Date: Fri, 5 Jul 2013 00:35:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: z119z 2000 <z119z2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Carma Klown, installment 8

The Carma Klown,

Chapter 16

© 2013 by the author

Saturday, ca. 1:00 p.m., June 12, 2010

Michael walked his sister back to her car and then took the subway to One
Police Plaza. He hadn't been lying when he told his sister that he had work
to do. The investigation into the identity of the Klown was moving on
several fronts, and he wanted to be in on it. He had some ideas he wanted
to follow up. The windows in the reconstruction and those on the Syswide
building were close enough to be a match, but he still had to check out the
building across the street and find its owner and who might have access to
it.

Almost as soon as he turned on his computer, he received an emailed update
from Star in Your Own Porn. He had arranged for an automatic notification
from them whenever a new Carma Klown video surfaced. A new video had been
posted that morning at 9:18. He cursed the delay in learning about it. If
he hadn't been so busy with his family, he would have known about it hours
ago. And apparently no one on the task force had thought to check. They
were relying on him to do the computer work too much. Someone should have
noticed this before. He quickly called up the video and downloaded it to a
flash drive.

A surprising number of the people working on the investigation had come in,
and Michael quickly notified everyone to gather in the conference room. The
group had grown so large that several people had to stand. Michael inserted
the thumb drive with the video into the AV computer and put it up on the
big monitor. As soon as the video ended, Altmann sent two detectives to
find Parish Haydn IV and bring him in for questioning. If Haydn put up an
argument, they were to detain him as a material witness. He could call his
lawyer on the way to One Police Plaza. The Captain then called for comments
on the video. The discussion was spirited and full of ideas. Curiously
Michael sat silent throughout the discussion. When Altmann asked him for
his opinion, he said only that he wanted to take another look at the video
privately to doublecheck his impressions before speaking.

When the meeting broke up, Michael returned to his cubicle and loaded the
video on to his machine.

. . . Parish Haydn IV looked down at the selection of dildos on the
table. "This is the one I use when I can't take the time to open myself up
for one of the bigger ones." He held up a flesh-colored dildo about an inch
in diameter at the base and six inches long. "When I first started, it was
all that I could tolerate, but now I need a much larger dildo to get me
off. I keep it mainly for nostalgic reasons."

"This is another favorite." The black latex dildo was a series of five
flattened spheres of increasing size joined together one below another. The
first one was half an inch in diameter, the last about three
inches. Overall, with the base, it was about eight inches long.

"When I really need a good screw, I use this one." Haydn's eyes gleamed and
he licked his lips with anticipation. "This one feels so good." The
business end of the dildo was a foot long. It was shaped like a gigantic
screw, with wide ribbed threads running in spirals down the entire
length. "I just insert the tip and then begin turning it and it just bores
into me. It's wonderful."

"Finally, this is my gateway to heaven." He held up a realistically shaped
dildo and traced the veins running up and down it with one of his
fingers. It was sixteen inches long and four inches in diameter at the
lower end. "Once I get this baby in, I don't want to take it out." He began
kissing and licking it, saying over and over, "My precious, my
precious. Daddy wubs you."

"So these are your favorites?"

"Yes," Haydn stopped fondling his precious. He looked annoyed at the
interruption. "I love them. I love all my dildos, but these are my four
favorite ones."

"But if you love to use them on yourself, where is the punishment?"

Haydn looked confused. "Well, uh, I don't know. I guess they're not a
punishment anymore. Maybe they were at first, but now I enjoy them too
much."

"Didn't we agree that a corporate criminal like yourself who has spent his
entire life fucking others financially needs to be punished?"

"Yes, that's true. I need to be punished for all my crimes." Haydn looked
with dismay at the dildo he was holding. Suddenly it didn't seem suited to
the purpose.

"And didn't we agree that a worthless, pathetic, old faggot such as
yourself has to use sex toys to punish himself because no one is willing to
come near him?"

"Yes, a worthless, pathetic, old faggot like myself has to use sex toys to
punish myself. This is true."

"How are you going to punish yourself then, if you enjoy using your sex
toys on yourself?"

Haydn was stumped. He looked around at all his dildos. They were no longer
tools for punishment. Suddenly his face lit up with joy. "I know."

"What?"

"I don't like rimming. It's filthy, and disgusting, and awful. You've
punished all the other corporate criminals by making them rim someone. So
you could make me do that."

"But how do I know that you don't like that as well? Maybe you're just
pretending to hate rimming and trying to manipulate me into letting you do
something you really like. You're not a good man, Parish. You don't want to
be let off with a light punishment, do you?"

Haydn gave a sly smile. "No, I need to be punished. And I really do hate
rimming."

"So you've rimmed someone before?"

"No, never. I would never do that." He clasped the dildo even more
tightly. "Please, it would make a good punishment for me."

"You really like it, don't you?" The man's voice chivvied him.

 "Yeah, I really do." Haydn grinned. "I love to rim other men. I'll pay. I
have lots of money." He pulled out his wallet and began dropping bills on
the table. "I got some money from the bank earlier today just so I would
have enough."

"Count it."

"Yes, Sir." Haydn began carefully counting the bills, holding each so that
all of it was visible. The camera zoomed in to show each bill this
time. Haydn had six $1,000 bills and forty $100 bills. The $100 bill with
the missing corner was not among them. When he had counted out the $10,000,
he opened his wallet and started adding twenties and tens.

"Stop. You will need cabfare home."

"Yes, Sir." Haydn looked uncertain for the first time. "Is it enough, Sir?"

"Yes, it's enough. In fact, it's enough for you to have a special treat
today, Parish." The voice grew smooth and tempting. "You'd like that,
wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"But you have to do something in return, Parish. There's no free lunch."

"Anything, Sir, anything."

"You have to put on a really good show for the camera, Parish. I want you
to show everyone just how much you love to rim another man's ass. Show the
camera lots of tongue. Throw yourself into it. I want your tongue down our
volunteer's ass. I want everyone you've ever kissed to wonder whose ass
your disgusting potty tongue was licking. I want everyone who sees you eat
in the future to see a mental image of you eating out another man's
ass. Can you do that for me, Parish?"

 "Sir, yes, Sir."

"I hope so, Parish. Now why don't you start by getting that dildo you're
holding inside you."

Haydn's smile was so wide that it almost cracked his face. He squealed in
delight as he slathered so much lube over the dildo that it dripped in wide
threads onto the floor. When it was ready, he sat it on the floor and tore
off his clothes until he was totally naked. The camera moved slowly up and
down the dildo, catching every glimmer of light. When Hadyn began lowering
himself onto the dildo, the camera followed his progress as the dildo
disappeared inside him inch by inch, and the microphone caught every groan
of pleasure. He was ecstatic in his gratitude. It took him 22 minutes to
insert it all the way. It was in so far that the square flange at the end
had been pushed deep between Hadyn's fat buttocks. Rolls of flesh oozed
over the end of the dildo and held it securely in place.

"Very good. Now kneel on all fours like a dog."

Haydn hurriedly complied. The camera moved behind him so that the base of
the dildo was visible against the pale white of Haydn's ass. The Klown
tattoo came into view on his left buttock. A noise off-screen made him look
over his shoulder toward something behind him. His eyes gleamed as his
mouth opened in anticipation. He licked his lips with his tongue.

As in the other videos, a well-built man walked into the scene. His legs
appeared on screen first. His calves were matted with a dense pelt of black
hair. Above them, as the man moved further into view, the back of his
thighs and then his ass and the lower part of his back became visible along
with his hands and forearms. In contrast to his calves and his forearms,
the rest of his body, at least the parts that were visible, was hairless
and glowed starkly white against the black space surrounding the two
figures. The second men who had appeared in the other videos could have
been male models. The new man didn't have quite the polished, gym-bunny
figure they had had, but that made him even more masculine looking.

The second man knelt and presented his back to the camera. Almost as soon
as he stopped moving, Haydn leapt forward and began licking his ass. He
pulled the man's buttocks apart so that the asshole was visible. He stuck
his tongue out as far as he could and began licking it in long, slow,
deliberate swoops, pausing at the top of each stroke as if to savor the
taste. He grew increasingly agitated as he continued. The camera caught the
frantic jabbing of his tongue against the man's anus. Haydn seemed almost
frustrated that he could not force his tongue to penetrate the other man.

"Perhaps a little lube would help, Parish?" The Klown chuckled. "I have the
perfect substance. One this man knows well."

Suddenly the lower half of another man moved into view from the direction
of the second man's head. He was naked. His erect penis swayed slightly
from side to side as he moved. His legs straddled the second man's
body. When he stopped moving, the head of his cock was positioned directly
over the second man's ass crack.

The third man began leisurely stroking his cock, pulling the foreskin back
so that the head emerged. His hand moved slowly up and down. After a few
strokes, he paused for a second and squeezed his cock gently. A bead of
pre-cum appeared on the tip. It gradually doubled in size and then formed
into a ball. Still linked to the piss slit by a glistening thread of gold,
the ball hung an inch beneath the head for several beats and then fell
tantalizingly slowly. The camera stared at it as if hypnotized. It
descended between the second man's cheeks and unerringly landed on his
anus. Haydn lapped it up and spread it around with the tip of his tongue.

The third man began to stroke faster and faster. His legs began to buckle
as his body twisted back and forth. As he came, he aimed his cock at the
ass crack and filled it with his cum. The cum gushed from his cock in
unbelievable amounts.

The cum drove Haydn wild. He plunged his face into the crack and began
pushing it into the second man's anus. His grunts were those of a famished
man. He stopped only when the Klown told him that his time was up.

Michael barely paid attention as the video cycled through the by-now
familiar Klown cartoon zooming away in his miniature car. He wasn't looking
at the screen but at something visible only to himself.

As he had watched the video in the conference room for the first time, he
had to fight to maintain self-control to keep himself from shouting out and
turning it off. He wanted to pick up the AV computer and smash it against
the floor and stomp on it. He wanted to chase everybody away. If it had
been within his power, he would have made them instantly forget what they
were seeing. But he couldn't. He was paralyzed. He couldn't move. He
couldn't say anything. Luckily everyone had been concentrating so intently
on the monitor that his reactions had gone unnoticed.

The instant the second man's legs had appeared on the screen, he recognized
him. He had seen those legs practically every day for the past seven
years. He had touched them with wonder and with love. When more of the
man's body had appeared on screen, his fears were confirmed. It was
Jeff. That bastard Klown had taken Jeff and used him.

And when the third man appeared, he also recognized him. He had never seen
himself from that angle, but the cock was his, the wiry hair surrounding
the groin was his. He felt defiled.

He knew that he had to tell Altmann. He couldn't be part of the
investigation now. He was no longer part of the case as a detective. Now he
was a participant in the crime. But first he had to talk to Jeff. He didn't
want Jeff to find out from someone else.

He pulled out his phone and sent a text to his lover telling him to try to
get home as soon as possible—something important had come up. When he
finished, he thumbed through his pictures until he found one of Jeff. It
was his favorite, and he kept it on his phone so that he could look at it
when they were apart. He remembered the day he had snapped it. Jeff had
just finished playing a game of tennis. His face glowed from the exertion,
and his hair was damp with sweat. The moisture had made it even curlier
than usual. Jeff had won the game, and he was smiling in victory. He had
run over to where Michael was sitting watching the game and thrown himself
down on the bench beside Michael. Spontaneously, Jeff had wrapped an arm
across Michael's shoulders and pulled him close. Then he had kissed
him—a public display of affection that had been greeted with cheers from
some of the other spectators. "My good luck charm." That's what he had
called Michael. "My good luck charm." Michael wondered if Jeff would ever
call him that again.

He was staring at the photograph when Ellen Corwin walked into his
cubicle. She glanced over his shoulder at the display on his phone and
said, "Oooh, who's the handsome man? Is that your partner? God, he's
gorgeous. What's his name? Tell me he has a brother. If there's any justice
in this world, he has a brother equally as gorgeous—and unattached!"

Captain Altmann walked down the aisle toward them. "I'm glad I caught the
two of you together. Phil has just told me that his group has discovered
that Syswide leased the building across the street three months
ago. They've applied for permission to renovate it. We're getting a search
warrant right now. We're planning to go in tomorrow." He arrived in time to
hear the end of Ellen's cries of delight. He, too, looked over Michael's
shoulder. "Hmm. He is an attractive man." He patted Michael on the
shoulder. "You should put his picture on your desk or pin one to the
wall. The rest of us keep family pictures near us. You should too. It helps
remind us of what's important.

Michael blushed. He couldn't bear to talk about Jeff at that moment. He
knew he would break down if he thought about Jeff. "That's good news,
Captain. Can we be included in the search? There might be computers."

Altmann looked at him curiously. He must have found it odd that Michael
hadn't responded to their comments about Jeff. But he apparently decided to
drop the subject in favor of answering Michael's request. "That's why I'm
here. To tell you that your presence is required. Both of you be here by
8:00 tomorrow morning. Have you got something for us, Ellen?" He pointed to
a printout she was carrying.

"Yeah, I think so. I thought I heard something when we were watching the
tape, but I wanted to check it out. Look at this. These are sonograms of
the Klown's voice on all the first seven videos. You can see that they are
more or less the same. We know that he's using a voice-distortion program
to disguise his voice, and the sonograms are consistent throughout all the
earlier tapes and most of the new one. It's just at the end, when the Klown
speaks for the last time on this video—when he says, `I have the perfect
substance. One this man knows well.' Look at the sonogram for that
segment. It's different. I think the Klown forgot to process that last bit
through his voice-distortion software. This may be his real voice. When we
catch the Klown, we might be able to ID him through his voice. It will be
another piece of evidence."

Michael attended to what Ellen and the Captain were saying with only half a
mind. He nodded and said yes and no at the right moments. He gathered
himself together enough to suggest that they send a tape of the segment in
question to his voice expert at City University to see if the sound
patterns could be pinned to any regional accent. The expert might even be
able to use the sonogram to create a voice to speak an extended passage
that would give them more to work with. He tried to be part of the
conversation if only to feel normal and unsullied again for a few
moments. Just another cop doing his job—but he wasn't sure if he would
ever be just another cop again.

The phrases "one this man knows well" and "the perfect substance" kept
echoing in his mind. The Klown had got that right. Jeff was well acquainted
with the perfect substance. Hadn't he smeared it all over Jeff's body last
night? What would his lover think of him now? The cop who was supposed to
protect him, to keep him safe, to keep the evil at bay—the cop who had
failed to do all those things. How could Jeff ever trust him again? Because
of him, Jeff had become involved in the Klown case, and in the most
damaging way possible. Once Michael spoke to Altmann, Jeff would become a
witness. He would be called in and questioned by some stranger—someone
who didn't know either of them, someone "impartial." Whatever either of
them said would become part of the record of the case. Their relationship,
their private life, would be exposed to the view of anyone with access to
the case file. If there was a trial, the Klown's lawyers would learn during
the discovery process that the lover of one of the lead investigators and
the investigator himself had appeared in a video. They would make sure that
came out at the trial so that they could call into question everything he
had done in his part of the investigation. They would use the word "gay" at
every opportunity to discredit him and prejudice the jury against him and
Jeff. They would loudly disclaim the idea that Jeff and he had willingly
participated in making the video, but their very disclaimers would imply
that that was precisely what they had done.

And Internal Affairs would handle his own questioning—no one from the
squad would be allowed to interrogate him for fear of bias. He was too
close to the investigation and the Department would have to prove that he
hadn't compromised any evidence. He would be taken off the case and
probably even suspended until the Department was satisfied that his part in
the Klown's videos was unintentional. His body would be inspected and
probed. His blood would be sampled and analyzed. Every case he had ever
worked on would be taken apart in the search for evidence that might
incriminate him. Oh, they would say that they were attempting to exonerate
him. But his career was as good as over now. And everyone would know
why. He could understand why Milowski had committed suicide. He was
tainted, and no one would ever again consider him fit for police work. He
would have to resign.

And his entire family would share his shame. No one would allow them to
forget what their son had done. Even their carefully worded expressions of
sympathy—"It's so sad what happened to your son"—would be aimed at
stabbing the knife a little deeper. He should have listened to his
parents. They had protested against his choice of career. They had educated
him to have an "important" career, not be some drudge working in a police
department. They wanted him to become a doctor like his sister or a
professor—someone they could brag about in the endless game of family
competition with its seemingly offhand mentions of "my son the Harvard
professor who discovered the cure for cancer" or "my son the surgeon" or
"my son the CEO." His parents wouldn't say anything to him. They wouldn't
have to. "I told you so" would be behind everything they said to him. That
is, if they would even speak to him.


And they would blame Jeff. Jeff was always the convenient scapegoat for
what they found wrong with his life. When Jeff and he had found an
apartment together when they were in college, and his parents first figured
out that he was attached to Jeff, they accused Jeff of seducing him into
being gay. They refused to accept his statements that he had known he was
gay since he was a teenager. They brought up every girl he had been friends
with in high school and cited her as evidence that he had been straight
until he met Jeff. Family dinners became trials in which he had to deal
with the latest young woman of marriageable age that his parents had
found. And when he had announced that he wasn't going on to graduate school
but had applied to the Police Academy, they had blamed Jeff for that
too. It was as if they thought he was a pawn and Jeff made all the
decisions, and he was too besotted to make up his own mind.

When they finally grudgingly accepted Jeff as part of his life, they had
begun to include him in the family. But they greeted Jeff with smiles that
were too bright, and they spoke too loudly and too enthusiastically. But
when Jeff's back was turned, the looks directed at him were anything but
friendly. When his mother visited, she used the excuse of putting away the
food she always brought to inspect the kitchen. Any food that she thought
too "American" would be hauled out and labeled as Jeff's. She would hold it
up and sneer, "I hope you're not eating this trash Jeff buys. Junk food."
He had taken a certain pleasure in telling her that he was the one who ate
the junk food, not Jeff.

The last two or three years there had been an improvement. His parents
would have preferred that he was straight, but they had finally accepted
that he was gay. Leah and her husband Tim had helped. Their enthusiasm for
his relationship with Jeff was clear, and Tim and Jeff had become good
friends. They were even doubles partners in their tennis league. Then one
day his father had shown up at their apartment when Michael was at work and
had a long conversation with Jeff, the first of many. All Jeff would say
was that the two of them shared certain concerns. He wouldn't say about
what, but Michael guessed that both worried about his being in danger
because of his job. The day he heard his mother say, "Listen to Jeff. He
knows better than you," he knew that there had been a change. And now she
was even planning their wedding and making arrangements for them to have
children.

All that was in jeopardy now. If they found out that Jeff and he had
participated in a Carma Klown video, however unconsciously, Jeff would
become the villain.

*****

Saturday, ca. 5:00 p.m., June 12, 2010

He hadn't wanted Jeff to view the video, but Jeff had insisted. "I want to
know the worst" was all he said. They sat beside each other on the sofa
holding hands. Jeff had groaned when he appeared. He stiffened with anger
as soon as Haydn began to rim him. "I'll kill him." And when Michael became
the third man in the video, he put his arm around Michael's shoulders and
said, "You can't tell anyone about this."

"I have to. It would jeopardize the case if it comes out later."

"No one's going to know. No one but me has ever seen you . . . I mean no
one's ever seen you like . . ."

"I know what you mean."

"And I'll let the hair on my body grow. It won't look the same as in the
video in a couple of weeks."

"You shave your body?"

"Yes. I've been doing it for years." When Michael looked startled, Jeff
hastened to explain, "When we first met, it was smooth and you made such a
big deal of how wonderful it felt and how much you like to touch it that
when I started growing hair on my back, I began shaving it off."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We can discuss this later. The short answer is that I didn't want to lose
you."

"Lose you? What sort of person do you think I am that I would let something
like that come between us."

"We'll talk about this later. Right now we have to focus on what we're
going to do about this video. You said that everyone in these videos has
been drugged and has no memory of being in them. I certainly don't, do
you?"

"No."

"So we have nothing to confess to. As far as we know, those are some other
guys, not us."

"But we do know that they're us."

"It's not you. That's not what you look like at all. And I will swear to
that on a stack of bibles. That is not you."

"Jeff!"

"What?"

"We can't do this."

"Yes, we can, and we will. If you love me, you will never tell anyone that
that is me in that piece of shit. Never. And if you love me, you will catch
the guy who did this and you will find such irrefutable evidence that you
have the right man that he won't be able to deny it. I want you to ruin
this man."

Michael hung his head.

"And what about your career? Would you be able to stay in the department if
this became known? I know you. You won't let this affect the way you pursue
this case. You're too honorable and honest to change the way you do things
just because some fucking bastard did this to us. We are not going to let
that filthy SOB ruin our lives."

"Jeff."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's settled." Jeff stood up and
strode into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was opened and then slammed
shut a few seconds later. Jeff reappeared with two beers in hand. He popped
one open and handed it to Michael. "Drink this. When you finish that, I'll
get you another one. And then we are going to take a very long, very hot
shower and scrub the dirt off us. And then we are going to go to bed and
make love to each other. Real love."

Jeff's rage stunned Michael. He had never seen Jeff so furious. His chest
was heaving with the anger of his breaths. "That bastard. How could he do
this to us? How could he use anyone like that? It's obscene. He's going to
pay for this. We're going to make him pay for this." Jeff took a swig of
beer and then slammed the can down on the coffee table. "Come on. Let's get
that filth off of us."

Jeff grabbed Michael by the hand and dragged him into the bedroom. He tore
their clothes off and pulled Michael into the shower. The water was too hot
for Michael's comfort, and Jeff was scrubbing him so forcefully with the
washcloth that it felt like he was trying to rub the top layer of skin off.

"Jeff, careful. Not so hard."

Jeff stopped. A look of dismay covered his face as he realized what he was
doing. "Oh my god, Michael, I'm so sorry. It's just that I'm so angry about
what he did to us. I wanted to get rid of every trace of that man on us."
He clasped Michael's body against his and pressed his forehead hard against
Michael's. They stood there with the water running over their heads and
down their bodies. Michael closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling
of Jeff against him. Jeff's hands clutched the small of his back
tightly. Each time Jeff breathed in, his stomach pressed against
Michael. Gradually Jeff's breathing calmed. He relaxed, and the pressure on
Michael's forehead lessened.

Michael felt the familiar solidity of Jeff's body. He massaged it gently
beneath his hands. And then he risked a kiss. Just his lips against Jeff's.

Jeff heaved a sob and then almost collapsed in Michael's arms. "That
bastard. That bastard." Michael found himself struggling to support Jeff
and hold him upright.

"Shhh. Don't think about him. Think about us. He can't hurt us. He can't
destroy us." At least Michael hoped that was true. If he said it, he could
make it true. He could make words have that power. He had to make Jeff
focus on "us," on the two of them and their relationship. He turned off the
shower and grabbed a towel from the rack. He draped it around Jeff's head
and shoulders and gave a few perfunctory swipes with it. It didn't matter
that both of them were still dripping. What mattered was holding each other
tightly.

The two tumbled onto the bed, mindless of their wet bodies. They flowed
together in a shared need to comfort and to be comforted in the oblivion of
making love.

Hours later, Michael awoke for a moment. He had been dreaming about
something Captain Altmann had said earlier. Something he had said about
Jeff's picture. Then Jeff stirred next to him, and he forgot about his
dream.