Date: Thu, 24 Nov 2011 04:30:37 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish visits a Castle 6

Catfish visits a Castle 6
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 any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com

I slept well that night and when I woke, I realized I needed to find out
how the murderers could get to the Castle without going on the roads. The
ATF men had the entrance to the Castle covered. I didn't think any of the
Castle's own "security" men could do anything as complicated as commit the
double murder and then make an escape too.

I asked Otis about getting to the Castle through the forest.  "There is one
hunting guide that knows this area as well as anyone," Otis said. "Carlton
Mills is the man for you." Carlton was a forest service ranger. I gave him
a call. He was at a park lodge a few miles away. I told Calhoun of my
thinking. He thought I was on the right track. I went off to meet with
Mills. Otis watched the water pump. With Ferdinand and Trevor dead, the
pressure was off. No one else cared.

Luck was with me. I had met Mills at a party a few years earlier. We hadn't
exactly connected, but that was only because I had to leave early.  He was
my type, as I recalled, I was his too. I was naked when he saw me and all
my charms were on display. When I say I was his type, I mean my cock was
his type.

Mills was operating the radios at the headquarters as other rangers called
in reports of damage. He was at a large drafting table with a map of this
portion on the park spread out before him. I told him what I wanted.

"I assume getting from the bottom of the mountain to the top would be a
difficult task." I said.

"It can be a long haul," Mills said. "In theory you just keep on climbing
and you will make the top. The forest here is old and thick.  There are
multiple runs and gullies that make it hard to find a direct route. If
anyone tried over the last few days in the rain, it would have been nearly
impossible without an experienced guide. Every gully became a water
fall. There are massive piles of debris everywhere."

"If I wanted to get to the castle, how would I do it?"

"You would need a first rate guide," Mills said.

"Can you give me some names?"

"If you have any connection to the police, there is little chance anyone
one would help you," he said. "Many of these folks have a tradition with
moonshiners. Keeping their secret trails secret is important."

"I am after drug dealers, not moonshiners."

"Hillbilly Heroin?"

"Yes. That seems to be the problem." I said.

"Most of them are into that too, but there is one exception, Kenny
Gathwright," Mills said. "His full name is Kenny Rogers Gathwright.
Apparently, his momma named him after the man she most wanted to be fucked
by.  Kenny lost his son to an overdose. He might be of some help."

"How do I get in touch with him?"

Well, Kenny ain't very sociable, if you get my drift," Mills said. "I will
say you look right."

"No crew cut Marine types for him?"

Mills laughed. "He's more prone to go for the type that doesn't put on
airs," he said. "You look like something the cat might drag in. Bubba would
like that. He hangs out at the Chevron station in Deep Fork. He lives in a
shack somewhere.  I've never found it."

"What is the way to his heart?"

Kenny's a horny bastard. He'll fuck anything that had two legs," Mills
said. "His wife died years ago. He's notthe type of man who women find
attractive. He swings both ways."

"You think I'm that type?" I asked.

"I've heard rumors. Try the Chevron station. He may drop by."

The next day I put on my most worn clothes and took my old Dodge Duster to
Deep Fork. Deep Fork wasn't a town; it consisted of one house and the
Chevron station. Somehow it had avoided any updates and improvements for
the last 40 years. The station had something that I guessed might be
interpreted as a snack bar. I ordered a hamburger and fries and struck up a
conversation with cook. Calling him a Cook was a bit grand for the 20 year
old behind the counter. He was the one who sort of cooked,

The letters on his shirt said he was Dwayne.  I called him that and he said
his name was Cal.  There had been a sale of shirts labeled Dwayne. We
talked about the storm and the murders. I told him I had been at the castle
during the murders.  He was interested in that. A huge man entered while we
talked. Cal took him a cup of coffee, but didn't say a word to him. The man
put exact change on the counter. I glanced at him but didn't look. He
showed no tendency to join in. I volunteered there were drugs at the bottom
of the murders.

"I heard the bimbo did it," Cal said.

"That woman didn't know which was the working end of the gun," I said.

"I saw her once," Cal said. "I'd like to show her the working end of my six
shooter!"

I laughed. "I think you need more than a cock and a good attitude to keep
that woman happy. You'd better have a bank account."

"I heard there were a lot of women up there?"

"They ain't my type," I said.

Cal looked me over.  "It looks like you sport a sawed-off shotgun," he
observed. My old jeans were thin and worn. By now the wear mark indicated
my cock's length and width and the exact location of my cock head. I
wondered I Cal was an observer, or a fancier. I think he was thinking about
a woman who might be my type and came up blank.

"I was thinking about hiking up the mountain," I said. "Are there any good
trails?"

"You can't do that mister," Cal said. "It's dangerous after the rains."

We talked a little longer and I left. A mile down the road there was a
little parking area with a sign indicating it was for the Ridge Mountain
Trial.  I got out of the car. A truck drove up and the big man from the
Chevron station got out of the truck.  I walked a little way into the woods
and then sat on a log. I heard some noises in the trees.

I went a little deeper into the woods, and then pulled out my cock and
pissed.  The Chevron coffee had worked its magic. The big man appeared next
to me and took a piss. He made no effort to hide his cock and I made no
effort to pretend I wasn't looking.

"You've got a big one," he said.

"Do you like them big?"

"Mine's a grower, not a show-er," he said.

"I'm a top, mostly," I added. I wasn't going to spend the next ten minutes
chatting.

"Me too," he replied.

"We could get back to our cars and go on our way, or we could flip a coin,"
I said. "Are you willing to take a risk? Your balls will get drained either
way."

He nodded and took out a coin. He did not put his cock back in his
pants. "Can we use my lucky coin?" he asked. I reach over and then stroked
his cock.

"Let's see how much luck you need." I said. "My name is Catfish."

He smiled.  "I'm Kenny. Are you into cock?"

"I sure as shit am, big time," I said. "I like the special sauce too."

"Special Sauce?"

"Sperm, semen, man milk, cock caviar?"

"I never tried it," he said.

"Not even your own?" I asked.

"I've done that," he admitted. There was a little pause. "I tried some of
my pals stuff when I was a teen ager." The conversation and my gentle
stroking had the expected effect on his cock. It was a nice one. As it got
harder, he talked more.

"Did any of your pals take it from the spigot? Was any of them a real pal?"
I asked.

"There was Eddie. He died in a car accident just after high school. He was
a real pal," Kenny said. "He didn't suck me, but he opened his mouth and I
shot in it.  I shot a good one.  He loved it."

"Were the other guys watching?"

"No we were alone," he said.  "I tasted his. I still remember it." Kenny
was fully erect now. I leaned over and licked his bloated, purple cock
head. He twitched. I swallowed in his organ in time for Kenny to do his own
imitation Old Faithful. Kenny was fully loaded and I took every drop.

Kenny liked sex, but I suspected he hadn't been moving in the right
circles. He never had been worked over by a pro like me. I did everything
but suck his balls out through his sperm tunnel. The orgasm softened his
rough edges. I sucked until he was soft and was still able to get him to
spurt.  He shivered as he had a final ejaculation.

"Man you are good," he said when I sucked up the last drop of his man
juices.  "We haven't even done the coin toss yet."

"I've got the day off," I said.  "I've got time if you need to recharge."

"I've got a cabin," he said. "Follow me." Now that he was soft, he became
quiet again. I followed his car and somehow we were at his cabin in a few
minutes. It was completely hidden, but near the road. The Cabin was nicer
than I expected. It looked like a pile of logs but was comfortable and dry.

"Want a beer?" he asked.  I said sure. He stared at me without talking for
a while.

"I've been working at the Castle for a week or so," I said. "They got some
big trouble up there, so it's nice to get away."

"The storm?"

"The storm and two murders," I replied. "That's a lot of murders for one
week."

"Was someone messing with the woman?" he asked.

"Maybe, but that wasn't the reason for the murders," I said. "It was
drugs. The place is loaded with Hillbilly Heroin."

"The Castle?  I don't believe it." Kenny said. "She's a nice lady. She said
hello to me once."

"Someone tried to frame her, but they didn't do a good job of it," I
said. "Whoever killed the two men made his escape down the mountain
yesterday morning. Given the rain, that couldn't have been easy.  The cops
don't think it was a local. It was a big operation up there.  They think
some out-of-towners were involved."

"How do you know all this stuff?" he asked suspiciously.

I decided the truth might do the trick. "I'm a private investigator from
Richmond.  One of Mrs. Dumont's friends thought she was in danger.  She
asked me to check on her," I said. "I found out they had her drugged up and
had filled the basement with drugs. Shit, they could have supplied the
Valley for year with what they stored there."

"Them drug dealers are no damn good!" Kenny said. "They kilt my boy,
Junior. He was a good boy."

"I'm sorry.  They would have killed many more with what is in the castle,"
I said.

"How did they get the pretty woman involved?"

"The people were her servants. I guess they slipped drugs in with her food,
and she didn't know anything about it," I said. "She didn't need the
money. She's loaded."

"You are good at sucking.  You like that sort of stuff?" he asked, taking
the conversation into a new direction.

"I sure do," I said.

"I'm not gay," Kenny said. "I just like to have fun." He began to take off
his clothes.

"Are you ready to flip a coin?" I asked as I stripped.

"I've never taken one the ass before," Kenny said.

"You look big enough to take it," I said.

"I might split you in half," Kenny muttered.

"I'll take my chances," I said. "I like them big and thick."  He flipped
his lucky coin.  I called heads, and won.

"Shit," he said. "Damn, my lucky coin failed me."

"There are some guys who would say you got lucky," I replied. "They say
taking my meat is a real experience. Get on the bed and lie back. I want to
get you relaxed before I go in."

"I'm not sure about this," Kenny whispered. He was hard again, so the
prospect of being fucked excited him.

A minute or two later, I had changed Kenny's sex life.  I introduced the
mountain man to his prostate.  He hadn't known he had one. My finger found
it.  It was lonely and in need of attention. Kenny would have been shocked
and unwilling, but his little nut loved the attention and soon he was in no
state to have any opinions at all, not to mention object to what I was
doing.

This turned me on too. Kenny was a big bruiser, and all 140 pounds of me
enjoyed working him into a quivering mass of sexually charged jelly. About
a half hour later, I got my cock in him too. That was a success.

This may sound odd, but Kenny possessed the oldest virgin ass I had ever
fucked. Some men like popping virgins, but I am not one of them. Usually,
there is too much drama for me. After I worked on his prostate, his
sphincter all but kissed my cock head as I entered. Once I was in Kenny's
rectum he had a band waiting to greet me. It was beautiful.

It's not every day a sixty-year-old man discovers a new sex organ. Kenny
was in heaven. He didn't exactly want or expect to be in heaven, but he had
no choice. He expected to be deep in my ass fucking the shit out of
me. Instead, I was deep in him sending him places he had never been before.

After a while, I pulled out, slobbered on his cock and sat on it.  I am not
exactly a virgin and Kenny's organ was near my limit. It is possible he
found a few virgin spots in my ass.  I bounced a few times and Kenny
popped. When he calmed down every drop of his manly fluids that had any
association with sex was in my ass.

The tight fit in my ass meant I felt every ejaculation, spasm and twitch he
made. I got off of his cock, rolled over and slipped in his rear again. "I
can't take it," he moaned.  I knew that wasn't true. When I felt my juices
rising, it warned him. "I'm going to give your ass a sperm bath, unless you
tell me to pull out," I said.

"Fill me up," he moaned. Normally I turn ridged when I shoot off, but this
time I gently pumped as I unloaded. That little buff and polish action
drove Kenny crazy.  He shot off again, hands free. I stayed another three
or four hours.

I spent a lot of that time in intimate communion with Kenny's newly
discovered prostate. A good portion of his body weight must have been in
sperm. He had several more orgasms including a lovely hands free one
induced by my cock head rubbing his prostate just the right way.

Kenny was set in his ways, but the sexual rush generated by a cock in his
ass blew him away.  I am nothing if not fair. I did a few fancy dances on
his cock, and spent some time taking his cream from the spigot. I worked
two fingers into his ass so I could do a full court press on his prostate.

By the time I left we were pals. He also gave me the names of two men who
might have served a guides for the hit men who killed Trevor and Ferdinand.
He thought the most likely man was Elton Dew. Dew was into oxycontin big
time and would do just about anything for a steady supply.  The other
contender was Maxwell Jones. "Jones will do anything for money," Kenny
said. "He dreams of being a hit man for the mob, and he would love to kill
a few men to prove himself."

"Reggie Showalter told me they were going to be getting some big bucks
doing a job a week ago," Kenny said. "They don't leave the mountain, so
Reggie buys things for them."

"What does Reggie get out of it?"

"If Reggie dies what they want, Elton doesn't kill him," Kenny
explained. "They wanted a new car, so it had to be a lot of money."

"Do you know your son's supplier?" I asked. ""If I run into him, I don't
mind taking out the trash."

"I don't know for sure, but I heard the name, Boy Smith, from a trooper.
There are a lot of Smiths in the world," he replied.  "My son went off to
Charlottesville and picked up some stuff there.  I don't have any
connections there."

Kenny didn't know were either man lived. "They have no fixed address, if
you get my drift. The police are after them for a slew of reasons and they
keep moving. If you do find my boy's killer would you let me know?  I'd
like to handle that myself. I can't do much snooping around. I kind of
stand out in Charlottesville. I'd like to meet the guy."

I returned to the castle. The ratio of sex to information discovered was
heavily weighted toward the sex, but it was a good interlude for me. I had
been working at the castle for two weeks and that had been high stress
work. With Kenny, I worked on some heavy duty stress reduction. Kenny and I
both enjoyed sperm exchange as a relaxation technique.

Back at the Castle, I found out that Elton and Maxwell were on several
State Police and ATF lists. The police suspected them in several
particularly brutal rape-murders, as well as a bombing, and numerous
assaults.  Calhoun heard they were fifty miles to the south of the Castle,
so he was surprised they were nearby.

Locally Elton and Maxwell had a slightly Robin Hood like reputation. They
had eluded the police for years. "If anyone saw the bodies of their
victims, you wouldn't think of them as romantic figures," Calhoun
said. "The killing occurred before I joined the force, but I saw the
pictures."

Elton and Maxwell weren't a team or a gang. Both were loners, but they
worked together when it came to drugs. No one would deal with Maxwell.  He
was too fucking scary. Elton was more presentable. Neither man hand any
skills with chemicals, so they needed outside help. The men didn't need
cash. They could live off the land, were it not for their drug needs.

We now knew the hits were planned well in advance. It was Murder One. That
was useful information.  I was afraid getting the two names didn't help us
out much. They were elusive and hard to find. It turned out I was wrong
about that. The State Police and the ATF people were after the men. When
they heard they might be involved, this dispatched men to join us. These
were very high powered and helpful men.