Date: Sat, 30 Jul 2016 12:04:12 -0400
From: bldhrymn@aol.com
Subject: Catfish Looks for Loot

Catfish Looks for Loot
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

If you enjoy these stories. Please consider giving a donation to Nifty!

The summer is slow and quiet at my office. Many of our jobs are to provide
security at upscale events. These are rare in the summer, although we do
some work at festivals. I'm getting older and a quiet time is nice.

A year earlier had encountered an up and coming, assistant curator at the
Art Museum, Townsend Tyler Smith III. Townsend was a young, bland looking
guy who happened to a first class size queen. I was at the museum planning
security for an upcoming charity auction when we happened to be in a rest
room at the same time. He took a look. When I went back to my office later
that day, he was waiting.

I had noticed he had taken a glance and noted his interest. I was surprise
he was so eager. Many guys look, but few make it a point to meet me
later. If I was a better person I would have told him to go home. Resisting
temptation is not my strong suit, especially when a guy is so obviously
into it. We went to my apartment, got naked and began getting to know each
other.

He wasn't in shape, but he wasn't fat either. He was pretty hairy and liked
horse hung, hairy men. While being a size queen was typical for my
partners, many men have bigger eyes and aspirations than their ability to
suck or take a big one.

Townsend had no problems sucking me, and it was clear that my cock rubbed
some virgin places in his ass. That was a considerable achievement since
Townsend virgin days were well in the past.

I'm not much into young men as many seem to be the Prima Donna types, and
think an old troll, like me, should appreciate any sexual crumbs they get
from a young stud. I like men to be willing and appreciative more than just
pretty faces with shaved bodies.

Given that we had no common interests, we got along well. Good sex is good
sex and we both appreciated that. Townsend told me the liked being
completely filled. Once I was in, he squirmed and gyrated, massaging my
cock. We had a good time. He called once and a while and then dropped
by. It was just sex, but that worked for both of us. he was popular at the
museum because he was always willing to help out and took projects that
didn't interest the senior curators.

About a year after I met him he came by to talk about a project. He had
been researching and project on early 20th Century paintings and found a
collection of photographs of the paintings in their original gallery in
Germany. The gallery was owned by a German Jewish family, the Hirsh's, who
owned a department store in a smaller German city. A portion of the family
was able to escaped to Sweden and then to the United States. The remainder
of the family died in the Holocaust, and the art work vanished.

Townsend told me that two weeks earlier he had been browsing in an Antique
Store in Petersburg and saw what he thought was one of the paintings on the
gallery wall in the photograph. While he had a good visual memory, he
thought he must have been wrong. There was no conceivable way the painting
could have traveled from war torn Germany to Petersburg of all places. He
took a picture with his phone, and went back to the museum. A week later he
bought the painting for $150.00 and took it home. He found the name of the
Hirsh family's department store was stamped on the back of the frame.

Townsend seemed like an innocuous person, but when it came to research, he
was a demon.  I have to admit that I wouldn't know where to start looking
into the fate of German art during World War II. It was no problem for
Townsend at all. While there was more information about Jewish art
collectors in larger cities, the surviving members of the family had made
efforts to find the missing collection.

Townsend found the collection had been "given" to a Nazi official to allow
the family to escape. The collection had two parts. Israel Hirsh, the
founder of the department store, collected old master drawings and prints.
His son, Franz, collected modern art. That was modern as in 1900 to1930
art. The family had smuggled a few works out, but the major works remained
in the department store gallery.

When the Russians began to advance to the west, the Nazi official took the
works to his home in Dresden. There was no mention of seeing of the
paintings since the fire-bombings of 1944 that destroyed much of
Dresden. For the Hirsh family, this was a nightmarish dead end. Townsend's
painting suggested the collection or at least a part of the collection
survived.

He asked me to do some investigation and find out how the painting ended up
in Petersburg. The shop was semi-reputable. Townsend told me his friends at
the museum were way too reputable and some were distinguished. He thought I
could investigate the antique shop without raising alarm. I could pass for
a redneck, metal detector sort of guy. A portion of the Hirsh family lived
in Richmond and were involved. I said I would help.

I have my own sources in Petersburg. It tends to be a clannish city, both
rundown and pretentious. While it is on I-95, it always seems out of the
way. One of my men knew of the Old Virginia Antique Emporium. Tom said it
existed on the borderline between being an antique store and thrift
shop. It also sold works by local artist and had a gallery. Once and a
while it had a good artist, but usually these were wildlife paintings or
carvings. For $500.00 they would have an exhibit for anyone.

"I don't think they are full time fences, but I kind of doubt they are too
careful about the background of the things they sell," he explained.

I drove to Petersburg the next day. The front area of the shop was a
gallery and looked like an upscale shop. To the rear was an entirely
unrestored warehouse. There were bare lightbulbs and cobwebs everywhere.
The owner wasn't there, but the clerk, Eubank, was running the place. He
was a big, slightly overweight man who was dressed in work clothes, and I
thought he might be a janitor.

I told him I was looking for Civil War stuff. I was dressed in well-worn
jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Eubank showed me some cheap reproduction
stuff. The sword he tried to sell me was not good enough to be a
forgery. They had filed off the made in China mark, but it was a
half-hearted effort. I asked if he had any good stuff. Eubank said he had
some other stuff, but it was pretty pricy. I said I would like to see it.

He locked the front door and put a sign in the window saying he would be
back in fifteen minutes. We went upstairs. The stair was ramshackle, but we
went into a nice apartment, that was now used as a show room. There was a
case of more convincing Civil War stuff, some furniture and some paintings.

I'm not an art expert, but these were not standard, antique store portraits
of old Confederates or your great aunt's landscapes. I have a good memory
and looked them over.  Luckily, Eubank had noticed the ware marks on my
jeans and in the privacy of the apartment, he showed more interest. He
scratched his balls, and I did the same.

I told him this stuff looked more interesting and asked if his boss would
be back soon. I scratched my balls again. Eubank smiled; his pants were
slightly tented. "There are some things in the back room," he said.

Just the someone as banging on the downstairs door. We went to the window
and saw the UPS man with a package.

"Let me take care of that and I will be right back," he said as he raced
downstairs. I took pictures of the paintings on the wall and then went into
the bedroom and photographed more paintings.

By the time, Eubank got back I was walking out of the bathroom. "I hope you
don't mind, I took a leak," I said as I rearranged my basket. Eubank didn't
mind at all.

"No problem," he said as he scratched his balls again.

I was clearly looking at his crotch. "I need to get back to Richmond for
meeting, but if you've got an itch, I might be able to scratch it for you."
I paused and then added, "If you don't swing that way, I hope you aren't
annoyed."

"For a small guy, you've got a big one," Eubank said.

"Do you like that?" I asked. "Is your boss coming back today?"

"He won't be back until Thursday," he said. "Do you want to get
comfortable?" He began to unbutton his shirt. I did the same and we were
naked seconds later. Eubank was better looking outside of his ill-fitting
clothes. He was quite muscular.  I mentioned that and he said that he moved
quite a bit of furniture for his boss.  He was smooth except for his thick
bush. I didn't get to see much before he dropped to his knees to suck me.

Eubank obviously liked to suck and he came real close to deep throating
me. That was always a good sign. We went to the bed in the back room and
69ed. The had an average cock but a well above average supply of precum and
big balls. I could tell he was pretty experienced. From the 69 position he
could deep throat me.

During a break I complimented him on his sword swallowing skills. I had
taken all of his and he was pleased.

"I've never taken on as big as yours," he said. "Do you fuck?"

"I sure do, are you interested?" I asked.

"You are too big for me, but I have a cousin who would love it," he
said. "Cousin Eddie likes them big."

"You like a little family fun?"

"I mess around with Eddie and Uncle Freddy," he said.

"Mess around?"

"I thought it was just messing around, but I discovered when you do it with
someone who isn't a relative it's called sex," he explained with a sheepish
smile. "I also thought it was just a phase I was going through."

"Are you still going through that phase?" I asked.

He smiled. "It seems so. I talked to Uncle Freddy about it. He told me he
had been going through that phase for 40 years," he confessed. "He was the
first guy to fuck me."

"Was that a problem?"

"Nope, he has a long thin one. It slipped in with no problem," Eubank
said. "Eddie is my real cousin, but Freddy is my aunt's brother. He isn't
related to me. Freddie wouldn't fuck Eddie, but he sure liked doing me."

"Do you top" I asked.

"Not yet," he said. He was hard again so I straddled him and sat on his
hard cock. That was a complete success; he shot off seconds later.

I told him I had to get to another meeting, but I might come by tomorrow to
take a good look. Eubank said that would be fine.

"If cousin Eddie was here, would that be a problem?"  he asked.

I smiled at him and said that I doubted that would be a problem. I said I
would be there around 1:30. He said that would be fine. I raced back to
Richmond and called Townsend. I told him I had pictures. He asked me to
come to the museum.

I asked for him at the desk and a guard took me to his office. He was
waiting for me. He downloaded the pictures from my phone, pulled them up
and said, "Oh shit, it's the mother lode. He called another guy on the
phone and we went to another room with his laptop.

There I met the director and a Board member. Townsend had the slides of the
Hirsh Gallery in Germany and my photos. Townsend had found two matches. A
half hour later we had found twelve matches. The museum people were very
excited. The museum director wanted to get the police involved immediately
and raid the gallery.

"I wonder where the rest of the paintings are?" I asked. The room went
silent.

"What do you mean?" Townsend asked.

"Am I right in assuming that you thought all the paintings were burned in
the Dresden bombing?" I asked. "Townsend found one painting. You have now
identified twelve more. It seems to me that the rest of the paintings may
well exist, somewhere. The story was wrong. There is no reason to think
that only 13 paintings made it."

"I may have a devious mind, but if I had stolen a bunch of old master
paintings and was trying to hide them, the Dresden fire may have been a
lucky break. The paintings are safer if everyone thinks they were burned.
That takes the pressure off," I said. "The odd thing is that some paintings
are now in Petersburg being sold for peanuts. Maybe the Nazis were headed
for Dresden and the guard had to stash them somewhere along the way. Maybe
the guards deserted and went running for the American or British lines."

"The Petersburg guy knows nothing about art. He doesn't know what he has,"
I said. "I think we should hold back and see what we can find." The group
discussed the problem. They would contact the major art theft people and
Nazi art hunters, but I would see what I could find. I was a little worried
that the museum might have a problem keeping a secret, but that wasn't a
problem. Most of their negotiations to buy acquisitions were in secret and
publicizing their intentions in advance could easily double the cost of an
artwork.

I was back in Petersburg the next day. Eubank was waiting and said his
cousin couldn't get there for an hour. I said that was fine, I wanted to
look around more. He called and told Eddie an hour late was fine.

I asked if he had a portrait of General Lee, Stonewall or J.E.B Stuart. He
said he had some paintings in the rear and we could look and see. He had a
customer down stairs, so I had a chance to look around. I would a pile of
paintings and prints. I did find a spectacular picture of Lee done by a
Chinese artist. It was odd. I took a picture of anything I thought might be
a good painting.

I had a solid 45 minutes of looking around, before Eubank and Uncle Freddy
came up the stairs. Uncle Freddy reminded me of a rough version of my Uncle
Jake. A few minutes later Cousin Eddie arrived. He was a security guard at
a local plant. He was a toned version of Eubank, fit and with a hairy chest
showing from his partially unbuttoned shirt.

Uncle Freddy was what is technically called a horn-dog. He was ready to get
at it and was willing to be the sparkplug if necessary. Eddie not was very
impressed by me until I dropped my Jockeys. I love size queens and Eddie
had it bad. Eubank had lube ready; I coated my cock and went to work.

Sometimes there is an uncomfortable period as men get to know each other
when they get naked and go at it. These guys had no problem with that; we
were all naked and fucking in minutes. It was as if meeting a guy and
having him shove his cock up your ass seconds later was the most natural
thing in the world. These men weren't amateurs.

I am usually described as a little twerp, short and thin. I have to admit I
like it when a big, macho guy is squirming on my cock and begging for
more. Eddie was begging. He was really tight but he wanted it all. As he
took it, Uncle Freddy popped into Eubank's ass. Freddy had a stubby, thick
fireplug cock. I could tell Freddy's tool had visited Eubank's ass many
times.

"Does Eddie just like to be fucked, or does he want the cream?" I asked
Eubank. Eddie was in no state to talk.

"Eddie loves it," Uncle Freddy said. "Eubank likes it too. Is there any
chance we could trade places? I'd love to do Eddie."

"I need a rest," Eddie whispered. I pulled out and Uncle Freddy replaced
me. Eubank thought I was too big for him, but my cock's diameter, not the
length that is hard to take. His ass was wide open, glistening with lube
and inviting. I went deep in the first thrust. Eubank and Eddie kissed as
Freddy and I plowed them. I changed places with Freddy a few times, and
ended up shooting off in Eddie. Eubank later licked up the sperm drooling
from Eddie's ass.

We cooled down an I went back home, sending my new photos to
Townsend. There was an accident on I-95 and it was an hour and a half
before I got to my office and there was a message asking me to go to the
museum.

I had taken 40 pictures; 15 had been part of the Hirsh collection. Townsend
told me that I had an eye for good paintings. That shocked me. We now had
almost 30 paintings and drawings from the collection. We now knew there was
a good chance the entire collection survived.

I had not yet met the owner of the antique store, a man named Stapleton
Drew. I would need to negotiate with him to get the paintings and try to
find out how he came into possession of them. He was due back this in two
days.

At this meeting we had a looted art specialist from New York, Saul
Bendheim, and a big time FBI agent, Grover Mills. Saul had many European
connections. This was potentially interstate shipment of stolen goods,
explaining the FBI guy. I also think that a Martian would have been less
foreign to Saul than I was.

Luckily I had a long history with the Museum. They had their own security,
and the city cops were good. I provided an additional line of protection,
not at the museum itself, but in the surrounding neighborhood. No one
guessed my people were operatives.  They tended to look like victims. They
presented no threat. A mugger might think the old man down the street was
no threat, but if he tried something he sudden discovered he was in deep
shit.

In the newspapers we were always anonymous "public minded resident." No one
knew my people were on the prowl. Muggers are our basic targets, but we've
caught a few rapists too. Over the years, malefactors have learned to keep
away from pubic events, concerts and exhibit openings.

Saul was already working his European contacts.  Grover knew the usual
suspects in this sort of case. Neither had any understanding of an antique
store in Petersburg. Townsend had bought a panting by Corot for $150.00. It
was worth $100,000.00 plus. They obvious didn't know Corot. I guessed that
they knew probably knew Rembrandt and Picasso, but that was the extent of
their knowledge. I wondered aloud if the people who had the paintings knew
the big names, but sent the lesser known works off to a fire sale. That
suggested that they were not sophisticated art thieves.

"The man who took the paintings was a minor nobleman and mid-level
official, Kurt Schmidt. He was not directly associated with the holocaust,"
Saul said. "But, he was not opposed to enriching himself at the expense of
local Jews. The Hirsh's gave him the paintings in exchange for letting them
escape. He did let them escape. Many of the Nazi's didn't do that. Schmidt
was from Dresden, and almost certainly died in the fire-bombing. It now
seems the paintings were not with him. We are trying to trace his other
relatives and possible residences."

When I got home I had a message on the burner phone I used when I was under
cover. It was Eubank.

"My boss won't be back until Saturday now, but he told me I might show you
his special collection of war memorabilia. It's expensive, but he might
part with it if the price is right," he said. This was typical antique
dealer's spiel. They always have "special" somethings for a good
customer. Of course, I told him I was interested. I was curious if I was
going to see the high priced forgeries, or the real thing. If it was real,
it would almost certainly be what the museum people would call of
questionable provenance. I said I would see him after lunch the next day. I
added that I enjoyed meeting Eddie and Freddie.

"They liked it too," he said, adding "I have another friend who might like
to meet you."

"You have a lot of friends?" I asked.

"I do, but not many are like Eddie and Freddie," he said. "My pal is a good
guy."

That night Townsend and a friend, Eric, came over to see me. They had a
power point presentation of the Hirsh paintings. They had been photographs
of the gallery, but Eric was a master of photo retouching. He had been able
to take the pictures that were at an angle on the side wall and turn them
and then change the proportions so you could see them head on.

Townsend had found some old auction catalogs, and some of the paintings
there. The photographs were all murky, but Eric could make them look crisp
and sharp. That would help me searching for additional paintings. He
rattled off a slew of names of artists I didn't know. I told him I had a
hard time remembering them all.

I think playing dumb would be a good approach," he said.

"That I can do!" I replied.