Marry Me G. Hauser (the chimp paradox .TXT) 📖

back. He’s already ready

for you and told me to send you in.”

“Great.” Braxton walked around the wall where photos of the

massage therapists with their credentials and certificates were

hung. He tapped on Kellie’s door and heard him call him to

enter.

Inside it was dim and smelled like herbal oils. The massage

table was prepared with clean pressed sheets and music of ocean

waves was playing. “Oh, God. I need this.”

“Let me leave while you get on the table.”

“Too late.” Braxton dropped the robe and his briefs, stepping

out of the slippers. He lay face down on the table, his cheeks

pressed into the donut ring and his arms at his sides. “Make sure

I don’t doze off. I don’t want to miss a second of this, Kel.”

“You got it.” Kellie pulled the sheet and blanket up to

Braxton’s bottom.

The minute Braxton felt Kellie’s magical hands on him, he

moaned and got wood, closing his eyes and trying to relax, even

if it was just for an hour of indulgence.

~

Fabian sat with his laptop on his legs on his sofa, music

playing softly in the background. He hunted for a job, getting

frustrated, checked on previous applications, followed up, did all

the right things. Why was he not getting any positive feedback?

Was because he was just a temp? Did that put off employers?

Did you have to have a full-time job to get a full-time job in this economy?

His rent was high but he didn’t want to move. He had some

reserves in his savings account and the temp job was a decent

income, though obviously not a steady one.

Once he had sent his resume to every job opening in

California, and even some in Nevada, because although he didn’t

want to leave LA, he would if he had to, he began surfing the net

for non-job related items. He couldn’t resist. He put into a search engine, ‘Cancer charity auction, Los Angeles’, and today’s date.

The gala event appeared. Fabian entered the website and

choked at the two thousand dollar a plate cost. “Holy shit!” He

shook his head on any aspiration he may have had to attend, just

to see, out of curiosity, how much a date with Mr Todd may go

for, and instead read the items up for auction.

There were three dates with Braxton Todd and he was the

only ‘human for sale’ item. The rest were donations from hotels

and spas, restaurants and theaters, shopping gift certificates and

even a trip to Hawaii.

So? How did a man with a reputation as a whore, rate as a top

auction item?

Ahh…

Fabian had answered his own question. Sex. Win a date with

handsome Mr Todd and get his ass.

“Gross.” Fabian turned up his nose. “I wouldn’t touch you

with a ten-foot pole.” He enlarged the image the site had used to

tempt bidders.

All right. The guy was handsome…fuck. Really hot.

“Jesus.” Fabian didn’t stop his snooping at the auction site, he

went on a hunting excursion. Bored. Yes, he was. He put in

Braxton Todd’s name into the search engine once again and

could not get over the number of entry hits he had. Braxton’s

business website was number one, but after that and a few

listings on directories? The smut began.

Braxton Todd, topless, in a skimpy bathing suit. The picture

was obviously candid, and probably shot by someone other than

a professional photographer. It was from a blog site about

celebrities, and under the photo was a caption that read, ‘ Yeah, I’d fuck him too.’

From that link a few dozen appeared, all with men admiring

Braxton’s fabulous form and face. Photos of Braxton in his teens

were even posted. How they showed up on the net Fabian had no

clue, but there was all the information he didn’t need to know

about the playboy of LA and his PR firm, strutting his stuff, on

the arms of male and female models, red carpet debuts with

celebrities, and even one naked photo of Braxton lying face

down on a beach in…where?

Fabian clicked the picture and the caption was in Portuguese.

He cut and pasted it on a translator site and it had been taken of

Braxton in Rio two years ago.

“Christ, look at that ass.” Fabian wondered which way

Braxton preferred his sex. He assumed a man with the ego and

power Braxton had he would be a top. But who knew? Maybe he

had no preference and liked it either way.

“Yeah, I’d fuck him too,” Fabian repeated the caption on a

previous photo.

The amount of information about the guy was bordering on

frightening. If Braxton ever got a stalker, the man would be

doomed.

Fabian put his own name into the same search engine. Only

his social web page came up and one or two business

employment sites he had posted on. He frowned and nudged the

laptop off his legs.

Why did some men have it all? And others struggle?

He leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

~

Coated with scented oil, Braxton could barely get off the

table when Kellie left to allow him to get dressed. He’d had a

hard-on the entire time Kellie was massaging him and needed to

get laid. He was just too tired for the head games and didn’t want

a lousy hookup in the showers.

He groaned as he rolled to sit upright, staring at his dick.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He sighed and gave it one pull, then

got off the table and slipped on only the robe, since he

needed another shower to wash off the oil. He stepped into the

slippers and held his briefs in his hand. When he was ready, a

light tap was heard at the door.

Braxton opened it and Kellie had a glass of water for him.

“Thanks.” Braxton stuffed his briefs into his robe’s pocket and

drank the cool water down thirstily.

“So…big auction tonight.” Kellie laughed.

Braxton handed him back the empty glass. “Don’t remind me.

God knows what will bid on me.” This book was downloaded

from http://www.superiorz.org

“You’re worth a ton of money, honey.” Kellie gave him a

shake of the head.

“You be careful, mister, or I’ll make you give me a happy

ending one of these days.” Braxton pointed a finger at him

playfully.

“Yeah. Monty would really like that.” Kellie swiped his

finger out of the air to tug playfully.

It was no secret Kellie was involved with a tough ex Navy

SEAL named Monty Gresham,