Detective Tripp popped into my head, and my prick woke up. I imagined him showing up for no reason at my house. Wearing one of his crisp, well-tailored business suits. He’d stand at my front door, not sure what to say, mumbling a little. I’d invite him in, but I wouldn’t step back far enough. He’d be very, very close to me. I’d tilt my head back, and he’d kiss me. His lips would be amazingly soft. I’d push the door shut. My hands would be all over him, feeling his wide shoulders, his tight stomach, his cock struggling to get out of his slacks.
My dick had swelled to a respectable size. I stood back, aimed my phone at the mirror and snapped a couple shots. Checking them, I was impressed with myself. They looked good. I considered taking a break and finishing the fantasy I’d started about Tripp, but I had work to do. I pulled my briefs back on and went into the bedroom and got dressed.
Sitting on the hard box spring, I clicked away at my phone. I went to massageformen.com website and placed the following ad:
Erotic massage by hot thirtysomething
Hi! I’m Zeus! 5’ 11’’ 185 lb. jock. I offer a relaxing Swedish massage done on a table and in the nude. Out call only $140. Full release guaranteed. Open to suggestion.
Maybe Zeus was a silly choice for a name, but there were a lot of ads and some of the guys looked like they spent every spare minute at the gym. I needed something that would make me stand out. I could have gone with Dirk, but something felt wrong about that. So, I stuck with Zeus.
I worried that “open to suggestion” might not be specific enough. I changed it to “open-minded”, but that seemed lame, too. I needed something that would bring in Eddie’s killer. I finally went back one more time and changed it to “into most scenes.” I needed to leave myself room to say no. I didn’t want to have to fulfill every fetish out there. I attached the two best pictures I’d taken and then I was done.
Now all I had to do was wait. Well, no. I had to do more than that. I had to think through what I’d do when someone answered the ad. It was very unlikely I’d receive an email from Eddie’s killer that said, “Hi! I’d like to choke you to death. Are you cool with that?” No, he’d probably hint at what he wanted in an email. Then he’d be more specific when I got there in person. He might not even ask for what he wanted until we were well into the massage.
That meant I needed to think through two very important things. First, I had to be convincing enough in my massage techniques to keep Eddie’s killer from jumping off the table and running away. And second, I had to be able to protect myself if he tried to strangle me.
As far as being convincing, I had to remember everything Eddie did with me. I sat down and took some notes. Maybe that seems silly, but I’m an accountant. It’s my nature to organize things. I remembered six moves he did really well. I numbered them and jotted down a brief description. Six was not a lot; I’d have to pick up a book on massage. Hopefully, it would have a section on how not to actually hurt people.
Protecting myself would be a little trickier. I wished I could have the clients come to my house. I could set up my extra room with candles and soft music. I could also hide weapons all over the place. But Eddie’s killer had been here. He’d know something was up the minute I gave him the address.
Buying a gun was out of the question. First, it would be difficult to keep nearby while doing a nude massage. Second, even if I could figure out a way to conceal it, I was pretty sure there was at least a week long waiting period and that didn’t work for me. Probably the thing that most put it out of the question was that the police would find it suspicious when I applied for the permit. Yes, I could try to get an illegal gun, but I had no idea how to go about that. No, the only possibility was a knife. Like a switchblade.
Of course, I had no idea where to buy a switchblade. I pulled out my smart phone, jumped on the Internet and Googled it. I found an online knife store. I’d rather go and pick one up so that I had it today, but then I noticed they had a category called California Legal. Apparently, I lived in a state that had really solid knife control -- but still allowed you to own a machine gun. Logical.
I clicked on the link. All the knives on the page had short, stocky blades. You might be able to hurt someone with a knife like that, but I wasn’t sure you’d hurt them enough to keep them from killing you. I went back to the main page and checked out some of the longer, more reassuring blades, but realized they probably wouldn’t send them to me in California if they weren’t legal here.
Giving up, I went out into the garage to dig around in the boxes from the kitchen. Jeremy and I had bought a nice set of knives. I just had to find them. Fortunately, the police had opened every single box, so it wasn’t hard to figure out which one held the kitchen knives. My first instinct was to go with a paring knife. It was small and would be easy to hide. Though the
