The Case Files of Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective
This Episode: A Chance Encounter - Part Two
by Trapper Jock McIntyre

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

I got to Won Huong-Lo's and ordered a bowl of chop suey. Won was a chubby looking guy with a basket between his legs that resembled a hamster munching on carrot, a sight that made me give thanks for the fact that at least I can pick and choose the contents of my Fruit of the Looms. As I sat there chasing some rice around the plate with my chopsticks, Won came out of the kitchen. A trail of the steamy smell of overcooked chicken followed him.

"Ah, Masters, so nice to have you back in my establishment again," he said with a mouth full of teeth that looked as if they had never learned how to line up in formation.

"Cut the crap, Won, I'm here on business. Your boy over there said that you wouldn't see anyone unless they order a meal. Is this part of your new plan to poison all of San Francisco," I spat.

Won looked at me with disapproval "Pity your attitude there my boi, I always though that you were a person of higher quality"

The chop suey began to congeal in front of me. "Look, fat boy, I need some answers. What do you know about certain articles of antiquity being sold on the black-market?"

"Ah, masters, your turn to cut the crap, for surely you mean the Dexterous Dildo of Denmark," he observed.

The thought of the fake phallus and its appeal yielded an almost Pavlovian response of slickness in my y-fronts. "Alright, so that's what I'm looking for, so what do you know?"

"Masters, my boi, have you forgotten that I don't ever know anything without a gratuity," Won replied with a smirk on his face.

"You are one cheap SOB," I shot back as I tossed a twenty at him.

As he held it up to the light, I snorted at his mistrust. "Don't worry, its real!"

"I hope so. Some of the ones I've been getting lately have been about as genuine as those rubber cocks you stuff in your jockstrap or in certain other mysterious places when you play hide the meatless sausage," he stated with a smirk.

I reached over and grabbed him by the neck and his eyes began to pop out like the nipples on a drag queen's false tits. "My cocks and their hiding places are none of your business buster"

Won began choking "Alright, enough. Seems that I just overheard some discussion back in the weight room trying to sell it off to the highest bidder"

"What about a ransom for it?" I queried as I let him back

"Oh it's gone way past that. This dildo is far too hard to hold onto. The culprits want to get rid of it as soon as possible," he pointed out as he gathered his composure.

The air was getting heavy. I lit a Lucky Strike and I loosened my tie. After taking a long suck on it I tried to stroke him for more information. "And what else?"

"What do mean what else?" he answered. "I've told you all that I know!"

"For that I paid 20 bucks. You ougtha be strung up" as I raised the back of my hand to him to slap him.

Won drew back. "Wait!" he exclaimed as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "There's a man in the weight room. He's making a deal."

I lowered my hand and pushed away the chop suey.

"That's more like it" I leaned forward. "Who's the man?"

"Harry, the Banana, Bowles"

Upon hearing the name, the vaginal wetness I had felt earlier from talk of the dildo dried up like a swimsuit left to hang on a cactus in Death Valley. The hairs on my vagina stood on end in my y-fronts. For the first time in this case I concluded that maybe I should have gone to Fire Island for the winter. The Banana liked his men, and he liked them big. This was one time that I was glad that I had a selection of packie-penises for all seasons in my duffel bag.

I pushed back my chair, grabbed my sack, and turned to head to the gym in the back of the eatery.

"Masters, one thing" Won yelled.

"What" I barked

"You'll need this for protection," he said as he tossed me a packet containing a rubber.

"I squinted at him, what make you think I don't carry my own" I asked.

"Its on the house." He laughed. "Oh and Masters, that'll be $1.25 for the chop suey."

As I walked through the door to gym area, I could smell the musky scent of masculinity. It made me wish I could bottle it and splash it on myself every morning. A cute twinky boy walked along the lockers and the sight of him reminded me of a tomboy-girl I had once bought a strap-on for back in Havana. Approaching a locker I stripped down to my undershirt and y-fronts. Making sure that no one was around, I whipped off my y-fronts. I reached in to my duffle bag and pulled out my jockstrap. Fishing in the pocket on the side of the gym bag, I selected the good old Super Chief Streamliner. Eight inches of ersatz phallic delight all made possible by advances with rubber during the war. As I set my cock on the shelf of my locker, I thanked my self for having saved scraps and planted a victory garden during the conflict.

I quickly pulled the jockstrap up my legs and nestled my not-so-little rubber friend in the pouch, positioning the balls at the bases of my labia, and dressing my new cock to the right. After adjusting the straps of my Bike #10 jockstrap around my ass cheeks, I pulled on my trunks and a t-shirt, followed by my gym shoes. The latch on the locker door wouldn't catch so I closed it and hoped for the best.

As I walked into the weight room, I conspicuously adjusted my willy making sure that The Banana noticed. The atmosphere reminded me of how it must feel to be a hotdog vendor at the ballpark on opening day. I sat down on a weight bench and spread my legs.

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