by Barbara Bell
“I need a cock ring,” the man said.
“I don’t have a cock,” Becca declared happily and turned to Joey. “You’re going to have to take this one.”
“Don’t be silly. You don’t need a cock to sell cock rings,” he reminded her, keeping his smile locked in place. “That’s just the patriarchy talking.”
“Oh, but I am sure this fine gentleman would appreciate speaking to someone with hands-on experience. You know I don’t have much experience with cocks.”
Low. “I know you have four in your drawer at home. That’s three more than me.”
“None of mine have blood in them. No blood, no cock ring.”
“Yes, but . . .”
The man was frowning at them hard now.
Joey gave up with a sigh and let go of the receipt spike. “This isn’t over.”
The customer turned out to be—in his own words—quite determined to find the perfect cock ring. This unfortunately meant he found fault with every option. It took close to twenty minutes for Joey to talk him down from his ledge and get him to decide on one. Black, silicone, and with an extra ring to loop over the balls. By the time he led the man back to the counter, Joey was twitching, desperate to see what was on Mick’s receipt.
He rang up the man’s order, impaled the receipt, and sent him on his way with a smile and a wave.
The second he was out of sight, Joey started pulling receipts off the spike.
A cock ring.
A spreader bar.
A—he frowned—bra? Mick had bought a bra? A fluffy pink one with cats on it . . . No. That was the woman who’d come in this morning. Before Mick.
Mick’s receipt was missing.
It didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened to it. Becca leaned against a shelf and waved the missing strip of paper at him.
He groaned. “Seriously. This is getting stupid. Just tell me.”
“Fine.” She sashayed—literally sashayed—up to the counter and put it down in front of him. Before he could read it, she leaned forward, cupped her hand around her mouth, and spoke in a loud stage whisper. “Turns out pretty boy has a little problem with his gag reflex.”
“What?” He dragged the receipt towards him and read it. Throat-numbing spray. Mick had bought a bottle of throat-numbing spray. Oh. Oh.
He looked at Becca.
She looked back at him. At first she didn’t say anything, apparently content to just wait for his reaction. When it didn’t come, her brows slowly sank into an uncertain frown. “Oookaaay. You’re staring at me. You’re not having a fit or something are you? I get that this is funny but—”
“He’s gay,” Joey said.
“Eh. Yeah. Obviously. The dildo didn’t give that away?”
“It’s 2017,” he reminded her. “The brave new world. Straight boys can like butt stuff now. But this.” He waved the receipt at her. “There isn’t a clit in the world that can trigger a gag reflex. He’s sucking dick. He’s gay.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“I’m serious. I . . .” Mick was gay. Or, at the very least, far enough along the queer spectrum to shove another man’s cock down his throat, which was . . . yeah . . . pretty queer.
He should have known. It wasn’t a wild assumption, after all. The guy had bought a dildo, on Oxford Street, while making gooey eyes at the male shop assistant. While making gooey eyes at Joey.
And that was the thing. It wasn’t the throat-numbing spray. It wasn’t the idea of Mick sucking dicks or riding dildos. It was the fact that when he’d looked at Mick by the lube stand, maybe, just maybe, Mick hadn’t been uncomfortable. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been flattered. Maybe, just maybe, the small joke they’d shared afterwards hadn’t just been a joke. Maybe Mick had been flirting with him . . . except . . . no. Mick had told him he had a partner.
Probably not a girl in the bouncy skirt like Joey had first imagined, but a guy. A guy Mick had been with since high school. A guy whose cock was big enough to trigger his gag reflex.
Joey felt a small pinch of unhappiness. A twinge, at the bottom of his stomach.
“You’re frowning,” Becca said, all humour gone from her voice. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He forced his face to relax. “I have a shipment of stockings I need to stack.”
She snorted with laughter. “Is that a euphemism for ‘I’m going to go to the back room and wank about the cute and newly confirmed gay customer’? Because if it is, I’m totally on board. You stack those stockings. You stack ’em good.” She dropped a heavy wink.
He rolled his eyes hard, hard enough that it actually hurt a little. Then he walked into the back room and stacked his stockings.
Kate was scary. She was also the best boss he’d ever had.
Sure, the only other boss he’d ever had was his dad, who was a passive-aggressive arsehole, but that was beside the point. The truth was, Kate was actually all right when she wasn’t ordering them to scrub lube out of the carpet.
Like today. Today she had arrived at work with baby puke on her pressed business shirt, a pencil stuck forgotten in her bun, and two large bottles of homemade beer.
“I’ve got a pale ale and a dark ale. Who wants what?”
“Dark!” Becca cried and grabbed the bottle a little too gleefully.
Joey wasn’t so quick to take the bait. “You’re giving us beer?”
“Yes.” Kate put the pale ale on the counter in front of him. “I am.”
“Why?”
“To say thank you for all your hard work.”
Them? Hard work? Now he really was suspicious.
Kate must have read it on his face because she sighed and pushed the bottle towards him. “I have never brewed beer before. I need lab rats.”
“Ah. Okay.” That made more sense.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but I expect you not to drink it until after work.” She eyed Becca. “Understood?”
“Yes, boss. I will be an exclusively after-hours lab rat.” Becca hugged her bottle close to her chest. “I promise.”
“Good.” Kate’s gaze flicked back to Joey.
He made a face. “Seriously? You want me to promise I’m not going to drink at work? Look, I get I’m not the best employee, but I’m no alcoholic. I’m not about to drink on the job.”
She sighed, and for a moment her boss-face slipped. “The truth is, I am less worried about that and more worried as to whether or not you’ll drink it at all.”
“Oh I’ll drink it,” Becca promised.
Kate’s gaze turned to Becca, and her lips twitched towards a smile. And holy hell. Kate? Smiling? He must have stumbled into another universe on his way to work this morning.
“Tell me if you like it,” Kate said, turning her body so she was facing Becca. “It’s the first thing I’ve made at home in a while.”
“What did you used to make?” Becca asked.
Kate pursed her lips. “A few things. I had a couple of hobbies in the past: Cooking, pottery, knitting. I even tried my hand at glasswork for a time. I made mosaics, a few dildos, and a bottle that—”
Becca’s head snapped up. “Wait. What?”
“A bottle,” Kate said. “It was—”
“No. Not that. You used to make dildos?”
Kate nodded as if they were discussing the weather and not her secret past as a dildo blower. “Yes. They weren’t very good, but they were what inspired me to get into this business in the first place.”
“Holy fucking shit.” Becca’s eyes were comically round. “Really? Dildos? You made dildos? Out of glass? Why did you stop? Why don’t we sell them?”
Kate laughed. A stiff awkward laugh. But it was Kate laughing which was . . . yep. He was definitely in a parallel universe. Joey stayed perfectly still, scared if he said or did anything, this strange magical moment would vanish.
“I’m a much better distributor than I am a manufacturer,” Kate told Becca. “And gla
ssblowing was just a hobby.” She straightened her skirt. “But that’s enough chatter. I have some luxury vibrators that arrived last night. Someone go to the post office and pick them up. Do we have another foldout table? I want them displayed somewhere away from the others.”
“If we put another table down we won’t have anywhere left to walk,” Joey noted dryly.
“I can make a small display and put it on the edge of the counter!” Becca shrieked, sounding for all the world like a kid at Christmas. “We have a feather boa and some fairy lights. It will look swanky. Oh! And I can get the old fish tank and put it upside down over everything so it’ll look like a proper legit display.”
“Or,” Joey said, “it will look like a whole bunch of vibrators in an upside-down fish tank. And, FYI, I like counter space.”
“You would like the shop better if it was empty.”
“If an empty shop meant we’d sold everything, then yes, I would.”
“Okay.” Becca scowled at him. “So we have two plans. My plan to make a great display out of things we already have, and Joey’s plan to sit back and do nothing because change is scary.”
“I like space. Is that a crime?”
“The fish tank sounds . . . interesting,” Kate said.
“Really?” Joey turned to Kate. “You think the fish tank’s a good idea? The fish tank?”
“Do it.”
“Hah!” Becca did a sort of flailing victory dance. “Thanks, boss! You will not be sorry. This will be the best display ever.” She rushed into the back room and came out without her beer but with the old fish tank.
Oh boy. Before they put any sex toys in, near, or around it, it would need to be cleaned. Thoroughly. Probably while wearing biohazard suits.
If Kate was concerned, she didn’t show it. She pulled a post office ticket out of her pocket—okay, pencil skirts could have pockets, he didn’t know that—and handed it to him. “It shouldn’t weigh as much as the lube shipment last month.”
The lube shipment that he’d had to carry from the post office to the shop and up the stairs on a forty-degree Celsius summer day. It had been torture. “Is that why you keep me around? To carry the heavy stuff?”
“Yep!” Becca grinned. “Kate’s the boss, I’m the mad genius, and you’re the muscle.”
“You got the mad part right.”
She opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the unmistakable creak as the door at the bottom of the stairs opened. A customer. Joey grabbed the bottle of pale ale and stuffed it into one of the shelves behind the counter before whoever it was could see. Kate, who was more than a little introverted now that Joey thought about it, ducked into the back room, headed for her office.
“You know the only reason she’s agreed to the whole fish-tank thing was because you complimented her dildos,” Joey said, keeping his voice low.
“Oh shut up. You’re just jealous that I have all the good ideas. Hey!” Becca’s voice shot up an octave, shifting from taunting to light and friendly as a nervous-looking woman arrived at the top of the stairs. “Welcome to Cutie Pies,” Becca called out with a flourish of her fish tank. “If you need any help, come straight to me.”
He knew what Becca was saying. Don’t even think about trying to pass your heavy-lifting job off onto me. This customer is mine.
He sighed and looked at the post-office collection card Kate had given him. The description of the box didn’t sound too big. It shouldn’t be too hard to walk down and carry it back.
It also meant he could get outside, stretch his legs, and see some of the Mardi Gras decorations going up along the street.
Maybe being the muscle wasn’t so bad after all. He slipped the card into his pocket as he made his way towards the door.
The next few days were busy. Mardi Gras, otherwise known as Sydney’s own unique interpretation of a pride parade, was now just days away, and people were in the mood to party both in and out of the bedroom. Cutie Pies’ best sellers were a classic pair of fluffy handcuffs, a diamond-studded jockstrap, and condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. To Joey’s frustration, the fish tank vibrators were also selling well. No one seemed to hate the display as much as he did, and he quietly resigned himself to never again having a clear counter.
Wednesday was the worst. While the place was so crowded, he and Becca had less time to chat, too busy restocking shelves and seducing customers into ridiculous purchases to chase each other around the shop or throw things at lube stands. He was sure Kate was grateful. In fact, he was positive Kate was grateful, because she offered to give them a lift home after work. Becca took it. Joey didn’t.
As much as he admired Kate, she was still his boss, and the thought of spending half an hour in the car with her was more than a little scary.
Besides, after such a long day, it was nice to be alone for a couple of minutes to close up while they left early to beat the traffic.
He moved the money from the cash register into the safe, put all the receipts from the day into the ledger, and bent down behind the counter to pull his backpack out of one of the cupboards. As he did, he heard someone walk up the stairs.
He sighed. Kate and Becca had forgotten to lock the door on their way out… again. One of these days he was going to get murdered while counting the cash. “Sorry. We’re closed. Please come back at . . .” He stood and then froze when he saw Mick standing at the top of the stairs, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Mick?”
The man blinked. “You remember my name?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Is that creepy? It’s creepy.”
“No. Don’t apologise. It’s nice.”
“I’m good with names,” Joey said. And I’ve been thinking about fucking you pretty much nonstop so . . . yeah.
“I’m not,” Mick said. “But I remember yours. You’re Joey.”
“It’s a funny name.”
“It’s nice,” Mick said again.
For a moment neither of them spoke or moved. Then Mick turned back towards the stairs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were closed. I’ll come back some other time.”
“Wait!” Joey cried. And, yep, he’d actually cried that. As in yelled a little. And now Mick was looking at him like he was about to tell him the stairway was booby-trapped or something. “Um. Sorry. That came out weird. What I meant to say is, it’s okay. I’m still here aren’t I? Is there anything I can grab for you real quick?”
“No. I’m sorry, I . . .” Mick’s smile came back, this time canted into an awkward grin. “I was on the way home, and I thought I would . . . I don’t know, see if there was something else I wanted.” His eyes flicked towards Joey.
“Ah.” Joey rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t really keep the shop open just for browsing.”
“That’s fine. I understand.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing . . .?” Another dildo? Some more throat-numbing spray? Something else that would conjure up even more disturbingly specific fantasies for him to wank to?
Mick shook his head.
“Maybe next time.”
“Yeah.”
Another silence.
“Right. Okay, then. I’ll just close up.” Joey shouldered his pack and walked towards the door, towards Mick. He stopped as he came abreast with the light switch, which also happened to be face-to-face with Mick. Their eyes met, and for one split second, Joey thought about kissing him, just like he had in all his fantasies. Hard and rough. Or maybe gentler. More like it was in the movies. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? A movie kiss . . . But then Mick’s gaze flicked towards the door, and Joey remembered that Mick had a boyfriend, and the moment—if there ever had been one—was gone.
He put a finger on the light switch. “Think you can walk down the steps in the dark? I have to turn them off from here.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and killed the lights.
It was strange walking down the steps in the dark behind Mick. Joey couldn’t quite figure
out why. Maybe it was because he’d never actually seen Mick outside the four walls of Cutie Pies, and that would change the second they stepped onto the pavement. Or maybe it was because with the lights off, his awareness of Mick narrowed to the sounds he made: the scuff of his sneakers, the scrape of his jeans, and the small almost-indistinguishable huff of his breath.
Whatever it was, Joey was both relieved and disappointed when they stepped out onto the street.
The door had a shitty lock, and he stood there wrestling with it for ages before it finally turned, the bolt sliding closed with a loud click. He pulled the key out of the door, gave it a tug to make sure it really was locked, and then looked over his shoulder to where Mick was standing nearby. He’d half expected him to walk away the second his feet struck the pavement. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed, hands shoved into his pockets. Waiting for Joey like they were friends going somewhere together.
“So, um.” Joey scratched the back of his neck. “I’m going this way.”
“Me too.”
“Oh. Good. I guess we’ll . . .” He started walking and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Mick fell into step beside him.
And all Joey could think was that this was the guy who had consumed his sexual fantasies from the moment he’d stumbled into the store. If he’d felt guilty or weird about it before, that feeling was magnified tenfold as they strode, side by side, down the street.
“So,” Joey said, trying his best to sound normal. “What class do you have that’s so late that you’re coming home now?”
Mick frowned up at him. “Class?”
“Class. You know, where you go and pretend to learn things so they’ll give you a degree one day. University.”
“I’m not a student.”
Now it was Joey’s turn to frown. “What?”
“I’m not a student,” Mick said again. “I work.”
Dumbly, “You work?”
Mick pulled an ID badge out of his pocket and held it up. “I work.”
Joey stared at it in surprise. It looked legit. And the company logo printed across the bottom looked even more legit. His eyes danced from the ID to Mick, who was in the same tatty sneakers and blue jeans he’d worn the first two times Joey had seen him. The T-shirt was different: a retro Wonder Woman in the process of twirling her lasso. He didn’t exactly look like a guy who’d just come from the office.