Kiss and Tell
By R.W. Clinger
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2017 R.W. Clinger
ISBN 9781634863728
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
To Kenito Padilla.
* * * *
Kiss and Tell
By R.W. Clinger
Burke Alexander Spire wanted it to snow outside, but the springtime sun hung steadily in the bright sky, beaming down golden rays of June light across his sloping backyard next to Lake Erie. Unfortunately, the temperature peeked at almost eighty degrees with some mild wind. By evening, he knew rain would hit; a springtime storm expected to blow down from Canada, over Erie, then through his lakeside town of Channing, Pennsylvania. He guessed there would be a tornado warning, just like every June spent along Lake Erie, forty-two years and counting.
As far as he knew, there wasn’t a weather record detailing snowfall in June. Although he knew it was unlikely to snow, he still wanted it to, craving the cold winter months and relishing the hellish ice and winds. Like others who enjoyed winter over summer, he accepted the sunshine, stared out the A-frame’s kitchen window, and admired the lake’s rolling waves, a blanket of grays, blues, and thick greens.
Almost noon, and he yawned, already maybe needing a nap. He thought about taking a ten-mile run, but didn’t feel up to it. He also thought about eating, but he really wasn’t hungry. Rather, his mouth felt dry, and he decided to have a drink, something made from scratch in his kitchen, worth the labor: vodka, iced tea, a squeeze of lemon, ice, and a gentle splash of ginger ale. After creating the beverage, he drank half of it. It numbed his soul, and he attempted to smile. He couldn’t bring himself to accomplish the difficult task, at least not yet.
Two months ago, things were different in Burke’s life. He got out of bed at six o’clock in the morning, showered, shaved, and enjoyed a cup of java with ten pages of a Clive Cussler novel. Thereafter, he climbed into his Jeep Wrangler, drove the ten miles into Erie, and sat behind a desk for nine straight hours at Tuner & Dyson Accounting. There, he analyzed and summarized clients’ profit margins. For twenty years, he had worked for T&D as an accountant, concentrating on sustainability factors, growth margins, passive income, debentures, and taxable municipal bonds.
Exhausting years.
Years and years Burke felt he would never get back.
Life was different now. Extraordinary. Unbelievable.
Burke no longer needed to get up in the morning if he didn’t want to. He no longer needed to clean his A-frame, wash his Jeep, or cook. Things had turned a different corner in his life ever since he walked into the convenience store on the corners of Bitner and Daye and purchased a state lottery ticket with six numbers: 39, 29, 1, 8, 19, 48.
April 21. A day he would never forget. Never.
All six numbers hit, and he walked away with a little over forty-three million dollars that rainy evening, state taxes already subtracted from the winnings. Of course, he made the trip to Harrisburg to sign for the money and arrange payments to his savings account. Of course, he quit his job the following day and flew to Talum, Mexico, where he spent an entire month, basking in the Gulf’s sun. Of course, he hadn’t told his older sister, father, and his Aunt Stephanie about the win, keeping the information to himself. Set for life, he never needed to work another day in what he had now called his Whatever Life.
Of course.
* * * *
Burke had always been lucky. Never failed. For as long he could remember. In second grade at Channing Elementary, he had Mrs. Mercantile as a teacher instead of the villainous and reptilian-like Mrs. Dasher. In middle school, he became athletic and swam, participated on the track team, and wrestled. During his last year at Channing High School, when he had just turned eighteen, he kissed the most handsome, jockish, and “oh, the girls loved him” guy, the prom king of the year, Chris Siren.
Blessed with intelligence, Burke obtained a college scholarship at Templeton College, a small school with a decent accounting program. There, living on campus with a wrestling stud named Eddie Harper, he obtained his accounting degree, slept with “straight” Eddie more times than he could count, and learned all about sex, alcohol, social drug use, and rock and roll.
More luck walked into Burke’s life over the next few years: underwear modeling for Branch Models, accounting position at T&D, more underwear modeling with Branch, and a long-term relationship with the hottest cowboy from Oklahoma, Derrick Menderson.
Derrick Menderson.
A name Burke hadn’t forgotten throughout the years and wouldn’t anytime soon. Derrick, with his rugged jaw line covered in dark scruff, six-three frame developed with all muscle, glinting green eyes that looked almost boyish, brown military cut, English-sloped nose. Thick cords along his neck popped every time he spoke. The cowboy owned a bull ranch in Stockton County. Comfortably wealthy. One of the best lovers Burke had slept with. Big in all the right areas. Caring Derrick. A sweetheart.
Burke had spent the later years of his twenties and early years of his thirties carrying out a romantic relationship with the cowboy. Both flew back and forth to visit each other, sharing long weekends. And both were faithful during the seven-year relationship. Burke recalled his time with Derrick as physical more than emotional, though. The rough and hot sex with the rancher proved more robust and memorable than Burke’s sentiments for the man. Truth told, the sex should have been filmed and sold. It would have made quite the sum of money for the pair.
Yes, Burke had fallen in love with Derrick. But love could only last for so long in some situations. Both men became exhausted traveling back and forth for the sex, and the relationship mutually dissolved. Derrick stayed in touch via email and Facebook. The cowboy now lived with two other cowboys, Jett and Sam, and the three were lovers, happy together.
As for Burke, he quit modeling at thirty-four, feeling old. He fell into his accounting role and hadn’t met a lover since. He had a few short-term relationships in the past few years: Connor, the electrician with his big dick; Dolby, the pianist with his little dick; Josh Timber, the hippie who thought he was half-bear because of his hairy chest and face. Although lucky, finding a soul mate proved difficult for Burke. Now at forty-two, he didn’t believe a soul mate existed in the world.
* * * *
Colby Blue reminded Burke of his Oklahoma cowboy, Derrick. The two men could have passed as twins: rugged, hulking, and beautiful. Not a cowboy, though. Colby owned and operated a new company called The True Blue Dating Agency, an off-line dating service similar to Match and eHarmony. Colby used a h
ands-on approach with his clients instead of making them take an hour out of their busy lives to complete a computerized questionnaire.
Upon meeting Burke, Colby told him, “True Blue is intimate, just as any relationship should be. My clients prefer face to face communication over keystrokes and spending hours looking for Mister or Miss Right on the computers. True Blue’s workings aren’t the same as online dating sites. True Blue is about representation, learning human contact, understanding companionship and…”
“Did you find your soul mate?” Burke interjected, seated across from Colby at Gruk’s Bistro in downtown Channing. The drinks were nonalcoholic, simple. The place had a busy lunch crowd.
Colby chuckled. “This question always comes up. And I always tell the truth when I share an answer.”
“What’s the answer?”
Colby looked across the table, into Burke’s eyes, and shook his head. “Simply stated, no. I haven’t found a soul mate.”
“But you stand behind your company?”
Colby nodded. “I do. True Blue works for a lot of single people. I have a staff of six men and women who work closely with clients to find true love.”
“Why should I invest money in True Blue if it hasn’t worked for you?” Burke asked, interested in their conversation, curt but cautious.
“Because True Blue has been around for the last year, and it has been quite successful with over two thousand clients.”
“That’s a lot of dates.”
Colby grinned, tapping buttons on his cellphone. “You’re very direct, aren’t you, Burke?”
“Honest. Direct. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
Colby looked up from his phone, and Burke caught him in a stare, taking in Burke’s good looks: blond hair, blue eyes, bulky chest, clean shaven, tiny scar above his upper lip. Colby tapped more buttons on his phone.
“What do you have on me so far, Mr. Blue?”
They had been chatting for the last twenty minutes. Burke felt the meeting was a waste of his time with too many questions and not enough evidence that Colby Blue’s company could/would find him a soul mate.
“Hold on a second.” Colby handed Burke his cellular. “Look at this picture.”
Burke stared at a handsome mug shot that resembled Derrick, his ex-cowboy: same eyes, cut jaw line, and ruggedness. Plus, the man in the picture resembled Colby. Handsome. Worth a stare or two.
“That’s the guy who I will personally find for you. Your soul mate.”
“He’s definitely my taste in a man.” Burke passed the phone back to Colby. “I doubt you’ll find him, though.”
Colby confidently leaned back in his chair, grinned. “If there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“It’s an old cliché, said too many times.”
“You have to trust me on this, Mr. Spire. If you don’t believe in finding love, then you’re wasting my time, and yours.”
“I’m lucky,” Burke said.
Colby leaned forward. “Good. Lucky guys are always the ones who find love.” He opened his leather binder on the table and pulled out a thin, paper folder. “Read over this. It’s a contract for six months.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-four thousand dollars.”
Burke was taken aback by the amount. “That’s a lot of dough to find my Mr. Right.”
Colby directed his full attention at Burke and stated clearly, unblinkingly, “True Blue is the epitome of romance and finding love, Burke. We know what we’re doing and have every intention of finding the man of your dreams.”
* * * *
Later that day
“Are you going to sign the contract or not?” Adelai “Ad” Pilsner asked, tossing a piece of freshly popped popcorn into his mouth.
Burke shrugged, staring at Ad in the man’s kitchen. The guy was a year younger than Burke, handsome with his Eli Manning looks, a full-time reporter for the Channing Teller, a local paper. He thought Ad just as lucky as he was, if not more, since the guy was married to a blonde beauty, Dani Smile. Ad had a good education (four years at Temple in Philadelphia), a decent job for the last fifteen years with the paper, and the Colonial next to the lake worth more than a quarter-million dollars.
Then there was Dani: tall and stunning with her Hollywood looks, a prosecuting lawyer in Channing, well-known throughout the tri-city area. Ad had landed a charming wife: faithful, honest, caring, and, as far as Ad had told Burke, good in bed.
“Why would I sign it?” Burke asked, holding the bowl of popcorn, prepared to spend the evening with his bro.
The two loved to watch Matt Damon movies together when Dani worked late, compiling her cases. The Martian, Good Will Hunting, all the Jason Bourne flicks, Green Zone, and The Departed. They called their evenings together BNT (Bros Night Together), which sounded sort of gay, but neither really cared.
“Because you have nothing to lose. I would sign the contract in a second.”
“It’s twenty-four thousand dollars, though.”
Ad laughed, reaching for more popcorn. “That’s chump change, and you know it, lucky guy. Let me remind you about the lottery and winning almost forty-four million dollars.”
Burke hadn’t mentally or emotionally processed the win yet. On many occasions, he still believed he was living off his accounting salary. “I know. I know. Winning the cash is still fresh for me.”
“I get that. I’d be feeling the same way if I won such a large sum. But I’d also sign the contract.”
“Give me three good reasons why.”
Ad didn’t flinch. “One, you’re not very good at picking up guys on your own. Getting someone else to do it for you is the way to go. Two, you haven’t been in a real relationship since the cowboy from Oklahoma. It’s time you meet a nice guy, fall in love with him, and get married. And three, everyone deserves love. Why not give love a chance with the help of True Blue?
“Look, Burke. You know I was pretty miserable before I met Dani. A complete dick. Unfriendly. Selfish. The worst human being on the planet. Love changed me. Dani changed me. She became my world after a few dates. I became a better person and believed in love. I gave her and love a chance and…”
Burke cut him off with, “You said she was good in bed and that’s why you kept dating her.”
“True,” Ad said, nodding and chuckling. “But there was more than just sex with her. There was everything.”
“Everything?” Burke tilted his head, questioning.
“Everything. Just like how you felt about the cowboy.”
* * * *
June 6
Do I sign the contract?
Do I not sign the contract?
Is it really worth twenty-four thousand dollars to go on a few dates?
Burke sat in his Jeep Wrangler, parked outside The True Blue Dating Agency. Wipers quickly moved left and right over the windshield. Franklin Street became a tempest of rain, strong wind, and flying litter. The springtime storm darkened Channing, making the town appear ominous. It reminded him of B-rated movies he enjoyed with Ad about sharks spinning wildly in tornadoes.
Maybe Ad is right, he thought. I should sign the contract. What do I have to lose?
A taxi pulled in front of him, flicked on its flashers, and a businessman with a black umbrella stepped out: tall, no fat, tight-fitting khakis, and a white dress shirt outlining a muscular chest. Nice to look at. A chiseled and professional man. He made eye contact with Burke, smiled, and…
To Burke’s surprise, the man turned out to be Colby Blue. Colby grinned and waved. Burke waved back. Colby then walked up to the Jeep and stood outside the passenger window.
He yelled through the thick plastic, “Can we talk?”
Burke unlocked the passenger door. Before he knew it, Colby opened the door, closed his umbrella, and found a seat next to him.
Burke immediately smelled the sweet scent of Chanel’s Allure Sport, which Colby probably used that morning. He checked out the man’s hulking chest: firm pecs, hard nipp
les, and chiseled stomach. Who in their right mind wouldn’t find Colby Blue attractive? Burke thought even straight guys like Ad would consider the man a total stud.
Frankly, Burke had to look away from the man at his right, growing hard between his legs, turned on by Colby’s good looks. The last thing he wanted to do was sport an erection in front of the man. How awkward would it be if Colby noticed the bulge, eyeing up the hard-on under the line of buttons on Burke’s jeans?
Thunder rocked overhead as rain continued to pelt the Jeep.
Colby said, “Hope I’m not bothering you.”
“You’re not.”
“You come by to drop off the signed contract?”
Do I sign the contract?
Do I not sign the contract?
Colby said, “I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do, but…”
“I’m here to drop it off,” Burke prattled. He reached for the thin folder behind his seat, accidentally leaning his forehead against Colby’s left shoulder. Excusing himself, he told Colby, “Sorry about the contact.”
“No problem. I understand.”
Burke found the folder with his fingers. He placed the folder on the Jeep’s steering wheel, flipped it open, and stared down at page four where it read signature.
“I have a pen,” Colby said. He lifted his ass off the seat, arched his middle upwards, and reached into the front, right pocket of his khakis.
Burke stared at the bulge next to him: lots there, semi-inflated, rounded, a khaki- and cotton-covered dick he perceived to be massive in size, thick, long. He swore it bulged right before his own eyes.
Colby drew a stylish and sleek Waterman pen out of his pocket and passed it to Burke. “Don’t feel pressured to do this, guy. You can take a few more days to think about it.”
Do I sign the contract?
Do I not sign the contract?
Burke looked down at the signature line and signed his name.
Colby rubbed his right shoulder. “You’ve made a very smart move in your life, lucky man. I see good things in your future.” Before Colby climbed out of the Jeep with the signed contract, he patted Burke on his upper, right thigh, and told him, “I’ll contact you within the next forty-eight hours. You can have your first date this weekend.”
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