Date: Sun, 19 Oct 2003 02:18:06 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Takes a Vacation 2

Catfish Takes a Vacation

Part 2


By Bald Hairy Man

This is a sexual fantasy with no effort made at real life experiences. If
you object to gay fiction, DO NOT READ. This story is not for you. If you
have any comments  send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymen@aol.com.


I guess it would be safe to say my background in ancient antiquities and
art history was a bit lacking.  Actually, if someone had tried to get me
interested in that stuff when I was a teenager, he'd have had a real
problem.  Langston was my tutor. I had joked I had shot enough cum into his
ass to make him into a nicer guy. Langston was 100% an art historian and he
claimed some of his knowledge must have been directly transferred from his
ass to my cock.

Whatever happened, I got interested in antiquities and was good about
identifying fakes. Some of the objects were interesting and pretty, but all
of my Sherlock Holmes like instincts were aroused by forgeries. I loved
it. I had access to the collections of the Commonwealth Museum, so I could
see what the objects were like. I got my passport updated and went to
London to visit Julio.

The British Museum is huge. I got into the back rooms and storage areas,
where I saw acres of antiquities. If I saw 100 Greek vases in Richmond,
they had a thousand. I was concentrating on Mexican and Central American
objects and there seemed to be thousands of those.  Julio left me with the
Assistant to the Curator for American Art, a guy named Simon Botham.

We had a language problem.  He had a thick, Scots accent and somehow he
seemed to think I had a twang of some sort. It took about three days to
sort that out.  When you have a perfectly good Mayan god's name, take to
Glasgow, then to Virginia's Blue Ridge, the resulting name is downright
odd.  Julio heard us talking and almost fell to the floor laughing.

Simon knew his stuff, but even better, he had a devious mind, well suited
for finding forgeries. It was a hobby of his; he prided himself on his
ability to spot fakes. We got along well.  I kept a low profile in London;
I didn't want anyone to know what was up. I spent most of my time with
either Julio or Simon.  An American redneck in the Mayan Art collection of
the British Museum would have been easy to spot.  We assumed there were
agents there, watching.

I was ready for a long, sexual, dry spell. Julio was busy and out of town,
most of the time.  I didn't know about Simon.  I was staying at his
apartment in central London. He was a nice guy with bland features and
mousy brown hair.  Simon was about as average as a guy could be.  His most
noticeable feature was his thick glasses. The lenses looked as if they were
a half-inch thick.  They gave him a bug-eyed look.  Simon also had a boy
friend, Hugh.  Hugh wasn't my type at all, so I kept to myself when he was
around.

Simon and Hugh planned a trip to the country on a bank holiday.  I didn't
know what a bank holiday was, but I would be on my own for the weekend.
When I came home Friday night, Simon was on his way out, but found out
there was a new resident of the apartment, his Uncle Ted.

"He should be here by nine or so," Simon said as he left.  "Let him in
please, he doesn't have a key."  I went out and got some dinner.  English
food is bad, but it reminded me of Mom's, so it wasn't that bad and then I
returned home.  At nine-fifteen there was a knock on the door.  I opened it
and there was Uncle Ted.

Ted didn't know Simon had left.  He didn't like that at all.  I hadn't
realized Simon's accent had mellowed since leaving Glasgow.  Ted could have
been speaking Swahili as far as I could tell.  I did pick out the words
`bloody fool" and `arse wipe'.  I figured that was a start.  When Ted
calmed down, he became marginally intelligible.  I think he apologized.  I
tried to explain who I was.  He looked puzzled.

"Beverly Hillbillies?" he said.  I laughed.

"Blue Ridge redneck, but it's almost the same thing," I replied.

"Do you fuck your sister?" he asked.

"Hell no, I don't have a sister." I said.  "Use to fuck my Uncle though.
Does that count?" he looked at me oddly, then exploded in laughter.  We got
along well from that point onward.  He was a former sailor, who had retired
to a cottage in Scotland.  He had never married, but loved to garden.  The
cottage was too quiet for him and he came to London to get some fun.  He
was planning to have a friend come over, but my presence there was a
problem.

I was going to say I could leave if he wanted, when there was another knock
on the door.  I opened it and there was a policeman there.

"Excuse me, I must have the wrong apartment," he said.  "I'm looking for
Theodore Botham."

"You've got the right place,' I said, "come in."  I let him in.  Ted cried
"Nigel" and came damn close to kissing him when them met.  They pulled back
at the last moment when they remembered I was in the room.  I got everyone
a beer and we sat down.  Nigel took his coat off and was wearing a
bulletproof vest.  I asked about that and he said there was a terrorist
alert.

I told him about my bombing experience.  The Richmond Bombing had received
extensive coverage in the British press, so he knew all about it.  We had a
few more beers and all of us were best friends by the end of the evening.
I left them to go to bed and I took a shower.  Ted took a piss, when I was
showering.  I got out to dry off.

"Damn, you're packing a lot of equipment for a runt!" he said.  I don't get
easily offended, and there was a tinge of admiration in his comment.  "And
I mean, a lot of equipment!" he repeated.

"Catfish, I don't know how to ask this nicely, so I'll just ask.  Nigel
likes big guys, would you mind if I brought him in to see it?" he asked.

"You mean see me?" I asked.  He looked puzzled, then he laughed.

"You and it!"

"No problem," I said.  Ted was a big man, but he scooted back to the living
room and brought back Nigel in tow.

"Damn!" Nigel said.  "Who'd have ever guessed?"

"What's it like hard?" Ted asked.

"Well, let's just say it doesn't get any smaller," I said. "If this is show
and tell, boys, I'd like to see some more show."

"That seems fair to me," Ted said. "Do you have any problem with man sex? I
assumed since you are Simon's friend."

"Well, I'm not really a friend of Simon's, but I like man sex, well
enough," I said. "Are you are making me an offer?"

"We sure as hell are!" Nigel said.  By this time Ted was stripped. He
reminded me of my Uncle Jake, he was hairy, beefy and hard already. Nigel
was smooth, muscular and toned; he worked out and I would bet, shaved his
body hair. That was confirmed when he dropped his pants and his pubic hair
was shaved to a neat cube.

He moved and then light hit him from the side. I saw he wasn't just built,
he was Steve Reeves, or Charles Atlas built.  He didn't use drugs, so he
didn't look like Arnold.

"Were you serious about fucking your Uncle?" Ted asked.

"To tell you the truth, I come from a real loving family. Somehow, I ended
up fucking two uncles and several cousins, maybe four," I said. "I don't
want to sound slutty, but I seem to fuck anyone who can take it.  Let's get
out of this bath and into a bed."

As soon as we hit the bedroom, Nigel was on my cock.  He was no amateur in
the cock sucking department.  There as no question he like big cock either.
He got a lot more of my meat in his throat than most guys do. Ted was
standing back and watching. His cock was a full size now and his cock was
more than respectable. Ted was a grower, not a shower.

It was hard to get Nigel off my cock.  We managed to get him on the bed.
Then, I straddled his head and fed him my cock, as Ted sucked on his cock.

"Slow down, or I'll shoot too fast." Nigel mumbled.  Ted stopped sucking
Nigel and came over to me.  Ted got into a position I could reach his
cock. Ted was an older man, but his juices were still flowing and still
were a taste treat to a horny redneck.  I would guess, he had been saving
and stewing precum since Nigel came into the room. His thick foreskin
didn't retract all the way when he got hard.  All of the love juice was
trapped in the space between the skin and his cock head.

Ted's balls were operating at full capacity and his cock was as responsive
as any I had sucked. It was good to be appreciated.

"Shit, Catfish, I'm getting close," Ted cried. "Slow up some."

"Maybe we'd all better cool off some," I suggested. "Do we have the whole
night?"

"We have the whole bloody weekend!" Nigel said.

"Oh, shit, have I screwed up your entire weekend?" I asked. "You've been
planning this for a while?"

"For six months," Ted said.  "It seems to me, it all depends how interested
in sex you are.  It could be a great weekend, if you're interested." I told
him I was interested.  We talked and I found out Ted and Nigel were long
distance lovers.  They had met on the Internet and hit it off, but found it
hard to get together.  Nigel was closeted.  Officially being gay wasn't a
problem in the Metropolitan Police, but he wasn't taking any chances.  This
was a rare weekend off.

Ted was more free and easy.  From the way they talked, I could tell they
had started as sex buddies and the friendship grew.  Nigel was new to the
scene.  He had looked a lot, but not done much until Ted. He didn't say it,
but Ted lived so far away from Nigel, he wasn't any threat to his
career. This was the fourth or fifth time they had gotten together
Apparently they were frank enough in their relationship for Ted to admit
Nigel was attracted to large cocks.  Ted figured if he was attracted to
large cocks, it was better if he was there.

I was ready to get back to some heavy duty-sex when the phone rang. It was
Julio and he had someone he wanted me to meet. "Now?" I asked.

"Yes now," he said. "Get over here as fast as you can."  I got dressed and
took a taxi to Julio's apartment. Julio lived in a beautiful house on
Regent's Park. His apartment was on the second floor, overlooking the
park. Julio greeted me at the door and took me to the living room. I had
never been in a room like this.  It was a spectacular combination of
antiques and antiquities. I was pretty sure, these weren't copies. Sitting
in one of the chairs was a huge, unkept, bearded man, who looked as if he
had just walked out of the Ozarks after a binge.

"Catfish, I'd like you to meet Ivan.  He'll be your contact in
St. Petersburg," Julio said. Ivan rose to his full height and we shook
hands.  He had the grip of death, but I could give as much as he gave. He
spoke in heavily accented English, but he was easier to understand than
Simon.

Ivan was an agent working for the Hermitage. With the extent of the crime
problem in Russia and the prevalence of bribery, the museum had its own
agents. He was paid well and received a percentage of the value of the
objects he recovered. I had to admit he looked as unlike an art connoisseur
as was possible; I would have guessed a ditch digger. Our eyes met.  He had
been giving me the once over. We both burst into laughter. I realized he
had the same thought about me as I did of him.  We were both improbable
artistic types.

There was vodka, but I was sober.  Both Julio and Ivan had been drinking
some. Julio went off to the toilet and didn't return.  Ivan and I worked on
my cover story.  He knew what made sense in St. Petersburg and he found
some shortcomings in our preliminary plan.  Ivan was also knowledgeable and
down to earth about the forgery and stolen antiquities business. I told him
about my experience with the bombing in Richmond and he was interested. He
was a bit disappointed when the bad guys turned out to be Christians; he
had his hopes set on Islamic extremists, but at least they weren't
Orthodox.  .

At first I thought Ivan was fat, but that wasn't true.  He had a massive
barrel chest and a big head, but his hips were normal. He had Bluto's
figure from the Popeye cartoons. His unruly mane of red hair and thick
beard gave him a wild look, but I soon realized it was a costume he adopted
for his own purposes.

I went off to the toilet and found Julio passed out on his bed. There had
been a lot of vodka earlier that night. I went in his bathroom to take a
piss and Ivan joined me.

"I'm going to explode," he said.  He pulled out about three inches of
foreskin and went fishing for his cock.  Finally a purple-blue cock head
emerged and he pissed and pissed and pissed and pissed. I couldn't tell if
I was seeing something from Ripley's Believe it or Not, or an off-color
Candid Camera skit.

"Damn, you must have a bladder the size of a gallon jug!" I said.

"Liter bottle of vodka!" Ivan said proudly.  The piss had been clear and it
must have been mostly vodka.  Once he directed the stream into the bowl,
Ivan had closed his eyes and savored the relief.  When he opened is eyes he
took a looked at his cock, then mine.  His eyes opened wider.

"You have a man's cock!" he exclaimed.

"Well, what did you expect?"

He smiled.  "You have enough cock for two men!  I thought I was big.  It is
beautiful!" he said, as he reached over and stroked my cock.  "Balls big
too?"  My cock was poking out of my unzipped pants.  I undid my belt and
dropped my trousers.  Ivan cupped my balls in his hand.  Ivan wasn't much
on foreplay. We went back to the bedroom, stripped and went at it.  Julio
was still passed out on the bed.

Ivan liked my cock.  That is not strictly true. Ivan loved my cock. I'm
small and Ivan was huge.  His cavernous mouth enveloped my cock and he deep
throated the whole thing. I have very little experience with being deep
throated, but I sure liked Ivan's approach. His bushy beard cushioned my
balls. I got him to stop for a second, so I could pivot around and suck him
too.  His cock was hard, but still shrouded in his foreskin.  I sucked the
skin into my mouth, then worked my tongue into the pucker.

As soon as my cock was within reaching distance of his mouth, he swallowed
it again.  This was the perfect angle of attack for him and his throat fit
my cock like a glove. The deeper he sucked my cock, the easier it was for
me to suck him.  The inside of his foreskin contained a rich brew of man
juice. My tongue finally reached his cock head. I licked the slit.  Ivan
moaned. His cock responded with a glob a precum.  I'll swear it tasted of
vodka.

I soon realized Ivan had no gag reflex; I had never been sucked by anyone
who had Ivan's throat.  He came up for air. "Do you fuck?" he asked.

"I sure do," I answered.  A few seconds later, Ivan's legs were on my
shoulders.  Ivan had slobbered enough on my cock, I didn't need lubricant.
I just positioned it at his hole and pushed.  There was no resistance at
all. My cock slid deep into his ass in a single movement.  Ivan moaned
something; I guessed it was "Holy Shit!" in Russian.

If Ivan's throat was good, his ass was great. It was tight, hot and
quivering. I loved to fuck, but it usually took a while for a guy to get
used to my cock.  After two or three good fuck sessions, most guys could
get beyond the pain into cock lust.  Ivan had no problem from the start;
his ass was big enough to take my horse cock without effort.

It was nice to fuck at full speed and all out, without having to worry
about my partner. Ivan loved anything I could do with my cock in his ass.
As I fucked his eyes would glaze over and he'd slip into a cock induced
trance.  His cock got hard and finally cleared his foreskin.  His dick had
a small head on a tapered shaft. Where it joined his body it was truly
impressive. His balls were monsters and produced a rich flow of Russian
cock cream.  I stroked his cock as I pumped his ass. It was as good for me
as it was for him.

We broke apart to cool off several times.  It was so good neither of us
wanted for it to stop.  During one of these rest periods, I fingered Ivan's
ass.  There was a tube of lubricant next to the bed and I had coated my
fingers.  His ass was tight, but welcoming. I felt for his prostrate and
couldn't find it.  I worked another finger, then a third. My hands are
small and I was in to my thumb when I finally found the magic nut. It was
buried a good six inches up his ass. I pulled out, covered my hand in lube
and slipped my entire hand into his ass. I pressed his prostate and Ivan's
eyes glazed over again.

I know enough about men's genital apparatus to know Ivan's prostate was too
deep for most cocks.  He was a passionate man, but needed some size to push
him to the peak.  I pulled my hand out of his ass and replaced it with my
cock.  Ivan looked deeply satisfied, almost relieved.  I rubbed my cock
over his prostate over and over again.  Ivan purred.

His cock looked like Mt. Vesuvius, oozing precum like lava.  His pubic hair
was matted with the thick drool and his cock looked glazed.  It was messy
and exciting.  I pulled out of his ass and he stretched out.  I straddled
him and sat on his cock.  It was as I thought, easy at first and more
challenging as it penetrated deeper.

It surprised and pleased Ivan when I did this.  He was relaxing with his
eyes closed when I slid down his pole.  I had guessed right, the base of
his cock was huge.  I had misjudged the length.  It went real deep.