Whatever He Needs
-- EXCERPT: Dimmy follows me from room to room. Gradually, he loses himself to his interest in the intricate patterns of the wallpaper and fabrics and Mother’s unique design choices. He’s particularly enthralled by the billiards room that boasts, of course, a retro pool table. There’s also a jukebox and a full bar. There’s even a small dance floor. “It’s like a mini, super-classy version of All the Feels. But no cube for me to dance on.” “I don’t know what to say to that. “Would you like a beer?” I ask. “Nah. I’m…uh, only nineteen.” “Are you trying to tell me you follow all of society’s rules—like some choirboy?” He shakes his head. “I stay away from drinking and drugs. They screwed up my mom real bad, and…well, I figure being high won’t do me any favors in the thinking department.” He knocks on the side of his head. I hate it when he talks himself down this way. “Don’t sell yourself short. Just recognizing that drugs and alcohol affected your mother negatively—and making the decision to stay away from them—shows you’re an intelligent and disciplined person.” Dimmy’s mouth falls open, and it occurs to me that nobody has ever told him that he’s made a reasonable decision in his life. But then he lets out a raucous spurt of laughter, as if I told him the world’s funniest joke. He steps out onto the tiny dance floor, parts his legs, and sticks out his ass. I can’t lie: the ensuing sensual performance affects me. “This is what you like about me, isn’t it?” Dimmy slurs. He knows what he’s doing when he rolls his hips and shimmies his shoulders. I know what he’s doing, as well: Dimmy is testing me. As he administers his test of my restraint, he doesn’t stare at the ceiling like he does at the club. He fixes his seductive gaze on me. I shift my weight to hide my unwanted arousal. “Dimmy…” He seems to expect this reaction. “You got me alone. Aren’t you gonna make your move?” “No.” I don’t provide an explanation. “Let me show you to your bedroom.” His eyebrows curve. “O-okay.” My gut is screaming at me—demanding that I take Dimmy into my arms. But I refuse to do anything that will spook him. So I lead him to the stairs, and once we’re on the second floor, I select the bedroom that’s decorated all in creams. Tonight, Dimmy will fall asleep wrapped in virginal white sheets. All alone. Surprisingly, the idea soothes me far more than it frustrates me. His eyes pop wide, and he releases a breath of relief from deep in his chest. And one more time, he begins to tremble. The unnerving events of the evening have caught up to him.
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