Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 22:02:54 -0400
From: Jake Preston <jemtling@gmail.com>
Subject: Psychic Detective 14

Psychic Detective 14
By Jake Preston


This is a work of erotic gay fiction, intended for readers who enjoy a
murder mystery in which fully developed characters interact sexually and in
other ways. Their sexual encounters are sometimes romantic, sometimes
recreational, sometimes spiritual, and almost always described
explicitly. My attention is equally divided between narrative, character
development, and sex scenes. If you don't care for this combination, there
are many other excellent "nifty" stories to choose from. And remember that
while nifty stories are free, maintaining a website is not. Please think
about donating at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Writing is usually a solitary avocation, but not necessarily so on
nifty.org, where a longer story appears in installments. If my characters
and my story grab your attention, you can always intervene with suggestions
for improvements. All sincere comments will get a response!

Jake, at jemtling@gmail.com


      *  *  *  *  *  *


Chapter 14
Three Under Cover


      Morning found Jack Jackson and Göran Svenson in Sheriff Andrew's
office, signing the legal document that deputized them for the Eagle Cap
investigation. It gave them law-enforcement authority within the limits of
their mission. They could lean on a reluctant witness-not that they ever
would. They had more effective ways to get gay men to open up.

      Peter Durham was in the office. Jackson took stock of his smart
figure and youthful face, and asked Sheriff Andrews if one of his patrolmen
could assist in the undercover operation. "It's a low-risk assignment, not
without one or two points of interest to make it a useful training exercise
for Patrolman Durham. Andrews agreed. At Jackson's invitation, Durham drove
to the cabin for dinner at six. They intended to leave for the Silver
Stallion at eight.

      After dinner, Durham asked Jackson and Svenson for tips on how to
behave. "Just be yourself," Svenson said: "the more masculine the
better. If a guy strokes your butt or puts a hand on your leg, don't look
shocked or pull away. No one will suspect you're a cop."

      "I think we should practice," Jackson said. He sat next to Durham on
the sofa. "You're a tourist. You're talking about your ride up the cable
car to the top of Mount Howard. The guy puts his hand on your leg, like
this. Whoa, don't look startled, Peter. Just play it cool. It's okay to
blush, but don't pull away. If he seems like a promising informant, you
might need to get handsy, too." Jackson ran his hand up Durham's leg and
rubbed his inner thigh. Durham pressed his hand over Jackson's
hand. "That's good, Peter. You're a fast learner," he said. He groped
Durham's crotch. Durham groped Jackson's crotch in return. "That's a signal
that you both want sex," Jackson said. "If you want to slow things down,
place your hand over mine, put some pressure on it, and slide it back to my
thigh. Be sure to smile."

      Their first stop was the Silver Stallion Saloon. They passed through
double-doors to the pool-room, and upstairs to the parlor and the second
set of pool tables. Svenson handed Jackson and Durham a little blue pill:
"viagra," he said. "Your cover story will be more realistic with an
erection." He popped a pill, too. Then they dispersed, not wanting to be
identified as a threesome.

      On opposite sides of the parlor, Svenson and Durham were approached
by four young men-one after the other. After some inane conversation, they
walked on by. Durham wondered if the undercover operation would end in
futility. A husky red-headed man in his forties walked past Svenson and
approached Durham. He bought Durham a beer at the bar. He seemed
knowledgeable about sculpture and painting. He introduced himself as Rudy
Finnegan, and said he was a sculptor. He gave Durham his business
card. Durham used Rudy's talk about painting as an excuse to show him his
copy of Albino's portrait. "It's an Anna Ravitch," Durham said.  "I've seen
the original, though I haven't met the subject. I'm told he lives in these
parts."

      "Oh, yeah, I know this guy. I did a sculpture for him a few years
ago," Rudy said, effusively. Just when Durham thought he had a fish on the
line, Rudy said he needed some air.  He went to the men's room, and
afterward, waved at Durham as he left the bar. 'Oh, well', Durham thought,
'at least I know who he is and where to find him'.


      * * * * * *


      Three Wallowa youths in their twenties invited Jackson to join them
in a game of pool.  They liked him for his looks and his chiefly manner so
long as they thought he was "F.O.T."  ('from our tribe'). His stock went
through the ceiling when they learned he was Lakota.  One of the youths
invited them all to his home on the Res. "I'm not going off on a drunk or
drug high," Jackson said. The boys assured him they weren't. Jackson asked
for the address and wrote it on one of his business cards. He gave it to
Svenson. "Göran, I spoke prematurely when I said no undercover sex."
"Say no more," Svenson replied. "Do what you must."

      "Is that guy with you?" one of the Wallowas asked. "We thought you
were on your own."

      "That guy is my lover," Jackson said, "and yes, I'm on my own for
tonight." They foursome started another game of pool. Svenson and Durham
decided to try their luck in the garden behind the Gallery. They approached
Jackson, to say they were leaving. Jackson gave Svenson a passionate kiss
on the lips.

      "I'll come get you in the morning," Svenson said. "We've got work
tomorrow."

      "Can you find your way on the Res?" Jackson asked.

      "I'm a detective, remember?" Svenson laughed. Jackson was a man of
mystery to the Wallowa youths who witnessed this exchange.


      * * * * * *


      Svenson and Durham approached the garden in the yard behind the
Gallery. They read a sign at the gate:


      THIS IS A PRIVATE
      GAY-FRIENDLY GARDEN
      OPEN TO THE PUBLIC


A yellow brick path made a wide circle around a giant Douglas fir, lined
with hemlocks, rhododendrons, azaleas, and many-colored floral beds. The
path was lit with old-fashioned street-lamps. The four directions were
marked by bronze sculptures: in the South, Ganymede holding a wine-cup,
seated in the lap of Zeus; in the East, Gilgamesh and Enkidu wrestling with
the monster Humbaba; in the North, David and Jonathan at archery-practice;
in the West, Achilles mourning over the body of Patroklos after he was
slain in battle by Hektor.

	   Svenson and Durham didn't want to be seen together, so they
lingered at separate statues.  When Durham was at Zeus and Ganymede,
Svenson was at the Gilgamesh scene. When Durham moved to the Gilgamesh
scene, Svenson moved to admire David's and Jonathan's archery. So they
revolved, counterclockwise, around the garden path. Svenson was approached
by a short, lean forty-something Wallowa man who asked if he knew the
stories behind the statues. Svenson said he did, and-beginning with David
and Jonathan-related a narrative for each one. Their discourse was lively
and long, for Svenson was good at storytelling and took a liking to his
companion. The Wallowa introduced himself, and explained that his name,
Brave-Hearted Elk, was an English translation of a rather more elaborate
phrase in Nez Persé.

         While Svenson and Brave-Hearted Elk were engaged in this way,
Durham was surprised by Rudy, who appeared at his side out of nowhere. Rudy
greeted Durham as if he were a long lost buddy. He offered to explain how
the bronze statues were made. "Each statue has technical difficulties
unique to itself, if you're interested," he said. Rudy and Durham made the
round of the statues, keeping their distance from Svenson and Brave-Hearted
Elk. "Tomorrow morning I'll take you to the foundry, and give you a guided
tour of the process," he promised, "assuming, of course, that you want to
come home with me tonight."

            When Durham got into the front seat of Rudy's car, Rudy
couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his basket. Viagra, Durham
remembered. "I guess I'm pretty obvious," he said. "That's all right,
Peter, I'll take care of it," Rudy said.


      * * * * * *


            Brave-Hearted Elk had no transportation back to his home on the
Res. "If you want to stay with me at Wallowa Lake Resort, I'll drive you
home in the morning," Svenson said. "That way, you can help me find this
address." He showed the card with the address where Jackson would be. "Yes,
I know the place," his companion said.

	         When Svenson learned that Brave-Hearted Elk hadn't eaten
that day, he prepared omelets in the kitchen. Over omelets, orange juice,
and slices of ham, Svenson told Brave-Hearted Elk the truth about who he
was and why he had come to Joseph. He displayed pictures of Albino Perp and
his mate. "I remember him, the tall one with white hair" Brave-Hearted Elk
said. "He tried to mug me one night outside the saloon. I don't know what
he was after. I didn't have anything to steal."

           "You had a lucky escape, Brave-Hearted Elk," Svenson said.

           "I ran away," he replied.

             "You saved your life," Svenson countered. "You thought there
was one. There were two." He ushered Brave-Hearted Elk to the living room
where he lit a fire in the fireplace and served whisky in tumblers. He
offered Brave-Hearted Elk a viagra, "to keep up with me," he said; "I took
one earlier this evening." Brave-Hearted Elk appraised his companion's good
looks, his athletic figure, his bulging blue-jeans. Svenson stripped to his
jockey-shorts. A damp spot in his tidy-whitey betrayed bulbourethal leakage
in the plumbing; the soft linen strained to contain his erection. "Oh,"
Svenson said, and stepped out of his shorts. He sat beside Brave-Hearted
Elk on the sofa and flung an arm around his shoulders. Brave-Hearted Elk
moved a hand over Svenson's torso and legs, and fondled his cock and his
scrotum. He shucked off his clothes.  Svenson fondled his smooth-skinned
wiry-gracile partner and sucked six inches of uncut cock.  After a quick
shower, they went to bed.

            Brave-Hearted Elk was overwhelmed at first, and a bit
intimidated by the attentions of this youthful athletic hunk. He was
self-conscious of his undersized dick. Like many men with average-size
cocks, he thought it was smaller than average; it dwarfed in comparison to
Svenson's party-size beer-can. "I'm no size queen," Svenson laughed. He
nibbled at foreskin. He told Brave-Hearted Elk that he was just as
self-conscious of being circumcised as some guys are conscious of size. "I
don't see the problem," Brave-Hearted Elk said: "Uncut guys like me like to
play with shaved cockheads. It's a difference that attracts."

            "It's the same with size, don't you see?" Göran said. "A big
cock might make a better first impression, but when it comes to playtime in
the rack, I like to get the whole cock in my mouth."

            During their foreplay, Brave-Hearted Elk assumed that Svenson
would want to fuck. He psyched himself up to receiving, but subtly and by
degrees, Svenson encouraged his partner into more aggressive
sex-play. Brave-Hearted Elk got up the nerve to make a trial of Svenson's
butthole with his finger. Svenson handed him the lube-tube. Brave-Hearted
Elk administered a finger-fuck, lubricated and slow, and gradually move up
to three fingers. Svenson responded erotically.

            "I've never fucked a well-hung stud like you before, Göran,
and I've never fucked a white guy. You're amazing," Brave-Hearted Elk said.

            "If you want a squaw for the night, I'm your guy," Göran
replied. "Fuck me bareback and breed me!"

            Brave-Hearted Elk drove cock up the love-canal. The howls and
yelps of Göran were mostly sincere, and loud and long enough to give
Brave-Hearted Elk the erotic satisfaction of conquering ass. This stallion
was his to ride. His inclination as a top kicked in. He moved Göran into
a half-dozen fucking-positions. Göran complied. Göran's jizz
fragranced their bellies while Wallowa semen whitewashed his canal.


      * * * * * *


	        Patrolman Durham knelt on the floor between Rudy's flabby
legs. Rudy rested his ankles on Durham's shoulders. The anatomical panoply
of Rudy spread before to his gaze. Rudy pulled Durham toward him. His lips
pressed pulsating cock and worked down to the balls. His tongue went into
action. Rudy guided Durham's head further down. Durham's tongue tickled
Rudy's perineum. He licked precum from Rudy's mushroomy head and sucked as
much of the shaft as he could get into his mouth. Rudy guided Durham's head
downward. His lips touched the perineum. He licked it. At Rudy's
insistence, Durham snorted a bottle of Amsterdam. A minute later, Durham's
tongue was exploring the ridges of Rudy's butthole while Rudy praised his
performance.

      Rudy liked rim-jobs so much that he crawled on the bed doggie-style
and fed Durham the poppers. "I call this 'Amsterdam doggie'," he
said. Durham knelt between Rudy's legs and gazed on the crevice between two
fleshy red-freckled moons. He knew what to do. He snorted poppers, ran his
tongue down the cleft, and licked Rudy's hole. "Fuck my asshole with your
tongue," Rudy grunted, commanding Durham to do what he was already doing.


      * * * * * *


      In Tom Blue Fox's ramshackle home on the Res, Jackson and his Wallowa
companions drew cards for the positions of top and bottom. Tom drew the
King of Hearts, and Ricky Eagle Cap got Ace of Diamonds. That made them
tops. Jack White Rock drew the Nine of Spades, and Jackson drew Seven in
the same suit. That made them bottoms. Jackson kept silent about his
suspicion that the card-draw was fixed. The boys found amusement in the
prospect of fucking two 'Jacks', "and referred to Jackson as the other
Jack. "White Rock and Red Crest," Jackson said; "my Lakota name is Red
Crest."

      A man in his later twenties, Jackson was seven or eight years older
than his companions, taller, stronger, and more athletic. This, and his
status as a Lakota stranger, made him the target of their erotic
attentions. He may as well have had a target painted on his butt. Tom Blue
Fox was the leader. He chose Jackson for his partner. Jackson and Jack
White Rock knelt before Blue Fox and Eagle Cap and sucked cock. White Rock
fondled Jackson's cock while they sucked.  Jackson returned the favor. Blue
Fox and Eagle Cap turned around and arched naked butts.  Jackson nosed into
Tom Blue Fox's cleft. When White Rock hesitated, Jackson pushed his head
into man-cleft. "If Tom and Ricky want rim-jobs, who are we to refuse?"
Jackson said. He told them to lay with their butts at the edge of the
bed. The two Jacks knelt between the legs of their partners. Lips and
tongues clashed with pricks, balls, perinea, and buttholes. The two Jacks
changed places and partners. Tom got the idea for a rimming contest. He and
Ricky would choose the best rimmer.

      "What's the prize?" Jack White Rock asked.

      "The loser rims the winner." Jackson won that one.

      Tom Blue Fox and Ricky Eagle Cap had a disagreement about whether
they should mission their partners or fuck doggie-style. Ricky favored
doggie-style. "Naw, I want to see them squirm when our pricks go in," Tom
replied. "Later we can switch to doggie." When Blue Fox entered his lair,
Jackson groaned and yelped, and gave him the squirming action he wanted.
When they flipped to doggie-style, Jackson and White Rock kissed and
comforted each other for the butt-bruising they were taking.

      Tom and Ricky switched places and partners. Jackson proposed a
fucking-contest- winner to be chosen by the two Jacks: "Each fucker scores
on a scale from one to ten. What's good for the geese is good for the
ganders."

      "What's the prize?"

      "The prize is me for the rest of the night," Jackson said. He didn't
want to spend the night in group sex. It was exhausting. Tom Blue Fox was
certain that he'd be the winner, but Jackson had weighted his scores in
favor of Ricky Eagle Cap. Nothing to do with sex: Ricky was more sensitive,
more empathetic. Jackson figured that Ricky would be the most cooperative,
once he broke the news about his hunt for two serial killers. Jackson was
right. After a romantic night together, Ricky broke the news that Jackson
was a sheriff on a mission. The Wallowa youths remembered Albino Perp-"He
said he was an anthropologist, writing a book about our tribe," they
said. "He interviewed some families on the Res, and then disappeared." They
told him every detail that they could recall. "You know, Sheriff," Tom Blue
Fox said, "we would have told you these things if you had asked us last
night. You didn't have to have sex with us."

      "I know that," Jackson grinned.


      * * * * * *


	"Have you ever been fisted?" Brave-Hearted Elk asked Svenson when
they woke at midnight.

      "Is that an invitation to try?" Svenson replied.

      "I've got the hands for it, slender, with nails short-trimmed,"
Brave-Hearted Elk said.  Göran squeezed his right hand. "It's best done
with Crisco, if you've got some in the kitchen."  Göran said he'd
try. They could do it by the fireplace, with a fire. They brought a blanket
and pillow. Göran lay on his back with his butt propped on the
pillow. He kissed the hand of Brave- Hearted Elk and sucked his fingers.

      Brave-Hearted Elk knelt between his legs and fingered Crisco into his
butthole. It didn't take long to get four fingers, up to the knuckles. "I'm
gonna give a gentle twist," he whispered.  Göran moaned. He pulled out
his hand to add Crisco. "You've got a gape started,- very good, Göran,"
he said. His regained his position up to the knuckles and edged forward and
back, forward and back, each time gaining a fraction while Göran groaned
and sometimes cried out.  He pulled out for more Crisco. He put his hand
back in with his thumb folded over his palm.  Knuckles pressed along the
ridges of Göran's butthole, and disappeared with a forward thrust.
Groans punctuated Göran's deep rhythmic breaths. When his knuckles
passed through the sphincter, Göran's anal canal felt like a vacuum
sucking Brave-Hearted Elk's hand inside. After a few minutes rest,
Brave-Hearted Elk played Göran by wiggling his fingers and rotating his
hand, each time sinking it further, until it got to the wrist.

      The penetration of Brave-Hearted Elk's hand was complete. Göran
was relieved, and relaxed into sex-play- a slow wriggle of fingers, a
gentle rotation of the wrist. For Göran the slightest motion registered
as an earth-shaking collision of drifting continents, but the earthquakes
inside him cause anal orgasms, both felt and heard as 'snap, crackle, pop'
like pouring milk over dry cereal. The experience was synesthetic: hearing
overpowered feeling.  Intellectually, he knew that these orgasms were
mini-contractions of the rectum, but what is a seminal orgasm if not a
contraction of the prostate? When Brave-Hearted Elk thought he'd had
enough, he withdrew his hand slowly and gently. They awoke in the chill of
dawn, surprised that they had slept through the night on the floor by the
fireplace, where the fire had grown cold.

      Would Göran do it again? He wasn't ready to sign up for membership
in Fist Fuckers of America. He wouldn't try it on Jack. His hands were too
big for a fisting-top, but that was a higher office to which he did not
aspire. He wouldn't introduce Jack to Brave-Hearted Elk. He didn't regret
it, but to him the experience was more education than pleasure.

      Brave-Hearted Elk's takeaway was different. He took pride in his
ability to give pleasure-an ideal in any good top. He admired Göran's
nobility of character- his willing submission to a fisting-adventure was an
incidental sign of that. He knew that Göran knew that he was just a poor
Wallowa on the Res, but that didn't stop him from treating him as an equal.
He understood why Jack loved him. Above all, he took lascivious delight in
his status as the 'holder' of Göran's fisting-cherry.


      * * * * * *


      While Svenson was getting fisted by Brave-Hearted Elk, Rudy fucked
Peter Durham with staying-power fueled by viagra. When they awoke at dawn,
Rudy surprised Durham with his greeting: "Good morning, Patrolman!"
Durham's undercover pose in the Silver Stallion Saloon hadn't fooled him
for a minute. He explained to Durham: "You're the hot new cop in town.
Everyone knows you, even though you might not know them."

      Durham blushed with embarrassment.

      "Will he respect me in the morning?- that's what you're wondering,"
Rudy said, "and I'm wondering if a great stud like you is willing to seem
me again."

      "I am. I want us to be friends, and... well, fuck-buddies," Durham
stammered.

      "Good man!" Rudy exclaimed. "But there's something else on your mind,
Peter, something besides the murder mysteries at Eagle Cap."

      "Last night was my first time," Durham said. "I was a virgin. There,
I said it!"


      * * * * * *


	Svenson and Brave-Hearted Elk drove to Tom Blue Fox's home on the
Res to pick up Jack. They took formal witness statements about
Albino-sightings, and arranged for a follow-up meeting at the cabin, to
include all the witnesses-the three Wallowa youths, Brave-Hearted Elk,
Rudy, and Margaret; a "witness-convocation," he called it. It seemed like
an unorthodox idea to Sheriff Andrews. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't do it,
either," Svenson said, "but my intuition tells me that we're getting close
to figuring out who Albino might be. A dialogue with the witnesses might
push us through the impasse." Andrews agreed to attend the meeting.

	Svenson's witnesses disclosed four contact-points with Albino
Perp. Svenson attempted a summary: "First, when Albino was a guest at the
Resort, his sociopathic companion conducted business while he stayed in the
background. Second, Albino visited the gay scene in Joseph. He tried to
abduct Brave-Hearted Elk outside the Silver Stallion. His abduction-attempt
failed. Other gay men have had narrow escapes. I met with two such men in
Superior. Third, Albino commissioned Rudy for a sculpture of a Wallowa
shaman early in June, 2009. He collected it a year later. Fourth, in the
summer of 2012, Albino visited the Reservation to interview some
Wallowas. He said he was writing a history of the Wallowa people. He said
he was a college professor, an anthropologist. During his interaction with
the Wallowa youths, he asked questions that he read from a
clipboard. That's what we know so far."

	"Did he ask questions about the Wallowa language, or about Nez
Persé dialects?- Wallowa names of plants or trees, herbs or medicines,
mountains or rivers, that sort of thing?"  Jackson asked. The Wallowa
youths said there were no questions about language.

	"What do you think, Jack?" Göran said. "You're the brain trust
from Emory."

	"I think that if Albino is an anthropologist, he's not a very good
one," Jack said.

	"Because he's not interested in Indian languages?" Göran asked.

	"There's that," Jack replied, "but mainly because of the way he
approached Tom Blue Fox, Ricky Eagle Cap, and Jack White Rock. It was a
top-down approach, with predetermined questions read from a clipboard. He
might as well have asked the boys to fill out a printed survey. A
psychologist might operate that way, or a sociologist, but in modern
Anthropology it's considered unscientific and arrogant to treat your
informants as 'subjects'. A good anthropologist enters into dialogue with
his informants as conversational equals. The best anthropologists 'go
native' to understand native cultures. No anthropologist would trust
conclusions drawn from a survey."

	"That's who we're looking for," Jackson continued: "a failed
academic-maybe a Ph.D.  candidate who's working on a doctoral dissertation
that will never be finished. He has a low- level teaching job, maybe as a
lecturer at a small college or a community college. He does his crimes in
the summer, because that's when he's free to travel."