Date: Mon, 29 Oct 2018 16:39:35 +0000 (UTC)
From: Arthur Doyle <sirarthurpornandoyle@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Study in Fornication, Chapter 1

Chapter I: Mister Sherlock Holmes

In the year of 1878, I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine from the
University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course
prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I
was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant
Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I
could join in, the second Afghan war had broken out.

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, though I suffered a
disaster during my time there. During the battle at Maiwand, I was struck
in the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which luckily did not damage my body as
badly as it could have. But as I lay there, injured, wondering if I were to
fall into the hands of the murderous Ghazis, my orderly Murray picked me up
and threw me upon his pack-horse. Murray and I of course were lovers, in
the Spartan fashion, as were many of the men in my regiment. The officers
turned a blind eye to these encounters, though some actively promoted and
even participated in them, with the thought being that they helped bond
soldiers together.

This view must have borne fruit in Murray's actions, as he carried me to
safety at a base hospital in Peshawar, where I rallied. Though I will
always be indebted to his bravery, Murray left me soon thereafter, called
back to help wounded sufferers once again on the front lines. I can not
blame him; it was wartime. And relationships like our did not have much
place outside the battalion.

In time, I was discharged, and sent back to England. I had neither kith nor
kin in England and was therefore free as air. For a man of my persuasion,
the dockside where I first arrived was a veritable wonderland. With a quiet
wink and nod, I could find myself in a secluded alley, enjoying the
pleasure of a delicate rear end with little trouble; the sailors there were
incredible creations, carved from Grecian marble. Each had a smile that
melted my heart and provided the softest kisses a man could ever dare to
dream about.

But I knew that life there couldn't last, and I naturally gravitated toward
London, that great metropolis into which the idlers and free-spirits of the
Empire irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a private
hotel in the Strand, leaving a comfortless, meaningless existence, spending
such money as I had, perhaps more easily than I ought. I lived on a stipend
of eleven shillings and sixpence a day, which was barely enough to buy
bread, whiskey, cigars, and have enough left over to enjoy some time with a
skilled and flexible man.

So alarming did the state of my finances become that I soon realized I must
either leave London and rusticate somewhere in the country, where it would
likely be harder to satisfy some of my indulgences, or make a complete
alteration in the state of my living. Choosing the later alternative, I
made up my mind to leave the hotel, and take up quarters in some less
pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I reached this conclusion, I was standing in the
Critereon Bar, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. Turning around, I
recognized the bashful but handsome eyes of a young man who had been a
dresser under me at Barts. His name was Stamford, and the sight of such a
friendly face was indeed a pleasant thing for a lonely man such as
myself. I smiled at Stamford as he blushed his greeting, no doubt recalling
the time when we had indulged in passions that dared not see the light of
day. Seeing an opportunity now to reenact some of our glory days, I invited
Stamford to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started off together in a
hansom.

In the cab, Stamford carefully looked me up and down. "Whatever have you
been doing with yourself, Watson?" he asked in undisguised wonder. "You
look strong as ever and as brown as a nut."

As a man who appreciated the male form, I had always taken great care of my
own, engaging in isometric exercises to keep myself in top shape. After the
army, and even after my injury, I was in peak condition, my muscles strong
as thick ropes. My hand rested now on the slight potbelly that indicated my
love of beer, yet still I was often told admiringly by the men I took to
bed of my beauty.

I smiled at Stamford's clumsy attempts at flattery and told him of my
adventures, and misadventures. He leaned in to pay closer attention to my
insinuations. Men like us become scholars of subtlety and entendre from a
young age, though I kept things vague so as not to tip off our
driver. Still, I noticed a flushing in his cheeks and the development of a
small bump in his trousers. At one point, he took what I thought was a
risky step and brushed his gloved hand against mine. Admonishing him with
my eyes, I pulled back. But he gave me a small mischievous look as the cab
pulled into our destination.

"And what are you up to now?" asked Stamford, as we took our seats for
dinner, smoothing over his forwardness in the cab.

"Looking for lodgings," I said, glancing around. "Trying to solve the
problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a
reasonable price."

"That's a strange thing," said my companion, with a twinkle in his
eye. "You are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me."

"And who was the first?"

"A fellow working up at the chemical laboratory at the hospital with whom I
had an... encounter. Afterwards, he was bemoaning the fact that he could
not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had
found, and which were too much for his purse."

"By Jove!" I cried. "If he really wants to share expenses, I am the very
man for him."

He looked at me strangely over the wineglass. "You don't know Sherlock
Holmes, yet," he said. "Perhaps you would not care to have him as a
constant companion."

"Why, what is there against him?"

"Oh I wouldn't say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in
his ideas--an enthusiast in some branches of science and an overly keen
focus on the carnal. Though as far as I know, he is a decent fellow."

I moved in as close as I dared to Stamford. "You are telling me he is
of... our persuasion, correct?"

Stamford looked at me like a caught lamb. "Quite so," he said. "Though that
needs not be the only criterion for two men to get along."

I dismissed his anxieties with a wave of my hand. For the moment, I was
more interested in Stamford's lips. He was licking them, rekindling the
memory of his gentle tongue. "And did you and he enjoy yourselves
together?"

"Oh yes," Stamford blushed again, moving to an almost inaudible
whisper. "He has the most incredible cock of anyone I have ever been with."

I did not care just then to hear of other men's lengths or girths. Deciding
that Stamford's risk in the cab could be met with my own, I pressed my knee
against his under the table when I was sure nobody watched. "Perhaps your
memory is faulty. I could gladly remind you of at least one previous
priapic encounter. I believe at the time you referred to it as `beyond
compare.'"

Stamford swallowed, and I could see the lust burning in his eyes. But we
had to be discreet. We continued our dinner as if the two of us were
nothing more than close friends. Stamford, that terrible bastard, happened
to order a plump pork sausage that aroused several competing emotions
within me, principally jealousy. I took it upon myself to quaff several
extra beers to cool the fire within me. Unfortunately, all it did was made
me bolder.

In the glowing light of the restaurant, Stamford's beauty bloomed. I began
to fall in love with the way he continually brushed his fair hair back from
his face. His deep blue eyes had a vitality seldom seen. And his one
crooked tooth only enhanced the perfection of the others. If I could have,
I would have kissed him right then and there, bringing my head to rest on
his comfortable shoulder.

I was in a state of great anxiety when the cheque arrived. Noticing that
desire hung thickly around us, I asked him if there was a place we might go
for more privacy. A passing waiter glanced awkwardly at me when I said
this, though the alcohol made me insensible to his stare.

We both walked into the coatroom together, where we found ourselves
momentarily alone. Stamford again showed brashness I had never imagined by
leaning to whisper in my ear. "Come back to my room," he said, his fingers
sweeping past the aching bulge in my crotch.

I marveled at this grown-up version of Stamford, far more forward than in
our school days. Had his encounter with this Sherlock Holmes character had
anything to do with it?

Interminable minutes passed as we rode the cab to his place. For the
benefit of the driver and others around, we embraced one another goodbye as
I prepared to feint leaving him. We both took the opportunity to hold on
for longer to one another than should have been proper. He palmed me a key
and went inside.

Breathing heavily, I walked around the block for as long as I dared. My
dick had been tucked behind my belt for a good part of the evening, while
my mind churned with thoughts of what I would to do Stamford once we were
good and properly alone. Deciding that enough time had passed, I went up to
the door and slipped the key into the lock.

Stamford took my breath away. He leaned against a wooden vanity in the low
light, his body barely concealed beneath his undershirt, underwear, socks,
and garters. The muscles in his shoulders were well defined, his abdomen a
perfect specimen beneath the tight cloth. Fair hair sprouted from his legs,
and I recalled how smoothly my own legs had once slid against them. His
eyes shone like sapphires as he pushed the flaxen bangs of his hair from
them.

"Am I everything you remember?"

I gasped. "Even better."

Crossing the room, I took the Adonis in my arms, pressing my bushy mustache
to his mouth for one of the most tender kisses I'd had in a long time. My
hands rubbed sensuously over his body, my fingers drinking in every inch of
his being. He yelped as I grabbed his glutes--a cry of joy.

Loosening my necktie, I knelt down on my knees. I could no longer stand not
to have him in my mouth. His endowment stood out erect and ready as I
pulled down his underwear and licked the muscles of his Apollo's Belt. One
of my fingers entered the crevice of his downy butt cheeks and toyed
playfully with his hole. I rubbed my beard against his balls, sending
uncontrolled shivers of pleasure through Stamford.

The glans of his cock glistened with precum in the golden light, its tip
poking coquettishly from a foreskin sheath. My tongue tasted this
delightful indulgence, one hand wrapped around his shaft as the other
continued its eager dance against his butthole. Taking the head into my
mouth, I twirled my tongue over the tip and took back his
foreskin. Stamford practically fell back against the wall, enraptured by my
carnal skills.

"Oh, John," he whispered, no doubt reminded of how much we had once enjoyed
the pleasures of our entwined bodies.

My lips slid up and down his cock, each movement bringing him further into
my throat, and my face closer to his body. Pulling him all the way out, I
squeezed his sopping wet shaft and then plunged all the way to the base,
burying my nose in the curls of his pubic hair. I did this several more
times, Stamford convulsing with unbridled delight.

After some time, I stood and the two of us got to work unbuttoning my coat
and shirt, the prodigious hairs of my chest peeking from my undershirt and
suspenders. Stamford undid the buttons of my tweed trousers and reached
into my pants. Taking the bulk of my cock into his hand, he pulled it out
and placed it against his.

There is no need for me to detail my measurements in the Queen's
Imperial. Suffice it to say that I had been with a fair number of men, and
seen a wide variety of specimens in all lengths, sizes, and
thicknesses--finding pleasure in each. But one thing that has been clear to
me for a long time is that I am rather above average in this department. In
fact, there have been only a few dicks that come within or exceeded the
same range as my own.

Just now, captured in Stamford's hand, my beast rubbed against his. When
lined up together, my cock extended a way past his; and its girth was
noticeably thicker. Stamford was practically ensorcelled by this prize, his
eyes unable to believe its dimensions. Like a man bewitched, he lowered
himself down to the floor. No doubt any thoughts of Sherlock Holmes and his
supposedly magnificent member were now fully banished from his mind.

Stamford ran his incredible mouth up and down the length of my dick,
kissing and licking every spot he found and inducing sensations of wonder
in me. When his lips curled over my cockhead, he paused and opened his
mouth just a bit. Understanding what he wanted, I rocked my hips back and
forth ever so slightly, loving the feeling of plunging into his oral
pleasure palace. But I knew most men had trouble accommodating my sex by
mouth alone and I did not try to press too far. Stamford did his best to
capture as much of me as possible but soon I could see he was interested in
a different sort of indulgence.

By now, Stamford was naked on the floor below me, and was arching his
smooth buttocks into the air like a rutting dog. Licking two fingers, I
knelt down and gave him what he wanted--a little pressure on his trembling
hole. He moaned as I rubbed and managed to lodge just a bit more of my cock
in his mouth. Continuing my backdoor explorations, I allowed a fingertip to
slip past his pucker. He rewarded me with another whimper and an eager
shaking of his rear.

Pretty soon, the convulsions were too much for both of us. Stamford's blue
eyes glanced up at mine, entreating us to go over to the nearby bed. I was
only too happy to oblige. He stood once again and pressed his face to mine,
our bodies caressing one another. It felt so good to wrap my arms around
his shoulders and feel the pressure of his own strength, his chest pressed
to mine, his hips against my own. We whispered tender delights into each
others' ears.

With his wrists locked behind my head, he pulled back and gazed into my
eyes. We held this position for a moment, memories of our encounters back
in medical school flooding through my mind. With Stamford, it had always
been more than a quick grunting fuck. I cared for him, deeply and honestly,
just as much as any man has loved a close friend or companion. He had been
true to me and the pleasures we gave one another. For that, I would always
hold for him a place in my heart.

He now led me over to the bed, sliding his body face-down over the
blanket. I was enthralled watching him stroke his manhood against the
covers, his eager desire obvious. Doffing the remainder of my clothing, I
placed my hands on either side of his hips and pulled his buttocks to my
face. I rubbed my beard over those peach fuzz cheeks, inhaling his animal
scent with zeal.

Reaching over to a side cabinet, I found the bottle that Stamford always
kept there. A corked white flask, it was filled with oil from the cocoanut
tree--an expensive indulgence, yet one often necessary for men in my
situation. Originating in the subcontinent, the oil has been reputed across
the far and near east for its health benefits for centuries. It has a
distinct succulent flavor and exemplary properties for particular masculine
acts, finding mention in certain bawdy versions of Burton's The Book of the
Thousand Nights and a Night as being used in catamite brothels.

Allowing a thin stream to drizzle on Stamford's hole, I licked my lips. As
if his posterior did not look delectable enough, the cocoanut oil would now
impart a certain savoir faire to the tang of his arse. My tongue slid
eagerly between his cheeks and found its target as Stamford mewled with
delight. Throwing his head back, he muttered incomprehensible syllables. I
had to grab my aching shaft and rub it a few times to relieve the sexual
pressure as my nose and tongue dove forward.

Stamford was ready. I was ready. There was nothing that could stop the
union of our bodies. Mounting him like a creature in heat, I slid the
length of my cock back and forth between his cheeks, building ever more
anticipation before allowing what we both desperately wanted to take
place. Stamford called my name, entreating me to fuck him.

Even with this much readiness, this next part always took a bit of finesse
and patience. I placed my erection against Stamford's hole, pouring a
copious dollop of oil on it. When I felt Stamford had relaxed the proper
amount, I tipped my hips forward ever so slightly. As the head slid into
Stamford's quivering compartment, shockwaves of pleasure undulated through
my body. Stamford no doubt felt the same, as his breath quickened and his
eyes widened. He kissed me deeply and requested that I please
continue. With slow and careful movements, I slipped farther and farther
inside him, eventually bringing the base of my dick against his buttocks.

Stamford reached back and pressed a hand onto my rear to push me deeper
inside, moaning in uncontrolled joy. I hoped that no nosy neighbors were
listening in on our rutting session but by now was too far committed to do
anything about it. Holding Stamford against me, I gently sank into his
body, enjoying the passion of our bond. Sweat dripped down my face as I
pulled back again, looking down the fur of my chest and stomach to
Stamford's arse and my personal article lodged within. Gently, I began to
ride him.

Soon, we were rollicking, my shaft plunging in and out of his depths, both
of us shouting in ecstasy. His body was unbelievable, taut and elastic at
the same time. Once he was opened up, we switched to a position Stamford
enjoyed even more; he on his back as I faced him, his legs spread like an
insatiable queen. Each thrust now hit that special spot inside him, the
prostate gland we'd seen so many times in medical drawings, giggling and
aroused at the same time.

My hand wrapped around his dick, taking occasional pauses to re-lubricate,
we continued in this manner as if lost in a shared trance. Each movement
forward brought forth a wellspring of bliss, the reverse course similarly
sending out enchanting rushes. I was lost. Lost within my body, within
Stamford's arse, within the two of us connected in love. Shudders passed
through Stamford as I persisted with my pleasurable invasion. It was clear
he could stand it no longer.

Clenching spasms wracked his physique as he fired a cannonade of cum. The
vision of it shooting over his head, coupled with the sensation of his
puckering hole, sent me over the ledge as well. With an almost lupine howl,
I expelled my offering into Stamford's twitching aperture. Drained, I
collapsed down into his awaiting arms. Satiated men, we both fell promptly
asleep.

When I awoke, the two of us lay naked next to one another on the
bed. Stamford was looking at me in an exultant daze, cheerily smirking. His
fingers ran gently through the fleece of my belly.

"You are just as good as I recall," he said with satisfaction.

"As are you, my friend."

I leaned forward for a kiss. But Stamford pulled back, his eyes
reprimanding me. It helped me remember myself and the society I lived in. I
might feel passionately about Stamford at the moment, but decency and
decorum would not allow our emotions to exist outside this bedroom. We both
shifted uncomfortably for a moment and I cleared my throat.

"Tell me more about this Mr. Holmes," I said, my thoughts straying once
again back to lodgings and money. "He is a medical student, I suppose?"

"No--I have no idea what he does to be honest. He is certainly well up on
his anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist. But as far as I know he has
never taken out any systematic classes. His studies are very desultory and
eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would
astonish anyone."

"So you never asked him what he went out for?"

"No," said Stamford, frowning. "He is not an easy man to draw out, even for
those he is physical with. But he can be communicative when the fancy
seizes him."

"I should like to meet him," I said. Stamford fixed me with a serious gaze,
as if to ask whether or not I intended to sleep with this Holmes
character. "It's not like that. If I am to lodge with anyone, I would
prefer a man of quiet and studious habits. How can I meet this friend of
yours?"

"He is sure to be at his laboratory," returned my companion. "He either
avoids the place for weeks, or else works there from morning to night. If
you like, we shall drive round together after supper."

"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away toward other
channels.

Later, as we made our way to the laboratory, Stamford gave me a few more
particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.

"You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said. "I know
nothing more of him than I have learned from our few
brief... encounters. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me
responsible."

"If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," I answered. "It seems
to me Stamford," I added, looking hard at him, "that you have some reason
for not wanting me to meet with this man. Are you afraid that I will come
between you?"

Stamford laughed. "It is not that, John," he said. "Holmes is a little too
scientific for my tastes--it approaches cold-bloodedness. But it is also
that he is not a man who can be contained by another individual. He follows
his own whims and desires and apparently has quite a fruitful time of it."

That sounded not unlike my own proclivities. After all, the world was
filled with beautiful and erotically-charged men; even Stamford knew that I
would never settle for a single person. `To have and to hold till death do
us part'--as the mundane couples put it in their vows--would not suit me.

As we spoke, Stamford showed me down a narrow lane and passed through a
small side door, which opened to a great wing of the hospital. It was
familiar ground to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak
stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of
whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the end a low arched passage
branched away from it, and led to the chemical laboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. Broad,
low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes,
and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. There was only
one student in the room, who was bent over a distant table absorbed in his
work. At the sound of our steps, he glanced round and sprang to his feet
with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've found it!" he shouted to my
companion. "I have found a re-agent that is capable of cleaning up the
stains and leaving behind no trace." Had he discovered a gold mine, greater
delight could not have shone upon his features.

"Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, introducing us.

"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for
which I should hardly have given him credit. "You won't mind if I borrow
some of this?"

Before I could react, Holmes had stuck his hand down the front of my
trousers, inside my underwear, and gently dabbed the end of my (now
flaccid) penis. I nearly jumped back in surprise but the man swiftly
removed his arm, a sheen of something on his finger.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

Holmes paid me no mind, spreading the sticky substance on his finger upon
the lapel of my coat. I realized that it was a spot of post ejaculatory
fluid that had seeped from my ducts following my escapades with
Stamford. With a mixture of disgust and shock, I looked at the visible
streak and asked Holmes why he had soiled my clothing.

"Ah, Dr. Watson," he said. "To show you my latest creation." He took a
small atomizer and directed its spray to the spot on my coat. Within
seconds, the fluid disappeared.

Despite being upset, I was duly impressed. This mixture, whatever it was,
would have probably come in handy at many times in my life. "What have you
done?" I asked.

Holmes held up the atomizer proudly. "It is a cleaning spray capable of
instantly dissolving semen and other ejaculates and leaving no trace. Are
you a high-society man looking to hide your torrid affair with the gardener
without alerting your washerwoman? With Sherlock Holmes' patented creation,
now you can."

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart
and bowed as if to some applauding crowd in his imagination.

"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised by his
enthusiasm. I picked at the spot where the fluid had been and found it
completely clean. "Though next time, I would prefer if you gave me some
notice beforehand."

Holmes ignored my remark. "There was the case of Lord Gremely's
embarrassment last year. And the ambassador Von Bischoff more
recently. Bradford was caught with Muller just last month, the story of
which nearly reached the news. And all those cases could have been avoided
with this."

"You seem to be a walking calendar of men's proclivities," I said. "You
should start a paper on those lines. Call it `Sexual Gossip of
Yesteryear.'"

Holmes didn't seem to care for my tone, whereas I didn't care for his
scandalmongering. It was Stamford who saved the situation.

"We came here on business," he said, sitting down on a three legged stool,
and pushing another one in the direction of my foot. "My friend here want
to take diggings, and as you were just complaining that you could get no
one to go halves with you, I thought I might bring you together."

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing rooms with me. "I
have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said. "Which would suit us down
to the ground. You don't mind if I smell of strong tobacco, I hope?"

I made myself comfortable on the seat. "In fact, I always smoke `ships'
myself," I said.

"And marihuana?" Holmes asked.

I had partaken in marihuana leaves during my time in the Orient. I found it
had a soothing smoke and greatly enhanced late-night encounters. Perhaps
Holmes and I were more suited that I suspected.

"I generally leave chemicals around," he said. "And occasionally do
experiments. Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see--what are my other shortcoming. I get in the dumps sometimes,
and don't open my mouth for days. You must not think I am sulky when I do
that. Just let me alone, and soon I'll be alright. What have you to confess
now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another
before they begin to live together."

I laughed at his cross-examination. "I keep to myself as well," I
said. "And I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely
lazy. I have another set of vices as well, but those are the principal ones
at present."

Holmes looked down his aquiline nose at me. "Now, Dr. Watson, even if you
hadn't arrived here with our dear friend Stamford, it would have been easy
for me to surmise your predilections. Your physique is like that of a
French Bulldog, your authentic swagger suggests that the item between your
legs is impressive. In pursuits, you prefer to take on the role of
hunter. In bed, you would rather give than receive. Your greatly enjoy the
feeling of a tongue pressed to the sensitive spot directly behind your
testicles. And I suspect that you have been with approximately thirteen men
these last two months."

He was exactly right. I stammered. "How could you know all that?"

Holmes pursed his lips and looked askance. "It is simply something I am
able to figure out." He smiled. "But no matter. I am of the same
temperament as you when it comes to men, Dr. Watson. And I have no problem
if you bring one home as often as you like, if you would not begrudge me
the same courtesy."

"Of course not," I said.

"But you must understand, I do not mix my recreational activities with
either my friends nor my flat-mates. You and I will not be sleeping
together. That is a firm rule."

I nearly sneered at him. As if I was even interested in him bodily,
considering the way he was acting. But I was desperate for a lodgings and
readily agreed to his conditions.

"Right then," said Holmes, with a merry laugh. "I think we may consider
things settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you."

"When shall we see them?"

"Come meet me tomorrow at noon at No. 221B Baker Street, and we'll settle
everything."

"At noon exactly," I said, shaking his hand.

We left him at work with his chemicals, and walked toward my hotel.

"By the way," I said, stopping suddenly and turning to Stamford. "How the
deuce did he know that I slept with thirteen men in the last two months?"

My companion smiled an enigmatic smile. "That's just his specialty," he
said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out."

"A mystery is it?" I chortled. "That is quite piquant, then. But I suppose
that the proper study of one man is another man, as you know."

"You must study him then," Stamford said, and then bade me goodbye. "You'll
find him a knotty problem, though."

*****

I hope someone enjoyed this. There's more to come. I'm deeply indebted to
the original story for this content. Comments welcome at
sirarthurpornandoyle@yahoo.com