Page 2 of Glitter

Chapter 2

The couple of times I’d made the venture to Glitter before, I’d definitely had to visit the bathroom facilities—the bartenders tended to mix the drinks fairly strong and they tended to go right through me. And when I’d been in the bathroom, I’d certainly been aware of the activities, furtive and not so furtive, of the men tucked behind the stall doors—the sounds and the sight of knees on the ground and feet sticking out from under the doors did tend to give it away.

But despite visiting Glitter for the same reasons I assume a lot of the other men did—looking for a hookup, a connection, the possibility for an elusive something more—I never in my wildest fantasies expected to actually find myself joining the faction of those who engaged in intimate activities in the men’s bathroom.

The way he’d unhesitatingly pulled me into the bathroom and into a stall, closing and latching the door after us, told me exactly the sort of activities he intended for us, but my brain was still struggling to really grasp that this sort of thing was really happening. To me. With him. Between the two of us.

So, my jaw dropped, and I could only gawk as the glittery angel’s hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans and he began unbuttoning them.

For goodness sake, we hadn’t even exchanged names yet!

Feeling that was something that should be rectified, I dazedly muttered, “Oh. Er. Uh… By the way, my name is—”

The most delicate snort I’ve ever heard flew from his slender, refined nose as he interrupted me. “Yeah, I don’t care, boo.”

The words could’ve, should’ve, sounded mean or heartless, but they were delivered with such teasing lightness that my feelings didn’t even feel hurt—at least, not more than a gentle bruising.

Rejecting my attempt to exchange a small bit of information about each other hadn’t seemed to derail my angel’s plans, as he turned around, presenting me with his pale, flawless back, and shoved his pants below the high, tight, round swell of his ass.

Sweetly arching above those perfect, pretty, hairless, moonglow fair globes, like fragile gossamer wings, were the hot pink bands of a pair of lacy thong underwear. Not that the view from behind wasn’t brain-meltingly and dick-hardeningly beautiful, but I might possibly have been willing to sell my soul to know what those panties looked like from the front, stretched over and cradling what was, probably, this angel’s pretty, pretty cock.

It didn’t look as though I was going to get that opportunity, though—just as well, as I doubted there were any demons around to sell my soul to—as he took my gobsmacked, lust-choked silence as a sign to drag his panties down to join his pants, stretched across the middle of his slim, lithely muscled, thighs.

Holding his arm out by his side, his hand raised and clutching a foil condom packet he’d somehow produced from somewhere, as if by magic, he casually asked, “Do you have your own or do you want to use the one I brought?”

I did have my own, of course. As a sexually active, gay man—well, as sexually active as the universe and finding a willing partner would allow me to be—I carried at least one condom and a packet of lube in my wallet at all times.

But a condom in the hand is worth two in the— I gave my head a small shake before I could finish the stupid thought. Then I reached up and gently snatched the condom from his hand with a muttered thanks.

My hands were the slightest bit damp from nervous sweat, making the slick foil packet slippery and tricky to hold onto as my thick, stubby fingers also scrambled to get my pants unfastened. Somehow, I managed it, and then nearly dropped it anyway, along with my jaw, my wits, and my ability to speak, when my pretty, sweet looking angel ever so casually stated, “You don’t need to worry about any extra lube or getting me ready, boo. I did a little pre-gaming earlier in the evening and I’m all prepped and open for business.”

I was about to put my dick in this man—he’d dragged me into a public bathroom with the clear intention of having me fuck him—and yet it felt almost unbearably intimate to reach forward and tentatively run a finger down between his perfect cheeks. Encountering the slick, softened proof of his statement, I whimpered in surprise and unrestrainable lust.

At least my angel found the mortifyingly embarrassing noise I’d made amusing, based on the smirk he aimed at me over his shoulder.

“Did you think I was lying about it?” he asked, a raised eyebrow joining the teasing expression on his face. “Being properly prepared is no laughing matter,” he added, his words a direct contradiction to the laughter in his voice. “If I say I’m ready to go, then I’m ready to go . So, suit up, boo, and let’s get this party started.”

“Right. Yes. I can… I’ll just…”

The lighting in the bathroom wasn’t the greatest, which was probably for the best, all things considered. But it was decent enough for me to be ensnared by the enchanting beauty of his eyes, so very close. I could happily peer into them for minutes. Hours. Days. Months or years. An eternity, if I was allowed. I had to forcibly tear my gaze away from those green-specked, light blue eyes, so that I could marshal my attention to fulfilling his command.

Keeping a careful grip on the condom with one hand, I used the other to snag the waistband of my loosened pants and the basic, boring briefs I had on underneath them. Pushing both down, over my hips and the fleshy bulk of my ass until they settled somewhere just above my knees, I was absurdly grateful that the pretty man in front of me wasn’t getting a closeup look at my underwear. Not only did they have to be several sizes larger than his, they weren’t even in the same time zone of stylishness and sexiness as the gorgeous, lacy thing he’d had on underneath his jeans.

For fuck’s sake, they’d come in an economy-sized pack of ten from a big box store.

“Unless…unless you don’t actually want this…”

The quiet, faintly hesitant words floated down and seemed to dance like a gossamer cloud around my bent head. They were the first glimpse I’d gotten of a crack in the seemingly flawless cloak of confidence wrapped so gloriously around this angel of a glittery man.

I quickly raised my head to meet his eyes again. The look in those blue orbs and on his face was one that said that he wouldn’t care what my response would be. Whether I said that I was eager to fuck him or that I’d changed my mind and wanted nothing more to do with him, his expression showed that either would affect him about as much as if tomorrow’s sunrise was at 6:01AM or 6:02.

But unless my ears had been playing tricks on me, I knew what I’d heard in his voice. At least, I was pretty sure. Maybe. And there was the faintest tremor to that lush bottom lip, on a mouth that seemed more inclined to smirk and snark than do anything else.

So, I infused as much sincerity as I could into reassuring him. “Oh, I want this,” I told him, quickly amending my statement to “Want you,” because it was the man, more than the act, that I desired. “More than anything.”

To show him I really meant what I said, I tore open the condom packet and swiftly rolled the bit of latex onto my dick.

Maybe I had imagined it after all, because there was no hint of vulnerability to be heard as he replied, “Well, alright then. I’m ready…you’re ready… Let’s do this thing.” It was all just the same cheerful nonchalance in his voice again, no indication at all that there might be something fragile beneath all the sparkling glitter.

The condom in place, I gave myself a fast, microsecond peptalk that I could do this. I could fuck this gorgeous creature, I wouldn’t come within the first ten seconds or otherwise screw this up, and we’d both enjoy ourselves. Then with my left hand, I gently gripped his hip—so narrow and delicate under my stubby, ungainly fingers—while I wrapped my right hand around the base of my dick and aimed it toward its intended target.

That first brush of my dick against his waiting hole felt electric. And then…sinking inside… Ungh .

Breath stealing. Thought stealing. Too soon and probably too dramatic to say life changing, but, holy fuck, yes, that too.

The narrow, cramped bathroom stall filled with matching moans as I slid my dick into the warm, welcoming, tight sheath of his ass.

“Oh yes. Just like that, boo. Knew you’d be so thick,” he said.

His words made me shiver and flush hot with pride. It’s not as though I had any sort of control over the size and shape of my dick, but, nonetheless, it was a heady rush to hear that he liked it. That I could please him.

There was very little resistance, just deliciously hot, firm pressure enveloping me—he really had thoroughly prepped and readied himself for this—so I kept going forward, pressing inside of him until I was all the way in.

As I bottomed out and my hipped snugged against the taut, perky roundness of his ass, he murmured, nearly purring in satisfaction, “Mmhmm. Just what I wanted.”

It was so very hard to think, to do anything at all other than glory in the feel of his channel all around my ecstatically happy dick. But I did want to please him. I don’t think I’d ever understand what made this man pick me to do this with instead of any of the other men in the club—sexier men. Taller, thinner, stronger, better-looking men. More experienced men. Smarter, more witty, more charming men. But I didn’t want to disappoint him, make him regret picking me.

So, I tried to gather my words, asking, “What do you… How do you… Uh. I mean, what should I…”

Thankfully, he took pity on me with my bumbling, incoherent questions. “You’re off to a wonderful start, boo. Now, keeping going, and don’t be afraid to fuck me hard with that thick fucking cock of yours. Shove it in so good my ass chokes on it.”

His rather flippant use of the generic endearment should’ve been irritating. He was clearly using it because he didn’t know my name; had outright stated he didn’t want to know my name. But instead of it putting me off, it sent a swirl of giddy, fluttering delight through me. The silly name was just so light and playful, and he said it with such cheeky charm, that it seemed like just the perfect glittery tease from this perfect glittery man.

And really, with what he was letting me do, with the dirty, filthy things he’d just commanded me to do to him, he could call me whatever he wanted. If he wanted to call me a donkey, I’d let him. Frankly, I’d probably bust out my best donkey braying impersonation to make him happy and get him to keep calling me that.

“O-okay. Yes, I…I can… Okay.”

I didn’t sound confident, not in the least. And that’s because I wasn’t confident that I could fuck him how he wanted. I’d certainly give it my best shot, but none of my past sexual performances, whether I was topping or bottoming, would be what I’d consider very rough or aggressive.

My left hand was still holding onto his hip, the skin beneath my fingers as soft and smooth as the finest silk, and I was half afraid I would end up leaving marks on him. And half hoping that I would. On the one hand, it seemed sort of rude to mark somebody up without their express consent to do so. Not to mention, bruises on the perfection of this angel would almost seem profane.

On the other hand, I wasn’t so evolved that the thought of leaving some sort of visible proof that I’d been allowed to touch him, allowed to be so close and intimate with him, sent a rush of masculine satisfaction coursing through me.

My right hand was sort of floating uselessly by my side, but, despite the ultimate familiarity of our current physical engagement, I wasn’t sure of whether any additional touching would be welcomed. So, instead of trailing my hand over the lustrous and sparklingly inviting expanse of my glitter-daubed angel, I raised it and settled my palm against the cool, slick surface of the metal stall door only an inch or so away from where his shoulder rested against it.

Now feeling sufficiently braced to engage in sex, in this position, with a less likelihood of losing my balance and toppling over at some highly inopportune moment, I commenced pistoning my hips to give my angel the fucking he’d requested.

The first few times pulling back and thrusting forward, I was probably still more tentative and careful than I needed to be. But I was trying to gauge what he meant by fucking him hard and what sort of percentage his words reflected what he really wanted versus being dirty talk thrown around during sex. Thankfully, he wasn’t hesitant in providing me with feedback and further instruction.

“More. Give me more, boo. Harder. Faster. C’mon, give it to me. I want to be able to feel an echo of that thick cock for days .”

With that verbal green light, I went ahead and slammed in as forcefully as I could on my next thrust. A groan and a heartfelt-sounding, “Fuck, yes, that’s more like it,” from my angel told me that I now was on the right path.

In and out, in and out, over and over again, settling into a fast, rhythmic pace, with my hips meeting and slapping against the lush firmness of his ass on each deep plunge.

“That’s it. That’s it. Perfect. Just like that.”

I lapped up the reassurance, just as thrilling to me as the hot channel hugged so tightly around my cock. So, naturally, I greedily went after even more praise.

“Yeah? That good? You like that?” I asked.

He moaned, the sound easily becoming the greatest sound I’d ever heard, then replied, “You know I do, boo. So good.”

It was good. So, so good.

Having sex in a public place was always a bit of a thrill all on its own. Although, I’ve done that enough times that I didn’t think it was the location making this particular experience as pleasurable as it was.

And I don’t think it was just because there was a newness to this experience—both being with a new partner and by having sex in a manner that was outside my norm.

I don’t think it was even just because of simple chemistry between my angel and me, although it was pretty obvious that we did have some sort of physical chemistry.

No, I think that the reason it felt so good, better than any of my previous sexual encounters, was because we had some sort of connection between us as well. Something that was beyond just the physical. An emotional, intangible—would it be foolish of me to think of it as spiritual—connection.

Something had drawn my eye to him as he danced on the crowded club floor. And not just his appearance, as incomprehensibly beautiful as that was. And something had drawn his attention to me. And there was no way that would’ve been my own appearance. There’s absolutely nothing remarkable or attention-grabbing about my looks. Average in height, chubby cubs with average faces, dressed in boring, average jeans and a t-shirt were not lucky enough to grab the notice of earthly, sparkling angels unless there was some other sort of draw between them. An unspoken, unheard, and unseen call between souls, perhaps.

So, I had to agree with my angel’s groaned analysis—fucking him felt so, so good. Not that I was able to verbalize that agreement with anything more than a grunt.

Hey, what could I say, fucking somebody hard and fast was hard work. Lots of heaving breaths and racing heartbeats.

But despite how incandescently pleasurable fucking my angel was, the sound of the door to the stall next to ours banging shut briefly distracted me.

I couldn’t help but wonder if the activity was caused by the two guys who’d been in the stall when my angel and I had entered the bathroom, who’d been engaging in their own bit of hanky-panky but who had to have been done by now, or if it was somebody else now going into the stall. And was it only one person in there, or was it another pair of horny men, too eager to engage in some frisky activities to wait until they could go somewhere more private than the men’s bathroom of a gay club? If it was a new person or a couple of new people, were they wondering what was going on inside the stall my angel and I were in? They probably didn’t have to wonder—the sounds we were making were pretty self-explanatory. But what did he/they think about what we were doing in here? Were they disgusted? Intrigued? Aroused? Were they going to listen to our activities or would they do the polite thing and pretend nothing was going on?

Luckily, my hips were smarter than my brain, maintaining their motion and continuing to propel my dick in and out within the snug grip of his ass, even as my attention took a bit of a detour.

“I’m going to start jerking myself,” he stated, releasing a low moan a scant second after. “Hope you’re almost there too, boo. Our time’s probably running out before somebody tries to kick us out of this stall so they can take their turn in here.”

Being inside of him felt so good that I’d love to keep going and going and going. But he was probably accurate in his assessment that we’d tied up this bathroom stall for about as long as could be considered polite. And while the thought of fucking him for as long as he’d let me sounded fantastic, realistically I was quite close. I could feel the buildup of my approaching orgasm in the tightness of my balls and the pleasurable pressure low in my stomach.

“Yes. Almost,” I said, the words rough and a little heavy on the wheezing. This was the most aerobic of workouts I’d had in quite some time.

My knees felt kind of wobbly—from the physical exertion, from my impending orgasm, maybe a combination of both—so I shuffled my feet a bit farther apart to try to regain a better balance. It worked okay, but much, much better, the slight shift in position must’ve jostled the angle I was thrusting into my angel just enough…

“Fuck! Yes! That’s even more perfect, boo. Right there. There!”

His loudly gasped words were quickly followed by his channel tightly squeezing around my cock. And the two things together were enough to propel me over the edge right along with him.

I attempted to let him know that I was coming, but all that came out of my mouth was a singular garbled moan. “ Fuuuck …”

The pulsing spasms of my cock as I shot into the condom felt so intense that I heard an accompanying thumping sound. It wasn’t until a voice from elsewhere in the bathroom said, “Yo, the soundtrack for the live show has been real entertaining, but try not to break anything. Don’t want the club to ban us from using the bathrooms for fucking,” that I realized the thumping noise wasn’t all inside my head. No, I’d apparently been banging my hand against the stall door in time to the thrumming pulses of my climax.

Mortification that someone had been listening to our physical intimacy had any sort of verbal response I could give effectively locked down. Naturally, my sparklingly confident sex partner was not so affected.

“Why thank you kind sir, we’re supremely glad that our activities were able to amuse you. If you’d like to leave some sort of tip to show your appreciation, on a sliding scale of just how long you were listening in for, feel free to set it on the counter and we’ll collect it on our way out. Otherwise, I’d suggest that you mind your own business, finish up with whatever it is you were doing in here, and kindly depart. Especially as you seem to have thoroughly embarrassed the friend I have in here with me and I, for one, am not amused by that.”

It seemed like more proof that there was some sort of connection between us that my angel could sense my emotions while we were back to front and he couldn’t even see my face. And whether or not he truly meant the words he said to some random stranger, I felt a rush of gratitude and warmth that he wasn’t mocking my chagrin.

Nonetheless, I mumbled a quiet “sorry” into the back of his head for letting an eavesdropper discomfit me and for allowing the job of defending our activities fall solely onto his shoulders.

When he held his left hand up with his index finger raised, at first, I thought he was shushing me. But then his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, the artfully rumpled coils of his hair gently tumbling with the movement, and I realized that he was listening for something.

A silent beat or two passed, then I heard a scuffing sound, a squeal of metal hinges, then a soft whoosh and thunk as the bathroom door was opened and then swung closed again.

Another moment passed, then apparently appeased that whoever else had been in the bathroom with us had left, my angel commented, “Naughty, nosy ninny. Hmmph . Whoever he is, I think he’s gone now.” The soft snort that seemed to be about the level of laughter he allowed himself to indulge in preceded his slyly voiced speculation. “Wonder if he did leave us a tip. If he did, I hope it was a lot. I certainly wouldn’t mind somebody else fronting the money for a drink or two at the bar.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, as evidenced by the ineloquent “Uhhh…” that came out of my mouth.

He continued speaking as though I hadn’t said anything. Just as well, since I hadn’t, not really. “I definitely plan to go check. But in order to do that, I should definitely clean myself up first. I am delightfully dirty. Not that the spunk in my hand—and, oops, looks like a bit of it got away from me and landed on my stomach, too. Anyway, like I was saying, not that it’ll stay delightful for much longer. But first, before I can do that…”

A small wiggle of his ass made me realize that I still had my deflating, half-hard dick nestled inside of him.

I was about to apologize again, this time for blanking on the post-sex etiquette of withdrawing in a timely manner post-orgasm, but before I could, he stated, “I’m going to need you to unlodge your cock from my ass. I know it’s a fantastic ass…” My mouth lifted into a grin of agreement so quickly that my cheeks hurt. “And trust me, I’m adoring the way your fat cock is stretching me, boo,” he added. “But when the fun is done, clean becomes queen.”

That was…not a saying I’d ever heard before. It was cute, though. Or maybe it was cute just because of who’d said it.

And his sentiment was correct—the heated pleasure of our hookup was over and it was time for us to deal with the aftermath. I needed to take care of the condom, he would need to wipe the cum off his hand, and we both needed to right our clothing and vacate the bathroom stall before we did encounter an individual or two who was irate over how long my angel and I had hogged the space.

“Alright. Yeah, let me just…” Holding the base of the condom, I carefully eased my cock free, unable to stop a grunt of disappointment over losing the hot, tight clasp of his channel around me. “Okay. I’m… Uh. I’m out,” I stated. Needlessly, because it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t be able to feel that my dick was no longer inside of him.

I awkwardly held the floppy, cum-laden, and lube-slimy used condom in my hand, uncertain what to do with it. There wasn’t a trash can in the stall, I wasn’t going to clog the toilet by attempting to flush it, and the thought of discarding it on the floor… Yuck. No.

Resolved to having to hold it until we left the stall and I could dispose of it in one of the trashes by the sinks, I expressed my appreciation with a wordless murmur when my angel turned to the side, pulled off a long length of toilet paper from the spool, and handed me a large chunk of it, saying, “Here. Some for you, some for me.”

Tearing off a few squares of toilet paper to crumple around the condom, I used the rest of it to cursorily swipe at the cum and lube sticking to my dick. I’d definitely need to do a more thorough clean up in the shower at home, but wiping off even a little bit of the stickiness was better than nothing. I then pulled up my pants and underwear, tucking my dick away, and tugged my t-shirt back down over the soft swell of my stomach.

I caught just a brief glimpse of pink lace against pale, silky smooth skin before my angel efficiently dragged his pants back into place, rebuttoned, and rezipped. His own crumpled wad of toilet paper, he casually flicked into the toilet behind me. Then, batting his eyelashes at me, he softly patted my belly—thankfully, not seeming to notice or care that it was bigger and smooshier than I’d like it to be—and asked sweetly, “Flush that for me, would you, boo? You’re closer. And I’d really prefer not to get whatever grubby germs that are on it on my hands.”

“Sure, yeah, of course,” I swiftly answered, happily willing to do pretty much anything he wanted. And I was closer.

Twisting my body to reach the lever, which luckily didn’t look any grosser or dirtier than one found in any other public bathroom, my stomach sank when I turned back around and saw that he’d unlatched and opened the stall door.

He’d gently instituted a no names situation and…that was fine. Really. It was. But without a name, without knowing anything about him—other than what he looked like and how perfect his ass felt wrapped around my cock—how would I ever be able to see him again?

Thinking that, if anything, he might be willing to exchange numbers, I started to ask, “Could I—” but he interrupted me before I was able to get more than those few words out.

“Saying goodbye is never fun, is it, boo?” His long, slender fingers gripped the sides of the doorway as he hovered in the opening, starkly vibrant against the dull matte black of the painted metal structure. His pink glossed lips curled into a playful smirk as he added, “Which is why I never do. Say goodbye, that is. Instead, I’ll just leave you—while I go try to track down where on earth my shirt has got to—with a…see you around, boo.”

And then he was gone.

Turning away from me, calmly striding across the bathroom floor, casually and easily pulling open the door leading back into the club, and… He was gone.

My angel.

Gone.

But that couldn’t…that couldn’t be it. Right? One night—not even a full night, might I add—couldn’t be it.

It just couldn’t.

And yet, as I was left, standing all by myself in the stall of a nightclub bathroom, with the only proof that everything that had just happened had really happened the stickiness of the remnants of lube and cum rapidly crusting up on my dick, a used condom swaddled in toilet paper in my hand, and the general feeling of satisfaction that came from a really, really good orgasm, I had to wonder if, yes, maybe this was it. Maybe this brief moment in time, this fleeting encounter, was all I was ever going to get with my sparkling angel.

I should be grateful that I’d been lucky enough to even get that much.

And I was.

I just also couldn’t help but hope that my luck would hold and, somehow, someway, I would be fortunate enough for another chance to see my angel again.

Maybe he’d even let us exchange names in addition to bodily fluids next time.