Date: Tue, 9 May 2000 17:48:52 EDT
From: VicHowel@aol.com
Subject: GUT FEELINGS - Chapter 5

GUT FEELINGS - CHAPTER FIVE by Dave MacMillan

"I've got a class in ten minutes," Richard groaned.

"Run for it," the American told him.  "I'll see you at Illusions tonight,
girl."  The redhead blew us a kiss and was off, heading directly for a
crowd of students.  "I hope he doesn't decide to go through them," said
Brett watching the Irishman's progress.  "Those guys all look like jocks to
me.  They'll make mincemeat of him before either of us could get there to
save his damned ass."  A moment later, he nodded as we watched Richard Bell
veer around the edge of the crowd and avoided a collision.

I didn't know what a "jock" was but thought it best to let it pass as
Richard had successfully skirted the crowd.  As the Irishman reached the
other side of the quad, my thoughts were already turning to what I knew lay
on my desk back at the Met.

"What about you, Inspector?"

I turned to face the American lad and found him smiling at me.  "What about
me?" I asked.

"Come on.  I know just the place I want to show you."  He started off at an
angle from the direction Richard had taken.  I followed, wondering at what
he might show me.  I was fairly certain I knew most points of interest on
the campuses of the University of London; after all, it had only been seven
years since I had graduated from Kings College.

I followed him into the library and down steps to the basement, but Brett
Chandler had no intention of stopping.  I wondered what he could possibly
wish to show me here but stayed silently with him as he found another set
of stair that led even deeper into the depths of the building.  The light
from the single bulb on the ceiling only dimly lit the staircase.  Below
us, the foot of the stairs was hidden in a murky half-light.  I hesitated;
Brett didn't.  He took the steps two at a time and was standing at the exit
waiting for me by the time I started after him.

The sub-basement was cool and dry as we entered it.  Pools of light
displayed a shelf here and there, but the room was barely better lit than
the stairwell.  "Come on," Brett said, taking my arm and leading me toward
the centre of the floor.

"It seems deserted," I observed.

"Yeah."  His face swam up almost to mine in the semi-darkness, a big grin
covering it.  "That's what is so kewl.  The graffiti on the toilet stalls
even stops in 1972.  It's like you've just stepped into a time warp when
you come down here."

Brett led me to the toilet and pushed the squeaky door open.  "Come on," he
told me.  "We don't have much time."

I followed him inside and gritted my teeth as the door closed behind me.
"We don't have much time for what?" I asked, looking around in the murky
light.  "This."  His hand spread knowingly across my crutch.

I stared down at him in shock.  "Here?" I croaked as my face began to burn
and my prick responded to the feel of his hand.

"Why not?" he asked as his fingers found the zip to my trousers.  "Like I
said, nobody's written on the walls since 1972-" He chuckled.  "It's a
pretty good bet that this place is deserted.  And I want to feel you."

I looked around the toilet, searching for an excuse that I could use to put
him off.  My cock expanded, however, as his fingers found it beneath my
underpants and I sighed.  "Let's move to one of the cubicles, lad," I told
him, surrendering to my own needs.  "No need to do this out in the open."

He stood in front of me, facing me and taking a step back as I took a step
towards him and the nearest cubicle.  His fingers had nimbly opened the
buttons of my shirt by the time we'd reached the cubicle door and his lips
nuzzled my nearest nipple.  His hands moved to my belt and unbuckled it as
his mouth began to alternate between my nipples.  As he licked and tongued
them, his fingers had got my trousers open and pushed them to my knees.

My hands went instinctively for his buttocks as his fingers trailed up
through the hairs of my thighs back to my boxer briefs.

"Not this time, baby," he mumbled, moving his arse from my touch and
pulling away from my nipples.

"Why?  Don't you-?"

"I'm still pretty sore from the workout my butt got last night, Phillip.
I'm sorry.  Let me just blow you this time, okay?"

  His hands found the waist of my underpants and jerked them down to join
my trousers, giving me no time to answer.  Fingers wrapped around my
manhood and explored its length and width.  His lips returned to my
nipples.  One hand roamed my chest and belly whilst the other slowly
stroked my prick.

I pulled his tee-shirt from his jeans, sliding it up over his chest.  His
smooth skin was hot to my touch as he began to grind against me.  His lips
left my nipples and his hand fell from my manhood.  Brett quickly pulled
his vest over his head, leaving his arms in it and the soft cotton spread
across his shoulders.

"Feel me all over, Phillip," he told me as he sat on the toilet before me.
"I want to feel your hands on me.  I like that."  Both of his hands went to
my hips, their fingers spreading across my naked buttocks, before he leant
into my crutch.

I jerked as his tongue found my belly button and began to rim it.  His
hands gripped my bum and held me against him.  My dick nuzzled his ear as
his saliva trickled from my navel to my pubes.  "Take it!" I groaned.
"Suck it, please."  He dived for my bollocks.  I gasped as he sucked one
into his mouth and sat back slightly, pulling me with him.  He nipped
gently at my ballsac and I gasped again.  There was no pain but the
stimulation was sharp.  My prick began to ooze pre come.  He repeated the
process with my other bollock, and the one thought I had left was that I
needed to come.  I had to have an orgasm.

He let my bollocks plop from his mouth, and his lips began to move slowly
along my shaft.  I shuddered at the tightness of their grip as they pushed
my loose skin before them, bunching it behind the flange of my bell end
before pushing it onto the head.

His lips finally reached the tip of my cock which had been covered by my
foreskin.  They kept it there even as he moved to take the glans into his
mouth.  I watched in the dim light as inch after inch of my knob was worked
into his throat.  He buried his nose in my pubes and swallowed, his throat
muscles milking my prick.

Brett pulled back off of me slowly, his lips tight around my prick and his
tongue forming the chute it rode on.  His lips pulled my skin over and past
the tip and his teeth began to nibble carefully at the bunched prepuce he'd
managed to gather.  I stared at him, watching him carefully, even as my
knees grew weak and I shuddered under the new sensations crashing through
me.

I had never known just how sensitive my foreskin was.  It had always been a
part of me and, when I was erect, it pulled off the head of my prick and
lay on the shaft.  What Brett Chandler was doing to and with it was
strange.  Exotic.  And definitely erotic.  I was already hovering on the
edge of orgasm and he hadn't even begun to suck me off properly.

I grabbed both sides of his head and pulled him down on me as I shoved my
knob back into his mouth.  His throat opened up easily and I was sliding
past his tonsils.  He began to hum and the contractions of his throat
muscles on the tip of my dick continued the same intensity of pleasure I'd
felt when he nibbling at my skin.

I humped his face twice and felt my bollocks begin to churn.  I knew I was
going to come.  That there was no way to pull back now.  It was simply too
late.  I had not been prepared for the experience this Yank had brought to
the toilet cubicle with him.  I groaned as my muscles locked and I pulled
his face completely onto me, holding him impaled on me.

My first jet blasted the back of his throat and he pulled back to where he
held only my glans in his mouth.  His tongue bathed it, coaxing more jizz
from me.  I collapsed against the cubicle door, every part of me weak as I
surrendered everything my bollocks could produce.

His lips again pulled skin over my knob-end.  He brought a hand around my
hip and gripped my shaft to hold it there.  He nibbled gently at the
bunched hem of my foreskin until I was throbbing again.  His fist moved
further out along my shaft pushing more skin over the tip of my cock.

His tongue pressed beneath the hem of skin and touched my glans.  I
shuddered as a rush of new sensations flooded over me.  His tongue
continued to move through the space between my knob-end and skin,
stimulating both.  I was quickly oozing pre come again.

Brett pulled off of me and sat back on the toilet to look up at me.  "Think
I should leave you like this?  Something like - keep this thought until we
get together again?"  He squeezed the shaft of my prick.  I groaned and he
grinned.

"Maybe I'm not that cruel, Phillip."  He leant forward quickly and licked
the tip of my prick clean of pre come.  "Has anyone told you that you taste
good?"  I shook my head slowly, unwilling to open myself to any more of his
word games and wishing he'd come back and finish what he'd started.

"You do.  But you've got to do something about this premature ejaculation
of yours."

I felt my face burn with embarrassment, then my neck.  "Yours is a new
technique, one I've never had tried on me before," I told him.  "It's very
effective," I admitted.

He grinned.  "Is that it?  I was beginning to wonder if all you English
boys just shot off too quick on your first one-" He stood.  "If it's just
my technique, it makes me feel better about seeing you again.  Now, kiss
me."  He pulled hard at my dick and I instantly pushed off the cubicle door
to stand closer to him.  "See me again?" I mumbled.

"Kiss me, Phillip Goodson.  I've got to go to class."

I kissed him chastely and he chuckled as he pulled his tee-shirt over his
head and down along his chest.  "Jack that thing off if you need to, baby.
But I want to see you - when?  Day after tomorrow.  I'll be in marketing in
the Barrow Building then at three - meet me there?"  I nodded glumly and
reached for my clothing bunched at my knees.

His fingertips touched my face and his hand spread across the cheek.
"Tomorrow, I've got a big test, Phillip.  The day after, I promise we'll
really fuck.  All afternoon if you've got the stamina for it.  The night
too - if you can keep me interested."

He slipped past me and opened the cubicle door.  He blew a kiss at me as I
got my pants over my arse.  "Second floor, Barrow Building at three day
after tomorrow.  See you," he said and was gone.

* * *

I sat at my desk and stared blankly at the pile of work waiting for me
there.  I had stopped in on a lad I knew in our intelligence as well as
properly requested information on the Russians from the Home Office and
Department of Defence.  Now that I had done what I could do at the moment,
I again felt tired.  I yawned.  It felt as if the hours of sex play with
the Welsh medical student the night before and the unsatisfactory encounter
with the American earlier had sapped me.  I was debating with myself about
the advisibility of taking off early when there was a knock at my office
door.  Snapping out of the drowsy lethargy that was quickly possessing me,
I called out for the person to enter.

It was Trell.  "I brought fresh coffee and some buns, Inspector," he
announced as he managed to juggle the tray and opening the door.  I groaned
to myself.  He placed the tray in the centre of my desk and asked: "Should
I pour you a cup, sir?"

Sergeant Trell did actually make a good pot of coffee, far better than most
men I'd met.  I decided the caffeine might wake me up.  "How did last night
go?" I asked him as I leant forward and poured my own cup.  As intended,
the heavy-set man accepted my invitation to report as also an invitation to
sit down.  He was soon facing me from across the desk; I rotated the tray
around so that the buns were nearest him.

I watched as he picked up one and shoved it into his mouth.  Trell's mother
had taught him well - he did not try to speak until he had chewed the thing
at least thirty times and swallowed it.  "These lads at these new clubs,
sir - they're a bit all right to my thinking.  Really quite normal once you
become used to them, you know?"

"Oh?"  Trell thought leathermen were normal and students weren't?  He did
have my curiosity piqued.

"You think so?"  "I do, Inspector.  But I do have one question - do all
poofs go in for piercings?  Or is it just the crazy Americans?"

"Piercings?"

"Little gold and silver things stuck in their titties, sir - and their
belly buttons."

"You saw that, did you?"

"It did take a bit of getting used to, you know.  All those lads
barechested except for leather waistcoats - most of them with stuff stuck
in them or their ears.  And tattoos too, sir.  Quite strange - almost
outlandish even."

"And you thought they were all right, Trell?"

"Once I got to chatting with them, I did, Inspector.  One lad especially.
Middle-aged, a Yank-"

"A Yank?" I asked quickly and waited, wondering if perhaps this man had
found something at least as interesting as the Russians I was now
interested in.

"A writer.  Wrote some sort of manual on this poof stuff he does, sir.
He's over to sign some books."

I started to relax.  Trell's man didn't sound all that interesting after
all.  "How long has he been over here?" I asked.

"Arrived yesterday morning from somewhere in California."

"Did you get his name?

"Of course, sir."  Trell managed to sound indignant.  "It's Shep Simon, he
told me.  I've already run his name through Interpol and the FBI.  He's
legitimate, but it was better to be sure.  I also learnt he's from San
Francisco from the FBI."

I was surprised at Sergeant Trell's initiative.  He could well become a
decent detective if he kept doing things like this.  "Well done," I told
him and meant it.

"This Simon lad, we spoke for quite a while, sir-" I raised my eyebrow
questioningly.  Trell looked down at his hands in his lap and didn't look
back up.  "I saw nothing, Inspector - not in any of those three bars.
Except these blokes dressed in all this leather walking around-" He paused
and considered his statement.  "More like strutting around - like a
cockarel in a barnyard, sir.  After a bit, this Yank walked over and struck
up a conversation; and I was happy for it, too-"

"Getting bored, were you?"

"Yes sir.  I hated summers when I was a boy.  I got sent out to visit my
aunt in the country and there was never anything to do - just me with no
mates.  One summer I just watched the chickens - that's why I thought of
roosters last night."

"So, what did you and this Simon chap talk about that you found so
interesting, Trell?"  "California mostly, sir.  That and how well his
partners enjoy being with him.  He's supposed to be some sort of sex
expert."  He frowned.  "What is it that these leather blokes do behind
closed doors, Inspector?"  I chuckled.  "I hear they play games, Trell."
"Games, sir?"  "More like young boys acting out a game.  One is in charge.
He dominates.  The other obeys him, even though the game is his idea and
the rules are his."  Trell's face was momentarily pinched as I watched him
work his way through my explanation.  "I guess," he finally said.  "If
you're going to do the nasty, it probably would be better if there were
solid rules set up - it makes sense, sir."  I wondered for the briefest
moment if this man had ever had sex with anybody in his life.  It was a
ludicrous thought, that this overweight, middle-aged man with fourteen
years with the police could be a virgin.  "What do these blokes do when
they pin someone, Inspector Goodson?" Trell asked, pulling me from my
errant thoughts.  "Pin?"  "This Simon chap said he was going to be giving a
lesson in the eroticism of pinning tonight.  He invited me back to watch -
and to take part in it, if I wanted."  Trell scratched his head.  "The
bloke even told me I might could witness an American money shot if I was
quite lucky."  I bit my tongue to keep from bursting into laughter.  I knew
what a money shot was, even if I didn't recognise the term "pinning".
Trell would be truly shocked at watching his American ejaculate, trying for
a distance.  "I suspect you should go to this thing tonight then," I told
him.  "Only, you need to keep an open mind," I admonished him.  "You may be
the lad who works himself into the leather crowd for us-" "And the drugs,
sir?"  "Those you don't need an open mind for.  Anything past the usual
party drugs call in back up immediately and arrest the bugger."

The man nodded, understanding he'd been given his assignment, and stood up.
He reached to filch another bun from my desk and I smiled.  "Relax, Trell,"
I told him as he turned toward the door.


I turned to the paperwork still on my desk and forced myself to start in on
it.  A knock at the door a few moments later made me think that the
sergeant had returned.  "Enter," I called as I glanced around the room for
what he might have forgotten.

A young trainee opened the door to see inside and waved a file at me.  "New
case, Inspector," she explained breezily.  I motioned to come inside my
office.  "What is it this time?" I groused.  "A headless body in a rubbish
bin?"  "Oh, no, sir," she answered as she stepped quickly to my desk and
dropped the packet on top of Trell's buns.  "A bit of larceny in the
eastend, it is.  An Asian restaurant had part of its food shipment lifted."
She was back in the corridor and pulling the door to behind her before I
could think of a reply.  I gazed at the file lying unopened atop the iced
buns for several minutes.  I didn't want another case.  I didn't need
another one.  I had supposedly been exempted from more cases until we knew
what this muck with heroin showing up in the gay community was.  At the
moment, what I wanted most was to get to my flat in Parliament Hill and
find my bed.  I was quite certain that I would sleep forever.

I could give it to Trell.  It would be enough to keep him busy.  But that
was the same slough off every other inspector had done with the man.  Very
probably I would never learn who had filched the Asian's groceries.  Not
unless the criminal was cooperative enough to do something similar again
and let us begin to develop a sketch of his operation.  But I was sure that
Trell had no chance of learning who the perpetuator was.  A bloody taxpayer
had the right to expect that he would have the best.

I picked up the file and shoved it into my briefcase.  It was time to go
home.  A hot shower and a couple of shots of whisky would make everything
look a lot better when I did find my bed.  I would look at the case before
I went rowing and make it my first stop tomorrow.

* * *

At the sideboard, I fixed myself a neat whisky and moved to look out the
large window at the park below me.  My eyes followed any movement before
them, but nothing beyond the window registered in my mind.  My thoughts
centred on what had happened that morning in the library.  On an
androgynously beautiful lad who, for a few moments, had been Marlene
Dietrich.  On a glutton feasting publicly through a pair of blue jeans the
night before that.

I was preoccupied.  Bloody hell!  I was bewitched, more like.

I pivoted and faced the interior of my living room.  Even here, decorated
as I liked it in African art - where I answered to no one - Brett Chandler
held me firmly by the bollocks.  No one had invaded my head as he had done.
"He's a bloody arse!" I growled at the silent room before me.  "Leaving me
like that."  I downed the whisky in my glass.  "He's nothing but a bloody
little whore!"

I sat down on the sofa and pulled my briefcase to me.  I knew one way to
evict Brett Chandler from my thoughts where he had so inexplicably come to
take up residence.  I pulled out the file that I'd brought from the office.
Reality check, I told myself as I opened the folder and settled against the
leather back of the sofa.  There were real people with real problems who
needed me within the folder.  I began to read the investigating officer's
report.

M. K. Patel had arrived at his grocery at eight o'clock yesterday morning
as he was expecting an early delivery.  Though entering the front door of
his establishment, he locked this and proceeded directly to the back
loading dock.  There, he found the lorry had already been there and
unloaded his order.  Early delivery was common procedure for the supplier,
and Mr. Patel proceeded to begin checking his invoice against the delivery.

Over the next half hour of checking in his stores, Mr. Patel learnt that he
had been shorted several cases of tinned vegetables and several other items
having a wholesale value of slightly more than two hundred pounds sterling.
Upon calling the supplier, he found that the items had indeed been
delivered.  They were marked off on the driver's ticket as well as a copy
of the invoice that Mr. Patel had.  The gentleman had then called to the
policeman on patrol and reported the theft.

The file contained nothing more except for the officer's name - Jesse
Patel.  It was a common enough Asian surname, of course - a bit like Smith
in English - but I found myself idly wondering if the policeman was related
to the shopkeeper.  I hoped so.  It would make the investigation that much
easier to conduct.  I might even find a culprit out of it.

Leaning back against the sofa and closing my eyes, I tried to visualise the
scene that Officer Patel had described.

Instead, my mind's eye had formed a blond head bobbing between my legs.  I
was erect. Brett Chandler looked up with my dick firmly wedged in his
throat and smiled.  Opening my eyes, I found that my hand had slipped
inside my trousers and I was fondling myself.  "Christ!" I growled and sat
up, the file tumbling from my lap to the floor.  "Damn you, Brett
Chandler!" I hissed.

I stood and wondered how I was ever going to exorcise the bloody American
from my thoughts even as I remembered I would soon be spending a weekend
with him in the country.  I grew harder, tenting my trousers and leaking
pre come into my pants.

I went to the sideboard and fixed myself another whisky, doubled this time.
Outside the window, the sky had darkened as the sun slipped further behind
the western horizon.  And my erection refused to go away.

"Shit!" I groaned and downed the whisky.  "Well, nothing to do for it but
have a shower and a serious wank," I told myself, finding a sort of solace
in the sound of my voice.

Moving to the bedroom, I quickly stripped out of my clothes and tossed them
into the hamper with practised ease.  With my prick leading the way then, I
stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower cubicle.

I frowned as I gazed at my hard dick.  For the first time since I had
learnt there were uses for a penis other than just peeing, I was disgusted
with mine.  With the betrayal of which it was an indication.  At how
thoroughly I had lost control of myself.

And I cursed Brett Chandler for being the cause of it all.  I needed only
to shut my eyes and his smiling face was there before me.  I needed only to
touch myself and it was his hand, his teeth, or his mouth on me.

I promised myself that I would not wank under the shower.  I was no bloody
teenager with uncontrollable hormones gushing through him.  I didn't have
to toss it five and six times a day.  I was a grown man, and my brain was
definitely not in my knob-end.  The bloody thing stayed erect as I washed,
no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.



I lay on my bed and finally surrendered to my still erect dick.

Starting at the root, I used two fingers to push skin up onto the knob-end.
Closing my eyes, I caught the hem of bunched skin just beyond the tip
between my thumb and index finger and began to increase the pressure of my
hold.  It almost felt like teeth gripping me there.  In my mind's eye I saw
young Brett holding my foreskin between his bared teeth and up looking my
chest to see my reaction.  My other hand moved to pull on my bollocks and
became his there.

The rest of my fingers joined my thumb and index finger to form a fist on
my manhood and began to move down onto its shaft.  Slowly, as Brett's mouth
had the second time that morning.  Fingers of the other hand pulled hard on
my ballsac to keep me from erupting.  He looked and grinned at me and I
smiled back.  "Do it," I told him, surrendering to his continuing presence
in my dreams.

I flexed my hips, pushing my cock into my fist, into his mouth.  Pre come
began to ooze from my slit and lubricate my glans.  I paused in my wank and
pushed the skin back onto my knob-end until it was bunched at the very tip.
My pinkie slipped through the opening and began to move around the head of
my prick, staying beneath the skin there.  I shuddered as the sensations
that I had first encountered this morning pulsed through me again.

It was almost like having his tongue there.  It was almost like having him
lying beside me, and I knew that was what I wanted most of all.

The hand left my bollocks and moved up to my chest, searching out nipples
it could tweak.  I began to hump my fist harder and faster, my bollocks
already drawing tight against my shaft.  "Brett," I breathed as I began to
slip towards orgasm.

My fist pounded my cock.  I humped my fist.  I tweaked first one nipple and
then the other.  My bollocks rode my shaft as my glans expanded beneath my
flying fingers.  "Bloody hell!  Take it, Brett!" I shouted aloud as the
first jet of jizz belched from my dick.