Date: Fri, 6 Sep 2013 01:42:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Finds Old Gold 6

Catfish finds Old Gold 6
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, comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com


Things were beginning to make sense to me now. I wanted to call Miller and
give him Beauregard's information. Now that I knew our victim's name
finding murderer was simplified, or it was as simple as solving a 25 year
old murder could ever be.

I was in an RV with two needy, horny men. I had been so interested in
Beauregard's story I had almost forgotten about that. I'm a bit embarrassed
to say that as soon as I remembered, my cock remembered big time. My balls
were still fully loaded and Beauregard's ass had primed the pump as it
were. I was ready for a quick poke, a sperm dump and then a call to Miller
on my cell phone from my car as I drove home.

I am not as virginal as I might be and I have noticed cocks are not always
as reliable, predictable or obedient as you might wish. I wanted to go
home; my cock wanted to party. Beauregard had Stonewall on his back and had
eased his cock in to his ass. Stonewall wasn't the strong silent type, and
I knew just how much he enjoyed it.

Beauregard was taller than I am, and his ass was at my cock height. I got
him to spread his legs and open up. His ass all but swallowed my tool. His
ass wasn't as tight as earlier, but he firmly gripped my cock. His prostate
was well tenderized and his own cock was making demands as he fucked
Stonewall.

Somehow we all reached a state of sexual excitement that was just short of
having the actual orgasm. My cock felt that tingly excitement that
proceeded the spurts. Beauregard and Stonewall were moaning. They were in
the same state. I wanted the relief of an orgasm, but my cock wouldn't
cooperate. Thinking about it later, I understood my cock was perfectly
happy.  Every movement and action was intensely pleasurable.

We all lingered on the orgasmic edge for perhaps ten minutes before
Beauregard lost it. I felt his ass contract as he pumped his man seed into
the depths of Stonewall's rectum. I shot off with Beau's third or fourth
ejaculation and then I matched him squirt for squirt.

My cock loved his cum filled hole. I continued to gently move my cock and
inspired a few more ejaculations.  I tried to pull out, but had an
overwhelming desire to stay deep.  We finally broke apart. Beau dressed and
went home. His cum was drooling from Stonewall's ass. My cock perked up
when I saw that, and I used it to shove to drool back in.

Stonewall was shocked, but it turned out I wasn't too big for him to
take. It was a tight fit, but that was good for both of us. He had a top of
the line hands-free orgasm as I plowed him. It was after midnight when I
finally got to my car.

I gave a report of my activities to Captain Miller the next morning. The
information was welcomed.  I had a nice quiet morning at the office getting
caught up on the day to day stuff that is needed to make an office work. By
noon the state police and the FBI were involved. The police file on the
disappearance of Norman Giles had been located and it included his dental
e-rays.

The body was that of Norman. Luckily the file was detailed and informative
too.  The lack of a body had been a major impediment, since it was treated
as a typical missing persons report. Had Beauregard's father been a young
blonde girl it would have been a major story.  Norman was regarded as an
eccentric; his interest in Confederate treasure was known. His wife was of
no use. The Columbia SC police thought she was perhaps unstable. There was
a suggestion he vanished on purpose.

There had been a large event in Richmond commemorating the Seven Days
battle in 1992. Nornan had been seen on the day of the reenactment. I gave
Miller Beauregard's information on the effort to steal the gold. I expected
them to act immediately. Miller said they would take care of it. He was a
bit cagy as to his plans. As I left his office I saw two FBI agents in the
outer office.

I wondered if the millionaire who financed the SOS had other scams. The
gold scam might make a few million dollars, but that was small potatoes by
Wall Street hedge fund standards. FBI agents meant there was an interstate
connection.

I wondered if Beauregard had information on his father's contacts and
associates.  He was an academic man, he may have even written letters back
then.

While I didn't want to tell Beauregard of my connection to the gold and to
the police, I didn't want him to be caught up in the scam.  My instincts
told me he wasn't involved. I knew it was wrong to rely on my instincts and
not hard facts, still I didn't see Beauregard as anything but an innocent
bystander. I also didn't believe he was faking his mental distress. He
hadn't been particularly good at playing the Southern Gentleman. Stonewall
told me the SOS guys seemed to regard him as a pet, or a circus freak.

He had hidden his father's story and his true objective from them.  Looking
on the bright side, his father had been murdered and hadn't abandoned
him. However, if Lucian had abandoned them, he might still be alive and
there would have been a chance for reconciliation. When discovering your
father is dead is the bright side, the situation is poor.

That afternoon, I got a call from Stonewall. He said Beauregard was at his
RV and he didn't know what to do with him. He needed help.

I drove to the campsite. Beauregard was wearing parts of his uniform, but
was in disarray and was staring into space. Stonewall came out to meet
me. "He got back from the medical examiner's office. They told him they had
identified the body as his father," Stonewall said. "I think he's in shock,
or maybe having a breakdown."

Beauregard had provided a lot of good information the day before. He hadn't
known I was working on the case and I didn't want him in a mental
institution. Undercover operations always involve an element of trickery
and deceit. I didn't think he was involved in the scam and I knew he
couldn't have been involved in the murder. He was twelve when his dad
died. I don't like collateral damage.

I went in the RV. Beauregard wanted to tell me everything. "It was my
Dad. He's been dead for twenty years. It was murder," he said. "He had
found the gold and was murdered. I thought he left us.  I thought he had
found the gold and gone off to Brazil or Argentina. Mom killed herself for
nothing. I changed my name for nothing."

We talked for quite a while. He was babbling some of the time but we calmed
him down. I had thought his name change and Confederate dress was part of a
"the South will rise" again fantasy. It was a fantasy, but the fantasy was
that his father left them because he wasn't good enough. He had tried to
turn himself into the perfect Confederate to please his father. He had
solved a non-existent problem.

Beauregard's life was founded on the assumption his father had left
them. He now had to rearrange all of his assumptions.  The new reality was
better than the old assumptions, but it was still disorienting.

"I would love to know who killed your dad," I said. "If your dad had lived
it would be the find of the century in Civil War scholarship. It's odd to
think of those Confederate leaders plotting their escape with millions in
gold, while they were setting Richmond on fire. They said that they would
never surrender and would fight to the end, but they never mentioned the
gold."

"Sometimes it's hard to balance being a man of honor and saving your hide,"
Stonewall said.

"I was thinking I would be happy to have one ingot," Stonewall mused. "I
hear there is a shit load of gold on that island."

"It seems to me that "shit load" isn't the right phrase for a pile of
gold," Beauregard said. "You are right. Knowing the leaders were plotting
their escape changes the way you think about the men. Nazi leaders were
smuggling gold to, but they were all scum. Confederate leaders were
supposed to be Southern Gentlemen, men of honor."

"Did you father take notes?" I asked. "How much had he discovered about the
gold."

"He was obsessive about notes and research. He was working on a book,"
Beauregard said. "It was well along, except for finding the actual gold. He
was worried Horace had written hoax.  Horace disliked the leadership and
thought they were leading the South to its destruction. There was a
possibility he wrote the diary as a way to discredit them."

"If he did all that work, your father must have thought that was a remote
possibility," I said.

"It seemed like a possibility to me, but since the gold had now been
discovered, it is clear Dad's judgment was correct. I misjudged him."

"Are you going to finish the book?" I asked him.

"It's too late for that," Beauregard replied.

"Your father was a historian.  It's never too later to correct history," I
said. That comment struck a chord in Beauregard's mind.

"I have all of his notes," he said. "I haven't been through them recently,
but parts were ready for publication."

"Is there anything in the notes that might lead to his murderer?" I asked.

"I've never looked at them that way," he said. We talked a little long and
Beauregard when home.  He really went home.  Beauregard did not return to
the SOS.  He returned to South Carolina to get his father's
notes. Stonewall remained hanging around the SOS meeting places. Meeting
places is a bit grand for the bars and dives they frequented. There was no
real leadership in these places. I assumed the real action was at Jonathan
Jones' plantation house, Brandon Hill.  He was a known as J. J.  and my
geezers began to focus on him.

I was pretty much out of it until I re-connected to my pals Russ and
Brewster in the White Legion. I had hoped they had gone home to West
Virginia. They had run into a SOS "Major" at a Seven-Eleven and had joined
his merry band.  "Major" Donaldson wanted the gold and needed some local
information. He was a South Dakota native and Richmond was a foreign as
China to him. The trio later ran into Stonewall who was at least a
Virginian. They asked if he knew of small guy who looked like Gabby
Hayes. That turned out to be me.

We went to Major Donaldson's camp in Cumberland County. Donaldson was on
the large farm of a survivalist, anti-government man named Wills. The farm
had ceased to be used as a farm twenty or thirty years earlier and now was
a 300 or 400 acre thicket.  It was on the James River.  That suited them
well.

Donaldson had armed guards at the entrance and some semblance of military
discipline. At first I thought this was a real militia type
organization. Donaldson had eight or nine officers and aides, as well as
twenty or thirty guards. I soon discovered he had no troops. I expected to
find a main camp; it did not exist.

He seemed to think that when he showed the flag as he marched into Richmond
the citizenry would rally to the Stars and Bars and join his effort to
seize the gold. While some Richmond suburbs were firmly Republican, they
were mostly of the banker and stock broker brand of Republicans. Maybe they
would attach rocket launchers to their riding lawnmowers and assault the
city, but that was unlikely. Wills, the owner of the farm knew that was a
bad plan. Wills thought they should get the gold by boat from the west. The
river was wide and fairly deep west of Richmond. Wills was familiar with
this portion of the river and thought it would be easy to get to the city
this way.

Wills was from Alabama and was racist to his core. He was also a firm
segregationist and wanted an all-White America. He had only been through
Richmond on the interstates. There were too many black people in the city
for him to leave the safety of the major highways.  As far as I could tell,
he hadn't looked down on the River from the interstate bridges. He seemed
to be unaware of the falls of the James. Oddly the Civil-War Buffs with
their Union army maps of the 1860s had a firmer understanding of the
geography of Richmond.

I had forgotten the rich array of conditions that could be called crazy or
delusional. Every form of crazy known to man was represented in the gold
hunters. Crazy people don't need for their schemes to make sense. That a
scheme was impossible didn't bother them at all.

The impossibility of their schemes was a positive asset from my point of
view. They could only fail. My problem was with the danger and riskiness of
the schemes. They were all fantasies, but men could die or be injured
trying to achieve the fantasy.

I may be getting mellow as I age, but giving the death penalty for being
stupid seems extreme. More problematic are the lives of the police and
rescue workers who might be killed trying to stop or save them.  The real
risk that a heavily armed nut-case might kill a slew of civilians. I did
what I could.

Donaldson had one redeeming feature. He said J. J., the head of the Sons of
the South was a close friend. Donaldson was not above name dropping, but if
it was true he might know more of what was actually going on with the big
boys. Donaldson did say he had a falling out with Donaldson over
tactics. Beauregard had told me the main SOS attack was to be from the
east. Donaldson's approach to the gold was to be from the west.

I explained the geography of the falls of the James again, and it looked as
if Donaldson might have marginally understood the problems. One of his
aides, Rupert Maxwell clearly seemed to understand the overall
situation. Donaldson had been in the army, but he had never been in
combat. Rupert had been in Iraq and Afghanistan and didn't deal with
problems by ignoring them.

The remainder of Donaldson's aides were unusually handsome blond boys who
wore matching uniforms. I guessed they were all in their early
twenties. They all looked as if they had just emerged from a pool side
cabana. The Confederate inspired uniforms fit well, but looked incongruous
on the handsome boys.

Much to my surprise, that night Rupert and two of the boys visited
Stonewall's RV. Rupert was a 100% Marine type. The boys were 100% chorus
boy types in love with the burly marine. While Rupert was all marine, he
wasn't a straight arrow. Stonewall was all-redneck and all gay too. I don't
know how he did it, but he was direct in his sexual overtures and never had
a problem.

I overheard Stonewall telling a guy that he was straight, but he loved
giving blowjobs. He then asked if the guy wanted one.  The guy said no, but
a little later he returned and went off to the woods with Stonewall. They
returned looking relaxed. When Stonewall walked by me, he told me the guy
had been loaded, and you could have made a cream filling for a pie with it.

Needless to say, Stonewall made friends easily. That afternoon, he had made
an overture to Rupert which had been coldly rejected. When Rupert showed up
at the door to the RV at 9:00 that night, Stonewall wasn't
surprised. Rupert was a firm believer is strict military discipline. It
took me a solid minute to realize the boys liked discipline too. In some
ways the camp was a Boy Scout camp as visualized by a director who made gay
porn.

Of course it was raining again, and the RV was hot and stuffy. We were
shirtless and wearing only shorts. We were also drinking beer. Stonewall
was smart. There were beer cans everywhere, but most were props. We had
only drunk one beer when Rupert showed up, but that wasn't the way it
looked. Rupert and his boys had a few beers, but they had been into the
bourbon earlier.

I assumed Rupert was an up-tight man who would beat around the bush before
getting down to business. I was wrong about that. He wanted sex and he
wanted it now.  He took off his shirt and long camo pants. He went commando
and he looked good. His boys, Willy and Danny, did the same. Danny was
fully erect.

"Your boys sure are friendly types," Stonewall said as he dropped his
shorts. Stonewall looked good naked. I stripped too. I look like shit
naked, but I'm not entirely without charms.  Rupert liked my
charms. Willy's eyes were real wide.

"Are your boys private stock or are they available got general use?"
Stonewall asked.

"They are private stock, but I pick playmates sometimes," Rupert said.

"When I play with a guy he's all worn out and tired when I done," Stonewall
said. "He is real open and juicy if you like that."

"Is your bearded friend into it too?"

"He sure is, but he's not real suited for beginners," Stonewall said. "If
you like to watch a guy get a real workout, keep your eye on my pal.  His
playmates tend to lose it big time." Danny went to Stonewall and Willy came
to me. Both dropped to their knees and began to suck. Willy was slim,
elegant and pretty.  He sucked like a pro.

I didn't intend to fuck him. I was afraid I would hurt him. I was sitting
on the sofa when he impaled himself on my cock. He was tight, but not that
tight.

At first, I thought Rupert was just a watcher. I soon found out the liked
it very up close and personal. Soon he was licking Willy and my balls. When
Willy lifted off my cock Rupert used his tongue to guide my cock into
Willy's quivering hole. At one point he had the tip of my cock and his
tongue in the ass at the same time. I think his virgin days were well in
the past.

The night turned into an old fashioned Roman or Greek style orgy. It was
the sort of thing Victorian scholars dreamed of. It was all sex all the
time. Rupert like the boys used. Once they had been opened, he shoved his
cock into the well stretched hole.

Danny had an attitude and was a cool customer until I was seven inches in
him.  He lost it big time then, much to Rupert's enjoyment.  Rupert fucked
him after I had worked him over.  Stonewall discovered there was room in
Danny's ass for his cock too. They were cum tube to cum tube in Danny's
tight hole. That was a total success.

Danny and Willy seemed to be mostly insatiable. They passed out around two
in the morning. I woke up at 6:00. Rupert was next to me in bed with his
morning erection. I lubricated my ass and sat on it. Rupert woke up with a
smile.

When Danny and Willy woke up they dressed and Rupert sent them off to early
morning formation. Rupert was due at the headquarters for another hour and
a half. Donaldson was not an early riser.

"Are you interested in some early morning tension relief?" Stonewall asked
Rupert.

Rupert smiled. "Your pal did a nice job on me already," he said. "How about
you?"

"I'm tense as hell, but I like to relieve it in a dark, tight place,"
Stonewall said. "Come over here a sit on my lap." Stonewall was rock
hard. Much to my surprise Rupert sat on his cock. Stonewall could read men
real well. I could tell this wasn't Rupert's first time. he did a nice
little Hula dance on the love pole and Stonewall made a nice contribution
in his rectum. Rupert got off the love pole and looked at me.

More correctly he looked at my cock.