
Made of Stars
When eighteen-year-old Hunter Jackson and his half sister, Ashlin, return to their dad’s for the fir
Short Story B.J. Scott, BJ Scott 67 28th Apr, 2025
Arousal showed in every part of him and his eyes were as dark as coal in the dimly lit room.
He nearly gasped when he noticed the photographs of Dakta in the nude. Some showed a great deal of discretion, but others detailed clearly that the man was well endowed. The dark, brooding eyes were breathtaking, but the body was a work of art. He tried not to stare at the hard thickness that rose nearly to the man’s navel, but he couldn’t look away. One leg was bent and the foot was resting on a chair. He watched the tight material that stretched across the man’s butt and thighs as it made its way down the long legs. His chest was broad and thick, tapering down to a well toned torso, nearly perfect, as if sculpted. The long legs made Jet’s mouth water as he thought of them intertwined with his own. He felt a tightening in his jeans as he continued to stare at the photograph.
He glanced behind him, hoping Dakta had not noticed his intrigue. Dakta was paying no attention to him. Jet turned to the photographs once again, noticing the intensity in the eyes. When the voice on the intercom ceased, Dakta walked slowly toward him and placed a hand at the top of his jeans. Jet jumped in surprise, but no harsh admonishing words were uttered.
“Do you own this place?”
“No. This ‘place’ belongs to Miles.”
“Miles?”
“Yes, Miles.”
“Does Miles have a last name?”
Dakta lowered his head. “Yes he does, though he chooses not to share that information. If I were you, I wouldn’t ask… when you meet him.”
“Sure,” he answered, breaking free from Dakta’s grasp.
“Come, Jet. He is waiting for you.”
Dakta very tenderly stroked the side of Jet’s face before taking his hand once again. The place was empty, or so it seemed, as they walked slowly through the big house. It was a cozy house even though it was the size of a palace. Decorated like many of the houses in Windy Glen, there were quilts on the beds, simple pictures along the walls, and no sign of pomposity or showmanship to speak of. They stopped at the doorway of one of the bedrooms and Jet looked questioningly at Dakta.