Date: Fri, 6 Feb 2009 03:22:09 -0800 (PST) From: Bob Archman Subject: Catfish does Shalespeare 2 Catfish does Shakespeare 2 by Bald Hairy Man This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you don't like that DON'T read it. You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, not for minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual. No effort to portray safe sex practices has been made. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com. The next morning I went to see a neighbor who had recently retired as Dean of Faculty at the University of Central Virginia. At least half of the actors were graduates of UCV. Dean Doveton knew just about all there was to know about the school. I told him about the poison pen letters. He knew all about it. Actually he knew nothing about it, but there had been a previous outbreak in the Drama Department in the Art School. "No one mentioned that," I said. "It was eight years ago. There have been two generations of students since then,"Dean Doveton said. "We worked hard to keep it out of the news. It was embarrassing and the people who got the letters kept it quiet. There were slashed tires and a smoke bomb or two. Nasty business." "Can you give me details?" Dean Doveton was quiet as he thought it over. "I'll tell you all I know if you use only what is necessary. It could still be embarrassing," he said. "The letters accused faculty members of having homosexual relations with their students, orgies as well. The students got letters accusing them of seducing their teachers. The letters said they would give this information to the newspapers and to the General Assembly. The letters to the students said they would tell their parents." "The parents didn't know the sexual preferences of their kids?" "The parents never know," Dean Doveton said. "A good portion of the recipients weren't gay. One male faculty member had been disciplined for getting too close to a female student. The man was a flaming heterosexual. The letters were nasty and shocking, very ugly. There was one attempted suicide attempt. A young student took an overdose. She was terrified her parents would disown her." "Did you find out who sent the letters?" "Not exactly. Several of the principal players left Richmond and the letters stopped," he said. "It could have been either of them or one of their devotees. We were so relieved they stopped, we didn't do anymore investigation." "Did you find out what generated the problem?" "Do you know Professor Kirkland from Art History?" the Dean asked, "He was the faculty member who investigated the problem. He wrote a confidential report. He can give you all the details." I had met him several years earlier. It had been in a social situation. The Dean called him and clued him in. he was free after three that afternoon. I was to meet him at Professor Kirkland's apartment. Rehearsals started at 7:00 so I had time. Kirkland was a 60 year old giant, at least six feet four. We had met in a mutual friend's hot tub. He was as well endowed as me. I might have been a little longer and he was a little thicker. Mine looks bigger because of my undersized body. Kirkland and I traded size queen stories. He lived in a downtown high rise apartment. When I got there he greeted me warmly and then introduced me to his partner Stanford. Stanford maybe ten years younger than Kirkland. He was a businessman dressed in a suit and tie. Kirkland was every inch a professor and he gave me a well prepared lecture on the poison pen event. "The former chairman, Gustave Schmidt was fired after a policy dispute with the Dean. Schmidt was tenured, so he remained on the faculty even though he was no longer the chair. He came to believe he was the victim of a homosexual plot to remove him from power and to replace him with a gay man." "How does a guy who doesn't like gays get to be a chairman of a drama department?" I asked. "That's not at all clear," Kirkland said, "He never had any problems with gay faculty before. Schmidt wasn't able to admit his own actions had anything to do with losing his position. I think he searched for scapegoat and found the gay members of his faculty available. He had supporters too. They were jokingly referred to as Gustav's Groupies." "In Gustav's defense, several of the female groupies were troubled. All were unmarried and had no boyfriends. Like Gustav they couldn't believe they personally had any responsibility for their lack of success at love." "Ugly as sin?" I asked. "I interviewed most of them always with my secretary in attendance. She thought the main problem was shitty attitude. They had a chip on their shoulders the size of Texas," Kirkland said. "Gustav had one major failing. He was an amateur mental health counselor. When a student had a problem, he wanted to help them himself. Some needed professional help. That might have been related to the letters." Kirkland gave me the low down on the incident. The combination of metal illness and revenge could easily result in poison pen letters. "Do you remember the Globe Theater Project of three, or four years ago?" Stanford asked. He had been sitting and listening. "I vaguely recall the name," I said. "It made a big splash but it's first production crashed and burned," Stanford asked. "There was a very public airing of dirty linen after that. As I recall the man playing Hamlet was mugged. I think the stage manager was the victim of a hit and run driver too. It struck me as odd that two members of the company were crime victims. Statistically improbable." "Are you an accountant by any chance?" I asked. "I work for the state in statistical analysis," Stanford explained. "I work in crime statistics." "I'll check on that," I said. We talked for a while and I got ready to leave. "Catfish I remember our last meeting," Kirkland said, "You made an impression on me. I told Stanford about you and he was impressed. Stanford has an interest in . . ." "Size?" I filled in the missing word. "Are you offended?" he asked. "Not at all," I said. "Would you be offended if I said I have an interest in willing bottoms?" "It looks to me like this might be everyone's lucky day," Stanford said. "Let's adjourn to the bedroom." "Is this all right with you?" I asked of Kirkland. He smiled. "I have an interest in size too," he said. "I promised Standford if I ever found a cock as big as mine I'd bring it home. Oh, I said I'd bring the guy who possessed the cock home too!" "That's a relief," I said. We stripped. Kirkland put on a porn DVD. Stanford of average height and weight, bald and hairy. He was also very interested. Kirkland was bald and hairy too. He put his arm around my shoulders and stroked the hair on my back. Stanford got on his knees and sucked us both. We were both uncut and soft. . I hadn't run into a skin fancier in a while. Stanford liked foreskin and was into it. Skin fanciers only have a short window of opportunity. The better they suck the shorter the time they have to play. Stanford was evenhanded and our knobs pushed free of the skin at about the same time. I had thought his was thicker and mine was longer, but up close and fully aroused, it wasn't clear. He had a big mushroom head, flared and purple-pink. It was almost iridescent. His slit was wide and already moist. I must admit Stanford was genuinely enthusiastic about my cock. "I'd love to suck your cock," I said to Kirkland. We rearranged ourselves. Kirkland sat on the edge of the bed. I sucked him as Stanford scooted under me to do his part. We all got excited. "Are you sure you want to see my cock in Stanford's ass?" I asked. "I'm kind of turned on by it," he said. "I'm a bit of a size queen myself. Would you mind if I opened Stanford up first?" "Be my guest, anything that makes it easier is fine with me," I said. "I'll lubricate him for you, if you want?" Kirkland smiled. Stanford sucked on Kirkland's cock as I opened his ass. "How often do you get fucked?" I asked. "Four or five times a week," Stanford said. "Unless I get lucky, that is." "You're real tight for an ass which is so experienced," I said. "Do you ever trade places?" "I like to bottom, but not as much as Stanford likes it." Kirkland said. " He use to fuck me, but the more I fuck him the more he wants to be fucked." I had two fingers in Stanford's ass. It was clear his prostate was a major sex organ for him. With one hand in Stanford's hole, I used my other hand to coat his lover's cock with lube. Stanford laid back and hoisted his legs, Kirkland grabbed the legs and spread them wide. The hole was wide open and defenseless. A second later Kirkland's cock head was nuzzled in the juicy ass. A bottle of poppers sat on the side table. I got them ready. The older man bounced a few times and slowly pushed his huge knob into the tight hole. I got the bottle. Kirkland smiled. I opened the poppers and gave Stanford a snort. He shivered and his partner's purple knob vanished into his love tunnel. A few minutes later he was fully impaled in the huge cock, and was loving it. After the slow entry the pace picked up. Kirkland evolved from a slow and easy lover to a man rammer. Stanford's eyes rolled back into his head and he zoned out. "Damn, I was getting carried away," Kirkland said as he pulled away. He left his head in the ass. You could tell both men loved the sexual connection. I could also tell Kirkland was having a hard time pulling out. Several times he pulled away, but he never pulled the head out. "Cum is a great lubricant," I said. "You don't mind sloppy seconds?" Kirkland asked. "Not it all," I said. "Do you mind if I shoot my load in Stanford's ass too?" "Please!" Stanford moaned. Kirkland smiled and fucked hard. I gave both men the bottle of poppers. It was only a few strokes later when he popped. I lubricated my cock as Kirkland ejaculated. Stanford's ass was dilated when Kirkland finally pulled out. I could see into the love tunnel and the glistening man seed. I was ready to move in. Remarkably by the time my knob was at his ass, it had closed up. I knew his sphincter had been stretched wide by Kirkland not once, but maybe hundreds of times. Still, his ass was tight and resisted my entry. I had the poppers in my hand and gave it to Stanford. My head was in on the next thrust and half my shaft slid in on the next. It was as if Stanford was hit by an electric jolt. I was still and let him adjust to my cock. He began to rotate his hips. I push the rest of my cock up his chute. The cum filled tunnel shivered as I went deep. Stanford was moaning and gasping for air. When he caught his breath he was a welcoming and active bottom. I enjoyed it, but there was no way I could have enjoyed it as much as Stanford. After about ten minutes, Kirkland tapped me on the shoulder and went in for a second time. He and I traded places a few times over the next hour. We did Stanford doggy style a few times too. The last time I fucked him, I was thinking poor Stanford was looking a bit frayed. My cock took mercy on him and I had a top of the line orgasm. It was both long and pleasurable. The warm cream inside his raw ass did the trick for Stanford. He shot off too. Kirkland would need to change the sheets and wash off the wall, after that one. It was lovely. I pulled out and licked up some of Stanford sperm to help out a little. I had to get to the rehearsal so I got dressed. "Do you ever bottom?" Kirkland asked me as we went to the door. "Sometimes." "I do too. I've never been fucked by anyone as big as you," Kirkland said. "You're curious?" I asked. He nodded. "Maybe we could do this again," he observed. "It was better than I had guessed for Stanford and for me." "I'd like that," I said. "I'm curious too." The rehearsal was a bit anti climatic after the visit to Kirkland and Stanford, but it was productive. We rustics did a run through of our first scene. Santa was spectacular. Fred was made for the over the top role like Bottom. One of my fellow Rustics was a handsome young man named Danny. He played Snug, the joiner. Snug played the lion and had even fewer lines than me. Danny had a knack for turning his face into a vacant expression, turning from a lively boy into a dolt. He also had a knack for slapstick. I wondered why he hadn't been selected for one of the romantic roles. He was bearded and had a hairy chest. Robert, the actor was playing Flute played Thisbe, the heroine of the play within the play. He complained the role was beneath him, but read his lines. He had lots of lines compared to the rest of us rustics, other than Fred. He was the only one of the rustics to be unenthusiastic. As we rehearsed the two queens, Bruce and Mark, who were playing Hermia and Helena seemed to be on the edge of outright war. Charlie kept on giving them disapproving glances. They got the message. The dwarfs had warned me about Bruce and Mark. Both men were handsome in a 1930s lounge lizard way. By my way of thinking they weren't handsome enough to be that unpleasant. Fred moved on from his rehearsal with us, to his transformation into an ass accomplished by a magic potion. Quite frankly I'm not much into magic potions and this part of the play seemed foolish. Fred was spectacular and turned the scene into a rolling on the floor it was so funny event. He subtly introduced donkey mannerisms and characteristics that accomplished the transformation without costumes. The big love scene between Bottom, now transformed into an ass, and Hippolita, queen of a fairies, played by Samuel the dwarf was wonderful. Hippolita was a victim of another potion that made her fall in love with the first person she saw. Samuel, was perfect in the role of the love struck Queen. I didn't know how close the two men were off stage, but it was both comic and oddly believable. Off to the side a man I didn't know was taking with Charlie. The conversation got animated as the scene came to an end. "I don't know why anyone would seriously consider regurgitating a meaningless old warhorse like this," the man said. "We need modern plays that speak to our age!" I couldn't hear Charlie's response. "It's a weak play any way and you're pandering to cheap emotions. My god, using dwarfs and rednecks!" The man was getting worked up. "Some people think Shakespeare has held up well," Charlie said. "The redneck costume looks like shit and you need to find a make up artist who isn't demeaning to rednecks," he said looking directly at me. "It ain't no costume, mister," I said. He turned bright red and the cast burst into laughter. He man left the stage. "Who is that asshole?" I asked. "He's Milton Hammerly, the theater critic of the newspaper." Charlie said. "You should have punched him in the nose," David said. "Shit," I said. "If I punched every asshole I meet in the nose I'd hurt my knuckles." The rehearsal was over. Danny asked if I like to go out for a beer and a sandwich. That was fine with me. Bruce and Samuel tagged along as did the quiet guy who played Demetrius, Henry. We went to a small restaurant nearby. I had a beer and ordered a burger. Apparently Milton was not a particularly favorite critic. Bruce said you needed to have a roll in the hay to get a good review out of him. "He likes young men he can help with his career. I'm not that picky, but Milton is scum." "I'm pleased you draw the line somewhere, Henry said. "I've heard if you ran into a well hung amoeba, you'd give it a try." "Absolutely untrue!" Bruce protested in a good humored way. "People spread lies about me. I wouldn't give an amoeba a second look. Unless it was incredibly well hung." Without his rival Mark present Bruce was good natured and funny. He complimented Samuel on his acting ability. "It was hard to believe you weren't in love with Bottom," Bruce said. "Well, he is a lovable ass," Samuel replied. "How are you going to play Hermia?" "I was thinking about using Annette as my model," Bruce replied. As they talked I saw a pretty big scar on Henry's arm. He noticed I was looking at it. "Motorcycle accident?" I asked. "A chance meeting with a car," Henry replied. "Chance my foot!" Bruce interjected. "It was hit and run and I've never believed it was an accident." "Were you the guy in Hamlet?" Danny asked. "I was strictly behind the scenes in that play," Henry said. "I'd rather not talk about it." "I was strictly a spear carrier in that mess," Bruce said. "Henry deserves the Purple Heart and the Medal of Honor for trying to keep the thing together." "What are you guys talking about?" Samuel asked. "It's a long story and need to get my beauty sleep, lord knows," Bruce said. "But I will tell you every thing when I have the time." I took them men to there apartments, since I was the only one with a car. I got the impression several of them were relived to get a ride.