Date: Sat, 28 Jul 2007 15:24:53 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish  Goes to Washington

Catfish Goes to Washington

By Bald Hairy Man


This is a sexual fantasy with no effort made at real life experiences. If
you object to gay fiction, DO NOT READ. This story is not for you. If you
have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymen@aol.com.

I was surprised when Edmund Willamette came by to see me.  He was a board
member of the local university and I had done some work for some friends of
his.  He was the president of a large insurance company.  We had met once,
but I only knew him casually.

"Mr. Noland," he said.  "I spoke with one of my friends and he told me you
could be trusted.  I have a peculiar situation that I don't know how to
handle.  I am a rather conventional man, and my experiences are limited.
Please don't take offence at anything I say.  A friend said you were gay
and well acquainted with the gay community."

"Is that a problem?"  I asked.

"Oddly, that is what I need," Willamette replied.  "It's a problem with my
older son.  I realize he's gay, but there is something going on with him
that worries me.  He's in the Navy."

"Is this a, don't ask, don't tell problem?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure," Willamette said.  "He has been
dipping into his trust fund heavily for the last few months.  He's not
buying a house and doesn't seem to have any unusual expenditures.  I think
he's being blackmailed."

"Have you asked him?"

"I tried and it wasn't a success," he said.  "I did find out the monies
were going to something called the Mandrake Club.  It seems to some sort of
a gay social club in D.C."

"I'm afraid I don't much run in social club circles," I said.  We talked
for a while and I suggested he try to talk to his son again.  "It may be
something simple and innocent.  I'd try talking again.  Is he out?"

"Not at all," Willamette said.  "He's moving up in the Navy and that would
be disastrous for his career."

"Does he know you know?"

"No."

"Well, maybe you could let him know you support him regardless," I said.
"He may be afraid of your reaction."  Willamette agreed and left.  I
thought nothing more about the conversation until I saw a news story in the
paper.

The headline read, "The body of Commander William D, Willamette found
floating in the Tidal Basin in Washington.  Cause of death unknown."  The
article went on to describe his career and background in Richmond.  It was
light on actual detail of the death.  I was unhappy about this; afraid it
might be a suicide.

The funeral notice a day later referred to his death "under suspicious
circumstances."  That means murder.  If it had been suicide, they normally
wouldn't mention the cause of death at all.

The day after the funeral, Mr. Willamette came to my office again.  He had
talked with his son and his son had told him he was gay.  "It was a great
relief to him," Willamette said.  "He said he had made some bad choices,
but he would work it out.  I asked if I could help, but he said I already
had.  Someone killed him a week later."

"Any clues?"  I asked.  "How are the police doing?"

"They aren't doing much," the distraught father said.  "I talked with one
of his friends, Lt. Commander Frederic and asked if the Mandrake Club might
have something to do with it.  He turned white and said "Oh shit."  He
wouldn't tell me any more."

"That sure sounds like a clue to me," I said.  "Have you told the police?"

"No, not yet," he replied, "After Frederic's response I thought it might be
good to do more investigating.  I don't know the lie of the land.  Can you
help me?"

"I'll make some calls and see what's up," I said.  He left.  I called a few
of my friends in D.C.  The first two guys had never heard of the Mandrake
Club, but one had a friend who was a congressional aide.  He gave me the
aide's number.

I called him that evening.  It took a while to get him to talk.  He called
my friends and confirmed I was whom I said I was, then called back,

"Is this Catfish?" he asked.  When I said I was, he went on.  "This is
Roger, the guy you talked to earlier.  You want to know about the Mandrake
Club?"

"That's my interest," I said.

"Well, I really don't know much, but I have heard rumors," he said.  I was
sure he knew a lot more than rumors.  "Technically it's a men's club, sort
of like the sort you found in Victorian England.  The members are all
distinguished upper crust guys.  Most aren't effeminate, but there is an
air about the place."

"Bow ties and well-pressed shirts?"  I asked.

"You got it.  It has a distinctly conservative clientele," Roger said.
"Some are Republicans, but others are to the right of that.  Some are well
to the right."



"Heil Hitler style?"

 "Let's just say they like the great leader and captains of industry,"
Roger said.  "Not my kind of guys.  I did run into one of the boys who work
there.  Not my type either, but cute and very boyish."

"Virginal?"

Roger laughed.  "He sure looked the part, but as Mae West said, I use to be
snow white, but I drifted.  This kid had drifted from the Arctic wastes to
the equator."

"Did he provide special services to the club members?"  I asked.

Roger laughed again.  "I don't know, but I am surprised if he didn't.  He
liked older men and he wasn't the shy type.  His interest in me dimmed when
he discovered I wasn't a sugar Daddy."  We talked for a while, and I
decided to go to Washington and I asked if I could visit with him.

"Your friends told me you are a small guy," Roger said, "except where it
counts."

"Are you a size queen?"  I asked.

"I wouldn't say that, but I do have an interest," Roger replied.  "You
could say I'm a bit curious."

"I don't mind satisfying a guy's curiosity," I said.  We agreed to meet on
Friday.  After the call, I contacted Mr. Willamette and told him I had a
modest lead.

"You know there's no way to know where an investigation might lead."  I
said. He said he wanted to know what happened, "something smells in
Denmark."

I met Roger for dinner in a small, out of the way Georgetown restaurant.
The place barely had a sign, but the food was good and the atmosphere was
quiet and pleasant.  At first I thought Roger was forty, but as we chatted
I realized he was much closer to 6o.  He worked at looking young.  He had
been in Washington for a long while and knew the ropes.



The Mandrake Club was just barely in his radar range.  He worked for
liberal North Eastern representative, and was defiantly not one of the
elect who joined the Mandrake.  "I'm not sure there's enough oxygen in the
place to permit intelligent thought."  He said.  "Died in the wool
reactionaries aren't my type.  Most seem to be of the pompous and
sanctimonious bent."



After dinner we went to his apartment and Roger became a lot more
talkative.  We had a few drinks. I was taking a leak when he came in and
checked me out.  He liked my cock, but he loved the piss.  This isn't my
thing, but I don't mind helping a guy out.  Piss is piss as far as I can
tell, but Roger had a spectacular orgasm as he drank mine.  After he
apologetically told me he wasn't into anal much.  I said it was okay.



We had a drink and he told me more about the Mandrake Club.  He suspected
there was a sexual aspect to it.  His young playmate had mentioned the Club
had lost its only horse hung top and the members were unhappy about that.
The young man had been otherwise discrete and that was his only slip.

"From the way he talked about the horse hung top, I think it wasn't only
the members who missed him," Roger said. "There was some longing in his
voice."



"I'd like to talk with this guy," I said.



"You're not his type, except for your cock.  I do have his number; do you
want me to call him?"  Roger asked. "We'd have a lot better chance of
getting him here it there was some show and tell."



"I'm willing, but maybe you can introduce me as your cousin, Noland, from
out of town," I suggested.  "I don't want anyone to know I'm here on
business. "  Roger understood and called his friend, Lonnie.



Somehow I became Rogers distant and very country cousin. "The guy looks
like a straggly monkey, but he's hung like a fucking horse," I overheard
Roger saying. "You've got to see it to believe it."  Lonnie appeared at the
apartment door a half hour later.



It wasn't love at first sight, but as soon as Lonnie saw my cock, all was
well. I had stacked the deck by wearing a towel when we met.  Once it
dropped, Lonnie was hooked. Roger was amused.  Lonnie was a classic size
queen.  When he saw my cock, he had a deer caught in the headlights look to
him. Lonnie just stared at it. Lonnie wasn't handsome.  He was pretty. He
looked a lot younger than he was, but he worked at looking like a teenager.



Lonnie wasn't my type at all. He had that annoying tendency to treat you as
if you were just there on approval. He was self confident, self assured and
he wouldn't have given me a second look if Roger hadn't clued him in on my
cock.



Poor Lonnie was torn between desire for my cock and no attraction for me
otherwise.  I guessed my cock would win, and I was right. I also had a
strong premonition that once my cock was in his ass to the hilt, Lonnie
would lose his airs.

After introductions Roger said he was tired and was going to bed, but we
could use the guest room if we wanted.  The second Roger closed his bedroom
door.  Lonnie got naked. He was thin and hairless, except for his pubic
bush.  It took an entire three seconds to realize he wanted it in the ass.

Roger had cunningly left a tube of lubricant on the bedside table.  Lonnie
was small, but experienced.  I fingered his ass and found he was already
lubricated. He twitched and shivered as I played with his ass. He wanted my
cock badly, but he was tight.  It almost took a shoe horn to get my cock in
his ass. It took some work, but it was worth it.



Lonnie complained I was trying to split him in half at first, but the
complaints turned into whimpers, then moans. I'm not opposed to combining
work and pleasure.  Lonnie wasn't my type, but he had a good ass and was a
responsive bottom.  Lonnie coverted from being a stuck up twerp, to a
genuinely appreciative bottom slut. From time to time I caught him doing
his whore routine.  He cried, "I've never felt anything so big before," and
"I've always liked older men," from time to time.  When he did this I give
him a nice hard thrust and winded him.



After about fifteen minutes, had got the swing of things.  He was one of
those guys who almost has a prehensile ass.  He would open up his ass lips
to let me in, then would try to clamp tight once I was in. I was having a
good old time pumping hard when he exploded. There was cum everywhere. He
must have lost a pound of two of his body weight.  His love tunnel
contacted and squeezed my cock every time he ejaculated. I've only known a
few guys who did that, and I shot my load deep in his love chute.



Much to my surprise, my climax set him off again.  His second orgasm wasn't
as spectacular as the first, but it was damn good.



"You're good at that," he said after he got his breath back.  "I been
worked over by one, or two guys and you're the best."



"I take it you aren't a virgin?" I asked.

"Well, to tell you the truth, if I have to be a virgin, it costs a little
extra," he said. "I'm a waiter at a swank private club.  For extra services
I get more than a good tip, if you get my drift."



"If I could make a living fucking, I'd be a happy guy," I said. "It would
sure beat working in a Seven-Eleven."

"Is that what you do?"

"I am between engagements," I said. "I'm here looking for a job. It has to
be a lot easier to get a job here than in south West Virginia. I've been a
janitor, a prison guard and a locker room attendant as well as a cash
register jockey."

"You like sex a lot?"

"Couldn't you tell?" I asked. "Some people might say I like sex way too
much. I'm not a young guy anymore, but it's still exciting to get into a
new ass. My problem is I just like sex. I'm not much into romance. The
modern style for gay men is to be all lovey dovie. That ain't my style."



"You're not looking for a LTR?"



"I like variety too much for that," I replied. "I just don't seem to be
satisfied with one.  To tell you the truth as far as I'm concerned the more
the merrier. I got my start in man sex at an interstate rest stop. It was
nasty, superficial and just sex.  It was also hot as hell!"



All this talk about sex, got me going again. I got Lonnie to sit on my cock
and we continued our conversation. My second trip up Lonnie's love canal
was a revelation.  I had fucked him for a solid half hour, but his ass was
just as tight as it had been before.  It was hard not to believe he was a
virgin.  He took his time to impale himself, but he had a slightly crazed
look of determination on his face.



I'm no fool.  I knew Lonnie was a calculating user, but once my cock was
more than halfway in his hole, he lost his ability to think straight.
That's happened to me a few times when the rush of sexual sensations
totally overwhelms any other thoughts.  When it happened to me, it was on a
purely social occasion.  This was business for me and I'm afraid I took
advantage of Lonnie's vulnerability.



We talked as he bounced around on my cock. Every time Lonnie almost got his
wits back, I'd give him a hard thrust and he go back to cock heaven.
Lonnie was a farm boy from rural Indiana with the sex drive of a rutting
bull. He got out of Indiana as soon as he could and his job at the Mandrake
club was his ticket to the big time.  He liked associating with the great
and powerful.



He wasn't the brightest bulb in the hardware store, but he discovered his
boyish looks and sex drive made up for that. He got paid for his extra
services, but he really liked it when he got an invitation to go sailing,
or to a party. One man was paying for him to go to college. He liked most
of the men he slept with. "Even if I don't, how bad can a blow job be?" he
asked.

"Are most of the guys who work at the club pretty boys like you?" I asked.

Lonnie nodded. "Everyone but Tyrone. He was the yard man who took care of
the heavy lifting," he explained. "He was old, maybe 45, or 50 and hung
like Godzilla.  His cock was like yours, but thinner.  Some of the members
like a trip on the wild side. Getting fucked by a big, Black buck turned
them on.  Tyrone left a week ago and he is missed."  Lonnie looked at me.
He rotated his ass and moaned. I bounced my hips and my cock went deeper.
Lonnie's eyes rolled back into his head. I had hit a new spot.

"There's a job opening if you want it," Lonnie said when he came back to
earth.

"Do you think a redneck, hillbilly love stick can replace your black horse
cock?"

Lonnie looked at me again.  "You look kind of scary and rough. I think
they'd like that," he said. "It's the cock that counts, and that you have."
I hadn't planned to start a career as a male hooker at a private men's
club, but I saw some real advantages.

"How do I get the job?" I asked.  "Is there an interview process?"

"I don't really know," he said.  "I can find out." I gave him another hard
bounce and we stopped talking shop. When he left, I gave him my phone
number at a hotel.  He said he'd call me the next day.



When I got back to the hotel, I gave Mr. Willamette a call and gave him the
lowdown. I left out a few details. "I was thinking I'd try working there
for a week or two and see if anything develops."

"Is something illegal going on there?" he asked.

"Something's going on," I said. "Legally it's misdemeanors at the most, but
as a career killer, exposure would be the kiss of death."



"My son was involved?"

"He could have been involved, or he could have discovered something," I
said. "Something big enough to justify murder."



Later that day Lonnie called. I went over to the club to meet the manager
at 3:00 that after noon. I thought I might brush up on my Southwest
Virginia drawl, then laughed to myself. I had the impression my accent had
mellowed through the years, but that wasn't the way anyone else saw it.

The manager's name was Rutherford Mills, and he looked like a 1930's era
lounge lizard. He didn't like my look at all. It was late fall and I was
wearing a parka. Under it I had well-worn jeans. When Rutherford saw the
outline of my cock his interest in me peaked. If you had a transcript of
the meeting, you would have thought it was a normal job
interview. Rutherford outlined the duties.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Rutherford, I'll do whatever is needed," I
said. "I've got no problem helping where help is needed."

"I like good attitude," he conceded. He hired me for a month probationary
period. The salary was good, but not good enough to get an apartment in
D.C. I asked if he knew of any apartments nearby.  I hit the jackpot.

"If you want there's the old caretaker's rooms in the basement," Rutherford
said. "It's just a small bedroom, sitting room and a half bath, but the
price is right.  You have to use the pool shower room."

"That sounds good to me," I said. "When do you want me to start work?"

"How about tomorrow morning?"  I had a job.



The club occupied a big, Federal Style building in north west
Washington. There was a small parking area in the rear and an elaborate,
but overgrown garden next to it. Tyrone's strengths were genital, not
horticultural. My Mom and her sister were picky on the subject of pruning
and trimming, and on my first day I trimmed up some bushes. This was a
success with the members. It originally had been a topiary garden and I
discovered the lump of foliage was a topiary bird.



I also helped an elderly man get his Lincoln Towncar out of the parking
area.  I have no problems with tight parking lots. I made friends easily. I
looked so different from the rest of the staff, they all knew me by sight.

On my third day there I interrupted a mugging on the street in front of the
club. One of the neighbor ladies was walking her dog at 6:30 in the
morning.  I was on my way to sweep the sidewalk and walked right into it. I
bellowed, "What the fuck is going on!" then tackled him before he realized
what was going on.  Somehow he managed to break a leg as he tried to
escape. He woman's dog was a feisty Pekinese and did his best to relive the
mugger of his nose. It was a satisfactory interlude for me and the dog.

The police were happy too. The mugger had been a problem. I almost got my
picture in the paper, but I told the reporter I had some woman problems
back home and it would be best if I kept a low profile. I suggested the
attack of the killer Pekinese might be a better story. The dog, Puffball,
appeared with a photograph of the mugger and his bandaged nose on the front
of the local section of the Post.

I was getting along well with the members, if not the staff.  The boys who
waited tables seem to think I was an alien from another planet. No one had
asked me for any special favors, but I had been wearing my older jeans. My
Mom always said you shouldn't put on display what's not for sale.  She
spoke with respect to women's clothing. The wear pattern on my jeans made
it clear what I was packing. My cock, balls and even my cock head were
clearly indicated. I got glances, but no takers until after the mugging.

I was covered in grime and the mugger blood after he mugging. I took a
shower during regular club hours.  Normally I was the shower before or
after the regular times of operation. Several men took long showers and we
talked. They didn't know I was living in the basement and I let slip my
schedule for showering. The rest of the day was spent pruning.  The garden
was slowly getting in shape.

The club had rooms for the members use on the upper floor. Several lived
out of town and used them where they were visiting. One Senator and one
Congressman were regular residents.  The rooms had their own baths, so I
didn't see the residents on the lower level of the building, unless they
were swimmers.

When the pool and exercise facility closed at 11:00 I went to take a
shower. I was sure someone would show up, but was wondering when it might
happen. The place was empty when I got there, but a few minutes after I
turned the shower someone came in.  I didn't recognize the man.



"Is there room for another guy in here?" he asked in a thick Southern
Accent.  He was deep South, maybe Mississippi or Alabama.

"There sure is," I answered, "Are you finishing a late exercise session?"

"I don't seem to have hot water in my shower upstairs," he said. "Are you
the new guy who got the mugger this morning?" I nodded. "The name is
Noland. I'm the new gardener."  I washed my hair so he could get a good
look at me.

"I'm Johnson," he said.  He was wearing a towel when he came in the room,
he hung it up, and took a shower head across from me.  Johnson was a tall,
beefy, young man, maybe forty.  He looked as if he had been an athlete.  He
had a gut, but made some effort to stay in shape.

"Damn, I thought I was hairy," he said. "You take the cake."

 "We all get the cards we're dealt," I said. "I was short changed in the
size division, but God must have doubled up on the body hair.  That, or I'm
the missing link between men and apes."

"Hair isn't the only thing God doubled up on," he said.

I laughed. "You noticed?" I said. "I had an Uncle who said if I was naked
all the time, I'd be the most popular guy in town. He had the same cock I
have, but he married a woman who had a lot of headaches. Sometimes life
ain't fair."

"It looks like something you'd find in a museum of medical oddities," he
said, laughing.

"When I die, I may give it to science," I replied. "As of now, I like it
attached and in working order. I'm getting old, but there's a lot more fun
left in it."

"You aren't the shy type, are you?" he asked, I looked at him and saw his
cock was firming up. I smiled.

"I don't seem that shy anymore. We all have the same equipment.  We all
know how it works," I said. "You're looking good too."  His cock was at
half staff and getting harder. Johnson blushed.  "It's nice to know
everything's in working order."  I turned off the water and dried off.
Johnson looked as if he was at a loss of what to do next.



"I was thinking of having a night cap before bed," I said.  "Would you like
to join me in my ultra stylish in-town apartment?"



"I thought you had a room in the basement," Johnson said.

"It's all in the way you look at it," I replied. He smiled and followed me
to my rooms.  My window air conditioner was making an ineffectual effort to
cool the room.  I dropped my towel and made drinks.  "Is Bourbon and water
okay for you?"  he said sure. He kept his towel on, but there was no way to
hide his excitement.

Johnson took a quick gulp. "It's odd to be having a drink with a naked
guy," he said. "It's never happened before to me."

"Believe it or not, it happens to me quite a bit," I said. "Most guys are
naturally curious, and most guys are really curious about cock, especially
when they are big, like me."

"Does that bother you?"

"Nah., it natural," I said. "It comes with the territory. There are two
kinds of men in the world, those who are interested in big cocks, and those
who are interested and pretend they aren't.  Which are you?"

Johnson looked panicked for a second then said, "the later I'm afraid. Damn
it's big!"

"That's more like it," I said. "Just relax and go with the flow."  Johnson
was sitting down and I was standing.  I stepped closer to him and peeled
back the skin, exposing my cock head.  He leaned forward. I stepped closer.
I was getting hard by now.  That did nothing to reduce my cock's appeal.

"I've never done this before," Johnson whispered.

"Well, you're lucky to be starting at the top," I said. He didn't suck me
at first. He kissed it and then flicked his tongue on the bloated gland.

"What should I do now?"  he asked.

" I was hoping you would just relax," I said.  I got on my knees, opened
his towel and deep throated his organ. He must have shot off a year or
two's supply of cum.  Ejaculation followed ejaculation until he was
drained. I took it all.

Johnson was weeping. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that," he cried.



"I loved every drop of it," I said. He leaned forward and took my cock in
his mouth. When I started to shoot, he sucking on it like a baby on his
mother's breast.