'This Ilyich did promise a car to meet us, didn't he?' I asked as the train slowed to a stop at Chichester station.
'Come on, Philip!' Brett groaned. 'Do you think I'd leave us stranded out here in the middle of nowhere? Ilyich promised a man waiting for us after eleven. Hopefully, he'll be here and we won't have to twiddle our thumbs very long.'
'Relax, Inspector,' said Richard. 'Ilyich is a stickler for carrying through on something he says he'll do...' His eyes widened. 'The bloody bastard just might have done, at that,' he mumbled.
I sat back against the seat, uncomfortable now that I was nearly at the beginning of the leg of my investigation that I'd needed a bogus invitation just to start. I was dependent on the people I was investigating even for my mobility. Of course, the senior levels of the police forces of both Chichester and Selsey knew I was conducting an investigation within their jurisdictions. They were probably even more unhappy with me being here than I was going to be if there wasn't a car waiting for us.
It went hand in glove with this being an undercover operation. I was the guest of my suspects, and I had no doubt of how well things could work. But that had been London and the situation theoretical; now, however, I was in Chichester and would quickly be facing the reality of my dependence upon others.
'He's a cutey,' Brett said, pointing to a lone blond lad as our carriage came even with the platform. The train shuddered and came to rest. I reached for my knapsack and slung it over my shoulder.
'He is that,' Richard agreed. 'I want him.'
'You don't even know if he's part of this thing we're here for,' Brett groaned in friendly exasperation, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
'I can hope,' Richard shot back and grinned lopsidedly at the rest of us.
'Slut,' groaned Brett. 'Didn't you already get enough this morning? Besides, he's a blond, Richard. You don't like blonds very much.'
'I'm versatile,' the Irishman shot back as he grabbed his bag. 'Look at PC Yorston there.'
I frowned. 'Richard, there can be no reference to any one of us being police. Our lives may well rest on your remembering that.'
He nodded, looking crestfallen.
'Come on, lads,' I told them as I stood up. 'Everyone gets his own stuff, right? Let's go see what we're going to see.'
On the platform, Richard began to grin widely as the blond youth made his way towards us. 'There is a god, after all,' he mumbled under his breath.
I could only agree with Brett Chandler that our Irishman was, indeed, a bloody slut. I just hoped that he kept quiet about who we were.
The blond lad reached us and glanced from one to the other of us. 'Is one of you Brett Chandler?' he asked in heavily accented English, his eyes fixed on me.
He was a fine-looking lad, an inch or two taller than Brett. His hair was almost white, it was so blond. He was slim. His face was a rounded, heart-shaped perfection of Slavic beauty. He was definitely a cutie, as my lover had labelled him.
'I am,' Brett told him. 'Are you here to pick us up?'
The boy's gaze pulled from me as he began to blush. He looked at Brett. 'Pick you up?' he asked suspiciously.
'Ilyich was going to have a driver meet us here, to take us to the dacha.'
'Good!' Relief flooded the blond's face. 'Yes. I am here to take you to the party of Ilyich.' He smiled then. 'I am called Pyotr.'
We introduced ourselves in turn.
Pyotr met the gaze of each of us as he shook our hands, but his gaze kept darting back to me. 'Please,' he said finally, 'follow me to the car. We go now to dacha at Selsey Bill.' He started towards the station.
Brett reached for my arm as I made to follow the Russian. 'Looks like there's a new boy just about dying for some cop dick, Philip,' he said in a voice that didn't carry beyond us. 'You going to give him some?'
'My word!' We had just entered the station from the platform and I speeded up my steps to catch the rest of our party. I didn't know what type of game my newly acquired Yank lover might be playing out, but I wanted no part of it.
'He wants you, Philip,' Brett continued, staying up with me. 'He couldn't take his eyes off you. So, give him some – break the ice for all of us.'
'Just open my flies and say, `here it is'?'
'Should I do it in the station or wait until we're in the car?'
Brett stopped in the centre of the platform. It took me a moment to realise he was no longer immediately beside me, another to turn back to him, and yet another to recover the distance I'd walked.
'What did I say?' I asked, wondering just how placating I would have to be to soothe whatever ruffled feathers the American had developed.
'You're a real prude.'
'A prude?' I yelped. 'Me?' I was in Chichester in the south of England with four men I had shagged during the week just past. I didn't think that I sounded especially prudish.
'Why're we here?' he asked.
'To learn if these Russians have anything to do with Aled's death or with the flow of heroin into London's gay community.'
'And what have we expected all along to be a part of this learning experience, Philip Goodson?'
'An orgy. Sex.'
'Right. So, why are you suddenly so resistant to a little nookie?'
'Philip, we both agreed to put the monogamy part of our relationship on hold until after this weekend. I don't like it, but I expect you to fuck anyone who wants it. I want to find out if this is the real thing between us or a wild goose chase. Giving that cutie a fuck may open doors for us, so that we do learn something out here. Or it may dissipate what you think you feel for me, so that you can go back to being England's top dick – with nobody holding you back. All I can say is shag him good, baby.' He smiled and began to walk towards the glassed entranceway of the station. I followed, not at all happy at how free he'd just made me. And, by inference, himself.
The others had loaded their knapsacks in the boot of a new Cavalier by the time we approached them. Brett slipped his off his shoulder and dropped it on top of the others as he passed by the open boot on his way to the Russian's side. I began to sort knapsacks out to make room for all five of them and still get the boot to latch.
'You want my boyfriend?' I heard Brett ask behind me and didn't dare look back. I was tumescent just at the thought of the Russian.
There was a muffled answer I didn't catch.
'You'll have to stop and show us the quietest scenery on the way then. He's worth it. You'll be feeling him for days.'
When I turned to face them, Pyotr was gazing at me with a mixture of longing and fear that I found to be embarrassing. The lad was hard and tenting his trousers.
I rode in the front with Pyotr. My four companions managed to squeeze themselves into the back seat with Brett being especially squashed, caught as he was between Patel and a door.
The boys in the back kept up a running and meaningless chatter. Pyotr was silent as he drove us south, but he kept glancing both at me and at my crutch. We passed through the village of Selsey and, a mile beyond the outskirts, he turned us onto a macadamised dual carriageway that looked deserted but which led further out onto the peninsula that was Selsey Bill.
'What's that?' Yorston asked from the window. He had been sitting quietly gazing out at the rolling English countryside since we'd left Chichester. The rest of us had just chatted around him.
Patel leant over his lover's shoulder to be able to see. Yorston pointed out the tall dome that dwarfed everything near it. 'An observatory, looks like,' I suggested.
'It's the Selsey Observatory, boys,' Brett told us. 'It's part of the Greenwich programme.'
'Don't tell me they offer titbits on the English countryside as a course for Yanks at King's College,' the Asian grumbled.
'No. But I looked it up,' said Brett. 'From what I could find on the net, it's about the only claim to fame this area has going for it.'
'Was there anything else about the place?' Yorston asked quietly.
'As I said, not much. The only other thing I found was that there were several retired navy organisations.'
* * *
'You will do it with me?' the young Russian beside me asked. I turned to face him, knowing full well what he wanted.
'Is that what you want?'
He grinned and nodded. 'You and your friends, we have our private party, yes?'
'If you want that.'
'We are almost there,' he answered, his voice low. 'A quiet place. One we will be alone in – as your boyfriend told me it must be.'
I watched as the car slowed and he turned onto a dirt track leading towards a copse of trees.
'Hey, guys!' Brett called out loudly. 'It's almost shag time.' The others hooted.
Pyotr focused on me and shook his head slowly. 'I do not understand English idiom, Philip. I spent ten years learning English in Petrograd and your people don't even speak the language.'
'The Americans are even worse,' I mumbled. 'We don't even understand them and we're their closest allies.' He laughed at that.
Pyotr was still chuckling as he pulled the car into the stand of trees and turned it off. 'We are in Brett's quiet place where no-one bothers us,' he told everyone.
Brett already had his door open and was standing outside the car. 'Come on, let's get naked,' he called to all of us as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the grass. He had opened his jeans and was wiggling them over his arse as he stepped up to Pyotr's door. 'Come on, you all. I don't want to be the only one out here who's naked.'
I watched as the Russian quickly worked his way out of his shirt and trainers before climbing out of the car. Pyotr opened his flies and began to slide his trousers over his nicely rounded bum. Holding onto the door for support, he raised a leg to pull his trousers off. Beyond the Russian, the others were already in various states of undress. Sighing, I stepped out of the car and began to take off clothes.
Brett stood beside the door and watched Pyotr slide his underwear onto his thighs. The American smiled as the equipment package came into view. 'Nice one,' he told the lad.
Pyotr turned and studied him for a moment, his gaze taking in every aspect of the American. 'No. You have the nice package, Brett. You are beautiful. But your mast ... There is something different...'
'Sounds like you need to do a very close inspection of my equipment,' Brett told him and grinned.
'Oh, yes. I would like that very much. And your boyfriend. Let us not forget him.'
'Come on,' Brett told him then and took his hand. He led Pyotr to the front of the Cavalier. 'Stand right there while I get situated,' said he and lifted himself onto the bonnet of the car. Brett spread his legs after he was settled and smiled. 'Come on over here, Pyotr. Now you can get as close and personal as you want.'
I placed my discarded clothes on the car seat. In one hand, I held a condom packet; in the other, I carried the small tube of lubricant that Brett had given me as we were leaving my flat in the morning.
Leaning against the boot of the Cavalier, Patel and Yorston were oblivious to everyone. I decided to leave them to their kisses.
The Russian put a hand on each of Brett's knees and licked his lips. Richard was next to them in an instant. He knelt beside Pyotr and the boy took a step backwards to give the Irishman more space in which to play. Richard took the man's dick in his hand and guided it to his mouth. The Russian moaned as his cock disappeared inside Richard's throat.
I joined them then, pulling a condom down onto my shaft as I came upon them. Brett laid back on the bonnet as Pyotr began to suck him.
'Do you really want me inside you then?' I asked the Russian. He nodded but never pulled off of Brett. He also wiggled his bottom in a friendly enough greeting.
'Who're we missing, Philip?' Brett asked as I squeezed a dollop of lube onto the palm of my hand.
'Patel and Yorston,' I answered as I began to work the viscous gel into the condom. 'They're snogging behind the car.'
I spread Pyotr's downy arsecheeks and placed my prick at his entrance. He shoved his hips back then, impaling himself quickly. He groaned even as he held Brett in his mouth but continued to impale himself on my manhood until he had all of it inside him.
My fingers rode his flanks up to his smooth chest where they detoured onto his pecs in search of his nipples.
'Da!' Pyotr mumbled around Brett's dick and ground his bottom against my pubis in appreciation when I tweaked both of his nipples hard.
Brett raised his upper body and smiled at me. 'You like it, honey?'
'Enjoy it while you still have it then.' Brett's hands moved to the back of the Russian's head and he began to fuck his face slowly.
Richard had moved to sit on his haunches between Pyotr and the grill of the car as he sucked our driver. His hand darted between the blond Russian's legs to cup my bollocks and ride them as my prick began to work its way in and out of Pyotr's hole. His other hand moved from one of Pyotr's nipples to the other, tweaking them. All the while, the Russian's lips rode my lad's pole, and Brett was making gurgling noises like he was loving it.
My strokes were long and gentle. I buried myself in the Russian's arse on the in-stroke and would pull out to where only the flange against the backside of his stretched sphincter ring kept me inside him. Pyotr pushed back to greet each return, the muscles along the walls of his bowel flexing in welcome as my prick reclaimed possession of him.
I was beginning to lose my awareness that I was totally naked in a copse of trees and involved in four-way sex. We were becoming just four randy boys relieving ourselves to our mutual satisfaction. Pyotr's arse felt good around my dick. My body was nearly succeeding in convincing my mind of that being the only thing that was important. I almost believed it as I rode the waves of pleasure surging ever higher through me.
The Russian stiffened under me, his hips jerking hard, sliding him on and off my prick. His orgasm hit then. His arsemuscles clamped down on my prick, milking it. I groaned, unprepared for him to lose it so soon. His orgasm pulled me over. I rammed into Pyotr's arse one more time and began to erupt into the condom.
I took a step back, pulling away slowly and drawing my still hard pole from the well-used Russian hole. I took in the three men still connected together – Brett in Pyotr's throat and the lad from Petrograd still in Richard's. There was something wrong about it but I couldn't place it. There had been something wrong with me in the picture with them too.
'I think Philip has understood now why we didn't join in,' Patel told Yorston as they approached me.
I turned to face them. 'Why's that?'
'You can't feel it?' Yorston asked.
'I feel something – it's just I don't have any basis on which to describe it.'
Jesse smiled. 'You don't feel all that great about fucking him, do you?' he asked quitely and watched me frown. 'It was good, I could tell that from here. You had some horny men to play with. But it wasn't as good as you thought it was going to be, was it?'
'No,' I admitted.
'We've tried out a lot of things since we've been together, Inspector,' Yorston told me. 'I don't think either of us had ever done anything but one-on-one – those teenaged grope and sex things kids get into...'
'Not till we teamed up, love,' Patel reminded him. 'I don't know if it's just that we were already in love or what – but we found we could only get into all the ambience about sex when it was one-on-one...'
'Threeways, too, Jesse,' Yorston said and turned to me. 'If we both want a third guy, it's as if he's one of us when we get going with him. It's just like when it's just the two of us.'
'But more than three going at it together makes it hard to sort out arms and legs, dicks and arses. If you can't sort them out, you can't have the closeness between everybody that ought to be there.' Patel smiled. 'That fourway stuff you had just now, you didn't even really enjoy that Russian guy, did you?'
I shook my head slowly.
'That's a pity,' the Asian mumbled. 'He's a looker, all right. It's such a shame to waste something that fine.'
Yorston grinned. 'You seemed to have intrigued the lad, maybe you and your lad could have him – just the three of you? Where you can give him some attention too.'
'Have you two become Agony Aunts now?' I groaned. 'I don't remember writing off for advice.'
'Whether you wrote off for it or not, Philip, you two seem to need some right now,' Patel said 'This is your first time being in love too, isn't it?'
I nodded numbly.
'Thought so. It all ties together, you see?'
I didn't understand. But I still nodded. I doubted that Jesse Patel saw a connection that was as murky as the one he'd just tried. But I also saw no sense in arguing with these lads.
* * *
'Dacha Russikya!' Pyotr announced proudly as we turned into the drive. 'Ilyich will be so glad to see you.'
'Why?' Brett demanded.
'He likes pretty boys,' Pyotr said in explanation.
'Just so long as he doesn't think somebody belongs to him simply because he's here,' Patel mumbled.
'What's there to do once you're here, Pyotr?' I asked.
'Sex. Boys. Sex.' He turned to face me, his smile covering his face. 'That is what a weekend at Dacha Russikya is like, Philip.' He grinned. 'You and Brett will share yourselves with me? Yes?'
My fingers dropped down to his knee and began to slide up over his jeans. 'Do you want that?' He leant towards me and, smiling, brought his lips to mine.
Pyotr pulled the car up to the main entrance of the manor. 'We put your bags upstairs before everybody comes out to look at the...' His brow furrowed as he sought the correct term. 'The fresh meat?'
'Fresh meat?' I looked at Brett suspiciously as I picked up my knapsack and began to follow the young Russian into the house.
'I doubt they mean anything by it, Philip,' he said quietly, his voice subdued.
'I certainly hope not.'
A large, middle-aged man had appeared at the foot of the stairs when we were returning to the car for the rest of our things.
'Ilyich!' Brett said as we began to descend the stairs.
'So, our little Marlene decided to come after all.' He looked over the rest of us. 'And some of her friends as well. How wonderful. They are all versatile, yes?'
I was unsure what game the man thought he was playing but my understanding had been that Brett and the rest of us had been invited with no commitment of sex being made. I decided to return his volley.
'I've not found the man who didn't decide he was versatile,' I told Ilyich, 'not once he'd seen my equipment. They've all been quite satisfied with the drilling too.' I smiled sweetly at him. 'Would you like to see what I've got? I don't mind helping an older chap out by filling him up.'
The Russian flushed. He studied me for a moment and then laughed. 'Our Marlene has very funny friends,' he said. And, very obviously, didn't think so.
* * *
'Do you think I'll ever get it right?' Ian Trell asked the American working the barbed hook out of his shirt. He shuddered at how close the thing had come to his cheek. His eye even.
Shep Simon chuckled. 'You almost had it this time. You just don't rear back and let go like you did. Otherwise, you may be taking off somebody's toupee.'
'I don't have a toupee,' Ian grumbled. 'Neither do you.'
Shep grinned. 'Look, Ian, the idea is to keep the fish hook clear of you and anyone else who may be around. Think of it this way – the hook and the line need to be the closest things to the water ... Because that's where they're going, right?'
'But you were snapping it around like it was a whip. I watched you.'
'But far enough away that it's not going to come back and get caught in my jeans or shirt – or my skin.'
'Show me again, Shep,' Trell grumbled resignedly. He was damned if a bloody Yank could do something he couldn't do, even if the Yank was Shep and one of the nicest men he'd ever met.
If this standing in the middle of a stream in rubbers up to a man's waist was supposed to be so masculine, Trell wished someone had shown him how to make it fun too. Instead, the hook on the end of his fly line had so far caught in his shirt twice – his shoulder this time and his back the last, and the tree limb next to him the time before that. Having Shep work the bloody hook out of his back had hurt as the barb had nipped his shoulder blade.
Trell accepted that it was his education that had been so woefully neglected. He could barely swim and he was now proving that he couldn't fly cast. He wished he could remember what his dad was actually doing those weekends he was showing his young son the beauties of an English boyhood. He was beginning to suspect his dad had laid out by the stream and drank himself into a stupor. He seemed to remember that was why his mum had sent the old man on his way.
Yet, now he stood in the middle of a river deep in the wooded hills of Wales – where mountain met water and gave definition to sky – with three mates from a leatherman club in London. He stood where fish swam and birds flew and men were supposed to hunt them. There were three gay men with him and they'd taken it upon themselves to show him how to be a man. How to fish and to hunt.
He stood apart from the others amongst the boulders in the river. 'Like this,' he told himself softly as he pointed the tip of his fishing pole directly in front of him. He dropped several feet of line. Eyeing the fly riding the surface in front of him, he decided he had done everything Shep had shown him to do up to this point.
He let about six feet of line go before lifting the pole to point nearly straight up. He cringed expecting the sting of the barb, even though he could see the fly eight or so feet ahead of him. Every one of the guys had insisted he needed the business end of the line behind him to give it enough arc, but Ian Trell didn't think so. He wanted the fly and hook where he could see them, not somewhere that they could catch him again.
With his wrist he tried to get the flying arc going with the leader and fly. The line spread out from the pole like a whip. Trell flicked his wrist and the fly swirled out from the pole and landed on the water twenty feet ahead of him as gently as a mayfly. Trell watched spellbound as his cast became the perfect release. A trout struck at the barb before it had even set down properly on the water.
'My god,' he groaned and instinctively tightened his grip against the pull he expected from the trout. He began to reel the fish in.
'Way to go, Trell!' Shep called out to him. 'Need some help?'
'No, I've got it!' he called back. He was so bloody proud of himself that he had hooked the thing by himself. After more time than he'd have believed possible, he had the thing almost to him. He brought his net under the fish as it broke water.
He wanted to take the fish around to show the other men. It was a brawny one, now he looked at it close. He wanted to go splashing up to each of the men on this trip – like a young lad with his first fish – but he knew that was the way to lose the slippery damned thing fast. And why should a lad let his pride get in the way of his sense. Safely in his creel box, the trout would be there for anyone to look at later.
He looked back to where Shep was standing and hoped he'd made the right decision. Trell had to admit that it had been his curiosity at first. Wondering what it would be like with another man – with anyone. He'd die before he admitted it to anyone, but Ian Trell was a bloody virgin!
He and Shep had been talking about it. Several times during week, in fact. What it'd be like. Would he be a nancy boy after the first time. Could he experiment without defining himself. He had come to trust Shep Simon with his cherry.
Of course, Shep wasn't in love with him. He knew that. But the Yank was the best friend Ian Trell could remember ever having. It was for that one reason that Trell was willing to let Shep do it.
Actually, he wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen between them. He'd agreed that he'd sleep with Shep. That he would be Shep's to direct however he wanted to. Trell had decided to wait until darkness to find out exactly what the Yank was going to do to him in the night ahead.
He wasn't concerned. He trusted Shep. He knew he was his friend. But he couldn't help wondering what it was going to be like to have Shep rogering him up the arse.