By Rob Loveboy
Edits by James Fitzhugh
Miles Kilbourne had an eerie sixth sense. He could read people. He was a walking, talking lie-detector machine with most reliable results. Miles could feel a lie in his gut, watching politicians speak on TV gave him a headache most times. It was body movement, hand gestures and eyes that spoke to him and never let him down. In his line of work, that skill was invaluable. Jamie Richards was telling the truth all but his denial of being an addict and liking young boys, afterall, Miles had to test his built in polygraph asking questions that he already knew the answers to.
Miles was also an extensive note taker. He mastered the skill of shorthand before university and could virtually record a full one-hour lecture on paper without missing a word the professor said. On assignment, he encoded names and places in his notes should the notebook ever fall into the wrong hands.
Miles reviewed his notes that night while awaiting what Jamie promised was one of his “cleaner” boys. He was dumbfounded at what he learned that day. The story was huge considering who the characters were and he knew he would have to tread lightly in his investigation. It had been a while since Miles had stumbled on such a scoop to run with. The last story was that of a senator who had serious connections with the mob. He won a pulitzer for that one.
Damion was indeed a beauty. Long dirty-blond hair to his shoulders, sharp blue-eyes and a small nose. The 14 year old could easily find a successful niche in the modelling business. Matter of fact, depending on the boy’s performance that night, Miles might open those doors for him through his many contacts.
Besides the looks, Damion also had a nice personality, he discovered while sitting in the living-room chatting over a few beers to break the tension. Miles found boys interesting … at least the cleaner ones. He learned a lot about Damion’s life once the kid relaxed.
“I’m not gay, ya know. I just do this to help out my mom and little brother. She has MS and can’t work anymore.” The only lie Miles detected was the denial he was gay but, on that question, most kids did. Being gay-for-pay helped keep their integrity in check if only trying to convince themselves.
Kneeling before the standing boy, Miles slowly undressed him This was one of his favorite turn-ons with a kid he’d never saw naked before. It was like opening a box of Cracker-Jacks in anticipation of the unknown prize inside. Or like a gift, peeling off the wrapping to discover what you got for Christmas or your birthday. You knew what was inside but not the make and model.
Damion didn’t disappoint, already erect, he was average size for his age, cut, high-hung cherry-size testicles, and a dusting of blond pubes. Miles couldn’t resist tasting the boy-cock, --smooth as satin, as were his balls. The faint musty odor was not in the least unpleasant, it had an aphrodisiac effect on him. Miles ran a finger up and down the crack of the plump cheeks, pausing to toy with the warm, moist rectum that he managed to penetrate shallow to his first knuckle.
Damion shivered and cooed which pleased Miles to no end, the kid was into it. There would be plenty of time to explore deeper He’d already decided that Damion wasn’t going anywhere that night, unlike most tricks that he tossed out after sex.
The boy knew his way around a man’s body, too! He was familiar with the practice of using his tongue and fingers for ultimate pleasure and, of course, his mouth taking Miles’ cock deep. Whoever taught him had to be commended but, when you came right down to it, there was the question of a boy’s attitude and willingness to please … they either had it or they didn’t.
In a sixty nine, Damion came first. Miles felt the cock flex and quiver seconds before he tasted the sweet seminal fluid that only young boys could produce before they aged and it turned bitter-sweet then, after their prime, a musty-bitterness that the aftertaste lingers for a while.
Most boys disposed of the cock in their mouth when cumming. Damion was an exception and sucked all the more vigorously causing Miles to erupt moments later. Damion did not miss a drop and was still bobbing even after Miles went flaccid.
Little did either know then that they would become lovers. Damion never had to sell his ass again. Years later, at age 16, Damion sought emancipation, was uncontested by his mother and moved in with Miles who later put him through university. Miles also had the kindness of heart to also look after Damion’s mom and brother.
* * *
Miles received a disturbing call from his chief editor early the next morning. Miles hadn’t even briefed the man on what he was working on but he was told in no uncertain terms to back off the story. He was infuriated. Never in all his working career and all the controversial stories he investigated had he been told to drop one. How the hell did Newton Calhoun even know about the story? Or anyone else, for that matter. He’d only met with Jamie Richards the previous evening.
Jamie Richards was being tailed since he got out of jail. It had to be the case. He was seen talking to a very respected journalist, --put two and two together, it equals four no matter how you look at it. Miles was onto something big, earth shatteringly big … and it scared the hell out of him.
* * *
Billionaire and media tycoon Howard Jones was enjoying his seven grandchildren at his mansion. The children were aged 5 to 11 and frollicing in the swimming pool when the butler brought him the portable phone. “It’s the governor, sir.” Alfred knew how to field calls without disturbing the man, however, the governor couldn’t possibly be side-tracked.
Moments later Jones was on the phone with Newton Calhoun, chief editor of the Tribune. It was a newspaper Howard owned and well known for its political slant towards the republican party. Some people believed that it was Howard Jones alone who determined the winner of the office of governor and even president elect at each term.
* * *
Newton Calhoun was a workaholic who often slept on the office sofa and didn’t regularly change his clothing. He was a nerdy, old fashioned newspaper man who still wore the passe black band on his upper arm, round coke-bottle glasses and pencils secured by his large ears. Newton’s wife of forty-years, Mildred, weighed close to 350 pounds even when he married her when they were both twenty years old. It had been marriage of convenience which followed soon after his mother died and he needed someone to take her place and look after him. They had sex perhaps three times in the beginning which disgusted Newton when he saw that his ridiculously short cock barely penetrated the folds upon folds of fat that surrounded the cavernous vigina.
Newton was a closeted homosexual who never experienced sex with another male in his entire life. He went to the bathhouses occasionally but only to watch other men walk around naked or having sex. No one ever approached him for sex The looks he got due to his thumb-size dick were merely looks of curiosity, not lust. Nonetheless he pounded his little pug content to watch the goings-on.
Newton’s blood went cold when his secretary told him Howard Jones was on line one. Why would the man be calling him directly? Usually it was his staff who handled any of the minor and major issues that cropped up in the newspaper business everywhere. There were always lawsuits over something or other, or disgruntled advertisers threatening to pull their account because the paper allowed advertising place to a competitor. Newton, himself, never got involved in those issues. His job was to run the Tribune both effectively and efficiently. It was also within his job description to identify a good story when a reporter stumbled on one. Sometimes the meek and mild editor had a Jekyll and Hyde personality. He was known to be ruthless in acquiring an exclusive where money was no object to pay snitches or bribe police.
The intimidating man’s voice reeked power through the telephone. “Newt? How the hell are you … how’s the lovely wife, Mildred?” That floored Newton as Jones had never met his wife. She seldom, if ever, went to company affairs with him where Jones would be in attendance.
“Well, hello sir. Millie is just fine, thank you for asking. What can I do for you Mr. Jones?” he asked cutting to the chase. His hands were trembling and he was sweating profusely.
“Seems one of your reporters, Miles Kilbourne, our all-star investigative reporter is onto something that wouldn’t be in the best interest of the Tribune to pursue any farther. I’m told he’s talking to a junkie … and we all know how unreliable they are as witnesses.”
“Yes, sir,” said the editor trying to protect his reporter. “I agree to some extent, but if Miles is onto one for a story we can rest assured he had valid grounds. Sometimes these low-life people are the molehills to the greater mountain.”
Jones didn’t interrupt Newton. He knew the editor was more than competent, and he knew Miles Kilbourne was an ace reporter, probably one of the best in the country. He was the highest paid, that was for certain.
“Newt, I wouldn’t be calling to meddle into a story, I’ve never done so in the past, have I?”
“No, sir. You haven’t.”
“I want Kilbourne shut down on this story as of right now. Assign him something else even if you have to pull it from another reporter. And, hopefully, its a reporter that’s out of the country. Do I make myself clear, Calhoun?”
Newton didn’t like the irritable change of voice and said, “Yes, sir, very clear.”
“Good … oh, and by the way, Newt; I have authorized the expenditure to upgrade the printing presses.” Jones relayed. “Your capital expense requisition was very well put together and convinced us that we have to move ahead with the times and keep up with technology. The ten-mil is a good investment and money well spent.”
It was as if the man had just given Newton a million-dollar bonus. He was more than elated by the news and couldn’t wait to tell his staff, especially those operating the presses. Everyone knew that they were obsolete and high maintenance to keep running. “Thank you so much, Mr. Jones! I, I don’t know what to say.”
“You can begin the project at any time. Accept the middle offer from Davenport Presses. I never go with the lowest bidder because they only end up nickle and diming me to death in the end.” Little did Newton know that Jones International had recently acquired Davenport in a hostile takeover.
“I’ll get right on it, Mr. Jones. My staff will be thrilled.” But before he could say anything else, the line went dead.
* * *
“You can’t pull me off this story, Newton!” Miles screamed leaning over the frightened wiesel's desk a foot from his face. “You’ve never questioned my stories before. What gives now?”
“I’m the boss around here the last time I checked, Kilbourne. I decide which stories go ahead and I feel you’re flogging a dead horse.”
“You don’t even know what I have. I’ve yet to brief you!”
“Sit down and get out of my face, Miles.” Newton said calmly. He didn’t know how to put it delicately, even his own integrity was bruised. He’d never been one to back off a story. “It’s out of my hands. Miles,” he said looking at his star reporter. “The decision comes from higher up. Now listen up. I have something else I need you on. You know that Nancy Jules is pregnant, right?”
“Don’t tell me ya want me to go to butt-fuck-ville, Crapistan, Peckerstan or whatever “stan” it is, and take over her story on the escalating civil war there.”
“All hell is about to break loose there and I need a reporter of your stature to cover it as Nancy has to come home sooner rather than later.”
“Newton, that would be like starting a book on chapter ten … I have not been following the story because I could care less if those camel-fuckers blew each other away for good. It would be like one more middle east country problem taken care of!”
In his bowels, the editor knew that he had to protect his ace reporter from powerful people he didn’t really know. “I’m not asking you, Miles; I’m ordering you to go,” he said sternly. “The next flight over is this Wednesday aboard a military plane.”
Miles’ mind was spinning a mile a minute. He thought about trying to explain the details of what he learned from Jamie however, he knew that would be a waste of breath. There was no question in his mind that someone with great power had gotten to the editor, which only convinced Miles more than ever that Jamie was telling the truth or was at least privy to something huge. His intrigue piqued beyond imagination, he stood and walked out of the office. He slammed the door so hard behind him that the glass panel shattered. He did not even hear Calhoun screaming at him in the background.
Miles returned hours later just as the glass company was replacing the object of his destruction. Calhoun was sitting at his desk with staffers in attendance giving the good news about the upgrades to the presses. He looked at Miles, smiled and said, “Glad to see you’ve had a change of heart, Miles. Sit down and join us. Howard Jones has just signed off on the proposed press…”
“I haven’t had a change of heart, Newton.” Miles said as he handed over a doctor’s note giving him a minimum of one-month leave of absence due to stress. He turned on his heels, avoided the glass door on his way out of the office and trotted to the elevator. He had a story to work on, and not a lot of time on his hands to investigate and expose it.
* * *
The party at the Governor’s mansion turned into a weekend event. Some men had departed early leaving the others to enjoy threesomes and foursomes in their rooms. While men enjoyed the bodies of boys, ironically the governor was giving a news conference on the front lawn to over fifty television and newspaper reporters. Miles Kilbourne was one of them keeping a low profile in the back of the crowd not at all interested in the governor’s reelection. He was there to study the lay of the land and to take notes, not on what the distinguished man was saying, but on those same license plate numbers that Jamie was foolish enough to record using a flash camera to gather.
When the reporters milled about after the official interview enjoying beverages and horderves compliments of the governor, Miles pretended he was interested in the flowers and plants, kneeling down to touch and study them, all the while he was recording the license plates of the Mercedes’ that he couldn’t see from afar. There were twenty-two cars in total. Miles didn’t have to guess where the owners were.
He managed to appear innocently making his way looking at the flora up the driveway and to where a sidewalk led to what would obviously be the rear of the mansion. He remembered Jamie telling him that the guards were only posted at perimeter walls and didn’t patrol the grounds. However, Miles noted the CCTV cameras and was wary.
A gardener was pruning a bush and Miles made conversation with him complimenting the Mexican on the fine job he was doing keeping the large area garden so pretty. The little man was pleased when someone finally appreciated his green thumb. Manuel was only too pleased to give the kind man a tour of the yard garden where he claimed his best work was exhibited.
The scent of flowers overwhelmed Miles’ senses. The splendor of color was eye-dazzling, so bright and luscious, plants and flowers he had never seen before as well as sculpted topiary hedges as green and thick as could be. All the while, Miles was also doing an inventory on the cctv camera locations.
Manuel began snipping away growths that protruded and disturbed the perfection. Miles took the opportunity to thank him and made his way back down the path. However, he wasn’t going very far and hoped the camera didn’t see him beetle into the foliage off the pathway to where he distinctly heard splashing and voices of children at play.
A thick hedge ten-feet in height prevented him from seeing the back yard terrace. When he was finished snapping off branches enough to view the area beyond, his hands and arms were scraped and bleeding but it was well worth the effort and the pain.
Miles could see the entire area from a distance of thirty-feet. Naked boys and men frolicked in the pool and on the deck. He took out his mini-Cannon opera glasses not believing his own eyes that were showing him who was present that he recognized. Holy shit! If that wasn’t the one and only Howard Jones, owner of the Tribune, he would eat his socks. Next to him was prosecuting attorney Paul Maer, both in their naked splendor playing croquet on the lawn with four nude boys aged 12 or thirteen.
Moving the glasses he noticed Reverend Malcolm Jackson on a chaise chair with a boy sprawled on his lap, the good reverend was nonchalantly fondling the twelve-year old as they watched the game of waterpolo taking place in the swimming pool where four men and four boys excitedly chased the ball in a ruckus. Miles couldn’t readily identify all of the older men but, the two younger ones he had seen somewhere before, maybe on television or a movie. They weren’t bad looking young men themselves.
Miles wished he was there, every kid was as beautiful as the surrounding flora. Their young sleek bodies tanned a deep bronze and all were in various stages of exciting puberty. It is awesome when every bone and muscle is developing and transforming the scrawny little bodies into properly proportioned teenhood and then, that final stage, when the journey into manhood commences with the defining of the young bodies into perfect specimens of maleness. Even their semen evolves from a squirt shot from a water-pistol at first tasteless and scentless developing into a potent thick, rich cream best before its expiry date of late teens.
Miles found himself erect and couldn’t wait to get home to Damion’s luscious body. The boy who would be waiting patiently playing video games and probably had eaten Miles out of house and home. The kid had an insatiable appetite when he didn’t have Miles’ cock in his mouth otherwise he had something else to satisfy him.
Miles had seen enough, wishing he had brought along his Nikon from the car. However, he never thought he would be fortunate enough to get a birdseye view. He had seen nothing sexual other than the two-faced reverend diddling with a boy’s genitals. While it was incriminating enough and much more so than men running around naked with young boys which could be excused as an embarrassing lapse in better judgment if push came to shove. Really, was it any different than men showering naked with boys at a public swimming pool? Most men were old enough to remember public communal bath houses and the old clothing optional policy at the YMCA’s until the early 60s when women began using the facilities.
Therefore, a strong argument could be made by the rich and powerful men to use the innocent modesty indiscretion to their advantage with the public. The public loved and forgave human indiscretions especially those who were perceived to be perfect.
To be continued . . .
Feedback cherished robloveboy2@gmail.com
or visit my website for more Loveboy stories robloveboy.ca