Date: Sat, 2 Jan 2021 15:12:05 -0500 From: Bob Subject: Catfish Retires 8 Catfish Retires 8 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 or bldhrymn@aol.com. A week later I was back in Richmond. I had uncovered several links that had become quite productive. Since all the major European police were working together on the case, I was no longer needed. Bobby and Matt came with me. I had guys who helped me from time to time but had moved on. Bobby and Matt were good at helping and I thought a new start in life would be good for them. I checked up on things with Templeton, who seemed to know a lot about the market in stolen and looted art. I had also connected with Tristan Frederick, a new associate of the Richmond's Art museum who was on the lookout for art works and collections that fit into the museums plans for growth. Tristan was fortyish, handsome, and fun to be with. For older collectors he was the dream grandson who was always courteous, and thoughtful. My to my surprise that was not an act. He liked older guys and if they were distinguished collectors that was incidental. Tristan had another distinguishing skill. He could spot a user and fraudster form a great distance. He was wealthy and his grandmother had fallen into the clutches of a charlatan. It was a close call, but the charlatan became a long-term resident of a prison and had no idea how that happened. Tristan was a close friend of Templeton and I was definatly not his type. I was helpful for him several times. Anthony Deal gave me the newly discovered painting by Bosch. He was embarrassed that he had been tricked by the overpainting. He didn't want the reminder of his misjudgment in his museum. I needed a Hieronymus Bosch painting like a second missing leg, so I gave it to the Richmond Art Museum anonymously. It made a big splash, and I got a ten-million-dollar tax write off. I didn't need that either. Tristan told me it was worth something between fifty to one hundred million. I was still interested in the missing portions of the Hirsch Collection. The Nazis took it in the 1930s almost a century earlier. Revenge is a dish best served cold. It would be nice to metaphorically piss on the graves of the men who stole the collection. Given the scale of the art thieves' operation, some additional works from the Hirsch collection might survive. I discussed it with Tristan, and he said he would check on it. Tristan assigned it to a graduate student from a local university, Temple W. Jones III. Temple was 25-year-old man who looked he had been over inflated. He came to see me and wanted to know more about the Hirsch family and the collection. He was working on an article on major doners for the museum magazine. I told him what I knew, the discovery of a good chunk of the collection and also described my work for Deal and what appeared to be a ring of art thieves. I explained that as far as I knew the museum had between 50% and 60% of the collection. The remainder of the collection was lost or had been destroyed. Temple was reading the accounts of the surviving members of the family. Temple was young and I suspected he had a sheltered life in the art history departments of several major universities. I suspected he had never encountered anyone who looked or talked like me. He seemed to relax as we talked. I am weak on art but up to the moment on art thieves. A week later I had a call from him asking if we could meet. I said sure and he came over that night. He had found evidence on 32 missing paintings from the Hirsch collection. There were in lists of the works and newspaper ads. Temple spoke French, German, and Polish. His grandmother was Polish. The primary Hirsch store was in Germany, but they also had a smaller store in Poland. It had the name of a cousin. Temple Jones III was obsessively detailed. He found that the works in the Polish gallery had been confiscated, and the art works were sent to a gallery in Switzerland. This meant that whoever had taken the works was planning to use it for a nest egg after the end of the war. The Swiss gallery no longer operated, but its records were owned by a successor firm. Temple had flown to Switzerland to find the records. I suspected that Temple came from a rich family. He did not find the records, but he had found the catalogs of the World War II period. He bought them. He found the sales of the Hirsch paintings from the 1936-1950 period. The catalogs included notes on the sales of individual works that included the sale price and buyer. Several of the works were purchased by a Hungarian Count, Anton de Grasse. I assumed he was Antonio de Grasse's father. It now seemed to me that the de Grasse family was dealing in stolen works since the 1940ies. Was Antonio a second-generation thief? The 1939-1950 period was a goldmine for stolen, forged and looted art. I wondered of the de Grasse family got into the market for stolen art in the forties, or if they had been involved before. The name was French, but they claimed to be Hungarian. Temple had done research on Antonio de Grasse and Florian De Monte. De Monte had a skimpy biography. He appeared first in the 1980s as a collector. He didn't seem to have a back story. The background of the de Grasse family was sparse too. The story was that when they fled the Nazi's during World War II, their home and fortune vanished. Temple found the town they said they came from had vanished. They gave several different spellings of the town due to the crackup of the Austro-Hungarian Empire; it had been Austrian and was renamed by the Hungarians. Temple discovered that neither the Austrian nor the Hungarian towns existed. Neither the de Grasse nor the De Monte families seemed to have a history older than the 1940s. It was all interesting. Temple stayed for dinner and he drank too much. He spent the night. On the way to the guest room Temple encountered Bobby getting out of the shower and they discovered common interests. Bobby realized Temple was a few steps away from virginity, and he brought him to me. I was with Matt in my shower. Being slightly drunk, slightly virgin, and slightly erect seemed to effect Temple's judgement. "I think I had more to drink more that I should have," Temple said and then asked, "Is your cock that big or is it the alcohol?" "It's big." Matt said, "If you are into man play it is a treat." "It would rip me in half," Temple said. "Only a few have died so far," Matt replied. "Did they have a smile on their face?" Temple asked. He paused and added rather sheepishly, "I have a hard time making friends." "From experience being naked and sucking a guy's cock, or taking his cock in your backside makes friends quickly, I don't know if we are his type, but we have fun," Matt said. Temple was rock hard by then. He was one of those men who looked better erect than soft. My cock responded to his erection and my cock is a good judge of character. We had a low key, almost restful, night long orgy. Bobby was the first to fuck him. Temple's body was not muscular and neither his anus nor sphincter objected to the penetration. I later found out Temple was an anal virgin; a good portion of his body weight was in sperm and he liked to share. His cock had a downward bend which made it into a perfect prostate massager. Matt told me that he could sleep while being fucked, waking only for the orgasm. Bobby was good and gave Temple's prostate a sperm bath. Matt then pushed Bobby's load deeper into Temple's ass. He shot off fire hose style and Temple loved that. I was in the sixty-nine position with Temple so I could taste his reaction to Bobby and Matt. While Temple was delicately licking my cock, his own organ was oozing enthusiasm about their efforts. I thought his sucking efforts were half- hearted. He was licking my cock; he was measuring it. He wasn't a gym shower or skinny dipping in the swimming hole sort of man. I thought two loads in one night would be more than enough for Temple. Apparently, my cock was larger than he knew existed. Classical art tends to prefer modest male equipment. He wasn't a size queen because he didn't know you could be a size queen. When my cock eased into him, it was a shock and a revelation. Bobby and Matt had been the appetizer and the first course. I was the meat in the main course. I wasn't too excited about it at first, but I like a sperm lubricated ass, so I gave him a deep poke. It was good and got better. Temple wasn't muscular so it was a bit liked fucking Jell-O. He had one muscle, the sphincter. His sphincter established a friendly relationship with my cock. It either clamped tight or massaged my cock. After a massive exchange of sperm, we all fell asleep During the night I had a strange vision. I thought that Anton and Antonio de Grasse and Florian De Monte were all the same man. He had different personas for different situations. When things were too hot for Arturo, he could vanish and become Florian. The dead Antonio might just be a disposable stand in. Was the house in Corsica simply a warehouse for objects awaiting sale? I also wondered if the reason they could not find Florian was that he didn't exist. The next morning, I called Templeton and George and discussed that possibility. They were interested but not convinced. Two days later Scotland Yard got the DNA profile from Antonio's burned body. It was a match for an Italian con man named Guido Montenegro. Guido had died ten years earlier at the age of seventy. There was no way Guido was Antonio. There was another Antonio somewhere. Florian appeared for the first time in 1970. By 1980 he was known an established art collector. With modern record keeping it is rare for a man to appear for the first time as an adult and be a major collector ten years later. By adding 40 years to his age, he would be well into his eighties by now. No one had actually ever seen him in fifty years. It turns out that there are no child prodigies in art collecting. Fortunes do not appear from nowhere. My first thought was to look for the successor firms of the galleries that were used to dispose of Nazi Lot. While they may have changed their names. These tended to be in Switzerland and Spain. There had been firms in Germany and the formerly occupied European counties, but the stigma of Nazi collaboration meant they didn't want to do anything which raked up old memories. There were Middle-Eastern galleries that dealt with suspect artworks, but they had preference for local looted antiquities. They supplied local strong men, but it seemed to me that there was minimal interest in pages from a Christian illuminated manuscript in the mid-east. Russian and Central European oligarchs struck me as the most likely to be buyers of the mostly European art. They were a secretive group, and I suspected they weren't worried about provenance. At this point Scotland Yard and the European police came into their own. The predatory tendencies of Oligarchs were well known, and some were interested in art. This was either for personal pleasure or status symbols in the select club of oligarchs. I called Anthony Deal. He had the wealth of an oligarch, but his interest in art was genuine and he was only interested in genuine works with correct provenance. He thought the ephemeral Antonio and Florian were interesting. He said he would do some checking. A week later, Temple gave me a call and said he had a friend who would like to meet me. He wanted to know if he could bring him over to meet me. Bobby and Matt were in Washington trying to get their visas revised so I was alone. I guessed that Temple's meeting most likely to be sexual. I thought about saying no, but then my usual slutty instincts took charge. I said to come over. Promptly at eight, Temple's friend, Randolph, was at the door. Temple had an emergency and Randolph came alone. Randolph was six three and two hundred pounds. He was shaped like a brick. Randolph was a former collegiate football player who took art history classes because they were easy. He had now finished his master's degree in Art History and was working on his doctorate. He was also shy. He was a native of Richmond and had heard stories about a pint-sized guy who had a deep dislike for rapists. I was sort of the patron saint of waitresses and kitchen staff at local restaurants. Apparently, I was known for my anti-rapist crusade. I had always dislike bullies, thugs, and rapists. I had been involved with more major crimes, but Catfish & Company maintained neighborhood patrols and protected art and performance facilities. Randolph had been an anti-bully guy in High School. He had a major growth spurt at the same age as I stopped growing. Luckily, imagination is not a requirement for pick-up lines. After a while, I told Randolph I was tired and wanted to relax in the whirlpool. I asked if they would like to join me. Randolph would like that. We went to my bath and striped. Since Bobby and Matt were away, Randolph helped me undress. He had an opportunity to see my cock close up. It's just a cock, but it seemed to inspire gay men. I decided to try the direct approach. "Randolph, some people say I am a sex maniac. I hope that doesn't bother you," I said. "Is it true?" he asked. "That depends if it offends you or excites you," I replied. "I guess you could say it interests me," he said as he looked at my cock as I sat on the edge of the whirlpool. "Is your cock unusually large?" "Let's say it is of interest to enthusiasts," I replied. Randolph looked lost. He didn't know what to say. I gave him a hint. "It's okay if you get closer to it. Some guys say it tastes good." "You're uncut," he mumbled. "My knob pops out if you lick it," I said. "Will you make fun of me if I do that?" he asked. It all became clear to me. He had some bad experiences before. "Hell no," I replied. I slipped into the water, went over to him, and took his cock into my mouth. He had a big knob on the thick shaft. I swirled my tongue around the rim of his knob. He moaned. I did it a second time and I tasted the sweet taste of precum. "I might shoot off," he whispered. "That's why I'm sucking you," I said. "Do I have to eat yours?" "I see fresh cum as a reward not a punishment," I said. "Some men like the taste of a cock spurting in their mouths, some don't. Guys like to feel it squirting in their asses, other don't. I know one or two guys who lick it up as it drools from an ass." "What do you like?" he asked. "I like it straight from an ass. I have a warm spot for sloppy seconds; using as lubricant as I fuck a recently used ass is good for me," I said, adding, "You should know I have a graduate degree in fucking and sucking." Randolph laughed. "I'm afraid I barely made it out of first grade level cock sucking," he said. I had returned to sucking his cock. His precum was leaking from his cock at a good rate. He was into it. "You may be uneasy, but your cock wants more. Can you relax enough to let go and let nature take its course?" "I can try," he said. I continued sucking. As I guessed, a few minutes later his cock took charge and turned on the automatic pilot. I was hoping that would result in an orgasm. I am not sure that Randolph understood the impact of sexual pleasure. He was unprepared for the flood of sensations and emotions of an orgasm. I don't suspect he unexpected intensity he experienced when he climaxed. I can't scientifically prove this, but I suspected Randolph had a few quarts of sperm trapped in his body that wanted release. He spent the night trying to ejaculate as much of it as he could into my mouth or ass. The next day was Saturday. Bobby and Matt returned and we helpful in draining Randolph's balls. Sucking him off was a masterpiece of establishing my crediblity with Randolph. Sitting on his cock and squirming until he shot off deep in me was another. Eventually he sucked Matt, Bobby, and me. He told me he wanted me to fuck him. I told him I would screw him if he was able to take Bobby and Matt up the ass. I told him I wanted his ass nice and open. That was a total success. He took both men and their loads and still wanted me to fuck him. It was a challenge for Randolph, but he glowed when he felt me ejaculating in him. I unexpectedly shot a huge load into him. I later figured out that using my friends' sperm as lube was much more stimulating than I expected. Bobby licked-up the sperm drooling from Randolph's ass. Bobby and Matt went off, and I had a nice conversation with Randolph. Randolph wasn't much of a conversationalist, but my cock had found his on button seven inches in his ass. He was from a good family and was sent to a prep school when his parents divorced. He had the misfortune to be intelligent but not athletic. Most of the students had been in the school for years and looked down on outsiders. He had the misfortune to be in the animal house dorm. It was an abusive situation that was not helped when his father married a bimbo, and his mother married the pool man. He associated sex with abuse, decided to avoid sex entirely. He was intelligent, and academically gifted, but had no social skills. I made a major discovery about Randolph. When a bloated cock rammed his ass and rubbed his prostate, he developed a personality. I am not sure that anal sex is recommended as a cure for personality disorders, but I made a dramatic change for the better in Randolph. My cock began the therapy, but Bobby's and Matt's cocks continued the transformation. Apparently getting fucked gave Randolph a reason to interact with other people. Randolph became chatty Cathy when he was on his back with his legs on my shoulders and cock in his ass. I did a slow massage and he loved that. It turned out his father's bimbo wife thought art collecting was the ticket to acceptance to upper class society. They were taken to the cleaners by art gallery in Miami owned by Anders de Grasse. de Grasse sold them copies of old masters. Anders was also about forty years old and had been fucking the bimbo. The scheme was not reported because Randolph's father was too embarrassed to report it to the police. This had happened five years ago, so there was a good chance Anders was still alive. The possibility of an Anton, Antonio, and Anders de Grasse link was obvious. I had connections in Miami. I thought I might give them a call.