Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (13 page)

Sparkle showed me the instructions for cleaning it, but I really didn’t want to do it. Truthfully, I was more scared about cleaning it than getting the damn thing in the first place. I guess I didn’t want to relive that brief yet intense pain again. And that’s when Sparkle had an idea.

“Okay, I’m sensing some apprehension here. Why don’t I get in with you and you can clean mine first and then I’ll clean yours?” As illogical as that sounded, I did feel a sense of relief. It was easier to let someone else inflict pain on me than it was to inflict pain on myself. (Why? I have no fucking idea. Just go with me on that one.) Anyway, by that point, I was getting used to being naked around him, and the thought of showering with him didn’t phase me as much as it may have a week earlier.

“Nipple Sisters!” Sparkle shouted, edging me closer to being naked and in the shower.

“Nipple Sisters,” I mumbled, fearing the pounding of the water on my newly adorned protuberance.

I entered the shower with my back to the water and my arms crossed safely over my chest. Sparkle gingerly entered and stood behind me. Despite his bravado, I could tell that he was feeling just as nervous at the prospect of cleaning a hole in his nipple. Then, millimeter by millimeter, I slowly worked my head under the water and let it run over my body, while Sparkle watched apprehensively, knowing that his turn was next.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said, with a heavy sigh, proudly emerging from under the stream and nodding to him. Still, he looked at me warily as we scooted around each other in order to change places. Then he wet his body just as I had, again with no direct splashing on his chest. Funny how I should’ve been excited at the prospect of showering with a naked (and very hot) man, but I was more concerned with getting the ring and my nipple cleaned than copping a feel. In any case, both of us shampooed, soaped up, and rinsed off, careful not touch either our own or each other’s chests. And then,
groan
, it was time.

Sparkle reached outside of the shower and came back in with the bottle of Hibiclens: the antibacterial cleanser that Tree had given us. I think it’s what doctor’s use to scrub up with. In any case, the directions said to put a small bit in your hand and then dilute it to fifty-fifty with the shower water. He handed me the blue bottle, and I did as the directions said to do. Then I looked at him and asked if he was ready. He nodded, bracing himself up against the shower wall. Personally, I think I was more nervous about touching the thing than he was about me cleaning his nipple, but I carried on with my duties, nonetheless.

I gently cupped my hand over his chest and let the bubbly, blue Hibiclens flow over the prescribed area. Sparkle nodded to indicate that I should continue, so I took my index finger and rubbed the cleanser around his nipple and over the ends of the metal. Then, using the Hibiclens like a lubricant, I grabbed one end of the bar and, with the tiniest tug, I slid the metal in and out. At first, it gave some resistance. (Tree told us that it would do that for a while; it was just the scab forming.) Sparkle said that it felt funny, but that it really didn’t hurt. That is until I torqued it a tad. Then he let out a wincing yelp and quickly shoved my hand away.

“Okay, all done. Let’s get out now,” I said, making a move to turn off the water.

“Oh hell to the no. We still have one more nipple to go,” he said, switching places with me. Heck, I was fine with the state it was already in. I mean, I had years to clean it. What was one more day?

Sparkle followed the same procedure I did and very gently began to clean the ring and the nipple. True, it didn’t hurt so much as just plain felt weird, but I was anxious to get it over with and told him to hurry, which he did, because I don’t think he was enjoying cleaning my nipple any more than I was enjoying having it cleaned. Then, missions accomplished, we got out of the shower and slowly and carefully toweled off.

Luckily, the production of nipple ring cleaning took my mind completely off the reason we were cleaning it in the first place, namely my date with Slim. Really, I barely had time to think about that before I was quickly dressed and out the door. Needless to say, I wore a loose, untucked t-shirt. Sparkle called a cab for me, and within minutes I was at the restaurant and facing my super-sexy date.

“So, do anything exciting after brunch today?” Slim asked, not knowing how truly exciting my afternoon had been.

“Um, I’ll tell you later. Let’s order first; I’m starving.” I tried to steer the conversation away from my nipple, because I had no idea how he would take the news and I wanted to get him alone and at home before bringing it up. I figured he was less likely to run away screaming if I had him behind a bedroom door. (I sure as hell hoped so, anyway.)

We ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell to start with and clams marinara to split for dinner. Kind of ironic that we were ordering a known aphrodisiac. I mean, I, for one, needed no help maintaining an erection. Honestly, if I’d stood up at that very moment, my napkin would’ve remained hovering over my lap. Naturally, before the waiter could place our order, I ordered us a bottle of white wine. Between my nipple and my date, I had no idea what I was more nervous about, so I figured the wine would help to settle my nerves.

“So, Slim,” I said, starting the conversation. “Sparkle tells me you own a bookstore.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” And so I explained the whole Secret/Sparkle thing. No surprise that he liked our ingenuity. After all, not many people are born already called
Slim
, but in his case, it was befitting. (And yummily so.)

“The whole bookstore thing started right out of college,” he began. “I’d just graduated with a degree in English Literature and had no idea what to do with it (shhh... I know, ironic), and so I went to work at Classics. The owner at the time, Mister Graybare, who we all called
Gay Bear
, was really cool, a total gay, hippie throw-back with long, gray hair and tie-dyed clothes. The store had a stream of steady regulars and he had to do very little in order to turn a profit. Luckily for me, his only employee had just quit after working there for seven years and he hired me on the spot.”

He shot me a wicked grin, the tenting in my jeans suddenly going full tilt, and then he continued. “It didn’t take me very long to get in the swing of things at Classics. I opened the store up in the mornings at ten and closed up at seven. In between, I straightened up, rang up the orders, made recommendations, and placed special orders. See, it’s the special orders that really set Classics apart from the rest. Gay Bear had developed quite an incredible network of rare book collectors through the years and could find just about any title and any edition a customer could ask for. But the best part about the job was that I could read throughout the day. It was, as the saying goes, like having my cake and eating it too.”

By the way, somewhere in the middle of this story, Slim reached over to hold my hand and was playing footsies with me under the table. So, between the pounding coming from my nipple and the pounding of my crotch against my jeans, it was a wonder I could pay the least bit of attention to what he was saying. But I did, which was lucky for me. (Just you wait and see.)

The story moved along. “Anyway, things were going just great until I started to get a little bored. I suppose it was the routineness of the work or something, and so one day I asked Gay Bear if he would show me how to do the accounting books. He was delighted that I took the interest in his work and gladly took me on as his apprentice.”

Slim stopped his tale there and just stared at me as I drank my wine. I, of course, stared back, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. “Yes?” I asked, setting my drink down. “Is there something on my face? What? Why’d you stop?”

“Nope. You just looked so cute sitting there. (Sweet-talking will get you everywhere… ooh, ooh… hey, Gay Rule #6! Gay Rule #6!) Needless to say, I melted at that one. And then he leaned in (as did I) and he gave me the softest, sweetest kiss. I know I use the word
yummy
a lot, but yummy it was. Also, he looked me in the eyes the whole time he was doing it, never closing them even for a second. That is, like, the sexiest thing ever. Then he slowly eased away and finished with the story.

“Um, yeah, where was I?” He scratched his head and squinted his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Right. So, never having any finance or accounting classes in college, much of what he was teaching me was falling on deaf ears. So at night I took classes in bookkeeping and small business management. It was great, really, and within six months I was doing all the finances and running the shop. Pretty soon, Gay Bear was leaving the store for hours and then days at a time. He trusted me completely and I had no problem wearing all the hats. Actually, I preferred it, because it gave me little time to get bored. Then one day, Gay Bear came in and said that he had bought a little cabin in the woods and was retiring. But before I could panic, he told me that he was going to sell me the store and that I could pay him in monthly installments for it. That was six years ago; I made the last installment two years ago. After he left, I jumped on the coffeehouse bandwagon and put a little café in the front of the store. Business doubled and, voila, here I am: gay businessman extraordinaire.” He smiled and tossed his hands up in the air.

“Wow,” I said, totally impressed, “that’s really a great story. Bravo for you.” He got flustered and gave me the cutest
aw, shucks
look. (I’m sorry. One more time. Yummy.)

“So, Secret, if you don’t mind me calling you that (I didn’t), what’s your story?”

“Well, I just graduated from college with a degree in English Literature and I have no idea what I can do with it,” I said, crossing my heart (and avoiding my nipple). “Honest injun.”

“Get out!” he shouted and slapped my hand.

“Already am!” I shouted back and slapped his hand in return.

“Well, and you can turn me down and it won’t upset me, but I’m about to open up a Classics II and I could use some help. Interested?” (Seriously, what do you think?)

“Yes, very. When can I start?” I know I sounded a tad too anxious, but, please, this sounded so perfect, so ideal.

“How about Monday?”

“You mean tomorrow Monday?” I asked, unsure how Sparkle would take the news about losing his attaché.

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“Oh, no, no problem at all. I’ll be there at ten o’clock when you open the door.” My heart was racing. I mean, I was beyond excited at the prospect of working in a bookstore. And for Slim, no less!

“Great. This will work out for the both of us. I was dreading having to interview for the position, and you foot the bill perfectly,” he said and gave my hand a squeeze.

After that, dinner went by fast. In between slamming down the oysters and slamming down the wine, we made polite conversation. But mostly, we just rubbed each other under the table with our legs and smiled back and forth a lot. Then the plates were filled with empty shells and the bottle was empty and it was time to pay the check. Uh-oh, now what?  I mean, do I invite him over and then go to work for him the next day? Damn, what to do, what to do?

Slim picked up the bill and told me he’d work it out of me tomorrow. Fine by me, I thought. And then he asked if I needed a ride home. Also fine by me. In other words, I was just gonna let this one play itself out, because thinking about it too much wasn’t going to help anything. (By the way, drinking and driving is wrong. Really. But cut me some slack, okay. There were extenuating circumstances here. Remember: twenty-one-year-old
virgin
. So no lectures up there.)

When we got to my building, he asked if he could come up to see my apartment. “You’re the boss,” I said, with a leer. He liked the way that sounded and readily agreed. Twenty minutes later, he found parking and we were in my eensy-bitty-teeny-weeny loft.

“Cozy,” he said.

“That’s one word for it,” I said, nodding my head. (
Hovel
was more like it.)

I gave him the tour, which took about ten seconds, and we quickly got into swapping some serious spit. Then he started to pull my shirt over my head.
Ouch
, for one, as he also managed to snag the ring, and,
no way
, for two, as I had no intention of letting him witness my latest addition without some warning first. In other words, I grabbed his hand away from my shirt and led him over to the bed where I laid on top of him and continued with the bumping and grinding of crotches,
without
any contact to my chest. That made him happy for, well, a minute or two and then he went right on back to my shirt.

“Um… wait a sec. Let me get the lights.” Maybe if he couldn’t see it he would never know it was there.

“No, don’t,” he replied and pulled me back down. “I want to see you.” (Damn romantic.)

“That’s sweet Slim, but the glare from the light is just murder on my contact lenses, and I’d rather not pop them out just yet.” I was grasping at straws, never having worn contacts a day in my life, but things were moving too fast to come up with anything better (or, God forbid, to tell the truth).

It worked, though.
Phew
. “Okay, Secret, douse the lights.” I did and then took my shirt and pants off before climbing back into my bed. Hearing this, Slim did the same.
Mega-gulp
.  Now I had to have sex and keep him away from my nipple. Not an easy situation to be in. I mean, the sex part alone was terrifying enough, right?

We went back to kissing and, man, was it ever nice. He was so soft and tender and slow about it all. Plus, my luck was holding out, as he concentrated on my other nipple and completely avoided the mutilated one. Then he reached down between my legs and stroked my crotch outside of the underwear. My moaning must have said it all, because he sprang up and slid my briefs off. Still holding them in his hand, he lay back on top of me and went back to his glorious kissing. When he was done with my lips, he made his way down my neck and sucked and licked me until I was covered in goosebumps. His deft tongue then made a beeline for my exposed nipple (the whole one, as he was covering my other one with my underwear and his hand) and he tickled and plucked at it until I thought I’d explode. Then he moved down to suck my harder-than-granite prick. This move, sadly, was made in conjunction with his raising his other hand away from my chest, thereby lifting my underwear away as well. Unfortunately, my underwear had somehow gotten snagged on my nipple ring. And, as you can imagine, the loudest bellow of pain and terror you’ve ever heard immediately sprang forth from my mouth. Honestly, the walls rattled. Heck, even the neighbors’ walls rattled.