Date: Mon, 6 Nov 2000 06:42:20 EST
From: VicHowel@aol.com
Subject: Gut Feelings 11

Gut Feelings

OPPS!!!!  Uh - would you believe that I ... No, you wouldn't?  Okay, I
goofed, lads.  I completely skipped chapter 11.  Here 'tis.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN


"This Ilyich did promise a car to meet us, didn't he?" I asked as our train
slowed to a stop at Chichester station's platform.

"Come on, Phillip!" Brett groaned. "Don't go and think I'd leave us
stranded out here in the middle of nowhere. Ilyich promised a man sitting
here at the station and waiting for us after eleven. Hopefully, he'll be
here and we won't have to twiddle our thumbs very long."

"Relax, Inspector," said Richard more comfortably. "Ilyich is a stickler
for carrying through on something he's said he'll do."

I sat back against the seat, uncomfortable now that I was nearly at the
beginning of an investigation that I couldn't even ensure my access to. I
was dependent on the people I was investigating even for my mobility. Of
course, the senior levels of the police forces of both Chicester and Selsey
knew I was conducting an investigation within their jurisdictions. They
were probably even more unhappy with me being here than I was going to be -
if there wasn't a car waiting for us.

Of course, I had known this before we'd left London. It went hand in glove
with this being an undercover operation. I was the guest of my suspects and
I had no doubt of how well things would work. But that had been London and
the situation theoretical; now, however, I was in Chicester and would
quickly be facing the reality of my dependence upon others.

"He's a cutey," Brett said, pointing to a lone blond lad as our carriage
came even with the platform. The train shuddered as it came to rest. I
reached for my knapsack and slung it over my shoulder.

"He is that," Richard agreed. "I want him."

"You don't even know if he's part of this thing we're here for," Brett
groaned in friendly exasperation, picking up his bag and slinging it over
his shoulder.

"I can hope," Richard shot back and grinned lopsidedly at the rest of us.

"Slut," groaned Brett. "Didn't you already get enough this morning?
Besides, he's a blond, Richard. You don't like blonds very much."

"I'm versatile," the Irishman shot back as he grabbed his bag.

"Come on, lads," I told them as I stood up. "Everyone gets his own stuff,
right? Let's go see what we're going to see."

On the platform, Richard began to grin widely as the blond youth made his
way towards us. "There is a god, after all," he mumbled under his breath.

The lad reached us and glanced from one to the other of us. "Is one of you
Brett Chandler?" he asked in heavily accented English, his eyes fixed on
me.

He was a fine looking lad, an inch or two taller than Brett. His hair was
almost white, it was so blond. He was slim. His face was a rounded,
heart-shaped perfection of Slavic beauty. He was definitely a cutie, as my
lover had labelled him.

"I am," Brett told him. "Are you here to pick us up?"

The boy's gaze pulled from me as he began to blush. He looked at
Brett. "Pick you up?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ilyich was going to have a driver meet us here, to take us to the dacha-"

"Good!" Relief flooded the blond's face. "Yes. I am here to take you to the
party of Ilyich." He smiled then. "I am Pyotr."

We introduced ourselves in turn. Pyotr met the gaze of each of us as he
shook our hands, but his gaze kept darting back to me. "Please," he said
finally, "follow me to the car. We go now to Selsey Bill." He started
towards the station.

Brett reached for my arm as I made to follow the Russian. "Looks like
there's a new boy just about dying for some cop dick, Phillip," he said in
a voice that didn't carry beyond us. "You going to give him some?"

"My word!" We had just entered the station from the platform and I speeded
up my steps to catch the rest of our party. I didn't know what type of game
my newly acquired Yank lover might be playing out, but I wanted no part of
it.

"He wants you, Phillip," Brett continued, staying up with me. "He couldn't
take his eyes off you. So, give him some - break the ice for all of us."

"Just open my flies and say, 'here it is'?" Brett nodded. "Should I do it
in the station or wait until we're in the car?"

Brett stopped in the centre of the station. It took me a moment to realise
he was no longer immediately beside me, another to turn back to him, and
yet another to recover the distance I'd walked. "What did I say?" I asked,
wondering just how placating I would have to be to soothe whatever ruffled
feathers the American had developed.

"You're a real prude."

"A prude?" I yelped. "Me?" I was in Chicester in the south of England with
four men I had shagged during the week just past. I didn't think that I
sounded especially prudish.

"Why're we here?" he asked.

"To learn if these Russians have anything to do with the flow of heroin
into London's gay community."

"And what have we expected all along to be a part of this learning
experience, Phillip Goodson?"

"An orgy. Sex."

"Right. So, why are you suddenly so resistant to a little nookie?"

"I-"

"Phillip, we both agreed to put the monogamy part of our relationship on
hold until after this weekend. I don't like it, but I expect you to fuck
anyone who wants it. I want you to find out if this is the real thing
between us or a wild goose chase. Giving that cutie a fuck may open doors
for us, so that we do learn something out here. Or it might have you back
on top in England as being top dick - with nobody holding you back. All I
can say is shag him good, baby." He smiled and began to walk towards the
glassed entranceway. I followed, not at all happy at how free he'd just
made me.

The others had loaded their knapsacks in the boot of a Cavalier by the time
we approached them. Brett slipped his off his shoulder and dropped it on
top of the others as he passed by the open boot on his way to the Russian's
side. I began to sort knapsacks out to make room for all five of them and
still get the boot to latch.

"You want my boyfriend?" I heard Brett ask behind me and didn't dare look
back. I was tumescent just at the thought of the Russian.

There was a muffled answer I didn't catch. "You'll have to stop and show us
the quietest scenery on the way then. He's worth it. You'll be feeling him
for days."

When I turned to face them, Pyotr was gazing at me with a mixture of
longing and fear that I found to be embarrassing. The lad was hard and
tenting his crutch.

I rode in the front seat with Pyotr. My four companions managed to squeeze
themselves into the back seat with Brett being especially squashed, caught
as he was between Jesse and a door.

The boys in the back kept up a running and meaningless chatter. Pyotr was
silent as he drove us south, but he kept glancing both at me and at my
crutch. We passed through the village of Selsey and, a mile beyond the
outskirts, he turned us onto a macadamised dual carriageway that led
further out onto the penisula.

"What's that?" Doug asked from the window. He had been sitting quietly
gazing out at the rolling English countryside since we had left
Chicester. The rest of us had just chatted around him.

Jesse leant over his lover's shoulder to be able to see. Doug pointed out
the tall dome that dwarfed everything near it. "An observatory, looks
like," I suggested.

"It's the Selsey Observatory, boys," Brett told us. "It's part of the
Greenwich programme."

"Don't tell me they offer tidbits on the English countryside as a course
for Yanks at King's College," Jesse grumbled.

"No. But I looked it up," said Brett. "From what I could find on the net,
it's about the only claim to fame this one horse town has going for it."

"Was there anything else about this place?" Doug asked quietly.

"As I said, not much. The only other thing I found was that there were
several retired navy organisations."


* * *


"You will do it to me?" the young Russian beside me asked. I turned to face
him, knowing full well what he wanted.

"Is that what you want?"

He grinned and nodded. "You and your friends, we have our private party,
yes?"

"If you want that."

"We almost are there," he answered, his voice low. "A quiet place. One we
will be alone in - like how your boyfriend tell me it must be."

I watched as the car slowed and he turned onto a dirt track leading toward
a copse of trees.

"Hey, guys!" Brett called out loudly. "It's almost shag time." The others
hooted.

Pyotr focused on me and shook his head slowly. "I do not understand English
idiom, Phillip. I spent ten years learning English in Petrograd and your
people don't even speak what I learnt."

"The Americans are even worse," I mumbled. "We don't even understand them
and we're their oldest allies." He laughed at that.

Pyotr was still chuckling as he pulled the car into the stand of trees and
turned it off. "We are in Brett's quiet place where no one bothers us," he
told everyone.

Brett already had his door open and was standing outside the car. "Come on,
let's get naked," he called to all of us as he pulled his shirt over his
head and dropped it on the grass. He had opened his jeans and was wiggling
them over his arse as he stepped up to Pyotr's door. "Come on, you all. I
don't want to be the only one out here who's naked."

I watched as the Russian quickly worked his way out of his shirt and
trainers before climbing out of the car. Pyotr opened his flies and began
to slide his trousers over his nicely rounded bum. Holding onto the door
for support, he raised a leg to pull his trousers off it. Around the
Russian, the others were already in various states of undress. I stepped
out of the car and began to undress.

Brett stood beside the door and watched the Russian slide his underwear
onto his thighs. The American smiled as the equipment package came into
view. "Nice one," he told the lad.

Pyotr turned and studied him for a moment, his gaze taking in every aspect
of the American. "No. You have the nice package, Brett. You are
beautiful. But your cock ... There is something different-"

"Sounds like you need to do a very close inspection of my equipment," Brett
told him and grinned.

"Oh, yes. I would like that very much. And your boyfriend. Let us not
forget him."

"Come on," Brett told him then and took his hand. He led Pyotr to the front
of the Cavalier. "Stand right there while I get situated," said he and
lifted himself onto the bonnet of the car. Brett spread his legs after he
was settled and smiled. "Come on over here, Pyotr. Now you can get as close
and personal as you want."

I placed my discarded clothes on the car seat. In one hand, I held a condom
packet; in the other, I carried the small tube of lubricant that Brett had
given me as we were leaving my flat in the morning.

Leaning against the boot of the Cavalier, Jesse and Doug were oblivious to
everyone. I decided to leave them to their kisses.

The Russian put a hand on each of Brett's knees and licked his
lips. Richard was next to them in an instant. He knelt beside Pyotr and the
boy took a step backwards to give the Irishman more space in which to
play. Richard took the man's dick in his hand guided it to his mouth. The
Russian moaned as his cock disappeared inside Richard's throat.

I joined them then, pulling a condom down onto my shaft as I came upon
them. Brett laid back on the bonnet as Pyotr began to suck him.

"Do you really want me inside you then?" I asked the Russian. He nodded but
never pulled off of Brett. He also wiggled his bottom in a friendly enough
greeting.

"Who're we missing, Phillip?" Brett asked as I squeezed a dollop of lube
onto the palm of my hand.

"Jesse and Doug," I answered as I began to work the viscous gel into the
condom. "They're snogging behind the car."

I spread Pyotr's downy cheeks and placed my prick at his entrance. He
pushed his hips back then, impaling himself. He groaned even as he held
Brett in his mouth but continued to impale himself on my manhood until he
had all of it inside him.

My fingers rode his flanks up to his smooth chest where they detoured onto
his pecs in search of his nipples. "Da!" Pyotr mumbled around Brett's dick
and ground his bottom against my crutch in appreciation when I tweaked both
of his nipples hard.

Brett raised his upper body and smiled at me. "You like it, honey?" I
nodded. "Enjoy it while you still have it then, Phillip." Brett's hands
moved to the back of the Russian's head and he began to fuck his face
slowly.

Richard had moved to sit on his haunches between Pyotr and the grill of the
car as he sucked our driver. His hand darted between the blond Russian's
legs to cup my bollocks and ride them as my prick began to work its way in
and out of Pyotr's hole. His other hand moved from one of Pyotr's nipples
to the other, tweaking them. All the while, the Russian's lips rode my
lad's pole, and Brett was making gurgling noises like he was loving it.

My strokes were long and gentle. I buried myself in the Russian's arse on
the in-stroke and would pull out to where only the flange against the
backside of his stretched sphincter ring kept me inside him. Pyotr pushed
back to greet each return, the muscles along the walls of his bowel flexing
in welcome as my prick reclaimed possession of him.

I was beginning to lose awareness that I was totally naked in a copse of
trees and involved in four-way sex. We were four randy boys relieving
ourselves to our mutual satisfaction. Pyotr's arse felt good around my
dick. My body was nearly succeeding in convincing my mind of that being the
only thing that was important. I almost believed it as I rode the waves of
pleasure surging ever higher through me.

The Russian stiffened under me, his hips jerking hard on and off my
prick. His orgasm hit then. His arsemuscles clamped down on my prick,
milking it. I groaned, unprepared for him to shoot jizz so soon. His orgasm
pulled me over. I rammed into Pyotr's arse one more time and began to erupt
into my condom.

I took a step back, pulling away slowly and drawing my still hard pole from
the well-used Russian hole. I took in the three men still connected
together - Brett in Pyotr's throat and the lad from Petrograd still in
Richard's. There was something wrong about it but I couldn't place
it. There had been something wrong with me in the picture with them too.

"I think Phillip has understood now why we didn't join in," Jesse told
Doug.

I turned to face them. "Why's that?"

"You can't feel it?"

"I feel something - it's just I don't have any basis on which to describe
it."

Jess smiled. "You don't feel all that great, do you?" He watched me
frown. "It was good, I could tell that from here. You had some horny men to
play with. But it wasn't as good as you thought it was going to be, was
it?"

"No," I admitted.

"We've tried out a lot of things since we've been together, Phillip," Doug
told me. "I don't think either of us had ever done anything but one-on-one
- those teenaged grope and sex things kids get into-"

"Not till we teamed up, love," Jesse told him. "I don't know if it's just
that we were already in love or what - but we could get into all the
ambiance about sex as long as it was one-on-one-"

"Or even threeways, Jesse." Doug turned to me. "If we both want a third
guy, it's just like he's family when we get going with him. It's just like
when it's just the two of us."

"But more than three going at it together makes it hard to sort out arms
and legs, dicks and arses. If you can't sort them out, you can't have the
closeness between everybody that ought to be there." Jesse smiled. "That
fourway stuff you had just now, you didn't even really enjoy that Russian
guy, did you?"

I shook my head slowly. "That's a pity," Jesse mumbled. "He's a looker, all
right. It's such a shame to waste something that fine."

Doug grinned. "You seemed to have intrigued the lad, maybe you and your lad
could have him - just the three of you? Where you can give him some
attention too."

"Have you two become Agony Aunts now?" I groaned. "I don't remember writing
off for advice-"

"Whether you wrote off for it or not, Phillip, you two seem to need some
right together now," Jesse told him. "This is your first time being in love
too, isn't it?" I nodded numbly. "Thought so. It all ties together, you
see?"

I didn't understand. But I still nodded. I doubted that young Jesse Patel
saw a connection that was as murky as the one he'd just tried. But I also
saw no sense in arguing with these lads.


* * *


"Dacha Russikya!" Pyotr announced proudly when we turned into the
drive. "Ilyich will be so glad to see all of you."

"Why?" Brett demanded.

"He likes pretty boys," Pyotr explained.

"Just so long as he doesn't think somebody belongs to him simply because
he's here," Jesse mumbled.

"What's there to do once you're here, Pyotr," I asked.

"Sex. Boys. Sex." He turned to face me, his smile covering his face. "That
is what a weekend at Dacha Russikya is like, Phillip." He grinned. "You and
Brett will share yourselves with me? Yes?"

My fingers dropped down to his knee and began to slide up over his
jeans. "Do you want that then?" He leant towards me and, smiling, brought
his lips to mine.

Pyotr pulled the car up to the main entrance of the manor. "We'll put your
bags upstairs before everybody comes out to look at the-" His brow furrowed
as he sought the correct word. "The fresh meat?"

"Fresh meat?" I looked at Brett suspiciously as I picked my knapsack and
began to follow the young Russian into the house.

"I doubt they mean anything by it, Phillip."

"I certainly hope not."

A large, middle-aged man had appeared at the foot of the stairs when we
were returning to the car. "Ilyich," Brett mumbled as we began to descend
the stairs.

"So, our little Marlene decided to come after all-" He looked over the rest
of us. "And some of her friends as well. How wonderful. They are all
versatile, yes?"

I was unsure of what game the man thought he was playing but my
understanding had been that Brett and the rest of us had been invited with
no commitment of sex being made. "I've not found the man who didn't decide
he was versatile," I told Ilyich, "not once he'd seen my equipment. They've
all been quite satisfied with the drilling too." I smiled sweetly at
him. "Would you like to see what I've got? I don't mind helping an older
chap out by filling him up."

The Russian flushed. He studied me for a moment and then laughed. "Our
Marlene has very funny friends," he said.


* * *


"Do you think I'll ever get it right?" David Trell asked the American
working the barbed hook out of his shirt. He shuddered at how close the
thing had come to his cheek. His eye even.

Shep Simon chuckled. "You almost had it this time. You just don't rear back
and let go like you did. Otherwise, you may be taking off somebody's
toupee."

"I don't have a toupee," David grumbled. "Neither do you."

Shep grinned. "Look, David, the idea is to keep the fish hook clear of you
and any other guys who may be around. Think of it this way - the hook and
the line need to be the closest things to the water ... Because that's
where they're going, right?"

"But you were snapping it around like it was a whip. I watched you."

"But far enough away that it's not going to come back and get caught in my
jeans or shirt - or even my skin."

"Show me again, Shep," Trell grumbled resignedly. He was damned if a bloody
Yank could do something he couldn't do, even if the Yank was Shep and one
of the nicest Americans in London.

If this standing in the middle of a stream in rubbers up to your waist was
supposed to be so masculine, Trell wished someone had shown him how to make
it fun too. Instead, the hook on the end of his fly line had so far caught
in his shirt twice - his shoulder this time and his back the last, and the
tree limb next to him before that. Having Shep work the bloody hook out of
his back had hurt as the barb had nipped his shoulder blade.

After all, it was his - Trell's - education that had been so woefully
perceived. He could barely swim and he was proving that he couldn't fly
cast. He wished he could remember what his Dad was doing those weekends he
was showing his young son the beauties of an English boyhood. He was
beginning to suspect his Dad had laid out by the stream and drank himself
into a stupour whilst he was watching him. He seemed to remember that was
why Mum had sent the old man on his way in the first place.

But, now he stood in the middle of a river deep in the wooded hills of
Wales - where montain met water and gave definition to sky - with three
mates from a leatherman club in London. He stood where fish swam and birds
flew and men were supposed to hunt them. There were three gay men with him
and they'd taken it upon themselves to show him how to be a man. How to
fish, to hunt.

He stood apart from the others among the boulders in the river. "Like
this," he told himself softly as he pointed the tip of his fishing pole
directly in front of him. He dropped several feet of line. Eyeing the fly
riding the surface in front of him, he decided he had done everything Shep
had shown him to do up to this point.

He unreeled about six feet of line before lifting the pole to point nearly
straight up. He cringed expecting the sting of the barb, even though he
could see the fly ahead of him eight or so feet. Everyone of the guys had
insisted he needed the business end of the line behind him to give it
enough arc, but David Trell didn't think so. He wanted the fly and hook
where he could see them, not somewhere that they could catch him again.

With his wrist he tried to get the flying arc going with the leader and
fly. The line spread out from the pole like a whip. Trell flicked his wrist
and the fly swirled out from the pole and landed on the water twenty feet
ahead of him as gently as a Mayfly. Trell watched spellbound as his cast
became the perfect release. A trout struck at the barb before it had set
down properly on the water.

"My god," he groaned and instinctively tightened his grip against the pull
he expected from the trout. He began to reel the fish in.

"Way to go, Trell!" Shep called out to him. "Need some help?"

"No, I've got it!" he called back. He was so bloody proud of himself that
he had hooked the thing by himself. He brought his net under the fish as it
broke water.

He wanted to take the fish around to show the other men. It was a brawny
one, now he was looking at it close. He wanted to go splashing up to each
of the men on this trip - like a young lad with his first fish - but he
knew that was the way to lose the slippery damned thing fast. And why
should a lad let his pride get in the way of his sense. Safely in his creel
box, the trout would be there for anyone to look at later.

He looked back to where Shep was standing and hoped he'd made the right
decision. Trell had to admit that it had been his curiosity at
first. Wondering what it would be like with another man - with
anyone. David Trell was a bloody virgin!

He and Shep had talked about it. Several times this week in fact. What it'd
be like. Would he be a jessy boy the first time. He had come to trust Shep
Simon with his cherry.

Of course, Shep wasn't in love with him. Trell knew that. But the Yank was
the best friend David Trell could remember ever having. It was for that one
reason that Trell was willing to let Shep do it.

Actually, he wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen between
them. He'd promised Shep that he'd sleep with him the coming night. That he
would be his to direct however he wanted to then. He had to wait until
darkness to find out exactly what the Yank was going to do to him in the
night ahead. But Trell wasn't concerned. He trusted Shep. He knew he was
his friend. But he did find himself wondering what it would be like to have
Shep rogering him up the arse.