Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2017 21:34:40 -0500
From: bldhrymn@aol.com
Subject: Catfish finds Trouble 4

Catfish finds Trouble 4
By Bob Archman

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 or bldhrymn@aol.com

If you enjoy these stories. Please consider giving a donation to Nifty!


I called my office that evening, and things were moving long well. By then
Fairfax and Rutherford had developed a well-oiled research machine. They
had four people working with them and each had his or her little tricks to
find things that people did not want to be found on the web. There may have
been some good computer guys involved on the dark side of the internet, but
my people were good and not disturbed people or fanatics.

Contrary to the popular image, computer genius and crazy as a loon, are not
synonymous. Socially inept was often the case, but not crazy. Extreme
groups have another problem. Many are searching for ideological
purity. They weed out the people who aren't pure enough. That means there
are many unhappy ex-members. Many are created by a single man and his
pal. There is only room for one leader, so the pal is kicked out.

I was pondering this when someone knocked on my door. It was Franklin on
his way back from his meeting. I asked him in.

"I was thinking about our conversation last night. I was brought up in a
100% straight world. Looking back, I had feelings about men, but I ignored
them," he said. "I assume you noticed that Martin is hard to ignore. I
loved fucking him, and I felt more intense pleasure than I had experienced
sexually before."

"I treat Martin as a sex toy, not a man. I pretended I was straight and
Martin was just a quirk. He is a good-looking man and I like that, and the
sex was an incidental, extra added attraction," Franklin continued. "I
think I have been cheating him, and short changing myself. When I connected
with you and your friends, I realized I like gay sex, and don't care what
you look like. I want more."

"Franklin, you are in luck. I am pretty sure Martin can give you more, a
lot more, any which way you want," I said.  Franklin smiled.

"I've never sucked a guy and never taken his load. I'm scared. Most of all,
I'm frightened that I will try it with Martin and hate it," he said.

"You want a trial run?" I asked.

"A trial run with maybe some training wheels?" he suggested
sheepishly. "Are you insulted?"

"Franklin, I've never said no to a blow job in my life," I replied. "Let's
take a shower."

After a quick rinse, I sat on a bench and he got on all fours and sucked
me. After a minute or two he said, "It's okay. I thought it would be
different."

"You thought it might taste like piss?" I asked.

He nodded.  "I just didn't know," he muttered.



"Let's dry off and get on the bed. We can sixty-nine." I suggested. He was
fine with that.

On the bed, I told him to copy what I did and see what happens. "You will
taste precum as my balls get into it. When that happens, you are doing it
right. Don't worry." I explained. "It's sweet, a natural lubricant."

The sixty-nine-position worked well since we could get excited together. I
had a feeling that Franklin was not honest about his sexual needs. An
excited cock can't lie, and he was excited and ready. Precum coated his
cock head before my tongue caressed the tender organ. As I licked, the
drool of precum became a flow. I became more excited. I could tell when my
cock began to ooze. Franklin slowed sucking for a second or two, but then
he began sucking with more vigor.

A few minutes later I asked if he wanted me to warn him when I was getting
close.  He told me no, he thought he could tell. I shot off 20 or 30
seconds later. He popped a few seconds after I did. I suspect that sperm
tastes better when you are having an orgasm too. Franklin was good with
it. He was nice enough to continue sucking me and he seemed to like my post
orgasmic drool. We talked for a while and he left.

Franklin was a gay man who didn't want to be gay, and had the misfortune to
find a man he loved. I don't think you need to proclaim your sexual
preferences to the world. Not knowing about your friend's sexual desires
and urges is usually a blessing. Suppressing these preferences and not
admitting them to yourself can cause mental problems. That seems to make
you mean.

You need to be able to enjoy your sex life with the man or women you love
or like. The sheltered Victorian women who were terrified of sex with a man
did not live a happy life anymore that a gay man who cannot enjoy is
partner.

The next morning was a quiet day. There was a lot of activity, but it was
in my computers as well as the police, State Troopers, FBI and ATF offices.

In Fort Greene, Tommy had made a plea agreement with three of the men they
arrested at the Greene Grill. They were followers, not leaders and they
were in deeper than they wanted. Helen said the were social bigots, they
wanted to fit in the group. They were the guys who couldn't get into
college, or were way too smart to need to go to college. They knew it all.

Roddy Richardson was a find. He was also known as Tommy Thomason in West
Virginia, and his birth name was Davy Davidson. He was attracted to fringe
groups. He was a born leader and would join a group, rise to the top and
then push he group into increasingly violent actions. He was believed to be
involved with an abortion clinic bombing, arson at a synagogue and several
Black churches.

His current interest was in White Power, and mostly involved
anti-immigration activity. He wasn't picky about which causes he
supported. He liked violence. The ATF discovered that Roddy, Tommy and Davy
were the same man when fingerprints on bomb fragments matched. He was the
bomb maker, but someone else planted the bomb. That he was in Fort Greene
was not good.



The ATF hadn't found him, and they thought he had a fourth name and
personality. Bombs and arson also had the potential for mass casualties.

South-west Virginia is not overwhelmed with minority religious groups
except for black majority churches. Bigger places such as Roanoke and
Lynchburg had well established Synagogues. College towns tended to have
large, more exotic residents, Moslems, Hindus and Sikhs. I knew that most
of the more rabid bigots didn't know the difference between the groups.

The police were already working on raids to nip the problem in the
bud. There were probably enough drug and fire-arms cases to disrupt the
plans for a demonstration. Helen called and said the starting gun was
before dawn the next day. I didn't know they would be a day late.

I had a call from a man named Ram Singh. He was a professor in Blacksburg
and was associated with the Sikhs. They were a small group, but because the
wear turbans, were often mistaken for Moslems. He got my name from a friend
of a friend of a friend. He had heard whispers and was worried.

Singh came with his friend, Israel Cohen, to my room that evening. I joked
that I would never have guessed their ethnic backgrounds for their names.

"With a name like Catfish Noland, who would guess you are a redneck?" Cohen
joked.

"You know the story behind my name?" I asked.

"I certainly do!" Cohen said laughing. "It is a legend in some circles in
Richmond. You look the part too."

"Well, you don't look Jewish, but I have no idea what looking Jewish is," I
said. "Mr. Singh is the poster boy Sikh."

Ram was tall, sported a big black beard and wore a bright, blue turban. He
said that an attack on a Sikh would probably be a case of mistaken
identity. "Some think we are Moslem, Arab and mid-eastern," Ram said.  They
are wrong on all counts."

"Terrorist are bad anyway, but a stupid terrorist who attacks the wrong
people are even worse. They are like murderers with bad aim," I said. "The
other problem is fanatics with bombs. Bombs aren't picky.  They don't kill
only their intended victims.

The men told me their worries. I thought they would be safe in a
well-traveled place and at the local universities. "I think I would
recommend against going to the "South will Rise Again Bar & Grill," I said.

Ram laughed. "I don't think that would be one of our favorite watering
holes," he said.

"Bombs and arson are the favorite tools of one of the groups we are worried
about," I said. "Jewish and Black people seem to have been the targets."

"Ram is worried that may because there are so few Arab and Moslems in the
Area," Cohen said.

"I think while these hate groups tend to hate anyone who is not white, they
focus on black people and hippies." I said.

"Hippies don't exist anymore," Cohen complained. "Hippie types remain," I
said. We talked for a while and a sensed a little uneasiness. I asked who
they had talked with in Richmond. It was Templeton, my banker friend and
sometimes playmate.

"Are you close friends?" I asked.

"I think we are more casual acquaintances, but we gotten real close several
times," Cohen said. "He told me you were helpful and smart. He described
you in considerable detail, but he didn't mention your missing leg! I was a
bit shocked."

"He described other parts of you in detail," Ram said.

"Templeton kind of concentrated on one part," Cohen added.

I smiled. "Templeton does have a favorite part," I said. "I think a lot of
men like the same part. I take it that it is your favorite?"

"We would like to see it," Cohen said.

"I we were strictly truthful, we would like to do more than just see it,"
Ram said.

"I take it that you guys aren't amateurs?" I asked. "When I get playful it
can get intense,

"We are professors, we both have a PhD. When we get into something, we go
in depth," Ram said. "Israel likes things really deep!"

"Ram is a big boy," Cohen said. "If anyone could go an inch or two deeper
than Ram, I'm game."

My cell phone rang. Helen, Tommy's wife was dead. She had been at a
political forum with her husband, left early because her baby sitter had to
be home by ten, and her car exploded. A police man had walked her to the
car, he was back at the school auditorium at the time of the blast. I was
stunned.

It was a very high profile, incredibly stupid move. Yes, it would get you a
lot of attention. Killing the wife of the Commonwealth Attorney was a big
deal. It would offend every law enforcement official and police officer in
the state. Some get threats regularly, but killing a family member is
shocking.  I had been talking about terrorist who kill the wrong person
with Ram and Israel.

I have always thought that terrorist are cowards. They go after the
innocent and unsuspecting. Bombing a Sunday School class or killing Second
Graders is not the action of a brave person. While the bomb was intended
for Tommy, if it had gone off after the meeting, anyone within the blast
radius would have been killed or maimed. That would be an added attraction
for a sadist.

Ram and Israel went home. I thought their concerns had been overblown, but
later that night an incendiary device went off at a predominantly Black
church, and other devices were found at Synagogues in Roanoke and
Charlottesville.

I called my office and told Fairfax. He had already been on the trail of
Roddy Richardson. He was like a bloodhound on a scent. He has sent his
information of Roddy to the State Police that afternoon. He and Rutherford
were working on known associates of our potential bomber.

The bombing was a shock, but the police raids went on as planned. They were
in Virginia, West Virginia, the Carolinas and in Georgia. They took place 8
hours after the bombing and caught our racists off guard. Roddy had not
warned his followers of his plans.

Many were arrested before they had a chance to see the early morning new
shows. It occurred after the deadline for newspapers, although I doubted
that many were big time readers.

My motel ceased to be a quiet hideaway. The press descended, and the owner
even rented spaces for mobile broadcasting trucks. Luckily, the Richmond
television crews were located at the other end of town. One guy from the
Charlottesville crew knew me, but he was a cameraman and he kept his mouth
closed.

My Mom was Tommy's favorite aunt and one of the few surviving members of
her generation. She was close to Helen's sister. They came to Fort Greene
and stayed at the house with the kids while Tommy dealt with the
investigation and the funeral arrangements. Tommy was dazed, but Mom was
calm and sensible. Some of his political friends wanted a big state funeral
type affair. Mom wanted a friends and family event, especially since
Helen's mother was prostrate with grief and her father was in early stage
Alzheimer's. Mom is kind, ladylike and determined to do things right.

The room next to me was now occupied by Jackson's brother. Jackson was the
man who was carried off by his Grandfather and Grandmother to court
earlier. The brother, Sandy, was maybe 25 years old, and I had the feeling
he was impressed by a big city like Fort Greene.  His grandparents had to
go home, but Sandy remained to report back to them.

Sandy liked to talk, and he mistook me for a fellow rural redneck. At
first, I thought Sandy was dumb as a post, but he just had shit for an
education.  Apparently, Jackson's friends were telling him to keep
quiet. Sandy didn't know if he should tell his Grandfather.

"Have you listened to the news?" I asked.

Sandy replied, "What news?"

"Someone tried to kill the Commonwealth Attorney last night.  They killed
his wife instead. They aren't worried about being drunk and
disorderly. They are looking for an accomplice to murder. Your brother is
in big trouble."

"Jackson wouldn't do that," Sandy replied.

"He needs to prove he is uninvolved," I said. "The police are looking for
blood."

"I need to call Grandpa, right?" he asked.

"If your grandpa can beat some sense into your brother, it will be a lot
better than the police, and a decade or two in jail is no piece of cake
either," I said. We were sitting on the covered walkway to or rooms. Sandy
went to his room to call. I went into my room.  It was hot as hell and I
needed a shower. Five minutes later Sandy knocked on my door. I was wearing
a bath robe.

"Grandpa's on the way. Can we talk?" he asked. I let him in.

"How bad is it? I need to give Grandpa the straight shit."

"Well your brother and his pals were shooting up the town two days before
the bombing," I explained. "Their cases were in the Commonwealth's
Attorney's office right now. His wife was blown up last night. Do you see
how this looks?"

"It's bad?" Sandy asked.

"Drunk and disorderly, using a motor vehicle while drunk, unlawful use of
firearms, disturbing the peace and accessory to murder. The courts don't
take kindly to the assassination of officers of the court, or their
families," I explained. "That means that if you could be sentenced to
fifteen to twenty years you get twenty."

"Oh shit," he replied. "How do you know this stuff?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm not an idiot," I replied. Sandy seemed to accept that as an answer. We
talked a little more. If he thought Fort Greene was a big place, Richmond
was almost mythically large.

"I've heard there are a lot of strange people there, like gays and Jews,"
he said.

"Live and let live, is my motto," I replied.

"Do you know gay guys?" he asked.

"Of course, I do. You do too, but you don't know it," I said. "I lived in
southside. Messing around and letting off a little steam with your pals is
called sex in Richmond." I shifted a little in the chair and my cock was
visible if you wanted to look. Sandy looked.

"I had a little fun at the swimming hole," Sandy admitted. "The showers
after wrestling practice were good too."

"Some guys aren't gay, but they like sex anyway they can get it," I
remarked. I guessed what he wanted and suggested a way to justify it in his
mind. Some men need to ease there way from being straight to being gay. His
mind may have had troubles with man sex, but his cock had tented his pants.

"I do like sex," he said.

"I do too, but I'm an old guy who has been around," I replied. "I like real
sucking and fucking sex, not foreplay." I shifted again and exposed a
little more of my equipment. Sandy was almost mesmerized.

"I need to get back to my room," he said.

"It's time for me to take a shower and get to bed," I said. "I need my
beauty sleep."

He laughed. "Do you think sleep would help?"

"It hasn't yet, but it might work someday," I said. He laughed.

"Is it hard talking a shower with one leg?" he asked. "I could help, if you
need it?"

A minute or two later, we were both naked and in the shower. Sandy was shy
and a bit unsure, but my cock inspired him. I had a bench across the rear
of the shower and sat on it. His more than adequate cock was at my mouth
level, so I sucked it. I think it took thirty or forty seconds to suck all
the shyness from his body.

Sandy moaned and told me it was beautiful and then said he couldn't believe
how good it was.

"Have you ever messed around in a private place where no one could walk in
on you?" I asked.

"Never, this is a lot better than have a guy feel you out in the showers
when the coach isn't watching," he said. "I could get used to this." After
a little while he said, "You aren't new to this, are you?"

"Nope. I am I right in thinking you like it a lot, but you are new to the
scene?" I asked. He answered me with a several nice spurts of cum.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed. I kept on sucking.  He had a few late ejaculations
and then calmed down.

"Are you done for the night, or do your balls refill quickly?" I asked.

"I can jerk off four or five times a night," he said. "What am I supposed
to do? Do I have to suck you?"

"Sex is better when you reciprocate, but everyone has his own pace. Do what
you are comfortable with and then try some new things when you are okay
with it," I said. He nodded, and we talked some more. I figured that if he
was a normal young man, he would be excited in twenty or thirty minutes.

I was wrong about that; it was twelve minutes. Sandy leaned over and stuck
his tongue out towards my cock. Lightening didn't strike when it made
contact, so he continued. "What is the sweet taste?" he asked.

"It's precum. It oozes from your cock when you are excited. The more you
suck, the more I will ooze." I said. "Sperm is slightly bitter."

"Did you like eating mine?" he asked. "Did it bother you?"

"No. It was fine. Sometimes, I take it just to keep things neat. It less
messy than spurting it everywhere. There are other times when I like a guy
and his home brew really hits the spot," I said. "Did it bother you when I
took your load?"

"Not at all," I said, "It was good." Our little meeting came to an end when
his Granddad called and asked for the location of the motel. Sandy gave it
to him and returned to his room.