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Ed and I found out that we'd been seconded to Section H-2 late in
the day. That's how it always is, especially in the Department of
Homeland Security. We work for ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement,
which DHS took in after it was established as a department in 2002. Many
Americans don't know that creating DHS caused more inefficiency from
bureaucratic confusion and duplication than any benefit from coordinating
different agencies.
We were very much in demand since we'd captured Ibn-el-Saud while
he was trying to enter the U. S. from Mexico a couple of months ago. The
"suits" and paper-shufflers (different names for the same thing)
especially viewed us as a couple of super-cops, but in reality our
accomplishment had been a combination of hard work and luck, mostly the
latter.
The request from the agent in charge of H-2 carried a lot of
weight, because Section H-2 was one of the few that performed real
enforcement to keep our country safe. Most of DHS consists of people who
conduct studies, deliver lectures, brief politicians, generate reports
that nobody reads, and review and criticize the actions of the few who do
the real work. The American people got a good view of how DHS really
works after Hurricane Katrina, when avoiding blame seemed to be the
highest priority among the bureaucrats. Ed and I, on the other hand,
carry badges and guns, and have powers of arrest. While working with H-2,
we'd have special powers of arrest. We wouldn't need warrants for
searches or arrests because H-2 deals directly with terrorism.
Given all this, our supervisor in the Special Operations Section
couldn't refuse the request for our services. He told us to go home and
pack, but that we'd be working in civilian clothes this time. He added
that tickets for the first flight out would be waiting for us at the
airport the next morning. The destination was Colorado Springs via
Denver. I didn't like this because Colorado Springs is a very expensive
place to live and our government per diem probably wouldn't cover our
actual expenses. The government allots us a certain amount per day and if
it isn't enough, tough shit.
On our last assignment, we were lucky that Stan, an old friend and
station supervisor, had put us up in his spacious house near the Mexican
border. This time we couldn't count on being as lucky because we didn't
know anybody in Section H-2. We arrived in Denver and as we walked out of
the arrivals area we saw a guy who carried a sign with our names. He
looked about our age, mid-thirties, muscular, with brown hair and eyes.
We introduced ourselves and showed him our ID, as we were all in civilian
clothes. His name was Fred and he was the agent assigned to us. He led us
out to a Ford Crown Victoria, the standard issue police vehicle for most
agencies, and we began the long drive down to Colorado Springs.
"It's too late to go to the office, so I'm going to take you to
your motel," Fred told us. Tomorrow morning I'll take you in to meet
the supervisor and he'll give you the details. For now, just relax and
enjoy yourselves."
I-25 is congested during most of the day, but at four P.M. it was
literally bumper-to-bumper in Colorado Springs. The town has no actual
Main Street, and I-25 is the main route home for almost all commuters.
"I'm sorry, but this is about the only motel your per diem will
cover," Fred said as he drove into the driveway. I understood his
apologetic manner, as the motel looked like a dump, poorly maintained and
dirty. I hoped the room wasn't too dirty, because I definitely didn't
relish having to decide between going to a high-priced motel and sleeping
on the streets. Fred had made reservations for us and we checked in.
There was a Denny's across the street and when Fred saw that I was
looking at it, he said:
"For your first night in town you shouldn't have to eat over
there. Come on over to my place and I'll fix a good meal for you" We
left our baggage in the room and climbed back into the car. Fred lived in
a small apartment with a small living room, a kitchen with a table for
four, and a bedroom with a queen size bed in it.
"I'm sorry I can't put you up while you're here, but you see
the size of my place. I had an ulterior motive bringing you here. I
wanted you to see that place so you'd understand I wasn't being
inhospitable. Anyway, I hope the food can make up for it." It did. Fred
cooked a splendid repast of spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, and
salad. He broke out a large bottle of red wine to accompany the meal, and
after eating we sat in his living room finishing off the bottle.
I'd noticed that he had a statue of naked Greek wrestlers on a
side table. This wasn't conclusive, but during casual conversation he
told us that he'd never been married. Ed spoke up:
"Well, we've never been married either. Jack and I share a house
outside of Washington." Fred nodded thoughtfully and took another sip of
wine.
"I like your statue," I said, taking the plunge.
"I'm glad you do," he replied. "It's nice that we have
something in common, something out of the ordinary. Did you have any
special plans for the evening?"
"We were planning to go back to the motel and get naked after
dinner," Ed said. "However, we're lucky to get to meet somebody new."
"Well, then let's get acquainted," Fred declared. He stood and
began removing his clothes. We followed his lead. Our eyes were on each
other's crotches as we disrobed. We stacked our clothing neatly on the
couch, and then Fred led us into the bedroom.
"I'm really lucky tonight," he commented as we sat side by side
on the bed with him in the middle. "Two uncut guys together. It's hard
to find even one guy who hasn't been cut." I'd noticed his bare-headed
prick when he'd disrobed, the small helmet set off by a thick brown scar
behind it. I knew he couldn't have missed our long, pendulous foreskins.
He reached out to either side and wrapped his fingers around our pricks.
I clasped his glans between two fingers and began squeezing it gently.
The head was smaller than his shaft and when I lifted it I saw that he
still had his frenulum.
"You've still got your gee-string," I commented.
"At least the doctor hadn't cut that off during the circumcision," he
said. "Like most guys they did it to me when I was born. I wish I'd
been born in Canada. My sister married a Canadian and she just had a baby
in Winnipeg. The doctor didn't even ask her if she wanted the boy cut.
They hardly do that anymore up there."
"Not like here," Ed said. "Last year my sister had a boy, and she and
her husband almost had to fight off the doctors who wanted to slice him.
Lucky she married a lawyer. When the doctors found that out, they backed
off real fast." We were all hard now, and I appraised Fred's prick. He
had a thick shaft and the rim of his glans was slightly smaller than the
diameter of his shaft. Overall, his prick was about 5-1/2" long, slightly
shorter than ours. It had a big vein on the right side and a slight
upward curve. His scrotum was average like mine, and was rapidly
tightening with excitement.
"I love playing with uncut natural cocks," Fred confessed. "They're a
real turn-on for me. Mind if I jack both of you? I love the see the come
spurting out of the skin."
"Okay," Ed said. "What do you want us to do for you?
"Well, I've heard of docking, but I've never done it. It sounds so
thrilling, but since almost everyone around here is cut, I didn't have
much opportunity. One uncut guy I knew was willing, but his skin was too
short for my head to fit into him. Both of you have lots of skin, more
than enough to take me."
"Well, you decide which of us you want to dock with," I suggested.
"How about with Ed?" Fred asked. "Either one, really. You've both got
lots of skin."
"You stroke me until I come, and then he'll dock you," I said. "Maybe
you and Ed can come together."
"That sounds great," reflected Fred. "It'll be something really new
for me."
"Better than that," I added. "You'll be head to head with him inside
his foreskin, and when he comes you'll feel his helmet throbbing against
yours. If you come together it'll be heaven." This possibility seemed
to fire him up, and he began working my foreskin in long, sensual
strokes.
"Stop doing me," suggested Ed. "You don't want me to come before I
dock you." Fred immediately stopped stroking Ed's foreskin, devoting
all his attention to mine.
"I like the way your skin comes all the way up to cover the head and
then some," Fred told me. "Now I pull it down and the entire head
sticks out. The head's so shiny and purple."
"I've got a helmet-type head," I said. "So do you. So does Ed."
"Yeah, but you both have such big helmets," Fred replied. "They look
really nice. I like the way they smell, too. I wish my cock smelled manly
like that." Fred's long strokes on my prick was causing me to release a
steady drip of natural lube, and as it seeped from my orifice each upward
stroke captured the drops and spread them over my glans on the downward
stroke.
"You're doing a good job on Jack," Ed commented. "His balls are tight
against his body now."
"His cock's juicing a lot too," Fred added. "Mine doesn't juice as
much." Now I lay back on the bed while Ed reached over to cup my balls.
His other hand reached for a box of tissues on the bedside table.
"Wow, your tip's getting really dark purple too," Fred said. "Mine
doesn't get that dark."
"That means he's getting close," Ed advised. He was right on
the mark. I felt a tickle begin in my rim, slowly spreading over my
glans. Fred's eyes glittered as he worked my long hood up and down,
bringing me closer to the point of no return with each stroke.
"I'm tingling..." I whispered as my eyes closed. The heavy
tingle filled my glans and then shot down my shaft to the root, where it
triggered my orgasm. I felt the first surge of hot cream rushing up my
tube just as Fred's strong fingers snapped my foreskin down, and it
slammed through the lips of my orifice into the air. Fred's pulled my
foreskin all the way up as my second torrent of white juice shot through
my prick, and I felt it rushing through the pucker of my thick hood.
I was crying out in ecstasy, wracked by intense sensations,
mindless of anything but the hot thrills shooting through my body. Fred
gave me another rapid stroke and brought another hot rush of semen to
gush from my foreskin tip. Now he changed his stroke to small jiggles,
perhaps because he sensed that my uncut helmet was becoming overly
sensitive. Another contraction gripped the root of my prick and sent a
fourth jet hurtling up my throbbing shaft and helmet. I was gasping and
writhing when the fifth discharge erupted, and then my jets changed to
dribbles because I was nearly drained.
I was not slipping away into the daze that follows orgasm, relishing the
afterglow and the sense of total relaxation that filled me. I was barely
aware of the dabbing at my prick, sopping up the excess cream. Later,
when I opened my eyes, I saw Ed slipping my foreskin fully forward over
my shrinking glans.
"That was awesome," I complimented Fred. "You really drained me." I
noticed that both of them were fully hard, no doubt aroused by watching
and feeling me come. I also knew that Fred was looking forward to being
docked.
"Oh, I know it," answered Fred. "Your dick was throbbing hard while
you were coming. You really shot through your skin. Some of it landed on
your chest. That first shot went up three feet."
"Thanks to you," I countered. I knew that, while Fred lacked expertise
in stroking natural pricks, he more than made up for it in enthusiasm. Ed
naturally always enjoyed these sessions, and I knew he too looked forward
to docking Fred.
"Okay, Fred, just lie on your side facing me," Ed coached. I moved to
make room for them, and within seconds they were lying on their sides,
with Ed guiding the tip of Fred's prick against his own. Ed had stripped
back his hood to let his slippery wet helmet rub against the front of
Fred's, and now he moved it in small circles around Fred's engorged
glans.
"Aaaaahhhhh!" Fred sighed as the sensations flooded into his prick. I
reached over them to cop their scrotums, already tight against their
bodies. Now Ed began slipping his copious hood over Fred's swollen
glans. The many times Ed and I had docked it had been a tight fit because
although our foreskins are long and roomy, we both have large helmets.
Fitting Fred's small tip inside was no problem at all, and within a
couple of seconds Ed had it totally engulfed.
Fred continued to sigh as he felt his glans being blanketed and stroked
by thick warm foreskin, giving him a new thrill he'd only dreamt of
before. I began gently kneading their balls through the thick wrinkled
skin, confident that I was adding to their sensations. Fred was so worked
up he began thrusting his prick deeper into Ed's long foreskin. Ed
slowly stroked the end of his foreskin over Fred's small helmet.
"Now just let things happen naturally," I coached Fred. "It's going
to be the greatest feeling in the world for you. Just relax and enjoy
it."
"Can we come together?" he asked Ed and me.
"Maybe, but that's not important," Ed replied. "Even if we come one
after the other, you'll still feel my tip throbbing against yours when I
let go. You'll still be shooting inside my foreskin, and you'll feel me
shooting my loads against your head."
"How do you feel now?" I asked Fred.
"My tip feels so warm inside that skin," Fred answered. He was still
thrusting, and I continued kneading his balls. I noticed that Ed had
begun twisting his foreskin as he stroked it over Fred's glans, giving
him the delicious sideways movements that were so effective around the
corona.
"My tip's starting to tingle," Fred whispered. At this point I
wondered what he'd do while coming. Would he cry out? Would his entire
body tense? I already had a part of the answer when I saw his stomach
muscles tighten.
"I'm getting it too," Ed murmured as he continued stroking
Fred's tip with the long thick sleeve. I knew that he was feeling the
thrusts against the big front dome of his glans as Fred bucked his hips.
The muscles in Ed's jaw clenched, but his eyes remained fixed on where
their two pricks joined between them.
It's rare for two guys to start coming at the same instant, and
now I heard Ed cry out as his first discharge filled his foreskin. I
could imagine Ed's hot cream jetting against the front of Fred's helmet
and then swirling over the rim on top and around the corona. This would
push him over the edge. A moment later Fred howled in joyous release as
his prick began to empty itself into Ed's roomy foreskin.
As I was cupping their balls, my fingers pressed into the delicate
flesh behind them, and I felt the pulses of orgasm as each discharge
rushed up their tubes. Fred thrust again and Ed roared with delightful
agony as they came again. I knew Ed released tremendous discharges as I
did, but it seemed that Fred was also a big shooter. Ed's foreskin was
distended with their cream, and some began to leak from where the end of
his foreskin was wrapped around Fred's shaft. There was a lingering odor
of chlorine from my ejaculations, but now more floated up to me as the
trapped semen hit the air. I released Ed's balls and grabbed a wad of
tissues to place under their throbbing pricks.
I knew that they were enhancing each other's orgasms as their
discharging helmets hammered against each other. Both were crying out in
blissful agony, caught up in the frenzy of orgasm, totally focused on the
rapturous sensations in their throbbing pricks. For my part, I was
vicariously enjoying their sensations, as I had vivid memories of the
feeling of going head to head with another guy inside his foreskin or
mine.
Now their movements seemed less frenzied, less urgent, as they
were nearing the end of their climaxes. It was obvious that they would
end up totally drained, as I had, and would slip into the beautiful and
relaxing daze, as I had. I carefully held the tissues under their pricks
because I knew that, when they began to soften, a heavy gush of white
cream would drain from Ed's distended foreskin.
After a few minutes, when we were all recovered from our torpor,
Fred suggested that we take a shower. It was cramped in his shower stall,
which was as diminutive as the rest of his apartment, but we relished the
flow of hot water over our bodies. Fred was very obvious about staring
enviously at our heavy-ended pricks, the bulging helmets covered by our
pendulous foreskins. He enjoyed watching us pinch the ends of our
foreskin nipples, making the hoods distend as we peed inside them, and
even pinched mine a couple of times.
After we'd dried ourselves and dressed he drove Ed and me to our
motel, still apologetic about not having the room to put us up for the
night. In parting, he said he'd pick us up at 7:30 in the morning.
Ed and I were on the sidewalk in front of the motel at the
appointed time. We'd slept well, happy that the motel had turned out to
be cleaner than it had looked at first sight. Fred turned up right on
time, and drove us to the H-2 office, where he turned us over to the
agent in charge, Sam. The office seemed strangely empty.
"As you can guess, we're understaffed," Sam began. "Fred's
the newest agent, and the only one here at the moment." He picked up a
clipboard.
"Kyle and Justin are on an investigation in Maine. Tyler and
Trevor are in New Mexico. Jason and Mark are in Washington State. Troy
and Lance are in Florida. So you see, you two are almost my entire
resources at the moment, and we're sitting on what might be a hot
case." I shrugged noncommittally, conscious of the new SIG P229 in the
shoulder holster under my jacket. We'd just re-equipped with the new
pistols because the department had decided that the .357 SIG was a more
effective round than the old .40S&W our Glocks fired.
"We're really concerned about a pattern of chemical purchases by
a group of people in the Colorado Springs area. As you know, although
military and high-tech explosives are closely regulated, there's almost
no control over their precursor chemicals. Our office has an informal
arrangement with chemical supply houses to notify us when anyone but
long-time legitimate customers makes purchases of these chemicals. This
is like the Secret Service that tracks purchases of certain types of
paper and certain inks often used by counterfeiters. Look at this." He
turned to a computer monitor, tapped the keyboard, and a list came up on
the screen.
"These are recent purchases from supply houses around the
country. All are of only one chemical, so as not to arouse suspicion." I
knew what he meant. If someone bought several chemicals that, processed
together, would result in an explosive, it would be quickly obvious what
he had in mind. On the other hand, s**ttering the purchases would not
create a pattern.
"There's no obvious pattern," Ed said, echoing my thoughts.
"Right," said Sam. "The only way we became aware of this is
that these purchases from companies s**ttered around the country all went
to addresses in this area."
"Have you been able to establish any connection between the
buyers?" I asked.
"No, we've got nothing. That doesn't mean that we've tried.
That's why you're here. We haven't had the manpower to follow up on
any of this. That's your job. Get into our databases, from post office
to telephone companies, credit card companies, and others, and see if you
can find any connection between any of these people. My guess is that
there's a terrorist sleeper cell here preparing an attack involving
explosives. They're pretty sophisticated, if my hunch is right. This
won't be any cheap and dirty thing like Timothy McVeigh's ammonium
nitrate and fuel oil."
"The Denver area's a target-rich environment," Ed mused
thoughtfully.
"You're right again. The bottom line is that anyone could rent a
truck, fill it full of high explosive, and drive it to any of a thousand
big buildings and really do a number on it. We'd have no defense,
especially if it's a suicide bomber. That's why we have to find out
what going on before they act."
"I've heard that H-2 is tapped into all the intelligence
computers, right?" I asked.
"Right again. You can use the CIA, DIA, FBI, NSA, NRO, and other
databases. They have everything, even facial recognition software, and
you're authorized to get into anything you need." This news was
reassuring. We'd have the tools we'd need to follow up.
Most Americans buy into the myth that American law enforcement and
security agencies work together harmoniously to keep them safe. The real
picture is that they're all very territorial, protecting their turf, and
don't willingly release information to sister agencies. Even as far back
as the John F. Kennedy assassination, the FBI knew about Lee Harvey
Oswald, but kept the Secret Service in the dark. I was very glad that Ed
and I would be able to walk in and take what we needed instead of asking
and then waiting weeks for a reply.
Sam led us to a large workroom with several desks and tables, and
a dozen computer terminals.
"This is where you start. Dig for information. You'll probably
have to do some legwork too. Here are the keys to two cars, one for each
of you, out in the parking lot. They're not Crown Vics. They're too
obvious as cop cars. One's a Toyota Camry and the other's a Saab. I
doubt anyone would make them as official cars unless you do something
inexcusably stupid. Good luck." With that he left the room.
"I guess we can also make our own hours," Ed suggested to me.
"Yeah, sure, as long as we put in more than 40 hours a week," I
replied cynically. We set to work. It took hours to dig up a short
background history on all of the people on Sam's list. Now we had to
check it out. By this time it was after six, and we left for our motel,
taking the Camry. We ate a light dinner at Denny's and went to bed,
aware that we'd probably awake up early and want to get into the office
to resume our search.
The following morning we set out, after eating just toast and
coffee at Denny's, and arrived at the office at seven. We hadn't had
lunch the previous day, and we resolved not to miss a meal today.
I started by running photos through the CIA's facial recognition
software and database. A man named "Jim Walker" popped up as resembling
Mohammed Massoud, listed as a terrorist.
"He, maybe I've got something," I said to Ed. I showed him the
screen. "This is one I've got to check out personally," I added. He
nodded and went back to work as I left, after printing out Walker's
paperwork and putting it in a file folder.
My first stop was at the University of Colorado in Boulder, over
two hours' drive north. At the registrar's office I showed my
credentials and asked to see the records on Walker, who had supposedly
graduated with a degree in engineering ten years earlier. The registrar
confirmed that indeed James H. Walker had graduated with a degree in
engineering but the photo did not match the one in my folder. I thanked
her and left, speculating that Walker might actually have a degree in
engineering, but might have earned it at the University of Cairo or
Baghdad.
Back at the office I showed Ed and Sam what I'd discovered.
Checking with the telephone company's reverse directory disclosed that
Walker lived on a quiet residential street just outside Colorado
Spring's city limits, and that one of his neighbors was a retired U. S.
Marines Colonel. It was time for another field trip, albeit a much
shorter one.
Ed and I drove together in the Camry to Colonel Sturgess' house.
We introduced ourselves and elicited the information that, although the
Colonel didn't know Walker well, he had noted that he spoke with a trace
of an indeterminate accent that suggested that he wasn't a native-born
American. We thanked him and asked him to phone us if he thought of
anything else significant.
Back at the office a phone call to the U. of C. alumni association
revealed that James H. Walker was a member and that he was currently
working and living in Buffalo, NY. This reinforced our suspicion. Walker
in Colorado Springs wasn't the real Walker, because the real Walker was
currently at the other end of the country.
I sent a request to the Buffalo Police Department to verify that
there actually was a James H. Walker living at his listed address. This
was a routine request, and I was certain of the answer. Meanwhile, Ed
entered the local telephone company database to retrieve Walker's
billing records. They went back two years, as long as Walker had
supposedly been living here.
"Shit! We've missed lunch again!" Ed grumbled. It was now
quitting time, and we were just becoming aware that we were hungry. As it
was 5:30, we immediately took off for the parking lot. There we found
Fred waiting for us.
"Sam told me how hard you guys have been working," he said,
"and that you hadn't even taken lunch two days running. I've got a
roast in the oven at home, and the timer started it an hour ago. It
should be ready by the time we get there."
Ed and I gratefully followed him home in the Toyota, and when we
were inside his small apartment he immediately threw off his clothes. We
followed his lead and as usual he stared shamelessly at our pendulous
foreskins.
"I have to get dinner ready," he explained as he went into the
kitchen and donned an apron. He was definitely aroused because we saw the
bulge of his prick through the apron's fabric. We took seats at the
table and he poured glasses of wine for us, occasionally taking a sip
from his own glass as he mixed the salad and sliced the bread. A few
minutes later the roast was ready, and he pulled it out of the oven to
cool for 15 minutes before slicing it. Then he sat down.
"What have you been doing?" I asked gently. He'd been
unavailable to help with our investigation, and I was sure Sam had been
keeping him busy on other projects.
"Oh, Sam's had me tied down doing support work for the guys out
in the field. They send me queries and I do my best to give them what
they want. Then there are reports I have to send up the line, and all the
other stuff I have to take care of in what's really a two-man office.
Sam's been busy keeping in touch with the teams and I help him however I
can."
"I guess you've been reading our reports," Ed suggested. We'd
been writing terse reports of our progress in the investigation for Sam,
and it wasn't hard to imagine that Fred had been reading them.
"Oh, yes, I've been following you two with great interest,
mainly because Sam has too. You might be on to some of the most dangerous
characters in this country." Fred took another sip of wine.
"At least we've got an entry into the case now, with this guy
Walker," I said.
"I'd heard about the way you'd caught this guy Saud trying to
enter the country at the Mexican border," Fred said. "You did a
terrific job picking him out of all the people who try to get in every
day."
"It was mostly luck," Ed confessed. "We kept our eyes and ears
open, but in the end it was mainly luck." His excessive modesty
sometimes peeved me. After all, it had been Ed who originally drew my
attention to the disguised terrorist, and yet he refused all of the
credit.
"Well, it's slicing time," said Fred as he jumped up and
grabbed a knife and serving fork. Two minutes later we were wolfing down
the food, too busy chewing to speak. We finished the delicious meal
quickly and helped Fred with the dishes. We then finished the wine and
went into the bedroom again. Fred, who had remained half-hard during the
meal, was fully hard now, his eyes fixed on our crotches.
"I'd really like a three-way with you two," he confessed. "Any
way we can arrange it?" Normally we would have been tired, but between
the energy that his delicious meal had given us and the nervous tension
accrued from the day's work, we needed release at least as badly as he
did.
"Well, Ed and I could do Princeton," I began.
"I've heard the word, but what exactly is it?" Fred
interrupted.
"One guy puts on a condom and goes between the other guy's
legs," I explained. "While he's pumping his prick between his
partner's thighs he's stroking him."
"I'd love to watch you two guys doing that," Fred responded
with enthusiasm.
"You don't have to watch," I riposted. "You can be part of the
action. Ed can pump his prick between my thighs and you can be in front
docking with me. You docked with Ed last time, and now it's my turn."
"I've got some condoms," Fred offered. "I've got different
sizes, but I think you'll need the large size. Can I put it on you?" By
this time Ed and I were almost fully hard, and Fred gently stroked Ed's
long foreskin to firm up his erection. Now he skinned Ed back all the way
until his foreskin locked behind his rim in a thick fleshy ring and
unrolled the condom down Ed's shaft. I lay on my left side on the bed
while Ed slipped in behind me as I lifted my right thigh. I felt his
latex covered prick touch my perineum, sliding along it until the head
bumped my balls.
"Now Fred, you lie facing me," I said as I lowered my thigh,
encasing Ed's hard prick between my thigh muscles. Ed began thrusting
gently as I spread the forward edge of my foreskin to allow Fred to
insinuate his small helmet inside it. I felt a ripple of sensation when
the tip of his glans touched the blunt front dome of mine, and then I
clamped my fingers around my foreskin to hold it over Fred's tip while I
stroked.
"With luck we'll all come together," Ed said over my shoulder.
"Even if we don't, it'll be a hot ride for you."
"I'm sure it will," responded Fred as he felt my fingers
sliding my thick fleshy hood over his glans. "I docked with you the
other day, and ever since I've been wondering what docking with Jack
would be like."
"Disappointed?" I teased.
"Not at all," he said as he leaned forward to kiss me on the
lips. "Getting my tip docked by two hot uncut guys is just heaven for
me." He'd also begun to thrust, aroused by having his prick tip
enveloped in my warm fleshy foreskin, and I felt the end of his glans
compressing the blunt front dome of my helmet.
"Let's just maintain the pace," I coached him. "We can keep
this up for awhile, and the longer the build-up the hotter and more
intense our orgasms. Just relax and let the feelings build up
naturally."
"I found that out jacking off," Fred replied. "I can hold off
coming for an hour or more, until I just can't stand it any more, and
then when I let go it's out of this world. When I stroke hard because
I'm pressed for time, or just t get quick relief, it isn't as good."
Fred was as good as his word, gently thrusting as I worked my foreskin
lightly over his glans, thumbing his corona but avoiding hitting his hot
spot underneath. Ed continued thrusting at a measured pace, his glans
bumping my scrotum with each forward movement.
We rode the waves for half an hour, and I occasionally called a
halt when I felt we were getting too close. Then we lay still, Ed kissing
my shoulders and neck and Fred kissing me on the lips while I caressed
his neck tenderly.
"I've just got to let go," Fred finally said. "I can't hold
off any more." I squeezed his little helmet through the foreskin, and I
felt the responsive throb as his glans pressed against mine. Ed thrust
more quickly and I increased the pressure on his prick with my thigh
muscles. At the same time I stroked my foreskin faster over Fred's
turgid glans, thumbing his rim and pressing my index finger into the hot
spot under his helmet where the twin lobes meet. His thrusts grew more
urgent, as did Ed's and I knew we were close.
"Your tip's gotten harder," I told Fred. "You'll be popping
soon, and so will we. I'd begun to feel a tickle in the front dome of my
helmet where his rhythmic thrusts were compressing the nerve endings, and
Ed's rapid brathing told me he was getting there too.
"My tip's tingling," Fred cried out. Ed was thrusting hard now,
and I felt the tickle in my glans intensifying. We were within seconds of
blowing our loads, and the feeling of anticipation was overpowering.
"AAAAHHHH!" Ed cried out as I felt him pumping hard into me. I
gave Fred's helmet a heavy squeeze and he howled in response as his
first hot jet gushed against my tip and flooded my foreskin. His prick
was smaller than mine, but he shot a man-sized load. My eyes closed and
my helmet exploded in a hot tingle that shot down my shaft, triggering my
release, and I cried out helplessly, totally caught up in the frenzy of
orgasm.
Our bodies strained against each other as we blew another load,
Ed's prick throbbing hard between my thighs and Fred's hot hard glans
hammering against mine. Our hot sperm swirled around my corona, almost
burning the delicate nerve endings, and gushed over Fred's throbbing
tip. My third discharge was heavier yet, and I felt the heavy pulse in my
foreskin as it distended with the pressure.
We howled in joyous agony as the intense sensations swept over our
struggling bodies, sharing the magic moment of release and totally
unaware of the world outside our little haven. Our pricks throbbed again
and we shuddered in ecstasy.
Now our ejaculations had slowed to dribbles, but our bodies were
still enjoying the warm sensations. We were breathing hard, gasping and
grunting, suspended in timeless bliss, until we were still. I felt the
residue still seeping from my slit, lubricating the ends of our helmets
as they pressed together. Some liquid had leaked from the end of my
foreskin, filling the air with the odor of chlorine and dripping onto the
sheet.
After I'd opened my eyes, emerging from my daze, I saw Fred
smiling at me. I was still holding my foreskin tightly, trying to prevent
the thick, creamy fluid from dripping onto the sheet.
"Don't worry," he whispered in my ear. "I don't mind sleeping
on top of your come. In fact, I'll enjoy it." We got up and showered,
repeating the events of the first evening we'd been here. Fred was still
fascinated by how we pinched our foreskin nozzles when we peed.
"It's good to pee in the shower after sex," I said. "It
flushes out the system."
"And it's so much fun," he added. "We embraced tightly in the
cramped shower stall, and then turned off the water and dried ourselves.
As Ed and I got dressed I said:
"Since we've got our own wheels, you don't have to drive us
home. You just relax and sleep." He lay down on the bed, and both Ed and
I leaned down to kiss him goodnight.
Once we got to the motel, we stripped down and climbed into the
double bed we shared. Ed and I hugged as we talked.
"That was really nice tonight," he said. "Fred really drained
himself."
"I enjoy the way he's turned on by our pricks," I replied.
"He's very much into foreskins," Ed commented.
"So are we," I added before we fell asleep in each other's
arms.
In the morning we awoke, cleaned up, and got dressed before eating
a hearty breakfast at Denny's. The food lay heavily on our stomachs, but
we knew we probably wouldn't have lunch that day either.
"I really don't mind missing lunch," Ed commented to me as I
drove us to the office. I feel there's some urgency to this
investigation."
"Right," I responded. "We've got a good idea of what these
scumbags are planning, but we have no idea about their timetable." This
was the agonizing problem we faced. We were making progress, but we might
already be too late. An attack might be underway that very moment, and
we'd be forced to admit failure. It would be a catastrophic failure, one
that would go down in history.
At the office I went to work on the telephone bills, trying to
trace everyone with whom Walker had been in contact during his residence,
but starting with the most recent calls. I found a match between one
person he'd contacted and a name on the list of chemical buyers Sam had
given us, and passed it to Ed for follow-up.
Ed went to the address, and quickly found out that it was an
apartment house. The man, George Fellows, was apparently living alone,
had few visitors, and kept to himself. Neighbors described him as
secretive about his origins or occupation, and Ed told me upon his return
that he felt that he had no regular employment. Further, he'd been
living at that address only three months and nobody knew where he'd come
from. The apartment manager had a previous address in Springfield, IL,
listed, but when we checked that out we found it to be a warehouse. This
case was getting hot.
While Ed had been out in the field, I'd been busy. I'd found
another match, and as time seemed to be of the essence now, I got on the
computer and found this to be another apartment house. I got the phone
number of the manager, identified myself, and asked him about his tenant.
The apartment was in a seedy part of Colorado Springs, where the manager
didn't ask many questions because his tenant had paid several months'
rent in advance, in cash. This was no doubt the sort of situation where
the manager charged more than the rent and pocketed the difference in
return for his discretion.
Now it was noon, and Ed and I decided to pay this person, whose
name was Edwin Gowdy, a visit. When we confronted the manager, he gave us
more details. The man spoke with a pronounced foreign accent which he
couldn't identify, but which might have been Middle Eastern. Gowdy was
not home, but we picked the lock, something allowed us without a warrant
under the Patriot Act, and searched his apartment. On the desk was a list
of phone numbers, which I copied into my notebook. We locked up and left,
worried by the nagging concern regarding Gowdy's whereabouts. The
manager didn't know if he had a job, or where, so this was one more
loose end.
At the office further work disclosed another match, this time with
a man living on the south end of town in a private home. This man,
William Wood, checked out to be an American, but we knew that not all
terrorists were of foreign origin. McVeigh had been a blond, blue-eyed,
corn-fed American citizen, after all. We decided to ask Sam for help, as
we were stretched too thinly.
Sam assigned Fred to us, telling him that he could postpone his
routine work. I briefed Fred:
"We'd like you to stake out this guy Fellows. See when he comes
home, and where he goes afterward. Use your cell phone when you have
contact. Meanwhile, we're going to watch Gowdy's place." I gave Fred
our cell phone numbers and he left.
There was a diner down the block from Gowdy's apartment, and we
took a table inside near the window. We knew that two men sitting in a
car screamed "surveillance" to anyone with even modest training in
clandestine work, and we wanted to be inconspicuous. Many a case had been
"blown" by inept officers allowing themselves to be spotted. We took
advantage of the opportunity to eat, ordering sandwiches and paying for
them immediately so that we'd be able to leave in a hurry if we had to.
By five, we'd seen nothing and nobody. We'd been able to
retrieve a photo of Gowdy from CIA files, so we knew what he looked like.
We decided to continue the surveillance.
At seven a man resembling Gowdy pulled into the apartment house's
parking lot, and stepped out. He went inside, to re-emerge half an hour
later and get into the car again. We wished we'd had the resources to
install a tap on his phone, as we sorely wanted to know if he'd made any
calls and to whom. Lacking that information, we decided to follow him. I
knew that, stretched as we were, more counted on luck than anything else.
We'd had the foresight to bring both cars, so we were able to
follow him in stages, I taking the lead in my Toyota and then dropping
back after a couple of minutes to let Ed take the lead in his Saab.
Gowdy led us to Wood's house. Now we were certain that this was
more, much more, than coincidence. Gowdy remained inside for half an
hour, and then drove away in his car, a shabby Chevrolet in keeping with
his apparent lifestyle. He was headed towards home, so Ed and I conferred
by cell-phone and decided to take him down at his home. We sped up,
passed him, and arrived about a minute before he pulled in.
We were waiting in the parking lot when he arrived, bent over and
looking into the engine compartment of my car, which had the hood up.
Gowdy parked next to my car and we turned and grabbed him, slapping on
the handcuffs before he knew what was happening. We quickly patted him
down but he was unarmed.
There are several essential elements to an arrest: surprise,
speed, decisiveness, and overwhelming force. We weren't looking for a
gun battle in the style of Ruby Ridge or Waco. We wanted him alive and
well to milk him for information. We took him to the office and into an
interrogation room.
What are you doing to me?" he asked in a passable imitation of an
American accent.
"Go ahead, take off your clothes," Ed told him
"Who are you?" Gowdy asked, almost frozen in fear. I surmised
that he wasn't afraid for his safety or his life but of failure, and
right now it appeared that he was on the brink of failure in his
assignment, whatever that might be.
"Strip!" I shouted, and this made him move. He removed his
clothing and stood there with only his shorts on.
"Those too!" I ordered, pointing. He dropped his shorts. Gowdy,
like the terrorist we'd caught some months ago, was circumcised. All
Moslems are circumcised. This was absolutely inconclusive, almost
meaningless, because most American males in his age group had also been
circumcised. The scar didn't prove him to be Moslem in this context. He
could have been Jewish or Episcopalian, but maybe he didn't know that.
Ed walked up to him, put a finger under his glans, and lifted it as if to
show it to him.
"You have hotneh," he said. To an American the Arabic word for
circumcision would have been meaningless, but we both noted a flicker of
fear cross Gowdy's face. We had him.
"Where are you from originally?" I asked. He remained silent.
"Talk to me," I added. We were using the technique we called "Shock
and Awe." This doesn't rely on brute force, but surprise and keeping
the subject off balance. To be sure of obtaining good information, we
didn't ask leading questions, because it's a serious mistake to feed
the subject the answers. You get what you want to hear, but it may be
wildly inaccurate.
"Everybody talks," Ed reinforced.
"We know about Wood. We know about Walker. We know about Fellows
and the others," I said. I didn't add that we really knew jack shit
about these people, not as much as we would have liked to know.
"If you don't talk, we'll arrest Walker, Fellows, and Wood and
then let you go. We'll tell the newspapers that information provided by
you led us to them. Think of what that will mean for your family back
home," I bluffed.
It worked. The thought of being dishonored, and how it would
reflect on his family, broke him. He may also have been thinking that his
compatriots were ruthless and merciless, and would take reprisals against
his relatives for his treason. He told us he was part of a cell that was
planning to build a bomb that they were going to detonate outside a large
glass-fronted building in downtown Denver at the noon hour, when many
people would be on the sidewalk for their lunch break. He said that the
only member of the cell he knew was Wood, because of
compartmentalization.
This meant that if any member was apprehended, he would be unable
to identify the entire cell because he only knew one other member. This
was a common security measure with underground movements or sabotage
rings. He did add that he had delivered the chemical he'd ordered to
Wood's house a week earlier. At this point Ed and I decided we'd
extracted all we could from him, and we so informed Sam. Sam made a phone
call and afterward told us that two other government agents, "Smith"
and "Jones," from an unnamed agency would be coming to take Gowdy away.
Ed and I looked at each other, understanding that this did not
portend well for Gowdy's future. We remembered that after "Smith" and
"Jones" had taken Gilberto/Saud away, he'd never been heard from
again. In any event, we had more urgent tasks than concern ourselves
about Gowdy's future.
"I may be just guessing," Ed said, "but I think the most likely
place where the chemicals are stored and where they'll manufacture the
explosive is Wood's house. It's big enough, and looks like it has a
basement. We know it's got a three-car garage." I agreed.
"Look, it's now ten P.M. We've been up all day and we're
whacked out with fatigue. I think we ought to get some rest and take this
up in the morning. We can interview Wood's neighbors and see what his
lifestyle is like." Ed nodded and we drove to our motel in separate
cars.
Next morning, after a substantial breakfast, we drove to the
office to plan our day and to coordinate with Sam and Fred. Fred reported
that Fellows had come home at 11 P.M. and he'd then abandoned the
surveillance. Sam put him to work checking telephone billing records for
all suspects so far identified, as we wanted to build up a matrix of
probable contacts and members of the cell. Meanwhile, Ed and I were going
to drive out to try to glean information from Wood's neighbors.
We found his immediate neighbor very helpful. She was a housewife
with three school-age c***dren who told us that Wood was a print shop
owner with his business in town. He was single, but she didn't know if
he was widowed, divorced, or never married. She even allowed that he
might be gay, since only other men visited his home and she had never
seen him with a woman. He'd been living there five years, and seemed to
be a good neighbor, not causing anyone problems. However, he wasn't
overly friendly, keeping mostly to himself.
We thanked her and left. What she'd told us was helpful, but
hardly a smoking gun. Back at the office we conferred with Fred and Sam.
"We still think that Wood's house is the most likely place to
store the chemicals, mix them, and assemble the bomb," Ed said,
restating yesterday's conclusions.
"One of the most valuable bits of information we got from Gowdy
was that the cell is very compartmentalized," I added. "This impedes
us, but the good part is that we can take Wood down without alarming most
of the members. Even if one suspects Wood's been arrested, he can't
communicate his concerns to the others. I'd like to go there this
afternoon, search the house, and then bust Wood when he gets home."
"No, if you find something don't wait for him to get home," Sam
said. He might be alerted if he sees your cars outside or near his house,
and you two searching his house. It might be better to bust him where he
works. You can just walk in like any other customers and by the time he
realizes he's in trouble you'll have him cuffed." Sam was right. Ed
and I hadn't reasoned it out because we were foggy from fatigue.
"Okay, we'll do it that way then," I said. "We'll take our
ballistic vests with us in our cars, and if we find something conclusive
at the house, we'll go straight to his print shop and take him down."
"Can we have Fred stake out his shop?" Ed asked Sam. "I know
he's usually at work, but if for some reason he decides to go home early
it wouldn't do to have him surprise us."
"Do that," Sam told Fred. "You've got their cell phone
numbers, right? If you see Wood heading home, give them a ring so that
they can clear the area." Fred nodded, and we got up to leave.
Ed and I parked the Toyota down the block from Wood's house and
walked around the house, hoping to find an unlocked entry. Although we
didn't need a search warrant because of the urgency of the situation, we
preferred to walk right in rather than pick a lock. The house was locked
down tightly, and we saw that there were alarm tapes around the windows
and induction sensors on each door. I phoned Sam, asking him to contact
the alarm company and advise them that they were to disregard any alarm,
as a search was in progress.
I picked the front door lock with a kit I'd retrieved from the
car. It was a simple tumbler deadbolt lock, and I surmised that Wood
didn't consider a more secure lock necessary because of the alarm
system. Inside the house there were the usual furnishings in the three
bedrooms, the living room, dining room, and kitchen. One room was set up
as an office, with a desktop computer, fax machine, and a safe. We
couldn't guess what was in the safe and didn't have the skill or the
time to open it.
There was no basement but the garage was pay-dirt. We found drums
of chemicals, some liquid and some solid, as well as a mixing vat and
smaller containers presumably to hold the finished product. On a
workbench there was also a kitchen timer modified with electric wires
running from it, and I pointed this out to Ed:
"This may not be a suicide bomb attack after all. For that
they'd just need a switch. I guess the driver of the truck plans to
park, set the timer, and walk away, just like McVeigh did."
"I'll buy that," Ed replied. "Want me to phone Sam and tell
him what we found?"
"Yeah, you do that, and meanwhile I'll phone Fred on his cell
and confirm that Wood's still at his shop." After we'd finished our
calls we went to the car and brought back the ballistic vests. Inside the
house we removed our jackets and shirts and put on the vests, carefully
arranging our clothes to conceal the vests and the shoulder holsters we
wore under our jackets. As Fred had told us that Wood was inside the shop
with two of his employees we went there, arriving at four P.M.
We heard a bell ring as we entered the shop, alerting Wood that
customers were in his lobby. He came out to greet us, and I smiled and
extended my hand to shake his. As he grasped my hand I twisted his arm
behind his back as Ed grabbed his other hand, and we had him in handcuffs
in a couple of seconds. After we'd searched him we identified ourselves
to his employees, who had been attracted by the slight commotion, and
then drove Mr. Wood to the office.
"We found some very interesting material in your house," I began
after we'd sat him down in the interrogation room. It was empty because
"Smith" and "Jones" had collected Gowdy that morning. Wood said
nothing, but looked very dejected, as he understood that the chemicals
were very incriminating.
"Now we can do this the hard way or the easy way," Ed said
gently. "You're not charged with murder, and if you cooperate, with
luck you might get a light sentence. On the other hand, if you don't
cooperate and break our chops, the court can come down very hard on
you." This wasn't the good cop/bad cop routine you see on TV, but a
simple appeal to self-interest, and it worked like a charm.
Wood explained that he wasn't Moslem himself, but was working for
the terrorist network because they'd promised him a million dollars to
organize the cell and use his home for preparing the bomb. His contact
was a terrorist leader who would be visiting him in a couple of weeks,
and would bring with him a quantity of radioactive isotopes. This made
the hairs on my neck stand on end.
"Fuck fuck, fuck!" I thought to myself. Radioactive isotopes
dispersed by conventional explosives will contaminate the affected area
for years. Anyone who inhales some of the material after the explosion
will most likely become very ill and possibly die. There was a very real
possibility that detonating such a device in downtown Denver would cause
thousands of casualties on top of those killed or injured in the
explosion.
As the evening wore on, we extracted from Wood the number of men
in his cell (10), the combination to his safe, and the timetable. Among
other things, the safe contained the down payment made to Wood and the
names and addresses of all cell members. The bomb was to have been
completed in three weeks' time, and detonated the next day. Ed and I
relaxed slightly on hearing this, as it meant we had some slack time.
More problems faced us, though. We had to round up all cell
members, and tackle the problem of how to handle the terrorist leader due
in two weeks' time. By now it was 10 P.M. and we were exhausted. Fatigue
showed in our faces, for Sam came in and told us unequivocally to take
the next day off.
"That goes for Fred, too," Sam added. "Tell him when you see
him. He's put in 110 percent too."
Fred met us as we were leaving, and suggested we crash at his
apartment, which was closer than our motel. We left our cars parked at
the office and Fred drove us to his place. We hadn't eaten dinner, and
we welcomed the hearty sandwiches Fred put together from the left-over
roast beef, washed down with several glasses of wine.
We undressed and climbed into Fred's bed. It was a tight fit for
three of us, but fatigue overwhelmed us and we dropped into a deep sleep.
Next morning I came awake with my usual erection, but acutely conscious
that warm fingers were wrapped around it and stroking my foreskin gently
up and down. I opened my eyes and saw that Fred, who was sandwiched
between me and Ed, had both our pricks in his hands and was enjoying
working on them. Fred's prick was also erect, flat against his abdomen,
but I didn't know if this was because his bladder was full or from the
excitement of playing with our foreskins.
Now Ed came awake, his eyes immediately going to his prick,
encased in Fred's encircling fingers. He reached for Ed's stiff organ,
squeezing the head rhythmically, producing an immediate sigh of delight
from Fred.
"We're all stiff, and I don't think we can pee this way," Fred
announced.
"I'm sure you've got an idea," Ed replied for us.
Fred's response was to take a small, battery powered cylindrical
vibrator from the draw in the bedside table. He crawled back to us and
told us to lie facing each other. He clasped our hard pricks together,
placing the vibrator between them and turning it on. A pleasant vibration
penetrated the underside of my penis from base to head.
"He's going to make us come this way," I said to Ed, who was
staring avidly into my eyes.
"There are worse ways to get our rocks off," Ed replied.
"After we unload, we'll take care of you," I said to Fred, who
was now moving our foreskins up and down while the vibrator filled our
pricks with sensation. He was using both hands, thumbs riding our rims
while his other fingers kept the vibrator locked between our rigid
shafts. The nose of the vibrator, from which the strongest sensations
were coming, was pressed into our triangular grooves, buzzing into our
gee-strings.
He must have been using fresh batteries, because the erotic
buzzing was intense, and I knew that we wouldn't be able to hold back
our orgasms for long. The pressure in our bladders increased the tension,
and although I was trying to relax, I felt it building inexorably toward
the climax.
"This is hot," Ed murmured as he seized both my hands in his.
With our pricks parallel to our bodies and clamped between them, we were
very close. I felt his heartbeat as his chest pressed against mine. Fred
was still thumbing my corona, and I felt my helmet swell further while it
was aching for release. Ed's eyes glazed over as we approached the point
of no return.
"You guys are hot," Fred commented. "I feel how your rims just
got harder. I'm going to watch you shoot your loads through your
skins." I was getting a tickle in both my rim and my gee-string from the
dual sensations, and I knew that release was only seconds away. Ed began
to moan helplessly, caught up in the whirlwind of sensation, and I knew
we were at the same level, ready to shoot in a couple of seconds. My
insides tightened as the tickling sensation in my glans changed to the
familiar hot tingle, and my eyes closed as I began grunting.
"HUNH! HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted as my insides exploded, the spasms
ripping through me and sending a torrent of cream burning up my tube. Ed,
too, was crying out as the hot spasms shot through his body. I felt a
flood of hot sperm inside my foreskin as it poured out the end, and Ed's
body strained against mine as the tidal wave of orgasm hit him.
The buzzing seemed to become more intense against my throbbing
helmet, lancing through the foreskin to pierce the nerve endings deep
inside. I cried out again as another wave of hot liquid poured from my
orifice to swirl around my trapped tip before gushing through the nozzle.
I felt the throbs of Ed's prick as he joyously released his sperm, and
knew he was also feeling mine.
We drained ourselves completely, aided by Fred's intense
ministrations to our coronas, as the unrelenting buzzing shocked our
penile nerve endings. I yelped because the sensations were becoming too
intense, and Fred released our pricks and removed the vibrator. We
gratefully sank into the afterglow, utterly sated.
A couple of minutes later, I felt an urgent need to pee and opened
my eyes. Ed obviously felt the same way, for he pulled away from me and
headed toward the bathroom. We stood side by side at the toilet, skinning
back to let our cream drip into the bowl while our yellow streams shot
forcefully downward. Fred's eyes were fixed on our draining pricks as he
stood silently appreciating the scene, his hard prick standing proudly in
front of him.
We dabbed at our wet helmets with toilet paper and then pushed our
foreskins down to envelop the precious tips before returning to the
bedroom. We hugged each other and then hugged Fred gratefully before
gently pushing him flat on the bed.
"We're both going to work on you, Fred," Ed told him as he
cupped Fred's scrotum. I leaned over and clasped the base of Fred's
shaft in my fist in a clamping action to constrict the veins and increase
his hardness. My lips enveloped his glans, feeling the rim swell and
flare as the blood pressure inside it increased. I saw Ed run his other
hand along Fred's inner thighs, adding to his sensations, as I tickled
the lips of Fred's slit with my tongue-tip.
"I can't, I can't..." Fred cried out as the full force of the
combined sensations hit him. I knew he was already primed by having
brought on our orgasms, and he was poised on the brink. I twisted my head
to give him a rotating movement around his hard flaring corona, the
delicious sideways friction that always brought on orgasm, and heard him
cry out as his helmet throbbed against my lips and tongue. A hot jet
flooded my mouth as his slit spat its first load, and I swallowed hard.
Fred cried out again, and another heavy discharge filled my mouth.
His prick was smaller than ours, but his discharges were heavier. Ed and
I felt his body writhing as we continued to pull the orgasm from him. His
hot hard glans throbbed against my tongue again, and I tasted the
saltiness and smelled the chlorine odor of his sperm as it filled my
mouth.
We continued to draw the jets from Fred's straining prick until
there was nothing left. Ed's fingers pressed into the underside of his
body behind his balls to push the residue forward, while I carefully
milked his prick from the base forward. Fred lay torpid on the bed,
utterly drained, utterly exhausted, and utterly still, his breathing
coming back to normal.
Later when he'd recovered, we showered together in the small
shower stall, the crowding enhancing the intimacy. Fred's erection had
subsided, and the hot water flowing down his prick made him drain his
bladder. Meanwhile, Ed and I had a renewed urge to pee because the hot
water had the same effect on us. Ed lovingly pinched our foreskin nipples
to make the hoods swell, and then released them to let the flows go down
the drain.
We dressed and went out to breakfast, taking our time because
we'd been ordered to take the day off. Something was bothering me, but I
couldn't focus on the thought because I was still foggy from the
residual effects of fatigue.
"We've got the day off, but I really want to go back to bed and
get some rest," Ed said as we finished our breakfasts. With our stomachs
full, we relaxed despite the copious amounts of coffee we'd drunk, and
the idea seemed very good to me.
"I'll head back to my place," Fred told us. "I can use more
rest too." We parted, and Ed and I drove back to our motel, where we
crashed. After a few hours we got up, read the newspaper, and watched the
TV news. Not a word had appeared regarding the terrorist cell, and it
seemed that Sam was effectively keeping it under wraps. Unlike the
poisonous political atmosphere in Washington, law enforcement officers
who worked the streets didn't try to get attention by leaks.
Later that day, a thought that had been at the back of my mind
leaped to the forefront. Wood had told us that