Chapter D
Target Acquired
Flint on the phone with Captain James, the morning of May 24th
Flint: Sir, I did my parking duty, as requested. I understand Congressman Hammering in the end did not do his big speech. Sudden cancellation, no big performance. So that must have made calling up additional resources a bit of a mistake in the eyes of the budget review boards.
James: Well, unforeseen circumstances. It happens. Maybe he will make his big announcement later this week. Who knows what they will decide? I may need you then again. In fact, I need you to file a report on your work clearing parking violators so I can attach it to my report to the budget review board.
Flint: I see. Well, I suppose I could write that in a few minutes. Should my choice of words have a particular, should we say, tone, flavour, undercurrent… Perhaps emphasizing the benefits, direct and indirect, of using a decorated detective for such seemingly routine tasks? What do you advise, Captain?
James: Well you should operate within the service manual of course. And use your good judgement.
Flint: Of course.
James: On a separate matter, I have been able to approve some urgent resources for your investigation into that guy who disappeared. In cases especially deserving, and for detectives especially accomplished, I can do that, without a full review. A bit of cash for expenses and equipment, if needed. Just communicating that good news…
Flint. Excellent. I was hoping to execute a brief undercover operation this evening and for appearances, I cannot do it myself. I need to bring along a few men to this bar. They need to have that delicate look to blend in. With the right quality and quantity of exposed bodies we may even honeytrap persons relevant to…
James: Yes, yes, yes… whatever, I don’t need to know operational details. Better that way. You can collect the cash envelope within the hour. Maybe at the same time, you drop off your report from the parking ticket efforts — just saying.
Flint: Most synergistic.
Flint’s journal, Entry, the Night Between 24th and 25th of May
And so the evening of clandestine action had come. Deception and danger in service of duty. The mysteries of BART were the target. Our actions this night, dear journal, were rewarded.
Doctor Paul and his two men joined me. That is Ganesh, the electronics whizkid who when he did not unlock computers with his stellar mind, practiced yoga such that his body could bend and flex in all kinds of wondrous ways — Doctor Paul had said as much with a spark in his eyes. It also meant that Ganesh’s current outfit of a pair of tight yoga pants and a cropped shirt was a joy to the senses. Not only that, it meant he could pack a small transceiver by his crotch to surveil the electromagnetic spectrum of the bar undetected.
The Canadian, Luke, had as true Canadians are prone to do, dressed in far less clothing than the weather seemingly allowed. A pair of very short sporty shorts, which revealed muscular thighs that any man with a beating heart would like to grope and bite into. The only thing not pale skin and well-honed muscles on his upper body was a gold ring attached to his left nipple. Inside his jockstrap, though, he kept microfluidic analyzers with which he secretly checked the drinks for suspicious additives.
And good Charlie had joined. When I called him, he said yes before I even had asked — anything to help find Nels. He was happy to put on his most seductive jeans, which were ripped in many places, each of the openings practically begged to be ripped open further by horny force to reveal more firmness and hardness.
But that had to wait. Charlie’s sharp gaze scanned the bar, its odd interior design and the few other men inside the place. His task: look for anything remotely associated with Nels and what the disappeared young man had written about.
We performed the roles of five guests in this odd establishment. To the ordinary observer, the closeted tourist or passerby of New York City gay life, we looked no different than two daddies and three boy toys on the hunt for one or two other participants of a sweaty group fuck planned for later in the evening.
This was an undercover operation, however. Unless Nels himself against all expectation were to appear, sweaty group fucks had to be deferred. An unstoppable, some might say throbbing, sense of manly duty moved us. The young man of my mission was the target, his sweet ass the object our powers aimed at.
BART is oddly otherworldly. There is no other way to put it. Almost impossible to find, small crowd, and weirdly decorated as if a Medieval LARPer with a fetish for firm ass had been given a bit too much budget. However, neither the transceiver tucked away next to Ganesh’s balls, nor the microfluidic analyzers around Luke’s jockstrap waistband had revealed anything outside normal. Charlie’s keen eye had also failed to discover any man in the bar who behaved mysteriously — that is more mysteriously than being in this odd bar in the first place.
So when observation alone fails to move a mission forward, action is required.
I fondled Charlie, asked him to stand up and let me pass. The act I was performing was that I was a bit too drunk and had to stagger to the toilet. I groped Charlie’s ass and crotch, moved my finger across the ripped hole that exposed part of his yummy buttocks, and slurred something about “sweet booty” and “man’s best friend”. To play a role when undercover is easier the closer you play it to the truth. I then headed towards the back of the bar with a slight stumble.
By process of elimination, I concluded only one of the doors in the back merited further investigation. It was locked and not self-evidently storage. Though locked, it was not difficult to unlock with my pocket knife and a firm push.
I followed the long and dark corridor that was behind the door. There was a faint smell of wood, but otherwise nothing but cold brick walls. That is until I reached another door. This one unlocked, and once I had listened for sounds, only to find silence, I opened it.
The room was spacious. There were no other doors in the room. A few tables were lined up in the middle of the room, a big leather armchair, and on the walls some artwork that depicted generic Medieval structures and environments. And longswords.
I surveyed the room. A dead-end? What was its purpose? Had Nels been here? On the latter point, I felt almost sure that he had. The tables were lined up like a stage. A place for inspection. I could almost see Nels’ sweet butt gyrating while the boy stood on this impromptu stage. It bordered on a sociological stereotype that a struggling student in the city danced exotically to earn a few extra hundred dollars. Perky performances were not a strange thing. But then what? In what way had his path taken a turn off an everyday boy butt performance towards something extraordinary?
These were questions I asked myself as I checked every detail of the place for clues. I saw the unmistakable marks of cum on both table and floor. It had been wiped up and cleaned, but not well enough to conceal it from my eyes. The marks furthermore suggested multiple and voluminous ejaculations had been extracted. Multiple men probably. Maybe Luke could try to collect some of it and run a DNA analysis? But then what? If Nels’ DNA indeed was found, had I come any closer?
I considered my options when fate forced me back to the present world.
“What are you up to in here? Lost in the maze within the maze?”
A man had silently appeared at the door to the room. He was middle-aged, well-dressed and with a curious smile. He did not seem hostile, but I had to remain in character. So with a slight slur, I spoke:
“So is this the orgy room. I was thinking, a bar like this had to have one, right? Get me a piece of boy ass — they somehow get even better when worked in unison. But where are they?”
“I would not know. I only come here on special occasions, to the bar, that is. But my friend, it looks to me like you have premium boy ass at your table already. I hope you are not the jealous type because I must confess I checked them out. Those tight ripped jeans… they sure are begging for a shredding. So do you really need to go looking for a backroom orgy with that fine collection of butt at your table?”
The man spoke with a smile and winked. I had not seen him in the bar earlier, and there was something behind his friendly facade as if he was probing for weakness or falseness.
“Sure, sure… and those lips. Cocksucker lips. Boys like that should come with bright orange warning labels. Handle with caution, or your balls may fall off before they let go. But hey, I like a challenge,” I said and slapped him on his shoulder.
“And no doubt a young man who hooks up with you is also looking for a challenge. I bet the average boy is too meek to handle what you have, body and soul. My man, you have some sizeable muscles and not those gym muscles, but raw big-dick power kind of muscles. If you aren’t elite-force military or special weapons and tactics, then those institutions have truly fallen under false sensibilities,” he said as he returned the friendly slap with a slap on my shoulder. I sensed again, both in his precise touch and in his questioning, that he was not merely a horny patron of the bar hoping to disrobe Charlie in all his glory.
I am no actor. It does not come naturally to pretend. Truth guides me. So when the man asked me again why I had come back here ostensibly in search of the tight warm grip of a backroom boy butt, I resorted to truth, though carefully selected to serve the mission.
“You see, in all honesty, I was hoping to find some hot blonde mid-Western boy ass. I had heard rumours this place was a great place to add that delicious spice to what we plan for later with the boys we already have collected, as it were. You are right, I am military, or ex-military I should say. I once had an amazing experience on a stopover back from Afghanistan. Some junior-level bureaucrat from the State Department had been sent over to debrief us in our run-of-the-mill barracks and fill out the proper forms before returning home. You know how they are, the state bureaucrats. You do right? Which profession hasn’t butted heads with them? Right? Rules and regulations fucking everywhere.”
The man was not falling for my tricks. He played his cards close to the vest. So I continued my pseudo-drunken loquacious routine.
“My team, that is me and four other guys, proper men, we were getting really annoyed at this guy — Nate was his name. So much bureaucratic timidity, trivial stuff, and checking boxes for its own sake. We had two weeks of a rough mission behind us — blood, sweat, sand and raging male hormones in abundance. And zero fucking.”
“Talk about something that should come with bright orange warning labels,” interjected the well-dressed man.
“Definitely. And to make it worse — or, as it tuned out, better — Nate was superbly fuckable. He had that mid-Western simpleness about him, great body, perky in all the nice places, probably from all the Wisconsin cheese he grew up on. You just look at him for a few seconds and all you can imagine is his blushing face and tight ass grip around the dick. We’re both men, you know what I am talking about.”
“So yeah, when he dropped his bureaucrat facade for a second and checked out the crotch on one of my guys, we called him Stallion, if you get my drift, well we knew our mission. Nate practically begged for it. He wanted to be stripped of his grey uniform and the limp role he was meant to play. He wanted to submit to some actual primordial force. Some missions are carved in stone, timeless and the opposite of optional.”
“So we ripped every last piece of clothing off his body. Easy. And his dick jumped out, slapped hard against his belly. The boy even moaned before we even had spread his butt cheeks. Fit body too. I guess all that desk work hadn’t ruined him completely.”
“We put Nate on his back on a table. We put a blanket on it first — we’re not barbarians. Stallion, in addition to a sizeable dick, had a sizeable appetite for buttocks, so he got down first and slurped on those two big beauties Nate had served up on the table. Pink blushing ass, twitching in anticipation, nice stuff, wouldn’t you say?”
The man nodded and made some vague remarks in favour of my statements. He still would not disclose anything. But he appeared interested in what I was saying nonetheless. I reasoned he might yet divulge something about himself and his desires — stories of snug pants, and gang-banged butt had been known to do so.
“You put a boy naked on a table and things happen. It is only natural. It is a good bonding experience too. He sucked so eagerly on my dick and even though his entire body was bobbing up and down as my guys pounded his butthole real good, he kept his aim on my dick precise and just perfect. That takes skill. Some bottoms are impressive. There ought to be a medal for that. Or an Olympic sport. I bet there was a time when that was true.”
“So yeah, we kept at it. In that windowless bland compartment of the barracks, we made that sweet Midwestern blonde boy whimper and moan. When I mounted Nate, held him tight and poked him deep inside, he squirted his third load, hands-free, while his butt just gripped and quivered around me. How do they even do it? It is like pleasure is running through their whole bodies.”
“Five dicks he managed. A true confidence booster to a boy like that — where are the self-help books covering that? Long story short, I was hoping for the rumours to be true and that I would find a boy like that, stripped of all pretence, beautiful and submissive, somewhere in this place. It is a cherished memory, something that stuck in my mind.”
“No doubt impressive,” the man said. “It is true that some forms of stimulation can reveal a great deal of things. It is a form of manly power. Some boy butts, they are quite something. My fingers have been guided by a higher power into many hundreds by now. I am both an expert and aficionado, one might say. I can’t name names, but let’s just say I’ve felt the squeeze and warmth around my fingers of many great guys. Do you know where Nate is now?”
“No luck there for your fingers. Last I heard he and Stallion were in service at some far-away embassy. I expect they have added hot primal sex into the arsenal of US diplomacy. Our strategic sex reserve is well stocked. The honest and good way to do geopolitics,” I slurred as I concluded my story. Nate had indeed been a good boy. I am sure he and Stallion have become great men. I should reach out to them.
At this point, we arrived back at the table. My interrogator and Charlie exchanged seductive glances, but nothing more than pleasantries were spoken. The man walked over to hug Luke and Ganesh.
That was when Charlie whispered to me: “I think, he could be, Doctor Matthew. Nels wrote about a guy that fits that description. Some gentleman, top sartorial taste, who fingered Nels to a throbbing hands-free orgasm.”
Sharp eyes on Charlie.
I walked closer to the man, to the presumed Doctor Matthew, who was stroking Luke’s thighs and saying something about the significance of gold in the definition of truth.
As I stood next to Ganesh, I put my hand on his pert butt. I squeezed. The most natural thing, not at all cause for suspicion. However, just below the yoga pants waistband, Ganesh had stashed a few miniature radio transmitters attached to small batteries. These things were barely visible—perfect to tag and track things and persons. So as much as I enjoyed fondling Ganesh’s fabulous butt that could bend and flex in all kinds of ways, my aim was one of said transmitters.
“So I have things to attend to, sadly. Duty calls. Another time maybe,” said Doctor Matthew as he declined the invitation to sit down and take his explorations of Luke’s thighs another couple of inches further up the leg.
“Best of luck in your mission. Somewhere I’m sure a blonde Midwestern boy is waiting to grow from your command,” said Doctor Matthew to me by way of goodbye. I reached over and gave him a drunken manly hug to show my appreciation.
That was when I planted the radio transmitter in his jacket. In the next 36 hours, give or take, the battery-powered radio transmitter would reveal the Doctor’s position. I could then track him at a safe distance and see where he travelled.
I am writing these remarks in the journal having done so. He drove northwest after he had left BART. After a few hours, he stopped deep in the dark countryside. The tracker tells me he is inside a large mansion within a sizeable estate. This is not something even the wealthiest doctor could afford, no matter the skills of his fingers.
And why drive here so late and with such urgency when the offered alternative was to suck and tickle all of Luke’s delicacies? The story did not add up.
The only logical answer: Nels. My clumsy investigation at BART must have sounded some alarm bells. The Doctor, no doubt, had decided to run his findings up the chain of command. Target acquired.
