Date: Thu, 24 Nov 2011 04:30:37 -0800 (PST) From: Bob Archman Subject: Catfish visits a Castle 6 Catfish visits a Castle 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 any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com I slept well that night and when I woke, I realized I needed to find out how the murderers could get to the Castle without going on the roads. The ATF men had the entrance to the Castle covered. I didn't think any of the Castle's own "security" men could do anything as complicated as commit the double murder and then make an escape too. I asked Otis about getting to the Castle through the forest. "There is one hunting guide that knows this area as well as anyone," Otis said. "Carlton Mills is the man for you." Carlton was a forest service ranger. I gave him a call. He was at a park lodge a few miles away. I told Calhoun of my thinking. He thought I was on the right track. I went off to meet with Mills. Otis watched the water pump. With Ferdinand and Trevor dead, the pressure was off. No one else cared. Luck was with me. I had met Mills at a party a few years earlier. We hadn't exactly connected, but that was only because I had to leave early. He was my type, as I recalled, I was his too. I was naked when he saw me and all my charms were on display. When I say I was his type, I mean my cock was his type. Mills was operating the radios at the headquarters as other rangers called in reports of damage. He was at a large drafting table with a map of this portion on the park spread out before him. I told him what I wanted. "I assume getting from the bottom of the mountain to the top would be a difficult task." I said. "It can be a long haul," Mills said. "In theory you just keep on climbing and you will make the top. The forest here is old and thick. There are multiple runs and gullies that make it hard to find a direct route. If anyone tried over the last few days in the rain, it would have been nearly impossible without an experienced guide. Every gully became a water fall. There are massive piles of debris everywhere." "If I wanted to get to the castle, how would I do it?" "You would need a first rate guide," Mills said. "Can you give me some names?" "If you have any connection to the police, there is little chance anyone one would help you," he said. "Many of these folks have a tradition with moonshiners. Keeping their secret trails secret is important." "I am after drug dealers, not moonshiners." "Hillbilly Heroin?" "Yes. That seems to be the problem." I said. "Most of them are into that too, but there is one exception, Kenny Gathwright," Mills said. "His full name is Kenny Rogers Gathwright. Apparently, his momma named him after the man she most wanted to be fucked by. Kenny lost his son to an overdose. He might be of some help." "How do I get in touch with him?" Well, Kenny ain't very sociable, if you get my drift," Mills said. "I will say you look right." "No crew cut Marine types for him?" Mills laughed. "He's more prone to go for the type that doesn't put on airs," he said. "You look like something the cat might drag in. Bubba would like that. He hangs out at the Chevron station in Deep Fork. He lives in a shack somewhere. I've never found it." "What is the way to his heart?" Kenny's a horny bastard. He'll fuck anything that had two legs," Mills said. "His wife died years ago. He's notthe type of man who women find attractive. He swings both ways." "You think I'm that type?" I asked. "I've heard rumors. Try the Chevron station. He may drop by." The next day I put on my most worn clothes and took my old Dodge Duster to Deep Fork. Deep Fork wasn't a town; it consisted of one house and the Chevron station. Somehow it had avoided any updates and improvements for the last 40 years. The station had something that I guessed might be interpreted as a snack bar. I ordered a hamburger and fries and struck up a conversation with cook. Calling him a Cook was a bit grand for the 20 year old behind the counter. He was the one who sort of cooked, The letters on his shirt said he was Dwayne. I called him that and he said his name was Cal. There had been a sale of shirts labeled Dwayne. We talked about the storm and the murders. I told him I had been at the castle during the murders. He was interested in that. A huge man entered while we talked. Cal took him a cup of coffee, but didn't say a word to him. The man put exact change on the counter. I glanced at him but didn't look. He showed no tendency to join in. I volunteered there were drugs at the bottom of the murders. "I heard the bimbo did it," Cal said. "That woman didn't know which was the working end of the gun," I said. "I saw her once," Cal said. "I'd like to show her the working end of my six shooter!" I laughed. "I think you need more than a cock and a good attitude to keep that woman happy. You'd better have a bank account." "I heard there were a lot of women up there?" "They ain't my type," I said. Cal looked me over. "It looks like you sport a sawed-off shotgun," he observed. My old jeans were thin and worn. By now the wear mark indicated my cock's length and width and the exact location of my cock head. I wondered I Cal was an observer, or a fancier. I think he was thinking about a woman who might be my type and came up blank. "I was thinking about hiking up the mountain," I said. "Are there any good trails?" "You can't do that mister," Cal said. "It's dangerous after the rains." We talked a little longer and I left. A mile down the road there was a little parking area with a sign indicating it was for the Ridge Mountain Trial. I got out of the car. A truck drove up and the big man from the Chevron station got out of the truck. I walked a little way into the woods and then sat on a log. I heard some noises in the trees. I went a little deeper into the woods, and then pulled out my cock and pissed. The Chevron coffee had worked its magic. The big man appeared next to me and took a piss. He made no effort to hide his cock and I made no effort to pretend I wasn't looking. "You've got a big one," he said. "Do you like them big?" "Mine's a grower, not a show-er," he said. "I'm a top, mostly," I added. I wasn't going to spend the next ten minutes chatting. "Me too," he replied. "We could get back to our cars and go on our way, or we could flip a coin," I said. "Are you willing to take a risk? Your balls will get drained either way." He nodded and took out a coin. He did not put his cock back in his pants. "Can we use my lucky coin?" he asked. I reach over and then stroked his cock. "Let's see how much luck you need." I said. "My name is Catfish." He smiled. "I'm Kenny. Are you into cock?" "I sure as shit am, big time," I said. "I like the special sauce too." "Special Sauce?" "Sperm, semen, man milk, cock caviar?" "I never tried it," he said. "Not even your own?" I asked. "I've done that," he admitted. There was a little pause. "I tried some of my pals stuff when I was a teen ager." The conversation and my gentle stroking had the expected effect on his cock. It was a nice one. As it got harder, he talked more. "Did any of your pals take it from the spigot? Was any of them a real pal?" I asked. "There was Eddie. He died in a car accident just after high school. He was a real pal," Kenny said. "He didn't suck me, but he opened his mouth and I shot in it. I shot a good one. He loved it." "Were the other guys watching?" "No we were alone," he said. "I tasted his. I still remember it." Kenny was fully erect now. I leaned over and licked his bloated, purple cock head. He twitched. I swallowed in his organ in time for Kenny to do his own imitation Old Faithful. Kenny was fully loaded and I took every drop. Kenny liked sex, but I suspected he hadn't been moving in the right circles. He never had been worked over by a pro like me. I did everything but suck his balls out through his sperm tunnel. The orgasm softened his rough edges. I sucked until he was soft and was still able to get him to spurt. He shivered as he had a final ejaculation. "Man you are good," he said when I sucked up the last drop of his man juices. "We haven't even done the coin toss yet." "I've got the day off," I said. "I've got time if you need to recharge." "I've got a cabin," he said. "Follow me." Now that he was soft, he became quiet again. I followed his car and somehow we were at his cabin in a few minutes. It was completely hidden, but near the road. The Cabin was nicer than I expected. It looked like a pile of logs but was comfortable and dry. "Want a beer?" he asked. I said sure. He stared at me without talking for a while. "I've been working at the Castle for a week or so," I said. "They got some big trouble up there, so it's nice to get away." "The storm?" "The storm and two murders," I replied. "That's a lot of murders for one week." "Was someone messing with the woman?" he asked. "Maybe, but that wasn't the reason for the murders," I said. "It was drugs. The place is loaded with Hillbilly Heroin." "The Castle? I don't believe it." Kenny said. "She's a nice lady. She said hello to me once." "Someone tried to frame her, but they didn't do a good job of it," I said. "Whoever killed the two men made his escape down the mountain yesterday morning. Given the rain, that couldn't have been easy. The cops don't think it was a local. It was a big operation up there. They think some out-of-towners were involved." "How do you know all this stuff?" he asked suspiciously. I decided the truth might do the trick. "I'm a private investigator from Richmond. One of Mrs. Dumont's friends thought she was in danger. She asked me to check on her," I said. "I found out they had her drugged up and had filled the basement with drugs. Shit, they could have supplied the Valley for year with what they stored there." "Them drug dealers are no damn good!" Kenny said. "They kilt my boy, Junior. He was a good boy." "I'm sorry. They would have killed many more with what is in the castle," I said. "How did they get the pretty woman involved?" "The people were her servants. I guess they slipped drugs in with her food, and she didn't know anything about it," I said. "She didn't need the money. She's loaded." "You are good at sucking. You like that sort of stuff?" he asked, taking the conversation into a new direction. "I sure do," I said. "I'm not gay," Kenny said. "I just like to have fun." He began to take off his clothes. "Are you ready to flip a coin?" I asked as I stripped. "I've never taken one the ass before," Kenny said. "You look big enough to take it," I said. "I might split you in half," Kenny muttered. "I'll take my chances," I said. "I like them big and thick." He flipped his lucky coin. I called heads, and won. "Shit," he said. "Damn, my lucky coin failed me." "There are some guys who would say you got lucky," I replied. "They say taking my meat is a real experience. Get on the bed and lie back. I want to get you relaxed before I go in." "I'm not sure about this," Kenny whispered. He was hard again, so the prospect of being fucked excited him. A minute or two later, I had changed Kenny's sex life. I introduced the mountain man to his prostate. He hadn't known he had one. My finger found it. It was lonely and in need of attention. Kenny would have been shocked and unwilling, but his little nut loved the attention and soon he was in no state to have any opinions at all, not to mention object to what I was doing. This turned me on too. Kenny was a big bruiser, and all 140 pounds of me enjoyed working him into a quivering mass of sexually charged jelly. About a half hour later, I got my cock in him too. That was a success. This may sound odd, but Kenny possessed the oldest virgin ass I had ever fucked. Some men like popping virgins, but I am not one of them. Usually, there is too much drama for me. After I worked on his prostate, his sphincter all but kissed my cock head as I entered. Once I was in Kenny's rectum he had a band waiting to greet me. It was beautiful. It's not every day a sixty-year-old man discovers a new sex organ. Kenny was in heaven. He didn't exactly want or expect to be in heaven, but he had no choice. He expected to be deep in my ass fucking the shit out of me. Instead, I was deep in him sending him places he had never been before. After a while, I pulled out, slobbered on his cock and sat on it. I am not exactly a virgin and Kenny's organ was near my limit. It is possible he found a few virgin spots in my ass. I bounced a few times and Kenny popped. When he calmed down every drop of his manly fluids that had any association with sex was in my ass. The tight fit in my ass meant I felt every ejaculation, spasm and twitch he made. I got off of his cock, rolled over and slipped in his rear again. "I can't take it," he moaned. I knew that wasn't true. When I felt my juices rising, it warned him. "I'm going to give your ass a sperm bath, unless you tell me to pull out," I said. "Fill me up," he moaned. Normally I turn ridged when I shoot off, but this time I gently pumped as I unloaded. That little buff and polish action drove Kenny crazy. He shot off again, hands free. I stayed another three or four hours. I spent a lot of that time in intimate communion with Kenny's newly discovered prostate. A good portion of his body weight must have been in sperm. He had several more orgasms including a lovely hands free one induced by my cock head rubbing his prostate just the right way. Kenny was set in his ways, but the sexual rush generated by a cock in his ass blew him away. I am nothing if not fair. I did a few fancy dances on his cock, and spent some time taking his cream from the spigot. I worked two fingers into his ass so I could do a full court press on his prostate. By the time I left we were pals. He also gave me the names of two men who might have served a guides for the hit men who killed Trevor and Ferdinand. He thought the most likely man was Elton Dew. Dew was into oxycontin big time and would do just about anything for a steady supply. The other contender was Maxwell Jones. "Jones will do anything for money," Kenny said. "He dreams of being a hit man for the mob, and he would love to kill a few men to prove himself." "Reggie Showalter told me they were going to be getting some big bucks doing a job a week ago," Kenny said. "They don't leave the mountain, so Reggie buys things for them." "What does Reggie get out of it?" "If Reggie dies what they want, Elton doesn't kill him," Kenny explained. "They wanted a new car, so it had to be a lot of money." "Do you know your son's supplier?" I asked. ""If I run into him, I don't mind taking out the trash." "I don't know for sure, but I heard the name, Boy Smith, from a trooper. There are a lot of Smiths in the world," he replied. "My son went off to Charlottesville and picked up some stuff there. I don't have any connections there." Kenny didn't know were either man lived. "They have no fixed address, if you get my drift. The police are after them for a slew of reasons and they keep moving. If you do find my boy's killer would you let me know? I'd like to handle that myself. I can't do much snooping around. I kind of stand out in Charlottesville. I'd like to meet the guy." I returned to the castle. The ratio of sex to information discovered was heavily weighted toward the sex, but it was a good interlude for me. I had been working at the castle for two weeks and that had been high stress work. With Kenny, I worked on some heavy duty stress reduction. Kenny and I both enjoyed sperm exchange as a relaxation technique. Back at the Castle, I found out that Elton and Maxwell were on several State Police and ATF lists. The police suspected them in several particularly brutal rape-murders, as well as a bombing, and numerous assaults. Calhoun heard they were fifty miles to the south of the Castle, so he was surprised they were nearby. Locally Elton and Maxwell had a slightly Robin Hood like reputation. They had eluded the police for years. "If anyone saw the bodies of their victims, you wouldn't think of them as romantic figures," Calhoun said. "The killing occurred before I joined the force, but I saw the pictures." Elton and Maxwell weren't a team or a gang. Both were loners, but they worked together when it came to drugs. No one would deal with Maxwell. He was too fucking scary. Elton was more presentable. Neither man hand any skills with chemicals, so they needed outside help. The men didn't need cash. They could live off the land, were it not for their drug needs. We now knew the hits were planned well in advance. It was Murder One. That was useful information. I was afraid getting the two names didn't help us out much. They were elusive and hard to find. It turned out I was wrong about that. The State Police and the ATF people were after the men. When they heard they might be involved, this dispatched men to join us. These were very high powered and helpful men.