Hanging the Chimney Hook - Chapter 1

[RHHorst]

[I made this available elsewhere, but just in case you've missed it, I will post it here. FYI, I own the copyright. Enjoy!]

I like to train and keep myself fit for my job, but for those past eight weeks, my only exercise had been kicking myself. I hadn’t much else to fill my time from a hospital bed with my noggin imitating a mummy and my keister in hot water with the Russian mob. I wouldn’t take a stroll in Central Park with a target on my back and a price on my head. So, the highlights for those weeks consisted of three meals a day, brought to me like clockwork, and the unnecessary sponge baths used as a pretense to provide daily oral service from a hunky, blonde nurse named Max Roche. He had brains, a beautiful smile, and a body built like a brick shit house. Other than those often-wonderful moments, I had lots of time for self-reflection (which I used to avoid), regret (a foolish activity in which I’ve discovered I excel), and kicking myself.

Sexually speaking, I had never identified myself as gay, straight, or even bisexual; I was just me. I would never hang out in bars, go to a parade or anything one might perceive as stereotypical gay behavior. It never occurred to me to think of myself as anything but sexual, and I’m decidedly that.

Max proved himself a hell of a man, masculine, 6 feet tall, 240 lbs. of muscle, with a hot, sexy baritone voice that could melt butter. If he hadn’t sucked my cock every day, and I met him as a stranger elsewhere, I would never have thought he was gay. I guess that just shows that gay men come in all shapes, sizes, personalities, and temperaments.

I ended up in this situation as a new private detective in town, and I had a little run-in with Lev Stepanov, the boss of the local outlet for the Russian mob. Purely by chance, I saw him shoot a man dead, and where they dumped his body. So, like a law-abiding citizen, I went to the cops. As I expected, they jumped on it, but due to the nature of the assailant, they placed me in witness protection.

After the trial, I received a government “thank you” in the form of a rearranged face and the promise of sixty grand to start over elsewhere with a new name and identity. Officially, I had ten thousand dollars of cushion money in the bank, and while I squirreled away the tax-free money that I inherited a decade ago into a Swiss bank account, sixty thousand more in immediate cash sounded pretty grand to me.

My regret started after the surgery. I wouldn’t know how plastic surgery goes with all those Hollywood types, but mine hurt like hell. The gay Polish surgeon I wound up with, a Dr. Wójcik (don’t worry, I couldn't pronounce it either), declared my surgery his masterpiece. Well, I had yet to see it at that point, so I couldn’t say.

I had two stages of full facial reconstruction and recuperation, after which they kept the pressure on my face to reduce swelling with wrappings and only removed those to shave me or clean my wounds. That took eight weeks, nine Wednesdays to the day, which meant I finally made it to the finish line. The bandages would come off permanently, and I would find out what I looked like. Hallelujah!

Special Agent Sawyer of the U.S. Marshals oversaw my case; I liked him; he seemed like a good guy who kept me in one piece before, during, and after the trial. Unexpectedly, he arrived a couple of hours early that afternoon, satchel in hand, as Max, with his mind in the zone, stayed kneeling on the floor, blowing the hell out of me at the side of the bed. Sawyer’s sudden appearance interrupted my concentration. He hadn’t said anything, but he had both a smirk on his face and the effrontery to stay. He leaned against the wall six feet in front of me, dropping the satchel at his feet. Max refused to stop, and I hadn’t wanted him to. As with so many people in my past, he had grown addicted to the quality and quantity of my protein shake, and at that moment, I desperately wanted that handsome, muscle-bound cocksucker to have some more. Max held my dong in one of his meaty, blonde-haired knuckled hands like an all-beef burrito, while the other wrapped around my scrotum, pulling the sack like an addict would pull a tourniquet to get his fix. He worked hard at keeping a steady rhythm, shoving my cock head deep into his gob with every descent.

Because he insisted on watching, I stared defiantly into Sawyer’s eyes as Max and I continued. Sawyer smiled in surprise that his presence hadn’t altered the scene in the least. He watched transfixed as my hand rode Max’s bobbing head as his lips traveled up and down my knob. With all the happy, wet, contented noise that Max made, anyone beyond the door could hear him slurping and slathering my cock in spit for another ten minutes. As my orgasm came upon me for the third time that day, he drew back to just the head and expected to get less that time. When he pulled the trigger of my spunk blaster, Max’s head jerked as I shot him in the kisser, but I kept his mouth firmly on the barrel as I pelted his palate as usual with a full magazine of white ammo.

I had grown quite attached to Max, as much as he had grown attached to the business end of my schlong. And while I couldn’t say I loved him, I certainly liked him, and I loved his mouth as much as he loved the juice that I had to fill it.

Max cleaned me up, licking the sides of my cock of any remnants and spittle, then stood to his full six-foot height and backed away. Sawyer took a good look at me with eyes wide. “I would call you a cocky son-of-a-bitch,” he said, “but that wouldn’t do you justice. That’s the biggest fucking dick I’ve ever seen.”

The piece in question remained as erect as ever, and during my life, it proved both a curse and a blessing in equal measure. It got too much attention, especially when it was inconvenient, and if I neglected to have my nuts drained several times a day, I had erections that insisted on poking me between my navel and sternum beneath my shirts. However, its unique and prodigious nature provided the benefit of never having to take-care-of-business myself, as a long string of empathetic and eager volunteers had invariably come to my sexual rescue; Max was the most recent. However, unlike the others who merely wanted a taste, Max had taken the time to talk to me, demonstrating his intelligence along with a special devotion that made me see him in a different light.

Sawyer asked him, “Could you hang about in the hall while I speak to him for a moment?”

“Sure, I can do that,” he said as he continued to lick his lips and winked at Sawyer as he left the room.

Sawyer pointed at the door where Max just left. “He’s cocky too. Will you just sit there, airing your horse-cock?”

“Why not? Ever been to the tracks? This is what horses do. Besides, you almost interrupted one of the best blowjobs of my life, yet you had the temerity to stay and watch, so if you have reservations now, it’s too little too late.”

Sawyer turned up, wearing his usual gray suit for my other big reveal—meaning my face. I hadn't seen him for a few days while he took care of some business for my case, and he returned just before the hospital released me. I sat on the side of the bed, my cock standing vertical against my belly, still trying to catch my breath from Max’s outstanding work. Foremost on my mind, however, I had a growing impatience to get the wrappings off. Sawyer played nonchalant, but I knew I had gotten to him.

“You know,” I said, “during your absence, your temp told me they stopped performing these surgeries. So, why the special treatment?”

“I pulled some strings and got them to do it,” he said.

“Why would you do that?”

He stood as erect as my cock once again, shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and tried to get his growing bulge under control. “One, because you have no family.

“Two, because unlike you, most of the people who enter the system have committed crimes, and they usually ask for unreasonable things like a Ferrari and a higher grade-point average for their child. You asked for absolutely nothing. You agreed to it because you saw it as the right thing to do, and you accepted the system's requirements with no demands. In my experience, you are a rare bird.

“Three, because you work as a private detective, and as you know, we ask people in the system to leave their former lives behind entirely, but I couldn't have that. There aren’t enough rare birds like you, and I find the idea of forcing you into another trade a colossal waste of potential. So, to convince my boss that we could make this work, we had to go extreme. You get a standard, new identity, with all the i-dents you could ever want. You get a new face, a new history, and a new home in a new city. The apartment may not count for much, but your success once you settle-in is up to you.”

“So, what’s my new name?”

“Howard Ellis Millstone,” said Sawyer.

“Millstone?” I laughed. “From whose hat did you pull that name?”

“Mine,” he stated flatly, “It's my great grandmother's maiden name.”

Cringing, I lowered my head. “And a fine name it is, I’ll wear it with pride.”

Sawyer smiled and laughed a little. “I'm sure you will.”

“So, wouldn’t this imply that we're related?”

“We are first cousins once removed, or at least that's the answer to anyone curious enough to ask when I come to check on you every year.”

“Only once a year?”

“It's the required minimum,” he said. “I could make it more often if I feel it's necessary. I usually make it a birthday visit, and now your birthday is June 26th, 1981; so, happy birthday to you.”

“You made me two years younger? I'm touched. I hope I get those years right this time. If you've already found me an apartment, I take it I haven’t a choice of city.”

“That came as one of the conditions,” he said. “To further insulate you, we had to send you somewhere the mafia wouldn't go.”

He left it hanging there, with a visible reluctance that I hadn’t liked. “Are you waiting for a drum roll?”

“I picked Franklin.”

“Franklin! Do you mean Freaky Franklin, often referred to as The Big Joke? Some people talk about dropping a nuke on Franklin. Why would you send me there?”

“The people who talk about dropping nukes on Franklin, those are the true freaks, my friend. Franklin has nothing wrong with it; it’s a beautiful college city on the west coast, and I've visited it many times. Trust me; you will learn to love it. A city that size could sustain a detective like you. Besides, my sources say they have no other private detective there. The last detective that worked Franklin crossed paths with a bookie from Boxly who, as you might put it, wouldn’t take green stamps. I heard that after the double kneecapping and a couple of prosthetic implants, he moved upstate someplace.”

“I’ll be the only game in town?” I asked.

“Yep.”

Sawyer tossed me the satchel. The bag contained a change of clothes, an envelope with a couple of vital pieces of identification—a birth certificate and a social security card. It also had a one-way plane ticket, a short essay on the history of Howard Ellis Millstone, a folded sticky note with my new address, a front door key, and 70 thousand in cash, including my 10 thousand from the local bank. “I guess I can't get photo ID until this comes off. Where is the doc? Let's get this going.”

“I had the doctor wait until I gave you the news.” He then insisted I put on the clothes to cover my finally shrinking appendage before pushing the nurse-call button. He brought me the clothes I told him I would need. Along with the button-down collar shirt, he brought the specially made pants I requested. They’re made with a gusset to give my package the room it needed; otherwise, it’s shoved down the leg, which gets uncomfortable and quite impossible to stand straight when I get one of the erections that occur throughout the day.

The doc came in with a man who carried some photography equipment, and the curious Max snuck in behind them before they closed the door, and he quietly stood in the corner behind Sawyer.

“Hello, Mr. Millstone,” said the doctor. “How are you feeling today?”

“I see why you had him wait,” I said to Sawyer. “I feel ready to get out of here, doc. These walls are killing me.”

The doctor removed the clips that held the bandages. He began unwrapping me, and I became the center of attention. When the doctor stepped away, I saw three sets of eyebrows lift simultaneously.

“You look like a Marlboro Man,” said Max.

“What?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the doctor, “in Poland, the Marlboro Man is a prominent icon.”

“Give me the mirror! I can't look like a Marlboro Man; I don't even smoke.” I held the glass before my face, and I realized Max was right. He mostly altered my jawline and gave me a square jaw. So, shove a cowboy hat on my head, dangle a cigarette from my mouth, and I could picture myself splayed across an advertisement right next to a whiskey ad in some Eastern European magazine. “Sawyer, you gotta make them fix this!”

“Sorry.” Sawyer shook his head. “Only one spin per player, and you've had yours. Look on the bright side; it's far more handsome than the ugly mug you walked in here with.”

I turned to Max. “I trust your aesthetic judgment. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “You look just as I hoped you would.”

His answer caught me by surprise. I thought about it for a moment, nodded a little, and smiled. “Okay, if you like it, I’ll learn to live with it.”

The doc gave me some advice on how to take care of the minor scars so they would fade with time. The rest dealt with business. They began my discharge from the hospital. The photographer took some professional headshots. He gave them to Sawyer, who told me I would receive my photo identification at my new address in a day or two. After a few practice signatures, I signed my discharge papers, then again for accepting the government’s sixty thousand, and several extra autographs to transfer onto my photo IDs.

Before I left, I asked for a few minutes alone with Max and Sawyer.

Max and I stood staring at one another. He had a pained expression on his handsome face. “I don’t want to hear you tell me goodbye,” he said. Much like the rest of him, I was attracted to his rich baritone voice.

“Well, that’s good, because I won’t do that. Come with me to Franklin.” I turned to Sawyer. “He can come, right?”

“It’s cutting it close,” he said, “but technically, he’s not part of your previous life.”

“Go with you to Franklin?”

“You told me you didn’t care for New York, and you dreamed of living elsewhere. Please, come with me.”

“In what capacity?” he asked.

“Let’s just start where we are and see where it takes us. On the surface, I make a lot of something you seem to need, and I need a lot of what you can do. Other than that, we like each other, so we’re friends, and we could be close companions at the very least. I know you’re smart, so you can assist me in my investigations. It would be a great adventure for us both.”

He turned to Sawyer. “What do you think?”

“I think I wouldn’t turn down that kind of offer; those don’t come along every day. But you have to decide now; his flight leaves tonight at 10:00 p.m.”

He picked up a piece of paper that had my name on it, took a moment to consider it, and smiled. “Howard Ellis Millstone, that name suits you, actually. Yes, I’ll go with you. I could get my roommate to send me my things. He’ll be jealous as hell, but he’ll do it if I let him keep the furniture. I will need to drop by the apartment to pack a bag.”

The hospital insisted on carting me to the door in a wheelchair. After eight weeks of being cooped up in that germ factory, I stepped outside a new man. The air smelled a bit polluted and familiar. My new face met a beautiful June day in New York. I would miss that city, but it appeared that life had called for me to start again in Franklin with Max, for as much as I hadn’t wanted to go there, at least I wouldn’t go alone. I would have preferred for us to move to Fiji, but Sawyer was right, a detective like me would survive only so many places, and I knew nothing about bottled water production or growing sugarcane.

Sawyer drove us to Max’s apartment, and on the way to JFK, Max purchased a ticket to Franklin on the same flight as me and managed to get our seats together.

At the airport, Sawyer ensured that I made it through security despite my lack of ID, and I wondered how I would manage that. It came time to say goodbye at the gate, despite that we were several hours early.

“This is where I leave you,” said Sawyer.

“You're welcome to visit me more than once a year, cousin.”

“I would like that.” He shook my hand. “You're a good man, Howard. I hope that you find a home there with Max. I think you could if you give it a chance.”

“We’ll give it a shot,” I said and leaned in close. “And after my stint in the military, I grew accustomed to people calling me by my last name, so I guess you can call me Millstone now.”

Sawyer smiled. “Shining up to it, are you?”

“I think it’ll help,” I told him.

“Make sure you read that bio we gave you,” he said.

“I will.”

Max shook Sawyer’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re an unexpected addition to the situation. I think Millstone picked well, and I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

Once Sawyer had gone, we had a four-hour wait and little to do but talk shop about detective work. About halfway, I felt my pants getting tight in the crotch.

“You know, you look a quart low,” I said, changing the subject, “and I just happen to bring some with me.”

He smiled. “I might need two quarts. Want to try and top me off?”

“For you, I will carry an almost inexhaustible supply at all times, and I am willing to top you any time you’re ready.”

“Then let’s go,” he said, and we both grabbed our bags. With two guys our size and nowhere else to go, we carried them into the large handicap stall in the men’s room, which conveniently included its own sink.

We set our bags in the corner, and I stood against the wall. Max opened his bag and pulled out a set of knee pads, which he slipped into the knee pockets of the biker pants he wore.

On his knees before me, he looked up at me, fishing my pole from my fly. I smiled at him, knowing that whatever the occasion, anytime I asked, he would take my bate. He worked the fat knob into his mouth and jiggled his head a little when it reached the back of his throat. He passed it through into his gullet, thoroughly latching on. He played with it in and out of his throat, making my lure all shiny with spit for fifteen minutes. The undulating motion had me in anticipation when suddenly he took the whole rod into his throat, and I almost lost it. I knew it was time to reel him in and get him truly hooked on me. My orgasm started, and he pulled lines of cum from my balls, almost tapping his lips on me at the base. Although he fought to get away, I knew he wanted it rough, so I held him there until I was done. When I brought him back up its length for some air, he gasped, coughed a bit, and laughed. I knew then he was a keeper.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 2

Neither of us had made a trip across the continent. We had premium economy seats, and while I hadn’t expected first class, I wished it were. Some complimentary champagne wouldn’t have gone amiss; after all, it was my 38th birthday again.

The plane sat three passengers on one side of the aisle and two on the other. We had the two together-seats; I got the far-right seat next to the window as Max sat on the aisle, and nuns filled the three additional seats in our row. We saw a couple of older sisters in the far seats who fell asleep once they buckled in, and one, closer to our age, sat on the aisle. The awake one across from Max struck up a conversation with us.

“I’m Sister Foustina, and these two are Sisters Sleepy and Grumpy.” She laughed. “Please, forgive my little joke; we’re returning from the Vatican, so we’ve flown quite far, with delays and layovers. I've never been able to sleep on planes without help, and like them, I'm exhausted. I can get a little silly the longer I stay awake. I have a pill to take with dinner; I hope it works.”

“That's okay, I understand. I’m Max Roche, and this is my buddy Howard Millstone. So, where are you headed?”

“We're returning to Franklin, and you two?”

“We’re going to Franklin as well,” I said.

She looked us up and down. “You're visiting someone?”

“No, we’re moving there,” I said. “May I ask why you thought we were visiting someone?”

“To utilize their terminology,” she said, “the norm population of Franklin is quite low. If you see someone who looks like a norm there, they're probably from the LGBT community, and I could be mistaken, but I hadn’t gotten that impression from either of you.”

“Norm? You mean ‘normals,’ like the three of us,” I said, allowing her to make her assumptions.

“Oh no, if there were groups of people who belonged in Franklin, it's sisters and nuns.” She smiled. “People who live outside of Franklin don't understand. They judge superficially. Without knowing them as individuals, they judge the goths, for example, by their appearance as objectionable, and they assume what's inside them is equally objectionable. They view them as freaks, but they merely express themselves in their appearance, as do nuns and sisters. They also view life and this world differently than most people, as do nuns and sisters. You've not been to Franklin, have you?”

“No, we haven't,” said Max.

“But you're moving there.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, I admire your courage. It's not easy to move somewhere you haven't even visited, and that especially applies to Franklin.”

“Have you any advice for novices like us?” I asked.

“Yes, I have. If you want the people who live in Franklin to accept you, accept them first. Years ago, some of our sisters decided to start an outreach in Franklin with the idea that they would minister to the people there and bring them to God, but they tried to change them. That's what much of the rest of the world wants to do to them. If urging them to change was acceptable to them, then Franklin wouldn't exist. The result was that those sisters eventually moved on, and we took over. We learned from the mistakes of the past, and so we listened to the people. The vast majority are good people, and what they needed wasn't what the Sisters were offering.”

“What do you offer them?” I asked.

“Many younger people go to Franklin because their parents throw them out of their homes, or they leave home to escape rejection. They need support, love, and someone to talk to, and that's what we give them.”

“That's very kind of you,” I said.

“No, Mr. Millstone, that's my job, and I do it because I care. If you are kind, you will do things with kindness, but that's not motivation; beliefs are motivating. I believe in love and that lives have value, including those people whom the world rejects without just cause.”

“Just cause,” I said. “So, you would view a murderer differently?”

“For those people, that's between themselves and God. When it comes to the people like those in Franklin, if it must be me standing between them and the part of the world that might cause them harm, then so be it.”

I had never spoken with a nun before, and I wasn't sure they were all like Sister Foustina, but she showed a fierce loyalty and a motherly conviction that surprised me.

“Thank you, sister. I wasn't sure about moving to Franklin, and I'm not sure how I feel about it now, but it sounds like there might be some light at the end of the tunnel.”

After the in-flight meal, the lights dimmed, and everyone around us had fallen asleep, including Sister Foustina, whose pill had kicked-in well enough to knock her out.

Max whispered into my ear. “This airline fed us a decent meal here in Premium Economy, but I couldn’t make myself eat that cheesecake. Care to feed me dessert?”

“Right now?”

“Why not? We have these complementary blankets, and everyone else is dead to the world.”

His suggestion surprised me. “I think I’m enjoying this adventurous side of you.” I looked around a bit. “Alright, but you must be quiet.”

“Oh, I’ll be as quiet as a church piglet.”

I began fumbling with my pants, and it hadn’t taken long to grow erect when Max laid hands on me. He flipped-up the armrest that separated us and pulled out just enough cock from beneath the blanket to get a good mouthful. His tongue dug into the slit seeking out more juice, and from experience, Max knew I had plenty. Premium economy had more legroom, but not enough for Max to get on his knees, so he worshiped my cock from where he sat, swirling his tongue around the head repeatedly and plunging onto it, again and again, baptizing it in spittle, then backsliding up to the head to give it the adoration he felt it deserved. I must confess, the sensation was divine and an indulgence that I intended to partake of often. He sped up when he sensed my impending orgasm, and just as I came, he sensually embraced the head with his lips and communed with my knob as I fed him two dozen shots, which I gave freely to him, and like a good and quiet little piglet, he made not one sound that anyone could hear over the airline noise and not one drop escaped his lips. He held my cock in his mouth for several minutes, and when he released it, I felt compelled, so I grabbed his head with my right hand and drew his lips to mine. I tasted the cum I fed him as he explored my mouth.

“I wondered how many times it would take before you kissed me,” he whispered into my ear.

“In my defense, I’ve never kissed a man before,” I said and kissed him again. Between playing tongue tag and his handsome, raw masculinity, I grew erect once again.

“Looks like you’re ready to try and top-off my tank,” he whispered. “To let you in on a little secret, the tank is bottomless.” He busied his mouth with my cock, like the cum-hound he was, seeking another load.

I had never met anyone like Max. He made it rather clear that he would slurp on my summer sausage and guzzle my man-gravy at any opportunity. He showed no sign that he cared one whit who was around him. I placed my hand on his head, running my fingers through his thick, light blonde hair as his head bobbed on my knob. That was his natural color too, his eyebrows, beard, and arm hair all matched. I found myself curious to see the rest of him. On this occasion, Max was a tad less quiet, and the man in the seat in front of him watched us through the crevice between the seats as Max made love to my schlong. I found it impossible to sit still as his tongue brought me closer to orgasm. The man in the crevice looked me in the eye, and so he would know that I knew he watched us, I winked at him. He smirked a little. When I came, I gave my audience a good look at my member as I pulled it entirely from beneath the blanket. His eyes grew as big as saucers. When I was done filling Max’s belly, he pulled away so he could kiss me, and the man’s mouth dropped open when he saw the full length of my cock. It struck me that I had frightened him. He turned in his seat and wouldn’t look back for the rest of the flight. I never told Max that the man had watched us, although I doubted that he would have cared. The rest of the plane flight, we leaned against one another and slept contentedly with my balls a little lighter, and for Max, a belly full of my best cream.

The international airport serviced the cities of Franklin and Boxly and all the little towns around them. Max and I had only one carry-on bag each. So, with no reason to wait at the luggage carousel, we left the building where the arrow directed us to the taxi stand, and we hopped into one.

The cabbie slid open the tiny glass window between the front and the back seats. “Where to?”

I pulled the folded sticky note from my shirt pocket. “256 East 59th Street in Franklin.”

“You're obviously both new here,” said the cabbie. He tapped the sign neither of us had noticed on the glass that read: Nothing to Franklin, No Exceptions. “Sorry, I don’t go to the freak show,” he added.

“What? That's crazy,” said Max in his deep voice. “Even in New York, you wouldn’t find a cabbie in the city refusing to take you to Vinegar Hill at midnight if you have the money.”

“Listen,” said the Cabbie, “if you've got the money, I'll drive you to Vinegar Hill—whatever that is, but if you want to get to the freak show, you have to take one of their cabs. You’ll find them parked on the north side.”

We got out and couldn't slam the door of the cab hard enough to alleviate how we felt just then. That kind of ridiculous, blatant discrimination should have ended with the Jim Crow laws. We went back into the building and looked around for a sign indicating where we would find the north side.

“Mr. Millstone, have you lost your way?”

I looked down. It was the Sisters again.

Max thumbed over his shoulder, his bicep bulging beneath his shirt. “We just had an absurd interaction with a cabbie.”

Sister Foustina nodded and closed her eyes. “I can imagine.”

“Is that common here?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, yes, but that stops when you get to Franklin. Follow us; we know where to go.”

We followed the sisters to the far-left exit, where several black hackney cabs, like those in London, waited for passengers. A pale man, about 26 years old, with short black hair, stood by the first one. He wore a raven-colored suit from the Victorian era with a blood-red vest in silk damask, which surprised me. I had seen photos of people supposedly wearing goth clothing before. Unlike those, this looked rather tame and stylish.

“Sisters!” exclaimed the man. “You’re back; that’s so great!”

“Hello Glenn,” said Sister Mary, “what are you doing out this time of day?”

Glenn began putting their rolling bags into the trunk. “Oh, Sister M.,” he said, “Tommy finally went on a date last night. I told him I would work the first half of his shift this morning.”

“Well, I’m pleased,” said Sister Foustina. “It’s about time, poor thing.”

“Please, don’t tell him I told you,” said Glenn. “You know how easily discouraged he is.” He helped them into the cab.

“We will say nothing,” said Sister Agnes.

“Thanks, Sister A.,” he said. “How was your trip?”

“Our trip was enlightening and tiring.” Sister Foustina stuck her head out the window. “Mr. Millstone, Mr. Roche, my apologies, this is Glenn. Glenn, this is Misters Millstone and Roche. They are new residents of Franklin. I meant to ask, what is it the two of you do?”

“We’re private investigators,” I said, and there, I heard a collective intake of breath.

“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for anyone, would you?” asked Sister Foustina.

“No, just a new apartment and a relatively prominent location to hang up a shingle.”

“So, you’re opening a business here. Well, that’s good,” said Sister Foustina, and the sisters were visibly relieved. “It’s a shame about Mr. Nevil, but he should have known better. Gambling is a terrible waste.”

I laughed. “For a second, I thought you were going to say it was a terrible sin.”

“Isn’t waste an obvious sin?” she asked.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” I said.

It was then that a man wearing jeans, a white button-up with a tan tweed vest, and a matching driving cap emerged from the building holding two coffees.

“Sam!” said Glenn. “This is Mr. Millstone and Mr. Roche. They live in Franklin now.” He then whispered, “They’re private eyes.” He took the coffee Sam gave him.

“Ooh, good to meet you,” he said, looking us over. “Do you gamble too?”

“Sam!” said one of the sisters.

“It’s a question,” he said.

“May we go, Glenn?” asked Sister Foustina. “Good luck to you both. I hope you will find a home here. We will undoubtedly cross paths again.”

Glenn shook our hands, got into the cab, and carried the sisters away.

“Well, it looks like just us.” Sam took a sip of his coffee. “Where you headed?”

I gave him the paper from my pocket, we climbed into the back of his cab and pulled away from the airport.

The passenger portion of the cab had lots of room. Sam couldn’t see well into the back, and it had been hours since I had cum. Once they had awakened, sitting next to the nuns hadn’t presented an optimal time to clean Max’s throat beneath an airline blanket. Max glanced at me, and he correctly guessed what I needed. He still wore the knee pads, so he got into the floor in front of me and took a big slurp on my schlong. We had traveled a few miles down the road in silence when Sam asked, “So, which one of you are running from someone?”

“Why would one of us run from anyone?” I asked as Max throated my pole.

“It's just that you both give off a serious norm vibe. So, I figure the father of a jilted lover is looking for one of you.”

I laughed. “No. No, jilted lovers.” Max continued one of his incredible blowjobs, and I hadn’t wanted Sam to think anything was happening, so I kept talking. “I heard there's a small population of norms that live in Franklin. Do you imply they all have similar stories?”

“The ones I know do,” he said. “What made Franklin such a draw for norms like you?”

His inquisitiveness made me smile. “I heard that Franklin doesn't have a private detective. Being the only ones in a population of a million people has its appeal.” I began fucking Max’s face, holding his head between my hands, and moving it up and down my dong.

“That makes sense,” said Sam. “It's your opportunity to corner the market, but that's highly unsporting of you.”

“Hey, business is business,” I said. “I gotta take whatever advantages I can get.”

Sam shook his head. “You two must be lousy detectives.”

Max began to laugh with my cock down his throat. He strained to pull it free so he could breathe, and as his throat constricted around my meat, I began to cum. He made a lot of noise, trying to catch it all.

Sam spoke up. “Hey! Don’t get cum on the floor back there, will you? I just cleaned this cab.”

Max coughed. “You don’t mind us having a little fun?”

“Naw, it happens in all our cabs and various places throughout the city,” he said. “Just keep it clean while you’re in here. That’s all I ask.”

After I packed away the appendage, I asked Sam questions, and he gave me some valuable information. I only knew Franklin by its reputation, rumors, and innuendo. I discovered through Sam that its reputation was not one shared among the business community. Franklin had money. So, despite that other cab’s refusal to service Franklin, most corporations had no problem taking money from Franklin’s residents for whatever goods they needed. Their only problem was changing their business model to comply with the laws of the City of Franklin. The city rejected some companies that refused to comply. They rejected a major chain store on many grounds; the most egregious was that the company refused to pay their employees a living wage, wouldn't hire certain people because the company had a stringent dress code, and they wouldn't provide health insurance, all of which have local laws. As we intended to open a business there, that was good to know, but fortunately, we were far less likely to have those sorts of difficulties.

After I seeded Max’s throat, we had a beautiful, enjoyable, and relaxing ride into Franklin. As per the map on the wall of the cab, I saw that roughly a third of the city sat on a peninsula in the bay, another third on a hill, and the other third alongside the river and the shipping canal. As we entered the city, it felt like another world. I saw many goths not dressed as tamely as Glenn, same-sex couples walking on the sidewalk holding hands, body modifiers, nudists, BDSM people, and generally an array of subcultures that the outside world would ostracize. Despite recent events with my own sexual awakening, I felt a bit culture-shocked, and for some reason, as though I were intruding, like it was their world and not mine. At the time, I hadn’t known where I belonged, but I couldn't turn back. I accepted the repercussions of giving my testimony when I signed the paperwork before the trial, and I would have to make the best of it.

The apartment Sawyer found for me on 59th Street (the lower east side near the canal) wasn't too bad, but it was a bit dinky and not built for two men our size. To its credit, however, it had a quality higher than the abode of my previous life. It came semi-furnished with a living room suite in decent condition and a frame for a double bed, but for me, it had less of a draw for what it had than for what it lacked. The owner had kept it bug-free and hadn't painted the windows shut. In a lower rent district, a landlord that thought a little about comfort and sprayed their property was like striking gold.

Starting over with nothing meant that we both needed many things and acquiring them wasn't easy. I couldn't get much done without a photo ID, so we mostly worked on the domestic necessities, like clothing, a mattress and box springs, bedding, towels, and personal items. However, unlike Max, I still needed crucial things like two bank accounts, a car for business, a smartphone, an LLC, a business license, permits, office space, and probably a host of other things that I could not obtain without proper identification. Most of that day we spent shopping, setting up house, and waiting for the bed delivery, interspersed with the occasional milking from a hunky blonde stud who woofed down my offering like a castaway would a cheeseburger.

Apart from the usual breakfast of eggs, instant oatmeal, and coffee, I couldn’t cook. New York had me spoiled for restaurants. We went up the street to have dinner at the greasy spoon where we had lunch.

While we ate, Max noticed someone had left the local newspaper, the Franklin Herald, on the table next to us. The front page showed a photo of a pale, platinum blonde woman with the headline, “Winter Housewarming, the Coolest Event of Summer.” Besides the odd play on words, I found the photo of the woman eye-catching as well; she looked pretty in her white dress, and her appearance distinct. Below it, we saw the word “Winter.” We hadn’t known what that meant until Max read the article to me. It was about a big to-do housewarming hosted by a woman named Winter. That appeared to be her full name, no honorifics, no inclusions or indications of a first or last name, just Winter at every reference. The second page held a small advertisement for a lock-in party at the Ramrod, with a photo of a group of muscular leather men; some were in full black leather regalia.

“We should go to something like that,” said Max. “I could suck your cock in public, so you’d have a chance to show off and perhaps drum-up business.”

I laughed. “What business do you think we’re in?”

“I’m serious,” he said. “Want to get in good with the community? Get involved whenever you can.”

“Maybe, but that? I don’t know…” I said, staring at the advertisement. It all seemed so foreign to me. Would I ever grow accustomed to Franklin’s unique peculiarities?

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 3a

Max proved himself a practical man. He noticed first that a double bed would never work for us. Two men that were my size at 200 pounds (much less if one had 40 pounds more muscle) would never fit comfortably on the double. Also, as he pointed out, we wouldn’t remain in the apartment due to what he referred to as its “inadequate and diminutive nature.” He had a way with words, and he was right. Fortunately, the landlord hadn’t locked us into a lease, so we could trade up whenever we were ready. As that was the case, we purchased a king-sized bed and placed it on the floor. It hadn’t mattered that it required the removal of the bedroom door or that the movers had to wrench it into the room; they got the job done. We could cope with wall-to-wall bed for a little while.

I hadn’t slept in the same bed with a man since I slept with my father once as a child. And when it came to sex, for years, I had men and women chowing down on my Big Mac to get a belly full of my special sauce. However, the rarity of finding anyone willing to allow penetration, other than oral, had me not bothering to look anymore. On the occasions that opportunity arose, penetration had its difficulties, and that left me unsatisfied. I hadn’t carried any thoughts that Max would consider anything else; he seemed so orally inclined and contented gobbling my knob. However, I hadn’t realized what I had with Max.

Max had seen me naked repeatedly in the hospital, so he knew what to expect. I had not seen him, not even that first night when we swapped places in the bathroom for the nightly routine before bed. He wore the all-enveloping white terrycloth robe that he acquired from the Waldorf Astoria in New York.

As usual, I shaved my neck when I showered, but while standing at the sink brushing my teeth, I made a careful study of my face in the half-fogged mirror. My mind had yet to accept my appearance, and my name hadn’t felt like mine either. I had no problem remembering it, but it sounded like someone else’s. Then I got ahold of myself. I spit such notions down the sink drain along with the mouthwash and focused on the reality of it. I would reach a new normal, and I would be okay.

I couldn’t sleep wearing clothing. I had picked up the habit from my father. I wanted to be just like him, so I followed his example when I discovered he slept naked. My mother disliked it, but my father insisted that she allow it. He said it was a man thing and that she wouldn’t understand. Besides, like my father, I had developed early, and the usual underwear and pants made for males, whatever my age, always felt like a straitjacket on my junk. At nine years old, it embarrassed my mother to accompany me to the tailor the first time. I needed pants made for me because I had grown too big for my britches (as she politely put it). It never embarrassed my father; he showed me off with pride at the tailor that he’d gone to for years for the same reason.

I left the bathroom that evening in my birthday suit and turned the corner to enter the bed-filled room. I froze to find Max lying nude on his belly, facing away from me, and reading an article from the folded newspaper he brought from the diner. This pale skinned, muscular masterpiece had curly, golden blonde hair covering his entire body; it shimmered from the glow of the naked lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. The view gave me a slack-jawed sense of awe and an instant erection.

I took a deep breath. “Shit…” I whispered to myself.

He hadn’t turned toward me; instead, he spoke casually in his deep baritone voice, “The college here has a baseball team. I like baseball.”

“Do you? I’ll carry my equipment everywhere; in case you want to play.”

He turned to look at me. “Jeez.” He smiled. “I have a hard time believing how big you get when you’re erect.”

I shrugged. “It’s what my dad gave me.”

“What caused this? Have you seen something you like?”

“With you? I like all that I see.” I crawled onto the bed, and I touched his golden-fur-covered, concrete-like ass. He reached out to grasp my high, hard one.

“I’ve pleasured you for weeks,” he said. “I could use a good fuck. Would you enjoy fucking me with this thing?”

“Are you serious? You want my bat in your ass?”

“Sure, why not?” he asked. “If you’re afraid you’ll hurt me, I regularly take toys nearly this size, but they could never feel half as good as you will. It won’t be a problem.”

I dropped onto the bed with my legs beneath me. “Wow! You’re the proverbial gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you? I would love to fuck you. Have you—you know—prepared for that?”

He got on his hands and knees; the globes of his ass faced me. “I’m clean as a whistle, pre-lubed and ready for you, buddy.”

I stared at the astonishing ass before me, and the hunk attached to it. I couldn’t help myself, and the next thing I knew, I had my tongue buried deep in the soft, hairless cleft between two golden blonde, fur-covered cannonballs.

“Yeah, meet your new friend.” His groans rumbled deep in his chest. “You like that smooth hole? I had it lasered a few years ago for my convenience, and I am so glad I did.” He laughed with a gruff timbre that I found incredibly sexy. “We will find lots of time for the two of you to get acquainted, but why not shove your man-rammer inside and try me on for size?”

I hadn’t had much experience with fucking and never with a man. It invariably ended with complaints and no orgasm, but I felt so horny that, without hesitation, I bent over a bit and aimed my cockhead at his hole. Although it clung tightly to my shaft, it allowed me entrance, and by his sounds of pleasure, I hadn’t hurt him, but I hadn’t experienced anyone who could take me. So, out of fear, I stopped halfway and tentatively tried to fuck him, but he was having none of that.

“Don’t tease me, Millstone,” he said. “I’m not looking for a poke. I won’t be happy until you bang me with the whole thing as hard as you can, breeding me repeatedly, and our nuts collide for at least an hour.”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe it.

He looked over his shoulder. “I imagine this is new for you, but I invite you to take that bat of yours and discover that, unlike the others who couldn’t take a bunt, you’re welcome to knock me out of the fucking park.”

So, I grasped his hips, and with one forceful shove, slid my cock into his lube-slickened chute until I had fully seated myself deep inside him, causing him to arch his spine and throw his head back.

“Goddamn! You’re fucking huge!” He tried taking a few breaths. “Oh,” he said, sounding a bit breathless. “I feel so full.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck yeah! I love it!”

“You do?”

“Oh yeah. You are so deep.” He paused for a moment to breathe. “Let’s go, Millstone, fuck the hell out of me.”

I hauled my meat from his ass to the head, and I made a test slam. He growled like a blonde bear, saying, “Fuck yeah.” So, I began fucking him as hard as I could, long-stroking him. I loved the feel of his warm, butter-like hole, stretched tight over my thick dong. I never knew that fucking full throttle could feel so good or that I would have that much fun. After about twenty minutes, I flipped him over, rotating his body around my skewering cock. I got a look at the dense, golden fur down his front, his junk on full display. Like his ass, he had lasered the hair off his stiff dick, and his big, equally hairless balls had drawn tight in their sack. I placed his legs over my shoulders and began a long pile-driving effort to pound him into our new mattress.

After about thirty minutes, he could do nothing but breathe and convulse as he had one anal orgasm after another, spewing cum all over himself without touching his cock.

When the last one ended, I asked him, “You like my fuck?” I began grinding my meat into him.

He nodded with an adorable simple smile on his face.

“I’m stretching this hole of yours.”

“Just for you?” he asked.

I nodded. “Just for me.”

“It’s yours.”

“How do you like to fuck best?” I asked.

He replied, “Often.”

I laughed and bent down so we could kiss. For someone Max’s size, his body remained flexible. “Time to breed you.”

My golden blonde bear stared into my eyes as I fucked him hard. As he began to shudder, he aimed his cock at his face and came right down his own throat. I couldn’t hold back, watching this gorgeous hunk drink his own jizz, and my nuts turned inside out, breeding him for the first time. I came with my body jerking with every shot. We had both exhausted ourselves and fell sideways onto the bed. Leaving himself covered in cum, he kept my meat inside him and rotated his body around. I lay behind him, spooning him with myself fully planted inside him, using his body like a cock cozy, keeping it warm. He wouldn’t let me go, and I felt too tired to get up.

“What about the light?” I asked.

“No problem.” He clapped his hands twice, the light went out, and we lay in darkness.

“You want me to fall in love with you, don’t you?”

He said nothing but pulled my arm over him. I slickened my hand in the cum from his chest as I dug my fingers into his fur, and we slept that way through the night.



We had three scrambled eggs at breakfast with an added cup of egg whites, spinach, tomatoes, oatmeal, and coffee. As we ate, a knock came upon our door. Sawyer had overnighted a package to me by a special courier. I signed for the thin cardboard box, and before I opened it, I returned to the barstool at the kitchen counter where my food was turning cold.

“He certainly is reliable, isn’t he?” asked Max.

“Sawyer’s a good man.”

It contained all my photo identification and more. The thin box held a manila envelope with my driver’s license, passport, my state license to conceal-carry a gun, and my state detective license, which meant I could legally work as a detective again. I put the necessary licenses into my wallet, the rest back into the envelope, and finished breakfast.

We had another visitor during clean-up, but when I glanced through the peephole, I hadn’t known the man, and we no longer expected a delivery.

I asked, “Who is it?”

“It's Albert,” he said, “your first cousin, once removed.”

I glanced at Max, who seemed as surprised as me. I thought maybe it was someone from the government. I opened the door. “Do you know Sawyer?”

“I am Sawyer.” In his early 30s, the thickly built man stood there with a wine bottle, wearing black jeans, black boots, and black leather braces over a gray stripe shirt with rolled sleeves. He had short dark hair, a clipped beard, and a full mustache that curled on the ends.

I stood there looking at him and made a reasonable guess. “You're the brother of the Sawyer I know.”

“And you’re our first cousin once removed! Thomas told me all about it.”

“Thomas? Sawyer’s name is Tom Sawyer?” I started laughing.

“And that's why he goes by his last name. Our parents were obliviously cruel.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

I grabbed his hand, pulling him into the apartment. “Come in! Come in!” I gave him a hug, which he gladly accepted.

“Al, please meet Max Roche.”

Albert shook Max’s hand. “So, are the two of you...” and he left it at that, waiting for one of us to fill in the blank.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 3b

Max glanced at me for a split second, instinctively knowing that I was not ready to say it, even if it were true, and when he answered, I could only sense myself growing more attached to him. He had a kind assertiveness that I perceived as generous and genuine. Max enjoyed my cock immensely, but he wanted me. At that moment, as he glanced at me and said what he had to Albert, he spoke the truth to both of us.

In an emphatic tone, he said, “Yes, we are.”

“That’s great! Well, this morning, I'm the Welcome Wagon, so welcome to Franklin.” He handed Max a bottle of 7-year-old French Pinot Noir. “I picked one of my favorites from the cellar; I thought you might like it.”

We thanked him, and Albert looked around a bit.

“So,” he said, “Thomas told me he helped you find an apartment. Big mistake, he should have come to me.”

“What else did he tell you?” I asked as I had no desire to say too much and give myself away.

“Just that you're a detective and would replace the gambling addict.”

“Does everyone know about that guy?” Max asked.

“Everyone read about it in the paper,” he said.

“Aah!” I ushered him beyond the front door and into the living room, where we all seated ourselves. “Can you tell me why you only have one private detective in a city this size?”

“Probably because it takes a certain kind of person to be a detective, and of those people, who are a minority among our population, they prefer the police department. There might be someone who lives outside the city who wouldn't mind the job if it were anywhere else. However, this is Freaky Franklin, renowned for its nonconformity and maligned by the conservatives and religious community. Working here while living outside the city leaves too great a stain for most people, even among our local supporters. If I guessed, I would say that we only have a couple of hundred commuters from outside the city limits.

“Well, I told Thomas that I would help you settle in. I know you could use the help, so what do you need?”

“That's a generous offer,” said Max.

“We could use some advice,” I said. “We need a reputable bank and someplace to get a decent car.”

“Well, cousin, that's a reasonable enough request. I have a free day today, so I can help you with that, but I need to drop by the precinct while we're out. I forgot my headphones for the gym in the morning.”

“Precinct? You're a cop?”

He nodded. “Midtown.”

“So, you would have the skinny on the city?”

“The skinny.” He laughed. “I haven't heard that in a long while, but yes, I do. Let's get out of here and get you two a car.”

Albert took us to the best dealership in town, the Mercedes dealer, where he assured us that we wouldn't get ripped off, and where they had a variety of used cars in the back lot. We entered the building, and the salesman named Terrance knew Albert. He introduced us, and me as his cousin.

As Max had never owned a vehicle (and many people living in New York haven’t), he left it to me to find us one. I told Terrance what we needed, and we gave the lot a once over, but none of them suited our needs. They either had too much size, too much age, too many miles, or whoever owned it hadn’t taken care of it. I tried to avoid owning the object of someone else's neglect. Terrance told us that new pre-owned cars came in all the time, so he would keep his eye open for us.

On our way back to Albert’s Camry, Max had stopped to admire a gleaming, silver convertible two-seater inside the showroom when a model of what I would call “female perfection” breezed through the front door. I elbowed Max, who turned to see what had caught my eye. She had pale skin, luminous in the morning light, and her long, wavy, platinum blonde hair appeared natural. The lace on the pure white dress that draped just below her knee hugged her curves, and the light reflecting off her shone like a vision of the shining one, Aglaia of the three graces. She said nothing, but her eyes locked with Max’s as she came toward us, her stride unbroken. A moment before she passed us, her blood-red lips beamed a glamorous and sensual smile at Max that no one could ignore. She kept going, not looking back, but both Max and I couldn’t help but watch her. With the way Max reacted, you’d have thought an iconic celebrity had just walked past him. I could easily have dismissed her as casually flirting with him. However, she turned the corner, and before she disappeared behind a room divider, she looked to the far left to see if Max watched her. Her simple smile broadened, showing a beautiful set of pearly whites, and then she vanished.

I looked back to Albert, but he had kept walking outside, not having noticed we stopped. Max and I caught up with him.

“That was Winter,” said Max.

“Yeah,” Albert said as we continued, “she's probably here to pick up next year's Mercedes-Maybach or something.”

“Her newspaper photo doesn't do her justice.”

“The resolution of newsprint doesn't do anyone justice,” said Albert.

“What's the skinny on her?” I asked.

We had opened the doors, but he stopped before getting in, and he spoke across the top of his Camry. “Winter is a millionaire philanthropist, and from what I've seen, to the community, she's kind and warm-hearted, but to the outside world, she's a harsh, barren blast of money and power. I once heard someone refer to her as a Carrion Goth. She buys the remains of failed companies outside the city at pennies on the dollar, dismantles them, and sells their valuable bits of carcass at her silent auction house, the Winter Auction.”

I glanced at Max. “Jeez, I’m in the wrong business.” We climbed inside. “So, she's goth?”

“Sure,” he said, “not all goths wear black and dress like it’s 1890.”

On the way to the Midtown Precinct, Albert pointed out the safest and most sound financial institution in the city, the Franklin Credit Union, an institution supported by Winter.

The ultramodern design of the Midtown Precinct had a garage beneath the building. We exited the elevator on the third floor. The police uniforms in Franklin surprised me as they had made them of leather: blue leather shirt, black leather pants with a blue stripe down the leg, and a blue and black leather Muir cap.

“Hey, Sawyer, I thought you were off again today,” said a man suited in plain clothes. He came from one of the offices on the far wall.

“I am Edge. I left something by mistake the other day. Let me introduce you to my first cousin once removed, Howard Millstone; he’s the new private dick in town, and this is his partner, Max Roche. Howard, Max, this is my friend and coworker, Detective Sergeant Wade Edgerton.”

“It's good to meet you,” said Edgerton shaking our hands. “So…once removed. Never did understand how that worked.”

“I barely understand it,” I said.

“So, anything going on the last few days?” Albert asked Edgerton.

“Yeah, and it's not too good,” he said. “Tommy Two-Weeks topped himself Wednesday night. His roommate found him after he didn't show up for work.”

“Oh man, I hate to hear that.”—Albert turned to us—“Tommy Haines, occasionally known in Franklin as Tommy Two-Weeks, got in trouble off and on when he first arrived, living on the street; it was nothing much, petty theft of food mostly, and no one ever pressed charges. Tommy ran away from home three years ago at sixteen; he wanted to escape his abusive father. In the last six months, Tommy tried to get his life together.” He asked Edgerton, “Had he left a note?”

“We hadn’t found anything.”

“How had he acquired a name like Tommy Two-Weeks?” I asked.

“When he ran away from home, his father told him he wouldn’t last two weeks without him. He felt pretty proud of himself for never going back.”

“A nineteen-year-old kid,” I said. “That’s a sad thing.”

“Has anyone told the sisters?” asked Albert.

“Yeah, Delaney told them,” said Edgerton.

“You're sure it was suicide?”

“You've been in Franklin for ten minutes, Millstone,” said the detective. “I know a suicide when I see one.”

“No offense. I apologize for questioning your conclusion; after all, I wasn't there. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I have a question. Even if your conclusion is correct, Tommy still left no note. That often means it came as an impulsive decision. Did his roommate tell you Tommy went out on a date the night before?”

“How could you know that?”

“I overheard Glenn, who I assume was Tommy’s roommate, tell the sisters that he finally went out on a date.”

Edgerton shook his head. “That's irrelevant. Unless the guy had direct involvement in Tommy’s death, he has no culpability, and since Tommy died of suicide, he’s innocent. Look, I understand that you want to help, but Tommy had some serious mental problems. It surprises me he made it this long.”

Albert rapidly grew uncomfortable. “How about the three of us go get some lunch.”

I understood Albert’s intentions, and I hadn’t blamed him. Edgerton was his friend, and he wanted to keep the peace, so message received. I told Edgerton that I enjoyed meeting him, a slight over-exaggeration on my part but a necessary one. As he reminded me, I had only been in town for ten minutes; it seemed early in the game to start making enemies.

I saw the problem as one of purpose. The police exist to enforce laws, and they had no reason to run down someone who hadn’t broken any. For myself, however, I have an interest in the facts. It sounded too easy to dismiss Tommy’s actions as those of someone mentally ill. He was getting his life together, and suddenly, after one date, he kills himself? I hadn’t liked the sound of it. It used too many assumptions that made no sense.

Max asked me, “Edgerton hates you, doesn't he?”

We sat eating in Stradeli’s, an Italian deli, just off Main Street.

“I wouldn't say he hates him,” said Albert and then turned to me, “but I wouldn't say he doesn't hate you either.”

“Are you trying to baffle me?”

“How about just minding your P’s and Q’s around him until you have some more experience of one another? You're both detectives with a different experience, and trust me on this cousin, he's good at his job.”

“I'm sure. I apologize if I harmed your friendship with him.”

“I appreciate that, but I wouldn’t worry; he's resilient, he'll bounce back.”—he pulled out his cell phone—“Could I have both your phone numbers? I might need to contact you.”

Max gave him his.

“I have no cellphone.”

“Really.” He looked at me as if I were an alien. “Thomas told me you were starting over, but I hadn’t realized he meant that so fully. Well, we need to get you a phone today.”

I enjoyed having communication again, but we needed transportation. When Albert dropped us off for the day, we spent much of the afternoon sitting on the couch in our apartment, scavenging the local newspaper and the online ads. We couldn't find anything that hadn’t screamed soccer mom, ugly, or inherently unreliable.

Halfway through, something came up, namely my cock. I hadn’t cum since that morning at Max’s second pounding up the bum, and it distracts from my concentration if I go too long. I slipped off my pants, and Max slipped onto the floor in front of me. That handsome stud shoved my cock down his throat and proceeded to show me his lack of gag reflex. It took little time, and I shot my load almost directly into his stomach. He dragged himself back up the length of my schlong, and the head emerged with a loud pop. He then cleaned me up, licking whatever he’d missed from my dong as he played with it. He then sucked the head of it, casually jacking me until he knew I could go again. As he picked up the pace, I felt as though he were milking me. He wanted to taste this one, and when I came, I filled his mouth with shot after shot of the rich cream he loved so much. I had never met anyone who could guzzle cum the way Max would. If I could have shot a gallon’s worth, he wouldn’t have stopped until it filled his belly, stretching his six-pack like he had beer-bonged an entire pony keg of man juice.

The greasy spoon up the street was not healthy food, and we knew that. Neither of us wanted to continue eating there. As a bodybuilder, Max ate clean, but he ate a lot. We had one last meal there that evening, requesting the healthiest thing on their menu. We both slumped in our chairs at the counter, looking at the seared T-bone and fries on our plates, a sad sprig of wilted parsley for garnish.

“Boy, do we need a car,” said Max as neither one of us wanted to hire a cab to take us everywhere we went. That would quickly get expensive.

With every bite, my resolve to avoid buying a vehicle as unappealing and unsavory as the piece of over-cooked beef at the end of my fork softened into settling for what we could get, just as we had with the plates before us.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 4a

The problem with the bathroom wasn’t a small one (or rather, that was its problem). Our bathroom was so small you had to step outside it to change your mind. (Ba-dum-bump, as the comedy drum goes), and the diminutive nature of the apartment had expressed itself there at its worst. It contained a single pedestal sink, squeezed next to a round seated toilet, and the size of our corner shower wouldn’t allow us to bend over without bumping our head. So, if anything would make us move relatively soon, the bathroom was it.

When evening came, Max prepared for bed last. As he tried to shower, he struck up a conversation with me about a gym. “How do you feel about weight training together? I found a gym on the net we might like, and they have a beautiful, full-service locker room with a dry sauna and an enormous shower.”

I laughed. “That sounds like heaven right now, doesn’t it? I would love to work out together; perhaps I’ll pick up some pointers from you. So, where might we find this enormous shower?”

“We passed it earlier today on the other side of town,” he said.

“Naturally. This side of town has just enough luck to have the market, the gas station, and the greasy spoon.”

“That’s probably why they consider this the low rent district. You know, I think I figured out why Sawyer picked this apartment.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to incentivize you to do well.”

“…so I could move out as quickly as possible,” I said. “How clever of him.”

Once we had cozied ourselves into bed, Max had me fluff our pillows behind me, so I could lean against the wall. He climbed under the covers and locked lips with his lengthy friend downstairs, and with that kind of attention, it hadn’t taken long for it to stand-to. He swirled his tongue around the head and stroked it delicately along the sensitive underside, feeling the soft skin move over the wood-like interior. He knew what I liked, and he pulled out all the stops.

I started noticing that, while Max may have had his hands and mouth on my cock as usual, causing me sensations that I hadn’t felt before, his goal in doing it was turning from drinking my man juice to pleasing me. No one had ever bothered before. In the past, anyone having an experience with someone my size, gulping down a few mouthfuls of my essence, and having a good story to tell their friends, seemed enough for the others. Afterward, they would move on. For the first time, I found myself on the other end of the dick, and I was the one having the amazing experience. Except, rather than moving on from Max, it made me want to hold him even closer.

Max had half my cock stuck deep in his gullet, where we both liked it, bringing my load to a boil as he gave his throat a good cleaning. He wanted to hold it so deep I shot my whole load directly into his stomach, just to find out what it felt like. He could throat me fully, but he told me that it felt uncomfortable, and he couldn’t stay there for long. So, the limitations of his anatomy and the necessity of breathing would prevent that dream from coming true. He throated my cock from the head to half-way over and over. My breath grew heavy as waves of pleasure radiated over me. The uncontrollable undulating of my head started as he pushed me near the edge—close…close. I could feel it…so close. A short sharp breath and…release. Again, and again, and again. The winking-out of consciousness, riding the pleasure as Max drank and drank from me, slaking his thirst as I rewarded him with a job well done. My head thudded against the wall, and the coiled spring of my body relaxed, both exhausted and contented.

I felt him moving under the covers, and then he growled several times. “Are you jacking off?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Into my hand, of course.” He flipped back the comforter and showed me.

“What will you do with it?”

“I don’t usually eat my own unless it’s happening in the moment.”

I took his wrist. “Let me see.” I brought his hand to my face. “I’ve been thinking, if it’s going to be you and me together, I want to learn to please you in whatever way I can.”—I looked at the pool of cum in his palm—“You’ve kissed me after having blown me before, so I have an idea of what to expect now. And while I’ve never tried this full strength, I want it, just because it’s yours.” I licked his hand, savoring the most intimate and personal thing that Max could ever give me. Not long ago, I would have expected to retch, but the flavor hadn’t tasted nearly as bad as I used to expect, and I swallowed it down.

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

My head tipped as I looked him in the eye. It seemed hard to explain except to say, “Because I wanted a part of you inside of me.”

With an expression that I could only interpret as amazement, love, and passion, he rushed forward to kiss me, holding his lips to mine, the remnants of one another shared between us, as we made one more step toward an intimacy neither of us had ever felt with anyone else.



The muffled sound of the alarm clock, stuffed between the mattress and the wall, woke me at 6 o’clock. Max lay on his back semi-awake. I ran my hand down his chest and stomach, feeling his man-fur, to discover he had morning wood that protruded up to his navel. I had awoken to a new day, a day of discovery, of closeness, and a greater appreciation of the circumstance that brought Max and me together. I ducked under the cover, laid my head on his belly, and carefully took him into my mouth. I had never sucked a dick in my life, but if I ever sucked one, it would be that of my Golden Bear. He deserved as much pleasure from me as he had—without fail—given to me daily, and I wanted to do it. I’d had enough blow jobs over the years to know how, and his dick tasted fine; the flavor of his runny sap was light and barely noticeable. The wetness helped to keep the glide of my mouth smooth and pleasurable for him. I took note to watch the teeth as I gave him the best blow my inexperience could provide. He let me know he enjoyed it when he placed his hand on my head, and I worked his cock over with my tongue and lips, gradually understanding why Max found sucking me so much fun. The ability to make him squirm while sucking him felt empowering in such a positive way that, near the end, I had embraced the idea that sucking his dick was a thing I could do, and I felt okay with that. As he came in my mouth, I realized, as others had expressed in the past, cum tastes better when body temperature and straight from the tap. He pressed his hand onto my head, growling with every spurt of cum. I came up for air and kissed him.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“Only for you, my beautiful Golden Bear, only for you.”

He smiled. “Am I your Golden Bear?”

“That’s okay, isn’t it?”

He flipped me on my back and straddled me, kissing me deeply for many minutes when we heard a knock. We stopped and listened for a moment, and the knock happened again.

“What the hell?” I asked. “This is early.”

“Answer the door naked,” he said, “I learned in New York, if it’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses, they’ll run.”

I laughed and kissed him again, thinking we would just ignore it, but the knock sounded again.

“I guess we better see who has such bad timing,” I said, “it could be important.”

Max let me up, and I hadn’t bothered to dress or don a robe.

“I joked about answering the door like that!” he said.

“This is Franklin. People walk the street naked; should I care who sees me? At this time of the morning, they deserve what they get.”

Max joined me as I gazed out the peephole. I saw a young man, and he looked harmless enough, so I opened the door. The handsome 20-year-old wore a slim-fit gray suit. Even with his hair trimmed to the scalp, I could tell he was biracial. I envied his skin tone; I never could get an even tan on Coney Island.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Wow!” He smiled, looking us up and down. “Good morning. Are you detectives, Misters Millstone and Roche?”

The cordial manner with which he spoke in his clean-sounding accent told me he had some education. He stood with his head held high and shoulders back.

“Yes. We haven’t acquired our business license yet, but that's on an ever-shortening list. What can we do for you?”

“My Auntie Winter sent me, and now I see why she wants to meet you.”

“Winter wants to meet us?” asked Max.

I gestured the young man into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

“She apologizes for the short notice,” he said, “but she has invited you to an impromptu breakfast this morning. We hope you’ve not eaten. She also has a job offer for you…of a sort…if you want it.”

“Who are you?”

“My apologies, I am Grey,” he said, holding out his hand, and we shook it.

“I'm Howard Millstone. Most people seem to call me Millstone, so that's acceptable. This is my associate and partner, Max Roche. Is Grey your given name?”

He smiled. “No, like Auntie Winter, it's the name I chose.”

“Nice,” I said. “When would she like to meet?”

“Now. If it's not too inconvenient.”

“We have no transportation,” said Max.

“She knows; that's why she sent me.”

“Quite thoughtful of her,” said Max as he turned to me. “Shall we go?”

“Let’s get dressed. Please, make yourself comfortable, Grey. We won’t be long.”

Max and I brushed our teeth in a hurry; cum-breath wouldn’t exactly provide the best first impression for a potential client. We had yet to obtain any suits, so we dressed in our best casual clothing, and within minutes we stood ready to leave. When we reached the street, in front of the building sat a beautiful silver Mercedes roadster, hardtop convertible.

“Hey,” said Max, “I admired one of these on the showroom floor yesterday.”

“Auntie Winter bought it yesterday,” said Grey. “When I saw it, I thought it a bit odd. I’ve never known her to make this sort of purchase.”

“We have two seats,” I said. “Max can’t drive. How about I drive, and you sit in Max’s lap?”

We climbed in as best we could, given the circumstances, and the seat belt fit over both Max and Grey together. As I drove the roadster in the direction Grey instructed, I couldn’t help but love the vehicle, but between the sound of the engine and the power it had, I knew it drank more gas than a cop drinks coffee.

Grey sat confident and calm in Max’s lap, and given my Golden Bear’s musculature, Max probably barely noticed him. While stuck at a traffic light, I chatted Grey up.

“So, what do you do?” I asked.

“You're the detective,” he said, “you tell me.”

“Alright.” I looked him up and down. He dressed well and wore nice shoes; he demonstrated a quiet confidence for someone of his age; he had both intelligence and a polite manner. He could do anything for all I knew. “You're a gigolo.”

He and Max both laughed. “How could you possibly have guessed?” Grey asked.

I shrugged. “It's a gift.”

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 4b

“I go to Franklin College,” he said, “and I started my apprenticeship with Auntie Winter, but to be honest, I would rather do something else.”

“Well, if the gigolo racket slacks-off, you should consider having something else to fall back on. Where are we going?”

“The Thornbrier Estate, which will soon be redubbed the Winter Estate.”

As I soon discovered, Leopold Thornbrier’s old estate once loomed above the pointless, unincorporated community of Thornbrier. It sat on the distant outskirts of the city of Franklin. The gothic mansion was once alive and bustling with activity, but after the murder of Lady Thornbrier in 1899, abandonment and ruin had turned it into a source of gossip, rumor, or revulsion for everyone except the Goths. For the Goths—some who desired it for themselves—it held a fascination, especially for Winter.

Unfortunately, the remaining Thornbrier family left the estate to rot, but when the last of the family died, it went up for auction, providing an opportunity for the house to live again. Whoever purchased it would either need the boatloads of money required to restore it or else have it torn down. Winter’s was the highest bid among the three people who wanted it, and she stole the place at less than four hundred thousand dollars. Having already had the house’s underlying condition researched by a professional, she immediately began to implement her plan to have it moved—the second move of the home’s lifetime. The Thornbriers moved the estate piece by piece from France when the Du Pont family sold it in 1889, relocating it to the United States. It took Winter’s crew three years to move the home to its new location and restore it.

The estate resided, as the locals say, “on the other side of the bay,” misleading a newbie like me with their colloquial expression. They hadn’t referred to the body of water on which a third of Franklin sat. They meant Bay Boulevard, which divided the city economically. The community there, where the ancient and nouveau-riche lived, conducted their affairs more separated from everyone else. At first, I disliked the sound of it, and I found its existence both typical and somewhat nauseating, but I hadn’t known the whole story.

As I indicated before, Franklin had money…a lot of money. Several sprawling neighborhoods, with homes of the well-to-do, sat on the other side of Bay Boulevard. They consisted of a series of relatively modest estates that one could never call McMansions; the city would not allow those in Franklin. However, we found the erstwhile “Thornbrier Estate” located along Blueberry Lane. The enormous, castle-like gothic mansion, made of a blackish stone block, towered over the landscape, seemingly hundreds of years old, but the neighborhood along that lane looked new. It had proper sidewalks on both sides of the street, underground utilities, and a hydrant near the drive of every home. The estate seemed to fit among the other massive homes, each on ten-acre lots; they had them gated, landscaped, and tended with care.

Oddly, after we parked in the pea gravel drive, Grey led us to the back entrance, which—at first—seemed a tad demeaning, as the designers would have utilized it originally as the servants’ entrance. However, the stunning inlaid door led to a beautiful, well-appointed, and modern eat-in kitchen. The space, lit by several windows high on the outer wall, had ten-foot ceilings, and they had plastered the walls, rather than leaving them stone. Winter, with her platinum blonde hair and creamy skin, had worn a pure white, flared, knee-length dress with lace across her shoulders and down her sleeves. She had busied herself setting dishes onto a large round dining table with four place settings. I saw no sign of any servants.

“Mr. Roche, Mr. Millstone,” she said with her hand out, “what a pleasure it is to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, and please, call me Max.”

“Yes, pleased to meet you,” I said as I shook her hand. “And just call me Millstone. We don’t need the formalities.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“That’s a nice jalopy you’ve got out there,” I said.

“Oh, that old thing,” she said, feigning a level of flippancy. “It's last year’s model. The dealer practically paid me to take it off his hands.”

I noticed that she gave Max an approving appraisal, but her vivacious personality and charm had Max and me smiling despite my initial misgivings.

Max seemed less star-struck than when we first saw her. She seemed like the lady who lives next door, rather than the glamorous runway-model we saw in the showroom. Max said to her, “I take it Terrance, the car dealer, told you what you wanted to know about us.”

She turned her head a bit and pursed her lips like a naughty girl who gets away with everything. “I hope you don't mind.”

“I kind of feel we owe him one,” I said.

Max just smiled, utterly charmed by her, and I admit she was nothing like I expected. She invited us to sit and chat while having breakfast with her and Grey. As we ate our omelets and oatmeal and waffles with fruit, they both gave us a lively conversation, and I learned a lot about Franklin that most people who live elsewhere never discover. She and Grey lived in the renovated servant’s area downstairs; she referred to it as a bijou apartment; it had only two bedrooms. On the way to the bathroom, I had an opportunity to see some of it. It seemed lovely but a far cry from the enormous mansion above them.

Apparently, none of the wealthy people who lived in the mansions along Blueberry Lane lived in the main portion of the mansion; that portion was open to the public. They were all like Winter and Grey. They all agreed to assist with a municipal investment to purchase the mansions—chosen by the patron—for the City of Franklin as an asset. After the city paid the price for the purchase, the wealthy patron, in this case, Winter, would donate the price of the purchase and restoration to the city’s non-profit foundations, which helped maintain many benefits the city’s citizens enjoyed. Once the patron made the donations, they deducted the amount from their federal taxes. As a thank you, the buyer, or their younger adult children (which was often the case), opted to live in the apartment rent-free.

When breakfast ended, we relaxed, drinking our coffee, and I took the opportunity to inquire about her offer. “Grey tells us that you have a job for us, of a sort. What sort-of job is it?”

“I would like you both to come to the housewarming,” she said.

I asked. “Is this where the ‘sort-of’ comes in?”

She turned to Max. “If you will agree, I would like you to escort me to the party.” She gazed upon us both and seemed apprehensive. “I believe I may have invited a murderer.”

“Do you know who it is?” I asked.

“Yes, it's a young man named James Malor. He might know that I’ve inquired about him. He may not present a danger to me, Max, but I would feel safe if I stayed near you.”

“If you know this person has murdered someone,” said Max, “why haven't you gone to the police?”

“I did yesterday morning. I left unsatisfied with what they told me. I next went to the car dealer to see about my vehicle, and there you were.” She gazed at Max. “You know what happened then.” She smiled. “Afterward, I spoke with Terrance, and when he told me you were both detectives, I took it as a sign.”

Suddenly it clicked. “Tommy Two-Weeks,” I said.

“Yes! I suppose you heard about Tommy from Officer Sawyer. I saw you with him.”

“No, we first heard about Tommy at the airport from his roommate Glenn,” I said. “He was telling the sisters who had returned from Rome about Tommy's date. I presume you're telling me it was this James Malor.”

She nodded. “Humph…sisters,” said Winter, “it's always the sisters.”

“What's with the sisters?” I asked. “This seems an unlikely place for them. I can't imagine that the Catholic Church sanctions what they do here. I would have thought they’d view Franklin as the epitome of Sodom and Gomorrah?”

“It certainly is for the evangelicals,” she said. “How dare we live as we see fit, flaunting our unauthorized happiness!” She rolled her eyes. “Sister Foustina influenced Tommy a great deal. I'm sure he needed her emotional support, but she wasn't the only one who helped him. Many of us did. The Winter Foundation paid a tutor to help him get his general education diploma. He got it too.”

“Is that what you do?” asked Max. “Help troubled kids on the street.”

“I help in many ways, but Franklin doesn't get the typical homeless. We have no homeless adults; ours are teenage runaways. The Winter Foundation has the resources to help them, and we do. We give them a leg up and help them to help themselves.”

“That sounds un-Goth-like of you,” I said. “I thought Goths were all pessimistic and dwelling on the macabre.”

“That's a stereotype,” she said, “but no doubt some do. I used to lean that direction, but then I realized that if the world could ever get better, we must do the work. So, I got off my duff and did something.”

“The police say James hasn't killed anyone; they ruled Tommy’s death a suicide. What would you like us to do, really?”

“Just be there,” she said. “The guests consist of city officials, wealthy donors, neighbors, the local media (just the newspaper and channel five), and the entire crew who helped move and restore the home (including James Malor). He met Tommy on the job; they both worked for the crew. At the end of the evening, after everyone else leaves, I have a little memorial planned for Tommy, so I invited to the party Tommy’s friends and people who helped him, including Sister Foustina.”

She leaned forward onto the table as we got down to brass tax. “I’m willing to pay you whatever number you throw at me, even if it’s utterly outrageous.”

“Let me consult with my associate for a moment.” I looked at Max, who had a big smile on his face. He obviously wanted to do it. “Are you willing to escort and assist however you can?”

“Absolutely,” he said, “whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

“Very well then,” I said to Winter, “we’ll do it. I think about two thousand will fit the bill.”

She laughed. “Oh, Millstone, I haven’t asked for a photograph of a husband having it on with his secretary; we’re talking about a murderer. I insist that I pay you more. Clearly, we need a private detective in this city.”

“Preferably one without gambling issues,” Grey interjected.

“Indeed,” she said. “How will you survive by undercharging? I know…I’ll make a deal with you. If you’re willing to take the two thousand, and I insist on paying you more, then let us do this. I know you’re without transportation, so, upfront, you can use the roadster until I ask for it back or you get another vehicle you prefer more, whichever comes first, and I pay for your party clothes because that only seems fair as they will need tailoring anyway—nothing off the rack will do for Max. Then, after the party, depending on just how satisfied I am with your work, I will pay you based on how the night goes and nothing less than the two thousand you requested.”

With great reluctance, I said, “We really should have our business license before we do this.”

“I’m on the board,” she said, “trust me, that’s a minor inconvenience. Come down at eight o’clock on Monday morning, fill out the paperwork, and I promise that you’ll have one well before noon.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her. “Do you always get what you want?”

“Not always,” she said, “but often.”

I nodded. “Okay, I’ll agree to your offer.”

“Excellent. Grey, do you have a business card for Mr. Wilson?”

“In my room.” He left to get it.

“I have an account for Grey at the tailor on Druesbury Lane in The Village—that’s the shopping district if you didn’t know. I’ll call him the instant you leave. We set the party for next Saturday night, and these things take time, so go there today. Mr. Wilson will know what to make for you.” She handed us the envelopes containing the engraved invitations that lay on the table, and she looked deeply into Maxes eyes as she gave him his. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Might this be an opaque way of asking me out?”

“Oh, I wouldn't think of it,” she said. “I prefer the man to ask.”

Grey injected his opinion when he returned, “And that's why you're still single. You're so old fashioned, Auntie Winter.” Grey gave me the business card.

“It's my gothic nature, darling,” she said to him while staring at Max.

“You do realize that I’m gay, right?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t care, Max. You have the size and strength to make me feel safe, and you’re so handsome that I want people to see me on your arm.”

I had opened the unsealed envelope and read the invitation. “This says it's for a ‘Hanging of the Chimney Hook.’ That sounds sinister.”

“That’s just an old-world reference to what we would call a housewarming. You’ll discover at the party that a chimney hook is a rather ordinary object.” She dangled the keys to the roadster. “Who wants to drive?”

Max pointed at me, and I took the keys.

“At the beginning of next week,” I said, “I think Max and I should study the house interior to familiarize ourselves with the layout.”

“Understandable,” said Winter, “just text me when you want to see it.”

Just before we left, we thanked them for breakfast and the opportunity to get to know them. They did likewise of our acceptance of their invitation and the offer of the job.

So, Max and I had our first client, and for our first one, Winter was no small fish. If this case turned out well, we had the makings of a business, and then we could afford that enormous shower at the gym that Max wanted and a better apartment. I hated that our place left Max uncomfortable. I never saw his place in New York, but the outer building looked nice, so it had to beat the apartment in Franklin. I hadn’t brought him with me, only for him to settle for less than what he left behind. I thought perhaps, the time had come for me to contact the bank in Switzerland.

Winter struck me as somewhat of a manipulator, but I hadn’t sensed any maliciousness. At the time, I hadn’t known if Max fully realized it, but I felt certain she bought the Mercedes just to ensure we had transportation, and she picked it because of him. She had the hots for my Golden Bear, which I admit made me proud to know that he was mine, and I laughed to myself at the thought. I would not have believed it possible for me to have the feelings I felt for Max. He and I were bonding, and he made me happy.

When we pulled out of the drive in the jalopy, Max had a funny look of surprise when he turned to me and made a comment, “I think Winter wants me to fuck her.”

I laughed. “You think? She probably changed her panties the instant we left. You’re an incredibly handsome man. Haven’t you realized you make women all wet and ready for your golden rod?”

“Ugh…you know I won’t go there.”

“I know, Honey Bear, I’m just teasing you. So, off to the tailor?”

“Did you just call me Honey Bear?”

“Do you not like that? I won’t if you don’t.”

“Are you kidding? That’s adorable. I know we should see the tailor, but I want you right now.”

I activated my right turn signal. “And back to the apartment we go…”

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 5a


“I wish you could stay inside of me all the time,” said Max in his deep, masculine baritone.

When we returned from breakfast with Winter, he said he needed his Thoroughbred inside him to thoroughly breed him. With his cum all over his chest, legs over my shoulders, and ass in the air, I had my horse meat planted balls-deep in that soft, tight, wet spot between those golden, fur-covered, granite man-cakes. I just laid there letting it soak while catching my breath, having worked up a sweat, transporting him to heaven and back, breeding him twice in a row. Every slap of my pelvis on his upturned ray of sunshine told me I had the most sexually perfect man for me. I had no idea anyone could take my full length and still beg for me to slam-fuck him; it boggled my mind.

“I wish I could stay inside you too; there’s no place I’d rather be, but…”

“I know,” he said. “There’s someplace we must go. A job’s a job, right?”

I nodded and repositioned myself, so I could pull free without him spilling; he never wanted to lose any of it. If he couldn’t have me inside him, he would keep my loads safe and warm within his body where he felt they all belonged. I retrieved the butt-plug he brought with him from the bathroom. I leaned over him where he waited for me, and I inspected his ass.

“How does it look?” he asked.

“In my opinion, it needs a few more loads, but that will have to wait.” I pushed the plug into him until it seated itself. He squeezed it, and only then had he lain flat. I stretched my body atop him and kissed him. “Are you happy here? Are you happy with us?”

He smiled that handsome crooked smile of his. “I’m glad you asked.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No. No uh-ohs,” he said. “I’ve just started this chapter of my life, and I hope it’s the longest one because I have with me the most exciting and amazing man I’ve ever met. You and I have known one another for a couple of months now, right?”

I nodded. “And you spent an awful lot of your precious off-time with me at the hospital, even giving me sponge baths when it wasn’t your job as an RN.”

“Yes, and we talked more than we had sex. I hope you realize that I began falling in love with you from day one, even when Sawyer wouldn’t let just anyone see your face, including me. As far as I’m concerned, you and I have nothing but smooth sailing. But your recent experimenting has surprised me, so how are you with us?”

“I haven’t a clue what love feels like,” I said. “This is new, and if I haven’t felt love, it’s really close because I have never wanted to swallow anyone’s cum until last night, nor have I felt willing to suck dick until I met you,”—I pressed my forehead to his—“my beautiful Golden Bear. I hope you realize how special to me you are.”

We kissed for another minute, but we had to shower and get to the tailor before noon. Once again, Max hadn’t complained when he bumped his head in the shower, trying to wash his legs and feet. He tended not to complain, so I had to observe and notice his needs while anticipating potential problems. I decided to make a new apartment a higher priority. In the meantime, I figured we could at least check on the gym memberships. I wouldn’t want either of us to start losing muscle, especially Max, since he worked so hard to obtain his.

We found The Village in the old part of the city, where many higher-end merchants had their stores. Franklin had no luxury department stores; it hadn’t needed them. Instead, they had many streets of individual specialty shops that sold things like cellphones or women’s lingerie, another that sold men’s under-gear, several that catered to leather men, several to the goths, etc. They contained them all in a thriving pedestrian zone. We had parked in one of the nearby garages and walked to The Village.

I hadn’t realized it at the time, but I grew up in a highly repressed world. My feelings for Max, the experiences I had with him, the new shift in the understanding of myself (like my identity as Howard Millstone, as a man, and my sexuality) suddenly felt frightening when faced with the prospect that the public-at-large might see me as something that I had yet to fully accept in myself. The leftover emotions from the repression of my younger days started the instant we left the garage. A well-dressed, young gay couple passed us, their arm around one another looking so happy. I wanted to be happy like that, but the idea that my beautiful Golden Bear would even seek to just hold my hand in public terrified me. I felt no shame of him, or of us, but at that moment, I justified that irrational fear, thinking I just needed time to let the dust settle from having my world upended, to let my mind grow accustomed to the new “Me,” until I could think of it without the quotes. But that wasn’t really the problem.

My Golden Bear, however, had an astute, clinical mind, and when the couple passed us, he asked me, “How do you feel about that?” I think I inadvertently prompted him by my facial expression.

“Confused,” I said. “Have I disappointed you?”

“Of course not, it’s understandable. I know that you can’t spell Us without U; it’s not all about me. Let’s see if we can find this place.” He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and checked the map. “We take a right.”

We took the right, walking side by side, the two of us filling most of the sidewalk, and we could still see that gay couple far ahead of us. “How do you feel about them?” I asked.

“Well, let me tell you, you’re not alone,” he said. “Public displays of affection have their difficulties for some people, even for me.”

“But you told me you came out when you were fourteen.”

“Yes, but it’s nothing to do with how long someone accepts themselves. Both before and afterward, depending on who they are, where they’re from, who their family is, and what influences exist around them, many people (including myself) have gotten the clear message that some people don’t want to see that. We’ve all heard the horror stories, seen the news, and we know that people get hurt, sometimes when they least expect it. I’m sure you’ve seen the occasional couple on the sidewalks of New York holding hands, or something more, like that couple right there. It takes guts to do that, and I admire them, even here; because no matter where you go, you take your fears with you, and if they can do that here and be happy, that means there’s hope for people like you and me.”

We found the entrance to The Village up the block and across the street. Along with many stores, we saw several bars like O’Callaghan’s Irish Pub, The Three Cocks cruise bar, Chains bondage bar, In the Buff naturist pub, and the leather bar called the Ramrod. Wilson’s Tailoring sat four streets over on Druesbury Lane between Morton’s Cobblery, the purveyor of custom shoes, and a place called Ye Old Time Shop. If their window display indicated anything, they had every kind of timepiece imaginable.

We saw five headless torso mannequins in the tailor’s window, each one had the most attractive suit I had ever seen, and the quality of them looked more impressive than the tailor I had back in New York. Mister Wilson seemed to have a singular talent for his craft.

A man left the shop just as Max went in before me, the scent of new cloth washed over us, and the tiny, dangling entry bells chimed when we opened the door, so we waited inside. A slender man of shorter than average height with salt and pepper hair emerged from the back room. He wore periwinkle blue trousers and vest over a shirt so faintly blue it looked almost white. When he saw us, he gave us a broad smile, and after our initial hello, when he began talking, we hadn’t a chance to say much.

“Well, I wondered when you would get here.” He held out his hand, and we shook it. “I’m Taylor Wilson, also known as Taylor the tailor. Please, do call me Taylor. You are exactly as Winter described you, Misters Roche and Millstone.”—he tapped his head—“Mind like a steel trap, you know. I never forget anyone, even if they’re only described over the phone. I am so looking forward to making these suits. They are going to be just marvelous. Now, if whichever one of you I will measure first would just pop their clothes onto the table and stand on the platform in front of the mirrors here, we’ll get this party started, as they say.”

“You want us to remove our clothing?” I asked.

“Indeed, I do, sir.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

I turned to Max to ask him about it, but he had already removed his shirt. “Oh…well…whither thou goest, I will go,” I whispered and began unbuttoning my shirt.

Taylor had the platform, half surrounded by mirrors, located directly behind the wall that separated the display window from the shop. Once Max had removed his clothes, he stood on the foot-high platform, well-lit by task lighting, and the tailor stood back to give him a good viewing.

Someone should immortalize Max’s body on the cover of a gay bear magazine. The golden hairs covering him shined and shimmered in the light, and the sight of my beautiful Golden Bear induced a rather poorly timed chubby.

“May I ask why you must see us naked?”

“It’s for visualization purposes,” said Taylor. “I don’t just make suits, I can design them for each individual, and I must see the foundation that I’m working with. Trust me, I’m a professional; I vow to refrain from merely ogling your genitals.”

I said under my breath, “With me, you’re gonna break that vow.” I had waited to remove my pants, willing myself into flaccidity, not an easy feat when seeing Max looking so astonishingly handsome.

“Mr. Roche,” said Taylor, his hands up framing Max like a cameraman, “you have that classic beefy bodybuilder shape that cries for me to accentuate it.”

“So, what sort of thing should I expect?” asked Max.

“Formal wear as yet undetermined,” he said. “I have Winter’s requested color palette—white with metallic gold. She worried that I might produce something that might clash, so she texted me a photo of her dress. She didn’t provide any other details, so she left the design entirely to me.” He moved his hands before him at arm’s length as though he touched a suit that had yet to exist from his mind. “Could you turn around for me, please?” He did so. “Ah, yes, that’s it. That settles it. I know what I must make!” He pulled out his tape measure, pencil, and pad. “Let’s get you measured.”

As he measured Max, a young man in his early 20s came into the shop. Taylor told him that he would be with him momentarily, but he might prefer to return after lunch as Max and I were ahead of him, and it would take some time. The man stated that he merely browsed the shop. And he could have; there were several more suited mannequins inside, many bolts of fabric to inspect, and an assortment of silk ties, handkerchiefs, and braces on display. However, he just stood near me, staring at Max on the platform, and one could hardly blame him, but something odd struck me about him. I couldn’t tell if it came from his expression when I glanced at him as he entered the shop or what, but he stood a little too deep into my personal space, and he lingered a little too long for someone who merely sought to browse the shop. We both stood there watching Taylor measure Max, and when the young man began to speak to me in a low voice, he hadn’t turned my direction.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 5b

“What happened to Tommy-Boy was a shame,” he said, almost as if he had mentioned the weather in passing. The instant he said it, he had my attention, my guard went up, and I stepped back from him.

“Yes…wasn’t it?”

“It was a shame,” he repeated, finally turning to me, “but it wasn’t murder; the police said so. Why not just leave it at that?” His voice sounded flat but not monotone.

“Word gets around fast in Franklin,” I said. “Fortunately for you, I’m not on that case. Who are you?”

“Someone who knows otherwise.” He tipped his head toward Max. “That sure is a handsome husband you got there.”

Just then, I suddenly had an odd sensation of a kind of clarity, something I think my mind was searching for since we left New York, something to focus on and pinpoint, and it hadn’t found it until that moment. Regardless of what the man said, he struck me as menacing. “Are you threatening us?” I whispered. “Because that would be a mistake.”

“I only made an observation.” His eyes turned from me to the shop around him. “On second thought, I don’t care for this place. See ya around, Millstone.” He turned and left.

“Who was that man?” Max held up his hand, shielding his eyes from the lighting as he stepped down from the platform.

If we hadn’t needed to get the measuring done for our job with Winter, we would have left immediately. “I think he might be a problem. We should discuss it in the car,” I said, shucking my pants, and as expected, Taylor broke his vow when I stood upon the platform.

“Mr. Millstone!” he exclaimed and suddenly got flustered.

“Yes, I know,” I said, “you’d think my father was Seabiscuit. I hate to ask you to hit the gas on your creative process, but Max and I have someplace to go.”

“Yes, of course. But…aah…two questions. I will need to take a couple of extra measurements of you, not merely out of curiosity, mind you. It…aah…has to do with the trouser leg. Would you mind if I measured you for the fit?”

I glanced at Max, who stood at the edge of the platform with a hand over his smirk trying not to laugh, and then back to Taylor. “This better be the best damn suit I’ve ever worn.”

“And it will be, I assure you,” he said.

I gave a deep sigh. “Fine. And the second question?”

“Does the gentleman dress left or right?” asked Taylor.

“What does that mean?”

“In your slacks,” said Max, “which side of your pants will you carry your third leg.”

“Oh! When necessary, it’s the right.”

As Taylor measured me from the neck down, Max stood naked in front of me, giving me the eye and playing on my desire for him. Of course, it resulted in the semi-erection he wanted of me by the time Taylor got around to my inseam. He couldn’t speak except to gasp and exclaim, “My god!”

“You’re a naughty man, Max,” I said.

“What if you should get an erection while wearing the pants?” he asked. “Taylor needed to know the full extent of your, aah…expansion.”

“Well, now my expansion needs draining before it will fit in my pants.”

Taylor piped up, “Well, I’d be-”

“Don’t even think about it,” I said to him as he knelt at my feet. My beautiful Golden Bear hadn’t once taken his eyes off me, “Besides, my dance card’s Max’ed out from now on.”

When the man who came into the shop made the veiled threat (and I felt certain it was), the possibility of something happening to Max changed me in an instant. The fear and ambivalence vanished when I realized my priorities, and it forced me to make up my mind about me. As Taylor measured my growing erection (not out of curiosity, he assured me), Max gave me a simple smile that I reflected, and I knew what I must do to protect him.

“Thank you for allowing that, Mr. Millstone,” said Taylor. “You are truly a remarkable man.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, “…to anyone.”

“You have my word.”

“Do you need to visualize, or have we finished?” I asked as Max stepped onto the platform.

“I know the suit you need, so we’ve concluded the preliminaries,” said Taylor as Max reached out for my cock. “If you would like, you’re welcome to…oh, never mind.”

Max had shoved my cockhead into his mouth and started blowing me right there; neither of us cared who saw or who would walk into the shop. I needed Max, Max needed me, and if we let him see, Taylor wouldn’t complain. He stood out of view, but he watched us.

Max and I knew we couldn’t take the time to linger in the ecstasy. I needed to cum, and we needed to go. He worked my schlong with both hands, and slurping sounds dominated the shop as he grappled to get at the treasure hidden within me. He slid his lips down the shaft over and over, coaxing the juices to the surface, to fill his belly in a way that few men could. He knew what would set me off, and as the building pleasure began to overwhelm me, I had leaned back as I stood there, pelvis out, my face to the ceiling and my arms dangling behind. At the moment of release, I had become a conduit with a single purpose, to feed the nectar of the gods to the man I loved; my entire being centered around my rigid pipe, draining the raw stuff of life into my beautiful Golden Bear who drank and drank, like guzzling honey from a hive.

When the flow subsided, Max followed me down as the intensity of the experience dropped me panting to my knees. He licked at the remnants, cleaned my cock, and made me presentable again. I had pulled his face to mine, kissing him deeply with a passion less restrained by years of sexual inhibitions that hadn’t belonged in Franklin. They had begun melting away, replaced by a greater understanding of what it meant to live a life free of the outside world.

“Are you okay?” Max asked me, handing me my pants.

I nodded. “We should go.”

Taylor appeared from the side, his face the picture of awe. “I’ve never seen anything so magnificent in my life,” he said. “You’re both welcome in my shop any time. Have you anything else I can make for you? A suit, perhaps?”

We took the time to order suits like the ones in the front window as we dressed. We thanked Taylor for his indulgence, but he acted as though we had bestowed a privilege upon him, and he thanked us.

When Max and I left, we stood in the middle of the cobblestone street for a moment, with shopping pedestrians passing us in both directions, and as I gazed upon my beautiful man, I continued to see him in that new light. My epiphany was real, and the change inside of me, something solid and enduring.

“That strange man said something that had you worried,” he said. “What was it?”

“What he said hadn’t worried me as much as how he said it, but mostly what he left unsaid. And for as much as I think he could be a problem for us, I should thank him for one thing. Will you do me the honor of holding my hand on the way back to the car?”

“That man must have not-said something pretty big,” he said, staring at the hand I offered him.

“Let’s just say he had me quickly accepting that I’m gay, and he made me realize my priorities. I don’t want to live my life in fear. This will probably feel uncomfortable at first, but I suspect that the hardest part is taking the first step, and we’ll learn to enjoy it. So, would you care to hold my hand?”

He looked down at my open palm. “You’re okay with being gay?”

“I can’t be gay with you in private, but ambivalent about it in my mind, in my language, or in public. I never could tolerate hypocrisy, especially in myself.”

He gazed at my hand again. “Okay, if you can find the courage to do it, then I can too.”

He clasped my hand with his, and we began our first, extremely awkward, openly gay trek in public as a couple. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, but I preferred a better locale than in front of the Ermine & Mink drag pub across the street from our tailor.

No one seemed to care that we held one another’s hand. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one thinking how surreal it felt. It seems silly now to worry over such a small thing, but neither of us had held the hand of a man in public. On our way out, Max stared at our clasped hands three or four times by the point we reached the right turn out of the pedestrian zone. We could see the garage in the distance, a little more than a block away.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked.

“I just keep wondering if it’s really happening,” he said in his sexy deep baritone. “Am I actually walking down the street with you holding my hand, or am I dreaming?”

I stopped walking and held fast to his hand. “Is it an unwelcome dream if it is?”

He stepped closer and held my hand to his chest. “No. Never.”

I kissed him. “If you’re sleeping, we’re both having the same wonderful dream. Let’s see where it takes us.” We continued, and by the time we entered the garage, the private number on my phone rang. It was our cop friend and my first cousin once removed, Albert. I put the call on speaker. “Hey, Al. I’m glad you called, if you had given me a couple of minutes, I would have called you. What’s up?”

“I spoke to my brother Thomas last night,” he said. “We got to chatting, and the subject of you came up.”

“Oh? And with what lurid details has he confided in you?” Max and I climbed into the roadster.

“No, nothing lurid, far from it. He couldn’t tell me everything, but when I mentioned Tommy Two-Weeks and what happened with Edgerton, whom Thomas knows well, he told me flat out, if you thought something sounded suspicious, I should take it seriously, so I have. This morning I made a request of a friend of mine at the city morgue to perform the autopsy on Tommy, against Edgerton’s wishes and our policies. The hot water I’m in with Edgerton was set to boil until the results came back a few minutes ago. The evidence suggests that Tommy had quite a bit of alcohol in his system and either had some very rough sex or was raped sometime before he took his life, which could be significant, but without his testimony saying it wasn’t consensual, there’s not much we can do, and his death still appears to be suicide.”

“There’s nothing that can be done?” asked Max.

“Tommy’s family could sue the guy he dated that night in a wrongful death suit, but that’s a civil matter.”

“I don’t remember hearing how Tommy topped himself,” I said. “What method did he use?”

“He hanged himself in his closet.”

“Was there anything unusual about the scene?”

“The report says that his roommate Glenn Scarborough found Tommy hanging in his closet about 10:00 a.m. He wore no shoes and had rubbed butter on the floor in front of him. It looks like he slid down the wall to five inches above the floor. He had his feet straight out in front, and the heal marks in the butter showed that he struggled a little. And get this, his hands were bound behind his back using a Chinese finger trap on his middle fingers. It had a few of Tommy’s partially smudged prints on it, but that could have happened when he struggled to remove it at the last second.”

“A Chinese finger trap,” I said, repeating him.

“That sounds like an odd thing to use,” said Max.

I spoke to Max. “If the trap is new, it’s hard enough to get out of those when you can see it, let alone behind your back as your body panics from oxygen deprivation. It also has the benefit of allowing you to trap yourself without assistance. Hey, Al, can you buy one of those in Franklin?”

“I’ve never seen anyplace here that might sell an item like that. I have a photo of it in my hand. I shouldn’t do this, but…”

I received a text with a cell photo of the photograph. “Okay, what you’ve got there is an anomaly.” I showed the photo to Max.

“What do you mean?” asked Albert.

“I’ve been to Chinatown; all the Chinese finger traps I’ve seen come in two colors, harlequin-like. Search online if you want to see what I mean. This one is pure white, so I think it’s homemade. I would start there. Ask Glenn what he knows about it. Check Tommy’s things for books on origami and signs of attempts to make one of these; it would require a bit of practice. If you don’t find one, I would check his internet history for videos about it, his bank account for online purchases for books on origami, check the library and local book shops to see if he checked-out or purchased a book on it. While you’re at it, do the same for James Malor.”

“Millstone, you know that I don’t work for you, right?” asked Albert.

“That’s alright, Al,” I said, “I don’t work for me either. I work for the truth, and to know the truth, we need facts. I don’t like the idea of assuming he killed himself. The scene you describe could just as easily be a setup.”

“I have something to say,” said Max.

He had my attention. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t think he killed himself.”

“Why would you think that?” asked Albert.

“When I first became a nurse,” said Max, “I had my residency in behavioral health. And from everything I’ve heard about Tommy, he sounded like a survivor; even if he wanted to curl up and die for a time at any point in all his difficulty, he didn’t; he found a way to survive whatever he was going through. Now we have a potential rape and this odd, homemade finger trap. So, take my knowledge for what it’s worth, but I think you’ll discover he didn’t kill himself.”

“There’s one more thing I should add to this,” I said. “While Max and I were getting measured for suits at Wilson’s Tailoring, a man with dark, shoulder-length hair, pulled back into a ponytail, slender but fit, came into the shop and warned me off this case, he said that the police decided that Tommy had died of suicide and that I should leave it at that. From his words, he implied that he would harm us if I didn’t leave it alone. Might that have been James Malor?”

“No,” Albert said, “unless he wore a wig, Malor has shorter red hair. This changes things. What was the guy wearing?”

“Dark shirt, dark jeans, boots, I think. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we fell for somebody’s setup. Let me talk to Edgerton, and I’ll get back to you.”

“One last thing,” I said. “I have a license for concealed carry, but I need to buy a handgun.”

“That’s probably a good idea at this point,” said Albert. “Try the shop on South 3rd Street. They’re good.”

When the call ended, Max said, “So, that’s what he said to you.”

I nodded. “Does that scare you?”

“Not while I’m with you.”

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 6a

I had to keep reminding myself that we were not actually on the Haines case. The hire from Winter had a tangential attachment to it at best, but I never liked anyone telling me what not to investigate. So, if the guy at the tailor’s wanted me to not look further into it, his demand ensured that I would in some manner. I chose to help the police as much as I could, but Edgerton would not appreciate my meddling. However, if anything from the housewarming developed, that would change things.

Max and I discussed the stranger from the tailor’s shop. It left two questions: who told him that we were involved, in any way, with the case about Tommy Haines, and how did he know where to find us? Only one answer made any sense; either Grey or Winter had said something to someone; they were the only ones to know. Since we couldn’t tell if it were accidental, incidental, or intentional, and I’m not one to point fingers without evidence, I felt we should sit on the information and be mindful of the fact that we were known.

My coming out to myself and Max gave the world a different hue. It was the same, I knew, but the instant you put on those “I’m gay” glasses (at least until it becomes second nature), things are fundamentally changed by your perception. I wondered how far I should take the coming out thing, but I had to be myself and get on with my life. I decided not to announce it but admit it when asked and let people assume whatever they wanted unless their knowing was important.

When we ordered the suits, I made sure Taylor understood that I concealed carried a handgun. He could tailor the jackets to help hide it and had accommodated several police detectives in the past. After lunch, we drove to the gun shop on South 3rd Street, but the city had more than that one dealer.

Many conservatives have misconceptions about more liberal individuals. They think that just because someone wants to keep a weapon out of the hands of a lunatic, that they’re against weapons, period, and therefore don’t own any. They’re mistaken. Apparently, because Franklin existed as the enemy of a contingent of the outside world, the people who lived there had to own weapons. In the past, incidents occurred of idiot outsiders coming to the city to stir up trouble, shooting at parked cars, slashing tires, and there were several brutal beatings resulting in critical injuries, including a couple of deaths. We don’t live in a perfect world where only the good guys have access to us. This altered life for the people of Franklin, and when many self-defense studios opened, the classes stayed full. Between self-defense courses and the weapons training, things improved; when word got out, the number of incidents dropped significantly. Compared to that contingent of the outside world, however, the citizens of Franklin never obsessed over their weapons or waved them about under everyone’s noses. It seemed a more reasonable and subtle level of gun ownership that said to outsiders, “I may look to you like someone you can fuck with but try me.”

The place on 3rd Street, called Weapons Depot, had everything I needed. The owner, an extraordinarily handsome man with dark hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow, was named Gunner Marksman (an awesome name for a weapons expert). If the Ramrod sticker on his register said anything, he lived among the Leather community. He wore no shirt under his open black leather vest. It held many pins for championships he’d won, as well as from his time spent in the army. He had an impressive set of pecs, and his muscular body was seriously shredded, far more so than Max. However, I preferred Max’s bigger, well defined but more rounded, full-looking muscles.

During my old life, I carried a CZ-75D PCR compact. I liked that weapon a lot, but since mine had a direct connection to my previous life, with its registration and ballistics from a different case, I couldn’t keep it. So, I relinquished it to Special Agent Sawyer, who had it destroyed.

Gunner tried to sell me on a compact Glock 9, mostly because it was lighter, and he had it in black, but I just wanted to replace the CZ I had grown accustomed to. The only one in stock was a flashy-looking stainless model, so I bought it, along with a set of replacement grips, bullets, and everything required to care for it. He verified my detective license and my concealed carry permit, which allowed me to take the weapon home that day. And since the shop had its own indoor range, I tested and prepped it for carrying in my new padded shoulder holster made of bridle leather—one far better than I had in New York. I thought perhaps Max might feel ill at ease about my carrying it, but he kept a Beretta in his apartment before he moved to the secure building that he had recently vacated.

On the way back to our apartment, we received a call from Albert with bad news. “Edgerton has taken me off the case,” he said. “And then he added, and I quote, ‘tell Millstone, he’s off the case too…oh, that’s right, he’s not an actual police officer.’ I’ve also been put on disciplinary suspension for a month. It’s with pay, thank goodness, but it shamed me at the department, so I’ve learned my lesson.”

I told him, “I am sorry, Al.”

“No, cousin, you have no reason to be sorry. The fault is entirely mine, but between us, I think I did the right thing. I just went about it wrong. I really need some cheering up. How about the two of you come over for dinner tonight? I have the ingredients for some amazing ossobuco in bianco. I would love to have you over.”

We agreed to meet him at his place at 7:00, and he texted me the address. He had offered to pick us up, but thanks to Winter, we could get there on our own. He told us not to get dressy and to wear something comfortable since we were family.

I wondered what Sawyer had told Albert about me. He must not have told him about the witness protection, just other things, but I couldn’t imagine what. Albert still seemed to think of me as his cousin, so Sawyer kept that pretense. After having met Albert and Thomas, I liked them a lot. They were genuinely good men, and the fact that Sawyer even considered giving me his grandmother’s maiden name to make me a family member (even as a pretense) must mean that he held me in high regard. Surely, he hadn’t done that with any of his other cases.

The longer we lived in Franklin, the more I noticed things that I typically took for granted. I was used to a bit of trash on the streets in the low rent district, a few potholes, and sidewalks that were more than merely cracked. In Franklin, even in the low rent district, they kept the streets in good condition, swept them every night, picked up the trash like clockwork, and kept the pavement well maintained. I found it strange to see sidewalks missing the ubiquitous row of parking meters. Franklin had free parking everywhere, one of the many perks of living there. We parked along the street at the side of the building with other tenants and brought up our purchases.

Once we reached the apartment, we both commented on how much we needed to pee. So, I set everything into the living room chair, and we shared the toilet, peeing at the same time. Max stood in front while I stood as close as I could at the side.

He already had his dick out, ready to pee. “Here,” he said, reaching for my fly, “let me take care of that.”

I put my right hand on his shoulder and shoved my left into my back pocket. He had nimble fingers for such a big guy, and soon he had my length draping over his palm while he aimed his cock with his right, and we began relieving ourselves.

I saw his smile. “You enjoy this,” I said.

He nodded. “I enjoy every opportunity to touch you, to be with you, to help you. Is that a problem?”

“You are never a problem.” I guided his face toward mine, and I kissed him. I brushed my lips against his, and I could feel the heat from his breath. “Do you promise to shake it more than twice?”

His smile broadened. “I’ll shake it wherever, however, and as much as you like.”

When I finished, he shook my cock several times, and I grew more erect in his hand. I moved to hug him, and we kissed for a moment.

He brought his lips close to my ear and whispered in that sexy growl of his, “Your Golden Bear needs his Stallion.”

We hadn’t bothered to button up, and I led him into the bedroom. Once the shirts were off, I dug into the golden fur to find his right nipple, gave it a few nips with my teeth, and did the same with the left. He pushed me back onto the bed, removed the remainder of my clothing, and then his own.

I moved further onto the mattress, spread my knees, and placed the bottoms of my feet together. He held my dong in both of his meaty fists, jacking it as he licked around the head like an ice cream cone melting on a hot summer day, savoring the trickle of pre that ran from the tip. He stuffed the head in his mouth, and he drew on it like an enormous straw. His eyes closed, the liquid flowed, and in his own contented little world, he drank from me.

I could have laid there for hours, my hands clasped behind my head, watching my beautiful Golden Bear slowly jacking my cock and slurping my syrup to satisfy his need for phallic intimacy. The longer he nursed, however, the heavier my breathing grew, and he moved from simply nursing to a full-blown blowjob; the sudden rise in sensation had me grabbing the bedding. Erotic slurping sounds filled the quiet apartment, and the longer it went on, the emphasis on every retreat up the length of my cock drew an animalistic groan from deep within me, both primal and uncharacteristic. I fought the intense pleasure to make it last, but my Golden Bear had a thirst that would not be denied. Like a pitcher, he pushed me closer and closer to the edge to see how far he could take me until I tipped off the shelf, spilling my cream down his throat. He had a knack for knowing exactly where to pause; he knew just how long I could teeter on the fulcrum before the pleasure diminished. He held me at the point of release for only a moment, the pressure too much to sustain. He drew up to the head of my cock one last time, and I came, firing off into his mouth. He gulped it down to make room for the next volley, again and again. Max never spilled a drop when he was in the zone, no matter how much I came. He milked my shaft of any remnants, ate the last of it from the tip, and held an expression of deep satisfaction.

I stretched out my legs and laid there, catching my breath. Max kissed me and brought his full weight on top of me, making as much contact with my body as possible and laid his head on my shoulder.

He asked. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, I love this, and I love you.” I wrapped my arms around him and ran my hands in his golden fur as we lay there in silence for a while.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 6b

Albert gave us an address for a location in a charming little area called Ivy, near the top of the hill, surrounded by a third of the city. They named Ivy from Ivy Ridgewood; she was one of the main founders of Franklin when it became the place for marginalized members of society to congregate in peace. The city had an ongoing debate about changing the name of Franklin (of which there were 31 other cities in the US with that name) to Ridgewood (of which there were only 16). It sounded like a great tribute to the woman and hopefully would help deter the Freaky Franklin moniker, one that, in my ignorance, even I had used. Unfortunately, people would probably just call it The City Formerly Known as Freaky Franklin.

Max and I wore casual clothing. For me, that consisted of a pair of black jeans with a gusset (they hide my bulge a bit better) and a long-tailed button-up, which I always left untucked. For Max, that’s a button-up shirt and pair of loose fit jeans that fit him as though they were regular fit. Due to the sizing issues, he had to overly cinch the waist with a belt. We needed to work on getting Max something better for casual clothes.

Albert lived at the corner of Fairfield and the main road of Halifax. We saw several interesting restaurants nearby and passed a middle school on the way. We hadn’t seen many younger people in the few days we’d been there, but it was a big city, and the idea that they wouldn’t live there too, sounded silly in retrospect; even marginalized groups had children.

We could see the front of the enormous six-story structure before we got there. When I saw the name of the place, I laughed. “Does Albert live at a place called the Minotaur?”

We pulled into the lot at the side of the building where about 40 cars were parked, and I had to admit, whatever the place was, it looked popular.

“We’re a few minutes early,” said Max. “Should we go in?”

“We’ll probably be fine.”

We stepped into the main door, and it looked a bit like the lobby of a small hotel. The interior had an aged industrial vibe with thick medium-toned reclaimed wood, black wrought iron metallics, and a rustic cement floor that looked like one from an old factory. The air held an intoxicating masculine scent of which I couldn’t get enough. We found the check-in desk directly before us on the main wall, with the Minotaur logo behind it and an elevator on the wall to the right. Both ends of the desk had a wide vestibule entry with a turn, so you couldn’t see farther back. A muscular man wearing white shorts and a red t-shirt, carrying a gym bag, came from the left side. He said, “Goodnight, Henry,” to the man who worked the front desk and exited the building.

Henry, a gorgeous man of African descent, stood behind the counter, showing a massive muscular torso and a fluorescent green band above each of his enormous biceps. He came from behind the counter and greeted us with a genuine smile and a big fat dong that flopped with every step. His cock looked impressive but nowhere near the size of mine.

“Good evening to you both,” he said. “My name is Henry Cole, the owner of the Minotaur, and what can I do for you, handsome gentlemen?” The entire time he stood talking with us, his cock began to stiffen until it stood straight up, the head hovering just above his bellybutton. He ignored it, but we couldn’t.

“I’m not sure you can help us. I’m Max Roche, and this is my partner Howard Millstone. We were invited by Albert Sawyer to dinner, but I think we’ve come to the wrong location.”

Henry smiled. “No, you’re at the right place. Hold on.” He retrieved a card from the counter and sauntered over to the elevator. He held the card over the call-button, which activated it. “The Minotaur is a private men’s club, so normally tenants greet their guests in the lobby.”

“I see,” I said. “We’ve arrived a few minutes early, so…”

We thanked Henry and once inside, we pushed the button for the fifth floor. “Henry’s dick sure knows how to give a compliment,” I said.

Max laughed. “How do you feel about looking at men?”

“Would you consider that cheating?”

“No,” he said.

“Neither would I; I see nothing wrong with looking.”

“Henry had a nice one,” he said, “but he would probably shit a brick if he saw yours.”

“You think?”

The doors to the elevator opened, and Albert stood there, waiting for the lift.

“I was coming to get you two!”

“Hey, cousin!” I moved to hug him.

“Henry let us up,” said Max.

We both gave him a hug, and he led us down a hallway that had the same theme as the lobby. Albert wore his leather uniform pants with the blue stripe down the leg and his boots, but no shirt. Instead, as part of the leather community, he wore a black and blue leather bulldog harness, which showed off his amazing upper body and great tan.

Albert’s apartment had an open concept with a ten-foot ceiling, a concrete floor, an industrial design, and lots of open space. The sitting area, kitchen, and dining were all one room, and a seven-foot-tall divider made of wood and wrought iron hung from a metal I-beam, separating the bedroom and bathroom from the rest of the space. The kitchen, located centrally on the outside wall, had a series of sleek metal cabinets with an aged patina. He had an induction stovetop and convection oven in the middle, a refrigerator on one side, and a temperature-controlled wine cellar on the other. The kitchen’s elongated island had a sink and lots of workspace on the concrete countertop. The heavy-looking, rectangular table, made of reclaimed walnut and unpainted dark-colored wrought iron, sat in front of the island and had three place settings. Closer to the door, we saw a sitting area on a sisal rug that defined the space.

The heavy scent of cooked beef lingered in the air. We both commented on how delicious it smelled and complimented him on his apartment.

“I’m glad to hear you like the place,” he said, “but actually, this building doesn’t have apartments; they consider them living spaces or quarters. I own little of what you see here, the seating in the living room, the wine cellar, and my bed; everything else came with the place. Please, seat yourselves at the table.”

The table had attached seating that swung out and tucked themselves under when you left the table. Once everything was doled out, and we began eating, I asked him, “What makes this a living space and not an apartment?”

“This is a private men’s club, so it requires a membership to live in or use the facility unless you’re a guest. The living spaces have only a half-bath with a partition for the toilet and no door, so they have no shower or bathtub. The opposite end of the hallway from the main lift has a secure elevator for residents that will take you directly to the locker room. Most of the residents shower immediately after working out and rarely need it more than that, but if we do, we have access to it 24 hours a day. The ground floor has the largest gymnasium in Franklin, with tons of free weights and machines, an indoor lap pool with seven lanes, and we have a locker room that’s second to none with amenities.

“Henry rejects applicants if they’re not male, aren’t over 18, can’t pass a background check, and haven’t obviously dedicated themselves to their fitness for some time. He wanted to cater to men who have fitness as a priority.”

“We’re in the market for a gym,” said Max. “What are the fees like?”

“He gives discounts to police officers, firefighters, emergency rescue workers, emergency medical technicians, doctors, and nurses who fit the criteria. There are lots of those guys here. But he also includes local business owners, like the two of you. The discounted rate is only $1200 a year per person. They open the facility for non-residents seven days a week from 4:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. However, residents have access 24 hours a day.”

“That’s really inexpensive for a private facility,” I said.

“He says he didn’t start the Minotaur to make a lot of money. He just wanted to live a good life. He and everyone who works here are tenants.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how much is a lease per month?” I asked.

“Henry made leasing subject to the same criteria as non-residents, and because they’re not actual apartments, the lease is $1500 a month with no more than two occupants, and that includes all taxes, utilities, maintenance, and spraying.”

Max and I both asked, “That’s it?”

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

“The catch is,” he said, “you must be a member, and only men who wouldn’t mind living a club lifestyle would want to live here, but for those of us that do, we love it. There are a few rules for tenants, but nothing outrageous. If you might consider it, I know the space across the hall is empty, and I would love it if you lived there. Talk to Henry and get an application. If I were Thomas, I would have brought you here immediately, but I guess he didn’t want to assume things. If you guys stay until they close, I could give you a tour of the facility, and we can have a dip in the pool.”

I asked Max, “What do you think about living here?”

“Even with the shower on the ground floor, that sounds better than what we have,” said Max, “and a lack of toilet privacy wouldn’t bother me.”

“Okay, we’ll apply for membership.”

“Great! So, have either of you had ossobuco before?”

This began the inevitable conversation about food, wine, and other aspects of the culinary arts. Albert knew a lot about such things and demonstrated himself a consummate chef; the food was delicious. I could tell by the way he gave us the whole spiel about the men’s club that he wanted us to move-in badly, and we probably would. I couldn’t foresee any problems with our applications.

After dinner, we sat and chatted for a bit about life, the city, plans for the future, anything but the Haines case. During all that, something he told me may have indicated one of the reasons Sawyer took me into their family. Apparently, like mine, their parents had also died, and they only had one another. I suspected Thomas included me because he knew that we would hit it off, and it would give them both someone they could consider family. I’m all for doing whatever we can to not feel so alone in this world, and it made me feel wanted and privileged to have somehow earned that, just by being the man that I am.

About 9:55 that evening, Al began unbuckling his harness. “I’m going naked downstairs. If you’re willing, you’re welcome to leave your clothes on the couch.”

Max immediately stood and began to remove his clothes; no one could ever use shy as a descriptor for him. When I stood up to unbutton my shirt, I saw Albert remove his pants. He had a beautiful body and a low tan line on his well-shaped ass. His uncut cock dangled a bit, not as low as Henry’s, but it was nice. He opened the drawer on his side table and took out two fluorescent green armbands. He began to fasten them on his arms above his biceps as he gave Max a good once over.

“Oh, man… I love your fur. I’ve never seen anyone with fur like that.”

“He’s my Golden Bear,” I said.

“I see that.”

“And Millstone’s my Stallion,” said Max.

I removed my pants, and Albert’s jaw dropped. “That’s the biggest fucking dick I’ve ever seen.”

Max laughed. “That’s what Thomas said.”

“Exactly as he said it.”

“Oh shit,” he said, “I’m getting an erection. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“No, of course not. I’ll probably have one before long.”

“Will you get bigger than that?”

“Yes, he will,” said Max. “But you have a nice cock, Al.”

“Thanks,” he said, distracted by his inability to stop staring at my mine.

I asked him, “What’s with the green armbands?”

He acted like I hadn’t said anything, his eyes glued to my schlong.

“Albert…” I snapped my fingers a few times in front of my cock. “Eyes up here for a moment.”

He followed my fingers up to my eyes. “I am so sorry,” he said. “You are breathtaking. I am in awe right now.”

“Having this much meat has its issues. So, what’s with the green armbands? Henry wore them too.”

“We use them as signals to members. If someone wears one, then they’re willing to play sexually, but you must ask and accept it when someone tells you no. If, however, someone wears two armbands, that means they’re up for anything. Since I’m wearing two, that means no one must ask me; if any member wants to suck my dick, just do it. The guys here are all a bunch of studs; I wouldn’t toss any of them out of bed. If you’re not interested in playing, don’t wear an armband, and no one will approach you for sex. They will look, especially at the two of you, but they won’t approach you. And no one wears them while working out.”

As we walked to the end of the hallway, I just walked as I normally would, but I never thought about the noises I make. Albert led the way, and when we stopped at the lift, he turned toward me, tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and laughed a little. “Fuck, Millstone.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s the slap slap slap slap of that horse cock against your thighs with every step. Oh my god, I am so fucking horny right now.” He jacked his stiff cock a couple of times, turned, and placed his thumb onto the fingerprint reader to call for the elevator. The door opened, as it was already on our floor.

As we entered, I said to him, “You’ll get used to it.”

He looked up at me. “I hope not; feeling this horny is the best.”

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 7a

The elevator doors opened into the changing area of the locker room.

Albert had a hard time tearing his eyes away from my dick. “As a club, many of the guys go by a nickname, and I’m thinking you should go by Horse.”

“Wow! You mean someone hasn’t already snagged that overly used cliché?”

“It’s only a cliché if the guy hasn’t the credentials to back it up,” he said, “and you have enough horse meat to reconsider ever visiting China.”

“China?”

“I hear they eat a lot of horse meat there.”

I just laughed and shook my head. “Listen, I don’t mind the inevitable horse references, but I’d rather no one call me Horse; Millstone will do fine.” The new name I acquired had begun growing on me, so having another one on top of it sounded like a bad idea. “So, what’s your nickname?”

Just then, we heard a deep gruff voice, “Hey, Trouble!”

A remarkably fit, tan-skinned man strode into the locker room carrying a shower bag. He looked a bit over 50 years old with thick, dark, shoulder-length hair and a beard. He wore nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist and one green armband.

“Who’s your friends?”

“Fellas, this is Zeus,” said Albert. “He’s the head of a law firm here in Franklin. Zeus, this is Millstone, my first cousin once removed, and his partner Max. They’re Franklin’s new private dicks.”

I shook his hand. “Nice nickname.”

“Oh no, that’s my real name,” he said. “So, you’re a couple of private dicks.” He looked downward. “and what fine dicks you have too. Yes, indeed. Good to meet you. You two should watch out for Trouble over here; he’s nothing but. And speaking of trouble, Trouble, I think you’re in some with Henry; he wants to talk to you.”

“It’s not trouble; I know what he wants, but thanks for letting me know.”

Zeus put the bag into his locker. “Well, gentlemen, it’s past my bedtime. Have a good night.” He left in the elevator.

Once Zeus had gone, Max asked Albert, “Your nickname is Trouble?”

“Yeah, I moved into the Minotaur when I first arrived in Franklin, and I had sex with one of the guys here before I started work at the police department. Come to find out, it was Edgerton. They’ve called me Trouble ever since.”

“And the department was okay with that?” I asked.

“What happens in the club stays in the club,” he said. “We’re both adults, so we never let it affect our working relationship.”

The interior of the building looked like two gigantic warehouses put together in almost an L shape. One side had the biggest gym I had ever seen, a sitting area, and an enormous locker room with 150 half-sized lockers, a changing area, a twenty-man hot tub, a dry sauna of substantial size, and a twenty-man gang shower with five columns and four shower heads on each. The other side of the L had the saltwater pool, which had an arched ceiling with lots of metal bracing. For the tenants, the facility had individual mailboxes, and the laundry room gave us a welcome convenience.

The building had ten living spaces on each of five floors, so that meant a potential minimum of 50 residents and a maximum of 100, but the club had several hundred members. We decided not to disturb the beefy guy getting blown in the shower, but we met five residents working out. Strangely, the facility was largely empty of people.

“Is it usually this quiet at night?” asked Max.

“It’s after hours,” said Albert, “so regular members have gone, and most tenants go out on Saturday nights.”

We rinsed off in the shower before going to the pool, and the look on Max’s face told me he felt at home. The place had everything we needed and more. The more being all the eye-candy and the masculine, testosterone-laden atmosphere. It would ensure that I fed Max more than ever, and he knew that. Max began kissing me beneath the spray and fondling my junk, which had thickened and grown a couple of inches, jutting straight out from my body. Albert squatted to give it a good look at eye level.

“My god, cousin, that must weigh five pounds.” He stood and asked me, “Why couldn’t that come from our side of the family?”

“Given what you and Thomas do for a living,” I said, “your side of the family must have gotten the heightened sense of justice.”

The last person I expected to see entered the shower. Wade Edgerton, wearing nothing but two green armbands, had a hairless, tight-looking body and a wide uncut cock. He greeted us like we had been friends for years, and he hadn’t suspended Albert earlier in the day. I thought his presence would make things incredibly awkward, but it felt like we spoke to his identical twin, who happened to have a drastically different demeanor from his brother’s; it was the same man, however. He asked us if we thought about moving in, and when we told him yes, he thought that was great. I could only think to myself, “Who is this guy?”

Wade smiled and laughed as he rinsed off before having a swim. “I can tell you’re both a bit confused. Trouble and I are best friends, and we have an unusual arrangement, one that I’m willing to extend to the two of you. The ground floor of this building is our neutral space, our jobs, the problems of the outside world, any conflicts we’ve had, and any animosity between us doesn’t exist here. We’re just friends. Wade turned off the shower, grabbed Al’s erection, and began jacking him.

Albert pushed down on Wade’s shoulder. “And as I said, what happens at the club, stays at the club.”

Wade squatted and began sucking Albert’s cock, who held his head as he slathered his uncut dong in spit.

“I like it here,” Max whispered to me, and I kissed him as he jacked my dong.

“I was hoping you’d come down for a swim tonight,” Albert told Wade and gazed over at my fully erected cock as Max jacked me. “Holy shit, Millstone.” He smiled at me as Wade blew him.

Max wouldn’t miss a chance for me to feed him dessert. He brought his mouth to my cock that hovered well above my navel as I watched Albert get blown by his boss. We both came in less than three minutes.

Wade stood and said, “Delicious as always.”

“Thanks,” said Albert, “I needed that. I know you don’t like to cum before you swim. Just come by later, and I’ll take care of you.”

Wade’s fat cock was stiff as a poker, but unlike mine, his angled straight down. He gave us the typical swimmers joke that it was his rudder to help him swim on course. Mine remained standing for a few minutes after having cum, and as everyone does, they both marveled at it. Wade commented that I must have a strong and tight suspensory ligament. I had always carried my erections up my torso behind my shirts in the past. Having kept the weight off the ligament must have prevented it from stretching over the years.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Millstone,” Wade said.

“It’s just a family get-together,” I said.

Wade looked me up and down for a moment, then turned to Max, “I have a policy about keeping business off the first floor. Would you mind if I spoke to Millstone upstairs alone? I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“It’s alright with me if he’s willing,” said Max.

Of course, I was willing. That’s one thing Max accepted. People like Edgerton, the Sawyer brothers, and I never go off duty, not really.

The detective and I stood in the elevator on the way to his quarters on the fourth floor, and I said to him, “Thank you for asking Max; I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You are one hell of a lucky man. I could tell by Max’s clothing that he’s well built, but I had no idea that he would look like that. Can he take that thing of yours?” His eyes gestured to my slowly softening appendage.”

I nodded. “Yep, all the way.”

“Jesus… So, have I shocked you by sucking-off Trouble?”

“Nothing in Franklin shocks me anymore.” The doors to the elevator opened, and I followed him to the first apartment on the left. “I turned off my ability for shock the first day here. What’s this about?”

He unlocked his door, and we entered his place. It looked like Albert’s, except that his sitting furniture consisted of two identical overstuffed sofas facing one another with a coffee table between them, and he hadn’t had a wine cellar.

“You’re welcome to get comfortable,” he said, “but this won’t take long.” I decided not to sit, and we stood a few feet apart. Neither one of us seemed the least bit uncomfortable, and when he began, he sounded more like his work-self. “You and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, which is a shame because those first impressions can be difficult to overcome. I didn’t know you, and I’ve never liked anyone questioning my judgment, least of all a stranger. I think we both know that the majority of what appear to be suicides are just that, and it’s easy to let that statistical bias get in the way. Long story short, you were right; Tommy Two-Weeks’s case has unanswered questions.

“I want no friction between us. Franklin isn’t New York, it’s not Jersey, and it’s not Los Angeles. We do things differently here; all our communities stick together, and when something happens to one of us, it affects us all. Your predecessor, Mr. Nevil, was a sympathetic outsider, but as a part of this community, you have an investment that he lacked. I would like to know that I can call on you on occasion because you can call on me.”

I asked, “So…how was Thomas Sawyer when you spoke with him?”

His brows drew together, and he made a sharp point at me, saying, “That’s really annoying…and precisely why I would call on you. He’s fine.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Enough. Thomas and I have some history, but don’t think his high opinion of you automatically puts you in my good books; only people who earn it go there. However, if Thomas says I should give you the opportunity, I’m willing to extend an olive branch and give you the chance. I’ve never known anyone to impress Thomas Sawyer professionally, not even his own brother, whom he loves dearly. He thinks you’re worth it, so don’t let him down.”

“I’m okay with you, detective,” I told him. “If you need me, you can contact me any time. And you’ll know where I live once Max and I get settled here. You didn’t want to put Al on suspension, did you?”

“Technically, I didn’t do it, and Hell no. He’s one of our best officers; just don’t tell him I said that. He got himself into trouble, and I admit, I was pissed, but not for the reason he thinks. I trust him, but once the higher-ups knew about his on-duty conduct, they expected me to write him up, and he put me in the position of having to do it. They put him on suspension. He had himself this close to being offered the exam to make detective, but now they’ll pass him over, and that pisses me off more than anything. He should have come to me and made his case. I’m not unreasonable.”

“Am I no longer off this case, even though I wasn’t really on it, and I’m not an actual policeman?”

“That was before I spoke with Thomas. I would appreciate it if you would assist and consult when asked, on a trial basis, of course, and I wouldn’t expect any pro bono work from you. For now, whatever you find out, just let us know.”

We returned to the ground floor to find Max and Albert talking at the pool edge with their legs in the water. When I came up behind Max, I tipped his head back, kissed him tenderly, and then pushed him into the pool. As we splashed about and talked, Wade swam back-and-forth in the lane at the far end, and every so many laps, he took a rest. As we left, he said goodbye to us and dove back in to continue his swim. He had an impressive amount of endurance.

After rinsing the salt water from our skin, we returned to Albert’s living quarters and found a few papers pinned to the door. They were the membership and lease application papers that Albert had asked for.

“You intended for us to move in here all along,” I said.

“I haven’t set you up, I promise, but I hoped you would want to. Thomas lives in Dallas, and I miss having family close by.”

Even though we were both naked, and I knew I wasn’t his real cousin, I gave Albert a hug anyway. I hadn’t given him one of those pat-on-the-back hugs, or with an arm between us out of fear of having intimate contact with someone of the same sex, I gave him a real hug, the kind of hug I knew he needed. It was then that I decided to consider it true, to take onto myself that familial obligation with a deep level of love and concern that one has for a close family member. I already felt that he had that for me.

If I had gone to Franklin alone and with some other name, I would have had an entirely different experience, perhaps one that I couldn’t tolerate. I couldn’t exactly call my previous life great…but this... I owed Thomas Sawyer a debt that I would gladly have carried if he wouldn’t have wiped it clean, but that’s what family does.

We filled out the paperwork at Albert’s dining table before we left. He said he would make sure that Henry received them.

I knew that Monday would keep us busy with business matters, so, on Sunday, apart from having a couple of meals out that day, we mostly stayed home and had an enormous amount of sex. I don’t remember a time that day where we weren’t touching somehow, except in the shower. We laid in bed together, and we sat on the couch in one another’s arms. We held hands in the car and had our legs intertwined beneath the table at the restaurants. As the day progressed, I realized that I had needed that element of intimacy in my life all along, and I could not get enough of Max or his presence in my life.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 7b

Between our sessions, we discussed what we should name our business since we couldn’t take care of the legal work the next day without giving it a name. I would normally have called it my last name with “investigations” tacked onto the end, but as Max and I would have a partnership, I wanted to include him. Naturally, as Max stays perpetually horny (one of the many attributes that I love about him), he wanted to call it something more fun, provocative, and memorable. He gave me the silly-sounding Horse & Bear Private Investigations as an example, and his reasoning was simple; we lived in Franklin. He had a point there, but I wanted people to take us seriously. So, since Max couldn’t think of anything better, I insisted that we call it the classier sounding Millstone & Roche Investigations, LLC. However, after blowing my fourth load of the day inside Max’s ass, I made a deal with him. Since I picked the name, and he had the artistic flair between the two of us, he could invent the logo—subject to my approval, to which he agreed. Little did I know, he already had something in mind. Once we settled that, I worked on filling him with that fifth load that he asked for.

Monday turned into one long slog, spent on paperwork, errands, money matters, purchasing supplies, and hunting for a business location. We would have to give a special thanks to Winter for the use of the roadster; it was a time saver.

At noon, since we live in such a modern, computerized world, Henry confirmed my expectations of our having passed the background checks. So, we leased space 56 across from Albert, and we could consider ourselves residents of the Minotaur. This added even more errands to our day. Albert had such enthusiasm for our move, he volunteered to help us and borrowed a small van to make it happen. Fortunately, we hadn’t acquired many possessions. The largest was the king-sized bed. It only took 90 minutes to move us, but it required all three of us to wrestle the bed out of the bedroom and haul it up the staircase to our new abode on the fifth floor. Once we completed everything by 8:00 that evening, we showered downstairs and collapsed into each other’s arms on a half-made bed.



The next morning, I awakened at 5:15. Max lay on his back, something that I discovered he tended to do during the night. I thought I would start a tradition, so I got under the covers and licked at him for fifteen minutes until the alarm sounded. When it did, I took him into my mouth and began to blow him. Neither one of us cared that the alarm continued beeping; I was busy with something far more important. As I sucked and slurped, his hand went to my head beneath the covers, and he pulled my mouth from him.

I emerged from the covers and turned off the alarm. “Is something wrong?”

He kissed me. “I would rather cum in the shower after we work out in the mornings.”

“Ooh, my first public blow job. Alright, I’m up for that, Honey Bear; if that’s what you prefer.”

After we arose from bed, I stood at the sink while Max sat to use the toilet located on the other side of a knee wall. I looked over at him and smiled.

“Is the romance now officially gone from our relationship?” he asked.

I said to him, “You will always be the sexiest fucker to ever grace porcelain on either side of the Mississippi.”

He laughed. “I see. So, we never had romance in the first place. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not so sure about that, but if we haven’t, I think we have something better.”

“And that is…”

“Well, let me ask you a question,” I said. “Do you like what we have?”

“I love it, even with me on a toilet less than a yard from you.”

“I feel the same. I think you and I have our own brand of romance. Something with more of the things that we deem important, more passion, more openness, more honesty, and less of all the things that wouldn’t matter to you and me. I think romance is what you make of it. We don’t have to live a stereotype or anything. If I brought you chocolates, you wouldn’t eat them, and you’re not someone who wants flowers. You’d be happier with the weightlifting gloves I found for us yesterday.”

“True, and I’ll use the hell out of those gloves. Will we have more intimate dinners?”

“If you want that, you and I could have a lot of those. We just need to find restaurants that do that sort of thing, or we could try having something here for a change now that we have a dining table.”

“I thought our morning meals together at the bar in the kitchen were intimate and kind of romantic.”

“See? You and I have our own brand of romance.”

Max then flushed the toilet with perfect comical timing.

The gym had quite a few guys there, including Albert and Wade, but with a gym that large, it hadn’t seemed too crowded. We began our new daily regimen of a rigorous workout, and I looked forward to blowing my Golden Bear in the shower.

I had no idea what a sexually liberated free-for-all living there would be, but not everyone wore green armbands. Like ourselves, we saw committed couples there too. There were men coming and going, as well as cumming and going, the whole time we showered. We exercised wearing clothing, but in the shower, my cock got too much attention, and many of the guys greeted us, asking us our names. They asked me how big I was and other usual questions of curiosity. I knew when we moved in, I would have to endure that until I became old hat. Some of the men acted more reserved and took my size as no big deal; I appreciated those fellas. We saw a relatively even mixture of men from various ethnicities and seeing everyone together like that was a beautiful thing.

Once we finished our actual shower, I started kissing Max with his back to the spray, and I jacked on his cock, which had already become erect. With my dick only partially erect, I couldn’t squat too far; otherwise, it would lie on the floor. I sucked Max into my mouth, and I enjoyed knowing that only I had the privilege of blowing my beautiful Golden Bear. He held my head as I caressed him with my lips and gave him the most pleasure I could. He hadn’t lasted long; I think he really enjoyed getting blown by me in public. When he came, I took it into my mouth and held it there. I stood, we kissed, and I shared it with him. He loved every moment of it, and I was entirely erect by then.

Max turned me to the side to give our audience the best angle and sucked me. Every man in that shower watched us, and some guys entered the shower just to see a Golden Bear throat his Stallion’s cock. He held my dong at the base and shoved its length down his gullet repeatedly. He knew he had gotten me so hot that I could cum too quickly, so he pulled my nuts to make it last a bit longer. He throated me to the base a few times, even though he found it uncomfortable, just to play-up to the audience. I watched their eyes as they watched us, and I found myself enjoying it in a way that I wouldn’t have before. And like when I knew that Taylor the tailor watched us, the sensation radiated from deep inside me, and I felt as though Max tried to pull me through my own cock. Once again, I had become the rigid pipe, the conduit, readying to pour myself into my beautiful Golden Bear, feeding him the only thing he had ever really asked of me. Giving in to the pleasure, my pelvis out, my head back, and my arms hanging limp behind me, the instant Max let go of my nuts, I shot my load into his mouth until my nuts began aching, and then I shot some more. My consciousness winked out for a moment as though Max was draining the life from my body in a pleasure so intense that my brain struggled to stay conscious. I started to collapse to the floor, but two of the men there caught me, and when I regained my footing, Max held onto me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

No one spoke a single word, their eyes glued to us as Max led me from the shower, and we passed Albert and Edgerton on the way. I nodded to them both, their faces like the others, the epitome of awe.

Max sat me onto a bench and got a towel, so I could dry off. With his towel bunched in his hands, he squatted at my feet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “I feel great, but I’m really hungry though.” I stood and began drying off. I turned around and behind us I saw many of the guys from the shower watching us.”

I asked them, “Haven’t all of you jobs to get to?”

When they began to disperse, Albert came forward.

I smiled. “Hey cousin, we’re about to go up and have breakfast. Would you like to join us?”

“I know that neither one of you could see yourselves back there, so I’m just going to say it. That was the most astonishing thing that any of us have ever had the pleasure to witness. Those guys are going to jack-off to memories of that for some time to come, and probably, so will I. I hope that’s not creepy.”

Max asked him, “Don’t you think that’s a little over the top, Al?”

“Not at all. And not only that but once the word gets out, you might be surprised at how something as unrelated as this will boost your business.”

My brows drew together. “What? Why?”

“Because this is Franklin.

“You said what happens in the club stays in the club,” said Max.

“Yeah, but some things are just too compelling, and trust me, that display will be on the list. I will have to take a raincheck on breakfast this morning, but I definitely want to do that with you guys soon.”

As we ate our eggs and oatmeal, I contacted Winter about exploring the mansion. We made plans to meet Grey at the front door at 9:30 that morning.



Grey stood on the pea gravel out front of the home looking dapper, wearing a slim-fit, cream linen suit. He swung the oversized keys, attached to a brass loop the size of his hand, around his pointer finger.

After our initial greetings, I said, “Nice suit.”

“Thanks,” he said as he unlocked the door, “The temperature will climb quite high today, and already it’s muggy; I try to dress for the weather.”

The door opened to the great hall, which had twenty-foot ceilings and led to several rooms on the ground floor. All the solid surfaces caused our steps and voices to echo with no rugs, carpeting, or soft furniture to absorb the sound. We saw many tables of various sizes and shapes in the rooms on the ground floor, including an enormous dining table and all its chairs, but little else. They had covered portions of the plaster walls in what looked like three-dimensional images in a gothic motif.

“As you can see,” said Grey, “they’ve given it a meticulous restoration. Sadly, since the move required the dismantlement of the house, we could save none of the original trompe-l’œil, but we had the remaining bits photographed, and because this is Franklin, we hired many of our artists to painstakingly recreate them upon the plaster.”

“Tromp what?” asked Max,

“Trompe-l’œil is French,” he said. “It means to deceive the eye, and the house contains a lot of it. The artists completed the paintwork in the great hall and a few of the other rooms on this floor, but they will continue to work elsewhere in the house for years to come.”

“Will the city leave it sparse like this?” I asked.

“Oddly enough, the Thornbriers left the estate’s furnishings, and we managed to save a lot of it, including what you see here. As time goes on, the salvageable pieces will return to their original locations. We have a contract with a number of experts to restore them, but that takes time.”

Max asked, “Why would they leave all that?”

I took him by the hand. “The longer you stick with me, you’ll discover that people do weird shit that makes no sense.”

“I worked the emergency room for a while,” he said. “Trust me, I know that people do shit that makes no sense, but this is just a waste.”

“We asked the same question,” said Grey, “and from what we know, buying and moving the estate from France was Lady Thornbrier’s idea. So, not long after her death, her husband went a little crazy and made everyone leave the estate. Apparently, they took nothing with them because we found personal things like boxes of letters and the remnants of what would have been expensive furs and clothes in the wardrobes and everything. Afterward, Leopold had the place sealed up completely, and they never returned.”

“Fascinating,” said Max. “I see why Winter wanted to save this place so badly.”

“From what Winter told us,” I said, “a chimney hook is an actual object, but what is it, and where will it be hung?”

He led us into a living room where there stood a fireplace as tall as me.

“A chimney hook sounds unusual to us,” he said, “but it’s an ordinary object. Years ago, people cooked in their fireplaces. In France, the builders of a house would install a chimney hook last at a gathering called ‘Hanging the Chimney Hook,’ attended by the builders and friends of the owner. They hang it inside the chimney and then prepare food from it for the guests, like a stew cooked in a big pot hanging over the fire. And while we have a genuine chimney hook for our ceremony, none of the fireplaces will ever have an actual fire in them, so we use it symbolically, and Auntie Winter has had the housewarming catered.

“All the Mansions on Blueberry Lane are, essentially, a special kind of museum owned by the City of Franklin, and venues that someone can rent for evening events like wedding receptions and the like. We’re expecting the Goth community to rent this one a lot, and Auntie Winter says they’ve already started booking it. The first group will have a party here called ‘Eyes Wide Goth.’ We’ve no need to guess what that will be.”

Max said, “This place looks like one of those old castles that would have secret passages.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“It has one,” said Grey, “that’s where they found the skeleton.”

With mouths agape, Max and I stared at Grey, not knowing whether to believe him.

I asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. In the process of dismantling the structure, the engineers and crew discovered the secret passage, and inside it lay the skeleton of a man whom they now believed was named Marcus. Auntie Winter and I got to see it in situ. It was gruesome.”

“How old was it?” asked Max.

“We heard that the investigators found a few coins in his pockets, the latest of which were the Indian Head one-cent coins from 1898.”

“Where is this passage?” I asked.

“One end is here.” He left the room for the staircase. Its skirt, where many people might keep storage or shelving under their stairs, had wood panels with intricate molding.

“The builders re-created the mechanism that opens the panel,” he said.

He pushed down on a section of molding, and a door opened, hidden by the molding itself. The interior was mostly stone, and when we followed it, it led to a narrow stone staircase inside the walls, and we climbed it. Once we reached a landing, a similar door exited next to the fireplace of a large bedroom on the second story. It contained a four-poster bed with canopy, adapted to a queen-size mattress set.

“We saw the skeleton lying here on its side, partially on the landing and partially on the staircase. We saw that the crook of a fireplace poker had gotten stuck in its skull. It’s believed his death had a connection to the death of Lady Thornbrier since this was their bedroom where she died.”

Max asked, “Do they think that Leopold killed the man in the passage in his attempt to flee after the murder of his wife?”

“He couldn’t have killed him here,” I said. “The passage is too short and tight to swing the poker.”

Grey smiled. “Evidence from many letters left in the house suggests that unknown to his wife, Leopold had a long-standing affair with a man known only as Marcus, who eventually posed as his personal valet. Investigators have suggested that she found them together here, an altercation occurred, Lady Thornbrier killed the lover with the fireplace poker, Leopold killed his wife, and then dragged his lover’s body into the passage.”

“I admit,” said Max, “all that might make a man go a little insane.”

I found the idea a little unbelievable. “How stout was this woman?”

“From the portraits left in the home, she was quite stout.”

Once we familiarized ourselves with the other floors, we made our way back to the ground floor. Not including the servant’s rooms in the attic, the house had fourteen guest rooms on two floors, and each upper floor had a bathroom. We simply had too much house to monitor. I wanted to request that Winter keep the gathering confined to the ground floor and drape a rope across the bottom of the staircase to prevent people from exploring, but that was impossible. The ground floor had no bathrooms. The only solution I could think of that would alleviate the problem was to follow James Malor around like a store detective would a potential thief. And I supposed, if no other option had presented itself until then, I would do just that.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 8a

Before Detective Edgerton had given me the go-ahead to poke around in the Tommy Haines case, we had to tread lightly to not ruffle his feathers or draw the attention of the guy from the tailoring shop. As it stood, we only had to concern ourselves with the man at the shop that I believed threatened us, and while that threat, as oblique as he made it, might have proven an empty one, we had to be cautious. I regretted not accosting the guy, frisking him for his wallet, and checking his ID; I should have done that; that way, we wouldn’t have had to guess so hard later, and we could have gotten on with our inquiries. I made a note to myself to never make that mistake again.

On an average day, I never liked pointing fingers without evidence, but after Edgerton assented to my involvement, my poking around could have caused trouble, so we needed to find that guy from the shop. I figured I would switch-on the diplomacy, apply little tact, and ask Grey what he knew before we left the mansion that morning.

On the pea gravel out front, as Grey locked the door behind us, I said to him, “So, did Taylor the tailor make that suit?”

“Yes, he did. He told me that because I’m so slender, a tailor would find it easier to make a suit for me from scratch than alter one from the rack.”

“I have a similar problem,” said Max.

Grey smiled. “With your proportions, I’ve no doubt you do.”

“While at the tailor,” I said, “a young man, about 23 or so, came into the shop. He had pale skin, average height, slim build, long dark hair in a ponytail. Would you happen to know anyone that fits his description?”

“He doesn’t sound familiar,” said Grey. “Have you any reason I should know him?”

“He told me to leave the Tommy Haines case alone. That the police said Tommy killed himself, and that I should leave it at that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you implying?”

“I’m doing my damnedest not to imply, but unless your dining room is bugged, there’s no way for anyone to know that I had any connection to the case and where we would be, unless you or your Auntie Winter mentioned it to someone, somehow. I’m not suggesting any malicious intent, and I wouldn’t mention it now, but the guy threatened us, and that’s a problem.”

“He threatened you?”

“Not in so many words, but I know a threat when I hear one. Have you mentioned it to anyone?”

“Okay, I had coffee with my boyfriend that day, and I mentioned it in conversation, but he’s not the man you describe; Derek is Japanese, and he wouldn’t bother to repeat it. The description of your guy fits a lot of men in this city.”

“Not all of them have a connection to Tommy Haines.”

“Oh…,” he said.

Max asked him, “Do you know the guy?”

“No, but my boyfriend has a connection to Tommy. They both worked for Alliance Construction. Derek still works there as a journeyman to a master electrician, and when that’s not needed, he’s a painter, but I heard Tommy had quit. I met Derek while he worked on the mansion.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

“Where were you when you had the conversation with him?” I asked.

“I meet him at The Coffee Dungeon on Baxter Avenue every morning. You’ll find it across from where he works. They have excellent coffee, so all the Alliance employees go there, some even on their off-days.”

“Have you not seen anyone who fits the description while going there?” I asked.

“I don’t remember, so I couldn’t say. I know that’s unhelpful, and I’m sorry. Derek and I could sit in the middle of a crowded room, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re alone. I apologize if my indiscretion has caused you a problem.”

“Do you know where Derek is working right now?” I asked.

“Yes, he gave me the address. I planned to pick him up so we could have lunch together.” Grey texted me the address. “Will you talk to him?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of hoping he isn’t as attentive as you.”

“Ugh! Well, that’s rude.”

“No offense intended,” I said. “For your sake, I hope he is. You’re a nice young man who deserves happiness, but we really need to find this guy before he decides to come looking for us.”

An investigation requires legwork, which means running-down leads and questioning people in person whenever possible. I prefer having those secondary and tertiary cues that indicate when someone is honest, hiding something, or flat out lying. Grey was obviously honest, and his attitude showed a genuine change upon hearing that the guy had threatened us. That demonstrated a positive moral code, and that was a good sign. He even gave us information of his own volition that might help when he couldn’t help otherwise.

Grey’s boyfriend was named Derek Oshiro, and according to the online map, we would find him working a few miles away at an estate in Estonia, a neighborhood on the wealthy side of the bay. The plots of land for that neighborhood had a decent size, probably no more than about five acres each, but they had lots of visual privacy with all the mature trees, and the homes had an interesting mixture of styles.

One of Alliance Construction’s brick-red vans sat in the driveway of a two-story Second Empire home, but with its Mansard roof, it appeared to have three stories, as the roof allowed the owner to take full advantage of the attic space. I parked behind the van, and we were met at the outer glass door by the owner, an older woman. I would have guessed her age as in her 80s, with a mop of silvery-white curls piled atop her head. She wore a pair of comfortable-looking Capri jeans and a buttoned blouse with a striped bow tie. When she answered the door, we introduced ourselves.

“So, you’re the detectives my dreamboat told me would come,” she said.

“Dreamboat?” asked Max.

She smiled. “That’s what I call Mr. Oshiro, the handsome painter.” She had a British accent and seemed spry for her age. She had stood straight, and her head had reached the top of my shoulders. “I’m Vivian Baker. Do come in.” The foyer had drop cloths lining the walls, and so did the living and dining rooms whose furniture they had shifted for the work. A light scent of fresh paint breezed through the door as we stepped inside, and the air had more movement inside the house than outside, as they had an air-mover in one of the windows. “Please excuse the mess. I’m having a few rooms repainted. I’m about to make tea, would either of you care for a cup? It’s no bother.”

We politely declined and heard the creaking sounds of someone descending a ladder in the living area. Derek came around the corner to greet us, and Ms. Baker invited us to join him there while she left to make tea.

Immediately, I could see why Grey had eyes for no one else but Derek. He wore white painter’s pants, boots, and no shirt. The 25-year-old had attractive black hair and a handsome square face with an angular jawline. His flawless, lightly tan skin had a detailed, symmetrical full-color tattoo that accentuated his bulging pecs, shoulders, upper back, and down both arms. He had a striking overall appearance. Max and I stood there for a moment as if we gazed upon a work of art. Max spoke first.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” he said.

Derek smiled, laughed a little, and diverted his eyes downward. He was physically robust and preternaturally captivating, as well as adorably bashful and modest. Grey needed to hold onto Derek with both hands.

“We’re sorry to disturb you while you work,” I said. The living room had been painted a shade of blue but would be changed to some mushroom-like color. The paint job looked perfect, smooth, evenly coated, and the cut-in at the ceiling, razor-sharp. “You certainly do an excellent job. What color is that?”

“Thank you,” said Derek. “And would you believe it’s called Dorian Gray?”

Max and I both laughed. “Gotta name it something, I suppose.”

He asked, “What can I do for you, gentlemen? Grey told me you would come, but he hadn’t said why.”

“We’re looking for a man. We think he may have sat near you at The Coffee Dungeon on Saturday, average height, slim but fit, long dark hair in a ponytail. We believe he overheard Grey talking to you about our working for his Aunt Winter.”

“That sounds like Douglas Chadwell, and he sometimes has his hair in a ponytail, but most of the time, he keeps it shoved under a hat. They had him on the schedule to help me today, but he didn’t show.”

“What can you tell us about him?” Max asked.

“Not much. Everyone who works at Alliance has two jobs. Douglas worked removals and as an assistant painter. That’s about all. I had worked with him a few times, but he seemed unlikable.”

A thickly built, tough-looking young man with auburn hair, few freckles, and scruffy beard, wearing painter’s pants under an extra-long, white t-shirt, entered the house from the front door. He carried a couple of wet paintbrushes. He gave us a wide-eyed stare. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Hello, Mr. Malor,” I said.

“I haven’t done anything,” he said.

“We’re not here to accuse you,” said Max.

“What do you want then?” He dropped the brushes into an empty can, bristle side up.

“We’re private investigators, inquiring about a man that fits the description of Douglas Chadwell,” I said. “Do either of you know where we can find him?”

They both shook their heads. “He didn’t show today,” said James, “that’s why I’m here. I’m not even sure where he lives, but the main office at Alliance would know. Why don’t you go pester them?”

I turned to Derek. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Oshiro,” I said, “we appreciate your kindness.” I nodded my head to him, and we made to leave. “Mr. Malor, may we speak to you outside for a moment?”

“The police asked more questions yesterday. I want no more hassles.”

“Since you’ve done nothing wrong,” said Max, “I imagine all this got old really quick. No one likes to feel they’re being accused but talking to us will ensure that the hassles will stop far faster, and you’ll have the opportunity to put this behind you.”

Malor stared at Max while he made up his mind. In reluctance, he said, “Let’s do this,” and turned toward the front door.

We joined him at the back of the Alliance van. He had opened the rear doors of the vehicle and sat there. “What do you want to know? You want to know about Tommy and me? I’ll tell ya. Tommy and I met at work, and we were both in removals at the time. I got to know Tommy over a couple of weeks, and he wanted to go out. We went on a date, and he had a few drinks. We went back to his place and had sex. Since it was late, and I had to work the next day, I went home to sleep in my own bed. I snore like a buzz saw, and I didn’t want to keep him awake. Tommy and I had a great time and planned to do it again. End of story.”

I said to him, “Tommy had quite a bit of alcohol in his system.”

“Yeah, so? He was plenty coherent during our playtime.”

“He had signs of having been raped,” said Max.

“Yes, of course he did,” said James.

“Of course?” asked Max. “What do you mean?”

“You have to understand Tommy,” he said. “He didn’t go around telling this to just anyone; he had a private life that he wanted to keep private. He knew that his father had messed him up and that he probably wasn’t the typical victim of a father’s sexual abuse, but he learned to like aggressive sex, and I mean extremely aggressive. He told me that specifically before he and I ever went on the date. In fact, he started working for Alliance just to get close to me.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“I have a reputation among the S&M community.”—he stood, pulled up his shirt, unbuttoned his pants, and took out a massive cock that, without question, beat mine in thickness—“I’ve got an unenhanced ten-inch cock that’s the thickest that anyone has ever seen, and I really enjoy using it.”

“You could seriously hurt someone with that,” said Max.

James winked at him and nodded. “Yeah, that’s kinda the idea. As you might imagine, I don’t get too many takers, but I found a real gem with Tommy. He fully consented and enjoyed the hell out of my fuck. What happened to Tommy-Boy was a shame, but I’m a class two sadist, so if it were murder, I wouldn’t have done it. I wanted to pound his bubble on the regular.” He shoved his hog back into his pants and buttoned up.

Tommy-Boy…he used the same words as the man in the shop.

“You know Douglas Chadwell,” I said.

“Yeah, I know him,” he said. “What of it?”

“Would his happen to be a bubble that you pound on the regular?” I asked.

“Maybe, what’s the difference?”

“Yes or no,” said Max.

“The answer is no,” he said. “He’s an oral man, and I don’t care for it. Humans haven’t the ability to unhinge their jaw like a snake, and I enjoy thrusting.”

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 8b

“Who started calling him Tommy-Boy?” I asked.

“I couldn’t say if he started it, but when the three of us worked removals, I heard Douglas call him that first. After that, I noticed many people at work were calling him Tommy-Boy, even one of the managers who doted on him.”

“What exactly is removals?” asked Max.

“That’s a nice little term for someone who picks up things here and puts them over there. Perfect example, the Thornbrier mansion required a shit ton of removals. I worked at Alliance when we started that job; it was a nightmare. They left that place full of everything. Not only did we have to pack it all up, but there was so much of it that the company had a hard time finding places to store it. Over the three years we worked it, we shifted it around until we had it all stored under one roof. Removals is Alliance’s worst job, and unless an employee has skills in something more important, everyone starts there.”

“So, what two jobs do you have?” I asked him.

“Like this place, I assist with painting now, but I’m training as a plumber because I have an affinity for laying pipe.” He gave us a toothy grin and laughed.

We watched Malor return to the house as we readied to leave in the roadster. No doubt about it, he was sadistic, but if what he said was true, Tommy Haines had more than just consented; he had pursued James. That is if I could believe the word of a sadist.

Max turned to me and placed his hand on my arm. “I’m glad you’re not like him.”

“Me too. If I had my length and his thickness, I wouldn’t have a cock; I’d have a burden.”

“True,” he said, “but I meant someone who delights in hurting others. Malor sounds like a high-functioning psychopath.”

“Oh, no, Honey Bear, I have too much empathy for that. He said he was a class two sadist; that’s a bit of a red flag.”

“I’m not familiar with that. What is it?”

“Forensic scientists label four classes of sadist,” I said, “and only in the first two does the sadist care about consent. The higher the number, the more dangerous they get, but thankfully, also the rarer they are. Malor either knows about that because he’s a forensics buff, or he’s had other trouble in the past.”

We could see Malor through the windows walking around inside the living room.

Max asked, “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“If he’s a sadist, he has to be (at least to a degree), but some people would find that part of the attraction, wouldn’t they?”

“And what he does is legal.”

“Yep, so long as he has consent, but the question is, whether he had that consent the entire time or if Tommy withdrew it once he realized his eyes were bigger than his asshole.”

I had Max search for the address of Alliance Construction on Baxter Avenue. We found it along a row of related businesses, a lumber company, a lighting store, and the like. Across the street sat The Coffee Dungeon, just as Grey said.

The reclaimed brick building for Alliance had an old-fashioned appearance, both solid and heavy-looking, a visual reminder of the days when companies would build structures to last and a shrewd psychological indicator of quality to customers.

When Max and I pulled into the parking lot, I felt that tell-tale sign near the head of my cock that I would soon have one of my spontaneous erections. “Fuck,” I said.

“What’s the matter?”

“The timing of my cock is really incon-fucking-venient.”

“Would you like some assistance? I’m willing 24/7, you know that.”

“I appreciate that Honey Bear, but I just want to get this done. For now, let me do this.” I got out of the car and opened my pants. Once I pulled my growing schlong up my torso, I buttoned everything back up and loosely buckled my belt. My shirt covered me well enough, but if I weren’t careful, I’d end up with a huge wet spot, especially if I tried to sit.

The interior of the building had a concoction of scents, like new plastic mixed with unfamiliar odors that I couldn’t place but probably contained formaldehyde. The section toward the front held displays of samples and information on new products. The long counter to the rear had an edge whose height reached just below the head of my cock, and I had a hard time not bouncing against it as I stood there. A female clerk wearing black lace and heavy eyeliner, whose name tag read Delilah, joined us there.

“Good morning, and welcome to Alliance Construction, may I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Howard Millstone, and this is my partner Max Roche. We’re private investigators assisting the Franklin Police. Is it possible to speak to someone in charge?”

Delilah left and returned with a clean-shaven bald man about our age. He wore the company’s brick red colored uniform shirt. It had “Manager” embroidered over the right chest pocket and “Robert Neuhouser” above the left.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he asked.

“We’re inquiring about Douglas Chadwell. We understand that he’s employed here. It’s important we speak with him. We know he didn’t show up for the painting job in Estonia. Have you reassigned him elsewhere?”

“I’m sorry,” he said and shook his head, “our employees have a right to privacy, so I couldn’t give out that information to the general public.”

Max asked, “Did Delilah tell you we were assisting the Franklin Police?”

“Yes, she did,” he said. “If you wish to have any information about employees, you will need a warrant and be in the company of at least one police officer.”

A handsome, husky-built man about six-foot-four, wearing semi-casual clothing, came from the back. He looked close to 40-years-old and had thick midnight brown hair and a full beard of medium length. “Delilah, I’m going to an early lunch. Do you want the usual Indian food?”

“Yes, thank you, Bo.”

As he came from behind the counter, he glanced our way and paused. “Hey, I know you two!” he said with enthusiasm. He greeted us with a smile and shook our hands. “I’m Bo Pecker. It’s good to meet you. Is there something I can help you with?”

He was a member of the Minotaur club. I remembered his handsome face above the others among our audience in the shower that morning. I only saw him from the chest up, but he had a beefy muscular body and a dense mat of chest hair.

“Is it possible to speak with you alone?” I asked him.

“Sure, lunch can wait; come on back.”

I felt so horny, my stiff cock throbbed against my stomach, and when he led us to his office, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a well-shaped, beefy butt beneath his khaki stretch-fit chinos. I thought pants like his might fit Max well. We would have to ask him about them at a more appropriate time.

He unlocked his office door, ushered us inside, and closed the door behind us. “I want to say that I’m a big fan of you two. Please, have a seat.”

I hoped I could avoid sitting, but it seemed rude and awkward to remain standing. I tried sitting with my back perfectly straight at the edge of the seat, but that hadn’t worked. I felt myself squirt a thick glob of precum beneath my shirt like I’d squeezed the trigger of a caulking gun the instant my ass hit the seat.

“I hadn’t quite realized we would have fans,” I said. “Is Pecker your birth surname?”

He laughed. “No, to let you guys in on my secret, I grew up with people knowing me as Bobby Jones. And when I moved to Franklin to start over, I decided to leave my previous life behind. So, I change my name to Bo Pecker, I founded this successful company, and I’ve had a great life here. I’ve since learned that my story isn’t unusual; legal name changes happen often here, especially among the goth community. People come to Franklin to escape persecution or simply let down their hair and be who they are. Name changes can be a powerful tool when starting over. You know, I would really like the three of us to become good friends.”

“I think I would like that,” I said.

“May I know why you picked the name Pecker?” asked Max.

“That’s part of the reason I came to Franklin. Like your partner, I’m kinda big, but not as big as he is. I don’t know how you felt about yours growing up, Millstone, but mine caused nothing but embarrassment. When I came here, I decided to embrace my body and my size. I don’t care who knows anymore. So, what brings the two of you to my humble little corner of Franklin?”

“Well, Bo,” I said, “our agency is working with the Franklin police on a case, and we need to find Douglas Chadwell. He made threats against us, and I need to know if those threats are empty.”

“Wow. Okay. Well, fortunately for you, I’m apprised of the names of employees that skip work without calling. I checked Chadwell’s file yesterday, he has sick days and personal days he could have taken, but he hasn’t called. So, unless he has a valid reason that he can prove, like lying in a hospital bed in a comatose state for the last two days, he’ll find his employment with us terminated if he shows up again. We insist that our employees act like responsible adults.”

“I see,” I said. “May we have his home address? I know that may not be policy.”

He smiled and picked up the tablet on his desk. “It’s not policy, but I make the policies, and since you’re working with the police; you’re Trouble’s cousin; you’re both club members and so fucking handsome, of course, I’ll give it to you.” He winked at us. “If you give me your numbers, I’ll text you.”

We gave Bo our numbers, and he provided the address. I couldn’t help but feel a genuine like for the guy. He had a magnetism that anyone just looking at him would cause a smile to come to their face, and we had more in common than he realized. Apparently, Max felt the same way; he suggested that the three of us should have a meal together soon and get to know one another.

As I sat there, I continued to have my erection problem. The sensation on the underside of my cock hadn’t subsided; if anything, I needed to cum more than ever. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I told Bo of my difficulty, and he hadn’t minded in the slightest if Max blew me in his office prior to leaving. He had already seen us, so we had nothing to hide. I stood, opened my shirt, and Bo’s eyebrows rose when he saw the sticky pre that I had squirted all over my cock. It began making a visible stain near my sternum.

I returned to my chair with my dick vertical against my belly. Max squatted, grasped its length in the middle, and said, “Bo, why don’t you come around here and get a closer look?”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Sure, come on,” I said, waving him around to our side of the desk. “Feel free to whip yours out if you feel the need.”

He was more excited than a kid’s first trip to a toy shop. By the time he reached the front of his desk, he was naked. If Max was a Golden Bear, the dark mat covering much of Bo’s oversized body, and his height, made him a Grizzly Bear, and he had a handsome piece of meat. It hung straight down when erect and looked only a few inches shorter than mine, but the head had a more mushroom-like appearance and had skin covering it. The overall sight of him turned me on as much as Max, and we both paused just to take in the sight of him for a moment.

“I swear, I never do this,” he said, “because I’m actually picky as hell, but would you guys be willing to play?”

Max looked up at Bo and raised his brows. “Millstone and I haven’t actually discussed that.” He then looked for my input.

“If we do that,” I said, “let’s be selective and in agreement on whom.”

“Of course,” said Max. “So, would you like to try it once and see how we feel about it?” He made a quick glance in Bo’s direction and smiled.

“I’m fine with Bo if you are,” I said. I knew he wanted to, and I wouldn’t deny him. I admit, Bo was a hunk, but he also felt like an equal.

“Am I in?” asked Bo.

“You’re in,” said Max.

My beautiful Golden Bear bent forward, taking me into his mouth, and he blew me, running his hand over my abdominals and pinching my nipples as he throated my pole. Bo stood against us, and I felt the muscles of his hairy leg and ass. He lowered his face to mine and kissed me.

My Golden Bear slid his mouth up and down my cock. He sucked the end and dug his tongue into the slit, searching for more precum. He pulled my schlong from his gob, picked up Bo’s long dong from his thighs, and began jacking us at the same time.

“That’s an awful lot of meat ya got there,” I said, “you sure you’re up to it?”

“Don’t be silly,” he said and stuffed Bo’s knob into his mouth.

It looked strange and hot to see Max from the angle of an observer with a thick sausage filling that seemingly bottomless hole in his face. Bo and I panted as Max alternated back and forth between throating and jacking us, and I saw the foreskin of Bo’s cock repeatedly cover and retract over the head, and it made me wish I still had my skin. When he grew closer to orgasm, he leaned down to kiss me, and I grabbed him by the hair, holding his mouth to mine as he came. I heard Max as he gobbled his knob, drank his load, milked the shaft of the last, and then focused on mine. I saw he left some of Bo’s load on his lips as he wrapped them around my cock. He sucked me like the cum-hound he was, but he was my cum-hound, and I loved him. I held onto his head as he sucked me, jamming my cock into his throat repeatedly. Close to spilling my load and feeding my precious man, I felt those incredible sensations that I wanted to fight to make it last, but I shot my thick cream into my Golden Bear. I curled over him, embracing his head, and he sucked me dry. I leaned back in the chair, panting, trying to catch my breath. They both squeezed my cock from the bottom and worked all the remaining cum from my shaft, and Max ate it as it came to the surface. He stood and kissed me.

“You two are beautiful together,” said Bo.

Max kissed him and hugged his enormous body. I stood to kiss Bo, and he grabbed my slowly shrinking appendage. When I hugged him, I ran my hands through the hair on his back and ass, which I squeezed with both hands.

“Do you like to get fucked?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said, “but I’ve rarely had the opportunity, and never anyone as big as you. I would love to work up to it.”

I turned to Max. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Double the dick, double the loads, double the fun,” he said. “What’s not to enjoy?”

“Well,” I said, “in that case, Bo, we’ll have you over to our place soon. We can all have some dinner, and afterward, we could put Max on the spit roast. Would you like that, Max?”

He held me by the head and kissed me. Of course, he would love it.

I felt much better, more focused. And once we dressed to leave, we kissed our newfound playmate goodbye, and we were off to find Douglas Chadwell’s home. When we exited the building, we felt the heat of the day had risen further, as Grey told us it would, and if it climbed much more, we would have to put the top up and use the air conditioning.

Douglas lived on Oakwood Lane, and we found it about a mile from Alliance’s building. The neighborhood was older with elderly trees that had passed their prime, much like many of the small two-bedroom bungalows there built in the mid-twentieth century. Some needed more tending than others. A few had been recently renovated, while others needed scraping and repainting. Douglas’s home at 793 Oakwood Lane fit into the latter category. A rusted Chevy Nova sat in the driveway, giving the home a dated appearance, and the siding’s powdery-looking dove colored paint had crackled and curled on the ends.

We parked down the street a short way, and given that we hadn’t known what we would find, I had to make a plan. Douglas could have gone on a two-day drunken bender or been a schizophrenic with weapons for all we knew. I wanted to leave the car running in case we needed to make a quick getaway, and that meant one of us would have to remain in the roadster. Max hadn’t argued; he would rather I dealt with it anyway. I kissed him, and when I got out, he slunk down in his seat.

I pulled my weapon and hid it from the watchful eyes of any neighbors. The area was quiet, and the still air where I stood held the scent of the overgrown white blooming bush at the edge of the property. The grass in the front had a week’s growth, and a couple of plastic covered newspapers lay in the drive. The blinds in the windows were shut; I hoped he wasn’t watching me. The mesh of the screened-in porch had several rents, and upon closer inspection, had allowed wasps to build nests on the inside corners. He had locked the latch on the inside of the screen door, so unless I wanted to make further holes in the mesh, I couldn’t unlock it. I stayed close to the house and ducked under the windows as I made my way to the backyard. I heard the low sound of a television playing when I turned the corner. The first window I came across had the blind partially open. I thought I saw him standing inside the room, so I ducked the window and proceeded to the covered stoop and the back door. The door was closed, and I could not see much through the windows there, but thousands of flies had matted around the crevice, and that’s when I detected the odor. I put my weapon away and returned to the window where I thought I saw him. I then noticed the flies on the interior of the panes. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered carefully through the glass, and that’s when I saw the body of Douglas Chadwell. Naturally, I touched nothing else, and I immediately called the police.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 9a

We had yet to eat lunch, and I knew the police wouldn’t allow us to leave the home of Douglas Chadwell for some time, so Max ordered delivery, and not long after the cops arrived, so did our food. To avoid soy sauce on the upholstery, we had our own little tailgate party, chowing down on chicken and steamed vegetables from the Peking Palace, as we observed the investigation from a distance.

Edgerton worked at the midtown precinct, and while 793 Oakwood Lane sat in the middle of the north district, the threats against us, and physical evidence inside the house, gave Chadwell’s death a connection to the Tommy Haines case, so he took over.

“Since you’re eating,” he said, “I’ll refrain from asking you to identify the body directly.”—the detective held up Chadwell’s driver’s license—“Is this the guy who threatened you?”

“Yeah, that’s him. What’s it look like in there?”

“If it helps with an image, the guy was a typical slob. Once forensics completes their sweep and they’ve taken the body away, I’ll let you have a look. I asked them to check the windows first, so we could open them. The house has no air conditioning, and all the windows have remained shut, and the stench is unbearable. I’ve got officers losing their lunch out the back. Sorry, Max.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m a registered nurse; I’m not squeamish.”

“Okay then, I’ll give you some more. The body hung from a well-anchored hook for a swag lamp in the ceiling, a knocked-over chair lay on the floor, and his hands were bound behind him with a white Chinese finger trap on both his ring and index fingers. There were a few other traps lying nearby. He had a note pinned to him that read. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t want to.’ They’ll make a comparison to other handwriting samples from the house, but I don’t think it matters if he wrote it, it looks to me like someone had torn it from a larger message, so I’m not buying it. Rigor has already passed, so he’s been there a couple of days. The pathologist will have to give us a more accurate time of death. You did good, Millstone. I’m pleased.”

“So, this doesn’t solve Tommy’s case,” said Max.

I shook my head. “No. It gives us a few answers, but also makes more questions.”

“Chadwell might have murdered Tommy,” said Edgerton, “but we don’t have a motive yet, and someone else murdered Chadwell, but we have no motive for that either. Or alternatively, whoever murdered Tommy did them both. The finger traps prove their deaths have a connection; it looks as though the killer wants us to think that Chadwell murdered Tommy.

“What about our sadist friend, James Malor?” asked Max.

“He had no alibi for Tommy’s murder,” said Edgerton, “but until we have a more accurate time of death for Chadwell, we can’t question anyone.”

“He told us he knew Chadwell,” I said. “They apparently both had worked removals together at Alliance, and so had Tommy.”

“Interesting connection,” he said. “So, you don’t think this is a love triangle or anything like that.”

“Maybe, but it’s too early to assume anything.”

“So, Alliance Construction might be involved.”

“Maybe. If so, I hope that Bo Pecker isn’t. I really like that guy, and he doesn’t strike me as the nefarious type.” I turned to Max, who just closed the cardboard container of his lunch. “What did you think of Bo?”

“I liked him too, and he sounds genuine, but beyond my opinion of him, he had to pass a background check to become a club member, so that’s something.”

“That’s true,” said Edgerton, “and I happen to know that Henry’s more thorough than people might think. Before he decided to move to Franklin to go into business for himself, he worked as a police officer in Los Angeles, so he has connections.”

“Aah,” said Max, “that’s why he gives all those discounts. Nice.”

“That, and he has a penchant for cop cock; to him, Franklin’s a smorgasbord.”

“Building the Minotaur’s facility would not have been cheap; how could he afford to start the business on a cop’s salary?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Edgerton, “Winter helped him.”

“Winter… What is it about her that I don’t yet know?”

“The phrase ‘more money than god’ seems to fit her description,” he said, “but there’s a lot to know about Winter. She comes from a unique class of human being. I guarantee you will not find another one like her anywhere, and we are damn lucky to have her. I would go so far as to say that Winter is the light that shines on this city, and I’m one of the few people who knows just how brightly.”

“You checked on her, haven’t you?” I asked.

He nodded. “Somehow, she found out about it too.”

“Was she angry with you?” asked Max.

“No, quite the contrary, it pleased her.”

“Why?”

“Because she said she wouldn’t want anyone to hold her above reproach, she said that knowing she isn’t, keeps her grounded and honest. I discovered that Winter gives away more money to help the City of Franklin and the citizens who live here than you can possibly imagine. And unlike most super-wealthy, she doesn’t funnel her charitable giving into places that allow her to claim to do good while doing nothing but benefiting herself. All her money is clean, and she uses all of it in Franklin. I’ve never seen anyone with a bigger heart than she has, but you haven’t heard any of that from me.”—he turned to go—“It shouldn’t take too long, fellas.” He returned to the crime scene.

“I have a question,” said Max. “Do you think Winter bought this car for us?”

“She said we could use it until she asked for it back, or we found one that we prefer more, whichever comes first.”

“She has no intention of asking for it back, has she?”

“I think that was her way of helping us while giving us an option to not feel obliged to take it.”

I could tell by his sniffing and eye blinking that he tried not to tear up. I put my arm around him, and he tilted his head onto my shoulder.

We continued to watch the comings and goings inside the house, and Max asked me, “Is this sort of case common for you, having to deal with dead bodies and such?”

“I’ve had a few, but this one seems more perplexing than the others. Can you handle this?”

“I’ve learned to disconnect from these things. I’ve seen a few dead bodies over my time in the medical field, but I saw them in a relatively clean environment and not at a crime scene. So, we’ll just have to see how I do. But I want you to know that I like this, and I love every moment that I spend with you.”

As we waited, a reporter from the Herald arrived. The attractive nude Latino guy in his late twenties had a slender, hairless body and a nice build. With a sling bag over his shoulder, and his credentials hanging from his neck, he tried to interview Edgerton, but of course, he gave him nothing. The instant his eyes fell upon us, he walked our direction.

“Ooh, here we go,” I said to Max. Every experience I have had with a reporter, they either took the things I said out of context, or they misquoted me. I wanted to avoid that, if possible.

“I think he might be the guy known as the Naked Reporter.”

That idea made me laugh. “Visual shtick for print news…that’s weird.”

“I agree, but then I could never understand the appeal of phone sex.”

“Good day, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Sebastian Santiago from the Franklin Herald. You’re Howard Millstone and Max Roche, aren’t you? You’re Franklin’s new private detectives.”

“You’re well informed,” I said.

“It comes with the job. So, what’s your relation to the scene here?”

“We’re just spectators.”

“Is death a spectator’s sport for you?”

“Only when we have no client.”

“Oh, so no one has hired you,” he said. “May I know why you’re here?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Okay, look,” he said, “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“I’m sorry, but if you want information, it must come from the police, and if Detective Edgerton says nothing to you, then we should follow his lead out of professional courtesy.”

He surprised me when he simply said, “I understand,” and shoved his pad into his bag, and his tone changed completely. “Well, let me take off my reporter hat for a moment and welcome you to Franklin. I wondered how long it would take before another detective came along.”

“Thank you, that’s much appreciated,” I said.

“Have you hung up your shingle?”

“Not yet,” said Max, “that’s slow going. Do you know where Mr. Nevil had his?”

“He had it on 17th Street, south of Highland, but I had a friend who had a store nearby. The rent is cheap there, but I would avoid that area; it has too many bad-luck-buildings. However, I know of a place that might work for you. I did a fluff piece the other day on a guy whose childhood crush moved to another state, but twenty years later, they happened to meet again on a blind date here in Franklin. They’ve been together for over a year now. Anyway, the interview took place at their office on the 12th floor of the Lancashire Building, and three doors down, they have space available; I noticed it on the way out. That’s a successful office building in a nice neighborhood, but not too nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Thank you for that. That’s kind of you. Finding a location is hard without some inside knowledge.”

“Hey, no problem,” he said. “And in the future, if you’re on a case that you can talk about, please think of me. It would help me out a lot.”

“I think we can do that,” I said, and we shook on it.

The instant the body bag came out the front door, he returned his non-existent reporter hat to his head, excused himself, and proceeded to hound the detective.

Once they carted the body away, the open windows helped with the odor. Before Edgerton invited us inside, he offered some vanilla peppermint salve for our noses to help overpower the scent. It worked well enough, but I could still detect it.

The inside of the house had open containers and unwashed dishes, but the disarray to me appeared odd.

“This place looks a little unnatural,” said Max.

“So, you’re seeing it too,” I said.

“What do you see?” asked Edgerton.

“For one thing, someone moved the couch recently,” I said, taking a closer look. “The carpet has deep indentations, and only one leg remains inside them. Someone left the cushions a little crooked, but they perfectly straightened the pillows.”

“Someone moved this trinket box,” said Max, “it disturbed the dust on this table, and whoever moved it hadn’t placed it back where it lay.”

“I’m seeing little things like that all over the house.”

“My people are good,” said Edgerton, “no one’s touched anything, and I noticed a few things too. So, you agree someone tore the house apart looking for something.”

“Looks like…,” I said, “then in too much of a rush, they tried to put everything back again.”

“If they wanted to make it look like Chadwell killed himself in a fit of remorse,” said Max, “they couldn’t leave it.”

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 9b

I studied the trinket box that Max mentioned with my hands behind my back. “The interior of this box couldn’t have more than two square inches inside; if the killer thought it might contain whatever he searched for, then he’s looking for something pretty small. The exterior has a smooth finish; forensics should check it for prints. If they find none, the guy probably wore gloves.”

“I’ll get them on it,” said the detective.

“So, you found a few extra finger traps,” I said.

“Three of them,” said Edgerton. “But we found no books on origami or any evidence of anything else. Tommy’s apartment had no evidence of that too, and we searched various means for him to obtain such an item, but it turned up nothing. And Glenn Scarborough says he’s never seen one before.”

“And you found no extra traps at Tommy’s place.”

“No. And besides the smudged prints on that one, we only found a couple of partials belonging to Tommy. We’ll check the extras here for Chadwell’s prints.”

“Have you searched Malor’s place, looking for anything on origami?”

“Unfortunately, we asked Malor about the finger trap when we thought Tommy had killed himself, so if he had anything, he had plenty of time to destroy it. Once it became a question, we searched his place and found nothing.”

“What would you like us to do, detective?”

“For now, you can go. I’ll call you when I have news.”

Max and I returned to the Minotaur and saw a rugged-looking guy we had yet to meet, standing shirtless behind the front desk. His name was Barry. He had incredible arms and shoulders, but his face had a bristly beard, deep-set, hooded eyes, and he wore his hair in a crew cut.

He smiled and wagged a finger at us. “I heard of you two just today.”

“Has our reputations preceded us already?” asked Max.

“Around here, that’s good if it has.” He sniffed the air. “What’s that I smell?”

Nose blind and horrified to realize we carried the scent of death upon us, we stepped backward in unison and glanced at one another. Unwilling to linger in the lobby for the lift, we made a few pathetic excuses and fled to the stairwell. We bounded the stairs, two steps at a time, to reach our quarters before anyone else noticed. Having reputations as the harbingers of death was the last thing we wanted.

We both stripped and brought our laundry to the ground floor, and after tossing it all into a large washer with a couple of detergent packs, we scrubbed our bodies in the shower room.

One thing I enjoyed about the Minotaur, we could shower together, and even with others around us, it turned shower time into an intimate experience. Touching in such a way continued our bonding process, and I felt deeply connected to Max even when not deeply inside him. Afterward, I hugged him, feeling the warm rivulets and his hard body pressing against mine. I felt that I could tell him, “I Love You,” an infinite number of times, and it could never express how he made me feel. I know people like to hear it, but if Max only understood that I loved him from my saying that inadequate little four-letter-word, I would feel that I had failed him as his partner.

With deft fingers, I began jacking Max while we stood under the spray. He held my face, kissing me as I did, and his uneven breath told me he enjoyed it. As I bent down, taking Max’s cock into my mouth, he held his hands above his head, grasping the shower column behind him as though I had tied him there. I squatted a little and gazed up at him, watching him stare into the hunger-filled eyes of those in the room as if he were our prisoner, and they all awaited their turn, intent on milking him for his precious cream. As if only he had what we needed, we would milk him again and again until he had run dry. He began to growl and groan, telling me that I had gotten him close, so I sped up and tried to take as much of him into my mouth as I could. When he came, I gladly savored his cum and swallowed it as I continued pleasuring him. When I stood and held Max, he laid his head on my shoulder, wrapping his muscular arms around me, and I think I began to understand what Max felt when I fed him. Before our fingers pruned too much, I led him from the shower. We dried ourselves, placed our washed clothing into the dryer, and returned to our quarters.

Since we lacked living room furniture, we sat at the dining table as Max searched on our newly acquired laptop for the specific property mentioned by Mr. Santiago. We found the Lancashire Building nine-tenths of a mile from the Minotaur, and the website for it had a link to the agent in charge of leasing. Max called them, and we made an appointment to see the space on Thursday.

At four o’clock that afternoon, Edgerton called with news. The pathologist hadn’t finished her report but established a time of death between midnight and 6:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. However, a neighbor across the street saw Chadwell return home while taking his elderly labradoodle out at 2:30 that night, and all seemed quiet across the street at 5:00 when he took the dog out again, so the time of death had gotten narrowed to the hours between 2:30 and 5:00 early Sunday morning. The detective also told us that forensics found a couple of different fingerprints on two of the finger traps. They couldn’t identify one, but the other belonged to James Malor. Edgerton was bringing him in for questioning, and curiously Malor requested our presence, so after bringing up our clean clothing, we left for the midtown precinct.

We met the detective in the conference room, and he seemed pleased to finally have some evidence to work with, but Malor would talk only to Max and me. Since all interrogation rooms have an observation room, Edgerton would wait there while we spoke to him. He gave us the evidence bag with the finger traps to take with us.

Malor knocked off work a little early and had gone home; that’s where they found him. He wore a short-sleeve black polo shirt with a Manchester United Football Club logo. When we entered the room, he straightened himself in his seat and stared at the finger traps in the bag.

He sounded frantic, “You gotta believe me, guys. I haven’t done anything; I think someone is setting me up.”

“Calm down,” I said as we took the remaining seats. “You need to establish an alibi. The time of Chadwell’s death is Saturday night between 2:30 and 5:00 Sunday morning. Where were you?”

“In bed. I’m a morning person, not a night owl. I work a regular job; I go to bed no later than midnight, and I get up every morning at six o’clock.”

“It was Saturday night; you had no one with you?” asked Max.

“No, I meant it when I said that I don’t have many takers, and since I tend to leave Kinks—that’s the S&M bar in town if you didn’t know—no later than 11:15, I miss a lot of the action; but I’m just so tired by then.”

I pushed the bag with the traps to the center of the table. “What do you know about these?”

“Okay, I lied to the police. They told me that Tommy had one on his fingers when he died, so I freaked. I mean, it’s the police we’re talking about!”

“Did you make these?” asked Max.

He shrugged. “It looks like my work, and if it has my fingerprints on it, it must be mine; I admit that. I made those when I lived in Seattle, but I stopped making them when I moved here. These things are four or five years old.”

“Why did you make them?” asked Max.

He lowered his head and brows as his mouth flattened into a thin line. “I know this won’t sound good, but I had a few guys in Seattle that wanted me to pound them on the regular. And as I get them from behind, I would keep their hands behind their back with one of those.”

“You’re right,” said Max, “that’s not good.”

“I know, but that was then. I have not made one of those, had one of those, or used one of those since I’ve lived in Franklin.”

“They’re going to say, ‘Why should we believe you? You lied once, and you’re an admitted sadist who likes hurting people.’”

“I lied because I freaked out but lying at this point wouldn’t help me because I haven’t done anything. And yes, I’m a sadist who likes to hurt guys with my cock, but there are plenty of people out there who hurt others without telling them first. I have the integrity to be upfront about it, and I insist on consent. Hell, I even make them sign a waiver in front of two witnesses first! So, I’m cautious with whom I have sex, and they definitely want me to hurt them.”

My mouth dropped open. “You do what?”

“Uncle Charles is a lawyer, so, as a matter of practicality—because of my size, he convinced me to make anyone who wants me to fuck them sign a liability and indemnity waiver while sober in front of witnesses. They ensure that the guy understands what he’s signing. It tells them that having sex with anyone comes with risks and that by signing the waiver, they’re agreeing to: ‘take all personal, legal, and financial responsibilities for the repercussions of their own consent.’ They get a carbon copy, and I keep the original to protect me.”

“And people have signed that?”

“They all signed it,” he said, “including Tommy. For some men, they take one look at the size of my meat, and they run, while for others, I could tell them that I would literally tear them a new asshole, and they’ll do anything to experience it.

“As for Chadwell, he had a thing for me (more like a stalker really), but he only wanted to blow me, and I ain’t into it, so we never had sex; you can tell that just by looking at his asshole. So, while I may not have an alibi, and these Chinese finger traps are my handiwork, I have no motive to kill either of them. And when I fucked guys in Seattle, they kept the finger trap as a memento, but I also gave plenty of those away.”

“Chadwell stalked you?” I asked.

“Just like some weirdos do celebrities. Whenever we worked removals together, he would offer to blow me on break, but I would always turn him down. He fawned over me at work, and he tried to buy me coffee and lunch nearly every day. The witnesses to all that are hip deep. He did other more stalker-like things, but I have no witnesses for that.”

“Did he know about you and Tommy?” Max asked.

“Yeah. He hadn’t liked it and was pretty vocal about it. I’m sure some of the guys at work knew. He acted like we had a relationship, but I don’t have relationships; I have regulars. He recently asked me to move in with him once he got to his new place, and I turned that down too. I’ve had only one regular while I’ve lived here, and he was okay, but Tommy and I were perfect together; I could hurt him, and he begged for more. Guys like that just don’t come along every day.”

“Did you say Chadwell was moving?” I asked.

“Yeah, he gave me some bullshit about moving across the bay to the Carlton at the corner of Cheddar and Brie, but that’s a high-end apartment dwelling; I knew he couldn’t afford that. So, while I thought he was nuts, I knew better than to tell a stalker he’s crazy.”

A knock came upon the door of the interview room. It was Edgerton, and he called us out to talk to us. He brought us to the conference room, leaving Malor behind.

“I have the full pathology report,” he said. “This was found inside Chadwell’s stomach.” He placed on the table an evidence bag with an engagement ring inside. Max picked it up to examine it. “The report says you’re holding a platinum ring with a five-carat princess-cut red diamond. Due to its characteristics, it’s probably worth well over 2 million dollars today.”

“One guess where this came from,” said Max.

“It has to be the Thornbrier mansion,” I said. “Looks like a good motive to me. Most likely, pilfered during the removals process.”

Max dangled the baggie. “This astonishes me; they really had left everything, hadn’t they?”

“There were various prints at the crime scene, most of them match Chadwell, but they’re getting the prints of the owner for elimination purposes; none of them match Malor or Tommy. The trinket box had some smudged prints, but they appear to match Chadwell. From that alone, I think our killer wore gloves.”

“No match for the unknown print on the finger traps?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no, they could be the killers, but they don’t match any found anywhere else, and they’re not on file.”

“And Tommy’s place wasn’t searched by the killer?” I asked.

Edgerton shook his head. “Scarborough would have noticed, and the place looked neat and tidy to me.”

“I don’t think Malor did it,” I said.

“Let me hear your theory,” said the detective.

“Anyone cautious enough to get a prospective sexual partner to sign a waiver before sex isn’t likely to use finger traps that they made to kill anyone and then leave prints on them. Besides, I believe him about Tommy. I can’t pretend to understand it, but just because something sounds crazy doesn’t make it morally wrong. Like he said, he’s forthright about it, and the people involved are of consenting age.”

Max laid the bag on the table. “It sounds more like someone trying really hard to incriminate Malor.”

“Speaking of those waivers,” said Edgerton, “Malor has no priors, but he did have some trouble in Seattle. He was the defendant in a wrongful-death civil suit...”—he searched through Malor’s file—“…over the suicide of a man named Daniel Newberry. Apparently, the waiver and his witnesses kept him from owing a lot of money because he won.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” I said. “Who was the plaintiff?”

“Daniel’s sister, Grace Newberry. The trial took place three and a half years ago.”

“Malor told us he worked the beginning of the Thornbrier mansion’s relocation three years ago,” said Max, “so he must have moved to Franklin just after the trial. What will we do now? Should we just start taking the fingerprints of everyone to see who matches the unknown prints on the trap?”

“That would only scare off the killer,” I said to Max, “and I suspect, if we could, we might discover the prints are Daniel Newberry’s.”—I picked up the evidence bag, held the ring at eye level, and stared into that red diamond, thinking of the allure of such an item—“I think this ring is the key to finding our killer.”

 

[RHHorst]

If there's any interest, I will post the remaining chapters.

 

[hot-rod]

Oh man you have got yo keep this going....one of the best I have read on here

 

[RHHorst]

Oh man you have got yo keep this going....one of the best I have read on here

You got it.

 

[RHHorst]

Chapter 10a

While working a case, a good investigator will examine the evidence individually and as a group to get a clearer picture. Unlike a physical jigsaw puzzle, the pieces of this aren’t lying at one’s fingertips and often have no smooth outer edge to indicate just how far the picture goes. In this mental puzzle, you’ll discover obvious pieces, false pieces, and those maddening disparate pieces that you know have value but have yet to connect to anything, just sitting there like an island. The pieces connect effects to their causes, by reasoning out means, motives, and opportunities, through the gathering of evidence and an analysis of possibilities versus probabilities, which might be little more than gut instinct.

Malor had the means and opportunity but no motive that I could see, and my gut told me he hadn’t killed Tommy. I heard something in his voice when he spoke of him. I couldn’t compare it to how I might speak about my Golden Bear, but in his own way, he valued Tommy.

The ring brought up several questions, and I think the involvement of Tommy provided a clue to the answer of one of them. How long did Chadwell have the ring? They started the removals on the Thornbrier mansion three years ago. The probability of him having it all that time seemed remote. And somehow, he intended to turn that valuable ring into cash. Had he deluded himself over how easy that would be? Or did he have a partner, perhaps one he tried to double-cross? And Tommy’s death connected somehow; otherwise, it appeared motiveless.

Max, Edgerton, and I stood at the conference room table, and after considerable discussion, I asked them, “Do either of you think Malor is involved?”

“He has opportunity, and he knew them,” said the detective, “but I don’t think he did it.”

“I agree,” said Max, “but let me tell you of a thought that occurred to me. What if the death of Chadwell was the killer’s goal? Malor made the finger traps; we know that now. What if Tommy’s death were merely to help point the finger at Malor for the murder that the killer really wanted to commit? Think about it, if Tommy hadn’t dated Malor and hadn’t died with a finger trap on his hands, would we connect Malor at all?”

“That’s a thought,” said the detective, “and if so-”

“Then Tommy might not have known about the ring,” I said. “But if that’s the case, why Tommy? Had he picked him merely out of convenience?”

“Since he’s no longer a suspect,” said Edgerton, “will you question Malor about the ring, or should I?”

“You’re asking me?”

“You’re officially consulting,” he said, “but I want a good result, and if I have to take advice on occasion to get it, I will. Catching the killer is all that matters. When you and I first met, you probably thought I had an impervious ego. Trust me, I don’t.”

“I appreciate that. Well, if we want the killer to lower their guard, we need to convince Malor to let you keep him in custody. If he agrees, we can ask him about the ring, but it’s important that only the people we trust know we have it because if he walks, he might talk to someone. Even if he hadn’t killed anybody, his innocence wouldn’t mean he can keep a secret.”

“Legally,” he said, “if necessary, I could hold him for 72 hours without charge.”

I tipped my head, thinking. “Hmm…I will ask you not to do that. Right now, he’s answering every question put to him. If you hold him against his will, he might decide to zip his mouth. We know he has information, and he may have the answer to a question we don’t yet know to ask. So, if he says he’s willing to stay, do you have any place for him here that isn’t a cell?”

“We have an entire bedroom here for just such occasions; it probably needs some boxes removed from it, but we have one. And if he gives us valuable information, I’ll even throw in turndown service and a mint on his pillow.”

“What, no sex?” Max laughed.

“From what you told me?”—Edgerton shook his head—“No way! He ain’t fuckin’ me with that thing, and what man wouldn’t like a blowjob?”—he turned to me—“Let me get someone to straighten that room.”

Once the detective was in the observation room, I carried the bagged ring inside a manila folder, so Malor couldn’t see it. The room was quiet, and he had laid his head on the table, taking a snooze, but perked up when Max and I entered the room.

“Are we done? Will they let me go?”

“Not quite yet. It’s not a coincidence that someone used the finger traps in the two deaths; the killer wants us to think you did it, so somebody wants you in prison for a long time. Have you any idea who might want that, perhaps someone from Seattle when you lived there, dealing with the court case. What can you tell me of that?”

“Oh, you know of that,” he said. “Well, I met a guy named Daniel, who wanted me to fuck him. He wasn’t sure he could take me but wanted to try. He never said stop or gave me any indication that anything was wrong, but I had perforated his colon, and I took him immediately to the hospital. He said he didn’t blame me, but that he had a boyfriend and that it was best that I go and never see him again. So, while I may have left, I still checked on him; they helped him, and he survived the incident. Apparently, Daniel had problems with sex after that, and it exposed an underlying bowel issue that he didn’t realize he had. He said in his suicide note that it destroyed his life. His sister sued me for wrongful death. My uncle represented me, and I won the case based on the evidence.”

“Had the boyfriend attended the trial?”

“It was a closed court, and only his sister was there, so I never saw him.”

“Okay. As for Chadwell and Tommy, were they friends?”

“Oh yes, they were great friends until Chadwell discovered that Tommy wanted me. After that, Tommy was Chadwell’s enemy. As far as he was concerned, he had laid a claim on me, and he said that Tommy betrayed his friendship. As if....”

“Why had Tommy quit working for Alliance?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Is that important? I figured people quit jobs all the time, so I didn’t think anything of it. Glenn got him the job driving the cab, and he seemed happy with it.”

“It could be important; I’m just trying to ascertain the facts.”

Max said, “You told us that you don’t have relationships; you have regulars. That keeps people at a distance, doesn’t it? I imagine that someone who thinks like that doesn’t go on dates, but you went on one with Tommy. Why make the exception?”

Malor stared into Max and sat there in silence for nearly a minute. “Tommy was my kind of special. Like I said, he had a private life that he wanted to keep private, but so that you understand, I’ll tell ya. I also have a private life that I want to keep private, but people knowing I’m a sadist isn’t part of it; that’s a matter of necessity. Tommy and I had a lot in common, some things too complicated to discuss here. But while we had different experiences growing up, it turned us into two sides of the same coin, and we understood one another, so I agreed to a date.”

“How angry are you that someone took Tommy from you?” I asked.

“I don’t show my anger much, but I am angry. And before anyone thinks anything just so you know, I knew Chadwell hadn’t killed Tommy. Chadwell was a nutcase who obsessed over me, but he wouldn’t kill anyone. He even had the gall to forgive me for killing Tommy.”

“So, he thought you killed him,” I said.

“Yeah, he did. He cornered me on break and told me that he forgave me for killing Tommy for him. And I was like, ‘but I didn’t kill Tommy!’ And he just acted like he didn’t believe me.”

That explained why Chadwell met us at the tailor’s shop and his odd behavior. If he believed the object of his obsession killed Tommy, then he would want everyone to accept the police’s initial suicide conclusion.

“We have a request of you that will help us find Tommy’s killer,” I said.

He squinted his eyes at us, thinking. “You need me to stay here, don’t you? The killer needs to think you believe I did it. How long are we talking?”

“You’re a smart man, Mr. Malor,” I said. “Yes, we do, but no longer than early Sunday morning and probably less. As you would assist with an investigation involving two murders, they would gratefully treat you like a guest here, not a criminal. They’ll make you as comfortable as possible. Will you help us?”

“What about my job?” he asked.

“If you help, Max and I will not only ensure that you keep your job but put your name in the boss’s ear, and that could be good for you.”

Malor agreed to do it, and once he had, I pulled out the evidence bag with the ring. He leaned into it and gave it a close examination.

“Have you ever seen this ring before?” I asked.

He shook his head in ambivalence, staring at it. “I’m not sure, it looks familiar, but nothing recent comes to mind. That’s a nice rock. It looks like an engagement ring; is that a red diamond? I didn’t know they came in that color. Where’d you get it?”

“The pathologist found it in Chadwell’s stomach,” I said.

Malor’s shock quickly turned into a burst of laughter, and he palmed his face. “I would never have guessed you would say that. So, you think they killed him for this.”

“Red diamonds are worth a lot of money. We think it came from the things left behind in the Thornbrier mansion. Do you know about it at all? Had Tommy or Chadwell mentioned something that might have alluded to it without ever mentioning the ring itself? Anything might help.”

He stared at the ring, concentrating. “It seems familiar somehow; give me a few minutes to think.”

His head in his hands, he sat there, his eyes closed, and his face tipped toward the table. Given the importance of the matter, the room remained silent for the three or four minutes we waited.

Malor interested me. He seemed like this fundamentally good man about whom people make inaccurate assumptions, and he was challenging some of mine. I asked Max what he thought about Malor, and he told me something that hadn’t occurred to me. He said that Malor was a man who had the same needs and desires as most any other. He said he believed Malor had adopted the notion of viewing himself as a sadist because he felt that he had no choice. He grew to have an enormously thick cock, and he had learned to make the best of what life had given him. He could abstain from sex because of his size, cringe at whatever pain he caused others in his need for sexual intimacy, or he could embrace it. Because, given his size, if he wanted to have sex, he had no choice but to cause some pain. I realized then that Malor really belonged in Franklin, someone just as marginalized and misunderstood as the rest of us, and yeah, that included me. People in the know had viewed me as little more than a horse cock, so I identified with some of what Malor most likely went through, and I made the best of what life had given me too.

Max’s insights into understanding people made me realize how lucky I was to have him. Not only would it allow him to understand me, but he brought something to the table that I lacked, and we complimented one another in our abilities.

“I think I have something,” said Malor. “It’s nothing direct, but I remember a few weeks ago—just before Tommy and Chadwell’s friendship ended—that Tommy was having some trouble, he said he felt conflicted about something, and he seemed preoccupied with it for several days. I asked him if he wanted to talk about it, but he said that he had already spoken about it to one of the nuns…Sister Foustina and that he may have to wait for the sisters to return from the Vatican. He wouldn’t elaborate, so I don’t really know what he meant, but what if he knew about the ring and spoke to Sister Foustina about it?”

Malor provided a major lead, and we told him he could trust Detective Edgerton, who would ensure his comfort while he remained there. Max took a photo of the ring to show the sister, and Edgerton left us the task of speaking to her. I hoped he would join us, but he believed we could be trusted and that he had something he needed to fix before the day was out.

Max held my hand in the elevator on the way to the roadster. Its meaty warmth pressing into my palm had begun to grow on me, and I found myself never wanting to let it go. For a while, whenever we held hands, he would occasionally glance down at them, and his expression seemed a bit flat, or perhaps uncertain. However, on the way back to the car, when I caught him looking, I saw that he had a little smile. I couldn’t help but stop right there and hug him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Oh, Max, I couldn’t be more okay if I tried.” I held his face just before I kissed him. I looked him in the eye and said, “You are the best and most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. And I want everything I say and everything I do, for or with you, to tell you just how much I love you, and I don’t care who knows. You and I were meant to be, and the idea of spending my life with you makes me incredibly happy.”