Date: Sat, 24 Mar 2007 13:24:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jacksantoro1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arrest Record, Part 4 Adult Friends, 4/?

Arrest Record, Part 4
By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com

	We'd set the alarm for 4 A.M. to allow Harold time to
get up and get to the office before us, so that he
might scan the transcripts of our telephone taps. We
were all huddled together in the bed when it rang, and
I moved to let Harold get out on my side. He was
barely into the bathroom when I fell asleep again, and
I didn't hear him leave. Ed and I awoke at our usual
time, 6 A.M., and I made the coffee while Ed was in
the bathroom.
	"I told Harold we'd be working in civilian clothes
today," Ed told me when he came into the kitchen. We
might have to do a little surveillance." We dressed in
civvies and prepared to go to work. Harold had taken
the car, and we hitched a ride with another ICE Agent
who lived nearby.
	Harold was at his desk working through the stack of
transcripts when we arrived. I noted with delight that
he was almost finished.
	"Did you speed-read, or just skim the pages?" I
asked.
	"Neither," he replied. "I'm a fast reader aand I read
every word." I was happy to hear this. It was another
point in his favor.
	"We'll go get some coffee and bring you back a
container," I said. Ed and I went down to the
cafeteria and he sprang for three containers, which we
brought back with us. Harold was just finishing the
last page when we returned.
	We pulled our chairs next to his desk and Ed asked:
	"What were your impressions?"
	"Well, I know you're interested in any discussion
about Taylor's death," he began. "We don't have any
hard evidence that it was anything but an accident but
their reactions to it could give us a clue." Ed nodded
and Harold continued:
	"Several of the phone conversations covered this, and
all of them seemed to express shock and dismay. Nobody
said that he deserved it, or that this was the fate of
a traitor, or anything like that. Abdul said that
they'd have to find a replacement for Taylor in order
to carry out the plan, but he didn't say anything
about what the plan was."
	"That's good," I said. "You isolated the significant
conversations and did a good job evaluating them."
	"You're holding up your end," Ed added. "I'm glad of
that."
	"I'm glad I'm not just your boy-toy," Harold said
with a look of mock hurt.
	"You never were," I told him. "Oh, I know that you
think you were assigned to us because we're all gay.
Gay wouldn't cut it, really. You got here because you
have aptitude first. If you were a dud we wouldn't
carry you. You'd go back to a field assignment at some
border town next to Mexico." I grasped his hand as I
spoke, squeezing it gently. He squeezed back, and I
saw tears in his eyes.
	"I'm glad it's that way," he said. "I want to carry
my weight."
	"You're doing fine," Ed reassured him. "I was
listening very carefully while you were telling us
what you'd gotten from the transcripts. You were able
to articulate your reasons for believing that Taylor's
death was just an accident. You cited examples from
the transcripts to support this."
	"Some cops say they go by their hunches," I added.
"They have solid reasons for their deductions or
conclusions, but they're not able to articulate them.
They ascribe it to intuition. Well, I don't believe in
intuition. I think they just can't express themselves
adequately. You do."
	"Something else was in the transcripts," Harold said.
"I mentioned that there was talk of needing a
replacement for Taylor to carry out a plan. I don't
know what that plan concerns, or when it's going to
happen. There was no mention of a timetable. However,
it's clear that something's coming down, and that
someone else will be coming on the scene to replace
Taylor. I don't know whether he'll be coming from
another part of the country or from abroad."
	"Well, that poses more questions than it answers," Ed
said, "but it shows us a couple of avenues for
investigation. I think we'd better keep an eye on
Abdul, since he was Taylor's roommate and will
probably be the one to meet or welcome the new player
when he shows up. We'll monitor the transcripts
carefully, looking for any references to a rendezvous
or for someone to meet a new arrival at the airport or
bus terminal. That'll be your job, Harold."
	"How come you're such a fast reader?" I asked.
	"I was always a voracious reader since I was a kid,"
he answered.
	"I saw that you've got a four-year degree in
English," I continued. "Did you want to become a
writer or journalist?"
	"That was my first thought, but then I realized that
I didn't want to stand on the sidelines and write
about what other people were doing. I wanted to be
part of he action myself," he explained.
	"That's good," I said. "Ed and I have only two-year
degrees. I'm glad you're with us."
	"Now I think we'd better get a couple of unmarked
units and go over to Abdul's," Ed said. "Based on the
content of the conversations, he might be meeting
someone interesting today." We left the office and
picked up two surveillance cars at the car pool, both
foreign models that wouldn't look anything like
official vehicles.
	"Some cops think they won't be made as cops because
they drive unmarked vehicles," Ed explained to Harold.
"Anybody can see that they are, without the lights and
fancy paint jobs. Foreign models are best if you
really want to be unnoticed. Japanese cars are much
more common than European ones, which is why we don't
use Aston-Martins and Alfa-Romeos. Now you ride with
Jack in the Honda and I'll take the Toyota here. We'll
keep in touch with our portable radios and cell
phones." Harold got into the Honda with me as I took
the wheel, and we drove off to the apartment that
Abdul had shared with Taylor.
	When we arrived we followed standard procedure and
parked on opposite sides of the street and beyond the
intersections, facing in opposite directions. That
way, one of us would be able to follow Abdul whichever
way he went. We still had the front of the apartment
house in sight, but were far enough away so as not to
be immediately noticeable.
	Within 15 minutes I saw Abdul emerge and turn away
from us. I started the engine and Harold got on the
radio:
	"He's coming toward you," he told Ed. I saw Ed start
up and come towards us, turning the corner so that he
could come back onto the street in the right
direction.
	"Now as long as he's on foot, we can stay very
inconspicuous," I told Harold. "I'll pull up here and
you get out and follow him. Stay at least 100 feet
behind him and preferably on the other side of the
street. I'll hang back. Ed will be behind me. If he
turns his head, you stop. I'll come forward and pick
you up. You take the car and I'll follow him on foot.
You drop back behind Ed. If he turns his head again,
Ed will come and change places with me, and I'll get
on the end of the line. Got that?" Harold nodded as I
eased in toward the curb and he got out.
	Abdul didn't seem to be especially nervous or
cautious as we shadowed him. Once he turned into a
convenience store and emerged a minute later with a
soft drink container in his hand. I didn't know if
he'd been genuinely thirsty or if he'd used the moment
to scan the street behind him, so I caught up with
Harold and we traded places. Now as I took up the
trail on foot, I saw that Abdul was walking more
rapidly, eyes fixed straight ahead, seeming to be
searching for someone among the pedestrians.
	A dark-skinned man with black hair approached Abdul.
The newcomer appeared to be from the Middle East, and
I wasn't surprised when he took Abdul's arm and turned
to walk with him. They were conversing rapidly, and I
wished I could hear what they were saying. As they
were heading toward a sparsely traveled part of town,
the pedestrian traffic thinned, and we all dropped
back to avoid attracting attention.
	At one intersection they split, going at 90 degrees
down the cross-streets. Harold pulled up to me and I
got in. He briefed me quickly:
	"Ed said he'll follow Abdul, since Abdul hasn't seen
him yet. You and I follow the stranger." I knew that
Ed would have a hard time conducting a moving one-man
surveillance, and that he might have to beak off
contact to avoid being "made." This was an imperfect
plan, but we had to improvise.
	"I think Abdul might be going back home," I said.
"Even if Ed loses him, we know where he's probably
going." I knew that if Ed had to let go, he'd drive
back to Abdul's street and park on the next block,
waiting for him to arrive.
	Harold got out of the car to follow the new guy on
foot while I took the wheel and stayed back. The
stranger didn't seem to check for surveillance,
possibly since he'd accomplished his mission and was
relaxing. I explained this to Harold when I eased up
to change places with him:
	"He doesn't seem to be on his guard now that he's
accomplished his mission. That often happens. People
relax after they finish their mission." I got out of
the car and took up shadowing the newcomer. We took
turns trailing him on foot for three miles until he
went into another apartment house, a newer model that
was somewhat upscale compared to the modest one where
Abdul lived.
	Harold showed good judgment in not following the
stranger inside, where there was a severe risk of
being spotted. He came over and got in as I pulled up,
wrote down the address in his notebook, and we parked
down the block.
	"I want to make sure this guy doesn't come out
through another door or anything," I explained.
"That's a standard technique of shaking a tail." We
waited 15 minutes, during which time I got out of the
car and circled the block on foot to check if the
stranger had gotten out through a back entrance and an
alley. Finally we returned to the office. Ed was
already there.
	"Abdul didn't seem suspicious on the way back," Ed
told us. "I guess with mission accomplished, he
dropped his guard. How was your boy?"
	"Same thing," I said. "He didn't seem to be checking
for a tail either. Here's the address. It's an
apartment building."
	"What apartment number?" Ed asked after a quick
glance at the slip of paper I'd handed him.
	"We didn't follow him inside. There are about 40
apartments in that building."
	"Okay, we'll put a tap on every phone," Ed concluded.
"That ought to tell us pretty quick which one is his.
We'll also get a name, at least the name he's using
right now." Harold seemed surprised and I explained to
him:
	"Yes, we can tap phones any time we want. Still, with
all the uproar about the government's invading
people's privacy, these guys don't practice good
telephone security. Anyway, as soon as we zero in on
our suspect, we'll remove the taps from the other
phones. We just don't have the resources to find out
which good American citizen is cheating on his wife."
	Our surveillance had taken most of the day, and we
hadn't been able to stop for lunch. Ed told us:
	"We might as well go home. We'll take our undercover
cars, both of them. Harold, you ride with Jack and
I'll pick up something to eat along the way." We left
and got into our respective cars. Five minutes after
we got home Ed pulled up in the driveway, emerging
from his Toyota with a large pizza box.
	"This is a take-and-bake," he announced. "Just pop it
in the oven and 20 minutes later, fresh pizza." He
headed for the kitchen to start the pizza. Harold and
I were already naked, and we took three beers from the
refrigerator while Ed went into the bedroom to
undress. When he joined us on the patio he had a
kitchen timer and three dishes in his hands.
	"Don't want to let the pizza go overtime," he
announced as he set the timer in the middle of the
table. We picked up our beers and drank deeply.
Although we were in the shade, it had been a hot day
and we were thirsty.
	"Chances are we'd better all go in at the same time
tomorrow," I said. "We'll have a hell of a lot of
transcripts to review and we'll all be busy for a
couple of hours. We'll still dress in civvies, though.
What do you think, Ed?"
	"That sounds like a plan," he said. "We don't know
what's going to turn up so we'd better be prepared for
anything. I think we'd better go in an hour early,
though." We sat silently for a few minutes, unwinding
from what had been a busy day. When the timer rang Ed
went to fetch the pizza. He skillfully sliced it with
a big pizza wheel we'd found to be very effective, and
we let the pizza cool for a minute before tentatively
nibbling at the first slices. We'd experienced pizza
burns enough to have learned caution.
	Again, it was a hot evening, and our genitals were
relaxed instead of tight against our bodies. When we'd
finished our pizza and beer we sat looking at each
other. Harold, in particular, seemed to be getting
aroused from looking at both Ed and me. I commented on
this:
	"Looks like you're ready to go another round. You're
almost full hard and we haven't touched you yet."
	"You don't have to touch me," Harold replied. "Just
looking at those uncut cocks gets me thinking about
how nice they feel and how much I like to stroke those
skins."
	"Like to try something different this evening?" Ed
asked.
	"Tell me," said Harold. "You guys always have good
ideas."
	"Have you heard of `Princeton?'" asked Ed.
	"I know that's a university," Harold replied. "What
else is it?"
	"Inter-femoral thrusting," Ed told him. "That means
you put your cock between my thighs and pump away.
Meanwhile you reach over my body and stroke my
foreskin until I blow my load."
	"You wear a well-lubricated condom for this," I
added. "That's both to keep you from getting friction
burns on your prick from his body hair and to keep
your sperm from shooting all over his pubic hair."
Harold's eyes lit up while hearing the explanation,
and I knew it appealed to him. We cleaned off the
debris from our dinner and went into the bedroom. Ed
placed a folded towel on his side of the bed while I
lubricated Harold's prick with Astroglide and unrolled
a condom down its length Harold was gently stroking my
foreskin as I prepared his prick, and I was now fully
hard. Ed lay down facing away from us and Harold lay
down behind him. Ed lifted his right thigh and Harold
eased himself into position, his prick sliding between
Ed's thighs right behind his balls. Ed lowered his
thigh and said:
	"Okay, now you begin pumping at your own speed. Just
take it easy and enjoy the ride." Harold snaked his
hand over Ed's body and grasped his prick, already
half-hard, and worked the long supple foreskin up and
down.
	"I think you'll find that pelvic thrusts make the
orgasm more intense," I counseled him. "Keep thrusting
but try to keep your crotch muscles relaxed."
	"Maybe Ed and I can come together," Harold said. His
fingers, wrapped around Ed's hot hard penis, worked
the foreskin along it in long sensual strokes,
covering and uncovering the big helmet. The
stimulation was having its effect on Ed, and I saw
that his long slit was seeping clear fluid that kept
the sliding hood slick. I now lay behind Harold,
gently pinching his nipples and caressing his neck.
	"Just go easy on me," Ed advised him. "My cock's more
sensitive and you want to get ready to come before you
stroke me hard."
	"Okay, keep me posted on how you're doing," Harold
said.
	"I'll do better than that," Ed replied. "You keep
pumping, and when I feel you're ready to come, I'll
tell you to stroke me faster. Then, when I start to
come, I'll put a finger down between my legs and catch
you under the head. That's going to trigger your joy."
Ed and I had done this together many times and I knew
it was an effective method of synchronizing our
orgasms.
	I was keeping up with the action because my prick was
pressed against Harold's back, and I moved with him. I
wasn't getting much friction, mainly pressure, on my
prick, but it was more than enough to keep me aroused.
Harold kept up a steady rhythm that was easy for me to
follow.
	"I can feel you sliding inside the condom. You're
using nice long strokes," Ed commented. "That's very
good because it stimulates the nerves all along your
penis, not just the head."
	"Is he bumping your balls?" I asked Ed.
	"Oh, yes he is. That makes it even nicer for me."
	The three of us were breathing more heavily now
because of the exertion, and I knew that as our
arousal mounted, we'd be breathing even harder.
	"What about you, Jack? Harold asked. "When are you
going to come?"
	"Don't think about me. I'll come after you two guys
are finished. Right now concentrate on coming together
with Ed." I backed off slightly to reduce the pressure
on my prick, as I wanted to be fully aware when Ed and
Harold blew their loads, not lost in my own orgasm.
Harold picked up the pace somewhat.
	"This really feels good," he said to Ed. "I felt you
tighten your legs against my cock." I knew that Ed was
helping Harold heighten his excitement.
	"You're getting there," Ed said.
	"I know I am," Harold answered between hard breaths.
"Want me to give you some fast tight strokes?"
	"Go ahead, do me," Ed replied, gasping. Harold's arm
moved faster, and I knew he was pouring sensations
into Ed's prick because Ed's breathing became ragged.
I'd stopped moving with Harold's thrusts because I
didn't want to come yet, but each time Harold withdrew
his back pressed against my rigid prick. My foreskin
still covered my helmet completely. I was still
tweaking his nipples to add to his excitement, but
knew that the main sensation was coming from his
thrusting prick. I heard Ed grunt:
	"Any second now!" Harold increased the speed of his
thrusts, and I saw Ed's shoulder move slightly. I knew
he was now reaching between his thighs, probing for
the underside of Harold's thrusting helmet. It was hot
and sweaty in the room, and I knew that the effort was
about to climax.
	Both Ed and Harold cried out in joyful agony as they
discharged simultaneously. Harold's straining body was
hammering against mine and Ed's as he maintained his
deep thrusts between Ed's thighs. I knew that Ed's
finger had connected, probing the underside of
Harold's helmet and providing the vital stimulation
that had triggered Harold's explosion. Ed's body was
moving too, responding to the waves of sensation
sweeping through it. Their bodies strained against
each other as spasm after spasm shook them.
	The familiar chlorine odor of fresh hot sperm filled
the air and blended with our sweat as Ed's prick spit
jet after jet from its long slit. I was aware that
Harold's arm had stopped moving, and knew that
although he was still thrusting in the hot frenzy of
orgasm, he'd stopped stroking Ed's foreskin. He was
just holding it back hard, maintaining tension on its
nerve endings and the frenulum to keep Ed's orgasm
going without friction on the now super-sensitive
glans. I clung to Harold's body vicariously enjoying
the delights of his orgasm, but remaining far enough
from the brink so that I was in no danger of slipping
over it.
	Now both Ed and Harold were still, having spent
themselves, and I lay very still as well. I felt a
drop of lubricant crawling up my tube, finally seeping
from my orifice to lubricate the inside of my
foreskin.
	A couple of minutes later Harold had recovered enough
to speak:
	"Wow, that was really hot! You were right about
thrusting, Ed. How was it for you?"
	"I really drained myself this time," Ed replied. "I'm
glad you stopped stroking me after a couple of loads.
My cock was so sensitive it almost hurt."
	"I know you like me to keep your skin pulled tight
back," Harold said. "I'm glad I did it right. You did
it right for me when you dug your finger in under the
head. That made me blow my load." Ed lifted his thigh
and Harold pulled his shrinking prick from between his
thighs, holding on to the rubber ring at the base of
the condom to avoid spilling. I held a couple of
Kleenexes as he slipped the condom off his prick, and
then I milked his urethra, starting behind his scrotum
and following up along the underside of his shaft. I
grabbed another wad of tissues to catch the copious
dribble from his orifice.
	Ed had wadded up his towel and was wiping his prick
when Harold climbed over him and took his penis in his
mouth, sucking the residue while running his finger
along the underside of his shaft. Then, after licking
the fat helmet squeaky-clean, he gently pulled the
foreskin up to encase it. Then he turned to me.
	"Just lie on your back. I want to suck the sperm out
of your cock." I lay supine and Harold crouched over
me, grasping my shaft at the base and drawing the
foreskin down off the helmet. Ed moved to my other
side and cupped my tight scrotum in his strong
fingers. I felt Harold's soft lips moving over my
glans, first kissing the very end, his tongue probing
into my leaking slit.
	"Your helmet smells wonderful, and I love the salty
taste of your lube." His lips returned to my prick,
and now they engulfed my glans slowly, sliding down
until they locked behind my rim. I was very excited,
and the friction set up a delicious tickle in my
helmet. Now he drew his lips back enough to uncover
the corona and began a rapid pumping of my hood,
bumping the rim repeatedly, and I began moaning. He
twisted his head to produce the rotating friction he
knew aroused me, still bumping my rim with the thick
roll of foreskin.
	The friction of his lips made my corona feel hot and
each bump of the bunched-up foreskin against the rim
compressed the nerve endings, giving me more
sensation. I was breathing heavily, hurtling
helplessly toward the brink, where the full fury of
orgasm awaited me. Harold's tongue probed relentlessly
into my orifice, tickling the inside of the delicate
tube. Ed's strong fingers were gently kneading my sac,
and I felt my balls sliding against one another.
	Now my glans was totally turgid, in its final
swelling, the nerve endings stretched out and exposed
to stimulation, and a hot tingle replaced the tickling
sensation. My eyes closed involuntarily as a hot spark
exploded in my helmet and shot down my shaft to
trigger the first contraction and send a jet of lava
searing its way up my tube.
	I cried out helplessly as the thick liquid shot up my
prick, slammed through the lips of my distended slit,
and erupted into Harold's eager, waiting mouth. My
hips bucked as another spasm shook me, and I cried out
again. I'd been excited longer than Harold and Ed, and
now my pent-up fluids were discharging forcefully as
my prick pulsed in orgasm.
	My body was on automatic, my mind on "HOLD," as my
hips bucked to thrust my prick upward, deeper into
Harold's mouth. Each hot jet that burned its way up my
throbbing prick made me grunt loudly, as I was lost in
sensation. Harold's hot lips rotated around my tender
glans, drawing forth another torrent of semen. I felt
another burst of hot friction from his lips and
suddenly my helmet became hyper-sensitive and I
convulsed. I felt him remove his mouth and stop
pumping my foreskin, instead drawing it sharply back
and stretching its nerve endings. My straining
frenulum pulled the head down towards my toes,
triggering another hot spasm in the root of my prick.
	I shot again, but it was weaker this time. Several
more ejaculations followed, evidence of my dying
orgasm. I was still in limbo, mindlessly floating in
sensation, but also aware that it was ending. Now the
last spasm shook me, and then I was still.
	Gradually my breathing returned to normal, and I
opened my eyes to look at my softening prick. A
rivulet of white cream ran down the broad upper
surface of my glans and dripped onto my abdomen.
	"Still sensitive?" I heard Harold's voice. He was
experimentally working my foeskin up over the rim. I
shook my head and he lapped at the semen seeping from
my slit, and then farther down to lick it from the
glans. I felt a finger milking my urethra behind my
balls, and didn't know if it was Harold's or Ed's.
Harold milked my shaft, forcing out the last drops, as
he licked the residue emerging from my meatus. Now
that I was clean, he delicately and lovingly pulled my
foreskin fully up until it extended in a nipple beyond
my flaccid glans.
	Harold shifted his body and kissed me tenderly on the
lips. I hugged him to me and reached for Ed. He
snuggled up close to us, hugging us both.
	"We really work well as a team," he observed.
	"More ways than one," I contributed. He kissed me
too.
	"I'll set the alarm," he said. "We have to be up
early."

Continued in Part 5