Date: Sat, 5 Jul 2014 13:24:33 -0700 From: Bob Archman Subject: TheDetective The Detective 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, any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com If you enjoy these stories, please consider donating to Nifty My writings have made him famous and his approach to detection has revolutionized police work. Of course, Scotland Yard his done its part, but Sherlock was the man who saw potential for detailed scientific observation. My books made him into a household name. Sherlock was brilliant and gifted, and my writings portray him as being nearly perfect except for his ego and his taste for drugs. The inflated ego is correct. One only needed to be with him a minute or two to discover his ego. He had another flaw, but it wasn't drugs. Sherlock had a deep need and drive to engage in sex with men. It was an obsession, a compulsion. I became not just his associate; I was his protector and helper. I shared his sexual tastes, but not his obsession. I could control my urges. I had one physical attribute that was useful. I possessed an ass that was capable of dampening his sexual needs for as long as a day. His organ was a perfect fit for me and for him. He claimed that I had a prehensile ass that could do things to his tool that no one else could. I met Sherlock at the Turkish bath near the Regent Street Crescent. I had been badly wounded in the Afghan wars and the steam let me move without pain for several hours. He sat next to me and we talked. He is not an engaging conversationalist. He had a strong preference for talking about himself and making sure that I knew the extent of his brilliance. He enjoyed the talk and assumed I did. I found out later that few could tolerate his conversation for long. I was too stiff to move easily so I remained and listened. When I felt good enough to move I rose. My towel fell off, exposing my genitals. Bending over to pick it up was difficult for me. When Sherlock saw my cock, his attitude changed. It changed dramatically. "Let me help you" with that," he said. He bent over to pick up my towel. He lingered to closely observe my cock. He retrieved the towel, but instead of giving it to me, he leaned close to me and sucked my cock into his mouth. I looked around the steam room. No one seemed to be concerned or disturbed. I later found out they were familiar with Sherlock and his interests. His oral skills were impressive. After a pleasurable interlude, he pulled away from my cock. "Perhaps you would like to have luncheon at my lodging?" he asked after he finally returned my towel. I said that would be good. I showered, dressed and went with him to his place on Baker Street. The landlord was a bit of a reprobate named Harley Hudson, but Sherlock said the crude man protected the place like a vicious guard dog. "Now that we are here, why don't we get naked and have some real fun," he said once we were in his rooms. Small talk was not his strong suit. Sherlock was a tall, but otherwise undistinguished man. Naked he possessed an impressive tool, both long and thick. I stared at it. "It is large." "Is that a problem?" he asked. "I rather doubt it," I said, "Do you like it up the arse?" he asked. "It has been known to happen," I said. Sherlock was not erect yet. Had he been erect I might have made another response. I once had been with a man who had a cock like Sherlock's member. It was as big hard as it was soft. It simply became a ridged version of the soft organ. That was not the situation with Sherlock. It grew both in length and in diameter becoming quite impressive. We went to his bedroom and he helped me strip and get on the bed. This may have been due to kindness, but I suspect it was more due to impatience. It normally took me a long time to strip and Sherlock was driven. This drive was a major part of his success as a detective. Once he was involved in a case, he could not rest until it was resolved. Sexually that resolution was typically found when he drained his more than adequate balls deep in another man's rectum. Given his tastes there was one good feature. Sherlock enjoyed the tight feeling of his cock in an ass. My wounds had been serious, but my sphincter was unaffected. I could tighten it and grab the intruder in my ass. This sent pleasurable sensations throughout his body. Most of the time his powerful intellect kept his emotions under firm control. My tight ass seemed to lessen his mind's intellectual control and he was able to wallow in a sexually induced near trance. I think he forgot every concern in these moments, and this could both relax and revel in the pleasure. He told me that he had felt glimmers of this pleasurable state several times before, but only with me, did he find total release and pleasure. His orgasms were strong, but he enjoyed the long build up to the climax. His tendency toward scientific analysis was helpful in other ways. His cock was not ideal for anal penetration. It was shaped like a tree. He head was large, but the shaft was comparatively thin, but it grew and thickened as it reached his body. The deeper it penetrated into the rectum, the more it stretched the hole. Sherlock had developed ways to ease the organ into the hole with minimal damage and stress. He had some lubricants and oils next to his bed and he lubricated both his cock and my ass. He massaged my anus and eventually worked two fingers onto the hole. This was oddly relaxing and he seemed to relax my sphincter also. He then pressed his cock head against the sphincter gently. He applied more pressure, and bounced a little. I continued to relax. He then made a sudden hard thrust and his head popped into the dark side of my sphincter. He rested it there and let me get used to the knob in my ass. He seemed to jiggle it just enough to maintain his erection. Sherlock spent the next fifteen minutes working his cock deeper into me. He would pulse, thrust and rotate his cock, sometimes using a cork screw motion. During the process I would squeeze my ass and this always caused a reaction from him. Once his head was in me, there was nothing I could do to stop full penetration, but he took his time. Sometimes I would relax as he pushed in and then tighten my sphincter gripping his shaft as he pulled out. Other times I clamped tight as soon as his cockhead was at my sphincter. There was no way to resist his thrusts, but the increased pressure was good. He seemed to like that. I was unaware that my efforts were new to him and greatly appreciated. Most men did nothing more than take it like a man. I played with his cock as he fucked. This intensified the sensations for him greatly. While I was never a libertine, I was not without some experience with man sex. Once his oversized knob was in me, I knew sex with him would be of a higher order of magnitude than with other men. It was as if I had been accustomed to the parlor musicales of amateurs, and then went to an Opera House. I had been use to candle light and then went into the full sun. I think I came close to being in a trance when he was fully lodged in my rectum. I felt nothing but pleasure of the most intense sort. He felt the same. I thought that I was the passive recipient of his cock. My ass was merely the tight wrapping needed to give him pleasure. Sherlock told me that was not strictly true. While I thought I was just passively receiving his cock, my ass and body were actively responding and caressing his organ. It was difficult for Sherlock to compliment anything or anyone. He regarded his own self as so superior as to make any compliment false pandering to an unworthy person. He told me that I was a magnificent sexual partner. He told me he could hardly express in words the beauty and intensity of the sexual feelings he generated. His orgasm induced a similar response in me. After our paired orgasms I was exhausted, and felt week. He was solicitous and helped me clean up and dress. He hailed a cab to return me to my lodgings. My landlady fixed a small dinner for me and I took needed rest for the night. My wounds had been serious. The doctors saved my life, but since they were treated in the field, the repairs were not reflective of all that modern medicine could do. Saying this may sound ungrateful to the men who saved my life. That I was still living in itself was a major achievement, but I was not reassembled correctly. Thus, I had a limp and had trouble with many daily activities. They had not amputated my leg or arm, but the functions of these extremities was impaired. When I woke the next morning, I found a letter from Sherlock asking if I would visit the baths again. I sent him a note saying I would be there in the early afternoon. The steam had a beneficial effect on my movement. I also thanked him for his kind attention of the day before. I arrived at the baths at 1:30 in the afternoon, Sherlock arrived at 2:00. We talked for a while. He suggested that I see a masseur. He said the Bath's man was excellent. He took me to meet the man whose name was Ali. He was built like a bear, but he was covered in a coat of curly red hair that was disconcerting. Sherlock gave him an exceptionally complete description of my injuries and told Ali of all the things the surgeons had done wrong. Apparently as he fucked me the day before he had done a complete physical exam. While Ali looked like a red gorilla, he was careful and delicate in his treatment of me. He began working some joints. From Sherlock's descriptions, he knew where to massage and manipulate. He also massaged my anus and sphincter. He told Sherlock that there was no damage and that these areas were elastic and quite supple. I had the impression that was not always the case with Sherlock's playmates. After he was done, I felt modestly better. While the improvements were modest they were the only improvements I had felt since returning to England a year earlier. I returned to his lodgings. There he told me he wanted more sexual exploration with me. He thought there was a potential for more pleasure. I told him that I could hardly conceive of more pleasure than we had the day before. "That may be true, my dear Watson," he said. "In my imagination I see yesterday as but the appetizer for a sexual banquet. We have just begun." Of course, he was right. Sherlock was always convinced he was right. This annoyed me greatly, but eventually I recognized reality. That afternoon he mounted me from the rear, and again the sensations were sensational. The penetration was never easy, but it was always worth the pleasure it generated. I thought that some of the excitement I felt was due the initial rush of emotions that accompany a new sexual partner. That was not the case. Repetition did not dull my reactions or the accompanying sensations. After the second meeting at his lodgings, he asked if we might be willing to meet him regularly. "How regular is regular?" I asked. "Once or twice a week would be good for me," he replied. "Daily would be perfectly acceptable too." "I am not sure my health is good enough for that schedule," I said. "As you know I am in perfect health, but if I were in your condition, I am quite sure that regular sexual exercise would be just what the Doctor ordered," he said. "I don't think I have run across that remedy in a medical textbook," I said, "but it is not without some appeal." He was thinking of his own pleasure of course. That would have offended me if my own pleasures were not so directly linked to his cock. I was a pensioner and had no pressing obligations. My own discovery of man sex came from my army experiences in India. My Father died when I was fifteen. I was the oldest of five children. My mother was dependent on the kindness of her sister. It was obvious that I needed to get out of the house as soon as possible. I joined the army and was trained as a surgeon. While not fully trained as a doctor, I was able to stich men up after battle. I was stationed in India. My regiment had a bad experience shortly before I joined them. The regiment had been patronizing a single bawdy house for years. A number of the men came down with the pox and several died. All were discharged. The bawdy houses of the town were closed. My detachment was under the control of Sergeant-Major Wilcox. He was an old hand in India. He explained the problems of our predecessors and told us that you had to be an unimaginative man not to be able to entertain yourself. I was young and did not know exactly what he meant. I found out that he was both willing to explain what he meant and was willing to give lessons. As Sergeant-Majors go, he was hard but fair. On the drill field, he was martinet, a stickler for every detail. In the barracks, he was comparatively helpful and friendly, sort of like a favorite uncle. I was one of the younger men, but I patched him up when he broke his arm after a bad fall. I was not particularly skilled or experienced but I did exactly what I was taught, and that was much better than most of the men in my position. The Wilcox recognized that and he looked after me. Wilcox was much impressed by modern discoveries about germs and infection. He regarded sanitation as a British invention and he was obsessed with it. He regularly took our troop to a small, spring fed pond in the hill overlooking the encampment to bathe. While that annoyed some of the men, visits to the sick bay were rare. At the pond, he had half of the men strip and bathe while the others maintained guard. Many of the men did not like this at first, but he was the first to strip and they had no options. Wilcox was a fine figure of a man, muscular and well endowed. We would inspect each man. Everything was correct, but some men noticed his admiring glances. I must emphasize that Wilcox never played favorites. Men were promoted due to their abilities alone. All knew of his preferences, but no one objected. He was good to all his men and took care of them. I was an innocent sexually and he solved that problem too. At twenty-one I was quite unworldly in most things and entirely unworldly sexually. Perhaps that is good in a virgin bride, although I doubt that, but it was most undesirable in a man. While he gave some men admiring glances, he noticed my covert glances at his manly equipment. I was on leave when I encountered Wilcox in a hotel in Simla, the summer capital of the Indian Empire. He offered to share his room with me. The room had a bath; that was too good to pass up. He was with two other men, Duffy and Carlton. There were two beds, so I shared a bed with one of them. We went to the room and washed under a shower bath. I had never seen a shower before and I enjoyed it greatly. The proximity of the naked Sergeant-Major to me caused an erection. I was embarrassed, but Wilcox didn't seem to mind. Indeed, his genitals responded too. Half-hard his cock was more impressive. That did nothing to reduce my erection. I apologized to him. "I will take that as a compliment," he said, "Men are at their best when they are hard, at attention and ready for action. I like the view." "I like the view too," I said as I looked at his cock. "It looks better if you get closer," he said, smiling. "It's a nice one. A cock is a man's best friend." "What is his second best friend?" I asked. "You should know that already," he said. "It is his best friend's cock!" I dropped to my knees and his cock was in my face. I knew what he expected, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I leaned forward and took his cockhead into my mouth. I did it to please him, but I was shocked at my reaction. I thought his cock would be dirty and repulsive. It was more like a magnet and I was an iron filing. I tried to swallow the entire organ. Wilcox moaned. I sucked him for a few minutes and began to taste something sweet. His cock was oozing. A few seconds later my tongue was in his slit, trying to capture his ooze straight from his balls. "You are real good, Watson," Wilcox said, "It's time for you to relax and have some real fun." "This is good enough for me." "Nonsense!" he exclaimed, "You have just scratched the surface of your sexual potential." I must have looked uneasy. He smiled. "I am hoping for some real fun too. Will you help me out?" "Of course I will help sir," I said. "When we are naked, call me Rollie," he said. "We are going to have fun only the way two men can." That was the beginning of the best three days of my life to that point. Rollie invited me to use his ass. I had never fucked anyone before, and it was a revelation. I didn't know anything could feel that good. Duffy and Carlton returned to the room as I climaxed. Instead of being shocked, they stripped and joined us. The four of us had a wonderful time. When I returned to base, I was no longer a virgin, and was quite experienced. That was my introduction to man sex. Sherlock's experiences were quite different from mine. His father was a man of business and his mother a youngest daughter of an Earl. He was raised by a nanny and then sent to Haverstock School at age 10. Haverstock was in the second tier of public schools intended for the younger sons of nobility, industrialist and prosperous merchants. Since it was to prepare men for a life of work, the education was far better many better-known schools. It did share the tradition of abusing new boys by upper class members. In Sherlock's day, the worst of the bullies was a boy name Mandrake Morairty. He was the son of a coach maker, but he claimed to be the illegitimate son of the Prince of Wales. While these abuses were excused as initiations, they could be dangerous when a boy had sadistic tendencies. Mandrake was such a boy. Sherlock was a small boy until he was 14 when he grew dramatically. Until then his life was a nightmare. He became tall and strong, but his monster cock was feared by the worst of the boys. He protected the younger boys and if any upper classman trespassed, the malefactor found his asshole enlarged. I think part of his sexual drive was his relationship with the younger men of the school. The boys were traditionally prey of the older boys. He was unwilling to do that. He had the urge, but no outlet. Sherlock had a peculiar vision of his cock being an instrument of justice, unlike most men who recognized it as a pleasure giving organ. My ass helped change that misconception. I was pleased to do so. He was a difficult man to befriend, but it had its rewards.