by Barbara Bell
“It’s your job to call his penis ‘mighty’?”
“He called his penis ‘mighty.’”
“You agreed. And you gave him a nickname. You were definitely flirting.”
“I gave you a nickname. Doesn’t mean I’m flirting with you.”
“That’s beside the—” She frowned. “Wait. What nickname did you give me?”
“Oh, I don’t say it to your face.”
She grabbed a packet of plus-size wet-look stockings off the shelf and hurled it at him. He ducked with a laugh and was about to grab something to throw back when there was a loud crash behind him. Oh shit. He twisted to see the lube stand on the floor. Bottles were rolling away in every direction and a few sat, burst open, in puddles. In the middle of the chaos, like the murder weapon in a Sherlock crime scene, were the stockings. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh . . .
The back door opened, and Kate—tall and terrifying—stepped out, the thud of her heel against the threadbare carpet painfully loud in the quiet room.
Her eyes tracked from the fallen display, to Joey crouched behind the counter, and finally came to rest on Becca standing with her hands over her mouth by the underwear display.
Despite this, or maybe because of it, Becca was the first to find her voice. “Kate. Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I can explain. We were just talking and I—”
“I asked for two things,” Kate said, voice deadly soft. “What were they?”
Joey looked at Becca.
She looked at him.
“Um,” Joey said.
“Eh,” Becca added.
“Wasn’t it . . .?”
“Unpack the stock and stack the shelves?” Becca guessed.
“Peace and quiet,” Kate reminded them. “All I wanted was peace and quiet. Instead, I have sixteen different brands of lube on my floor.”
“Actually, it’s only fifteen n—”
Kate’s eyes snapped to him, and Joey sank back down behind the counter.
Kate was many things: a business woman, a new mother, a boss . . . but Joey had long believed she’d missed her true calling as a prosecutor. Anyone in their right mind would beg to be locked up rather than face off against her. She looked the part too. Suit stern, makeup immaculate, and hair pulled back into The World’s Tightest Bun™.
“You have fifteen minutes,” Kate said. “Get this cleaned up.”
“But—” Becca began.
“Ten minutes,” Kate said. “Any more questions?”
No one said anything.
“Good.” Kate turned and disappeared back into her office.
Joey slumped down on his bed and groaned into the pillow. It had been a long day, made longer by the half hour—because ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough time—he and Becca had spent trying to scrub banana-flavoured lube out of the carpet. It had been a harder task than either of them had expected, and it hadn’t been made any easier by the near-constant interruptions as customers walked through the door. One man had strutted in like he owned the place, spent almost an hour asking loaded questions about various products, and then walked out without buying a thing.
But, despite his aching limbs and lingering why-the-hell-am-I-in-customer-service headache, Joey’s mind kept cycling back to the guy that had walked in, blushed, and asked him for a dildo. Mick. Short, skinny, but also stupidly pretty.
Becca was right.
He hadn’t been flirting, but he had been thinking about it. Or, at the very least, thinking about Mick. Not seriously. Not in a way that might lead him to try anything. But, after their eyes had met over the lube stand, he had wished he was in a gay bar or a coffee shop so he could offer to buy him a drink.
Could anyone really blame him? Becca was about as straight as a circle but even she had to have seen how gorgeous he was.
And then there was the dildo he’d bought.
Joey wasn’t really a dildo guy. If he was going to use toys, he would rather butt plugs or anal beads. And, if he did reach for a dildo, he doubted it would be something so obvious. But, he had to admit, there was something sexy about the dildo the guy had picked out. Something crude and simple that the elegant designer sex toys left behind. Something that was less about lying back and feeling good and more about riding yourself raw.
Perhaps that was what Mick had wanted when he selected it off the shelf.
Perhaps that was what he was doing now.
Perhaps he was even using the lube Joey had picked out for him to do it.
The thought sat, warm and tempting, in Joey’s mind.
Mick soaking the dildo in lube. Mick soaking himself in lube. Mick covered with more lube than Joey had scrubbed out of the carpet. All of it somehow pouring, impossibly, from the one-hundred-millilitre container he’d sold him.
Joey rolled onto his back and glanced down at his crotch. Yep. He was getting hard. This was probably about the right time to stop thinking about Mick and start thinking about his bills, or Kate’s disapproving stare, or the shitty antigay books his mum sent him last Christmas. Yes. That was it. Think about the books. The one with the kinda hot totally-not-gay-anymore man on the cover. The other one that was the perfect size to prop up his fridge. The one that . . .
In his mind’s eye Mick looked at him—looked right at him—and smiled. It was the same smile he’d worn at Cutie Pies after he had made the joke. An odd but intoxicating mix of embarrassment and pride.
Joey imagined that smile on Mick’s face as Mick slid the dildo home. He imagined it falling away as the man gasped around the unexpected depth of penetration. He imagined those black eyes blinking up at him, hazy with desire.
Fuck it.
Joey yanked open his fly, pushed down his underwear, and got a hand on his cock. Behind his eyelids he could see Mick. Mick panting. Mick groaning. Mick working himself to orgasm with that unbelievable dildo moving in and out of him in long vicious strokes. Moving as if it were attached to a machine. But it wasn’t. It was attached to Joey. And it wasn’t a dildo anymore. It was Joey’s cock.
“Shit.”
If he hadn’t been all the way to hard before, he certainly was now. Achingly so.
He fisted himself and thought about what it would be like to fuck Mick. What Mick would look like as he was being fucked. What he would sound like.
Loud. He would be so fucking loud. And it wouldn’t be pretty screaming like in the movies. It would be ugly, hoarse, sexy sounds. Grunts, choked-off cries, and half-finished curses all mashed in with the wet noise of their bodies coming together.
But that wouldn’t even be the best part.
The best part would be the way Mick would cling to him. Ankles hooked around Joey’s hips, fingers digging into his shoulders, and mouth . . .
Joey’s eyes snapped open.
Kissing wasn’t usually part of his fantasies. It wasn’t that he didn’t like kissing—he did—but when it came to rubbing one out, his focus was usually aimed at parts of the body a little farther south. But now he was thinking about Mick kissing him, about him kissing Mick back, and somehow it was the hottest thing he’d ever envisioned.
His fist tightened around his cock as he imagined the movement of Mick’s mouth against his, the salty, sweet taste of his sweat, the wet slide of his tongue. When Joey moaned and leant into the kiss, Mick opened his lips farther, welcoming him into his mouth with as much greed as he had welcomed him into his body.
Joey poured himself into the other man, his tongue sweeping in like an invading army to claim all the previously uncharted territory beyond the wall of Mick’s teeth. Mick moaned and moved up to meet him, his whole body shifting to draw Joey in deeper.
To possess him, to feel him, to know him in every possible way.
Because he wanted Joey. He wanted Joey as much as Joey wanted him.
“Oh fuck.”
His hips jerked forward into his fist as a sudden wave of pleasure shook him from the base of his spine up to the back of his eyes. It was a strange orgasm. Destructive almost. But that di
dn’t stop it from being utterly amazing.
Mind-bending. Beautiful. So fucking good.
He lay, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and panting as the world slowly came back to him.
His hand was covered in come. So was the front of his jeans. Though, in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wiped his fingers on his hip and slowly sat up to stop himself from falling asleep.
When he had his breathing under control and was more or less certain he wasn’t about to pass out, he thought about what he’d done.
He’d just come while thinking about a customer. That wasn’t weird was it? Nah. No way. People probably did that all the time. Heck, he was pretty sure Greg from the shoe shop down the road was a foot fetishist. If Greg could go home and rub one out to the cute lady trying on the shiny red heels, then Joey could lie back and think about Mick and his massive dildo.
But, even so, sitting on his bed with come drying on his jeans, it felt wrong.
Gross. Unwanted. Shameful.
Perhaps it was his Catholic upbringing, perhaps it was the fact that he had fantasized about a person who had told him he had a partner, or perhaps it was the dip in endorphins after orgasm—the after-blue-balls blues. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t shake the creeping sense of guilt.
Becca wasn’t just right about him liking Mick, she was right about Kate being angry if she found out. There was no rule against batting eyes at a cute customer, but there was a rule against making them uncomfortable. And, upon reflection, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t made Mick uncomfortable. The guy had clearly noticed his interest, had seemed almost flattered by it at first, but then he’d quickly mentioned a partner. Why? They hadn’t been talking about boyfriends or girlfriends. Not current ones anyway. The only reason why Mick would have mentioned a partner was that he’d been trying to drop a hint.
Fuck.
Joey sighed and flopped back onto the bed.
It wasn’t a big deal. Mick was a customer. A customer with a partner.
And Joey was a loud gay shop assistant.
A loud gay shop assistant that Mick had almost certainly forgotten about as he and his probably-as-dorky-as-him girlfriend spent the evening trying out their new dildo.
The thought brought forth a strange pang of emotion. Not jealousy. Not loneliness. But similar. He pushed it aside.
What did it matter? So Joey had touched himself while thinking about a guy with a partner? So what?
It wasn’t like he was ever going to see him again anyway.
He was seeing him again.
Short, bony, and wearing a different dorky T-shirt over the same blue jeans and scuffed sneakers. Even from across the room, Joey could see his eyes, bigger than he remembered them being. Large, impossibly dark, and—holy hell—flicking towards him and then away again. Noticing him but pretending not to.
Mick.
Mick was back at Cutie Pies.
No. No way. Mick was a blusher. Blushers didn’t become regulars, let alone the type who would visit twice in one week. Was Joey hallucinating? Yeah. That made sense. More sense than Mick just swinging by his local sex shop for a chat. Somehow Joey had hit his head and his masturbatory fantasy had come to life . . . to start up a conversation with Becca.
Sure. Because that’s what masturbatory fantasies did. They introduced themselves to your best friend.
“Ahem.”
Joey’s attention snapped back to the couple he was with. Both glared at him, clearly unimpressed that he’d drifted off mid-sales pitch.
“Eh, sorry about that guys. I just . . .” His gaze flicked back towards Mick and Becca as he heard her laugh. Mick was telling her something. Something he was obviously embarrassed to tell her. What could it be? Did he want to buy another toy? Becca patted Mick on the shoulder and led him between the shelves . . . back towards the dildo wall. No freaking way.
“Are you paying attention?” One half of the couple asked angrily.
“Millennials,” the other growled under his breath.
“Yes. Sorry. Um.” Joey straightened. “Where was I? Right! Spreader bars. Um. Well . . . these are the only three types we have, though I am pretty sure we have different colours of this one somewhere out back: red, black, and pink.” The colours of kink, apparently. “This one extends so you can have it super long if you want but, in my opinion, you want this one. It’s fixed, but the cuffs are padded leather, which I think . . .” he checked the packaging “. . . is vegan. Yes. Vegan leather. So comfy and ethical. Plus, it’s kinda gorgeous isn’t it? I’m not into BDSM, but looking at this, I want to be.”
The couple appeared unimpressed. “How much?”
“A little more than the others,” he admitted.
“How much?”
“Eighty-five dollars.”
They glared at him.
“Right, okay then. The cheapest is this one. It’s . . .” ugly “. . . to the point. I mean, I have never seen a spreader bar look so much like a bar designed to spread things.”
“How much?”
Oh, I see. You don’t know how to read price tags. Silly me. I thought I was here to sell you something. “Twenty-five. Ten percent cheaper than any online retailer.” Or not. Who knew? Certainly not him. But, judging by the couple’s expressions, not them either.
“We’ll take it.”
And that’s how it’s done.
Except Becca had beat him. She was already at the counter. At the counter with Mick. They were talking as she bagged something and he plugged in his PIN into the card reader. Joey watched hopelessly as he finished, took the bag from Becca, and walked towards the stairs.
Just like last time, he stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to gaze back into the shop. His eyes met Joey’s, and a small smile stretched across his face. He lifted his empty hand and gave a wave.
Joey waved back, feeling like a kid on the first day of school. Or, more accurately, a kid caught with his pants down on his first day of school. Awkward and exposed. Hi there, guy I now wank to every night.
Behind him Becca greeted the couple and scanned in their stupid spreader bar. It made a loud beep. A loud beep for an ugly bar.
Mick left, his shoes scuffing as he headed down the stairs and out the door.
The dorky kid with the beautiful eyes.
And a dildo.
And maybe a second dildo. Or maybe something else. Something better. Something worse.
Joey stood still, waiting with bated breath while Becca counted out change for the couple buying the spreader bar. It seemed to take an age for them to gather the silver coins, tuck them away, and stroll from the shop, pausing to look at some cock cages that they definitely couldn’t afford if they couldn’t spend more than twenty-five dollars on a spreader bar.
When they were finally down the stairs and out the door, he practically flew across the room to slam his hands down on the counter, facing Becca.
“What did he get?” Joey asked. “Was it another dildo? Please tell me it was another dildo.”
Becca’s face morphed into what could only be described as a Cheshire grin.
Joey’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it was wasn’t it? He’s a dildo collector. He probably has an apartment full of them.” And I am totally masturbating to that later tonight. Guess I’m a dildo guy after all. Or maybe it’s just Mick and dildos. Or maybe it’s just Mick. “What did he say to make you laugh?”
“Wow.” Her smile grew bigger. “You’ve got a bigger crush on him than he has on you.”
“I don— Wait. He has a crush on me?”
“Oh yeah. You know what he called you?” She dropped her voice into a conspirator’s whisper. “Gay Ryan Gosling.”
“He did not.”
“Did too.”
Joey fixed her with a firm look. “He did not.”
“Okay,” she ceded. “No, he didn’t. But he was thinking it. I can tell these things. It’s a super power. A sixth sense. I always know who wants to fuck who.”
�
��Really?” Joey crossed his arms. “Who does Kate want to fuck?”
“Me,” Becca said without skipping a beat. “That’s obvious. All women want to fuck me.”
“Including Kate?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Joey tried to read what was going on beneath her smug unruffled exterior. “Do you want to fuck Kate?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I didn’t change the subject. You brought it up.”
“No. I am pretty sure we were talking about your hopeless love life, not mine.” She leaned against the counter and inspected her nails in what could only be described as a comical display of indifference. “Oh, and it wasn’t a dildo.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
She grinned her evilest grin. “It wasn’t a dildo.”
A second passed in silence.
Then two.
Then five.
He lunged for the receipt spike, but Becca was faster. She grabbed it and held it behind her, laughing.
“You are literally Satan,” he snapped and ran around the side of the counter. Becca went the other way. He chased her, but she kept the counter between them, darting in the opposite direction to him no matter which way he turned. Damn it. How could someone so small be so fast?
“Just tell me. What did he buy?”
“Come see for yourself.”
“We can’t keep chasing each other around the store! What if Kate sees us?”
“You let me worry about Kate. She wo— Shit!”
Joey dove across the counter towards her. Somehow his hand locked onto the receipt spike.
“Wait! No fair! No fair!”
“Let me see. Let me—”
A sound at the bottom of the stairs.
They both straightened and turned to face the top of the stairs with matching customer-service smiles. “Hi there,” Joey said when the customer in question stepped into the store.
“Welcome to Cutie Pies,” Becca added.
“Is there anything we can help you with?”
The man frowned at them. Joey couldn’t really blame him. They probably looked like the sort of people that deserved to be frowned at: standing, shoulder to shoulder, smiling like idiots, both keeping a firm hold of the receipt spike behind their backs.
