Date: Fri, 14 Mar 2014 08:27:52 -0400
From: Jake Preston <jemtling@gmail.com>
Subject: Psychic Detective 15

Psychic Detective 15
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 15
Dragnet Squad: Göran Svenson and Pete Durham



	Sheriff Andrews called a staff meeting to update his officers and
decide how to proceed.  He praised Patrolman Peter Durham for undercover
work that resulted in clues to the mystery of 'Albino'. Andrews and Jackson
disagreed about next steps. Andrews wanted to send emails to college
presidents and social science departments in a five-state area- Oregon,
Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming. Jackson wanted to assemble a team
of volunteers trained to visit social science departments. "We could start
with the colleges closest to Joseph, and range widely from there," he said.

      Svenson kept silent in this argument between peers. They settled on a
compromise.  Andrews would have his staff send emails with pictures of the
suspects attached, while Jackson, Svenson, Durham, and Ron Chisik would
follow up with campus visits. "Sheriff Jackson's in charge of the Dragnet
Squad," Andrews said. "I want you to visit colleges in pairs. I don't want
anyone going alone, because the men we're looking for are dangerous."

	The Dragnet Squad began their work by checking college
websites. "There's a problem with websites," Svenson said. "They present
photos of permanent college faculty members, but they don't normally
include adjunct instructors, and they never include doctoral candidates.
Albino Perp and his partner are under the radar. But while you're
conducting your computer search, you should make a list of Anthropology
departments that advertise study programs on Native American culture. It's
a roll of the dice, but I'm willing to gamble on visiting doctoral programs
in Anthropology as the most efficient use of our time. If that doesn't pan
out, we can start looking at college instructors." Svenson and Durham would
travel west, to visit campuses Coast in Washington, and in the Willamette
Valley in Oregon. Jackson and Ron Chisik would travel east and south to
Idaho and Wyoming, then north to Montana.


	* * * * * *


	The evening before his westward journey with Svenson, Durham went
to Rudy Finnegan's house. He didn't want his car to be seen, so he jogged
in sweats. Rudy offered him a naked massage. "It's been almost a week," he
said.

      "Yeah, but you know, Rudy, I'm still trying to figure this out in my
mind," he said. Rudy challenged Peter to a Zen-fuck: "You concentrate on
total relaxation while I enter your body and slow-fuck," he said. "You'll
get in touch with your submissive side."

	"You sly fox, Rudy!" Durham exclaimed. "You want to condition me to
be a total bottom, don't you?"

	"You're half-way there already," Rudy replied. "That night when I
plucked your cherry, you let me breed you till morning. Let's make it
official. You've got the hottest smokin' ass in Joseph. Let's let it
sizzle!"

	Rudy played on Durham's feelings, bending the patrolman to his
pleasure. Durham enjoyed the paradox: "The more things seem designed to
gratify you, the more they appeal to me," he said.

	"That's because we're made for each other," Rudy said. "This dick
was made for your ass."

	"Is that a doctrine of Zen?" Durham asked.

	Rudy ignored Durham's attempt at humor. "When I fuck you, Peter,
you'll concentrate on serenity while your ass transmits pleasure to the
rest of your body. You'll get horny, but you won't cum. That way your mind
will be eroticized when we talk about the experience later."

	Durham relaxed. Frontally on the bed, he let gravity settle
him. Rudy sprawled over him.  Durham felt his body as a diffused weight of
sensation. Its shapeless serenity was interrupted Rudy's breath in his ear,
but sufflation merged into an undifferentiated cloud of feeling. The slide
of Rudy's cock in his cleft was absorbed into the generality of
feeling. Durham's concentration was broken when Rudy's cock stretched his
sphincter and nested in his anal canal, but he kept still and let the
feeling merge with the warmth of Rudy's torso over his back. "Feel the
pleasure radiating from your culo," Rudy whispered in his ear. The energy
of Rudy blazoned his mind, each shock a new ember in a bonfire of
lust. Their union ended un-zenlike in humping furious and long, and in Rudy
whispering in Durham's ear, "Linger in the moment, bred by Big Red."


      * * * * * *


	La Grande was Svenson's and Durham's first stop. Eastern Oregon
College was an hour and a half drive from Joseph. They had no Anthropology
department, just one anthropologist in a Social Science department. No
matter. Officially, the plan was to investigate the hypothesis that Albino
Perp was a doctoral student in Anthropology- possible at large
universities- but while they were on the road, they decided to check out
small colleges, too. It wouldn't be unusual for a doctoral candidate to
have a teaching job at a small college.

      No one in La Grande recognized the killers in the photos. They drove
across the desert to Bend, where they made another fruitless stop. After a
mountain crossing, they checked in a motel with two double beds in Eugene.

      Rudy Finnegan was the only person who knew that Durham was
gay. Durham belonged to the thirty-percent minority of men who are
impervious to detection by gaydar. Svenson hadn't seen it. In their motel
room in Eugene, he was first in the shower. He took the bed by the picture-
window, and lay in the middle with a towel draped over his midsection and
his head propped up by two pillows while he read a book- it was Adventures
of Jake Preston, A Gay Picaro in the North Country. The bedcovers were
folded over, inches below his groin. Durham emerged from the shower with a
towel wrapped around his waist. He walked past the unoccupied bed, and
stood over Svenson. "Are you planning to hog the bed?" he asked.

      Svenson couldn't conceal his surprise. He smiled and moved
over. Durham's towel dropped to the floor. He borrowed pillows from the
vacant bed and lay next to Svenson. He looked over Svenson's shoulder while
Svenson turned a page in his book. "What's a picaro?"  Durham asked.

      "What's a hog?" Svenson quipped back.

      "A motorcycle, except when it's a pig," Durham said.

      "Actually, the verb 'hog' has nothing to do with pigs. It's a verb
that goes back to Germanic, 'hugian' in Old English, meaning 'to seize
something', but I believe that the modern English form is borrowed from
Danish. It's the same word as 'hug', which means something like this,"
Svenson said, drawing Durham's naked body close in a body-hug.

      Durham looked at him funny. "How could you know that?"

      "Why wouldn't I?" Svenson replied. "I went to college, you know."

      "All right then. What's a picaro?" Durham asked again.

      "It's a fictional character who travels from one place to another
getting in and out of trouble," Svenson said. "He's a hero who makes
mistakes, but he survives his escapades because he's a good person."

	Durham read the title of the chapter that Svenson was reading:
"'How Jake Two Spirits uttered an oracle from Manitou'- Are you and Jack
into Indian mysticism?"

	"We are," Svenson replied. "Mysticism: it isn't something that
begins in mist and ends in schism. For me, Gitchee-Manitou is the ideal
conception of God. The name means 'Great Spirit'.  In popular discourse
he's personified as male, but in Ojibwe mysticism he's double-gendered as
male and female, and yet a Spirit unconfined by human anatomy. The Ojibwe
never worshiped idols, so they never needed a commandment prohibiting the
fabrication of graven images. The Ojibwe represent Manitou as a single God,
not divided into parts like a Christian Trinity. By comparison, the Trinity
is a polytheistic relic. In other religions, including Judeo-Christianity,
human sacrifice lurks in the background. The Ojibwe never practiced human
sacrifice. They never practiced sacrifice of any kind. It never occurred to
the Ojibwe that the Creator-God would require sacrifice. No daughter or son
of the Ojibwe was ever stabbed or burnt on an altar to calm a storm, or
change the weather, or win a battle."

	"I didn't realize that you were so spiritual," Durham remarked. His
lust for the body receded when Svenson opened a window to his soul- until
sexual desire came rushing back with the knowledge that sexuality was part
of Svenson's personality, too.

	Svenson changed the subject. "There's something else I like about
Adventures of Jake Preston," he said. "The novel is set in Lake Ashawa and
on the Iron Range. "I live in Duluth now, but I grew up on a farm not far
from there. It reminds me of William Krueger mysteries like Iron Lake and
Vermilion Drift. He gives fictional names to real places. Iron Lake is
really Lake Ashawa. Vermilion One is really the Soudan Mine. Originally it
was called the Breitung Mine. I like reading books when I can figure out
the real-life identities of fictional settings."

      Svenson cited other examples of fictional place-names while
pretending not to notice Durham's erotic distress. The modest motel doubled
as a literary salon in which Durham's uncovered dick was the elephant in
the room. Svenson took mischievous delight in making him wait. "Preston
writes in an extravagant style," he continued. "He uses literary allusions,
and difficult words. Sometimes I suspect that makes up words." To
illustrate the point, he read a few passages aloud. "I remember a
computer-based study that showed that in popular culture, the best-selling
books limit their vocabulary to the eighth-grade reading level. Preston
does the opposite. That's another reason why I like him."

	Svenson put the book on the bedside table and turned out the
light. They pulled the bedcovers snug to their shoulders. Durham sidled
toward Svenson. Arms and legs touched.  Durham made a slight rotation
toward his bedmate and pressed a hand on his abdomen. Svenson placed a hand
over his. In response to this quiet encouragement, Durham's hand roved
Svenson's torso. Svenson placed his right hand on Durham's leg and moved it
to his inner thigh. Durham fingered Svenson's left armpit. Durham's had
moved from Svenson's pit to his left nipple. He fondled it erotically.
Durham fondled Svenson's cock. It throbbed in his palm. His thumb was
bulboursly moistened. Gently he cupped Svenson's scrotum and fingered the
outline of his testicles. They turned toward each other in a light embrace
and shared a tender kiss.

	"I didn't see this coming," Svenson said softly.

	"I've been planning it ever since we left La Grande," Durham
said. "I heard a rumor from Paul Gorman that you're a psychic."

	"The more I deny it, the more people say it's true," Svenson
said. "Sometimes at a crime scene I see things intuitively. That comes from
empathizing with victims and imaging criminals who would do things like
that. They're not psychic visions. Maybe they're insights, but they don't
apply to boyfriends. I don't trust my gaydar."

	  Rolling in bed, Durham applied lessons learned from Rudy. He
rimmed Svenson. He resisted at first when Svenson offered to
reciprocate. The feeling blew his mind once he allowed it. It was his first
time getting rimmed. Svenson kept the action oral. They 69'd and fellated
to completion. It was Durham's first time to receive a blow-job. Later, in
aprčs-sexe pillow-talk, Durham told Svenson about his sexual adventures
with Rudy. Svenson wasn't impressed. "I don't mean to sound like a sex
column, Peter, but you have a right to expect reciprocation in bed," he
said.

	"Look at my situation," Durham replied: "A gay cop in conservative
Joseph, even with artists living there, it's still conservative. It's not
as though I can cruise for boyfriends. Under the circumstances, Rudy seems
like a godsend."

	"You need someone your own age, Peter," Svenson said. "What about
Ricky Eagle Cap?  I've seen how he looks at you when no-one's
watching. I've noticed it twice. He probably assumes you're straight, or
else he figures he's not in your league."

	"Ricky? I had no idea," Durham replied. "Yeah, I think Ricky's a
nice guy, and he's sexy. Do you really think he'd be interested?"

	"I think you underestimate your own sex-appeal," Svenson said. "But
you'll have to talk to him, because he wouldn't dare approach you."

	"That's embarrassing," Durham said.

	"What?"

	"The idea that Ricky Eagle Cap thinks I'm out of his league. That's
embarrassing," Durham said. "Why would he think that?"

	"You look cute when you're embarrassed," Svenson replied.

	"Maybe you could talk to him for me?" Durham stammered.

	"I could do that."



	Next morning, Svenson and Durham visited the Anthropology
department on the University of Oregon campus. Outside the department
office in the lobby, a museum-style display case caught Svenson's
attention. He studied the Native American textiles and artifacts while they
waited to see the Chairman.

	The Chairman recognized 'Albino Perp'. "He was a graduate student
about eight years back," he said. "He earned his Master's degree, but he
didn't qualify for admission to our doctoral program. He got what we call a
'terminal MA'."  What was his name, Svenson wondered. The Chairman checked
his computer for the names of MA alumni. "Howard Coleman," he said. To
confirm the name, he checked his grade books from 2002 to 2004.

	"I have two more questions," Svenson said. "Did Coleman have a male
friend who he hung out with, a constant companion?" If he did, the Chairman
was unaware of him. What was the second question, he asked. "Just this,"
Svenson said: "How long has it been since you've had Indian artifacts
stolen from your display case in the lobby?"

	"That happened in 2009. Almost half our collection went
missing. How could you know about that?" the Chairman asked.

	"The burglar broke the side window on the left. You had it
replaced," Svenson replied.  "I'm planning to ask the Lane County Sheriff
to send Forensics to collect some of your artifacts for study. I think
we'll be able to match them with artifact-fragments found at two crime
scenes, in Eagle Cap and on the Island of Eight Eagles. By the way, would
you have a copy of the police report? I'd like to collect that as evidence,
too. Of course I'll get a certified copy from the Police Department."

	"As I remember, Coleman thought it was unfair that we gave him a
terminal MA," the Chairman said. "He might have gotten into a doctoral
program at another university, but I don't know where."

	"What was the topic of his MA thesis?" Svenson wondered.

	"Religious rituals in the Pacific Northwest," the Chairman
replied. "He argued that tribes in the Pacific Northwest practiced ritual
human sacrifice, based on analogy to Aztecs and Maya.  The argument as a
whole was based on analogy, without the support of evidence from Indian
nations in the region. Maybe his faculty committee shouldn't have approved
the thesis. They did, but they didn't accept him into the doctoral
program."

	"Human sacrifice, hmmm,"- Svenson repeated the phrase. "I can't
vouch for the Pacific Northwest, but I can testify that the Ojibwe people
have no recollection of human sacrifice. The real question is whether they
practiced ritual sacrifice in any form. I don't believe that 'sacrifice' is
a religious concept in Ojibwe."

	"I wish you had been on Coleman's MA thesis committee," the
Chairman said.

	The department's MA and PhD theses, bound in green cloth covers,
were displayed in alphabetical order on shelves attached to the inside wall
in the secretary's office. Svenson found Coleman's thesis in the MA
section. He paged through it. Then he asked the Chairman if he could borrow
it. "I'll mail it back when I'm finished," he said. "Or better yet, I'll
return it in person, when I come back to deliver some of the artifacts that
Coleman stole from your collection."