Page 14 of Glitter

Chapter 14

I spent the entire workweek fluctuating between euphoria and dread.

The euphoria came from the seeming progression in my relationship with Dusti. Hell, the very fact that I felt like I could even attach the word relationship to what we were doing was a source of unmitigated joy. But we now knew each other’s names, he’d invited me to his house, and I’d even met his parents.

The pancakes were delicious.

Dusti’s parents seemed pretty awesome, too. Dana and Dave Sprague were super nice, clearly adored their son, and had been very welcoming despite the fact that I’d clearly just rolled out of said adored son’s bed.

I took it as another encouraging sign of things between me and Dusti when he’d confirmed that he only went out to the clubs on Friday and Saturday nights, teasingly promising that I could wait that long to see him again.

The only problem was that I had sporadic bouts of doubt. Doubt that things were actually evolving and progressing between Dusti and me the way I wanted them to. Doubts that Dusti could ever be interested in somebody like me past some casual fucking. Fuck, I still couldn’t quite believe that he was even interested in fucking me, although actual actions bore proof of that.

Most of all, I worried that after I left his house on Sunday—departing soon after that wonderful and welcoming pancake breakfast—the freakout over everything that had occurred Saturday night and Sunday morning would hit and I’d never see or hear from Dusti again.

Hence the periodic dips into dread that I experienced throughout Monday through Friday.

Quickly and quietly cleaning up my desk area on Friday afternoon before I could get waylaid by Dennis—he’d been hounding me more than usual, on the hunt for details of a secret, sordid and exciting sex adventure he was convinced I was having. Which, shockingly, he was actually right about—I quickly grabbed up my cell phone when it dinged with an incoming text message.

Imagine my surprise when the text turned out to be from Dusti. Especially because I’d never given him my number—he’d never asked. I could only assume he must’ve quickly sent himself a text from my phone when he’d been inputting his address into it last weekend; I couldn’t think of any other way he might’ve gotten it.

Whatever worry and anxiety I’d been feeling was efficiently stomped down by relief when I saw the text contained a quick note saying that he was “a bit over Glitter right now,” followed by an invitation to come directly to his place later this evening.

A giddy rush of hope sparked in my stomach, wondering if this was another sign of Dusti nudging things between us in a more serious direction. It wasn’t as though Glitter was the only gay club in Milwaukee, even if it was one of the newest, along with a few more scattered across the suburbs of the city. And if it was just the club scene he was tired of, I knew of a bar that had always been queer friendly, which had recently been purchased from its original owner by a member of the queer community. It was a little farther out, in the small town of Pine Ridge, but it was only a relatively fast and easy drive down the freeway.

Nibbling my lip, I briefly debated which emoji to send back as my reply. Happiness making me brave, I thumbed in a pink heart, then sent it off before I had a chance to chicken out and change my mind.

When I left my cubicle and saw Dennis headed down the aisle toward me at a decent clip, I gave thanks that I hadn’t taken too long with my response to Dusti. Hurriedly facing the way to the exit, I pretended I hadn’t seen him and couldn’t hear him calling my name, nearly breaking out into a trot in my haste to get away before he could corner me.

After leaving work, I killed some time, as Dusti’s message had warned me to not show up at any time before 7:00. I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a couple things, including some more condoms since Dusti and I seemed to be going through them at an enthusiastically quick rate. I popped into a pet store to look at all the fun things I could buy if I ever got around to getting a pet. Then I finally took myself to my apartment—exchanging a millisecond of eye contact and a cordial grunt in greeting with my roommate—where I took a shower, stuffed some food in my face, and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Only after the clock ticked over to 7:00 did I hop back into my car to make the approximately fifteen-minute drive to Dusti’s.

I wasn’t sure what Dusti’s stance was on my arrival going unnoticed by his parents. Just because they’d already met me once, didn’t mean he was eager for me to interact with them again. So, it was just as well that I didn’t see any sign of them as I parked in front of the big house and made my way back around behind it to Dusti’s small cottage.

He must’ve been watching for my arrival, because his door swung open when I was still a few feet away from it.

I was almost getting used to the sensation of almost swallowing my tongue whenever I first set eyes on him.

Miles and miles of silky skin on long, long legs were bared by a pair of incredibly short, pink shorts. They were barely bigger than a pair of briefs, and I had to wonder what sort of spectacularly sexy underwear he had underneath them.

Paired with the shorts was a skin-hugging, black, cropped tank top, with skinny straps that highlighted the slender, narrow line of his shoulders. His feet were bare, the nails painted the same shade of pink as his shorts, and, for once, there was no glitter that I could see anywhere on him. Just unadorned, creamy skin with its faint smattering of freckles across his nose.

He did have on some jewelry, though, the first time I’d seen him wearing any. Each dainty earlobe held a long, dangly, silver spiral and a round, silver stud. The top curve of his left ear also had a sparkly, diamond stud threaded through it. And gracefully draped around his neck was a long silver chain, with a 3 or 4-inch silver charm, shaped like a lollipop, that brushed against his exposed, flat stomach.

And, fuck, I couldn’t think of a more appropriate piece of jewelry for Dusti, because I wanted to lick him like a lollipop.

Maybe a charm of a pair of angel wings, although the more I was allowed peeks into his personality behind the glittery facade, the less of angelic he seemed. He was still my angel, though.

“You really are exceptionally good at following orders, boo.”

My eyes drifted up from where they’d been admiring his toned stomach. Dusti’s mouth was tilted up in a satisfied smirk and his blue eyes almost seemed like they held a hint of fondness.

His smile grew as I responded, “I like directions. It’s nice to know what I’m supposed to be doing and when I’m supposed to do it.”

Bracing his hands on either side of the doorframe, Dusti’s pink tongue swiped over the berry-pink plushness of his lower lip as his eyes made a slow, sweeping journey over my body. While still gazing somewhere in the vicinity of my pecs, Dusti murmured, “We make a good match then, Benny-boo, because I like giving directions. Especially to you.”

A soft wash of pink touched his cheekbones, as though he was embarrassed by his admission or by the use of my name to alter his customary endearment for me. I wasn’t prone to blushing, but I had the feeling that I was probably close to glowing with happiness at his words.

Dropping his hands from the doorframe, Dusti tilted his head toward the space behind him, saying, “Might as well come in. You don’t need to stand outside all night.”

He turned around, leaving the open doorway empty for me to enter, and I got a reminder of how short his shorts really were. The bottom edge cut a straight line across the perky swell of his ass, leaving a narrow, couple of fingers’ width, twin crescents of milky-white butt cheeks peeking out below.

His words already proving themselves true, even as he spoke them, Dusti called back over his shoulder, “Come on, Benny. Come in. I have more directions for you, since you like them so much.”

I entered Dusti’s small house, closing and locking the door behind me, and noticed that not much had changed in the five days since I’d last been here. Some of the items in the messy pile on his unusable kitchen table looked different, but it was still covered with a messy pile of things. Pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals were still taking over the living room. And past the privacy screens, Dusti’s closet door was still partly open, the small storage space unable bulging and overflowing with his clothing and accessories, and the sheets on his bed were crumpled in a heap.

Dusti had moved into his kitchen area, bent over with his delectable ass sticking in the air as he rummaged for something in the small refrigerator.

“Sit wherever,” he told me, then asked, “You want something to drink? I’ve got…water, apple juice, iced tea, and… Nope, that’s it, that’s all I’ve got. Unless you want this bottle of…I’m not even sure what. The label’s gone and I can’t really tell what’s in it, although it looks…brown? Brownish-green? Yeah, maybe not a good idea.”

Eyeing the jumble of soft, squishy, and/or comfy items occupying most of the available seating space, I grunted a rejection of the last option he listed. Drinking unidentifiable liquids didn’t sound like a good time for my stomach. “Whatever you’re having is fine,” I answered, as I scooped up three pillows, one blanket, and two stuffed animals from the love seat and deposited them onto the club chair. The love seat might just be big enough for the two of us to squeeze together on, and I’d thoroughly enjoyed what Dusti had done the last time he’d gotten me in the vicinity of this particular piece of furniture.

Hips swaying sweetly, Dusti walked over from the kitchen, a bottle clutched in each hand. He passed me mine and I hoped he was too busy settling onto the loveseat to notice my grimace as I saw it was extra-sweetened iced tea. Dusti, himself, was about the only extra sweet thing I liked the taste of and I probably would’ve asked for something else if I’d known this was what he would bring me.

The small sofa was only just barely big enough for both of us to sit on, not that I minded having Dust’s leg pressed tightly against mine and his candy-scented body within easy touching distance.

He uncapped his tea and I avidly watched the nibble-worth swell of his Adam’s apple bob as he took a drink. The small sigh of enjoyment he released, as he recapped the bottle and set it down on the floor, had my dick twitching within my jeans. Not that Dusti needed to do much of anything to get my dick interested; I was pretty sure that simply listening to him breathe could make my dick hard.

His blue eyes held an actual gleam of interest as he shifted his body to face me more and asked, “So, how was your week, Benny?”

My own eyes blink a few more times than necessary as I processed—Were we doing this sort of thing now? Calmy and casually chatting with each other about how our weeks went?

Happily stunned, I answered, “Good. It was…good.” Dusti continued to look at me, those blue eyes clearly waiting for me to say more, so I added, “A lot of…you know. Walking people through how to build tables, chairs, beds, and bookcases. Ugh, so many bookcases.” Belatedly, I asked, “And what about you? How was your week, Dusti?” Not because I didn’t want to know, but because I was still bewildered that we were having this conversation—any sort of conversation—at all.

A small shake of his head sent his dangly, spiral-shaped earrings dangling. His light laughter was like finding a new favorite song as he answered, “Not too bad, actually. The usual crying kids, before and after their appointments, but that’s a daily occurrence that I barely even notice anymore. But I made it through the whole week with nobody puking in the waiting room, so that was a plus.”

I must’ve looked shocked or disbelieving because, with another airy, musical laugh, Dusti explained, “It’s not every day, but, usually, at least once or twice a week, somebody’s nerves get the better of them, or nausea from the lidocaine, or…kids being kids and…” He mimicked a gagging, herking sound. “Spew. Puke, right there in my waiting room.”

“Oh. That’s…” I wasn’t really sure how to respond. Dusti seemed pretty blasé in his retelling, but I had no frame of reference to figure out if he truly didn’t care that much about constant, frequent vomit messes at work. That certainly wasn’t something I had to deal with since the customers I dealt with were all over the phone.

A sly look settled on his pretty face, his hand landing by my knee and teasingly drifting up my thigh. “I did have one new problem to deal with this week. And it was all your fault, Benny-boo.”

“My…my fault?” I gasped, my eyebrows winging up in surprise.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, his fingers now close enough to my hardening dick that it would only take one of us to twitch for them to touch it. “Your fault,” he repeated. “You see…all week, I was distracted. Distracted by you, Benny.” His green-flecked, blue eyes had reached the stage of looking like blazing, icy fire when he flicked them up to stare deep into my eyes, deep into my deepest desires. “Distracted by thinking of all the things I wanted to order you to do to me, Benny.”

Unsurprisingly, his fingers were now resting over the head of my cock, behind the denim layer of my jeans. His words had made me swell harder, longer, so that it had bridged the necessary distance.

“It was so hard, Benny. Do you have any idea how hard?” he asked.

My head bobbled between nodding yes and shaking no, because I was too scrambled to continue to follow his line of conversation. Was he talking about my dick? Because, yes, I had a very, very good idea of how hard that was. Or was he talking about something else?

“It took me ages ,” he said, with an overdramatic groan, “to narrow all my ideas down to only one, Benny-boo. Simply ages. But…” His fingers squeezed around the head of my cock, the touch not as good as I knew it could be because of the thick fabric in the way. “I think you’ll enjoy the one I picked as my favorite. The one I want you to do tonight. I know I will.”

Even with my jeans dulling the sensation, my dick missed the feel of Dusti’s when he pulled his hand away.

He popped off the loveseat, my eyes greedily watching the sway of his ass as he walked away. Circling around the screen between the living space and his bedroom, he peeked back around the edge of it when he noticed I wasn’t hot on his heels.

“Come on, Benny,” Dusti demanded. “I definitely want to get nice and comfy on a bed for what’s coming.” With a wink, he added, “Frankly, it’ll be nicer for your knees, too.”