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How Much Will it Hurt?
After a chance encounter at a baseball game, Burke decides Izzy is his last, best chance for a rollicking fun sex life. Even though she hasn’t done, ahem, you know what for twenty years. And she suspects he is a bad man, not what he appears to be.
Can two high-IQ, over-controlling engineers overcome the flaws in each other that normal people always rejected?
Will Burke release her true self she has hidden all these years, or will she change him?
Targeted Age Group:: 22-70
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I decided to write about my life, and feared I was not a sympathetic character. A list of machine shop experiences would be boring as heck to those who can't get a mental image of the work environment.
Then it came to me in a dream: write a romance! I started it with a true story of an April Fool's joke, and it flowed from there.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I didn't come up with characters. These are all people I know. I wrote like Dickens, with real people in slightly different jobs or situations, but always faithful to their true nature.
Some people say Dickens wrote only one story, over and over again: a tale of people making wrong moves and big mistakes, until, almost too late, they make the right decision. It's my story too.
At 6:36 PM, the phone rang. Oh, telemarketers again, get off the phone I’m expecting a call! I looked at the screen. It was Burke.
“Hi Burke!” I said happily.
“Hi, is this too early?” he asked.
“No, I wasn’t doing anything.” I said aloud before I realized how pathetic that sounded. I clicked the pause on my sci fi.
“I wish I could see you again.” He said.
“I would like that too.” I said in what I hoped was a sexy voice. I’ve got to record myself on the phone saying this stuff to see if I even have a sexy voice, or can do that. I probably don’t really have a sexy voice. I’m probably just saying it quieter.
“What are you doing now?” he asked.
“Oh, just sitting in the rocker, watching a recorded show.” I replied. I brought my legs up on the rocker and hugged my knees.
“Maybe I could come over for an hour.” Burke said.
Does he really mean that? “That would be nice.” I said in a tiny voice. Lucy and the football. Here’s where the last minute yank comes and I knock my head on the ground like a fool. Why do I set myself up for it time after time.
“Is the house clean and everything?” he asked. He remembered what I said on that first call, that ‘the house’ wasn’t ready for guests.
“Yes, it’s clean enough.” I said in tiny voice.
“Are you going to change clothes?” he asked.
“No, I’ll wear what I’m wearing now.” I replied, still in tiny voice.
There was a long silence. He was changing his mind. Too long of a drive. We’ll see each other tomorrow. Some good reason. Always a good reason that as a reasonable adult I accept. I know all about nice thoughts that never happen. If I got flowers every time a guy said he thought of getting me flowers, I’d have gotten flowers, gosh, a dozen times. Instead, once. My birthday, when I was 21. Twelve of those dollar bud roses that never open big.
Then on the front curtains and front door window I saw the unmistakable signature of headlights turning into my driveway.
“I’m here in your driveway now.” Burke said.
The earth fell out from under me. Thank goodness I was sitting down.
This can’t be right. I don’t even have a game plan for not being disappointed. I’m just so used to being disappointed that I’m all braced for it, the words ‘That’s okay, it was a nice thought.’ already on the tip of my tongue. Now what do I say?
“Okay, come in.” It still could be a joke.
Then he was at my front door. I opened the big door and looked at him through the screen door glass. He stood there looking like a million bucks in his light grey Saville Row suit and shiny black shoes with his black Lexus GS F parked in my cracked concrete driveway. How does this happen? How do the stars align to put a guy like this on my doorstep?
Martin bugs the hell out of me, and I don’t want him getting near my Burke. His hands look dirty. He sticks out his hand to shake Burke’s hand, and Burke reciprocates. No Burke! I shout in my mind. I wouldn’t put it past this guy to get poop on his hand in the men’s room. Maybe simply not use toilet paper right. As soon as Martin steps away I’m telling Burke to go wash.
He’s sniffed around me a few times and once after a party at my house I had to shove him physically out the door. So I have no doubt he’s here to make trouble. While he talks to Burke, making some jokes that are funny if you haven’t heard them before, I focus intently on scraping the neck label off my beer bottle with my thumbnail. Burke takes his left hand off my waist and puts it on my left shoulder, then about fifteen seconds later slowly squeezes it towards his chest so he mushes my head crooked and tips my right shoulder down. I just allow the squish and continue my project of removing the label.
They are talking about naked statues in the art museum. Martin asks Burke if he ever posed for an art class. Burke says yes. Martin asks if he was naked. Burke says yes. I blush. Martin’s eyes go big and spittle runs out the corners of his mouth when he talks. He did not expect that answer. Burke! This would be the time for the white lie, dude!
I take my left hand thumbnail away from the beer bottle job and dig it into Burke’s rib, knowing that the clothing will prevent blood draw. Burke winces at it and disguises the motion by pulling my shoulder to his chest again. I look up at him. A hint of a smile plays on his face.
Where Martin was going with that was to say he has been a nude art model. Now he has to say ‘too,’ he was one too. I don’t want to listen to this conversation. It’s become a battle to see who has been naked in front of more people. Martin is saying he’s a regular, has done several classes, and blah-blah, the count is up over 200. Burke, if you one-up him, whether just to get his goat or be honest, either way, I just can’t take you out in public anymore. If you play along, Martin has won. He’s achieved his objective.
Label is off. I let the last of it, like the previous few bits of it, fall to the floor. Darn. Now what do I do. Burke’s bottle is almost empty, while mine is half full. I grab Burke’s out of his hand and thrust mine into his empty hand. I start working the neck label off of this one.
Burke is momentarily confused, then takes a swig from the bottle I gave him.
Martin repeats his question, how many times did you model?
Burke does his deep chuckle, then says, “No, I was pulling your leg. I never did that. I’m too shy. I feel naked when I don’t wear a t-shirt under my shirt.” With his beer bottle hand he pulls down the top of his black crew neck t-shirt to reveal that he has a V-neck white t-shirt under it.
I glare at Martin. Burke slid his left hand up to my face and stroked my cheek with the fingernail side of his fingers. Lowering his head a smidge, he gives Martin some kind of look that literally makes Martin take a few steps back. Martin turns away and heads across the room. Whatever look it was totally disappeared when he smiled down at me. He kissed my forehead tenderly. Throwing his head back, he finishes my bottle in three hard chugs. Looking at me, he winks. ”That’s how you do it.” He whispers.
I looked at a few price tags and didn’t care for it, like the $280 for a silky blouse that wouldn’t need ironing.
When I put it back, Burke said “Don’t look at the price tags anymore.”
“It’s just a waste of money, they’re taking advantage.” I protested.
He stood there exasperated and said “Please, just pick what you like.”
Stared off like he was in some kind of pain.
“You shouldn’t be so easy,” I scolded him. “People will take advantage of you.”
“You aren’t people.” he said again.
I know he means it as a compliment but it just doesn’t sound right.
I took the silky blouse off the rack again and put in on top of the other two I was already holding. I looked at him.
“Let’s get a few more.” He said.
When I had six tops we headed towards the trying on rooms. I noticed there weren’t many people around. If I can, I usually like to take the handicapped stall. It’s bigger and has hooks at waist level. In this store it was near the Dressing Room opening. Unlike most places, the trying on stalls had walls all the way to the ground and a regular-sized louvered door for ventilation.
I went in, and hung my stuff up. A few items from past shoppers were still on hangers, but all I need is three. Standing there in this decent size room with a wide bench, the devilment got into me.
“Hon, can you take my purse?” I called out. Burke came to the opening. He saw me at the opened stall door a few steps away and reached out his hand. I opened the door wider, grabbed his hand and pulled him in. I put my finger to my lips as I closed the door. Smiling at him, I gestured for him to sit on the ledge.
He looked confused. He sat down. Then he started to smile and opened his mouth. My eyebrows shot up and I tapped my index finger to my lips energetically. He undid his suitcoat button, as he usually does when he sits down.
I took off my shirt and threw it on the bench next to him. I slid on the first top. I twirled. I put my arms akimbo and did a few runway poses. He nodded. I took it off and hung it back on the hanger and moved it to the keeper hook. Then I turned back to him. I lifted one leg up and straddling him, put it on the ledge. Then I pulled one cup of my bra down and pushed my nipple to his mouth. He obligingly opened and began sucking, taking effort to be quiet. I rubbed his head and neck, enjoying myself. He began to wrap his arms around me but I gestured for him to keep his hands on the bench. He gripped the front edge of the bench with both hands and kept sucking. After thirty seconds or so I tapped his cheek with my fingertips to indicate he should unlatch in a quiet fashion, no suction noise. He did.
I returned the cup and tried on the next blouse. This one had a bit of a plunge, so after a twirl I put my hands under both boobies and pushed them up as far as I could, making two round humps in the cleavage. I brought them over for him to kiss. He obliged, keeping his hands on the bench and keeping his kisses and tongue thrusts totally quiet.
When I broke off to remove that top, he pointed at a dress some previous person had left, the whole top in sparkly bits with spaghetti straps and a flouncy gauzy mini-skirt, full length zipper up the back. He wanted me to try that on, but it was a six and no way that was going to zip up. I tipped my head and shook it with a bemused expression. He let it drop.
I tried on the third blouse. This one I really liked. To hell with what he thinks, I want this one. It was a knit mostly black slinky thing with elbow-length sleeves and the front had an oval-shaped plunge, not too deep. I could even wear it to work. I approached Burke and this time put my hand between his legs and began massaging his balls through his pants while kissing him quietly. I licked his lips in the way that makes him twitch. I unzipped his pants and reached in. I rolled his balls around with my hand on his underwear. When he was nice and relaxed I stopped and pulled off the shirt to try on another. While I was doing that he unlatched his belt and undid his waistband pants hook, then returned his hands to the bench.
I didn’t like this one, too tight in the shoulders, but I said nothing. I came back to Burke and put my hands into his pants again. This time I found the top of his underwear and slid my right hand fingers down under it to touch his balls. When I reached full grip he made the tiniest hum so I slapped his arm. After three kisses I bit his lower lip lightly, then we played light sabers with tongues while I had my way with his lovely, generous balls in their satiny soft sack. Oh what a sweetie he is. Look at him, still holding his bench. What a good boy.
I took off that blouse and slid on the fifth.
Suddenly we heard a middle-aged woman’s voice with a shade of a Spanish accent from the doorway. “No men allowed in the changing rooms, please. No men allowed.”
We both struggled to not laugh while I vigorously tapped my index finger to my lips again. I rushed up to Burke and shoved my hand into his pants and took another wiggly feel of his balls through his underwear while planting a hard, long kiss on his lips. I wiped off his mouth with the back of my left hand. I don’t wear lipstick, I wear a Revlon liquid paint stuff that stays on well, but it can transfer when I work at it. Then I stood up and turned towards the door.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s my fault, I just wanted some advice on the clothing. He has such good taste. He didn’t want to come in here, it was all my idea. Sorry!” While I talked, Burke stood up, slid his zipper up slowly so it wouldn’t make noise and rehooked his belt into the proper hole.
“You can walk out to show him.” The lady said.
“Yes, yes I will do that. Thank you.” I opened the stall door and Burke, having buttoned his jacket again, walked out looking like a congressman.
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