Broomsticks - preview
‘See if you can get the music turned off, Timmy; I can hardly hear myself think.’
He nodded, heading up the stairs to the organ loft while I stood there contemplating the sorry scene in front of me. I was still contemplating when Widor’s organ toccata stalled in mid-riff with an audible clunk and a blessed silence descended upon the now not so blessed church.
Timmy rejoined me as I bent down to examine the entry point. ‘Great film that.’
‘Great film what?’
‘If … that’s where the music’s from.’
‘Ah … we’ve got it. Remind me to play you the whole thing some time.’
He looked at me somewhat askance, but forbore to comment.
‘What d’you think killed him, then?’
I couldn’t help a smile, because it was rather obvious, but I played along. ‘Shock, probably … or he might just have been allergic to wood.’
He giggled, not really appropriate in the circumstances, but then that was Timmy all over. I’d met him some four and a half years ago; I’d been down to the coast to assist in an assault case involving a gay lad and had almost reached home when my bladder decided that if I wasn’t going to empty it voluntarily, it was going to do it by itself. I pulled up at a park not five minutes from my front door and ran towards the toilet block with my knees knocking together, trying desperately not to pee down my legs before I got there. I made it, just, sighing with relief as I flooded the metal trough beneath the grating. I hadn’t heard the cubicle behind me open, oblivious until I realised there was someone standing beside me, looking down at my penis with a mouth open wide enough to swallow a whole chicken.
‘Jesus mister … that’s a big dick!’
Unfortunately for me, he was right; I’m hung like the proverbial horse. Having a two inch thick, almost eleven inch long cock might be some mens’ idea of heaven, but the reality once you actually had one was quite different, because up to then, I’d only rarely found a guy who I fancied and who could take me. Typical of nature I suppose; to make you want to screw like a rabbit and then give you equipment no-one can handle.
And the little guy standing next to me definitely wasn’t going to be handling it. I hurriedly tucked myself away as I stared down into his beautiful, approximately thirteen year-old face and then jerked my thumb towards the door.
‘Outside; come on.’
His face perked up again, having fallen somewhat as I’d trousered the snake and he willingly followed me out into the moonlight. I headed for a bench under an oak tree, patting the slats beside me when he seemed a little bemused as to my intentions.
‘Sit … come on … I won’t bite you.’
‘Damn,’ he said, his big grin revealing a beautiful set of gleaming teeth, ‘I was rather hopin’ you would.’
‘How old are you? And don’t lie to me, because I’ll pick it.’
‘Fourteen … and nine months.’
‘Sheesh … don’t you realise how dangerous this sort of thing is for pretty boys like you? One wrong move and you could end up finding yourself deknackered, in some middle-eastern harem for toy-boys.’
‘I can handle meself.’
‘Not against a couple of real toughies, you couldn’t … don’t be so brave.’
‘So … d’you want me or what?’
‘Hold your horses … so far, you haven’t done anything I can really arrest you for, but if you go any further, I might have to.’
He half-rose from his seat, ready to dart away. ‘Shit … you a copper?’
‘Yes … but don’t worry … I’m not going to take you in, as I said before. I’m gay, like you. I’m attached to the gay liaison group at the local station. I’d rather see you protected than carted off and punished; that’s not going to help anybody.’
He relaxed slowly and sat back down. ‘So what then? D’you fancy me or not?’
‘Of course I do … you’re stunning and just what I like, but you’re also jail-bait. If I so much as laid a finger on you, I’d have to arrest myself.’
He giggled, a delightful peal of laughter from a boy-soprano throat that just made me want him even more. Control yourself, David … he’s not for you.
‘Pity … that’s way the biggest dick I’ve ever seen … I wouldn’t half like to try it.’
‘For God’s sake … what’s your name?’
‘What’s yours?’ His face had grown a defiant look.
‘David … David Morrison … here, have a card.’ I leant sideways to get at my wallet, opening it to give him my business card which he squinted at in the dim light.
‘Crikey … you a detective?’
‘Yup … they’re fast-tracking me because I’m an out gay and they need more manpower in the gay liaison area.’
‘Jeez … don’t yer get razzed?’
‘I used to a bit, but now I’m just one of the force. You didn’t tell me your name.’
‘Do I have ta?’
‘No; not if you don’t want to, but then I’ll just have to call you “Oi you!” won’t I.’
He giggled again, thrilling me with his irrepressible youthfulness. ‘It’s Timmy. You gonna take me home with you?’
‘No, you wicked child; you know I’m not.’
‘I really fancy ya. You smell nice.’
So did he … just sitting next to him was sending my pheromone-detectors into overdrive.
‘Look … you know where I work. If you still want me, look me up when you turn sixteen. Until then, you’re off limits, my lad.’
‘Shit. Oh well … it’s a date then, okay?’
I couldn’t do anything about it when he suddenly leant across and kissed me on the cheek; he was far too fast, off and up before I could do so much as gasp. I felt a terrible yearning as he grinned and walked away, looking back and wiggling his fingers at me.
I’d never truly forgotten him, but I’d put him firmly into the bracket of long lost opportunities … not that he’d really been one. His memory had understandably faded with the pressures of my job; I’d done well in my position over the next few months, aiding with a number of difficult cases and actually clearing two up all by myself. The department had continued its apparent policy of fast-tracking me and I was touted for promotion to Inspector within twelve months. As it turned out, I’d been a Detective Inspector for just a month when the duty Sergeant rang me to inform me that I had a visitor at the front desk, who wouldn’t give his name.
Intrigued, I hurried downstairs and there he was. He was older, yes, but I recognised him instantly as did he me, when his face broke into that long-remembered grin.
‘Hello, David … it’s my birthday today and I think we have a date.’
What could I do? What could I say? A quick ten-second whirl of thoughts confirmed I had nothing urgent on and before I even realised what I was doing, I’d told the desk-sergeant I was available only if Hell actually attacked.
‘Hang on … I’ll get my jacket.’
Two minutes later we were in my car en route to my flat. I doubt it showed in my driving but my mind was in chaos. Sixteen! Jesus … but he was legal and he wanted me … and I wanted him. I’d had a few flings in the meantime, but in all truth, I’d never stopped wanting him, as hopeless as I’d imagined it.
‘I’ve never forgotten you.’ His hand gave me palpitations as it crept onto my thigh.
‘You keep doing that, and there’ll be no point in you not forgetting me!’
There was that giggle again … I remembered it so well, the bell-like tones now perhaps slightly more mature.
‘I’ve kept meself nice for you, too.’
‘Have you? How d’you mean?’
‘I don’t smoke and I don’t do drugs … I don’t even drink a lot … too much alcohol makes me puke.’
‘Yuk … nice image.’
He laughed again. ‘We won’t need no condoms, neither, ’cos I’m clean as a whistle. I got meself tested a week ago.’
‘Did you indeed. This is a long-term plan of yours then, is it?’
‘Course it is … didn’t think I was gonna let you get away, did you?’
‘How d’you know I’m not in a relationship already?’
His face fell and he looked at me, suddenly worried. ‘Shit … you ain’t, are you?
‘Would I be taking you home with me if I was?’
He brightened up considerably. ‘Nah, I guess not.’
‘Talking about diseases … how d’you know I’m not riddled with it?’
‘Aids, you mean?’
‘Of course … I’m not, but I could be and yet you’re willing to put yourself at risk.’
He giggled again. ‘Wouldn’t matter anyhow … where you gonna find a condom to fit your dick?’
I turned the car into the driveway to my block’s parking area, forced to negotiate a stray shopping-trolley in order to reach my spot.
‘Condoms can stretch quite a way.’ I turned off the car and engaged the brake.
‘Me too,’ he said, a broad grin on his face, ‘but I’m gonna have some trouble takin’ you!’
He did, too. Luckily I had a bottle of Rush which he latched onto and snorted almost constantly, gasping for breath even before I entered him.
‘Jesus, David … I’m havin’ second thoughts …’
‘Too late … you’re mine and I’m going to fuck you ’til you scream for mercy.’
‘Ooooo … shit …’ Despite his words he arched his back, spreading himself to allow my fingers even deeper access. He was almost relaxed enough, but I didn’t want to try taking him too early or he might call a halt halfway.
Only two minutes later, he was sighing, almost a moan, the intensity increasing as I slowly withdrew my hand.
‘Sniff hard, Timmy … push now … push …’
He shrieked as my dick’s head forced its way inside him, clamping down on me so tight it hurt. I tried not to move a muscle as he got used to me and gradually released.
‘Fuck, you’re big … holy shit!’
‘Take me, baby … take me slow now.’
It took me ten minutes to get fully inside him, but with constant encouragement and a lot of Rush, he ended up accommodating all of me in his beautiful, soft arse. I gradually got him used to me, slowly increasing the length of my strokes until I was fucking him like both of us apparently wanted, with powerful nine-inch strokes that nearly lifted him off the bed with each thrust.
‘Fuck me … Fuck me! … Fuck me …’ His screams filled the room as I released the last restraint on my desire and just shagged him as hard as I could. He’d already come earlier, shuddering and gasping as I blew deep in his guts and promptly collapsed on top of him.
‘God alfuckingmighty! Shit you can fuck!’ He twitched and bucked beneath me as my dick went soft inside him. ‘Oh man; was I ever right about you!’
‘Right that you’d give me the best banging of my life.’
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to take me.’
‘Me neither … which is why I’ve been practicing.’
‘Really? What with?’
He moaned again as I twitched and flexed inside him. ‘I got meself some dildos; small, medium and David.’
‘Good thinking …’
He’d moved in with me four days later. The pre-move meeting with his family hadn’t been as awkward as I’d thought it might be. They’d all known precisely who I was, what I did and exactly what I had between my legs. My new mate had been candid to the extreme apparently, his plans to nab me on his sixteenth birthday an open secret.
Since then we’d been the perfect pair. I had a big dick and liked fucking a small guy with a tight arse and he was a small guy with a tight arse who liked being fucked by a big guy with a big dick. That wasn’t all of it of course; there was the pure animal attraction that drove both of us mad. Our pheromones had definitely been made to exactly fit the other’s attractors because his smell turned my dick to steel and mine had him naked on his knees with his arse in the air before I had my belt off.
I loved him so much; I used to think back sometimes and physically clench up with the awful thought that I might have lost him … the love of my life. He worshipped me, adored me, was besotted by me … all the things he could think of to murmur in my ear as we lay in bed together, just reveling in the touch of the other’s skin.
We’d been together over three years now. He hadn’t told me he’d applied to join the force until a week before he was due to take the entrance exam and then I whipped him remorselessly until he was law-perfect. He’d passed with a good mark, if not exactly flying colours and promptly asked to be attached to my gay liaison squad … permission granted!
And now he was nearly nineteen to my twenty-five, the age difference not worrying either of us as it had when we first met. They knew about us at work, too; some of the bosses weren’t too happy with it, but with us being gay, I think they were reluctant to meddle and looked the other way. We made a good team as well, his straight-through approach to problems complementing my occasional tendency to over-analyse things.
We were going to need it all too I thought, as I tried to concentrate on the priest’s behind, the entry point for what appeared to be an ordinary broom-handle. From what little I knew of broomsticks, there appeared to be at least two feet of this one buried in the extinct cleric.
A small but slightly overweight man, he was leant flat over his altar like a letter L, his legs and feet drawn tight into the front and tied by a rope that passed beneath the altar to his hands, which had been pulled down the back. There didn’t appear to be any sign of external injury, so quite how he’d been placed in that position was unclear at present … I doubted he’d assumed it voluntarily.
The priest’s cassock had been folded neatly up to his waist and his fleecy underpants lowered to his ankles, exposing his chubby posterior to the nave of the church. The broomstick had been inserted into his anus rounded-end first and then hammered into the unfortunate clergyman with his own bible which lay on the altar-top beside him. A low-level squint across its black leather surface was sufficient to reveal indentations closely matching the squared-off end of the stick, but of course it would need forensics to confirm it.
‘Ow! Now that’s not a pretty sight.’ Timmy came around the altar after examining the victim’s head. ‘You should see the look on his face … don’t bother unless you have to; it ain’t pretty.’
We were getting in the way of the science-wallahs who’d already started scratching, powdering, photographing and generally poring over everything in sight, so I told Timmy to go back home to bed; that I’d follow hopefully before dawn. We kept it strictly job while we were working, so I just got a wave instead of the kiss I’d have preferred as he strolled off down the aisle, whistling the Widor.
I didn’t arrive back home in time to get any more than two hours kip, managing not to wake Timmy up except for a sleepy ‘g’night’ grunt and an ‘Mmmmmm’ as I cuddled into his back. If this job did have its drawback … apart from the occasional gruesome scene one just had to get used to … it was the constant interruptions to one’s lifestyle. A call to duty could come at any time; we were inured to disrupted meals and punctuated showers but we’d already been disturbed twice while we were actually having sex, once at exactly the wrong bloody moment, which was hard to forgive. I think we were lucky though in that we were both in the same line of work, so a call for one was a call for both and didn’t cause deep resentment in a constantly disappointed spouse.
‘What’s that you’re playing? It sounds familiar but it’s hardly breakfasty, is it.’ His voice was muffled by the towel he was drying his curly blonde locks with. I scooped the eggs up and flipped them as he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and inserting his hands into the front of my dressing gown to cradle my balls. ‘Mmmmm … I missed you last night.’
‘You’re going to miss me this morning as well, I’m afraid … we have to get in asap.’ I turned the bacon rashers over while he nuzzled my neck. ‘And it’s the Widor organ symphony I told you about … number five; the toccata’s just the last movement.’
‘You mean the movie blighters nicked it?’
‘Not really … Widor died just before world war two, so I suppose it’s fair game. Most people play the last movement much too fast; it’s actually supposed to be fairly slow. Now; if you let go of my balls, I can give you your breakfast.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you’ll wear your breakfast, cheeky.’
He gave me a final kiss on the back of the neck with a chuckle and released my equipment. ‘You be careful you don’t fry those,’ he said, disappearing into the bedroom with an evil grin. I finished the tomatoes while he dressed and was dishing the meals out when he reappeared in junior detective mode.
‘What kept you last night?’
‘I wanted to interview the woman who found the body … pass the salt, sweetie.’
‘Was she the one who called it in?’
‘No, that was the verger. He lives in the rectory with our friend the late Reverend Archer. The woman I interviewed is one Mavis Ormeroid, one of the cleaners employed by the local diocese to clean the churches in this neck of the woods.’
‘How many are there?’
‘Nine, apparently, including the cathedral.’
‘No, noodlehead … that’s the Catholic one. Saint Botolph’s.’
‘Ah; okay. So what’s the drill for today?’
I shrugged as I sliced into a still-runny yolk, ‘The usual, I suppose… run it past the team and see what ideas we get.’
‘Mmmmm … looks a bit revengy to me.’
‘That was my first thought, but we mustn’t get too hidebound … our guy might just dislike priests.’
‘This one’s an Anglican, too … they’re allowed to marry and be gay aren’t they?’
‘Yup … they’re even marrying each other these days.’
‘What? Two priests? … Male ones?’ His tomato hovered in mid-air, dripping seeds onto his last bacon rasher.
‘Ahha … caused a right old stink, apparently.’
‘Crikey … I’ll bet!’
‘Eat up love; we’d best be up and at ’em.’
Nasty … it looks like someone doesn’t like priests – or is this just an isolated instance? Why would anyone choose such a bizarre method of execution? Follow David and Timmy’s adventures as they attempt to solve the broomstick murders.