Date: Fri, 9 May 2014 08:53:58 -0400
From: Jake Preston <jemtling@gmail.com>
Subject: Psychic Detective 35

Psychic Detective 35
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


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Chapter 35
Two Vultures in the Square


	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: So what are we doing in Yucatán this time of
year? There's not enough road-kill in South Dakota? Last year you dragged
me to Lake Ashawa where we quarreled with gulls over the stinky corpses of
dead perch. Now we're in Mérida pecking at morsels littered by tourists
in the Square.

	CRAIG CLARK: Don't dis the cuisine, Old Shaman. If the Great Spirit
hears you complaining about food, He'll pluck off our borrowed feathers and
send our displumeated souls to nirvana. Yesterday we dined on tamandua, a
magnificent white specimen half-vested in black.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: A banquet to the eyes, but odiferous!

	CRAIG CLARK: If you were a real vulture, you'd have savored the
fragrance of tamandua... Our days on earth are numbered, so try to act the
part. No need to hasten our final departure. Anyway, we're not in Mérida
for the food. We're here to check up on the skeleton- whisperer and his
companions.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: The skeleton-whisperer. Now he's got an Aztec
acrobat, and the Lakota sheriff's got himself a Maya magician, and Jésus
is sleeping with a Mexican cop, even though Jack's in love with Calvin, who
he left behind in Lakota, and Göran and Jésus are in love with each
other, and Jack's and Göran's friendship is the deepest love of all, yet
they hardly ever have sex together. And Pablo has a crush on Göran but
shares him with two Paplanta acrobats, while Xiu the magician is besotted
with Jack, but swaps him for Jésus, while Salvador gives up Jésus for
a go at Jack. These gay romances are complicated and confusing. Try to
imagine a score-card to keep up with them! It's a wonder they don't consume
each other in jealous quarrels.

	CRAIG CLARK: Jealousy? A man who gets jealous over sex has no
business being gay.  But we're here to watch over Skeleton-Whisperer. If he
gets close to Albino there might be some danger.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Does it matter? We can't change destiny.

	CRAIG CLARK: We can send him a warning, a dream, an omen.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: What will become of Albino when he joins Spirit?
Maybe he'll be a rock at the bottom of the Gulf Stream. Scuba-diving
spear-fishers will mistake him for a shark and shoot him with
spear-guns. Maybe Sagittarius will swoop down and sever his balls from his
groin. That would be a cosmic pageant we're entitled to see, since we've
already paid the price of admission for these ghastly spirit-world
theatricals.

	CRAIG CLARK: More likely he'll be a hammerhead shark off the reefs
of Bimini. You came here to watch him die, didn't you? Where's Albino now?
You're the Shaman. You must know.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Where Albino is now is of no importance, but if
you must know, he's in Uxmal, looking for the Maya magician who, he says,
had promised him a private tour of the secret chamber in the Temple. One of
the guides says that maybe he went home to San Francisco Campeche. Another
says he might have gone to Cancún to work as a tour guide on a bus,
since he knows English and German. Another says he's in Chichen Itza,
because that's where so many mexicanos go for Holy Week, and tourist, too.

	CRAIG CLARK: You know what I think, Old Shaman?

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: I'm supposed to guess?

	CRAIG CLARK: I think you besotted the Maya magician with the
splendor of Jack so he'd go with him to Mérida.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Jack didn't need any help from Spirit for that!
Didn't you see how Xiu reacted as soon as he laid eyes on Jack? Why do you
think he showed him the chamber that no other tourist has seen? Whatever
Albino told the guides at Uxmal, Xiu never promised a tour of the chamber,
not to Albino. It's a family secret. None of the guides believe it exists.

	CRAIG CLARK: I think you're besotted with Jack yourself. You
inhabited the Maya magician's body so you could fuck Jack. Then you covered
your tracks with a bed-trick and left Jésus with Jack and Xiu with that
middle-aged police detective in the Juan Carlos Hotel.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: This may be false. It may be true. I can't deny
it all, but if you keep it secret, I won't tell Manitou about how you
played Peeping Tom outside Seńora Dorothea's window while
Skeleton-Whisperer entertained three Aztec acrobats in his bedroom,
although one of them is really a Mexican pretending to be Aztec,
unbeknownst to the others.

	CRAIG CLARK: How can you say that? You were busy with Jack in the
Juan Carlos.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: I'm the Old Shaman, remember? I can be in two
places at once, even when I'm dallying with the Lakota warrior.

	CRAIG CLARK: I think you're guessing. You're good at that, Johnnie
Elk Heart.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: If I'm guessing, how do I know that in the
morning light, Göran anticipated Pablo's cock up his culo, until Pablo
pivoted him hole-to-pole and lowered his torso. At that moment, two
Paplantas named Antón and Arcańo— Göran had met them the night
before— burst into the bedroom. Pablo had left the door unlocked for
this purpose. Antón and Arcańo doffed their trim jockeys, knelt on
either side of Göran, and offered their pendaments to his grasp and his
lips, like bulls' udders in a topsy-turvy dairy, while Pablo churned butter
on their captive's upthrust pole. Magnificent lithe dark acrobatic Aztec
bodies dallied around Göran like Three Graces dancing. "Our
Conquistador," they called him and proffered a three-man full- service
massage. "My Aztec acrobats," Göran replied. "Strictly speaking, I'm
Mexica," Antón said. "My three Aztec acrobats," Göran insisted, and
when they turned the tables and flipped him, he offered just enough
resistance to motivate Pablo and Antón into holding him down while
Arcańo thrust his throbbing almost-black rod into Göran's supple
culo. Saving the best until last, they piston-straddled Göran onto the
pole of Arcańo while Antón and Pablo took turns fucking him from
behind. In their acrobatic ménage ŕ quatre, thrice they traded
positions, taking care to omit no possible combination of legs, arms,
torsos, culos, and cocks in their drama of picaresque romance.

	CRAIG CLARK: So that's how you know that one of the Aztec acrobats
is really mexicano.

	JOHNNIE ELK HEART: Not mexicano. Mexica, the Indian nation in
Veracruz, once hostile neighbors to the Aztecs, but they seem friendly
enough now.