Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2007 06:52:44 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jacksantoro1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arrest Record, Part 15, Adult Friends, 15/?

Arrest Record, Part 15
By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com

	"Maybe we'll get a couple of days of relaxation," Ed
remarked. "Amir's next stop is in Toronto, Ontario.
We'll tag along, but we have no jurisdiction up there.
The Canadians are pretty strict about bringing guns
into their country too. We'll have to leave ours on
our side of the border."
	"So what do we do?" Harold asked.
	"We can act as observers," Ed explained. "We have no
police powers, no power of arrest. It's all in the
hands of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the RCMP
or the Mounties, as they call them."
	"In Quebec they're called the GRC, the Gendarmerie
Royale du Canada," I added, drawing on my high school
French.
	"This is where Ted, Paul, and the others get off," Ed
went on. The three of us will fly up there and our
liaison in the Mounties will meet us at the airport.
He's with their anti-terrorist squad. Luckily, we know
him. We've worked with him before." I gave Ed a
questioning look. He noted it and went on:
	"We've played with him before, too, Harold. I know
you'll be glad to meet him. He's got a foreskin too,
and loves to show it off." With that, we packed and
were off to Detroit's Metropolitan Airport. Our
Grumman was waiting for us, and after handing our
firearms and holsters to one of the agents from the
local office we were airborne. An hour later we were
on the ground at Toronto Pearson International
Airport, in Ontario.
	"Harold, this is Peter," I said by way of
introduction when our contact came forward to greet us
as we disembarked. We shook hands all round and Peter
led us to his unmarked car. He was about our height,
muscular, and blond, with green eyes.
	"We'll go to my place," he said as we followed the
highway out of the airport. "I know you guys are on a
per diem, and there's no point you wasting money on a
hotel when I can put you up easily. I've got a
three-bedroom house in Hamilton with a big back yard
and a grill, so we'll be pretty comfortable. We've got
a couple of days before anything goes down, so let's
concentrate on relaxing." Hamilton was about an hour
down the freeway from Toronto. I remembered Peter's
house from the time Ed and I had been his guests three
years ago.
	"You keeping tabs on Amir?" I asked.
	"Absolutely," he answered. "Our team picked him up at
the border, where your guys handed him over to us.
They'll baby-sit him at the hotel and a couple of
other teams are going to run the moving surveillance
if he has to deliver the canister on the street. Amir
is still going to drive his own car, to make
everything appear normal. Actually, there's nothing
for you to do up here, although of course you're
welcome to observe."
	"Can you stop so I can buy us a case of your
wonderful Canadian beer?" Ed asked. "Since we've got
all that per diem we won't be able to spend we might
as well stock up your refrigerator." A few minutes
later Peter pulled into a liquor store parking lot and
Ed bought two cases of beer. When we pulled into
Peter's driveway we unloaded our luggage and the beer
and followed Peter inside.
	As it was still mid-afternoon we went out to the back
yard. Ed wanted to know more about the Mounties' plan.
	"We're not going to arrest anyone right now," Peter
explained as he sipped at his beer. "You told us the
canister's a dummy, so there's no danger to public
safety. On the other hand, we sorely need more
information about terrorist cells in this country.
Your people at the border gave our team one of those
GPS trackers, so we'll be able to follow that canister
wherever it goes. That way, we'll get an idea of the
people involved, who they are, and how many, and we
hope to develop this investigation to lead us to more
of the network."
	"A lot of terrorists have been using Canada as a base
for attacks on us," I pointed out. "I'm not
criticizing you, but that's a fact."
	"All too true," Peter conceded. "Our immigration laws
are too lax, and we don't have a good department of
immigration like yours. They get into the country and
disappear. Our government's been complacent because to
date all their targets have been south of the border.
Now they seem to be planning an attack against
Toronto. Maybe this might wake them up a bit."
	"It's nice and warm here," Ed observed. "What do you
say we stop talking shop and strip down?" Peter led us
into the house, where he pointed out the bedrooms.
Within a couple of minutes we were all naked and
gathered again in the yard with fresh beers in our
hands. I saw that Harold's eyes were fixed on Peter's
crotch.
	"Ed phoned me about you," Peter said, addressing
Harold. "He said you like foreskins." Harold smiled in
acknowledgement. "You'll find lots of foreskins in
Canada. We never got into wholesale amputation the way
you did south of the border. We've got socialized
medicine here, so our doctors aren't in it just for
the money." Peter had his legs spread, exposing his
crotch to us. His scrotum was slack because of the
warmth, and tested on the cushion. His prick was thick
at the base and tapered smoothly to a thick pucker.
There was no glans outline visible through the thick
skin.
	"I wish I'd been born in Canada," Harold said
wistfully.
	"Me and my three brothers never got cut," Ed told
him. "I almost did, but there was a reason. My
foreskin was always tight, while my brothers were able
to skin back by the time they were five. The doctor
asked my mother several times about taking it off, but
she always refused because my dad's was tight too, and
it didn't bother him."
	"Our doctors are money hungry," I agreed. "They
collect a fee for the circumcision, and then they sell
the amputated foreskins to biotech or cosmetic
companies for extra profit."
	"Can you skin it back now?" asked Harold, leaning
forward in his chair. Both their pricks had started
swelling as a result of the conversation.
	"I can, but rarely do," Peter told him. "I like to
keep it forward. It gets a bit cheesy but that doesn't
bother me. Some guys really enjoy the aroma."
	"I know I do," Harold told him. Peter smiled broadly.
	"Then come on over here and do what you've been
wanting to do ever since you saw it," he suggested. He
pushed his hips forward, bringing his prick to the
edge of the seat, as Harold came over to sit on the
grass in front of him. Ed and I knew we were going to
watch a show, and we brought our chairs next to each
other. Ed's fingers grasped my foreskin nipple and I
grasped his, administering the delightful rolling
motion that always aroused us. Harold had leaned
forward and now his nose was an inch from the end of
Peter's prick. He inhaled deeply, savoring the erotic
scent.
	"I love that smell," he whispered. He grasped Peter's
foreskin and felt for the glans inside it. Peter's
prick rapidly grew between his fingers, extending to
over six inches, including foreskin. Harold's prick
had swelled even faster, and was now full hard, the
shapely purple helmet standing proudly at the end of
the shaft. He had not removed the protective condom,
and Peter was gazing at it questioningly.
	"Now that it's hard you'll be able to feel the head
better," he remarked to Harold. Harold began pushing
the long hood back slowly and carefully, watching the
thick pucker spread as the end of Peter's small glans
became visible.
	"That's a really long skin," Harold asked. "I'd love
to have you dock me."
	"My hood's too narrow," Peter responded. "The head's
not very large and it's tight even over that. It would
never stretch to fit over your big helmet." He reached
down and grasped Harold's penis around the corona,
sliding the condom slowly up and down over the head.
	"Harold's wearing a condom to keep the head moist,"
Ed explained. "He's already gotten more sensitivity."
	"That's nice, being sensitive," Peter said. "Mine's
very sensitive."
	"I bet it is," Harold said, a moment before he
slipped the tip of his tongue inside Peter's hood to
tickle his slit. Peter sighed deeply and his fingers
tightened around Harold's swollen glans. Ed and I were
fully hard, our helmets bulging inside our hoods.
	Harold pushed his tongue farther into Peter's narrow
foreskin, stretching the nerve endings as he probed
for the corona. We watched the thick intruder as it
distended Peter's hood, stretching it to its limit, as
Peter sighed deeply. Now Harold pulled back, his
tongue protruding, and we saw that it was coated with
Peter's smegma.
	"I don't bother cleaning it very often," Peter
explained. "My dad didn't either, and it never
bothered him."
	"Do you skin back to jack off?" Harold asked as he
smacked his lips, relishing the pungent taste.
	"Never do," Peter admitted. "I like to watch the
cream dribble out of the end. Now go ahead, lick the
inside of my cock clean, if you like." Harold once
more probed Peters' thick hood with his tongue,
inserting it all the way back to the corona and
swirling it around the glans. Peter's body shuddered
as he threw his head back and stared at the sky, still
holding Harold's penis and stroking it lovingly.
	Harold pushed the foreskin back farther, exposing
more of Peter's glans, and worked his tongue around
the front of it. Now he pushed it all the way back,
and the edge snapped down into the groove behind the
rim to expose a small but perfectly shaped cherry-red
helmet head, complete with flaring rim that locked the
voluminous foreskin behind it. Peter shuddered again,
and I knew he wasn't used to having his tender cherry
tip exposed and licked.
	"Does this hurt?" Harold asked Peter as he cautiously
exerted more traction on the foreskin, baring the
groove behind the rim so that he could lick away the
cheese inside it. Peter nodded negatively and Harold
continued, stretching the thick tight foreskin back
along the shaft as his tongue plunged into the sulcus,
licking away the coating of aromatic creamy secretion.
Now Peter's small helmet glistened with Harold's
saliva, and a drop of clear fluid slipped between the
lips of the tight slit. Harold licked that away before
replacing the foreskin over the head.
	"Since you can't dock me I'd like to suck you or
stroke you," Harold told him.
	"Better stroke me," Peter replied. "My tip's very
sensitive, and I almost jumped out of the chair while
you were licking me." He was obviously very excited
and very eager, as we saw a steady flow of thick
lubricant dribbling from his foreskin's puckered end.
Harold wrapped his fingers around the tapering shaft
and cupped Peter's balls with the other. They were
already tight.
	"Let me get down there with you," Peter suggested as
he eased himself out of the chair onto the grass to
sit facing Harold. He put his legs over Harold's
spread legs so that they sat barely a foot apart, with
easy access to each other's pricks. Ed and I got into
a similar position a couple of feet away from them, so
that we could watch them as we stroked each other. Our
pricks were dripping too, and we gave each other long
slow strokes to spread the precious lubricant evenly
between hoods and helmets. I felt blades of grass
tickling my scrotum. Harold and Peter were also
applying slow strokes to each other's pricks, but Ed
and I were looking at each other's crotch, as we
enjoyed watching our glossy purple helmets appearing
and being engulfed by our foreskins.
	"Maybe Ed and Jack could dock and put on a show for
us," Peter suggested. I looked at Ed, and then we lay
down facing each other. With practiced motions, we
drew back each other's hoods, again baring the shapely
helmets that I knew both Harold and Peter admired, and
touched them end to end. I felt my front dome compress
as Ed pushed against me, and I saw that his also
dented where mine was pressing into it. Ed slipped my
foreskin over his bulging helmet and then I covered my
hood with his, creating a double layer of foreskin
flesh to encase our swollen tips.
	We were both secreting copiously, making the contact
very soft and slippery. We worked our pricks to rotate
the front domes against each other, stretching our
layered hoods. Ed pressed forward and his glans
slipped up over mine, the twin lobes of his helmet
sliding along the broad upper surface of mine. Now I
drew back and thrust forward, sliding my glans along
the top of his, feeling the friction along my twin
lobes underneath that framed my frenulum. I was aware
that Harold and Peter were watching us avidly, excited
by the display, and was glad that we were turning them
on.
	"I'm going to go off soon: my tip's so sensitive,"
Peter wailed. Ed and I stopped and turned our heads to
watch. Harold's fingers were still stroking Peter's
foreskin at the same slow and measured pace, but we
knew from experience how sensitive Peter's rarely
exposed glans was, and we anticipated that within
seconds we'd see gobs of sperm dribbling from the end
of his thick tight foreskin. Harold continued
stroking, never baring even the front of Peter's
helmet, and we watched Peter's body tense.
	Peter cried out, and we saw a thick rope of cream
pour from the pucker in his foreskin, and the odor of
chlorine hit us. Harold stroked him again, bringing
forth another discharge as Peter's eyes closed tightly
and his lips drew back. Now Harold skinned him back
completely, having learned from us how super-sensitive
the uncircumcised glans becomes during orgasm, and
this time we saw a long thin jet blast from Peter's
slit to strike Harold in the abdomen. Harold was
holding the foreskin tightly back from the cherry-red
glans, putting tension on Peter's frenulum but not
applying any friction.
	Now the taut frenulum dragged the front of Peter's
spurting helmet down, and the next surge of sperm
slammed through the lips of Peter's slit and sprayed
his hand and Harold's prick. Peter was moaning
mindlessly, totally caught up in the hot fury of his
orgasm, and he blew another load. His stream went
under his hand and sprayed Harold's tight scrotum.
	The next jet was weaker, although Peter was still
moaning loudly. The following one arced down onto the
grass, and the next was just a white dribble that
seeped from his small slit. After a few seconds the
dribble stopped, and Peter lay back on the grass. Ed
and I watched as Peter's body relaxed. Harold's
unfulfilled prick was still rock hard, and I saw a
large drop of clear liquid parting the lips of his
slit and pouring through the opening in the condom.
	Harold's prick was just within my reach and I grasped
it, sliding the condom to catch the drop of precious
lubricant and spread it over his engorged helmet.
Harold turned and grasped our pricks where they were
joined by our layered foreskins, stroking gently.
Peter lay inert on the grass as his prick deflated and
the retracted foreskin began creeping back over the
small shrinking helmet.
	"I'd better take care of Peter," Harold said as he
let go of us and turned back to milk the residue from
Peter's shaft and glans. Several thick drops appeared
at Peter's slit, which Harold licked off promptly.
Peter didn't cringe, as his prick was rapidly losing
its excessive sensitivity as it relaxed. As Peter
revived he sat up and grasped Harold's erection,
slowly sliding the condom up and down.
	"That's a beautifully sculpted helmet," he noted as
his fingers traced the contours through the thin
latex, from front dome back to the high flaring ridge.
He cupped Harold's balls with his other hand.
	"Let's watch Ed and Jack docking," Harold suggested.
"I can always come afterward. Anyway, the longer I
hold off the hotter it's going to be for me." Peter
removed his hands from Harold's crotch and turned to
watch us.
	"I wish I could do that," he said to Harold. "Both Ed
and Jack docked me the last time they were up here,
but I can't dock anyone with my tight hood." I
remembered how Peter's small hard tip had felt inside
my foreskin several years ago, hammering against my
front dome as he flooded my hood with his streams.
	Now Harold was back, grasping our pricks where they
met, gently twisting our layered foreskins. He knew
how exciting the sideways friction felt, and he was
applying it lovingly, to bring us to hard, crashing
orgasms. His touch gave the final increment to my
excitement, and I felt my helmet go into its final
swelling. I knew Ed's was similarly engorged, full of
blood and awaiting the triggering touch that would
launch his orgasm.
	"Your rims are really hard and swollen," Harold
commented as his fingertips traveled over our pricks.
"I can feel them even through the two layers of skin."
Now he gave our foreskins another gentle twist, making
both of us sigh with delight.
	"Ed and Jack have nice big helmets, just like you
do," Peter commented to Harold as he ran his fingertip
up the bottom of his prick from base to tip as a
reminder of his presence. Harold's prick jerked at the
contact. Meanwhile, I was feeling the start of the
familiar tickle in my rim, which I knew would quickly
spread all over my glans.
	"How's this?" Ed asked as he bucked his hips to
thrust his prick against mine. I felt the gentle
friction, cushioned by the copious lubricant we were
secreting, as his front dome slid against mine.
	"Can't-hold-out-much-longer," I muttered as I felt
the tickle spread to the front of my glans. The lips
of Ed's slit kissed mine, and as Harold twisted our
foreskins again, I felt a sudden hot tingle filling my
helmet.
	My eyes closed as I yelped, and I felt the first
spasm deep inside me as Ed's glans gushed a stream of
hot juice over the front of mine. The first torrent of
burning hot sperm seared its way up my prick to flood
his glans. Another spasm shook me and we shot
together, the combined streams mixing as they swirled
around our swollen, throbbing helmets.
	We were both moaning helplessly as our bodies reacted
reflexively, spewing surge after surge into our
foreskins, distending them and stretching their
embedded nerve endings. Ed's helmet throbbed hard
against mine as it spit its loads against it. I was
floating in the free-fall of my orgasm, aware of
little outside the sensations in my own body.
	There was hardly any friction now, as our helmets
floated in a thick bath of semen, insulated against
our twisting hoods. Despite the cushioning, we still
got the sensations to maintain our orgasms as our
foreskins stretched under the pressure of our juices.
Now my jets were weaker, although we were still caught
up in the frenzy of our orgasms, and we continued
moaning mindlessly until they slowed to dribbles.
	It felt very slippery where our pricks were joined,
and I knew that the thick viscous fluids had seeped
between our foreskins, slowly dripping onto the grass.
I felt Ed pull back from me, his lubricated prick
slipping out of my foreskin easily. Our pricks were
subsiding now, and the end of my foreskin was still
inside the end of his, but the flow of cream was
heavy. I opened my eyes as we broke the contact, and
saw a huge gob of thick viscous white juice drop onto
the grass between us just before Ed pulled me to him
and hugged me, kissing me on the lips.
	"That was beautiful," I said to him, and then looked
at Peter.
	"I know," Peter said. "Remember, I was in there a
couple of years ago."
	"You were in mine too," Ed reminded him. "When you
blasted off, you shot like a fire hose." Ed was
milking my prick as I did the same to his, and when
we'd drained the last drops we pulled the foreskins
forward to cover the heads.
	"Your tip throbbed even harder than Ed's," I added.
"You shot so much that you blew my foreskin off your
tip." I remembered how my foreskin had distended and
then peeled back off his glans with the volume of
sperm he'd discharged into it.
	"How about helping me take care of Harold?" Peter
asked us as he pushed Harold flat onto the grass. He
began running his finger over the latex-covered helmet
as Harold began moaning softly. "I love to feel the
contours of that beautiful big helmet." Ed cupped
Harold's tight scrotum, gently kneading the orbs
inside it, while I twisted and pinched his nipples.
Harold's moans became louder.
	"I want to feel him in my mouth," Peter said as he
slipped the condom off Harold's swollen prick,
liberating the shaft and head for his lips to engulf.
Now he began pumping his head up and down, his lips
traveling from the bulging front dome, riding over the
swollen corona, until they reached the thick scar
where Harold had been circumcised. Now he pulled up,
his lips distending as they rode over the flaring rim,
and then closing again as they traveled down the taper
of his glans to the front dome.
	Harold's breathing was rapid and gasping as his
excitement mounted uncontrollably, and he began
bucking his hips to thrust his prick up into Peter's
mouth. His head rocked from side to side as the surge
of excitement overtook him, and I knew he was on the
edge. Peter's lips closed tightly around Harold's
corona as he twisted his head and Harold yelped loudly
as I saw the first spasm shake his body.
	Peter swallowed hard and twisted his head again,
bringing forth another howl and another convulsion.
Harold was caught up in the wild frenzy of his
release, and he grunted as another spasm gripped him,
and I saw Peter swallowing frantically as the sperm
flooded his mouth. Some dribbled from his tightly
encircling lips as he drew another discharge from
Harold's body, and he swallowed again. I felt Harold's
heart pounding in his chest through my fingertips.
	Harold was still grunting loudly, but the shudders
that shook his body were weaker now as his orgasm
tapered off. After a few more spasms he became still.
Peter ran a fingertip up the bulge on the bottom of
his prick to draw out the last drops, and he swallowed
again. Now he lifted his head and milked Harold
thoroughly, starting from behind his balls because Ed
had removed his hand. As the last drops seeped between
the lips of Harold's slit Peters licked them off
delicately, and then he replaced the condom over the
shrinking penis.
	Peter got up and went into the house, returning with
a quartet of beers for us. We drank deeply, perhaps to
replenish the fluids we'd disgorged. Harold sat up and
gratefully took a beer from Peter's hand, and up-ended
it into his mouth. We sat huddled together on the
grass, arms around each other in a lingering moment of
tenderness. After several minutes Peter announced:
	"I think it's time to eat," and he went into the
house again, returning several minutes later with a
tray full of dishes, napkins, steaks potatoes, and
bread. He fired up the grill and donned an apron.
	"I wouldn't want the grease to splash on my delicate
parts," he said lightly as he arranged the potatoes
around the periphery of the grill. When the grill was
hot enough he put on the steaks. We happily inhaled
the aroma of grilling meat as Peter brought out
another round of beers.
	"This Canadian beer's a lot better than some of the
stuff we get back home," Harold commented.
	"I'll second that," I affirmed. "There are some
things you do here better than we do south of the
border."
	"Not always. I think our gun control laws are
stupid," Peter said. "They don't do much good. The bad
guys can get all the guns they want. Hell, look at
what we're into. The bad guys are getting canisters of
virus."
	"At least, they think they are," Ed answered.
	"What scares me is that these are the ones we know
about," Peter added. "How much more of that stuff is
out there, and we don't know anything about it?" I
knew he was right. At the moment, we were going to sit
down to eat and forget all about it. However, there
would be a lot to discuss in the morning.

Continued in Part 16