wide woven rope. He explained it was plastic, so it was lighter, would not make much noise when he tossed it up on the deck and would not leave scratches. He had special gloves that helped in climbing, non slip grips, but thin enough to use so he would not leave fingerprints. He had a waterproof camera and two waterproof flashlights, one regular and one with a red Les. He had a special rope to lower himself back to the water, which he could recover and several special waterproof bags to cary stuff in, including his note book. They stowed all the gear, including fishing equipment and a small bate can, gas and so on in the runabout. Paul had a hand held multi channel radio, a cell phone and night vision binoculars at the ready. Grant's imagination was running wild all afternoon. Paul was afraid anticipation would overwhelm realization for the lad but their was little he could do. Finally they took a long slow tour of the harbor area in the runabout. This gave them lots of opportunity to scout the approaches. They wound up on the west end of Charlotte Amalie, at a harbor side restaurant having dinner. It was now dark and the three modern pirates, with unwritten letters of marque, set out for the government wharf, three fishing lines in the water, just slowly trolling. (Grant figured he had a birthright to the numbers and that was just like "letters of Marque" issued by some king.) They managed to catch several. Inshore fish include: bonefish, tarpon, permit, king fish, mackerel, sand sharks and others are common. Snook are nocturnal eaters so that is what Paul expected to catch and just what Grant and Fran caught. They can get to 30 pounds (14 kg) but he didn't expect anything that big in the harbor waters. Paul it turned out caught nothing but Grant had several on the line, keeping his first and last. As they drifted along toward the government wharf Fran had Paul throw out the anchor and with some minor difficulty wiggled into his wet suite, geared up and rolled over the gunwale and silently into the water. While Fran swam under water toward the Jennifer, Grant and Paul watched. What they expected to see is anyone's guess but they never took their eyes off his route for very long. Several other small craft came into the area where they were fishing. Grant held up his larger catch, about 20 pounds (9 kg) with some difficulty, as Paul illuminated it with the light. He told the others he caught it further west and they slowly trolled off in that direction. They kept scanning the Jennifer and part of the wharf they could see with the night vision binoculars but never did see Fran. Grant noticed a security guard making his rounds several times but he seemed totally unaware of anyone on the Jennifer. Grant was sure Fran was their by now. It was a full 90 minutes when a wet hand reached over the gunwale of the runabout and grasp Grant on the shoulder, causing him to just about jump in the drink. Frans quite voice saying "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!' . Fran had surfaced on the seaward side and both Paul and Grant had been focused on the landward. Paul took Fran's packages, camera and other gear. Fran rolled into the runabout and quickly stowed his gear under the low bow cover. While Fran was getting organized Grant stowed the lines and tossed off the unused bate. Paul started the outboard and slowly headed toward the Niño del Muchacho, picking up speed as he went. When they got to the marina, the boys quickly unloaded everything and Paul returned the rental. He gave Grant's fish to the marina staff, not wanting to clean them and having full freezers anyway. It turned out Fran had picked up a lot more then just one photo album. He had several, a pile of family papers, a couple of Grant's stuffed animals, his baby book and things like that. They stowed them in a small sea chest that was empty and kept in the engine room. Grant could sort and deal with this memorabilia at some future date. He was satisfied with that. Paul figured seeing the pictures and stuffed animals was probably just a bit painful for him. Grant kissed Fran on the cheek and gave him a big hug, thanking him for bring him these little treasures. Over a couple of beers for the man and chocolate goat's milk for Grant they reviewed Fran's adventure. He had no problem keeping his bearing and surfaced almost on target. Ah, that SEAL training was still fresh in his memory. He only had to throw the grapple three times. He did admit to being just a bit out of shape, as it was harder than he remembered climbing up the small rope, but he made it. The key was right where Grant said it would be. He replaced it before he departed. Once on the bridge he photographed the data and made a copy in his notebook. Which he pulled from one the waterproof bags and placed on the table. He found the secret log book stuffed in the fresh air vent, just as Grant described. It was way up and out of sight. "Your biological father must have had very long arms," he commented. The photo albums and other papers were in a different drawer, probably not put back in the right place by the cops, but he found them. The ship's papers and other business documents were missing and probably in the possession of the Coast Guard. That was Ok, not on his list anyway. The security guard came along just as he was about to leave. He saw the man approaching as he replaced the key. "The fellow never had a clue I was on board." They turned to the secret log book. It was not a log book as such but did record all of business dealings that had gone on for the past two and a bit years. It named names, addresses, phone numbers and gave amounts of product and so on. To keep up the appearance of a working fishing boat, Grant's biological father would purchase fish at sea and sell it in port, as if he had caught it. Sometimes these sales were at a loss, most times making a small profit. On the drug side it was a lot more profit. It seems he would transport for others mostly, but bought and sold modest amounts too. He named his buyers and sellers as well as who he hauled for and who he delivered too. Several of the names were well know, as underworld types and several were a complete surprise, as being thought of as upstanding citizens in several jurisdictions. There were several pages in what appeared to be a code. Paul studied it for a few minutes and then recognized it as being written backward and upside down. He held it up to a mirror and their it was. Bank names and account numbers. He copied them down. "Grant your father was left handed wasn't he," Paul asked? "Yes how did you know?" "The backward and upside down writing is most easily done by a left handed dyslexic. It is the same trick Leonardo da Vinci used in the middle ages for his note books. He too was left handed." Now they looked at the codes Grant had told them about. In his neat Grade 4 script, Grant made a copy of from Fran's notes and then crossed out the obvious call signs and frequencies: the VI Coast Guard, various port authorities, weather service and so on. This left a jumble of numbers and letters. "The letters are in normal order the numbers are reversed," he said writing them correctly. Then he took the letters and numbers and listed them as they appeared: CI 98712, BH 36796 and so on. "CI = Caiman Islands, BH = Bahamas, etc. Then he made a list of locations and placed a dash after each. Next he wrote the name of the bank after the dash, those were the letters at the end of number sequences. Then he rearranged the two sets of numbers, the second set before the first so: place name, bank name, account number. Fran and Paul were quite impressed with the skills of this eight year old boy. Paul knew he was bright and quick but this blew him away. Paul compared the two list of accounts, several were common but one on the wall was not in the book list and two from the book were not on the wall. Fran was quite taken aback. He now understood exactly why this information was so important. If the DEA types ever found it they would tie the money up in court for years, claiming it was drug related or money laundering. It probably was, from what was in the secret log book. With Grant supposedly dead, any assets would go to his parent's families. Grant was not keen on that since he didn't like them much and apparently his parents didn't either. From some of the documents that Fran brought back it appeared that in his mothers family, there had been a good amount of forced incest, from letters written to her by one sister. Paul should have a report from Mobile soon that would clarify all that; Grant frankly didn't care at this point in his life. While most of this was going on Grant had positioned himself on Fran's lap. He did not know that Fran is a boy fancier of the first order. Fran is not interested in sex with boy's his age but he appreciated their youth, vigor and smooth, slim bodies. He would accept some sugar from Grant and appreciated having it. Fran is mostly a voyeur of the boy physical form. For him that is enough, well that and the social interaction. "Do you know if the DEA has any idea about these accounts?" "No Fran, I don't, but they probably suspect. I guess some of the people he did business with must know some of them exist. Looking at the list, I figure their are two accounts at each bank, one is the drop and the other the collector. Any accounts not listed here would have been boat and fishing related. All that was confiscated by the Coast Guard and DEA." "I think you need to clean out and close out all of them ASAP." "How do you propose we do that without getting Grant in the middle of it all?" Grant was just sitting on Fran's lap taking it all in. "I have it, you set up the Paul Grant Stum the Third Medical Scholarship Foundation. Make yourself the manager, your dad, me and probably Sid the board of directors and create a Swiss account to collect the money. Then over time you can move it from the different banks into one place, a little at a time. Amounts under ten grand are not reported. In the interim you can begin seeing it is invested so the thing will grow some." Grant thought this all very exciting and of course antiheroic, stealing ill gotten gains and using them for a nobel purpose, his education. Paul was not sure about it all but he was already in for a penny, he would be in for a dollar. Paul pondered this a bit. He needed someone who could get all the financial information and start moving the cash to new accounts, building some kind of firewall. If he kept the money in the same banks and just moved it to new accounts no reports of any kind would be filed. He had it, he would hire a divorce lawyer to do the work. It would appear the lawyer was working on behalf of a client attempting to hide assets. A common practice and one which would not draw suspicion. He knew just the man for that job. he had trained a boy for him just two years ago. Of course all this was some speculation, no money may in fact even be in those accounts or it may be very little. Fran was interested in the business transactions noted in the secret log book. Paul was not quite sure what to do with it. Fran thought he could drop a few detailed hints to one of his old SEAL buddies, now with the FBI. Paul took Grant to his bed. Fran also turned in. They would leave for San Juan very early in the morning. Tired as Grant was he was in no mood to just lay down and sleep insisting that Paul play with his body, however he fell asleep before that could happen. Fran let Paul and Grant sleep most of the way to San Juan. At his store he copied some of the pages from the secret log. After a good meal they said good by, our nimrods departed. Once clear of the San Juan harbor Paul set the autopilot. He spent most of the return tip paying attention to Grant and their mutual physical needs. Grant was quickly moving up in dildo and plug sizes, he was sure that before long he could accommodate Paul's huge cock without pain. He was not at all sure just why he wanted to do this but he did. In Paul's training technique the student was never encouraged to take his man in before completely ready. One function of the anal attention was to create the feeling of emptiness in the boy. An emptiness that could only be filled by putting something in. That something was suggested over and over again in the films and pictures the trainee was exposed to. Whenever Paul would give his boy oral pleasure he now made sure to use a penis shaped dildo as well as his fingers. Often he would play a video of boys, men or man and boy having anal sex while giving his trainee oral pleaser. On this trip he allowed Grant to spend as much time with his penis as the boy wanted. By the time they returned Grant had demanded three loads of ejaculate. His jaw was beginning to hurt so Paul had to cut him off. "This is supposed to be pleasurable not painful." Just before Paul took the controls back he fixed a dildo with a suction cup to the deck and suggested Grant sit on it. The boat's vibrations being translated through the dildo to his butt were wonderful and Grant experienced a number of organisms until Paul made him put it away and get his swimming suite on, as port was in sight. The most important part of the training however, was not the physical but the psychological, moral and social.