Date: Sat, 5 Jul 2014 13:24:33 -0700
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: TheDetective

The Detective
By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex.  If this offends or
bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a
discussion of safe sex. If you have, any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com

If you enjoy these stories, please consider donating to Nifty

My writings have made him famous and his approach to detection has
revolutionized police work. Of course, Scotland Yard his done its part, but
Sherlock was the man who saw potential for detailed scientific
observation. My books made him into a household name.

Sherlock was brilliant and gifted, and my writings portray him as being
nearly perfect except for his ego and his taste for drugs.  The inflated
ego is correct.  One only needed to be with him a minute or two to discover
his ego. He had another flaw, but it wasn't drugs.

Sherlock had a deep need and drive to engage in sex with men. It was an
obsession, a compulsion.

I became not just his associate; I was his protector and helper. I shared
his sexual tastes, but not his obsession. I could control my urges. I had
one physical attribute that was useful. I possessed an ass that was capable
of dampening his sexual needs for as long as a day. His organ was a perfect
fit for me and for him. He claimed that I had a prehensile ass that could
do things to his tool that no one else could.

I met Sherlock at the Turkish bath near the Regent Street Crescent. I had
been badly wounded in the Afghan wars and the steam let me move without
pain for several hours. He sat next to me and we talked. He is not an
engaging conversationalist. He had a strong preference for talking about
himself and making sure that I knew the extent of his brilliance.

He enjoyed the talk and assumed I did.  I found out later that few could
tolerate his conversation for long. I was too stiff to move easily so I
remained and listened. When I felt good enough to move I rose. My towel
fell off, exposing my genitals. Bending over to pick it up was difficult
for me.

When Sherlock saw my cock, his attitude changed. It changed
dramatically. "Let me help you" with that," he said. He bent over to pick
up my towel. He lingered to closely observe my cock.

He retrieved the towel, but instead of giving it to me, he leaned close to
me and sucked my cock into his mouth. I looked around the steam room. No
one seemed to be concerned or disturbed. I later found out they were
familiar with Sherlock and his interests. His oral skills were impressive.

After a pleasurable interlude, he pulled away from my cock. "Perhaps you
would like to have luncheon at my lodging?" he asked after he finally
returned my towel. I said that would be good. I showered, dressed and went
with him to his place on Baker Street. The landlord was a bit of a
reprobate named Harley Hudson, but Sherlock said the crude man protected
the place like a vicious guard dog.

"Now that we are here, why don't we get naked and have some real fun," he
said once we were in his rooms. Small talk was not his strong
suit. Sherlock was a tall, but otherwise undistinguished man. Naked he
possessed an impressive tool, both long and thick.

I stared at it. "It is large."

"Is that a problem?" he asked.

"I rather doubt it," I said,

"Do you like it up the arse?" he asked.

"It has been known to happen," I said.  Sherlock was not erect yet. Had he
been erect I might have made another response. I once had been with a man
who had a cock like Sherlock's member. It was as big hard as it was
soft. It simply became a ridged version of the soft organ.

That was not the situation with Sherlock. It grew both in length and in
diameter becoming quite impressive.

We went to his bedroom and he helped me strip and get on the bed. This may
have been due to kindness, but I suspect it was more due to impatience. It
normally took me a long time to strip and Sherlock was driven. This drive
was a major part of his success as a detective. Once he was involved in a
case, he could not rest until it was resolved.

Sexually that resolution was typically found when he drained his more than
adequate balls deep in another man's rectum. Given his tastes there was one
good feature. Sherlock enjoyed the tight feeling of his cock in an ass. My
wounds had been serious, but my sphincter was unaffected. I could tighten
it and grab the intruder in my ass. This sent pleasurable sensations
throughout his body.

Most of the time his powerful intellect kept his emotions under firm
control. My tight ass seemed to lessen his mind's intellectual control and
he was able to wallow in a sexually induced near trance. I think he forgot
every concern in these moments, and this could both relax and revel in the
pleasure.

He told me that he had felt glimmers of this pleasurable state several
times before, but only with me, did he find total release and pleasure. His
orgasms were strong, but he enjoyed the long build up to the climax.

His tendency toward scientific analysis was helpful in other ways. His cock
was not ideal for anal penetration.  It was shaped like a tree.  He head
was large, but the shaft was comparatively thin, but it grew and thickened
as it reached his body. The deeper it penetrated into the rectum, the more
it stretched the hole.

Sherlock had developed ways to ease the organ into the hole with minimal
damage and stress. He had some lubricants and oils next to his bed and he
lubricated both his cock and my ass. He massaged my anus and eventually
worked two fingers onto the hole. This was oddly relaxing and he seemed to
relax my sphincter also.

He then pressed his cock head against the sphincter gently. He applied more
pressure, and bounced a little. I continued to relax. He then made a sudden
hard thrust and his head popped into the dark side of my sphincter. He
rested it there and let me get used to the knob in my ass. He seemed to
jiggle it just enough to maintain his erection.

Sherlock spent the next fifteen minutes working his cock deeper into me. He
would pulse, thrust and rotate his cock, sometimes using a cork screw
motion. During the process I would squeeze my ass and this always caused a
reaction from him.

Once his head was in me, there was nothing I could do to stop full
penetration, but he took his time. Sometimes I would relax as he pushed in
and then tighten my sphincter gripping his shaft as he pulled out. Other
times I clamped tight as soon as his cockhead was at my sphincter. There
was no way to resist his thrusts, but the increased pressure was good.  He
seemed to like that.

I was unaware that my efforts were new to him and greatly appreciated. Most
men did nothing more than take it like a man. I played with his cock as he
fucked. This intensified the sensations for him greatly.

While I was never a libertine, I was not without some experience with man
sex. Once his oversized knob was in me, I knew sex with him would be of a
higher order of magnitude than with other men.  It was as if I had been
accustomed to the parlor musicales of amateurs, and then went to an Opera
House. I had been use to candle light and then went into the full sun.

I think I came close to being in a trance when he was fully lodged in my
rectum. I felt nothing but pleasure of the most intense sort.  He felt the
same. I thought that I was the passive recipient of his cock. My ass was
merely the tight wrapping needed to give him pleasure.

Sherlock told me that was not strictly true. While I thought I was just
passively receiving his cock, my ass and body were actively responding and
caressing his organ. It was difficult for Sherlock to compliment anything
or anyone. He regarded his own self as so superior as to make any
compliment false pandering to an unworthy person.

He told me that I was a magnificent sexual partner. He told me he could
hardly express in words the beauty and intensity of the sexual feelings he
generated. His orgasm induced a similar response in me.  After our paired
orgasms I was exhausted, and felt week. He was solicitous and helped me
clean up and dress. He hailed a cab to return me to my lodgings. My
landlady fixed a small dinner for me and I took needed rest for the night.

My wounds had been serious.  The doctors saved my life, but since they were
treated in the field, the repairs were not reflective of all that modern
medicine could do. Saying this may sound ungrateful to the men who saved my
life. That I was still living in itself was a major achievement, but I was
not reassembled correctly. Thus, I had a limp and had trouble with many
daily activities. They had not amputated my leg or arm, but the functions
of these extremities was impaired.

When I woke the next morning, I found a letter from Sherlock asking if I
would visit the baths again. I sent him a note saying I would be there in
the early afternoon.  The steam had a beneficial effect on my movement. I
also thanked him for his kind attention of the day before.

I arrived at the baths at 1:30 in the afternoon, Sherlock arrived at
2:00. We talked for a while. He suggested that I see a masseur. He said the
Bath's man was excellent. He took me to meet the man whose name was Ali. He
was built like a bear, but he was covered in a coat of curly red hair that
was disconcerting.

Sherlock gave him an exceptionally complete description of my injuries and
told Ali of all the things the surgeons had done wrong. Apparently as he
fucked me the day before he had done a complete physical exam. While Ali
looked like a red gorilla, he was careful and delicate in his treatment of
me. He began working some joints. From Sherlock's descriptions, he knew
where to massage and manipulate.

He also massaged my anus and sphincter.  He told Sherlock that there was no
damage and that these areas were elastic and quite supple.  I had the
impression that was not always the case with Sherlock's playmates.  After
he was done, I felt modestly better. While the improvements were modest
they were the only improvements I had felt since returning to England a
year earlier.

I returned to his lodgings. There he told me he wanted more sexual
exploration with me. He thought there was a potential for more pleasure. I
told him that I could hardly conceive of more pleasure than we had the day
before.

"That may be true, my dear Watson," he said. "In my imagination I see
yesterday as but the appetizer for a sexual banquet. We have just begun."
Of course, he was right. Sherlock was always convinced he was right.  This
annoyed me greatly, but eventually I recognized reality.

That afternoon he mounted me from the rear, and again the sensations were
sensational. The penetration was never easy, but it was always worth the
pleasure it generated. I thought that some of the excitement I felt was due
the initial rush of emotions that accompany a new sexual partner. That was
not the case. Repetition did not dull my reactions or the accompanying
sensations.

After the second meeting at his lodgings, he asked if we might be willing
to meet him regularly.

"How regular is regular?" I asked.

"Once or twice a week would be good for me," he replied. "Daily would be
perfectly acceptable too."

"I am not sure my health is good enough for that schedule," I said.

"As you know I am in perfect health, but if I were in your condition, I am
quite sure that regular sexual exercise would be just what the Doctor
ordered," he said.

"I don't think I have run across that remedy in a medical textbook," I
said, "but it is not without some appeal." He was thinking of his own
pleasure of course. That would have offended me if my own pleasures were
not so directly linked to his cock. I was a pensioner and had no pressing
obligations.

My own discovery of man sex came from my army experiences in India. My
Father died when I was fifteen. I was the oldest of five children. My
mother was dependent on the kindness of her sister. It was obvious that I
needed to get out of the house as soon as possible. I joined the army and
was trained as a surgeon.  While not fully trained as a doctor, I was able
to stich men up after battle. I was stationed in India.  My regiment had a
bad experience shortly before I joined them. The regiment had been
patronizing a single bawdy house for years. A number of the men came down
with the pox and several died.  All were discharged. The bawdy houses of
the town were closed.

My detachment was under the control of Sergeant-Major Wilcox. He was an old
hand in India. He explained the problems of our predecessors and told us
that you had to be an unimaginative man not to be able to entertain
yourself. I was young and did not know exactly what he meant. I found out
that he was both willing to explain what he meant and was willing to give
lessons.  As Sergeant-Majors go, he was hard but fair. On the drill field,
he was martinet, a stickler for every detail. In the barracks, he was
comparatively helpful and friendly, sort of like a favorite uncle.

I was one of the younger men, but I patched him up when he broke his arm
after a bad fall. I was not particularly skilled or experienced but I did
exactly what I was taught, and that was much better than most of the men in
my position. The Wilcox recognized that and he looked after me.

Wilcox was much impressed by modern discoveries about germs and
infection. He regarded sanitation as a British invention and he was
obsessed with it.  He regularly took our troop to a small, spring fed pond
in the hill overlooking the encampment to bathe. While that annoyed some of
the men, visits to the sick bay were rare.

At the pond, he had half of the men strip and bathe while the others
maintained guard. Many of the men did not like this at first, but he was
the first to strip and they had no options. Wilcox was a fine figure of a
man, muscular and well endowed. We would inspect each man. Everything was
correct, but some men noticed his admiring glances.

I must emphasize that Wilcox never played favorites. Men were promoted due
to their abilities alone. All knew of his preferences, but no one
objected. He was good to all his men and took care of them.

I was an innocent sexually and he solved that problem too. At twenty-one I
was quite unworldly in most things and entirely unworldly sexually.
Perhaps that is good in a virgin bride, although I doubt that, but it was
most undesirable in a man. While he gave some men admiring glances, he
noticed my covert glances at his manly equipment.

I was on leave when I encountered Wilcox in a hotel in Simla, the summer
capital of the Indian Empire.  He offered to share his room with me. The
room had a bath; that was too good to pass up. He was with two other men,
Duffy and Carlton. There were two beds, so I shared a bed with one of them.

We went to the room and washed under a shower bath.  I had never seen a
shower before and I enjoyed it greatly.  The proximity of the naked
Sergeant-Major to me caused an erection. I was embarrassed, but Wilcox
didn't seem to mind. Indeed, his genitals responded too. Half-hard his cock
was more impressive. That did nothing to reduce my erection. I apologized
to him.

"I will take that as a compliment," he said, "Men are at their best when
they are hard, at attention and ready for action. I like the view."

"I like the view too," I said as I looked at his cock.

"It looks better if you get closer," he said, smiling. "It's a nice one. A
cock is a man's best friend."

"What is his second best friend?" I asked.

"You should know that already," he said. "It is his best friend's cock!"

I dropped to my knees and his cock was in my face. I knew what he expected,
and I didn't want to disappoint him. I leaned forward and took his cockhead
into my mouth. I did it to please him, but I was shocked at my reaction. I
thought his cock would be dirty and repulsive. It was more like a magnet
and I was an iron filing. I tried to swallow the entire organ. Wilcox
moaned. I sucked him for a few minutes and began to taste something sweet.
His cock was oozing.  A few seconds later my tongue was in his slit, trying
to capture his ooze straight from his balls.

"You are real good, Watson," Wilcox said, "It's time for you to relax and
have some real fun."

"This is good enough for me."

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, "You have just scratched the surface of your
sexual potential." I must have looked uneasy. He smiled.  "I am hoping for
some real fun too. Will you help me out?"

"Of course I will help sir," I said.

"When we are naked, call me Rollie," he said. "We are going to have fun
only the way two men can." That was the beginning of the best three days of
my life to that point. Rollie invited me to use his ass. I had never fucked
anyone before, and it was a revelation. I didn't know anything could feel
that good.

Duffy and Carlton returned to the room as I climaxed. Instead of being
shocked, they stripped and joined us. The four of us had a wonderful
time. When I returned to base, I was no longer a virgin, and was quite
experienced.

That was my introduction to man sex.  Sherlock's experiences were quite
different from mine. His father was a man of business and his mother a
youngest daughter of an Earl.  He was raised by a nanny and then sent to
Haverstock School at age 10. Haverstock was in the second tier of public
schools intended for the younger sons of nobility, industrialist and
prosperous merchants.

Since it was to prepare men for a life of work, the education was far
better many better-known schools. It did share the tradition of abusing new
boys by upper class members. In Sherlock's day, the worst of the bullies
was a boy name Mandrake Morairty. He was the son of a coach maker, but he
claimed to be the illegitimate son of the Prince of Wales. While these
abuses were excused as initiations, they could be dangerous when a boy had
sadistic tendencies. Mandrake was such a boy.

Sherlock was a small boy until he was 14 when he grew dramatically.  Until
then his life was a nightmare. He became tall and strong, but his monster
cock was feared by the worst of the boys. He protected the younger boys and
if any upper classman trespassed, the malefactor found his asshole
enlarged. I think part of his sexual drive was his relationship with the
younger men of the school. The boys were traditionally prey of the older
boys. He was unwilling to do that. He had the urge, but no outlet.

Sherlock had a peculiar vision of his cock being an instrument of justice,
unlike most men who recognized it as a pleasure giving organ.  My ass
helped change that misconception. I was pleased to do so. He was a
difficult man to befriend, but it had its rewards.