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Message-ID: <35366asstr$1014433807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Frank McCoy" <mccoyf@millcomm.com>
Reply-To: mccoyf@millcomm.com
Subject: {ASSM} *:NEW:* GUMSHOE.TXT "Gumshoe" (Mggggg, cons, pedo) A "Sam Ped" story
Date: Fri, 22 Feb 2002 22:10:07 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


                             Gumshoe
                         A Sam Ped Story
       A collaborative story by Pedro Vila and Frank McCoy


               Warning:  Sam Ped, is a pedophile.

     Another day ...  Another dollar in the hole.

     Being a detective ain't cheap, and running your own 
detective business is worse.  Just to stay in business I need to 
have an office, a phone, an answering service, desk, files, 
financial records, and more.  It costs me over twice as much to 
maintain a cruddy office in a seedy part of town, as it does to 
live in that closet jokingly called an apartment in a seedier 
part of same town.  Like I said, it ain't cheap.
     So, in my business, where jobs are often hard to find, and 
they usually come finding YOU when you're not ready, you often 
have to take work that isn't exactly what you think of when 
envisioning being a gumshoe.
     Yeah, gumshoe.  I'd laugh; only it's not so funny when 
you're in it up to your neck.  And it was going to get deeper 
before I was ready.
     I'm a detective with a scarlet letter around my neck.  I'm a 
known pedophile.  It comes in handy now and then when I need to 
track down wayward kids.  I know the town, and I know how to get 
into a young kid's head, which helps me think like them when I 
need to find a hiding place for runaways.  Usually they're ready 
to go home to Momma or Poppa when I catch up to them.
     It also means I know certain people who might cross a line 
when it comes to pedo desires: people who might grab a young girl 
or boy and not really care if the kid gets hurt by those desires 
either.  People who make me look like a saint.
     Yeah, that's me.  Saint Sam, the pedo with a heart of gold.  
I'm the scum of the earth until it's your kid snatched and you 
need someone like me to get them back safely.  "Oh, Sam! Thank 
you for getting my child back!  Now get out of my face you 
sicko!"
     It's worse when I don't find them in time.
     My last case turned out like that.  That was three months 
ago, and business has been slow since.  Maybe it's unrelated, but 
my name was all over the papers, and like I said, I'm the scum of 
the earth sometimes.
     Well, it hasn't been totally dry.  I did get a job 
babysitting.  I know what your thinking, 'Sure, Sam.  Someone's 
going to let YOU watch their kids?'  Yeah, they did ask me.  As 
long as I didn't get too close.
     Here's the deal.  I've helped a few very wealthy clients and 
proved myself honest by the standards of the rich, which isn't 
very much if you know some of them.  They in turn have less 
wealthy friends who can't afford full time bodyguards but can 
afford private schools.  My job is to keep an eye out for 
possible kidnappings before school, during recess, and afterwards 
on their way home.



                                1


     Not my usual fee; twice that of a normal babysitter, with 
less hours.  But the perks are nice.  As long as I don't get too 
distracted by watching the wrong kids.  Which isn't easy 
nowadays.  The weather has been hot and kids' clothes have been 
getting skimpy from emulating music videos.
     And kids are learning about sex at a much younger age these 
days as well.  I could tell you stories ....
     And there's the problem.  I'm in charge of two today.  The 
older sister Sandy, for instance:  Even a non pedophile's wet-
dream.  Brunette, just developing boobs making tiny peeks out 
from under short little sunsuits and blouses.  Dressing every day 
in outfits that practically scream, "Kinderslut!"  And worst of 
all, her wriggling that cute little ass of hers at dirty-old-men 
like me in a manner that makes your pecker ache just to see her.  
Yet I could tell she's still a virgin.  
     It's in the eyes.  And I've seen them before and after.  
Like I said, stories.
     Add the cute little blonde the kids usually picked up a 
block later, who wore her Momma's sexy clothes with complete 
innocence.  I'd get hard as a cold chisel in my pants and start 
to walk funny.  But I don't piss in my own swimming-pool, and 
wouldn't touch these cute little sexpots even if they offered.  
But there are times when I'm glad they didn't, just the same.
     The school knows about me, but not before calling the police 
about a strange man in an overcoat watching the schoolyard.
     A call to the parents, and a buddy at the force to vouch for 
me set things right, but I was a smart ass and I kind of rubbed 
the cops nose in it.  "Sure officer, I like to watch little 
girls.  I'd do it anyway for free.  What's that? Oh, yeah, I'm a 
pervert.  Can you imagine a pervert being paid money to ogle 
little kids? You have a camera I could borrow?"
     My standing with the police wasn't great to begin with; but 
it's something about being a gumshoe that makes me say things 
like that.  And to tell the truth, my standing at the station has 
been better lately, and the officer got clued in to my being a 
strait-shooter.  He actually laughed before taking off.
     Still, the police cruisers started to pass by more 
frequently since then.  And nobody offered me a donut.
     The last sex I had was with Mrs. Thumb and her four 
daughters.  Real sex, with real girls?  Almost a year earlier.  
Or at least it seemed that way.   The last one was thirteen and 
growing pubic hair; but I wasn't about to complain.  Trixie had 
been gone for several years, and the pickings got too slim to 
hold out for someone under puberty.  I think she was happy; and 
it's a nice break when your whole dick can go in.
     So there I am, starting to think things were going okay when 
some kids disappear from the very school I'm supposed to be 
watching.  Four girls and a boy; but I don't know it.  My job was 
with Sandy, her sister Kate, and the friend they have on the way 
home.  Jenny, I think is her name.  And they know I'm there 
because they keep wiggling those cute asses with the short skirts 
and hotpants at me, with short and firm legs tanned a nice summer 
color and me wondering how white the skin is under the cloth.




                                2


     I expected the parents to tell the girls I was there, but I 
get the sneaking suspicion that the girls were told I was a 
pedophile as well.  Just in case.  You can't be too careful.
     So these nymphs get a real kick out of teasing me.  Why not? 
I'm safe.  And if you've ever raised girls, you'll know that at a 
certain age they like the attention.  It makes them feel grown 
up.  It makes me do a little growing as well.
     So the first hint I get that anything is wrong, is when two 
car doors slam, and Mike and Joe from the local PD get out and 
shove me into the black-and-white like a piece of meat picked up 
at the butcher shop.  Before I know it, I'm being interrogated 
downtown with Mike and the Sergeant playing "Good Cop/Bad Cop" in 
a summer rerun I didn't want to watch again.
     Every police station in the world I think has one of these 
"special interrogation rooms" hidden somewhere.  They ain't 
large, but they all have a few things in common:  No windows, 
thick walls, and a HEAVY door that doesn't have windows in it 
either.  Somehow you know that if you scream as loud as you can, 
not a squeak will be heard on the other side of that door.  
Usually two or three very uncomfortable chairs and sometimes a 
table.  If unfortunate enough to visit one, you're generally 
"invited" to sit in one of the chairs while they practice a 
rather heavy type of hospitality on you.  Don't let them kid you, 
even the most up-and-up PDs have them; though these days the 
quality of prisoners that get interrogated there varies with the 
society.  Nowadays, in the US of A, about the only people who get 
treated to the inside-view of them is people who won't dare to 
complain.  In our society, that's almost restricted to people 
like me.  Who am I to complain?  A detective who's a pedophile?  
Don't make me laugh.  Sure I could get a lawyer and sue ... and 
then never get another job as long as I live.  I know this ... 
the cops know this.  I have to like it or lump it.  In this case, 
it looked like I was about to get several lumps.
     "So where did you stash the kids?"  Mike is holding a rubber 
hose and is poised to do some plumbing on me, while his partner 
plays the "good cop" role of being "on my side" by begging me to 
let him stop his partner from rearranging the lumps already on my 
chest, when the interrogation room door slams open loudly.
     "Drop it," snarls Lieutenant Nickles.  Again (like times 
before) the Lieutenant rescues me before the bruises really get 
bad.  Of course, that's why they use a rubber hose ... so they 
can keep beating me as long as they want to, without leaving too 
many bruises.  At first I think I'm rescued.  Then I look at my 
so-called rescuer's face.  Maybe Mike and Joe aren't that bad of 
a choice.  At least it'll be over quick and I won't get saddled 
with another freebee for the brass boys.
     "Sir!  We caught him ready to snatch another kid!" Mike 
tells the Lt.  He says it crisply, like he's still in the army.  
I'd have never guessed it from his buzz cut.  Mike waits for the 
go-ahead to whale on me some more, to beat me into confessing 
where I had the kids.  I almost wished I had some kids hidden to 
confess.





                                3


     Lt. Nickles turns to me with that smile of his.  I can see 
it coming a mile away.  "That true, Sam? You were going to snatch 
another kid?"  He knows me better than that.  This was payback 
for my rubbing the babysitting job in their faces.
     "Naw.  Mikey here was just about to show me how to give his 
buddy here an enema," I said; waving my hand at the rubber hose.  
I didn't even see Mikey swing at me.  Next thing I saw was a 
little ant crawling around Nickles' shoe.  The ant didn't have a 
headache and I was envious of it.
     "You know, Sam," Nickles started to tell me from the end of 
some tunnel I was in, "I once sent  Sergeant Mike here to pick up 
a perp and he never showed up at the station with him.  We did 
find him at county general later.  Some kids must have roughed 
the guy up awful bad.  They had him on a machine for a while."
     I heard Joe suddenly say.  "No kidding.  That was you?"
     Mike said, "Shaddup!"
     I tried to sit up and shake it off.  I wasn't about to let 
them think they had me worried.  I was worried.  Nickles squatted 
in front of me.  "Now you and I are going into that other room; 
and you ain't saying anything smart ... Right?"
     I may be brave, but I'm not that dumb.  "Right," I sighed.  
Time to stop being a smartass.  If I continued, I might find out 
what a dead smartass felt like.
     The Lt.'s office was quite a step up in interior decoration 
from the back room.  It even had fluorescent lighting, instead of 
a bare naked bulb.
     "Empty your pockets out."
     "Why?"  Geeze ... The lieutenant hauls me out from under his 
two goons, and then wants to frisk me like a ... OK, like a 
pervert.  Geesh.  Well, I had nothing to hide.
     Besides my wallet and identification, he already had the 
binoculars I used.  For me, about the most expensive tool of the 
trade I carried.  I emptied out what was left:
     Keys (of course) even though my car is in the shop until I 
ransom it, I still have quite a pile of keys.  Some to places I 
shouldn't supposedly have keys to.  One even (if the Lt. looked) 
to this very office.  He ignored the keys; though his eyes 
widened.
     No gun.  While licensed, I try to avoid packing; especially 
when working school duty.  Can't chance hitting a kid in a rescue 
attempt, even by accident.
     A set of lockpicks that brought a sharp look from Nickels.  
"You got a license for those?"  He knew I did.  Among other 
things I was a licensed locksmith; though the last time I'd used 
those skills was to jimmy open an apartment door for my landlady 
when the key broke off in the lock.  She didn't even pay me.
     "It's in the wallet," I growled; pulling out a soggy 
sandwich that I hadn't had a chance to eat for lunch.  The SOB 
didn't even bother to look.
     A foot-long length of water-pipe was my only weapon; and not 
obviously so.
     Three grocery receipts, one (expired) lottery ticket, about 
a dollar and a quarter in small change, and the remains of about 
six packs of gum ... two unopened.



                                4


     "Is THIS why they call you gumshoe?"  Nickels was a clown.  
"I suppose you use gum to entice the kiddies."
     "It gets boring out there, so I chew gum," I replied; trying 
not to get nasty myself.  I suddenly became uncomfortably aware 
of a sticky spot on the bottom of my right shoe.  It was all I 
could do to keep from busting out laughing at the thought.  Not a 
smart thing to do right then.  Gumshoe, huh?
     After looking over the sorry soggy mess, Nickles waved me to 
pick up the stash before it messed up his nice clean desk.
     "Now I know you don't have the kids; and like me you'd hate 
to see something bad happen to those kids.  I'd also hate to see 
something bad happen to you, if you got blamed for something you 
didn't do."
     Yeah, right.  And the Tooth Fairy is coming over after 
dinner, right after the Easter Bunny leaves.  It's the wrong time 
of year for Santa Claus.  "Get to the point," I growled.
     Nickles gave me a grin that made me think of a wolverine.  
"We need to find those kids, and fast," he told me.  Something I 
already knew.  If the police didn't turn up missing kids in a 
hurry, his job would be on the line.  I mentioned before that the 
kids in that school didn't exactly come from poor families?  Rich 
people usually had a lot of political clout; and if you think 
Police don't give in to political pressures, you're living in a 
dream world.
     "YOU need to find those kids fast," he added; taking 
pleasure from the way my smile at his discomfiture turned sour as 
I got the point.  If necessary, I was a really handy scapegoat.  
Shit.
     "You won't come out of this smelling like a rose either," he 
promised.  "Now I know you didn't take them, and probably feel as 
miserable about their being gone as we do ... But you're going to 
get the kids back for us all, now aren't you?"
     I didn't say a word.  It was one of those times when it's 
best to keep your mouth shut.  Miserable as he was?  I was the 
one sporting bruises and facing a night or two of unpaid work in 
this rotten weather.  Nickles had once again found a way to get 
ME to do his dirty work for him ... to poke into places the 
police couldn't go ... and once again I wasn't even going to get 
paid for it.  Shit again.  I looked back at Nickles.  He knew he 
had me, and he knew I knew it too.  I sighed and nodded.
     "Good, boy.  You have until tomorrow."  Nickles's smile 
would have scared a badger.  He got up.   Mikey yelled, "What the 
fuck you doing?  He's playing you!  I'll show you he's got the 
kids."  Mike went for me but Nickles had an edge to his voice 
that stopped Mike short of killing me.
     "You watch your mouth in my precinct."  Nickles got an inch 
from Mike's face.  "You don't lay a finger on him either.  Not 
until I say so."  He looked calm as a bomb one second before it 
blew your head off.
     Joe watched everything wide eyed and kept his mouth shut.  
Then, on Nickles signal, they walked towards the door.
     "Hey!" I called out.  Mike was seething as he turned to me.  
Nickles looked like he knew what I was going to say though.  "I 
don't even know whose kids got taken."



                                5


     "I already left a folder at your office."  Then Nickles led 
them out, leaving the door open on me.  Piss ... He hadn't even 
the decency to wait until I said I would take on the case.
     Mike turned before leaving last and pointed at me.  "This 
isn't over between me and you, Punk."  
     The freight train in my head was finally passing and I got 
up slowly for the walk back to my office.  I had a strong feeling 
that Mike would rather see the kids dead just so he could work 
out his baggage on me.  At least when I enjoy my work, nobody 
ends up at the hospital.
     At the office, I made a call to my client to pick up their 
kids themselves today since I had some important pressing 
matters.  She understood.  She'd heard about the missing kids on 
the news.
     I picked up the folder that Lt. Nickles left on my desk.  
The door was locked when I got there.  Nickles had a sense of 
humor.  In it was a brief description of five girls and a boy 
with a school photo.  Nothing much, just height, weight, eye and 
hair color and birthdates.  
     Six kids, five girls and one boy, didn't show up for school 
that morning.  Four of the girls were aged between ten and eleven 
with one of them being related to the younger girl and boy, 
Stevie and Heather, both twins at seven years old.  Their ten 
year old sister, Vicky, had similar pale skin and blondish hair.
     Rounding out the group was Rachel Parker, eleven and 
slightly redheaded, with a calculating look to her eyes.  Liz 
Duns, ten and brunette, also adventurous looking though a little 
stockier.  And Jamie Austin, Eleven and half black.  Startling in 
her own right.  They were all beautiful to look at, even the boy, 
but I'm biased.
     I did a read on their faces to look for personality traits.  
All of the older girls looked daring.  The younger two must have 
been tag-alongs.  I didn't want to think about what kind of 
terrors might be happening to them.  I stared at the pictures 
longer than I should have.  With the weather balmy like it was, I 
kept thinking about what skimpy outfits they might have been 
wearing, possibly the cause of their being abducted.
     It was time to save some asses, mine included (mine 
especially ... I'm prejudiced that way).  I was sweating pretty 
good by then and I wasn't about to lose the overcoat.  I had some 
emergency things in it.  So I put on a thin pair of Bermuda 
shorts and my lightest shortsleeve shirt under it.  Being summer, 
the weather was hot; so I had to compensate.  The shoes looked 
funny with black socks on so I went without the socks.
     First stop was an unexpected visit to the local 
representative to the child sex slave trade.  I wasn't very 
welcome there with some people; but fortunately I knew a few who 
would give me a break in return for a favor later.  I didn't like 
making those kinds of deals with those kinds of people; but what 
good are ethics in a morgue?
     It turned out I was dealing for nothing.  There wasn't 
anything available for the last month.  I could have been given a 
bum steer but a couple of other contacts confirmed it.
     I started to hit every contact and ear on the street.  I 
went through my entire supply of cash as a result.  Nothing.  In 


                                6


fact I was getting requests for info on kiddy sex.  You know 
someone's desperate when they ask ME.
     It was getting late in the day and I was getting nowhere.  I 
tried all of the possible hangouts for runaways, including 
buildings that I've seen kids play hooky in.  I traced the route 
backwards from where they would have come to school, only to 
where they would have joined each other.  Then I started to check 
alleys off their path for clues, like a shoe or a child's purse.
     Still nothing.
     I was probably a good three or four blocks from their route 
when I sat in an alley, frustrated.  The cops would have had a 
wider search pattern than I could make on foot.  I could hear an 
alley cat whining in the distance.
     Something about the sound caused my ears to prick.  Call me 
a pervert if you will, but an attraction to little girls makes me 
very sensitive to their images, smells, and mostly SOUNDS! It 
wasn't an alley cat.  It was a faint little cry for help.
     I was on my feet in seconds and homing in on the sound.  But 
it didn't seem to be coming from anywhere specific.  It wasn't 
coming from any of the buildings and it was definitely from 
ground level.
     I knocked over a few trash cans in my haste and then there 
were more screams for help.  I got excited with thinking about 
saving them and the screams seemed more frantic.  I didn't see 
the hole in the twilight until I was suddenly holding onto a 
broken sewer drain bar dangling over...  what?
     I found out quickly when I lost my grip on the slimy metal 
and dropped at least ten feet onto the murky, muddy water.  It 
was thick with mud which luckily broke my fall.  Looking up, I 
could see a large jagged hole above me and then I was grabbed on 
all sides by six very scared and muddy children.
     "Save me!" was the general consensus among them.  I went 
over backwards into the mud and I lost one of my shoes somewhere 
in it.  I ended up under a pile of slimy and shivering bodies, 
clinging to me for comfort.  I started to sink into it and I 
fought to get myself upright.
     "Hold it!" I yelled, which stopped them suddenly.  "Which 
one of you is, um..."  I struggled to remember a name.  "Rachel?"
     "Me!" said a muddy looking thing in the dark light.  It was 
the same kids that had turned up missing.  After a few more 
questions I established that they were all together and had all 
fallen into the hole chasing a kitten.
     It was now dark up on top and I fumbled through the mud to 
find a flashlight.  The sudden brightness caused a few of them to 
gasp and I examined each one for any injuries.
     It was worse than I thought.  Oh, they were fine, but each 
one of them could hardly have been less dressed if they'd been 
wearing bathing suits.  Mostly tight shorts, tank tops, and 
shoeless socks.  Beautiful flat or baby fat bellies and legs 
streaked with gobs of mud and wet slime.  Matted hair, and red 
crying eyes topped the lot.  I'd had dreams that went just the 
same way.





                                7


     But this wasn't a dream and these kids needed help.  I got 
up and got Jamie, who was the tallest, to stand on my shoulders 
to reach the broken bars up above.  We were a good three feet 
short and I was already having a hard time standing in the 
shifting mud.  I wouldn't have been able to get another one on 
top to finish the attempt.
     By then, the kids had calmed down.  I was in charge and 
doing something which reassured them all, though little Heather 
was still crying.  We were going to have to find another way out.  
The alley above was too remote and it was a fluke that I'd even 
found them at all.  A gumshoe's luck isn't always bad.
     There was a three foot round cement pipe that led from the 
muddy chamber and I figured it had to lead to a manhole, or at 
least another grate in a more public spot.  I rounded the troop 
up for the crawl when there was some giggling amongst some of 
them.
     My over coat had opened and there was a tear down the front 
leg of my shorts.  Probably made during my drop through the 
broken pavement or grate.  I checked myself for any injury and 
found a mild gash farther to my side.  Nothing serious, but I had 
to keep my coat closed to prevent my dick from peeking out.  I 
was a private dick who was trying to keep his dick private.
     I decided to go first through the pipe and made sure that 
the youngest kids were right on my tail.  It was Rachel who 
seemed the most composed.  I figured her for a future bossy 
redhead and appointed her rear guardian.  She was in charge of 
keeping everyone together behind me.
     The floor of the pipe was slimy but not very muddy and my 
size made the crawl hardest on me.  It wasn't easy holding the 
flashlight while crawling either.  The pipe ended into another 
chamber without any exit on top, but three more pipes leading 
from it.  Two the same size as the one we just came out of, and 
one twice as large.
     That had to be the out pipe.  Besides, it was easier for me 
to get through that one.  We got most of the way down it when the 
flashlight started to die out on me.  This caused some of the 
girls to panic, but I stayed calm and told them we were going to 
be okay.  I knew we would be, after all, we were in a city storm 
drain.  There were manholes all over town for it.  We just had to 
find one.
     I had a dim red glimmer from the flashlight to scan the next 
chamber before it went dark.  I couldn't tell if there was a 
manhole above us though and then it was pitch black.  I hushed 
the kids and we listened.
     No cars.  Silence.
     I then started to feel around for steps or a ladder, but 
couldn't find anything.  In the dark, the kids all started to 
cling to me hard and I had a hard time moving about.  It was 
little Stevie who saw a faint light down another tunnel.
     We didn't have much of a choice anymore and I was willing to 
try anything.  We went down it to the end.  It was a good deal of 
distance compared to how far we'd come before and my heart 
dropped when we found that the end was barred.




                                8


     The light was coming from the other side of the bars where 
we could see the tiny trickle that the current rain had made of 
the dry gulch they called a river around here.  In a big downpour 
the thing would fill almost half way up to where we were ... and 
the drain we were in would be half full of water too.  I decided 
to keep that image firmly out of my mind; as there wasn't a 
damned thing I could do about it.  The city had put a fence along 
the river (You could see it across the wash from us.) to keep 
kids from falling in ... and then put grates on all the storm-
sewer exits to keep those kids that DID get in from wandering up 
into the sewer system and getting lost.  Only the grate and fence 
did as good a job of keeping kids IN the system as it did of 
keeping them out.  We started to yell for help.
     It was a good half hour of yelling before we gave up.  By 
then, the kids were getting not only scared, but very cold.  It 
may have been hot up above, but it was damp and chilly under the 
ground.  It was also starting to get darker and colder.  The kids 
all started to huddle close to me; though I kept them outside my 
overcoat.  I had to get their minds off things, so I started to 
ask questions.
     "What color was the kitten?"
     "Gray."
     "What's your favorite subject in school?"
     "Art."  "Recess."  "Lunch."  "Math."
     "Who's your favorite teacher?"
     "Mrs.  Hatcher."
     "Hey!  I know you!"
     I think it was Rachel who said that, but I couldn't be sure 
in the dim light, and they were all pretty muddy still.  "You're 
that pedo guy who's watching us from the corner."  Yeah.  It was 
Rachel all right.  Redheads!
     "I'm a detective, Rachel.  I'm paid to watch whoever I'm 
told to."
     "I'll bet you wanted to get us down here," she said; not 
letting up.
     "Yeah.  That's it.  I sent that kitten just to lead you 
here, and then I psychically made you fall into that big obvious 
hole," I shot back.  I was a little edgy since this was something 
I had dreamed about in my lonely hours.  "Gimme' a break!  I'm 
trying to get you all out of here."
     "Yeah, Rachel.  Can it!" That was Jamie.
     "Mister?" said a little voice close to me.  "What do we do 
now?"  Heather was very clingy; and I felt sorry for her.
     "Are you up for more crawling?" I asked gently.  I wasn't 
sure if any of the smaller drains would go anywhere better.
     It was a chorus of "No"s that settled the matter.
     "Then we sit tight until help arrives.  We'll be okay down 
here until it gets light out, then we can find a hole to crawl up 
from.  Okay?" I asked.
     "But it's COLD down here," objected one of the voices.  I 
assumed it was the boy's.  It was.  Cold and soggy, and a wind 
coming in through the grate from the river.  Though full summer 
outside, underground it must have been at least 20 degrees 
cooler.  Add skimpy wet clothes, and it got downright chilly.



                                9


     "We'll have to move up a little farther into the drains," I 
decided.  "I remember a wide spot a little further up.  C'mon, 
we've got to get there before this light fades."  There was some 
grumbling, but nobody spoke up out loud.  The breeze WAS cold.
     So we took the first main pipe we found, back to a little 
wide-spot where three pipes joined, and there we were, huddled in 
the half foot of slime and mud that ran through the whole drain.  
Rachel and a couple of the older girls moved over to the other 
side of the small dead-end chamber a while; whispering to each 
other.  The rest of the kids held tight to me and chattered their 
teeth.  At least we didn't have the breeze any more.  Also, storm 
sewers don't smell nearly as bad as drain sewers; and usually 
didn't have rats.  I decided not to mention rats to the kids.
     After a while, the rest came over to join us, probably out 
of cold, and I think it was Rachel who slipped open my coat to 
get warmer under it.  The other kids soon followed.  I felt like 
a heel hogging the coat and chided myself for being selfish.
     "I'm hungry," whined Vicky.
     "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until we get out," I tried 
to dampen such thoughts with common sense.
     "But I'm hungry NOW!" she told me.  I never could resist a 
kid.
     "Me too," whimpered the boy.
     I suddenly remembered one very soggy sandwich, which I 
rescued from a deep pocket.  Even with a plastic wrapping, it was 
definitely the worse for wear after my trip down the drain.  
Still, it didn't last more than a second or two among the kids; 
and I didn't even get a bite myself.
     "I'm still hungry."
     Damn.  No more food.  No candy even, like a pervert is 
supposed to have to entice young girls.  My mind suddenly 
brightened.  "Gumshoe!"  Sure enough, buried in the depths of 
various pockets, I managed to extract two packets of gum, and a 
couple extra sticks.  Enough for two sticks apiece.  I rationed 
out one stick per-kid; and saved the rest for later.
     Rachel was the only one that got it; and it was like a light 
dawning.  "You're a private detective, right?" she asked.
     In the dark, she must have felt rather than seen my nod.
     A snort of laughter confirmed it.  "Gumshoe, huh?"
     Again a nod from me.  I was trying to see which way was up, 
down, or preferably out.
     None of the other kids got it; but for the next ten minutes, 
every so often a giggle or snort of, "Pervert," would come from 
the direction I figured Rachel was in.
     I soon forgot my own empty stomach, when soft and slimy legs 
started to slide over various parts of my anatomy.  I reached 
down and tucked myself between my legs to prevent any 
misunderstandings and thought about baseball scores.
     The kids were tired and shivering and I could feel every 
goosebump on their soft yet firm little bodies.  It wasn't too 
bad when they held still for a while, but then they all started 
to shift around now and again trying to find some warmth and 
comfort.
     That was when it was hardest.  Literally!



                                10


     I couldn't tell which one did it, but she - and don't ask me 
how I knew it was a she; but it was definitely a she - slid 
herself over me and caused the hole in my shorts to move right 
over my cock and it sprung up and against a slimy, wet, and 
thinly pantied bottom.
     I held my breath and started to sweat.  Surely she must have 
felt that, and I was going to be in big trouble if she mentioned 
it to the police.
     But she didn't; and I relaxed.  I debated to myself if it 
was worth the risk to reach down and tuck myself under again, but 
I didn't think I could without really pushing my hand against the 
most wet, slimy, and delicious parts of her body.  It was going 
to be a long night.
     Later on I passed around the last of the gum.  It was 
starting to get sticky by then.  This drew another snicker of, 
"Gumshoe," from Rachel.  Thankfully she didn't explain it to the 
other kids.
     After a while, the kids all shifted again, and I ended up 
with another young girl straddling me.  I tried to pull my shorts 
sideways while the shifting was going on but only lost my grip on 
my raging hard on from my legs.  My cock went up a short pant 
leg.
     I was too worried to know who the poor girl was but I was 
relatively sure that she was half asleep.  Still, the discomfort 
must have triggered something because she kept moving herself 
around trying to get away from what ever was riding up into her 
shorts.  I was hoping that she just thought it was someone's 
foot.  But I was pretty sure I was bigger then Heather's calf by 
then.
     The chattering started to subside and I could hear yawning 
now and then.  The only problem for me was that everybody stayed 
slimy and damp under my coat.  
     I was drifting off a little, though still hard as hell, when 
everybody started to shift around again.  I closed my eyes 
tight;and despite my hopes, my cock slapped up to my belly.  
There wasn't a prayer of tucking it down now.
     This time, the shifting around took longer.  Whoever was 
brushing against my cock tried to get comfortable despite it and 
wasn't successful.  Then somebody else tried, and somebody after 
that.  I could feel little feet and legs touching against my legs 
everywhere and one knee even managed to make its way up under my 
shirt.  Hands were holding me around my chest and mid section.  
Many little hands, needing me.
     I was completely covered with slippery young flesh.  
     I was picturing, in my tired state, what the wet little 
bodies with goosebumps and muddy legs looked like, writhing all 
over me as the kids actually shifted positions on top of my bare 
cock.  I was started to imagine what parts of bodies were 
brushing against the cock as things bumpy and smooth slid across 
it in a parade of tortured pleasure that I had no right in 
enjoying.  I had no idea whose belly my cock slid over when I 
suddenly ejaculated.
     I groaned and felt like a dirtbag.  After a few minutes a 
small sleepy voice asked, "Are you all right?"  I think it was 
Vicky.


                                11


     "Sure, Kid," I said bravely.  "Go back to sleep.  It'll be 
light soon and then we can go home."  It wasn't Vicky straddling 
me; but I'd cum during a transition, so maybe it could have been.  
I hoped I didn't leave any semen stains on somebody's clothes.
     With my sudden release, and a reassurance to myself that 
nobody would examine muddy clothes that closely, I dozed off.
     "Hey, Mister!"  I woke quickly; expecting recriminations.  
"It's light outside!"
     I sat bolt upright; which woke everybody.  There were moans 
and groans.  A storm drain is no place to sleep; and everybody 
ached.  In the dim light from about six tiny holes from above, as 
my eyes adjusted, I saw many barely clad girls pop from my 
overcoat like clowns from a circus car.  I couldn't believe what 
I was seeing; as wet dream after wet dream emerged to stand in 
front of me, all looking towards the light coming from above.
     I was about to get hard again.  That was a bad idea.  It had 
taken everything I had not to even touch any of those children, 
much less manipulate them into strategic spots for my unwanted 
desires.  I had endured temptations no man should ever have to 
suffer; and except for one unplanned emission, felt like I had 
passed through it the best I could have.
     As it was, I was lucky enough to have a distraction.  The 
ladder started at my shoulder level.  I don't know how I could 
have missed it the previous night.  Straight up, almost directly 
overhead, was a faint light trickling in through a manhole cover.  
We'd spent the whole night sitting not ten feet from an exit ... 
straight up.
     I started up it first to push it up and to the side and saw 
police cars and a fire truck parked with a small crowd down the 
street.  They were gathered around a manhole in the direction of 
the alley where we had fell in yesterday.  I must have taken a 
different turn during the night; and they were still tracking us 
toward the river, manhole by manhole.
     "Hey!" I called.  Heads turned my way.  "A little help right 
here!"
     As professionals ran towards me, I climbed back down and 
started to help the lost children up the ladder and back out into 
the mortal world.  There was laughing, and a little crying from 
the younger ones, as hope sprung back into their little lives.
     I was the last to crawl out of the hole but I stopped when I 
saw that it was Lt. Nickles who had my hand.  I frowned at him as 
I got to my feet.
     "So, the pervert spent the night with these kids," he said, 
grinning.  I hated every tooth in his donut swilling mouth.
     "Can it, Nickles.  It's been a long night."  I replied.  A 
camera crew was making its way to the found children and Nickles 
led me in the other direction.  "So, anybody miss me?" I asked.
     "You look like shit.  Stay away from the news crews."
     Thanks, Uncle Nickles.  "Don't I get a reward even?"
     Lt. Nickles didn't even smile.  "Stay out of the light.  
Don't make your kind look good, and you can keep your job."
     Vicky spotted us and started to walk in our direction.  An 
officer blocked her path.  I took the hint and kept my job.




                                12


     Coming in the door to my seedy apartment, I caught a view of 
myself in the mirror.  No wonder Nickles didn't want the press to 
get a shot of me.  I looked like the quintessential pervert with 
trenchcoat.  Geesh.  He was more protecting his ass than mine 
though.  I shuddered when I thought of the money getting that 
coat cleaned was going to cost me.  Almost automatically I 
emptied out the pockets.
     Mostly litter.  The receipts were mush.  The pipe was long 
gone.  In its place was another lump ... a soggy furry lump.
     Carefully I extracted this new lump.
     "Mew?"  Two red eyes peered out from soggy black fur.  Gray 
indeed ... Not.  All cats look gray in the dark.  It seemed I had 
a new partner.
     It took a quick trip to the store after showering to lay in 
some milk and cat food ... and (of course) a new supply of gum.  
It was that, that decided me.
     "Well, Gumshoe," I told the now-purring kitten that had made 
itself at home in my digs, "a detective's life may not pay very 
well, and it has it's ups and downs, but it certainly isn't 
boring."
     Gumshoe didn't bother to answer; just curling into a small 
buzzing ball.
     After I cleaned myself up, copying the kitten, it was time 
for a long nap.  When I awoke, I had a phone message from one of 
the local TV stations.  I didn't return their call.  The paper 
made no mention besides the passing reference of a private dick 
who helped the children until the police were able to be on the 
scene.  The police looked like the saviors.  I looked like 
wallpaper.  Which I suppose was best.  If you're a pedophile 
detective, it doesn't pay to get your name nosed around until 
somebody really needs you.  Then they come looking for you.  Even 
Nickles had sent me a few clients.  He owed me for this job ... 
and I supposed he would pay it off in his own fashion.  I just 
didn't expect him to be grateful.
     A call to the client I had been working for before 
grudgingly allowed me to stay on the payroll, provided I didn't 
talk to any media.  Nickles was thorough; and had kept his part 
of the bargain.  He might hate my guts as much as I hated his; 
but we both respected each other to keep his word.

     That afternoon I was back on the corner in my car with 
binoculars, lying low.  It took the girls no time to spot me 
despite my duckblind; and I was treated to flashes of panties 
whenever they thought they could get away with it.  Not just my 
girls, but Rachel's group as well.  I took it as the teasing it 
was; and chalked it up to a modest tip for my services.
     After school, as I was about to follow my group home safely, 
Rachel and Jamie approached me and I rolled down the window.
     "You girls staying away from big holes?" I said.
     Rachel took the lead, naturally.  "You know, we were doing 
it on purpose."  I didn't answer.  I didn't want to hear what I 
suddenly knew they were going to say.  "We were teasing you and 
you were too chickenshit to do anything about it."  My day was 
going down in flames.



                                13


     "Yeah."  Piped up Jamie.  "I thought you liked girls, but we 
rubbed you all over and you were too scared to move."
     "Yeah, Fag!" hammered Rachel.  Last nail in my casket, down 
I go.  I felt like sewer mud.  Here I was trying to do the stand-
up thing, and these girls make me out the fool.  "See ya', Fag!" 
Rachel called back as they skipped away, their job done.
     I started to wonder why I liked kids.

     I followed Sandy, Kate, and their friend Jenny home safely; 
and wasn't even rewarded a flash for my trouble.  That was okay.  
I didn't deserve it.  Not when Rachel and Friends made a royal 
chump out of me.
     I returned to the office where I had left Gumshoe earlier in 
the day with a litterbox and water ... and found no calls 
waiting.  Figures.  So I sat and went over the night in the storm 
drain in my mind.  I knew it had been too good to be true.  I 
remembered climaxing sometime that night; and then I didn't feel 
quite so badly.  At least I got something out of it.  A hungry, 
"Mew," reminded me I got more out of it than that.
     After feeding Gumshoe, I settled down to read a (What else?) 
Detective magazine, while I commiserated on vagaries of the 
female sex.  Especially the younger part of that population.  A 
buzzing fur mat is more help when you feel miserable than I had 
expected.
     A knock at my office door brought me out of my day dream.  
"Come in," I said to it; dumping an indignant kitten that stalked 
off to hide in the corner.  The door opened to reveal Liz Duns 
standing there with an unsure look to her face.  "If you came to 
rub my nose in it, I gave at the office."  Funny.  I WAS at the 
office.
     "Mister Ped?" she asked; and worked up enough courage to 
take a step inside.  I took a breath and waited for it.  "Mister? 
I heard what Rachel and Jamie were saying about you."  I closed 
my eyes.  Some nightmares just didn't know when to end.  "Well, I 
think they're wrong."  My eyes opened.  "I know you wanted to 
touch us back; but you didn't."  My nightmare was taking a turn 
for the better.  "What we did was wrong, and you didn't deserve 
it."
     I looked Liz in the eyes.  She meant it.  "Look kid, I know 
how it goes.  You didn't have to come and say your sorry."  I was 
being the Big Man.  "But for what it's worth, thanks anyway."  My 
smile was genuine.  Liz smiled back.  I looked her over good this 
time.  Square face, a little stocky, but she'll grow taller still 
and it'll even out.  Her legs looked like they could have done 
the high beam at the Olympics.  She had the flat stomach and I 
wondered if it was there that I came.
     "Um ...?"  She hesitated.  I nodded the okay.  "Would you 
like to come to my house and have dinner with my folks?"
     That's a kid for you.  And there was a disaster in the 
making.  "Oh, Liz.  That would make more trouble for you then you 
can know.  Thanks anyway."
     "No, really.  I told them everything about what we did to 
you and how you were.  They really want to meet you."  She 
stepped even closer.  "They were impressed."  One more step and 
then she was leaning over my desk to me.  "I was impressed."


                                14


     My face must have gone red; because my heart was beating 
fast enough to worry a doctor.  Liz was smiling in a way that 
told me she wasn't a virgin.
     And I had used up all of my inner strength in the drain 
pipe.  As Kermit the frog said about being green, "It ain't easy 
being a pervert."
     I never even noticed the kitten making shredded wool out of 
the stockings I had left on the floor the day before.

                              <END>

Frank McCoy can be reached at:  mccoyf@millcomm.com

Pedro Vila  can be reached at:  pedrovila@mailandnews.com
Until 02/28/02  After that, his email addy will change.




































                                15

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