The Older Man (BoyxBoy)

Two

Ian’s / Mr. Stone’s POV

            “Mr. Stone, I’m not putting those on. My balls need to breathe. If I put on a pair of jeans tighter than these,” he pointed to the pair of beige skinny pants he was now wearing. They aren’t even skinny. They are just fitted. “My manly parts are going to be seriously pissed at me.”

            Oliver. He’s…intriguing. I’ve never met anyone like him before. In all my years of being a businessman—a designer I’ve never met someone as undisguised as Oliver is. Not only that, he did not quiver in my presence like ninety-percent of people did in my presence. There was something passionately bewitching about him.

            He stood out among the crowd but not in a fractious or repulsive kind of way. He was simply different and that caught my eyes—that and the fact that his fashion sense was quite horrid. Being the owner of a successful clothing line, it pains me to the core to see the way some people dress. Even designers themselves. They orchestrate runways as if they’re running a circus. Tell me, why would a model need a fucking pigeon on her head? Or some absurd addition to the outfit, like mesh from head to toe. Seriously. Is she or he a chicken in a coop?

             Anyways. Everyone else in the white room tried to impress me yesterday. None of those people were being themselves. When I looked at them, all I saw were spineless versions of myself. I wanted someone who could think for his or her self. The minute I saw him something in my gut told me that he was going to be the last one in the room yesterday. But I was professional and I still went through the sequence. I’m still baffled by some of the response I got to a simple question.

            I can remember it. I wanted to speak to him but I would always walk past him. It was as if I wanted to savor him and have him there as long as I could. Then when the moment came he shocked me with what he had said: “Even though I think you’re hot, I’m not seconds away from getting down on my knees and begging you to let me suck your cock…Mr. Stone.”

             I should have been repulsed. I should have kicked him out of there. I should have made him apologize to Miss Sunshine. What I shouldn’t have done, was be smitten by his bluntness. And yet still I was.

             “Mr. Stone?” Oliver called.

            I wonder what my first name would sound like coming from his lips. As I stood, looking at him wearing that fitted pair of beige pants, black leather TOMS that we purchased this morning and a very, very, very, shirtless torso. I knew I was fucked the second I laid eyes on him yesterday morning. I had gotten a glimpse of him yesterday and what I saw made me look again. If I hadn’t looked would I be in this predicament right now?

            I’ve known him for a day and a half and already he is in the process of demolishing everything I’ve built up upon years and years of keeping to myself. Keeping everything to myself. The worst part about this is that I’m just letting him. I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop it from happening. I don’t think I’d be able to. And that’s saying I would want to, which I’m not sure I do.

            Oliver said something again. Whatever he said, I haven’t a clue. “Sir?”

            “Oliver?” I answered, pretending to be unfazed. I’m good at that—pretending. But for how long?

            “I know I’m not a pro or anything, but don’t shirts usually go with pants?”

            I felt my lips twitch as I resisted the urge to smile. “Why don’t you choose something?” Turning my wrist slightly, I checked the time. “You have five minutes to pick something out, and that includes putting it on.” Oliver gapped at me, like a fish. I did the same thing to him and tapped the screen of my watch. “Chop-Chop!”