Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective Ch. 03

This Episode: A Chance Encounter - Part Three

Masters is the name. Cindy Masters. I'm a detective. I get $50 a day and expenses, $75 if I can get it.

I lay back on the weight bench and placed my feet behind the leg brace for a few chest flies. My eyes darted about the room like a fly looking for a warm beer. Glancing down between my legs, the mound made by the Super Chief Streamliner dildo I was packing in my jockstrap reminded me of a similar offer another dyke up in Berkeley had made to me last Saturday night. I scribbled a mental note to call her up and reciprocate with my packaged goods this weekend.

The Banana took notice and he turned to his bodyguard and nodded before giving him the am-scray sign. As the bodyguard exited, the twinky boy I saw in the locker-room earlier entered and began gathering up the sweat soaked towels tossed around the room. Figuring he was only there like a patron on free dish night at the Bijou, I turned my attention back to the Banana.

As I worked the dumbbells, the Banana approached me, and I felt my nipples harden and strain against the Ace bandage I had used to flatten down my breasts. As he got closer, I remembered that I needed to reply to the invitation I had to judge the exhibits at the Sausalito Snake Farm.

My vagina began to tingle at the point where the straps of my jock met the pouch and I closed my eyes and growled. My juices began to flow and he grabbed my simulated cock through my trunks, its obscene profile resembling an antenna that I wished was telegraphing "here pussy pussy" to a furry lost kitten.

Standing between my spread legs, the Banana leaned forward. He licked his lips and I felt the balls of sweat dripping from his forehead bounce off my chest.

"Hey boy, you looking for some action" he asked, his voice toned with the smoothness of a fine Russian vodka.

I moved my knee between his legs and began rubbing with my upper leg. The friction softened his hard profile but had the opposite effect on the contents of his trunks as he pulled me up to kiss me.

Kissing men is not something I relish, but detective work is a dirty business, and this wasn't even dirty in a good way. His breath smelled of stale Old Gold cigarettes and as his tongue thrust into my mouth I felt like I had switched from my Lucky Strikes to the cheaper brand. I knew the only way out of this was to thrust back in some other way, so I inched my fingers up his left thigh and inside the leg opening of his trunks and began to stroke.

As I did, he moaned in tones that told me that his resistance was low.

"I heard you can tell me where a certain person could get their hands around a certain dildo"

He reached down and placed his hand over where my hand was massaging his jockstrap-covered treasure. "What would a guy like you want with one of those when you can have a meal like this?"

I gave his testicles a little squeeze. "Let's just say my interest is purely educational. As far as that feast goes, I have as much interest in the eggs as well as the ham"

As I stroked him, his breathing took on the rhythm of the gusty breezes on Catalina Island, but given the aroma, only if it had moved to Secaucus New Jersey.

I felt the skin of his scrotum being to tighten like a sack of Sun-Maid Prunes.

"Perhaps you'd like to attend a little educational social gathering at my hideaway this weekend. I can guarantee you an all you can eat buffet of eggs and ham"

I knew was about to spill the soup so I leaned forward and changed from being in Helen Keller mode to let my lips do the talking rather than my fingers.

"Where might this high class affair be found?" I inquired.

The Banana's eyes rolled back and he softy spoke "Its at Four Forty Two Glen..." he began, the street address suddenly cut off as his body guard burst back into the room.

"Boss!" he cried out. "That dick is a dyke!"

A gunshot rang out and the Banana cried out in a combination of ecstasy and pain.

My first thought was "Damn, I'm good", but then I realized that the Banana was now sporting a hole between his eyes. I turned to look behind me and caught a glimpse of the twinky towel boy. That glance was the last thing I saw as I felt my head make contact with the butt end of a pistol that came crashing toward it.

I fell sideways into a wet sticky puddle of blood before slipping into darkness. This was definitely not the type of dark, wet, and sticky I had in mind.

When I came to, the Banana lay on the floor covered in a left over from Macy's white sale. The tent made by the peak at the mid-section either meant he was just as horny in death as he was in life, or that I hadn't fully done my job.

Closing my eyes, I rolled over. As I squinted, my nose came in contact with a scuffed pair of Roblee oxfords.

A gruff voice penetrated my ears like a sandpaper Q-Tip. "You really did it big this time Masters"

It took a second for it to filter through the pounding drum in my head. It was Sgt Walters of the 32-nd precinct.

"Oh Goody, Walters of homicide. Shouldn't you be out investigating the man who murdered fashion by selling you that $24.95 suit? Do you get two pair of pants with it or one?"

"Funny Masters. Very Funny. You oughta get a job on Milton Berle's TV show. I heard he goes for dress up acts. What happened here? You and lover boy have a spat over where the best place was to hide sausages. I thought that wasn't your style."

"Look buster, you work your side of the street and I'll work mine. He was about to dump the goods about a case when someone sent him down the tracks on a lead encased Southern Pacific freight train to coffin-ville before helping me cure my insomnia."

I stood up, my legs as rubbery as the faux contents of my jockstrap, contents that survived the mini D-day that had just taken place. Real quality that Super Chief Streamliner dildo.

I began to focus enough to shunt Walter's droning on to the back of my mind. I noticed that both the twinky towel boy and the Banana's bodyguard where missing as if the scriptwriters had forgotten to include them.

Re-tuning my set, I look at Walters. "That's real good Walters, youl find whoever did this dastardly deed. Maybe you'll make General or whatever is next up the ladder and can afford a real suit. In the meantime, I have a dildo to hunt down."

"Just like you people, always thinking about sex" Walters replied.

I turned to him as I opened the door to the locker-room "Maybe if you thought about it a little more, you wouldn't shake hands with unemployed every time you pee'd"

It was time to pay a little visit to the Golden Slipper, a drag bar near the pier. As I got dressed I figured I'd head back to my office for a shower and a clean pair of Y-Fronts. Mother always warned me to wear clean underwear in case I was in an accident. I don't think she meant men's underwear, though. An itching in my crotch told me I might get lucky with one of the girly-boys, an event that they might see as an accident. My head had been split enough for one day, so I made a note to stop at the drugstore for a bottle of Anacin.

The cool night air slapped me back to full senses like a splash of Bay Rum on your cheeks after you stroked them with a Gillette Blue Blade. A 1948 Hudson Commodore Sedan crept along the curb before stopping along side of me. It was my client, Miss Cantaloupes.

"Get in" she purred

----tune in soon for the next chapter in the The Case File of Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective