Date: Fri, 26 May 2006 12:13:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jackinnm@yahoo.com>
Subject: Explring, Part 25, Adult Friends, 25/?

Exploring, Part 25
By Jackinnm@yahoo.com

	The news had been stunning. The only possible suspect
in the shootings had turned out to have been
completely cleared by the police investigation. Jim
and I were cheered, of course. We decided to go out to
eat to celebrate. In a corner booth at a Chinese
Restaurant we speculated on possible developments:
	"Now that it's pretty clear that the owner of the
rifle didn't do it, what do you think might happen
next?" he asked.
	"I don't think the cops will ever close the case," I
replied. "That only means that by policy they never
officially close a homicide case, but they won't be
making too much of an effort from now on. The only
good prospect they had turned out to be a dry well."
	"I really hope that guy had nothing to do with it,"
replied Jim. "I'm sure that the cops are going to be
watching him carefully from now on. If there's another
shooting, especially with a Lapua Magnum, he's going
to be the first one they visit."
	"I sure hope there isn't another in the Indianapolis
area," I reflected. "Anyway, the cops have to consider
all possibilities."
	"Like what?" Jim asked.
	"The shooter may not even live within 500 miles of
Indianapolis," I said. "He might have been driving
through and decided to ice a couple of people he
didn't like."
	"Anyway, we've seen a new trend the last couple of
weeks," Jim expounded. "At first it was only doctors
who promoted or performed circumcision who got shot.
Now it's also inventors and manufacturers of products
used for circumcisions."
	"You're right," I said thoughtfully. "Given that, I
wonder who's going to get it next? My guess would be
the guys who make that plastic tray with the Velcro
straps they use to immobilize kids when they cut
them."
	"If the cops think the same way you do, they might
already have that covered. There might be a stake-out
for the people who make that thing. If the shooter
shows up they might well nail him." With that, Jim
chewed the last bite of his food and, as I was also
finished, we left and returned to my place.
	"I'm so relaxed, after all that food, that I just
want to go to sleep," he said. "How do you feel?"
	"I feel the same way," I replied as I led the way to
the bedroom. "Anyway, tomorrow's Saturday, and we'll
have the morning to ourselves." I kissed him goodnight
after we'd undressed and gotten into bed.
	"I really like being with you," he whispered after
I'd turned out the light. "It's not just the sex; it's
the company."
	"Same here, Jim. I enjoy being with you too." With
that, we fell asleep. When we awoke, shortly after
seven the next morning, we were both hard. I realized
that we'd been holding each other's pricks for some
time before we'd awakened. The pressure in our
bladders added to our excitement.
	"We're ready to go," he murmured in my ear as he
kissed it.
	"I know we are," I answered. "I've got to pee, but
I'm sure I can hold it until after we cream."
	"We can't take too long, though, or I'll burst. Any
way we can come together?" he asked.
	"We can do Princeton," I said. "That's intracrural
intercourse. One of us slips his prick between the
other's thighs. At the same time, he strokes his
partner to orgasm."
	"Oh, I'd love that," Jim said. "Can I put mine
between your thighs?" Hearing this, I stripped Jim's
foreskin back completely off the helmet and locked it
behind his rim.
	"You sure can," I replied. "There's one thing,
though. You want to wear a rubber to avoid hair burns.
I'll get you one." I reached into the bedside table's
drawer and withdrew a condom and a bottle of
Astroglide. Tearing open the envelope, I squirted a
few drops of Astro into the condom and unrolled it
over Jim's straining prick, leaving some slack at the
end.
	"It's got a lot of slack," Jim observed. "I guess
that's because my cock's on the small side."
	"No, not just that," I explained. "You'll need the
slack to be able to thrust inside the condom. Here,
I'll turn over and you slip it between my thighs." I
rolled to my left, and I felt Jim sliding his prick as
far as he could as I lifted my right thigh. Now I
lowered my thigh and felt Jim begin to thrust slowly.
	"My cock slides pretty well between your thighs," he
said. His hand snaked around to find my prick and he
began working my foreskin back and forth over my
swollen helmet. For the moment I forgot the pressure
in my bladder as the sweet sensations swept over me.
	"We'll come together, too," I added. "You just go
ahead and pump, and keep stroking me. Try to time it
so that you make me come first. When I'm ready I'll
put my hand between my thighs and press your prick
right there." I slipped my hand down and probed for
the underside of his thrusting glans through the
rubber."
	"Oh, yeah, pressing there can make me come in
seconds, especially when I'm close," he said. Jim
continued thrusting as he pumped my foreskin with
renewed vigor.
	"I can feel your prick between my thighs," I said. "I
feel it each time the head touches my balls." Jim's
helmet lightly bumped my scrotum with each thrust, not
hard enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough to
add to my sensations. If his prick had been longer
than its five inches, the bumps would have been
harder.
	"I really love this," he said as he increased the
length and speed of his thrusts. "I can feel it
building up inside me."
	"I know you do, Jim. Just keep stroking me. Your hand
feels so much better than mine on my prick." At the
same time, I felt Jim's prick sliding smoothly back
and forth inside the condom between my thighs,
lubricated copiously by the Astroglide and his own
secretions.
	"I can't feel as much as I did before," he said. "Now
that my cock's lubing it's too slippery." I had not
foreseen this, that the mixture of Astro and his
viscous lubricant would begin masking his sensations.
	"I'm going to tighten my thigh muscles," I said.
"That should help you feel more." I clamped my thighs
together tightly, providing increased resistance as he
thrust between them. I felt his turgid glans push
aggressively through them.
	"Yeah, that's much better. It's not just the
friction; it's the pressure." I knew what he meant.
Even though his helmet and shaft were well lubricated,
squeezing my thighs together compressed the nerve
endings in his prick. I felt his fingers tighten
around my foreskin, compressing my rim with each
stroke.
	"I knew it would," I said. "You're doing my prick
good, too."
	"I know, Jack. I can feel how the head's gotten
harder through the skin." He raised his head to peer
over my shoulder as he increased the length of his
strokes on my prick. "I'm going to strip you back all
the way with each stroke," he continued. "I want to
see that big helmet shoot."
	"I'm almost there," I gasped. Jim's insistent
manipulations had brought about the familiar tickle in
my rim, and I knew I didn't have far to go. Jim, too,
was gasping with excitement, and I poised my right
hand on my thigh because I knew that the instant I
started coming, I'd drive it behind my scrotum to
press into the underside of his glans and massage his
hot spot. I knew from experience that this would bring
on his orgasm.
	"Your tip's gotten really dark now that I'm pulling
the skin all the way back. It's so shiny..." He trailed
off as his breathing grew heavier.
	"I know your tip's gotten bigger and harder, I said.
I can feel it between my thighs." My own tip felt
swollen to the bursting point, congested with blood
and aching for the sweet release of orgasm. Now my
eyes closed as I withdrew into myself to await the
onset. I was totally focused on my prick, relishing
the change in sensations as the heavy tickle spread
throughout my glans and turned into a hot tingle. I
was breathing hard now, poised on the edge, and Jim's
flying fingers were pushing me hard towards the
precipice.
	"HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted as the hot tingle in my
helmet exploded and rushed down my shaft, causing the
root to contract and send the first hot torrent
burning up my tube. My right hand pushed between my
thighs and found the bifurcated underside of Jim's
helmet thrusting behind my balls, and I pressed in to
trigger his orgasm.
	"AAAAAHHHHH!" Jim cried out as the pressure of my
fingers in his hot spot unleashed a spasm in the root
of his prick, and I felt his shaft and helmet throb
hard between my tightly clenched thighs as his first
spurt filled the condom.
	I cried out again as Jim yanked my foreskin back hard
to stretch the nerve endings and another spasm gripped
me. The exquisite hot-sweet sensations filled my prick
as it throbbed again to release another jet. At the
same time, Jim's prick jerked again between my thighs
and I knew that he'd shot again.
	Now Jim pushed my foreskin all the way forward
abruptly, providing friction over the entire length of
my helmet, and the root of my prick contracted again.
The burning stream pushed up my urethra and slammed
through the lips of my slit. We were both grunting and
groaning and I knew that Jim could feel the hot
throbbing of my prick-root because he was pressed
right against the tender flesh behind my balls.
	Our pricks throbbed together several more times as we
drained ourselves in ecstasy. Jim's hot and sweaty
body strained against mine as he expended his final
thrusts between my thighs. Then the storm was over and
we began to relax, sinking into a contented daze as
our pricks softened.
	After a few minutes we got up and headed for the
bathroom. Jim's condom had stuck to the insides of my
thighs, allowing his shrunken prick to slip out
easily, leaving a trail of semen and lubricant on my
body. I grasped the condom and carefully peeled it
away, dropping it into the toilet. I was glad that I'd
placed a wad of tissues on the bed under my prick to
catch my discharges, as they were a sodden mass.
	The shower's hot water immediately triggered our
sphincters, and we watched silently as thick yellow
streams parted the lips of our slits to fall on the
shower floor. We sighed contentedly, knowing that we
were flushing out any residues from our urethras.
After we'd finished we soaped each other thoroughly,
but not before we'd pulled our foreskins forward to
protect the tender helmets from the soap.
	"Don't need soap," Jim laughed. "My dick doesn't get
that dirty."
	"Neither does mine," I responded. "I'm going to be
extra careful in rinsing, though, just in case some
leaked under my foreskin." We both skinned back to
give our helmets an extra rinse before I shut off the
water and we began to dry ourselves. Jim watched as I
squirted a drop of Astroglide behind my flaring corona
before pulling my foreskin down to cover the head.
	"You always use the Astro?" he asked.
	"I have to, since my foreskin doesn't secrete any
natural lube. That's why my prick doesn't smell like a
naturally uncut one." We dressed and went into the
kitchen, where I began to prepare breakfast. When I
turned on the TV, the same news bimbo was narrating
the death of a man in a mining accident in the same
tone as if he'd won the lottery.
	"A shooting death in Texas this morning has the
police in a manhunt. Mr. Jack Snipper, a business
executive, was shot from long range outside his home
and the police do not have a motive. Police say that
Snipper was wearing a bullet-proof vest at the time
because of fears of assassination." I changed channels
in the hope of getting more details.
	"Police say that the first shot ripped right through
Mr. Snipper's bullet-proof vest and the second one hit
him in the head. Either shot would have proved fatal,
said the detective in charge of the case." Other
channels failed to give more information, except that
the suspected weapon was a rifle firing the .338 Lapua
Magnum. I clicked off the TV.
	"I think I know what might have happened," I said to
Jim. "This just might be Mr. Lapua again. Snipper
might have been worried about his safety since he
heads the Child Circ-Board Company. I recognized his
name from when I'd looked them up on the internet."
	"But it said he was wearing a bullet-proof vest," Jim
said in consternation.
	"There's no such thing as a bullet-proof vest," I
countered. "There are only bullet-resistant vests.
These come in different models. Some stop pistol
bullets. Others stop rifle bullets. The ones that stop
rifle bullets are a lot thicker and heavier, and my
guess is that Snipper was wearing one of the lighter
models, like the ones police use, because most of the
shootings in this country are with handguns. A
powerful caliber such as the Lapua would go through
it, almost like a knife through butter. I think that
Mr. Lapua took a body shot first. That bullet ripped
right through the vest and put Snipper down. Because
he shot from long range, our Mr. Lapua wanted to make
sure and took a head shot. That must have ripped the
top of his head right off, I bet."
	"Well, it looks like maybe the same guy did three
shootings now, and he traveled to the third one," Jim
concluded.
	"I'm also guessing that Mr. Lapua was operating
independently from the other shooters," I said. "The
way the government eavesdrops on phone calls and
e-mails, they would have uncovered a conspiracy if
there were any link between the shooters."
	"I think that Mr. Lapua also drove from Indianapolis
to T
exas. It's not that far, and he avoided leaving a
paper trail with the airlines," Jim concluded.
	"If he drove, I think he was smart enough not to use
any credit cards. They'd pin-point his movements
pretty accurately," I added. "If he used cash to pay
for gas and meals, there would be absolutely no
record. He could even have used cash for a motel."
	"Maybe he didn't stay at a motel," Jim speculated.
"He might have stayed with a friend or relative. Then
there'd be absolutely no record."
	"That could be," I said. "He seems to be a pretty
smart guy. I don't think he would have gone off on an
adventure like this half-cocked. He must have planned
this to the last detail. That's why the cops haven't a
clue."
	"Speaking of planning," Jim said. "This guy knew he
wasn't on a schedule. There was no time limit. It
didn't really matter if he shot Snipper this week,
next week, or next month."
	"You're right, Jim. Taking his time gave him a
tremendous advantage. He wasn't under any pressure and
didn't have to take unnecessary risks."
	"I'm still pretty sure these shootings were done by a
bunch of guys who don't know each other, Jim said.
"The different locales, the very different weapons
they used, all those details point to more than one
person, all acting independently."
	"I think you're right," I agreed. "That makes it much
harder for the police to work. They're looking for
multiple suspects, and even if they catch one, it
won't give them a leg up on identifying any of the
others."
	"This sounds like what one FBI Agent said a few days
ago about the lone wolf terrorist, Jack. He said that
this is what the government fears most of all, the
unaffiliated single operator."
	"I can see why. With a conspiracy, a group, there's
always a weak link. One member makes a stupid mistake
and gets caught. They have to communicate, and
communications are always subject to interception. If
the cops catch one guy, they can sweat him to make him
identify other members. However, with unconnected
strangers, none of these avenues of approach are open
to the cops. See what I mean, Jim?"
	"Oh, I can see it pretty clearly," Jim answered.
"They don't know each other. These guys aren't
connected by anything except a shared ideology, and
shared purpose. They can live in different parts of
the country, work at very different jobs, and even
have very different lifestyles. There's really nothing
to connect them."
	"Yes, Jim, and since they don't know each other,
there can be no pattern of contact that authorities
can find. You know the government keeps a record of
every phone call and every e-mail made in this country
to trace patterns of contact. If these guys don't know
each other, obviously they never make phone calls to
each other, and they don't send e-mails to each other.
This leaves absolutely no pattern to trace."
	"Well," said Jim. "I guess we just have to wait for
the next one."

Continued in Part 26