Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2014 19:15:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Find sOld Gold 12

Catfish finds Old Gold 12

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!

Some of my friends claim I am oversexed.  I admit I might be classified as
being sexually active. I do like sex, but I think that I am similar to most
of the human race in that respect.  I also think that my playmates like sex
too.  Most like it enough to come back for more.

I know some men like my cock more than they like me. One pal told me that
he thought my cock was like a natural landmark. Many people like to visit
the Grand Canyon, but they do not necessarily want to live there. I do not
object to satisfying curiosity.

Usually satisfying a playmate's curiosity is good for me too. My cock seems
to enjoy the tightness of an adult male's backside. It warm and cozy in
there. It's nice when the man is moaning a little and twitching some. As I
get older, I discovered that I love it when I can send a man to a place he
has never been to before. It's good when a macho guy turns into a sex toy,
desperate for my cock.

I think it would be nice if I could fuck for hours, but it seems it
cannot. Even when I am leisurely probing a man's ass, the urge to climax
begins to bubble up. Sometimes the man has an orgasm his twitching ass
inspires me. Urges rise and come to the surface. When I was younger, I
tried to hold back and avoid an orgasm. That effort was 100% unsuccessful.

I have also tried to pull out before I shot off and shoot on him rather
than in him.  I was never good at gauging when I was going to shoot. I
figure that once a man has a few spurts of my ball juice in his ass or
mouth, he might as well take it all.  Some men do not like that, but I had
noticed that doesn't affect them that much. Most come back for more,
including those who took a mouthful of sperm.

At the Academy, I played guard more than I expected since the crowds were
larger than anticipated. I enjoyed guard duty since the people were greatly
varied and interesting. The event was a gold mine for the police. They
reconnected with many suspect persons who had dropped off the radar
screen. They were at the exhibit and had credit cards and plane
reservations. The police could track them.

J.J. did not appear, but Rusty was happy anyway.  Several known associates
attended. They provided leads.  When J.J. fled from his plantation house,
he abandoned part of his staff.  While the police knew some things about
his staff, the abandoned staff people were bitter and filled him in about
the rest.

Two men who had been with J.J. when he escaped came to the exhibit. One was
an accountant named Douglas Delmar, and the other was servant, Roscoe
Williams.

Roscoe was J.J.'s personal servant, his valet. They had been together for
almost 30 years. He was rarely seen apart from his master. Roscoe was a
tall dapper man with a carefully trimmed black beard. There were few
photographs of him.

The man who visited the exhibit was tall, ill kept and had a wild white
beard. Fortunately, facial recognition software had no problem identifying
him. The software discounts hair color since it can be easily
altered. According to one of the staff members in custody, Roscoe was a
nice man.  They described him as affable, harmless and by no means the
brightest light bulb in the hardware store.

He was simply a servant. No one thought Roscoe was involved in anything
criminal. Some of J. J.'s former employees seemed to think that J.J. had
forgotten how to button his shirt. He was dependent on the servant.

In contrast, Douglas was a fixer. He did things for the
multimillionaire. Rusty said he did not actually do things; he hired people
to do things. That he was at the exhibition, indicated that J.J was in
difficulty. He must not have had access to his normal flunkies.

"I think Douglas must had impressed Roscoe into service.  Douglas had a
real aversion to doing anything himself," Randy said.

Douglas vanished as soon as he left the exhibit. Roscoe went to a rundown
motel near downtown. The police had him under observation. He stayed in the
room all day and only went out to eat at a nearby Burger King. Randy
thought he was waiting for instructions. He asked if I might be able to
help him by checking out Roscoe.

The next afternoon I was outside the Burger King waiting for Roscoe. He
appeared just before noon. I got in line behind him and we shared a table.
It took a minute or two of conversation to realize that Roscoe was not a
criminal mastermind. He was lonely and afraid. I asked him why he was in
town.  He said he was waiting for a friend. I said that I was just visiting
and that I had been cooped[BW1] up in a meeting all morning. I was going to
a park to get some fresh air and asked if he would like to join me.

Roscoe said he would like that.  I took him to a city park that included
some elaborate gardens and a wild life exhibit. Roscoe loved that. He was
into animals big time.  I liked him and wondered if he was a peon who was
being groomed as a fall guy.

I wanted to help him, but had no idea how to do it. I had no plans once we
finished looking at the animals. I made a visit to the men's room and
Roscoe joined me. I got lucky. Usually I am good about picking out gay
men. I had misjudged Roscoe. When he glanced at my cock, it was love at
first sight. Roscoe was a size queen.

"Damn, you've got a nice one," he whispered.



"You like them big?" I asked. He nodded and smiled.



"Do you like to play?" he asked. I told him that I sure did.

We went to his motel room, stripped and went at it. At first, he just
wanted to look, but he soon began to suck. I found out a lot about Roscoe
over the next hour. He had a classic, burly bear's body. He was a polar
bear with a fireplug type cock. He was also entirely passive.

When I sucked his cock, Roscoe seemed to be shocked. I always say cock
sucking can only be so bad and that was the case with Roscoe. He loved it,
but he apologized. After a little discussion, I discovered he was J.J.'s
sex toy.  J.J. also made him available to anyone who wanted a blowjob or
wanted to fuck. Roscoe liked to be sucked, but that was a rare and
enjoyable experience for him.

I also took a ride on his cock that was successful for both of us.  When I
sat on his mushroom, the knob formed a little pillow supporting my
prostate. It was good. It hit the right place. When I fucked him, I
discovered that my pleasure was minor compared to Roscoe's reaction. My man
tool seemed to generate an impressive reaction in his ass. If you are a
size-queen-bottom, my cock is Christmas and the Fourth of July wrapped in a
single package.

Every movement of my cock generated intense pleasure for him. His eyes
crossed; he moaned, shivered and all but convulsed as I plowed him. I
pulled out a few times because I thought he needed to breathe.  He begged
me to fuck him more and harder. Roscoe shot off four or five times.  It was
no more than five or ten minutes after each orgasm that he wanted me in him
again.

We talked between orgasms.  As a child, his family treated him badly; he
was a big dummy. J.J. met him when he was bellhop at a hotel. They
connected. J.J. liked sex rough.  Roscoe was used to that and could take
anything J.J or his friends could dish out. He became J.J. valet.  As long
as Roscoe eventually climaxed, he was happy. Roscoe had beautiful
orgasms. They were messy, plentiful and explosive spewing sperm everywhere
as his body twitched and shivered.

His entire rectum seemed to convulse when he shot off. My cock found that
to be an attractive feature. The first time it happened, I thought it was a
fluke. When I realized it was a regular feature of his orgasms, my cock
began to anticipate it. I was sure he was real experienced, but he was
genuinely enthusiastic about my cock.  All good things end; I had to get
back to work.

I was dressed when I heard a loud bang outside. It sounded like an
explosion or a bomb.  I went to the window and looked out. A second later,
a bullet shattered the glass and just missed me. I felt it wiz by my
face. I ducked and two more bullets entered the room. A minute later, I
could hear sirens, and a few instants after that, someone was at the door.
It was the police.

Captain Miller appeared and all was well. I was sure the attack was on
Roscoe, not me. I had just glanced out of the drapes when assailant shot.
He would not have had time to recognize me.

Roscoe was scared from both the attack and the police. He was afraid of the
police, but he did not know why. Douglas Delmar, the accountant, had told
him they were after him, but he had no idea that they were really after
J. J. and Douglas.

Outside police were everywhere hunting for the shooter. We were in the
middle of the city and there was no real way to close off the area. Roads
and streets led in every direction.

Miller is a good cop and a friend. He sized up Roscoe quickly and
recognized Roscoe's limitations. He was calming and almost fatherly to
Roscoe. He thought Roscoe knew something, which is why he was attacked, but
there was a good chance Roscoe did not know the significance of that
information.

"Do you think that Roscoe is involved?" Miller asked me.

"He may have seen something, but I don't think he would know the
significance of what he saw," I said.

"Could he testify to it?" Miller asked.

"He could, but he could never survive cross examination," I said, "A good
lawyer would rip him to shreds. He might be able to give us a lead, but
that is as much as he could do."

"That's the way I see it. I think I will hold him as a material witness,"
he said.

"I don't think that's a good idea. For Roscoe, I think jail is jail.  He
wouldn't understand the difference," I said. "Could you turn him over to my
custody? I could take him home and calm him down.  I doubt he knows what's
going on."

Miller agreed. I took Roscoe to my apartment. It was quiet and peaceful
there.  Billy, one of my oldest and most red neck operators was there. He
was friendly and hit it off with Roscoe immediately. He would watch Roscoe
when I was away.  Miller said he would come over later to talk with Roscoe.

I went off to the Academy for guard duty. When I came back afterwards,
Miller was with Roscoe. They were just getting out of the shower. It was
late and Miller went home. I went to bed. Roscoe slept on the couch.

I knew that Roscoe was sexual generous, but had no idea Miller was
interested. If he was naked in the shower, there was no way that Roscoe
would have resisted temptation.

Only five more days remained in the exhibitions run. I was busy at the
Academy and Miller came to visit Roscoe almost every day. When I got home
on the last Friday of the exhibit, Roscoe was asleep and Miller was
happy. Roscoe remembered that J.J. visited some place he thought they
called Snake Island where he had a man cave. It was in the Dismal Swamp.

Roscoe told Miller that the man who we had found dead in the art vault had
jokingly called the man cave the pirates' hiding hole. That had greatly
bothered J. J. who told him to shut up. Miller thought the hiding hole was
too secret to be mentioned.

Miller had called the local police chief who had the swamp in his
jurisdiction, Jake Connolly. He knew the swamp as well as any man did. He
did not know of Snake island, but knew of a Rattler Island and he had heard
about something called Blackbeard's' Hole. Blackbeard's Hole was part of
the elaborate pirate related myths of the swamp. Rattler Island was real,
although it was not an island.  It was just a less swampy area.

The myths said that Blackbeard's Hole was near the eastern side of the
swamp. Rattler Island was well inland. Jack said he would check out the
island at dawn. Miller told him to be well armed.  Jake did not need to be
told that.

"I got more involved with Roscoe than is right," Miller said.

"Don't worry about that," I said. "You know I'm the last man on earth to
complain about that sort of thing. It doesn't bother me."

"It sure bothers me," Miller said. He had to go home and I went to bed.

On Saturday, Beauregard and Barton showed up with Wilbur and Roger. Wilbur
and his research assistants had struck pay dirt. They had found a notice in
a paper dating from September 1865 asking for information on the
whereabouts of Timothy O'Malley and his crew, James, Titus and Jumbo.  They
were masons and had vanished in April of 1865. The request was from a Mary
O'Malley of Dublin and anyone with information was to send a letter to the
Catholic Bishop of Richmond. There was a $25.00 reward. That sort of notice
filled the papers of that period. $25.00 was big money in 1865.

The papers were publishing again, but it easily took months for people to
realize a family member was missing the in the confusion of the last days
of the war.  Thousands were missing, lost or dead.

Wilbur had also made contact with a man who was writing a book on the
construction of the canal.  He had made a study of mason's marks.  Masons
put a personal mark on each stone to make sure they were paid. The marks on
the island vault matched some of those found on a stone bridge over the
canal built in 1860. Researchers had found one master mason's list of
marks. These included O'Malley's, a rotated square indicating the letter
"O."

We had our victim. You would think that murdering four men would be a big
event, but April 1865 was the best time in the city's history to commit
murder. Richmond was burning and civil order had vanished.

That morning, the police found J.J.'s friend Douglas in the river.  He was
shot with bullets from the same weapon that shot at Roscoe and me. J.J. was
cleaning up the loose ends.  That was a good sign. Crooks are not the
smartest men in the world, but they usually have good self-preservation
instincts. When your boss is killing off his close associates, it is bad to
be the last remaining associate.

Wilbur was close to the medical examiner and he filled Beauregard in on
some of the details of his father's death. There was only one shot and
death was instantaneous.  He had been shot in the back of his head and
probably had no idea he was in danger.

Beauregard look relieved. He had turned his father's notes over to the
police. They established his father's interests in the gold were academic,
not criminal. He had the misfortune of running into a con man, J.J.  I am
sure he had a convincing story.

Miller joined us and he had news. The police were in the swamp and when
they found the island, they came under fire. The state police was mounting
full scale, semi-military attack. Because of the swamp, it was a massive
effort. The number of murders associated with J.J. and his men were
mounting, and it was clear that there would be no happy outcome.

It was a media sensation, but the inaccessible location limited any direct
reporting. The television stations could not even get their copters
in. There were armed Apache helicopters in the sky. J. J. was wealthy
enough to escape by air.

I had finished my work; I could relax. Beauregard went off and bought some
beer. It turned into a little party. Most of the men did not know each
other, or knew them only slightly. They all recognized like spirits.
Roscoe was always ready for some fun.  Beer meant a few trips to the
bathroom, and Roscoe made a connection with Beauregard on one of these
trips.

Miller went in a little later and found them playing. He joined in.

I later found out Miller's earlier interlude with Roscoe had been more
successful than I had realized.  I knew Miller had recently been through a
bad divorce. The word was that his ex-wife made Lady Macbeth seem like Mary
Poppins. He had a lot of pent up needs and Roscoe was more than willing to
meet them.

I went in the bath and found Roscoe was sucking Miller as Beauregard pumped
his cock deep into Roscoe's ass.  It was a pretty picture. Miller looked at
me. He had a slightly sheepish look, but Roscoe was a good cocksucker and
Miller did not move; it was too good. Miller was the only one in the group
who might even be a little bit shy. With the exception of Miller, I had
played with all of the men. Wilbur, Roger, Barton and I joined the group in
the bath.

Miller adapted to the situation easily. I had been with everyone in the
group except for Miller and all of the men were comfortable sexually. My
bathroom was crowded, but that did not bother anyone. This there was a cock
down your throat or a cock in your ass, being close was not a problem.

Beauregard shot off and pulled out of Roscoe.  I took his place and Roscoe
loved it. Beauregard's semen made for a very easy entry. I went deep on the
first stroke.  It was smooth as silk.

"I had heard you possessed a world's fair exhibit," Miller said.  "I never
thought I's see in action."

"I'm not that shy," I replied. "You look like you are enjoying yourself."

"It embarrassing, but it's too good to stop," Miller said.  Roscoe loved to
suck and he was good at it.

"We are all boys here. We know what feels good," I said. "I'm not a kiss
and tell kind of man. We all have similar feelings; I'm not embarrassed to
show them. Relax and go with the flow."

"It's not private here," Miller whispered.

I smiled. "What is going in in Roscoe's mouth and in his ass is private," I
said. "No one cares what you are doing. A few guys here might like to taste
some of your special cop cum, but that is up to you."

Barton, Beauregard's pal, tapped me on the shoulder.  He wanted to try
Roscoe. Barton put his arms around Roscoe as he made a rear entry. Miller
dropped to his knees so he could suck Roscoe's organ.  I went over to a
shower to rinse off.  Wilbur bent over and I did him. In the other room,
Barton moaned as he rear loaded Roscoe.  That little trio broke apart. I
dried off and went to the bedroom.

We soon had regrouped. Miller connected with Wilbur, and that was a
complete success. Miller's fireplug organ hit the spot. Roger, Wilbur's
partner, looked on approvingly. He was next to Miller, giving him advice as
to how to ring Wilbur's chimes as he played with the cop's tits. Everyone
seemed congenial and happy. After an afternoon of play, Beauregard, Barton,
Wilbur and Roger left and I was alone with Roscoe and Miller.

"I'm embarrassed to say this, but I had a great time here. I had no idea it
could be so good. I shouldn't have liked it but I did," Miller said.

"You noticed I liked it too?"  I replied.

"I loved it," Roscoe added. "Your friends are really nice."

"I knew you guys liked that sort of stuff," Miller replied. "This may sound
stupid, but it doesn't seem right for me to like it. I was thinking it was
a bromance. In reality, it was really just 100% sex. I feel like I'm off
the reservation."

"Just think of it as a quick trip to the wild side," I said. "I thought you
were enjoying yourself?"

"The truth is, I loved it," Miller admitted. "I had forgotten that sex
could be fun."

Roscoe was on the bed and hoisted his legs us exposing his ass. He wanted
more. Miller's cock became fully erect. He stepped up to the plate and
eased his organ into the expectant hole. Roscoe sighed as the cock slid in
deep.

"If I was going to complain about man sex, I wouldn't do it while I was
fucking a guy," I said.  Miller looked at men and then burst out laughing.

"Perhaps I doth protest too much," he said. "Maybe, I should let my cock do
my thinking for me." He began to moan as he shot off. He pulled out and I
took his place.

"Would it embarrass you if I said your sperm is giving me a nice tingle as
I churn it up?" I asked.

"Shit, Catfish. If my wife had said that just once to me I would be a happy
man!" We all laughed.