Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 07:09:44 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jacksantoro1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arrest Record, Part 3, Adult Friends, 3/?

Arrest Record, Part 3
By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com

	Back at the office, Ed continued to explain to Harold
the way we were managing our surveillance of Abdul:
	"We don't necessarily have to shadow him all day and
all night. 24/7 surveillance can absorb a lot of
manpower and our resources aren't infinite. In fact,
they're pretty limited considering what we have to do.
One thing we have going for us is that we have an
informer at the mosque where he and John Taylor go."
	"How did you manage that?" Harold asked.
	"Fortuitously," I answered. "We can't always place an
informer or undercover agent where we want. In this
case one of the members of the congregation had been
arrested on a narcotics charge. It's unusual for
Moslems to use narcotics, but this one did, and we got
lucky. Every morning we get a list of all federal
arrests, and this arrest was by the DEA. We ran over
there and had a word with the supervising agent. We
took over the case and told this guy that we would
avoid prosecuting him if he cooperated with us. He's
been keeping us up to date on happenings in the
congregation."
	"Who is he?" Harold asked.
	"Can't tell you," I said. "Informers are especially
protected people because of the risks they take. Their
identities are strictly on a need-to-know basis. Ed
and I know because we developed the case. Our
supervisor doesn't know and doesn't want to know who
he is. Need-to-know limits the number of people who
can let confidential information slip, by mistake or
by design." Ed nodded assent as I spoke, and then
added:
	"The informer was able to tell us that Taylor and
Abdul are part of a terrorist cell because those
people have poor security and they violated the
need-to-know principle. Only the cell members and the
person they contact for orders should have known.
Instead they were bragging to other members of the
congregation how they were selected to do Allah's
work. That's piss-poor security."
	"That's their culture," I explained. "They like to
brag, elevate their social status, even if it violates
common sense. Guys who can't keep their mouths shut
are just looking for trouble. Look at this guy down in
Guantanamo. He's confessing to every terrorist act in
the last ten years. He couldn't possibly have
master-minded all of them."
	"Yeah, next thing he'll confess to shooting President
Kennedy," I added sarcastically.
	"Still, they're very dangerous," Harold commented.
	"Bet your ass they're dangerous" Ed said. "Look at
what they did to the World Trade Center."
	"One reason they succeeded is that our government
didn't take them seriously enough," I added. "A lot of
people think of them as an inferior species, call them
`towel-heads,' and other derogatory names. That's a
disrespectful and stupid attitude because it breeds
complacency. These people are dangerous because
they're as smart as we are. They're also better
motivated. It doesn't matter that they dress
differently."
	"Anybody who's willing to deliberately sacrifice his
life for what he believes in is very dangerous," Ed
said.
	"Most Western people are willing to risk their lives
for their country" I said. "However, when you're
willing to undertake a suicide mission, that's
dedication. Couple that with good planning and that
gives us a real problem."
	"We've got other ways of getting information on these
guys as well, I added. "We got hold of their phone
records for the last year and these give us a list of
all the people they've called. Some of these are
members of their terrorist cell."
	"You mean they call other members from their home
phone?" Harold asked incredulously.
	"As I said, they've got piss-poor security," Ed
replied. "Not all of them are that careless, but just
enough to give us some breaks in the investigation.
We've also tapped their line and recorded every
conversation. Strictly speaking, this is illegal as
hell, but this case is so critical that we can bend
the law to obtain vital information."
	"Most of the conversations are irrelevant to the
investigation," I added. "We really don't want to know
when he phones to see if his dry-cleaning is ready.
However, we were able to identify two other members of
the cell by the content of the conversations. So far,
we've got five members identified. That might be it,
unless they're planning something really big and need
more manpower."
	"We put taps on these other guys' lines too" Ed said.
"They're not part of the congregation where Taylor and
Abdul go, so right now this is our only surveillance.
We don't have the manpower to shadow them all around
the clock. We've got to make do with less." At this
point the phone rang. Ed picked it up and listened for
a minute before hanging up and facing us.
	"Taylor was involved in a traffic accident. His car
was hit by a cement truck and he didn't survive. We're
going down to identify the body."
	"Doesn't he have any relatives who might ID him?"
Harold asked.
	"Oh, he has a sister but we're going down to make
sure that this is the John Taylor we're interested in.
Our investigation is totally separate from the other
thing." He turned and led the way to the car.
	At the medical examiner's office we interviewed the
pathologist. He was a thin pale man who seemed
uncomfortable with his work. He told us that the death
was accidental and showed us a copy of the police
report. Ed scanned it and asked for a photocopy, which
the doctor had his secretary run off for us. Then we
went to view the body.
	"Most of the injuries are internal," the doctor
explained. "That's why you don't see many visible
injuries." The body lay naked on a steel autopsy
table. Taylor was thin, about 5'10" and blond, judging
from the hair on his head and face. He wore a beard. I
nudged Harold.
	"No pubic hair," I commented. Ed asked the
pathologist:
	When will you do the autopsy?"
	"We won't. None is necessary, unless someone contests
the manner of death." None of us could think of a
reason to doubt that the crash had been accidental,
and that's the way it stood when we left. In the car,
I asked Harold:
	"Remember his lack of pubic hair? What does that
mean?" I wanted to see how quickly Harold learned and
retained important information.
	"That's an indicator that he's a Moslem," he replied.
"Taylor was also circumcised but by itself that
doesn't mean much in this country. Moslems shave their
pubic hair. He also had a beard, which suggests the
same thing."
	"That's good," I said. "I'm glad you remembered from
yesterday. These details can be important at times."
	Ed was driving, and he got on the radio to inform our
supervisor that, as it was now 4:30, we were heading
home instead of the office, where we would just sign
out and turn around anyway. On the way we stopped at a
rib place for take-out, and when we got home we
immediately stripped down and went into the back yard.
Ed had taken three bottles of beer from the
refrigerator and we sat around the patio table happily
eating and drinking.
	"How do we really know that the cement truck's
hitting Taylor's car was an accident?" Harold asked.
	"Right now we think so, but can't nail it down,"
replied Ed. "We have the police report. They
interviewed the driver of the truck, who works for the
company that delivers cement. He's been there for 10
years, and he doesn't look like a suitable suspect.
We'll also look at circumstantial evidence. Tomorrow
that's going to be your job."
	"Who will I interview?" Harold asked.
	"Nobody," Ed told him. "Remember we have taps on
several phones. Tomorrow morning there's going to be a
stack of transcripts of the conversations. Maybe you
can get a feel for how these people are reacting to
Taylor's death."
	"You'll have to get up early so that you've got those
transcripts read by the time Ed and I get in there at
nine," I told him.
	"I know this is a bit hard, but this job isn't all
fun and games," Ed added.
	"Oh, I don't mind," Harold told us. "At least I'm
part of a significant investigation."
	"Believe me, you are," I said. "You're a member of
the team, and you're doing your part. So far you're
doing well. Now let's not talk about work any more."
It was a warm day, and our sacs were loose and hung
low.
	"Your skins seem to relax with the heat too,"
observed Harold.
	"Right, and they tighten when it gets cold," I
responded. "Our pricks shrink too. I guess yours does
too."
	"It really does," Harold admitted. "Some winter days
it's really small and my balls are tight against my
body. Not now, though." I felt a stirring in my prick,
which was slowly swelling as a result of the topic of
our conversation. I shot a glance at Harold's groin
and then Ed's. Theirs were engorging too.
	"The warmth really relaxed your skins," Harold went
on. Usually your skins are tight at the end, like
little nipples ahead of your tips. Now the openings
are wider, almost gaping. Your helmets are selling
too."
	"Your helmet's getting bigger too," Ed observed. "The
rim's really standing out now." We were almost
finished eating, and we swilled down the last of the
beer.
	"I'd really like to suck on those hot uncut cocks,"
Harold said as he chewed the last mouthful. "Can I
start with you, Jack?" I nodded as I took the last
bite from the last rib on my plate. Harold brought his
chair closer to mine and leaned over, holding the
shaft of my prick to steady it as he nibbled the end
of my foreskin with his soft lips. I felt his
tongue-tip insinuate itself into the wide orifice,
probing for my slit. His prick was at full mast now,
swollen with excitement. So was Ed's, who had been
watching avidly. Both Ed's rim and mine showed
prominently through our foreskins.
	"I love the smell and taste of your uncut cock,"
Harold said as he removed his mouth for a moment. Then
he bowed his head and resumed working on my prick,
driving his tongue into the foreskin and swirling it
in circles around my slit. I felt the familiar tickle
deep inside that told me a drop of clear lube had
begun working its way up my tube. Harold's tongue
probed deeper, caressing the broad upper surface of my
helmet and going on to work around my corona. I felt
my sac start to contract with excitement.
	I looked over at Ed and saw that he was slowly
stroking his foreskin, drawing it back just enough to
uncover his long slit, and then bringing it up again
to engulf his glans totally. The next stroke was
slightly longer, uncovering the front dome of his
helmet. I knew that he was making the most of it,
stretching the nerves in his foreskin in slow stages,
building up his excitement very gradually at a
controlled pace so as not to rush to orgasm. He knew
that after he'd drawn the orgasm from my prick, Harold
would start on him, and he didn't want to miss that by
blowing his load prematurely.
	I felt my excitement rising as Harold tightened his
grip around the base of my shaft, compressing the
veins to promote the final swelling. I felt my prick
engorge and the glans harden making it more sensitive
as he swiped his tongue around it. His thick tongue
stretched my foreskin as he probed deeply within it,
adding to the stimulation.
	Now I was breathing harder as my arousal mounted, and
I knew that soon I'd be beyond the point of no return,
helpless to stop my orgasm's rush under the assault of
erotic sensations. I felt the lips of my slit
distending as a large drop of lubricant forced them
open and spread over my front dome. Harold's tongue
swirled around my helmet, picking up the lubricant and
then descending to hit the hot spot under the head.
	While his left hand remained clamped tightly around
the base of my shaft, he used two fingers of his right
hand to grasp my foreskin right over the corona and
then began a rapid up-and-down movement of my foreskin
in short strokes. The combination of friction over my
rim and his tongue swiping across my taut gee-string
launched me into an upward spiral of sensation that I
knew wouldn't end until I was crying out helplessly as
my prick throbbed in orgasm, spitting out torrents of
sperm into his mouth.
	I looked over at Ed and saw that his eyes were fixed
on the scene, and I knew that he was enjoying my
sensation vicariously. Now he was sliding his foreskin
up and down the length of his hard purple helmet,
stroking at a slow, measured pace, keeping his
excitement under tight control. He, like I, knew that
a long build-up contributed to a hot and intense
orgasm, and he wanted it to last, at least until his
engorged prick felt the contact of Harold's lips and
tongue.
	The short quick foreskin strokes over my rim produced
a slight tickling, and I remained relaxed as the
sensation intensified, circling my corona and then
spreading all over my glans, especially where Harold's
tongue was strumming my frenulum. Then the sensation
changed abruptly.
	"The whole helmet's tingling," I murmured as my eyes
shut involuntarily. Harold's tongue sent hot sparks of
sensation stabbing deeply into my gee-string and
helmet, and I felt myself slipping away into the
free-fall of orgasm. My crotch muscles tightened in a
hot spasm as he sensations filled my glans and shaft,
shooting down to the root and triggering my climax. I
cried out helplessly as the first hot torrent shot
into my tube, burning its way up the delicate tissues,
and erupted into Harold's mouth.
	Now I felt him yank my foreskin back all the way,
baring the swollen sensitive helmet, and his lips
pocked into the deep groove behind my sensitive
corona. The friction was intense as my prick-root
responded, shooting another heavy load up my prick. My
body shuddered with the sensations, and I cried out
again.
	Harold's strong fingers kept my foreskin tightly
back, and the tension this produced on my gee-string
made me shoot again, another load of fiery liquid
searing its way up my urethra. I was groaning
mindlessly, my consciousness dominated by the joyful
agony of my orgasm, as my body responded reflexively
to the stimulation.
 	Another spasm gripped my insides, and I blew another
stream of cream into Harold's mouth. Now he stopped
moving his lips but just held my foreskin back
tightly, maintaining the tension that was fueling my
orgasm. My tip was now super-sensitive, and friction
would have been devastating. Instead, he knew that
keeping my frenulum taut was the way to keep me going.

	I ejaculated several more jets, each weaker than the
last, until I was drained. I felt myself relax, the
tension leaving my body, abandoning it to the soft
afterglow that crept over me. My prick began to
soften, and I opened my eyes. Harold was pulling my
hood up over the head.
	"I'll be back to clean you out later," he said with
an encouraging smile. "Right now Ed's cock needs
attention." He was right. Ed had his prick straight
up, foreskin tightly back to expose the dark purple
helmet, glistening with lubricant. The odor of his
prick filled the air and it drew Harold like a moth to
the flame.
	Harold got on his knees in front of Ed's spread legs
and gripped the base of his shaft. His lips descended
on the swollen glans, engulfing it in a heartbeat, and
now he began rotating his head, applying the
deliciously intense sideways friction that was sure to
trigger Ed's orgasm within seconds. Ed gasped at the
intensity of the sensations, and began moaning loudly.
Harold cupped his free hand under Ed's tight sac as he
worked on the engorged helmet. Now he gripped the skin
of the tight sac and began stretching it downward,
intensifying Ed's sensations. His head moved up, down,
and sideways as I watched in fascination. I was sated,
but the sight of Ed's rapid climb to orgasm gripped
me.
	Ed's moans became louder and then I saw his body arch
as he released his first load of sperm. He threw his
head back and yelped as I saw Harold's Adam's apple
move in its effort to swallow Ed's discharge. Ed
grunted hard as the second spasm gripped his body.
Harold was working on his glans, shaft and scrotum,
and Ed was helpless in his hands as the combined
effort drew the orgasm relentlessly from his tortured
body.
	Ed's hips bucked, thrusting his hot hard prick deeply
into Harold's mouth, searching for more friction
against the swollen glans. Now Harold drew back
slightly so that his lips touched only the front dome,
because he knew that Ed's tip, like mine, became
hyper-sensitive during orgasm. He kept Ed going by
maintaining the tension on his foreskin frenulum, and
scrotal skin, until Ed had emptied himself into his
mouth.
	As Ed's body relaxed, Harold returned to me. He slid
a hand under my balls, probing for the posterior
urethra. He pressed a finger into it, forcing the
remaining fluid forward. Now he pressed against the
underside of my shaft to push the residue up my prick.
He slid my foreskin back far enough to bare my slit,
and licked the dribble of sperm that emerged. Now he
ran his tongue around my glans, cleaning it
thoroughly, and made sure my prepuce fully covered my
glans before he turned back to Ed.
	He gave Ed's now shrunken prick the same treatment,
sliding a fingertip the length of his urethra, and
intercepting the creamy drop as they poured from the
long slit. Then he cleaned the helmet thoroughly and
replaced the hood over the head.
	After a couple of minutes Ed and I were fully revived
from the daze into which we'd fallen after coming, and
Ed looked at Harold's swollen, unfulfilled prick. He
spoke:
	"I've got something special for you, something that
maybe you never had before." He got up and went into
the house, returning with a vibrator. The vibrator ran
on household current, not batteries, and Ed plugged it
in. He squirted several drops of Astroglide into the
bell's cavity and spread the lubricant around the
inside. "This lube makes it easier to slip the bell
onto your helmet," he explained. "Ever use a
vibrator?" he asked.
	"I've got a little battery-powered on at home, small
like a candle."
	"This is pretty powerful," Ed explained, "because it
runs on AC. It's also got a special attachment," he
said while pointing.
	"This is a custom-made cup that we made to fit over
our heads. Yours is a lot like ours, so I think it's
going to be a good fit for you." He grasped Harold's
shaft to stabilize it while he slipped the bell-shaped
cup over the glans and made sure it was seated fully
before asking:
	"Are you ready?" Harold nodded. "Okay, hold on tight.
This will hit you hard." He turned on the switch and I
heard the vibrator's loud buzzing. Harold gripped the
arms of his chair convulsively, shocked at the
intensity of the vibrations that were driving deeply
into his glans and shaft. Harold had been hard for
longer than either Ed or me, and the hammering
sensations pushed him into orgasm immediately. He
yelled loudly as his hips bucked, thrusting his hot
tip upward as if to push it deeper into the vibrator
bell. I saw the thick white cream leaking from under
the bell's rim, flowing down the shaft as Harold's
body convulsed again. Harold was crying out helplessly
as we had, fully caught up in the fury of his orgasm.
His eyes were closed and his face contorted as he blew
load after load into the vibrating bell.
	Ed and I knew exactly what he was feeling, as we'd
used the vibrator on each other many times. We gazed
into each other's eyes in silent understanding,
contemplating the heavy buzzing that drilled into
Harold's hot hard helmet and intensified his
sensations. We knew that this was irresistible,
inevitably bringing on climax despite any effort to
remain relaxed, and accentuating each ejaculation by
heightening the sensations.
	Ed kept the bell pressed firmly onto Harold's helmet,
ensuring good contact to give him the maximum benefit
of the hot sensations. When he was satisfied that
Harold was thoroughly drained, Ed turned off the
vibrator and removed the bell from Harold's shrinking
helmet. I leaned forward, inhaling the characteristic
chlorine odor as I licked his glans and shaft clean.
	"This works especially well with circumcised guys,"
Ed said as Harold opened his eyes. "The nerve endings
on the surface of your glans are dried out and less
sensitive, but a powerful 110 volt vibrator hits the
deep-seated ones too, and this gives you really
powerful sensations."
	"You can say that again," Harold said, shaking his
head. "That was wonderful. Thanks a lot, guys." I
leaned down to hug him, saying:
	"Thanks to you, too. You gave me a really hot orgasm
a few minutes ago. You really drained me."
	"You really drained me too," Ed echoed. "I'm glad we
were able to give you a hot one in return. Now let's
go in and shower, and get ready for bed. Harold's got
to get up early."

Continued in Part 4