Date: Mon, 8 Dec 2014 06:22:16 -0500
From: bldhrymn@aol.com
Subject: Catfish and the Debutant 5

Catfish and the Debutant 5
By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex.  If this offends or
bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a
discussion of safe sex. If you have, comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com

If you enjoy these stories, please consider giving a donation to Nifty!

Terry gave me an additional bit of information.  Tammy Bell of
Belle-Beauregard owned a new-age salon-spa named Serenity. It was located
next to the Belle-Beauregard guesthouse near the battery. It was expensive
and semi-mystical. Some of the Bell-Beauregard associates used it
weekly. One had bragged that he needed to look his best. The next morning,
I asked Pinkney about it.

Pinkney knew about the spa, but he did not know Bell was involved. I said
that I would like to check it out. Pinkney said it was not exactly open to
the general public. It served selected guests, and admission was by
recommendation.

"Shit, I guess it would take an Act of Congress to get me through the
door," I remarked.

"I have some connections," Pinkney said. I went to have breakfast and when
I returned, Pinkney had worked his magic. "I have a friend, Aubrey
DeVine. He a well-known and very exclusive interior decorator. He is swishy
but likes rough trade. He is into construction workers and truck
drivers. The cruder the man, the better he likes it. He does like them
clean and he sends them to Serenity for industrial strength cleaning."
Pinkney explained. "If you could visit Aubrey, he can send you there.  You
aren't the type they like at the spa, but Aubrey is a good customer."

I met Aubrey and thought he was doing an imitation of a flaming fag
directly from Mel Brooks' the Producers. My personal hygiene is taking a
shower. That was not what Aubrey wanted. I always look ratty. He called
Serenity and said he had an emergency clean up case for them. It was
Tuesday, a slow day. I drove to the salon in my twenty year old, Dodge
Charger.  The parking valet looked at it as if it might infect him.

It was nice inside, but receptionist rushed me to the back so that none of
the customers would see me. A nice body builder type called Stoney met
me. The front desk people had been curt and almost rude. Stoney was
pleasant and polite. I took of my clothes and he gave me a towel. The towel
slipped off and once I was naked, he became more polite. I was sunburned,
scratched and bruised from my work and the run in with Wallace the day
before.

I assumed Stoney was either gay or was gay accommodating. He was handsome
and could have been a centerfold. Even if he was straight, I guessed he
would not mind a blowjob, or a quick poke in a client's ass. Only one part
of me is impressive. Stoney liked it, but he seemed to like the entire
package. A friend once told me once that I had double the usual male
characteristics. These ultra-male characteristics combined into an
undersized, ugly man, me. Stoney was interested.

He worked with me exclusively.  I suspected that they did not want me
mixing with their usual clientele. Stoney had served Aubrey and several of
Aubrey's men before, so he know I was gay. He did a quick physical exam
that included a blood test. We went to a two-man steam room. He joined
me. I asked him if he knew what Aubrey planned for me.

"He seems to be pretty vanilla; he likes men who look scary," Stoney
said. "He's kind of fickle, but there are no hard feelings when he moves on
to another man.  He pays well." He took a long look at my cock.  "You are
quite a bit bigger than he likes."

"You aren't talking about my height, are you?" I asked.  Stoney smiled.

"One of the guys told me that Aubrey isn't that big himself, and he shoots
off quickly. The guy was not usually a bottom, but he said being fucked by
Aubrey was painless and then mentioned Aubrey is generous," Stoney said. "I
liked Aubrey's pick-ups. They weren't demanding."

"Do you have customers who are difficult?" I asked.

"Not many," he replied. "Most guys think they have won the lottery when
they get me. Some of Tammy's boys are a problem. They are good-looking
studs and know it.  Some are nasty.  They make a lot of money, but that
does not seem to make them any nicer. One of them wanted me to pay him a
hundred bucks to fuck him. They pay me well here; sex is not part of the
services. I get inspired once and a while, but that is not for cash.  Some
of Tammy's boys get a lot of money from their clients, but they have to
share it with Tammy."

"Is it a percentage deal?"

"I didn't get into the details," Stoney replied.  "Tammy's boys are
handsome men, but I am strictly professional. The manager here is a close
to Tammy.  He told me she does not like her stable of studs to give it
away. Why waste an orgasm, when you can get paid real bucks with a client?"

"That makes sense," I said. "What happens if you carried away?"

"I work here, but my cock is not part of the business deal with me," he
said. " If I am inspired, I can be playful. I get tense too sometimes. I
like a little release." He leaned close to me. "The manager, Rodney, is not
into the sex for pay stuff. He is afraid the cops will bust us for
prostitution. No cash passes hands for sex here.  That is good for me.  I
tell clients that Rodney checks to make sure I don't have extra cash when
we leave at the end of the day. That protects me from messing around with
trolls or assholes. Some of the staff meet clients at home after work, but
I tell them I have a jealous lover."

We left the steam room, showered and then went into a whirlpool.  He went
off briefly and returned with smile. A massage with lots of oils and
lotions followed the whirlpool. I told him that my ass was not virgin, but
it was tight from lack of recreational use. Stoney looked me in the eye and
said he could help me with that. "Do you mind a deep body massage?" he
asked.

"I don't know what a deep body massage is, but I doubt I will object at
all," I said. I was looking directly at his equipment as I said that. He
was wearing light-weight gym shorts, the kind that needs a jock underneath
to be decent.

"I'm negative and you are negative too," he said.  "Aubrey likes to take
the load. Redneck cum in his ass turns him on. If there is a slip up during
the deep massage and I shoot off, it's not a problem."

Stoney's deep massage was relaxing and intensely pleasurable.  He fingered
me from the rear and played with my prostate. He cock was seven inches and
thick with a good-sized head. He eased it into me effortlessly. I think he
was naturally friendly and we talked as he pumped away. I asked if he was a
pure top, or if he took a ride once and a while.

"I'm a natural top, but I had a good time on the bottom a few times," he
said. "It has to be the right guy to be good for me.  Do you top?"

"I sure do. That my preference," I said.

"Are you uncomfortable with me in you?"

"I am just fine. You are real good," I replied.

"How do you find men willing to take it?" Stoney asked.

"I think men are often attracted to big ones. Some are just sight seers,
but other want more," I said. "If you want it enough, you can take it.  It
may take some time, but I am willing to take the time and do it right. Some
men like to shove a cock in deep on the first thrust. I like to work it
in. If I can get a guy to relax, it easier for him to open up. I like to
talk and if he lets his guard down, I'm in him. My cock isn't the
problem. It is the fear of my cock."

Stoney laughed. "You've made a study of it!"

"If I'm not mistaken, you know a lot about the science of fucking," I
replied. He laughed again and I felt his sperm shooting into my ass. "Churn
it up a little and make it last," I said. I squeezed my buns and rotated my
ass. Stoney moaned.

He pulled out when he received a phone call. It was Aubrey. He wanted a
report on the progress of the cleanup. Stoney was the man who took the hard
cases for him. Stoney told him that I would take some extra work, but that
Aubrey would like the result. I heard him use the words big and humongous.
I could fill in the rest of the conversation.

Stoney told me that Aubrey usually called to check on the progress. He also
wanted to know how accommodating I was. "I gave you a good review. Aubrey
wanted to know if you would take a cock in the ass.  He almost always wants
to bottom, but likes to think of himself as a top."

"What was the extra work I need?" I asked.

"I was hoping to have some up close and personal time with you," Stoney
said. "I'm off work now, but I live a few blocks away. Are you interested?"
As it happened, I was. I did not know what he had planned, but I expected
it was to get down and dirty.

I guessed right. Stoney would been the perfect man to play the innocent who
discovers the joys of sex during a chance encounter with a macho stud. He
was a pleasant, cheerful, all-American boy on the surface. That was true
except for his need for heavy-duty man sex. He did not exactly want me, but
he wanted my cock. I may have been there to satisfy his curiosity, but once
I was in him, all was well.

He told me he felt some new things, new sensations as I eased into his
welcoming ass. He sounded surprised.  I think he may have entertained on
the back porch more often than he told me. Once he was comfortable, he went
visiting some places he had never visited before. He was vocal in his
appreciation, but most of the time he just moaned and twitched.

After leaving Stoney, I returned to see Aubrey, to thank him for
helping. He was alone in his office. "It seems that you and Stoney hit it
off," he said,

"We did. He looks great, but it seems he likes to slum," I said.

Aubrey smiled. "Stoney and I share some common interests," he
observed. "This may sound tacky, but I would love to take a gander at your
tool."

"I have no problem with tacky at all," I replied. "You can take a look, or
even a taste of it, if you are so inclined."

"Did you shoot off with Stoney?"

"I did, but I have a short recharge time," I said. "I shoot redneck
high-test."

"I am sometimes uneasy about swallowing," he said.

"Stoney tested me and I am negative, it that worries you," I said. We went
to the back office and Aubrey proved to be a first rate cock sucker. He
took my load with enthusiasm. We talked a little afterwards. I mentioned
that Stoney did not like the men he referred to as Tammy's boys.

"You don't need to worry about them, you need to be wearing a Rolex watch,
and have a billfold chock full of cash sticking out of their back pocket
for them to even say hello," Aubrey said. "I had an interlude with one of
Tammy's boys, Neil. He came back a week later saying he had pictures. He
wanted money. I told him that everyone in Charleston knows I am a fag and
he could fuck himself. He left and I saw him driving off with
Mr. Beauregard Jones."

"Everyone here knows you're gay?" I said in mock shock.

"Charleston isn't exactly right. I service the both Carolinas and Georgia
too!" he added "I'm thinking about opening a branch office in Florida," We
laughed. I did not have to work that night so I went back to the
dorm. Pinkney called me and said Belle-Beauregard needed a man to handle
the beer at a beach party. He asked if I could help.

"They called you?" I asked.

"No, they called a temp service that does restaurant staffing.  I wouldn't
mention you work for me." I was happy to oblige. I went to the temporary
service and was in a van a half hour later.  The party was at a gated
community on one of the barrier islands. The party was for Mr. and
Mrs. Jefferson Winters. He was a banker.

Belle-Beauregard had a supervisor, Tiffany Jones, who was hard as
nails. She was sweetness and light with Mr. Winters and a Nazi storm
trooper with her staff.  She gave me a uniform. They had an old bus filled
with uniforms and equipment.  It was just black pants and a white shirt.  I
found some that fit, dressed and went to the kegs to set them up.

Tiffany's mood swings were so spectacular, I wondered if it was a dual
personality problem.  I asked one of the men working with me about it.  He
said Tiffany's mood depended on the bank account of the person she was
talking with.  The party was for a much younger and rowdier crowd that
Pinkney's parties.  Beer was the beverage of choice. I did not think
Pinkney's did keg parties. He like more upscale events.

Tiffany came to check up on me.  I had it all set up and was ready to
go. She mellowed a little. The Belle-Beauregard staff was all young and
attractive. The female staff wore white shirts that were unbuttoned to
expose cleavage and skirts were borderline too short. Men's pants were
tight.

The food seemed to be barely one or two steps up from standard bar
food. The emphasis was on drinking. The party turned out to be an
old-fashioned beer blast.  Tiffany checked up on me several times. I asked
her what the policy on drunks.  She said they were all adults; let them
alone. The party started at eight, by ten most of the crowd was drunk; some
were very drunk.

The Belle-Beauregard staff was drinking some too, and they were getting
friendly. The well-landscaped property provided bushes and dark spots where
you could hide. Couples and some staff members took advantage of that. One
of the waiters was talking to a young man wearing a Rolex. The waiter had
unbuttoned his shirt and adjusted his equipment for the man to see.

One of the waiters was with a young woman decked out in a designer dress
and diamonds. That struck me an odd choice for a beach party. She seemed to
be very drunk.  A photographer was taking pictures in the bushes. He wore a
hat with a wide brim so I couldn't see his face.  He had several cameras,
and one was suited for night shots in low light.  I recognized the lens.
It was not for the sort of pictures you put on the refrigerator as a
souvenir of the party. Someone called the photographer Montclair. I love
names that are distinctive and easy to remember.

 I was busy filling plastic cups with beer and had trouble watching the
action.  I did not like the scene at all. Someone was going to be hurt.

Someone through a cigarette into a trashcan filled with paper and plastic.
It all but exploded. Belle-Beauregard had a thatched cabana like thing they
used as a buffet on the beach. The thatch caught fire. Some of the guests
seem to think it was something like a fireworks display. They just watched
until they realized it was a real fire. The sea breeze blew thatch and
flames into the sky.

I could hear sirens in the distance and the sounds were getting
nearer. Someone must have called the fire department and a good portion of
the guests vanished. In about five minutes, fire trucks came with emergency
crews and the police. The party was over and the firemen put out the fire
in five or the minutes.

It was very confused. Tiffany had vanished along with most of the
Belle-Beauregard staff. Many of the guest had run away. Most of those who
remained were too drunk to drive. After a half hour of standing around and
answering questions, I offered to provide a taxi service for the stranded
party guests.  I was stone cold sober.

Several of the neighbors helped with that. They took the girls and I took
the boys home. I learned a lot from the conversations in the car.  The
Belle Beauregard events were noted for drinking and one guest said that if
your date wouldn't put out, you could always score with a waitress after
the party. "They aren't cheap, but the staff is friendly," he said. I made
three trips and then returned to the house.

The police questioned me, but since I was just a temporary worker I
couldn't help much. The hosts of the party seem dazed. The place was a mess
and I was the only one from Belle-Beauregard so I helped the firefighters
and the son of the owner clean the worst of the debris. The main effort was
to make sure that there were no embers in the mess. Parts of the thatched
roof were still smoldering.

I got the bed around four. Pinkney woke me at 9:00, he had heard about the
fire and wanted details. It all sounded odd to him. Belle-Beauregard
usually kept their employees on a short leash. I told him that supervisor,
Tiffany, seemed to be that type, but she vanished when the fire broke
out. I also told him that the staff had been drinking and was mingling with
the guests.

"I fire anyone who does that," Pinkney said. "It is dangerous and
unprofessional. No one will hire a bunch of drunks for a party.  I can't
believe they let that happen. We always have fire extinguishers on hand.
They are mostly for candles tat fall over."

I had a call from the police asking me in to make a formal statement on the
fire. I got dressed and went to the police headquarters. I was not too
surprised when the detective in charge was Tommy Gerard. He was with a man
from the Fire Marshall's office, Lenny Jones. Gerrard told Jones I was a
private detective looking into a blackmail scheme.  Jones was there because
the thatched cabana unit had been used for indoor parties.  It would have
to have been coated in fire retardant for indoor use.  It obviously was not
fire proof. The cabana was the sort of thing that caused the Coconut Grove
fire.

I told them what I had seen. It was not much but they were interested.
Tammy and Beau seemed to be out of the country visiting a Caribbean
island. I usually associate that with money laundering. Tiffany did not
have the right documentation to run a party with liquor. These were all
minor problems, but having the firm's owners leave the country suggested
much more.

Gerard wanted the Fire Marshall to be front and center in the
investigation. He was hoping to allay suspicions that the police were
looking at murder and blackmail. I went with Jones to the site of the party
to explain what I had seen there.

The place was still a mess and no one from Belle-Beauregard had been there
to do any cleanup. The hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson Winters said they were
unaware of any problems until the fire broke out. "I didn't want to use
these caterers, but Jeff insisted," his wife said. Mr. Winters seemed
subdued. One of the neighbors saw us talking and came over. They were
enraged. A loud party is one thing, burning the house down is another
situation.

Jones discovered that the thatch had never been fire treated. Mrs. Winters
had promotional materials from Belle-Beauregard that showed the cabana in
use at a ballroom. If the cabana had burned in an enclosed space, it might
have caused a panic. That was a serious fire hazard.

I asked Jones if he had heard of a photographer named Montclair. He said
no. Jones was young, perhaps 35 and very gung-ho. He had been a firefighter
but had been injured saving a child in a fire. He went back to see if there
was another person in the building and part of the structure fell on him.

Jones was knowledgeable, polite and firm, but not experienced. He was new
to the job.  He knew the fire regulations well. He was not experienced with
interrogations.  The burning thatched cabana and sea breeze was a disaster
in the making.  He noticed that Mr. Winters' reactions were not typical.
"If I had a caterer almost set my house on fire, I would be pissed," Jones
said.

"I think he looked more scared than pissed," I said. "His wife didn't want
Belle-Beauregard, and she didn't strike me as the sort of woman who would
keep her opinions to herself. He had to have a strong reason to want to use
Belle-Beauregard."

We were an odd pair. He was tall and wore pressed slacks, an ironed shirt
and a tie. He was prim and proper. I am small and sloppy. When I said he
was inexperienced, he made up for that by being smart and observant. He
dropped me off at the dorm. The place was empty. Everyone was at work. I
called had a thought and called Aubrey. I asked him if he knew of a
photographer named Montclair.  I struck pay dirt.