Full Release by Marshall Thornton (free novel 24 TXT) 📗

and then a little sex. It occurred that the universe might be paying me back for all my recent trouble.

Rick led me to his bedroom, which was large and had an open space between the queen-sized bed and the dresser for me to set up the table. I set up my music and got some jazz started. Then I told Rick to take his clothes off and get on the table. I turned my back and took off my own clothes.

I turned around and took in the amazing view of Rick with his thick, round ass sticking up in the air, and beyond that his strong back. My heart beat a little faster and my dick began to swell, but at the same time I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I got some lotion on my hands and rubbed them together to warm it. I began to spread the lotion over Rick’s wide back. I rubbed him for about a minute and a half and then said, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

He rolled his head so he could look up at me. “You’re not doing too bad, really.”

“It’s just, I know what you’re expecting at the end, and I can’t, do that…”

“Your ad seemed pretty clear. I mean, it said full release. You do know what a full release is?”

“Yeah, I mean, I have, I just…I’m sort of falling for someone.”

“I’m not looking for something emotional. Mechanical is a-okay with me.”

“I know, it’s just, wow…I can’t. I know it’s stupid.”

He sat up and rested his hand over his dick. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Oh, um, that’s probably not a good idea. I should just go.”

“How about this…” he said. “You finish the massage part, and that’ll be it. I’m really sore from working out.”

It occurred to me that the reason he called me might actually have been for the massage, since it was pretty obvious this guy could get laid any time he wanted. I thought about his offer a moment. “Okay, I can do that.”

“You won’t be offended if I don’t tip you.”

“No, I won’t be.”

He laid back down, and I gave him a pretty lousy massage. When all was said and done, I was better at the sex part of the massage than the actual massage. As I rubbed this beautiful guy, I felt kind of stupid. I wasn’t involved with Tripp. A shared hand job did not imply a commitment. There was no reason in the world for me to feel wrong about doing anything I felt like with Rick. Except, I did.

This wasn’t good. I needed the money I’d been making giving massages. Yes, I could change my listing and claim that I only gave therapeutic massages, but I had absolutely no training. And if all you’re giving is the massage, training starts to matter a lot more than your naked pictures.

But after Tripp, I just couldn’t continue doing a rub and a tug. No matter how much I needed the money. Illogical, I know. Part of me hoped I’d get over it and take a few clients. The sooner the better. Until then, I should take my ad off massageformen.com

When I was finished the massage, Rick was true to his word. He didn’t tip. I walked out of his house and down the street to my car. As I was climbing in, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, though I should have. When I answered, it was Alan Moskowitz from the Daily Herald. I didn’t expect a pleasant conversation.

“We’ve been told they’re arresting a suspect today and it’s not you,” the reporter said. I was shocked. I couldn’t speak. He continued, “I’m going to pitch my editor on a sidebar about you. You know, wrongly accused and everything. It may not get in, but I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Do you know who they’re planning to arrest?” I asked. I was curious; I’d like to know who left me out to dry.

“They’re not saying just yet. It’ll be on the five o’clock news. They’re maximizing the publicity value. So, what do you think? About the sidebar, I mean.”

“Can I think about it?” I asked.

“For an hour or so. If it doesn’t go in tomorrow, no one’s going to want to see it.”

“I’ll call you back,” I said. Then I hung up and called Tripp.

Calling him was foolish. I knew he’d be too busy booking the actual killer to talk to me. His phone rang a couple of times and went to voicemail. “I heard. This is great. Call me. I want to know all about it.”

It was around one-thirty when I walked into the house. I had more than three hours to wait before I’d know who the killer was. I made myself a sandwich for lunch. Then I spent a couple hours working in my garden. I thought about rebuilding my life. I decided I’d call Bobby Sharpe in a day or two. Once I was exonerated, I might be able to guilt him into giving me that job. If I couldn’t do that, then I’d have to start looking for work. Maybe I could find some consulting work. That might be nice for a while, a high hourly rate with low stress.

Mostly I thought about going on a date with Tripp. Where would we go? To dinner? Should I make dinner? Rent a DVD? Or should it be more special? A trip to the Observatory maybe? Or Santa Monica Pier? Maybe I should just get him to come over and we could spend a couple days in bed. Actually, it all sounded great. I didn’t really care too much what kind of date I had with Tripp, as long as I had one.

When it was about five minutes to five, I went to the coffee table and found the remote. I clicked the television on and flipped over to cable. I surfed to the local news. Then I waited. I surfed through the channels