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Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.This story has erotic themes and is suitable for adults, 18+ only.
[Table of Contents
Harry Harrison sat in the corner booth of an older diner with his one and only friend, Sam Lurch.
The clatter of the dishes and the ranting between the cook and waitress in no way distracted Harry from his rantings about Claire, his mystery novel, and his big chance at becoming one of the greats. He could see it now, his name next to Raymond Chandler, Dan Brown, or even Edgar Allen Poe.
“You’re a great writer,” Sam declared, without ever reading any of Harry’s material before.
“All she wants is me to go back to work; she just doesn’t understand the writing process,” Harry replied.
The waitress brought the tuna melts that the men ordered, rolling her eyes at the strange, somewhat smug men that sat in her section as they spoke about Harry’s plot for his novel, and this woman who obviously had more sense than either of them to urge him to go back to his day job.
“It’s a cruise, a dark stormy night and the captain is missing…” Harry continued his story summary for his friend.
Sam sat with his elbows on the table and his fists supporting his chin as Harry spoke. He was slightly too large for the small booth, his large scruffy beard held onto pieces of the tuna melt he nibbled on and his outfit unflattering for his shape, gender, or age.
The waitress caught a glimpse of the tight bicycle pants, bright orange, and the tight t-shirt that barely covered his belly and was partly the reason for her eye rolling, but not entirely. Harry’s words, his on and on, never-ending summary of a ridiculous mystery and the ranting about a woman who the waitress thought probably too good for him was the main reason for her disgust.
“And Claire read the manuscript?” Sam asked with a surprising tone.
“Yes. She didn’t seem to understand what I was going for in the book. It is a work in progress; I don’t know what she expected so quickly,” Harry said.
Harry had been working on the book for over six months now. So quick he was not, and as far as Claire, his girlfriend of two years was concerned, talented he was not either.
“She is surrounded by old books all day long. Maybe she has just lost appreciation for newer ones?” Sam said, offering his dimwitted support.
Harry met Claire at the library, so it was true she was surrounded by old books all day long, but she also was very eager to get the list of new arrivals, so he knew Sam wasn’t correct in his assumption, even though he wished he was in this case.
She was tall, beautiful and extremely kind. Her shy nature kept her from meeting anyone, and luckily for Harry, she grew fond of him as he spent almost every lunch break in the library reading.
Harry always felt that Sam was jealous of Claire, especially since he had no one to call his own. It had always been Harry and Sam all through school. They were best friends with never a girl to come between them. Now, Sam seemed glad to see Claire upset with Harry, and was all too supportive about telling Harry to let her go.
“She is not right for you, Harry,” he told him, shoving another bite of tuna melt into his mouth.
“You need to spend your time on the book; that’s what’s important,” he said.
“I know you’re right,” Harry said.
He really didn’t agree with his friend, at least not entirely. He knew Claire was too good for him, and that he would never get a chance at another woman so elegant and beautiful, but he wasn’t willing to give up his dream for her.
“Did you see that waitress?” Sam said with a chuckle.
“I think she winked at me,” he continued.
Harry smiled, entertaining his friend’s unfounded self-confidence. He noticed the eye roll from the waitress, but his own unfounded self-confidence wouldn’t allow him to believe it was due to his rantings, so he assumed it was due to the pieces of tuna stuck in Sam’s beard.
When she returned to the table with the check, Sam perked up, pushing his chest out and smiling at the woman with a strange, almost psychotic grin.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“Just your number,” Sam said.
Harry held back his reaction and continued to smile politely as he pulled out his wallet.
The waitress rolled her eyes, let out an exhausted sigh and scooped up the cash and the check before walking away.
“She’s a little rude, don’t ya think?” Sam asked.
“She just looks busy,” Harry said.
“Well, playing hard to get after flirting like that is just ridiculous,” he said, pushing the table away from his belly to climb out of the booth.
Harry watched his friend walk out of the diner, climb onto a woman’s ten-speed bike and ride off.
“I’m sorry about my friend,” he said softly to the waitress who was now cleaning the table.
She smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. It was more of a sarcastic grin as she moved away from Harry.
Harry began to think that Sam was right. This waitress is rude. Maybe he was right about everything, including Claire. Maybe it was time to let her go.
Harry walked towards his apartment, taking in the scenery around him as he strolled. The couple across the street was arguing, the woman trying to walk away and the man pulling at her arm. He was about to cross the street to intervene when the woman fell into the man’s arms, kissing him with passion that Harry had only written about.
He was grateful they had made up just in time. If he had to go over there, he was certain he would have gotten knocked out by the large man. But, Harry had become the neighborhood sleuth ever since leaving his job.
The busy-body neighbor below him constantly brought him cases to work on, somehow mistaking a mystery writer for a detective. He didn’t mind much though; he kind of enjoyed the notoriety that he was bestowed by his neighbors, and it gave him some ideas for his book, and possible future books.
“Hey Harry, Jimmy is looking for you,” Fred yelled from his downstairs apartment window.
“Let him know I’m home, will ya?” Harry said, pulling his keys from the black slacks he wore.
His pride was beaming as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Jimmy was his neighbor – an older man who spent his days inside with his cats. He wasn’t a talker, not very social, and Harry knew if he was looking for him, he must have a case for him to work on.
He placed the key into the lock and turned the door knob. As the door opened, he noticed something different…something odd about his once homey apartment. It was dark, more than half empty, and in somewhat of a disarray.
Harry flipped on the light and looked around at the apartments contents. A lamp was sitting on the floor, the table it once adorned now missing, along with the other tables that were once in the room.
The flowered chair that Claire insisted on bringing over when she moved in was gone, but the old torn leather couch Harry refused to get rid of still in place.
The television was gone, except some cords on the floor next to the cable box, but his laptop was still on the kitchen table.
“Were you robbed?” Jimmy sounded behind him.
Harry ignored the man’s question and walked further into his apartment. A note sat on the kitchen counter.
I begged and pleaded for you to go back to work, but you insist on chasing this ridiculous dream. We can’t live on dreams, and I cannot live with a man with such silly notions about his misguided talents.
Please figure out your life,
He held the note in his hand, reading it over and over.
“Well, at least you weren’t robbed,” Jimmy said.
Harry hadn’t noticed the old man standing behind him, and he had all but forgotten his presence all together.
“Fred said you were looking for me,” Harry said.
“Yes, but it may not be the best time for you. I can come back,” Jimmy said.
“No, no…it’s fine, I could use the distraction,” Harry said.
Jimmy went on to tell him about his missing cat. He had five cats in his pet-free apartment, and all of them he considered his children.
The look of terror in his eyes created more urgency to the situation than Harry agreed with, but he did need the distraction.
“When did you see him last?” Harry asked.
“He had been meowing something awful at the window every night this week, so I thought there was something or someone out there disturbing him. So when he disappeared last night, I panicked, and was wondering what if something or someone got him?” he said with serious concern in his voice.
“How did he get out?” Harry asked.
Jimmy barely left the apartment himself, so he couldn’t imagine the cat escaping without help. It had to be an inside job.
“My cleaning lady opened the window while she cleaned the bathroom. He must have left then,” he said.
“Here’s a picture. Please find Tinkle,” he pleaded, pushing a picture of a fluffy white cat towards Harry.
Harry took the picture, stared at the missing cat and wondered how well he was faring out in the real world with a name like Tinkle.
“I’ll find him,” Harry promised.
Harry printed off flyers of the missing cat and headed out of the apartment armed with his staple gun. It was the method he used to find Mrs. Little’s dog, so he was certain it would be just as effective for Tinkle.
Six blocks in, he had plastered the neighborhood with the flyers and asked everyone he ran into about the cat’s whereabouts. He was growing bored of the case, and was allowing his thoughts to drift to Claire.
He dialed her number, and after three rings it went to voicemail, letting Harry know she had ignored the call. His message was short and sweet. It was just ‘this is Harry, call me please. I love you.’
Sam’s face appeared on his phone, the ringtone set to ‘Eye of the Tiger’ alerting Harry that his friend was calling. He clicked the talk button and was barely able to say hello before Sam began ranting about the five-mile ride he had just taken, and how his body stamina was increasing and building muscle at a faster rate than most professional athletes.
Harry knew all of this was nonsense, but he did admire Sam for following his dream of becoming an Olympic cyclist, especially since his five-mile ride was most likely two, and mostly downhill.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“I’m on a case,” Harry replied.
“Wow, you really should be charging for your private dick services. What’s the case?” Same asked.
“A missing cat,” Harry replied.
His ego was bloated from Sam’s comment. He should be charging for these services, why not? A private dick, Harry, the private dick…his title continued to swarm around in his head.
“I gotta go. I just broke the case,” Harry said in his best private-dick voice.
He slid the phone into his pocket and walked slowly towards the downstairs apartment patio. The cat, Tinkle, was sitting on the concrete ledge, perched carefully in the remaining sunlight as it started to go down for the night.
Harry reached down, gripped the cat and pulled him from the ledge. He hissed, scratched at his face and then jumped from his arms, only to perch himself back on the same ledge.
The scratches on his cheek burnt, causing Harry to scream out as the claws pierced his skin. A woman emerged from the patio doors, a look of disgust all over her face.
“Is this your cat?” she asked.
“No, a neighbors. He’s been missing for a couple days,” Harry said.
“This isn’t his first visit,” she declared with an angry tone.
“I have eight kittens inside from the last time he came sniffing around,” she continued.
Harry stared at the woman, an older lady with white hair. She wore a loose dress covered in flowers, a moomoo his mother used to call them. She was angry, demanding payment for the vet bills of her innocent cat fluffy. Harry gripped Tinkle, this time with his claws facing away from him and promised to relay the message as he scurried away.
Jimmy answered the door, his face full of relief and surprise as he noticed Harry with Tinkle.
“Thank you!” Jimmy exclaimed, pulling Tinkle from his neighbor’s arms.
“This wasn’t his first time out, was it?” Harry asked.
“No, he sneaks out every chance he gets. But this was the longest he had been gone,” Jimmy said.
Harry explained to his neighbor what the woman with white hair had said, and how she was demanding payment for the unwanted pregnancy Tinkle had caused and the eight kittens that were a result.
“Tinkle is fixed, so it wasn’t him,” Jimmy said, pushing the cat’s fur close to his face as he rocked him in his arms.
Harry felt a sudden urge to locate the true father of the eight kittens, but knew he had to let go of the distractions and get back to writing his novel.
He called Claire again, but she didn’t answer. He chose not to leave a message this time, realizing that it made him look needy.
The sun had finally gone down and the light in the apartment across the street flicked on. Dora, the woman who had moved in across the street was beautiful, fit, and absentminded when it came to shutting her curtains. Harry loved the nights when Claire worked late at the library. This was the time he got to watch Dora work out in front of her TV, and if he was lucky, undress for her shower before she would realize the curtains were open.
He gripped the box of tissues and placed them on the couch beside him. He unbuckled his pants, slid them down under his waist and squirted some lotion into the palm of his hand.
Dora was already in front of the TV, her ass aimed at the window facing Harry’s apartment. He gripped his lifeless cock, jumping at the cold sensation of the lotion touching his sensitive skin, and slid his hand back and forth slowly waking his unit up while Dora did her warm ups.
She bent over, her tight aerobic pants clinging to her skin, pushing into the crack of her ass giving Harry a perfect view. Her body was tight and toned, her long black hair falling to the middle of her back as she leaned back, stretching her arms to the sky.
His cock livened up as he continued to stroke himself. The loose skin tightened as his excitement grew, pulling his balls from his thighs, tugging on them with each stroke.
Dora turned around, facing Harry’s window and began jogging in place, letting her breasts bounce freely inside her loose tank top. He could almost make out the hard nipples under the soft cotton material, causing him to let out a soft moan as his cock twitched in his hand.
His fingers slid to his ballsack, tickling the loose skin as he sped up the stroking process. Dora pulled her top from over her head, revealing her full, plump breasts. Harry could see the sweat glistening from her skin and wanted to lick it off.
She walked away, out of sight for only a second before appearing in the window of her bedroom. Harry watched as she slid her yoga pants off. She wore no panties; it was just her bare skin. Harry slapped his penis hard in his hand, his balls bouncing against his inner thigh causing a smacking noise as his pace increased.
With Dora bent over, Harry could almost see her pussy. He had never gotten a peek of it, not even just her bush. He often imagined what it would look like, maybe thick dark hair, a thick clit and full lips. He wanted to shove his tongue far up into her pussy so he could taste her soul rather than spanking his monkey at her window. He hadn’t had the courage to even speak to her.
Harry felt his cock twitch, and then it began to pulsate in his hand. He gripped a tissue, ready to catch the cum as it flowed from the tip of his cock, and closed his eyes as she disappeared into the shower.
His thoughts moved from Dora to Claire, her beautifully white skin, her tiny freckles just above her breasts. He loved how her ass looked like an upside down heart, and when she bent over, her pussy lips pushed past her thighs.
The white jiz spilled over his hand onto the tissue he had waiting and ready. When he opened his eyes back up, Dora’s curtains were drawn and he knew there wouldn’t be another show until tomorrow. The only good thing he could think of at the moment was, having Claire gone, he could whack off to Dora every night if he wanted.
Harry popped open a can of beer and sat down in front of his computer. His crotch was still tacky from the cum that hadn’t been properly cleaned off, but he didn’t care. Not enough to get in the shower right away at least.
He had to get this story written, and so far he couldn’t figure out whom to make the killer, or why. He needed a motive, something no one would suspect, but his mind was racing with thoughts of everything except his novel.
Unable to concentrate on writing, Harry called Sam. He had cut him off abruptly earlier when he found Tinkle, the cat, so he should at least call to say he was sorry.
“Hey Harry,” Sam said as he answered the phone.
“I wanted to call you back. I’m sorry I cut you off earlier,” Harry said.
“That’s ok. I know you were on an important case,” Sam said.
Harry loved how Sam looked at him, always with pride. But, apologizing for his abruptness wasn’t the main reason for the call. Harry needed his friend. He needed to tell him Claire had left him, and hear him give him all the reasons why that was a good thing, and not something to pout about.
“Claire left,” Harry interjected without prompting.
“Really? Where did she go?” Sam asked.
“Left, like for good…left me,” Harry said.
“Well, you know I think that is for the best,” Sam said.
“She didn’t even say goodbye. She just packed her stuff and left a note,” Harry said.
He knew he was looking for some pity, but he also knew that Sam of all people wouldn’t give it to him. Sam had never had a girlfriend, at least not one that was serious. He had hated that Claire got in between him and Harry, and now that she was gone, Harry was certain he was bursting with joy on the inside.
“She was standing in your way,” Sam said.
“You have plans, big plans, and she isn’t a part of them,” he continued.
Harry listened, taking in everything his friend was saying. He tried to shake off the fact that Sam was biased towards Harry being single and tried to stay focused on the fact that he may in fact be right about Claire. After all, she did leave.
“Do you need me to come over?” Sam asked.
Harry looked around at his messy apartment and his open laptop with no new words typed on the word doc.
“No, I’ll be fine,” he said.
“Did you Doracise?” he asked with a chuckle.
Harry turned pink, even though Sam couldn’t see him.
“Yes,” he said.
“That bitch is hot,” Sam said.
“You know she is doing that shit on purpose. She wants you to watch,” he continued.
Harry had entertained that possibility the last time Sam brought it up, but still wasn’t convinced it was true.
“I think she wants you,” Sam added.
Harry laughed. Sam always thought all women wanted him or Harry. The truth was, the woman had no clue who Harry even was, so there was little likelihood that she knew of Sam.
He had seen her outside once, carrying her garbage to the street at the same time he pulled his can to the curb. She didn’t even look up, no eye contact, no greeting, nothing. She just put her stuff on the curb and went inside.
Harry wanted to say hello, but he couldn’t get the nerve to speak. By the time he thought of something to say she was already gone back into her apartment complex.
“I doubt that Sam,” he said.
“So, did you break the case earlier?” Sam asked.
“Yes, just a missing cat.” Harry said.
“Just a missing cat? No, you found someone’s beloved pet. That’s a huge deal,” Sam said.
Harry knew it wasn’t really a huge deal, probably not even a big deal, but he liked hearing it.
“You really should charge for that shit, Harry,” Sam pushed.
“When you cracked the case about the car thieves, you should have been given a medal from the police station…” Sam said.
Harry knew that Sam was exaggerating. They weren’t car thieves. They were teenage boys stealing loose change and gum from the cars that were left unlocked. They never damaged any property, and no cars were ever stolen. It only took one night of hiding in the bushes to bust them, so a hero he was not, but a good neighbor he was.
“I can’t charge my neighbors,” Harry argued.
“So, take out an ad, find other clients,” he argued.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Harry said.
“You would make a great private dick, and I imagine they get paid pretty well,” Sam said.
“You think so?” Harry asked, looking for a bit more of an ego stroke.
“I know so!” Sam exclaimed.
“Ok, I’ll do it,” Harry said.
“Thanks, Sam,” he added.
Harry hung up the phone and moved back over to his laptop.
He pulled up Craigslist and started his ad.
Private Dick for Hire
No job too big or too small.
He listed his phone number and his e-mail, hit send and then pushed his chair back away from the kitchen table.
He felt a sense of satisfaction as he read his ad over and over again.
Harry sent a text to Claire, in hopes she would respond.
Harry: It is lonely here without you, can’t write…please call
No response. After an hour of staring at his phone, his eyes started to grow tired. Claire had taken the TV, so unless he wanted to start a new series on Netflix, the games on his phone was the only entertainment.
It buzzed on his chest, lit up to alert him that he had received a message.
He opened up the screen, stared at the unknown number and remembered he had placed an ad. It must be a potential client.
Harry sat up, opened the text and let his mouth fall open as he stared at the image that was sent to him. A large black woman, her breasts so large they hung to her oversized belly, and her legs spread wide open revealing a very large, surprisingly, very pink pussy.
Unknown: Can you send me a picture of your dick….
Harry was shaken by the request, confused by the image, and unable to think of a proper response before his phone buzzed again.
It was another unknown number, but this time from someone other than the black woman with the wide pink pussy.
Unknown: Are you available tonight?
Harry was relieved to have finally received a legitimate response to his ad. He decided to ignore the woman, answering the new unknown texter instead.
Harry: Yes, what do you need?
Unknown: Your private dick please…
Harry again was left with confusion. The text did not feel professional, but more sexual in nature.
A picture was sent immediately after the last text. It was a man, fat, hairy, and naked. He was on all fours, his cock and balls dangling between his massive thighs and his ass spread open towards the camera.
Harry: I’m afraid you have the wrong guy…
Unknown: You’re a private dick for hire, right?
Unknown: Then, I would like to hire you to fuck my hairy hole with your big dick…it is big, right?
Sam scrambled to get the picture from his phone and dialed Sam’s number.
“Hey Harry,” Sam answered.
“Hey Sam,” Harry replied.
“Everything ok?” Sam asked.
“No, I’m getting a lot of response from my ad,” Harry said.
“Well, why is that bad?” Sam asked.
“The responses are a little strange,” Harry said.
Sam was unwittingly capable of understanding what Harry meant, so he forwarded him the texts he had received just recently.
Sam busted out in laughter over the phone once the texts were received on his end.
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, what do I do?” Harry asked.
“I supposed that private dick for hire could mean a male prostitute…” Sam said.
“Yes, I’m getting that connection, Sam. What do I do?” Harry asked, somewhat irritated by his friends indifference to his serious situation.
His phone had buzzed several times while talking to Sam. He checked out the images, most of men, but a couple of women, and read the texts to Sam as he continued to laugh at his discomfort.
“Maybe change the title, like private detective services for hire…” Sam suggested.
Harry was frustrated that he had listened to his friend in the first place, but he knew he was right. The term ‘private dick’ wasn’t used by many anymore, with the exception of Sam, who had used it so much recently that it stuck in Harry’s mind when making the ad.
“Ok, I’m changing it now,” Harry said.
“Forward me anymore pics you get, but only from the women please,” Sam said.
Harry opened the laptop, deleted his Craigslist ad and started over. The title was changed to Private Detective Services for Hire, with the other details left the same.
A picture popped up, a young girl, maybe 20. She had long blonde hair, small breasts, and wore a G-string, barely covering her plump, pink pussy lips.
Harry deleted all the pictures, except that one and laid back down on the couch. His phone rang, so he answered without checking who the caller is, and assumed it was Sam.
A woman on the other end of the phone said ‘hello’. Harry paused, unsure if he should respond or just hang up.
“Hello,” he said softly.
“Did you get my picture?” she asked.
Harry’s cock hardened at the thought this could be the beautiful young blonde in the picture. He was willing to forego his morals just for one night and become the private dick this woman so desperately needed.
“Yes,” he said.
Her voice was soft and sweet. She sounded young, blonde, and just like the woman in the picture he had saved.
“So, do you come to me, or do I come to you?” she asked.
“I can come to you,” he said.
He felt his cock twitch. The thought of being inside this woman made him want to cum in his pants. He knew he would have to jerk off before arriving, just to ensure he could have the stamina he needed to offer the satisfaction-guaranteed promise.
“How much, and what do I get?” she asked.
“Whatever you want, $100?” Harry answered with more of a question in his tone.
He wasn’t sure what hookers received, especially male ones. He would have paid her for sex; he knew Sam wasn’t going to believe he was getting paid to fuck her.
“1245 South Front street,” she said.
“Give me 40 minutes,” Harry said, realizing he needed some time to jerk himself off and then recoup before arriving to her doorstep.
“I can’t wait…” she said softly and then hung up the phone.
Harry jumped into the shower, pulling on his hard cock as he killed two birds with one stone. His erection was tight and hard, his hand slippery and wet, making it easy for him to push out his juice onto the shower floor.
He dressed in his best brown slacks, a tweed blazer with a tan shirt underneath and a pair of loafers with only a few scuffs. After squirting himself with some cologne, he picked up his phone and checked the message that was left.
Unknown: I hope you don’t mind, I’ve started without you….
Harry’s heart raced as he opened the image that was sent along with the text. He couldn’t wait to see the little blonde again, hopefully this time without the lace panties.
The large black woman appeared on all fours, her ass spread open and a pink dildo hanging out from between her legs. Harry felt sick.
Harry: Sorry, got busted. I can’t show up, and don’t call again. They are taking my phone…
He fell onto the bed, feeling the warmth of the mattress. Claire had taken the sheets and all the other bedding, but he didn’t care. He had just avoided a very awkward situation, and he was impressed with his quick thinking. Maybe he would be a great detective, he thought to himself, but he was certainly not a very good male prostitute.
The End of Book 1 of 5
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Murder vs. Romance: The Bedroom Detective Harry Harrison is smart yet lacks common sense. He reads constantly, loves murder mysteries, and decides to become a writer. Clair, Harry’s girlfriend, is tall, blonde, and way too pretty for Harry, and everyone knows it, including harry. She works at the library, where she met Harry. They are enjoying their dream life until one day a body is found and Clair is inevitably involved… What's going to happen? LOOK INSIDE to find out now! This collection is only suitable for readers of age 18 or above.