Page 30 of Glitter

And two…

My angel flat-out shrieked the word “Mom!” and then flailed with his sheets before rolling out from under them and tumbling onto the floor in a flash of pale, bare limbs.

It was almost too bad that he’d removed his stockings, when we’d taken separate trips to the bathroom, to clean up and, er, do necessary bathroom things between rounds 2 and 3. Not that I didn’t appreciate having him finally be completely naked, which I did. A lot. Something I’d fervently expressed to him while he’d been lying on top of me and rutting our hard cocks together until we both came for the third time.

But the stockings, as negligible as their ability to provide much coverage was, having them still on would’ve meant that my angel wasn’t caught as naked as the day he was born during the arrival of an unexpected guest.

Thankfully, he hadn’t taken the sheets with him. That would’ve left me laying in his bed, without a single stitch of clothing on and all of my hairy, chonky…everything right out in the open. Which would’ve been fucking awkward. And embarrassing.

Okay, fine. It was still awkward and embarrassing, even though I had the barrier of a sheet hiding my total nakedness from view. Not much I could do about that, though. So, I did the only thing I could think to do—I tentatively waved hello to the woman who was, apparently, my angel’s mother.

“Oh, hello, dear,” she replied, briefly waving back at me. “I didn’t know my little Dusti-socks had company. Not to fret, I have plenty of food made up if you’d like to join us in the big house for breakfast. We usually all have Sunday breakfast together—me, my little Dusti, and Dusti’s father, Dave. A big pile of pancakes and our happily little family of—”

“Mom! Really, that’s…” Cutting off his mother’s joyful rambling, my angel popped off the floor, standing on the far side of the bed. He’d managed to locate my discarded t-shirt and he’d pulled it on, the too-large-on-him garment adequately covering most of his nakedness. “Enough, mom,” he said, clutching one of the loose, draping folds of cotton in his hands. “Can’t you see… I have… I have… I’m notalone, Mom.”

“Yes, I see that,” she replied, cocking her head and sending her loose, blonde curls tumbling in a way that was endearingly similar to his. “I did extend an invitation to…to…yourfriend…to join us for breakfast. You know I’m not blind, you know. Or rude.”

It made me wonder if, underneath the pink dye, his hair was also blond. I wouldn’t have thought so, not with as dark as his eyebrows were. His neatly clipped pubes were also dark, as was the sparse scattering of hair elsewhere on his body.

Turning her attention to me, she said, “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind me calling you Dusti’s friend. I would’ve used your name, except…someonehasn’t bothered to tell me what it is.”

Her last statement was clearly aimed at her son. The only problem was he didn’t know my name, which meant he wouldn’t be able to provide it in response to her pointed comment. Not wanting him to have to admit that, or for him to repeat, and in front of hismother, for fuck’s sake, that he didn’t care what my name was, I went ahead and supplied it for her.

“Benny. My name is Benny Michalski,” I said. Then I quickly corrected myself, recalling that I was trying to get away from that rather juvenile form of my name. “Er, Ben, that is. Ben Michalski.”

“Well,Ben,” his mother said, emphasizing the amended version of my name. “My name is Dana. Dana Sprague. I’m this one’s mom, since he’s still being impolite and not performing any sort of introduction.”

“Mom!” he protested, sounding about twelve-years-old, which I think a lot of us tend to do when we butt heads with our parents. “I am… Fuhh—” His eyes got really big and panic flashed across his face at the profanity that almost came out of his mouth, before he recovered and finished out the word as the more innocuous-sounding appliance. “Fridge.” His voice was still on the squeaky end as he continued his objection. “I’m practically naked here, Mom. Now is not the time!”

His mom, Dana, waved away his outrage, verbally and physically, lazily flicking her hand in the air. “Nonsense,” she said. “It’s always the time to properly meet new people.” Rotating her hand to point at him, Dana drew an imaginary line in the air, up and down the length of her son’s t-shirt-clad torso. “But don’t think I’m going to forget about this, Dusti. You and I will be discussing…whatever this is…later. Don’t think we won’t.”

The threat wasn’t very, er, threatening. At least, it didn’t sound so to me. Dana sounded too gleeful about getting to try pry details about her son’s activities out of him to really sound scary. He, however, groaned as though the prospect was one of the worst things that could ever happen in the history of the world.

“Uuuungh. Fine. Whatever, Mom. Can you just… Could you just…go? Now?”

Unfazed by her son’s petulance, Dana smiled brightly and repeated her earlier invitation. “Now, don’t forget. Breakfast. The big house.Pancakes.” She practically sang the word. Turning to leave the same way she’d come, Dana added, “Maybe put some pants on first, though, Dusti and Ben. Wouldn’t want any syrup drips getting anywhere it shouldn’t.”

The volume of her trilling laughter fought for dominance over the loud, drawn-out sound of his—Dusti’s—groan. While I…I turned to look at my angel to see what came next.

“Sooo…” Fidgeting with the shirt he’d thrown on—my shirt—he flicked a quick look at me, then looked back down at his fingers, rolling and twisting the fabric and making it even more wrinkled than it had been. “That was my mom. Obviously.”

He seemed uncertain and nervous in a way I’d never seen him before. It was…well, it was cute. Fuck was he cute like this. I was used to me being all awkward and bumbling; it was nice to see him so similarly afflicted.

It made him seem…more human. More approachable. More achievable.

Like maybe it wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility that somebody like him could be interested in somebody like me. That we weren’t so different after all.

I hated when others made a big deal about when I act and talk like an idiot, so I just pleasantly stated, “Yep. She seems nice.”

“Yeah, so nice,” he muttered sarcastically.

A moment of awkward, expectant silence fell between us. Then, he burst into motion, pacing back and forth across the small open area of his bedroom. Each stride, and each jerky turn to change direction and go back the other way, caused the hem of the borrowed t-shirt to flutter and flap against the tops of his thighs.

It probably wasn’t the appropriate time for me to ogle every sneaky flash, showing the narrowest sliver of the bottom curve of his ass, but fuck if I couldn’t help myself.

“Fuck, I can’t believe… Well, no, I can believe she just…she just…” Now his arms had gotten in on the action, waving and flailing in the air as he continued to pace, a rapid jumble of words spilling from his mouth. “She just…burst on in here. Ugh. Mom. And now…and now… Damn it all. Now you know just what sort of a loser I am. Because, yep. I still live with my parents. My landlords…my landlords… You know those landlords I told you about, the ones I told you to avoid at all costs?”

It took me a second to realize that his question was directed at me. Once I did, I murmured a wordless sound of acknowledgement.

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