Elementary, snidely

But I don't understand how you can just stand here, out on this beach, and declare that Jason Dunn has run away with his college football offensive team coach and lost his virginity, Doctor Klein. The Dunn's paid us to find their son, and I very much doubt they will be amused with the elaborate and very offensive story you've come up with by way of explanation."

"It's elementary, Snidely. And if you'll just take another stroll down this beach with me while we're waiting for the police, I'll show you how easy it is to work out."

Klein didn't wait for an answer; he just strode off down to the water line, puffing on his pipe, swinging his walking stick, and looking at the sand, and then turned south. With a slight shrug, Snidely followed him.

"Here, what do you see there, Snidely?"

"Footprints. Footprints on the wet sand. I don't see what that proves, Doctor."

"Observe the footprints and learn, Snidely. How many pairs of footprints do you see?"

"Two."

"And are they the same?"

"Well, no. one set is dug in more than the other and is set at longer strides."

"Precisely. Let's follow them. Oh, by the way, what is their relationship to each other?"

"They are proceeding side by side," Snidely answered.

"Very good. But what do we have here, now?"

"They appear to have stopped and to have come to facing each other, almost toe to toe."

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Bottomboy for mexicans

Raul and I were eating in a restaurant when a cute young tourist came in. As all of the tables were occupied, he looked around, and seeing me motion to him, came to sit at our table. He was the same age as Raul, 18 years old, and I was attracted to him immediately, although my usual preference is for dark-skinned Mexicans. But this Gringo boy was exceptionally nice-looking: light-brown hair, green eyes, about 5 feet 7 inches and a nice, thin-but-not-skinny build. He, knowing a little high school Spanish, and Raul hit it off right from the start. They both had caps on backwards, stereo headphones around their necks, and were soon trading and listening to each other's music.

Tommy tagged along with us back to my hotel. Raul and I had something to do there, and I was trying to think of a nice way to get rid of the Gringo kid. I finally decided to let him know what we had planned.

"Tommy, you can come up to the room if you want, but you might not like what you see there." He asked, "What's that?" "Well, Tommy, you see, I'm homosexual. I'm going to give Raul a blowjob." "Really? Is he gay?" "No: he's straight; I'm gay." Tommy looked puzzled then said, "Hey, that's cool! No problem!"

Back at the room, Raul stripped in front of us. He knows I like to see him naked. He is in real good condition from all of that soccer he plays. He's about 5 feet 6 inches, good posture, flat stomach, well defined but not bulky, muscles; just perfect for me.

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Action hero

He's my hero. I'm his greatest fan. Who is he? Why, he's Action Hero, of course. That's right, Action Hero. You know him. He's on TV every Saturday morning hosting those morning shows like the ones you used to watch when you were growing up. Now, I'll get to meet him for the first time. My dad just became his agent.

"Hi, Billy, I'm Action," he thrust his hand forward to shake mine. His grip was so tight and so strong my palm sweated. He wore his full uniform, red from head-to-toe, with the white star on the blue band that runs across his chest. Wow! What a chest!

"Are those really your muscles?" I asked impulsively referring to the incredible bulges everywhere. Did I say that? It wasn't just his biceps and thighs. Action's suit fit his every muscle. When my eyes wondered down to his crotch I saw more than I ever expected. His uniform didn't fit that way on the Wheaties box.

He smiled from under his mask. His eyes lit up. His teeth sparkled, just like on TV. The ends of his mouth curled up and his smile broadened. Although, he looked as sinister as he did sincere like when I'm pulling a fast one on my friends. All I can tell you is I wanted to kiss him right then and there. Could he know that as I grew up I used to play with myself in bed at night dreaming about him? Boys are supposed to dream about cars and guns and sports, they say, and eventually about girls. But, I creamed over Action. He's my Hero and always will be.

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Stake my life on it

I was putting lip gloss on Andre's soft, bilious lips. He laid quietly, a look of indifference on his face but I paid it no attention because his heart lay just under my left arm and I could feel it thumping excitedly in his scant chest. His rigid dick bobbled idly, just south of my elbow but he maintained that look of apathy.

"Does nothing for me," His face seemed to insist, right on up to when his anxious dick would explode, lobbing heavy rosettes of abundant cum into the air.

I painted the shiny substance across his lips, my face inches from his as I worked. He lay quietly, staring up off into the distance, his heart still doing that loud pounding beneath my arm. That insouciance that amazed me in the beginning, held little sway over me now, my utter attraction to him more powerful than my fascination.

Andre excited me like no other and I was a helpless victim of his allure. He captivated me, ensnaring me in his mystifying stranglehold--those eyes, the veiled windows to his soul, temptingly soft yet annoyingly mischievous. Were they really saying no or was it just a pretense to what ticked away inside?

He yawned, his lips parting to reveal his slight overbite. I stopped, glancing down at his thin, graceful form. His skin smooth, he looked like a boy in early pubescence, despite his 22 years. Passing my hand across his hairless chest, I gently caressed a nipple until it responded, standing briskly at attention. His dick twitched, bobbling up and down several times, a clear pearl of anxious juice oozing out.

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I know what i want in brussels

The best part of being 52 years old is that you know what you want, and you know how to get it.

Whenever I travel to Brussels, I try and stay in a particular business hotel near the city center. The rooms are fine, but the real attraction is swimming pool and sauna on the top floor. After a cold wet winter day, there's nothing better than some heat. Plus you get to see some skin. After being covered up in heavy clothes, coats, hats and gloves all day, the sight of bare flesh is somehow just that much more appealing.

After nearly a week of being in Brussels and the typical winter weather, an evening at the pool was definitely on the agenda.

I thought I'd start out with swimming a few laps in the pool. My military background instilled a work ethic in me and I liked to keep in shape. Over the years I've found a firm body helps you get what you want when it comes to man-to-man sex, and I'm all man - bald head, brown eyes, heavy beard stubble, hairy chest and legs, well-defined pecs, flat stomach, standing just under 6 feet tall and a solid 175 pounds.

Passing through the locker room, there didn't seem to be much happening. I surveyed the scene at the pool a single man about my age fully clothed lying on a lounge chair reading a paper, a slightly younger couple swimming in the pool, and a young female pool attendant straightening up chairs and picking up towels. None of what I was looking for.

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Bradley stoke

A couple of years ago, I had to spend a few days at Bradley Stoke, just outside Bristol, to attend an IT development conference with a couple of other guys from my company. Someone way up high at head office in London had thought it might be a good idea to have a few people go along to it, just to see if anything significant might be said in any of the talks, and my name - somehow - was chosen to be one of them.

"Chances are, it'll be a waste of time," I remember saying to Michael Adams, one of the other people to have been volunteered as an attendee.

He smiled and shrugged. "Maybe. But it'll be a few days away from the same old same old... that's gotta be good..."

I was going to whinge a little more but reminded myself that Michael was, while in a totally different department to me, quite a few rungs of the ladder my superior. I thought it best, at least for the time being, to be more guarded and so I just smiled back and nodded. Like it was no big deal.

He went on, "I must say I don't much like losing a couple of evenings out of my week, but... you never know... the three of us guys might have a laugh together..."

"Yeah, I was meaning to ask about that - who's the third person?" I hoped it might be someone I knew.

"Wesley Simmons from sales..."

I shook my head. "Don't think I know him..."


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A plan to get uncle to pay for a car

My name is Bob. I am just about 19 and I live with my widowed mother. (My fathers insurance policy made my mother and I also very well off.) We have a nice house in a small town in Southern California and we have a good life. My mother is into clubs for charitable and environmental purposes in which she is active. I am still in high school since I was out with rheumatic fever for a year and a half when I was 14.

My health now is very good and I have no noticeable problems. Well, almost no problems. I found out I was gay and I became very addicted to men and boys until I saw a psychiatrist who told me I was perfectly normal as homosexuality is as normal to nature as heterosexuality is. It is only society that fails to realize that fact. The doctor told me to read a couple books he suggested and to follow the rules of self control as outlined.

Enough about me.

In another small town twenty miles away, I have an uncle, an aunt, a boy cousin and a girl cousin. My cousins and I share an uncle on my mothers side who is what some people would think of as rich and he is a bachelor. Uncle Carter lives forty five miles further north from my cousins and all are on a modern interurban rail line.

One day, I got a cell phone call from my cousin Carter also 19 (named after my "rich" uncle for obvious reasons) whom we all call Cart and my girl cousin Virginia, whom we call Gin. Gin was having her 18th birthday party that night so I thought it was an invitation when Cart called me on my cell phone and asked me to come visit for a couple days and my mother thought it was a good idea as I dont mix socially enough with my extended family for her tastes.

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The bandit and the brakeman

I met Jerry during the last robbery we pulled off with me still part of the gang. At least, I guess you could say we met. Jerry always gave me a look when I used to put it that way, but I don't know how else to say it, really. The Bell Creek Siding Robbery was back in `77. That set up was such a natural, I couldn't figure out why nobody'd ever pulled it off before. Of course, once we'd done it, they fixed the place with a guard so nobody'd try it again and get away with it, but it seemed like we was the first to see how the way they ran the train made everything so easy.

Bell Creek Siding was halfway up the mountains from Les Pubes down in the valley. Every couple of weeks, the night train carried the payroll for the mining camp. The train itself, of course, went on through and down the other side, heading for the delta. The train ran once a night, passing the Bell Creek Siding a little after midnight. Bell Creek was nowhere. The siding was just there for times when they needed to put some worktrain off to the side to let the night train go through. They kept a brakeman there full-time, though, because two months before some drunken pranksters had switched the tracks just before the night train passed and sent it off onto the siding. The engineer was a good man and he got the train almost stopped before it hit the end of the rails. Nobody was hurt, thank god, but the repairs cost the line a bundle. They added a quarter mile of track for safety and from then on they kept a man stationed all the time in the little shack up there. It was a boring job, nothing to do but make sure the switch was turned the right way when the trains came through; they'd put a man up there for a week and then take him off for a month, rotating four or five fellows through like that.

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A new experience

John and I had been mates for half of our lives. He was totally straight but I was more open-minded. His uncle lived near by and we often went round because he was a cool guy. He was known locally as the porn king, he had a nice little side line selling porno videos from adverts in the local paper. We often went round and watched some of his latest stuff.

One afternoon I was feeling a little horny so suggested to John that we called round his uncle's to see what the latest additions were. We set off with John telling me he only had about 30 minutes before he had to go to some family meal. Terry (John's uncle) had some hot action on screen when we arrived and we sat watching.

"I gotta go," John said getting up to leave.

"I'm gonna stay on if that's okay by Terry," I said.

"No problem man, I got some new stuff I gotta go through, a new line I'm gonna try, you can give me your opinion."

"Cool, sounds interesting," I said thinking what could he mean by new line. I sat on the sofa in my t shirt and shorts waiting for Terry to return. When he came back in he had changed into shorts as well but wasn't wearing a top now.

"Too hot today for heavy clothes," he said. I nodded; he reached behind the sofa and pulled out a box full of videos. "Gonna try this new stuff see how it moves." With that he put the video in and sat on the sofa next to me. The film started, looked normal two guys playing with a girl. One guy was fingering her whilst the other was getting his cock sucked. Then the guy with his cock on her mouth reached down and started stroking the other guys cock. I had such a sexy feeling watching this, looked across I could see Terry had a hard on. Mine was hard but seeing this made me harder, he looked down before I could hide it, "I can see this shit will sell well."

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The cab fare

So it's a quiet night. Sometimes summer can be like that - everyone's out of town on holiday, sunning themselves in Ibiza and Mykonos. The rest of us are still trying to get along, same old same old. It's darker in this corner of Soho, unlike the bright lighting behind me on the main road; the heart of "Theatreland" where ten glossy shows are tempting the passers-by with neon reviews a meter tall. I'm just sitting watching the world go by my window - hot boys off to the clubs, young couples out for a meal, Chinese families off to meet in Chinatown, curious tourists and rowdy lads looking in the sex shops. But the dark streets are also haven to pushy beggars, down-and-outs with their loaded shopping trolleys, shifty pimps shadowing their girls as they weave through the dark alleyways, the pushers hanging on the corner waiting for business and the furtive punters who keep greasing the wheel. It's seedy and alive, and I'm in the heart of it waiting for the call on the radio. Everyone wants to go home sooner or later.

We're the best firm in London - gay cars for gay people it started out - and many Soho visitors know it's the only safe way home if you can't face queuing for an hour for the Night Buses. We have our regulars, and we do accounts for the media firms, theatres and cinemas in the area, and we get a lot of straight women who insist to their boyfriends that they want to use us too. It's a real mixed circuit, but we get only the best customers, loyal and good tippers too. And the perk of the job, sitting here in the queer center of the city, is cruising the pretty boys and sleek young men as they laugh and joke over a latte in the pavement cafs or strut past the bars and restaurants, self-consciously on display. Eventually they pair off or find their friends, and then they walk up to our base and book a ride home.

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