The spotlight lands right on Dusty. He has to put his hand in front of his face and squint.

“Hello, sir,” the DJ says.

Currently, Dusty is at a wedding. It’s not even his wedding. Hell, he doesn’t even know anyone here. He’s actually just the sound guy and was calmly minding his own business sitting at this table, enjoying a drink. Right now, he doesn’t know what’s going on or why this fucking spotlight is in his face, but he can feel everyone turning their attention to him.

There’s a small speck of nervousness that drifts up through his thoughts.

“Umm, he-hello?” Dusty manages to say.

“Why don’t you come up here?”

Even through all the light flooding through his fingers, he can still see the DJ has his hand directed toward the center of the stage.
Dusty wants no part of this. “I’m, I’m good, thanks.”

Suddenly, his phone vibrates. He takes it out of his pocket and looks at the text. It’s from his boss: Get the fuck up there. These people are paying us good money. We do whatever they want.

Dusty sighs and gets up out of the chair and walks up right to where the DJ is pointing, which has an iron pole installed in place.

“What’s your name, my friend?” the DJ asks, his voice booming through the system that Dusty set up.

He doesn’t want to give it, but with his boss’s words in his mind, he says, “Dusty.”

“Well, as you can see, Dusty, the spotlight landed on you.”

He hears some laughter, but also some women and men going Wooo! Yeah! UH-HUH! The phrases almost sound like cat calls.

“Okay, you know the rules, Dusty. Why don’t you put on a show for us?”
Rules? What rules is he talking about? Music starts up. Dusty hears a series of words and being thrown at him. They’re all collected into this mindless soup, which sends his mind into a twirling blender. But then, he hears three words spoken from the back corner that suddenly puts this all together: “TAKE IT OFF!”

Dusty laughs a little. But his heart still jumps up. There’s still an apprehensive lilt at the base of his voice. And his expression has a shadow of pensiveness. But, he’s a good sport. He starts curving his torso back and forth.

“WOO!”

“Yeah, baby!”

He smiles, kind of loving the attention. He gets into a groove and his backside begins to make a circling motion that moves into his legs with this comical seduction.

He then crosses his arms down and curves his fingers around the bottom of his horizontally black-and-white striped shirt he has on. He holds his hands there while grasping the bottom of the fabric tighter. Really teasing the audience. They respond with a humorous frustration. He can even hear some of the guys saying, “Stop teasing us, bro!”

He slowly moves his hands up above the button on his jeans, just to the point where you can see his gyrating stomach. The skin is mostly smooth with a kissed tan. He lowers the shirt back down and even stretches it downward. He cups his hand to his ear while making this expectant expression.

“C’mon, man!”

“Let’s see it!”

He lifts his shirt up again. This time, higher, showing more of his stomach up to the bottom of his chest.

There are claps and hollers and growing impatience that begins to take presence in the people’s voices and expressions.

Dusty suddenly and quickly pulls the shirt up. The fabric brushing up against his face and running through his hair. He slides it off one arm and puts his arms back down while still holding the shirt in his other hand.

He shakes his chest while motioning his fingers back and forth with a c’mon kind of look in both his expression and in how he presence his body.

Listening to the crowd, while still holding his shirt, he places his hands on his stomach and starts sliding them down. As he does this, he contours the bottom half of his body forward. Softly thrusting his package.

“YEAH!”

“Keep going!”

He undoes the button on his jeans. They expand open. The spotlight on him really highlights the top of the gray underwear he has on underneath. The hand holding his shirt floats up to his zipper. Slowly, he lifts it up and pulls. The teeth unbind and more of the gray underwear is seen. When the zipper can’t go anymore, he lets go. He gives a big smile, throws his hands up and bows. There are some boos.
Dusty stands back up and puts his hands to his hips. He shakes his head no.

Just before he moves his hands off his waist, he’s bumped forward. As that’s happening, he feels the shirt he’s been holding onto stretching in his grasp and it’s suddenly whipped out of his hand. He feels someone else’s hand on the side of his jeans.

A shock jumps up through his system as a cold chill sparks his lungs. He can’t let this happen. That’s when he notices his boss out of the corner of his eye, shaking both his head and his finger. Shit.

The hand starts pulling and both his jeans and underwear are torn down in a diagonal fashion. The tan line of his inner thigh peaks up through the bunched-up material.

He still has his hands to his hips and wears this cocky smile on his face. It’s only a slight uplift in his lips while his cheeks round themselves a little forward. He’s trying to appear like he’s playing along as much as possible. But inside, his heart is beating faster and his nerves shudder at the very feel of air touching exposed skin.

Then, with one good yank, the hand whips both his jeans and underwear halfway down his legs. He feels his pubic hair bloom out while his uncut penis flops upward and lands on his trembling nuts. He really wants to cover up, but he can still see his boss out of the side of his face, giving him this scolding stare.

He still has his hands on his waist, still wearing this knowing smile. But in his head, he’s already making plans to look for another job. In the meantime, though, his stomach is sinking as he almost clenches his bare ass.

“I don’t know, folks. Maybe he should stay like that for tonight?” the DJ says, half jokingly, half serious. “What do y’all think?”

He hears cheers and more hoots and hollers.

God, he really hopes the DJ is kidding.