Date: Thu, 3 Feb 2011 04:01:17 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Goes to School

Catfish Goes to School

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

My mother went to nursing school; Aunt Sarah went to a teachers college and
taught school for forty years.  Most of the time was at an upscale prep
school, St Cecelia's Academy in Randall, Virginia. It sat next to a boy's
school, St. Thomas' Academy for the Rich. I added the for rich by
myself. It was where you send brats to grow up.

While my Aunt was teaching the schools had several good headmasters and
head mistresses who transformed the schools. Aunt Sarah claimed if the
children were at the school they might as well do something with them, and
both schools became quite distinguished.

I always was shocked when I visited Aunt Sarah's house at Christmas.  There
must have been hundreds of cards and letters from her students. I think she
must have been the caring mother they never had.

She gave me a call and asked me to come and see her about a "problem". Aunt
Sarah solved problems; she didn't have them. I went to see her the next
day.

"Catfish, thank you for coming so quickly.  I talked with your mother and
she told me you were the man for this job. You know I taught at
St. Cecelia's years before I returned home and taught school here?"

"As I recall you came home, substituted for a teacher and stayed for twelve
years?"

"She smiled. "Well, they needed an English teacher here so badly," She
said. "I keep up with St. Cecelia's.  The Headmistress was one of my
students. There are problems there. Whispers of sexual impropriety. There
is nothing official yet, but a school's reputation can be ruined by
whispers as well as by a headline."

"The suggestions is that Eleanor' husband is molesting the girls," Sarah
said. "Frank is a good man, a good husband and a good father. Years ago
Eleanor had a bad relationship. She was engaged and got pregnant.  Her
fiancée vanished and Frank stepped up to the plate. They had been close
friends and he saved the day.  No one knows this of course."

"It turned out Frank's sexual tastes are the same as yours.  There is no
chance he has a problem with the girls, or the boys either.  As I said, his
tastes are the same as yours."

Luckily I have a good poker face.  No one had ever mentioned my sexual
orientation before.  I assumed they knew; they were too smart to believe I
was waiting for the right woman. I was shocked. Sarah was matter of fact
about the statements.  She wasn't shocked or uneasy.

"I need to have someone to look into this discretely, quietly and without
any fuss.  Eleanor thinks there is something going on that is sordid and
possibly very destructive to the school as well as her career," Sarah
said. "Your mother told me she guesses sordid was your strong suit."

"Is Eleanor more worried about her career of the school?" I asked.

"Eleanor could retire anytime she wished. The school is her concern."

"Is there anything else?"

"Frank has a close friend, the headmaster of St. Thomas's."

"Colonel Wilda-beast?"

"The same, I think he prefers Wildhurst," Sarah said with a smile. "I know
he strikes people as an over the top army man, but he is good with the boys
and has done wonders with the school.  Academically, that is.  You can see
his relationship with Frank could be problematic. Oh, here have been some
fires too. They were small fires, but fires."

"Warning fires?"

"That could be," Sarah replied. "They need someone at the school watching.
There is an opening for a job in the Janitorial department, and there the
room above the president's carriage house.  It has a panoramic view of the
entire school. I will pay you of course."

"That isn't necessary," I said. "We're family."

"Your aunt Edna left me a wealthy woman. I'm 85 and can't find a way to
spend it in the years I have left.  I want full professional services, no
favors, no shortcuts," Sarah said. "I helped turn that school from being an
embarrassment into a fine establishment of quality education. I don't want
to see it destroyed."

A week later I was the new Janitor at St. Cecelia's in Randall, Virginia. I
trimmed my beard to a semi-redneck length. I wanted to look redneck, not
trailer trash. Mrs. Putney, the headmistress was a handsome woman, very
professional. She told me I could call her Eleanor, but I told her I
preferred to stay in character all the time. Her husband was away on a
business trip.

My apartment was small but had a deck with a great view. The apartment had
been used as a guest house for the school, but they had a new one which
didn't have stairs.  Many of the guests were older. They had a Monday
chapel and Eleanor introduced me and asked me to say a few words.

"I'm Willy and I'm here to clean and fix things. I am the guy who is on
call 24-7 since I live above Mr. and Mrs. Putney's garage.  I know that
stuff happens, but I like to clean up fresh messes. When I say fresh, I
mean not dried and hardened.  Get me to clean it up as soon as it
happens. If there's a leak, tell me. Let me know before it floods out the
basement please." I sat down. There was laughter.

The second day I was there two girls and a bout of food poisoning, courtesy
of something they found in the refrigerator. They had the runs and
projectile vomiting in their room and the floor's bathroom. The next
morning everything was spic and span. I got it cleaned, disinfected and
spotless. I got points for that. I also got points for dealing with
improperly disposed of tampons.

Somehow, in a few days I was known as the Abominable Janitor, and the name
stuck. The school didn't have any real security. Mr. Denny Dugan was the
official security, but he was 67 or so and semi blind. My apartment didn't
have a television so I walked around a lot and got the lay of the land.

I found a peeping Tom my second night there.  He was a 15 year old boy from
St. Thomas's. I scared him half to death, so he never came back. St
Thomas's was a block away so there was a constant flow of students
bettering the schools in the evening.

I found a trash can fire and the third day while I was walking around.  It
was easy to put out, but I smelled accelerant. That was a bad
sign. Dropping a match into a trash can is one thing, but adding a
flammable fluid is another tier of intensity.

As a Janitor I tended to fade into the walls, but several people stood out.
The Latin Language teacher Mrs. Goode was a bitch. She took one look at me
and needed to know no more. She complained to Mrs. Putney there was a
strange man hanging around.  Mrs. Putney told him she had introduced me at
the Chapel. Goode said she hadn't noticed.  The Art teacher was a young
male twink, who looked at me as if I were infectious. Everyone else seemed
fine.

I had my office staff back in Richmond looking into the backgrounds of the
staff. The school made it a point to do background checks, but we had other
places to look.

In my spare time I did some safety pruning.  I like to prune anyway, but I
am continually amazed people plant bushes and trees in prime mugger
locations. I like to limb up trees so there is no place to hide. Mrs. Goode
hated this. She thought trees and bushes should be natural.  It was obvious
she wasn't a gardener.

Some of the girls noticed I was a man, but for a good many of them I was a
piece of furniture, and they hardly noticed I was there. That was good for
me. I found a particularly unpleasant gaggle of girls who like talk outside
the rear door of the library. They were, in their own opinions, the elite
group with wealthy, well connected parents and money to burn. Several girls
were at the school on scholarship. They seemed to think these girls were
stupid for not having wealthy folks. There were two plain girls they
despised; they should have been born pretty. They looked down on the
several girls they thought were artistic or were brains.  Being artistic or
intelligent seems to be problematic.

They were trying to get a stud from St. Thomas's to make a date with one of
the plain girls, so he could not show and humiliate the girl. The leader of
the group was Deedee Hamilton. She seemed to be over the top in her own
self assurance had no sense of moderation at all. I would keep an eye on
her.

The librarian, Miss Smith, came out and shooed the girls away. She looked
at my work. "You had an eye for pruning," she said.

"These are good trees but out of control," I said.

"They aren't the only thing out of control here," she remarked.

"I feel sorry for anyone who dates one of those girls," I said. "A few were
what my Mom would have called a real piece of work."

"Have you worked at a girls' school before?"

"Nope, but I've been around," I said.

"Well. You look like you've been around and been run over a few times," she
said. Then she looked horror stricken. "My lord. I don't believe I said
that. Forgive me, I just blurted it out! I don't know what got into me."

I laughed. "I've come to think I'm not everyone's idea of a dream boat," I
said. "Usually people say I'm different looking or interesting."

"I am so sorry!" she repeated.

"I take it girl's schools are prone to cliques?"

"That is an understatement. Some are just girls who get along well. They
are fine. Some girls have a need to dominate or manipulate. They are
problematic."

"How many of these girls are Daddy's little princesses?" I asked.

"Usually they are an uninvolved daddy's little princesses. Daddy sends them
presents and on trips to resorts in place of paying attention to them in
person. They express love in dollars. The more dollars the more love."

"There are few men here," I said. "Are they bitter about that?"

"Well, Mr. Putney has a problem.  He is handsome and fatherly, but is never
more than polite," Miss Smith said. "Some fantasize about
him. Mr. Siegfried, the chemistry teacher and Mr. Lewis the head of the
English Department. Lewis is a poet.  That makes it worse."

"They are careful men?"

"Oh yes, they have to be careful." Miss Smith said. "Gossip is the problem
here. Almost any comment can be greatly inflated into a deep expression of
love. You need to be careful."

"I'm a card carrying member of another union," I said. "That and my natural
good looks should keep me safe."  She looked puzzled then understood. She
smiled. By the way, I put out a little fire in a trash can yesterday. Have
you noticed anything like that?"

"No, but I will keep my eyes open," she said.

That night I walked four blocks from the school to downtown Randall for
dinner. I tried out small hole in the wall restaurant and discovered the
owner was Greek and a good cook.  I asked the Chef, Ajax, if he served and
Greek dishes and the man almost cried in joy. I had a spectacular dinner of
Souvlaki. I think he may have shared his own dinner.

Walking back to the school I saw a car filled with men talked to a single
woman on the street. My instincts told me this wasn't right. The woman
looked uneasy. I walked over.

"If you men are lost I can tell you where to go!" I bellowed. I had a deep
voice and in the dim light they couldn't see me clearly. They took off.
The woman looked at me with relief and then looked uneasy. I am not your
dream rescuer.

The cook from the restaurant heard me yell and came out with a rolling
pin. "Mrs. Elliot was there a problem?" he asked as he ran over.

"I hope those men weren't friends of yours, ma'am.  I had an odd feeling
about them," I said.

"Not at all, they wanted me to get in the car with them," she said. She
looked faint.

"Come to the restaurant," the chef said. "I'll call the police."

"You don't need to do that," Mrs. Elliot said.

"We sure as hell do need to call the police," I said. The chef made him a
cup of coffee, and I called the cops. They were there in a minute or too.
I described the incident, the car, and I had managed to get a partial plate
number.  I told the cop, Patrolman Calhoun, I was a janitor at the school
and was in the headmistress' garage apartment.  He took Mrs. Elliot home
and said he would come over to get a statement the next day.

I went to my apartment and had just gotten out of the shower when someone
knocked on my door. It was Calhoun. I let him in.  I was wearing a
towel. "The chief want I to get your statement know.  Mrs. Elliot is a
friend of his. This is the first time this has happened in this area as far
as he knows."

Calhoun was a tall, young man with an ineffectual mustache and a good
attitude. I had the feeling this was the closest to a real crime he had
encountered. I confirmed the information I gave him before and filled in
some details.

"You have a good memory mister," he said. "It was a ford Taurus, 2000
year?"

"I think they changed the tail light that year," I said. He called in the
information. The chief told him to go home. He had been off duty when the
call came in so his was putting in over time.

"Budget problems in the town government?" I asked.

"You got it. Shit, for a real crime I'd do it for free, but the town
manager is a bean counter and he would be pissed."

"Would you like a cup of coffee or a beer?"

Calhoun looked uncertain. "I guess if I'm off duty a beer might be nice. I
don't think I need anything to keep awake."

We talked and had several beers. He was 23, this was his first job. I was
still wearing a towel and caught him looking at my chest and crotch a few
times. "I thought I was a hairy guy, but you take the cake," he said. "I
was a wrestler at school.  The girls said it was gross." I think he had
been much heavier at one time and he had what they call body issues.

"It makes you look more masculine," I said. "I don't much worry about what
girls say anyway." Calhoun looked at me and understood. I got him another
beer and when I gave it to him my towel slipped.

"Jesus is that thing real?" he exclaimed. I smiled and sat down naked.

"We all have one, don't we?"

"I thought I had a good one, but it's half sized," he said. "Sorry for
staring at it. I'm not a gay guy, but it's spectacular"

"I don't mind.  You aren't the first to stare," I said. "It wouldn't be a
problem if you were a gay guy either." He just stared at my cock.

"Why don't you get comfortable and let's see what happens," I said.

"I've never done anything like this," he whispered. He began to take off
his shirt. A few seconds later he was on his knees and my cock was in his
mouth.  Maybe he's never done it before, but he sure liked it from the
start. He later told me he had messed around with some pals, but never done
it with a grown man.

It's fair to say he was ripe and ready to go. I know enough about men to
realize that my cock gets more attractive as it enlarges. He wasn't an
expert cock sucker, but he was good, good enough to get my juices going.
Once they got flowing, he started licking my slit.  He seemed to like my
ball juices.

Calhoun was a big man with the remains of baby fat on a big frame. He was
hairy for a 23-year -old and would be a gorilla by the time he was
forty. He cock was smaller than mine, but more than respectable. It was a
thick seven incher. His uncut knob was a prize winner. I got on the floor
and we sixty-nined.  He liked that a lot.

He was oozing big time too. I liked his special sauce, but had to pull off
a few times. He was excited and on the edge.  I wanted to get some good
play time in before he popped his nut. He was afraid I didn't like what he
was doing when I pulled off, so I had to do some explaining. The next time
I sucked him I misjudged and got a mouthful of his man seed.

Once the ejaculations stopped he was apologetic for having fed me.  I told
him I was fine with that.  He also wanted to go home.  I asked him if he
could wait a few minutes.  He told me he was worried about that he would
have to take my sperm.  "I've never done that."

I told him it wasn't necessary and not to worry.  We talked and he
relaxed. He told me he had messed around some, but it was nothing like
this. "I loved it. I'm not a fag, but I love it," he said.

"Do you think I'm a fag?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

"Do you know you can be all man and like to suck cock?" I asked. "Somehow,
I feel more masculine when I'm having sex with a man.  I know that some say
one of you should be butch and the other fem, but that not the way it works
with me."

He got hard again as we talked and I lubricated his cock. He thought it was
for a jack off session.  I surprised him by sitting on it.  It was a
pleasant surprise for him and me.  It was a near perfect fit. His knob
bonded with my rectum.  I'm not sure Calhoun knew enough about man sex to
know, but it was great for me. I'm not a virgin, but Calhoun was virgin
enough for two. He had never fucked a man or a woman before and he was in
heaven. I did a little dance on his cock and moaned in appreciation. He
shot off in my ass.

"I've never shot off before without a manual assist," he said.

"I think I could teach you a lot of things you can do with a cock you may
not have done yet," I said. "All of them are just as good." I got off him
when his cock finally stopped twitching.  I looked out the window and saw
something that looked like a flash, followed by a red flickering in a
school window.

"Shit, there's a fire!" I cried.

I called 911 and reported a fire.  Calhoun and I drove over to
explore. There was a fire in a studio in the art building. I knew enough
about art to know the typical studio was filled with flammables.
Mrs. Putney and her husband came over.  The fire chief had called her, and
as soon as you could hear the sirens, most of the students were soon out of
the dorms. I noticed one of the girls I listen to at the library was the
first to arrive.

The art teacher came in a state. "The room has all the end of the semester
portfolios are in there!" he said, "Help me save them!  They will be
ruined." He ran into the building.

"What an idiot!" I cried and went in after him. My plan was to stop him
from going into the burning room before he got caught up in the fire.  He
was faster than I thought. Fortunately the ceiling was high.  He had opened
a window and was tossing cardboard portfolios out the window. Several girls
caught them and took them to safety. The fire spread, I told him to
jump. He was afraid to jump, so I threw him out the window.  I was ready to
jump when the room exploded. If you can't be smart, good luck is a good
thing.

The explosion blew me twenty feet onto the lawn.  I was fine, singed, but
not even cut by the window glass. The art teacher was alive too. I was
going to tell him he was an asshole for even considering going into the
burning building, but since I had gone in too, and we were both alive, I
decided to keep my asshole comments to myself.

The local volunteer fire department arrived quickly and got the fire under
control in a few minutes. They were good. It would have been better if they
got there faster, but that is the problem with volunteer fire
departments. I noticed the several of the volunteers were young men and
women. The two schools provided members.

The art teacher had a broken wrist, but didn't seem to mind.  It was better
than getting burned alive.  He was at the center of a cluster of attentive
girls as well as the rescue squad. Calhoun was with the Police Chief in
deep conversation.

"How are you?" Mrs. Putney asked.

"Well, I'm a lot better than I could have been." I replied. "It was a close
call."

"Was it.  .  . ?"

"We can talk about that later," I said.

"Douglas, this is a new member of our staff, Will," she said introducing me
to her husband. Douglas looked like the fathers on My three Sons or Leave
it to Beaver.

"Apparently you were the one to report the fire," he said. "Eleanor, I
think he may have earned his keep already.  That would have been nasty if I
had been caught later."

The Police chief came over to us. "Do you want the fire Department to clean
it up?" he asked Mrs. Putney.  She looked at me.

"A purely routine investigation as to the cause might be desirable," I
said. Mr. Putney looked at me oddly.

"You smelled it too?"  The chief said. He must have noted the smell of
gasoline in the room.  I nodded.

"Do whatever you think is best," Mrs. Putney replied. "Leave everything
where it is until tomorrow. Will will help you with anything you need.

The art teacher came over. "Can I get the student portfolios to a safe
place? It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Several of the girls need their
portfolios to get into art school."

"I'll help you with those," I said.  "I don't think you will be lifting
anything soon.  Do you have some students who can help?" we went off.

"If we could find a place to lay them out, we might assess the damage," the
art teacher said. "I am Anton Deekens, by the way.

"I'm Will."

The head gym teacher, a rather mannish woman, allowed us into the gym and
the girls carried the portfolios into the room.  They laid out all of the
drawings and paintings.  Several were singed and others had minor water
damage. Paper towels took care of that.  Most of the works were pretty
ordinary, but several girls were good. There was nothing I could identify
as a clue in the works.

I went back to the apartment and slept until the Police chief knocked on
the door at 7:00. "Okay, why are you here. I checked on you and you are no
janitor."

I told him about my aunt and her concerns.  "She must be a perceptive
woman," he said. "I've heard a whisper or two. Was the incident with
Mrs. Elliot a part of this?"

"I have no idea yet," I said. "The fire was almost certainly arson," I
said. "I'm here under cover; I'd like to keep it that way."

"Are you with me or against me?" he bluntly asked.

"I think we are 100% on the same side. If there is something illegal, you
make the arrest. If it's something embarrassing, that would be up to your
discretion."

"The two schools are the financial mainstay of Randall.  Part of my job
here is to make sure they stay that way," he said. We shook hands and he
left.