I had seen many more patrons in The Robin Hood Bar during prior visits. Fast boys with loose tongues. Daddies in search of young love again. Bears that liked to bite. Dirty mechanics who enjoyed using their tools. Twinks looking for foursomes. The place resembled a dead zone, though, empty of activity. A few men sat at the bar and watched us enter. The dance floor laid bare of sultry dancers. The door to the men’s room wasn’t occupied by a kissing couple or mouthwatering threesome. Queers weren’t secluded in the dim shadows, having sex. To tell the truth, Jax and I pretty much had the place to ourselves. All of it.

We sat at the bar and had drinks. Two rum and Cokes with very little ice. And we talked on bar stools with our knees touching. Topics ranged from Donald Trump to Pokémon. We discussed our favorite authors, painters, and if policemen were sexier than clergymen. Our conversation lasted for three drinks each, which was sometimes broken with kissing. Laughter felt easy for us, I believed, making eye contact, touching cheeks with fingers, smiling almost the entire time, and simply enjoying the time spent together, lost in the world as a couple without labels and minimal purpose.

Eventually, maybe into his fifth drink, maybe his sixth, he reached for my hand, provided it with a gentle squeeze, and demanded of me, “Dance with me, Victor.”

We danced, sometimes kissing, sometimes chatting. No one mattered except for Jax and me in the bar. No one.

I recalled one conversation we shared on the dance floor, swaying. I told him, “We should play hookie from work more often.”

“It can be arranged.”

“Do you think we can keep it from the boss?”

He chuckled, dabbed a kiss to the tip of my nose, and told me, “Our little secret. He’ll never find out. Who knows, though, he might promote it?”

We danced for another ten minutes, fifteen minutes, almost a half hour, and then he moved his lips up to my left ear and demanded of me, “Take me home and use me, Victor. I can’t wait to feel your naked body against mine.”

I listened, not needing to be told twice, and left The Robin Hood Bar with Jax at my side, already hard between my legs because of his unlimited sexiness and my relentless lust.

* * * *

Minutes later, his driving became erratic in the snowstorm, like a teenager’s who was maybe learning how to drive. The Hummer zoomed left and right, spinning tires over the snow and ice. I told myself that Jax didn’t really care how careless he had become, thinking with his swollen dick, ready to use the piece on me, inside me ... whatever he had in mind for the remaining hours of the evening and night.

We eventually reached my Tudor and he parked the Hummer behind my truck. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and admitted to me, “You have me frazzled, Victor. All I can think about is sex with you and our bodies grinding together.”

I laughed with him, not at him.

“Lead me astray,” he told me as he exited the Hummer and followed me to the front stoop of the Tudor, inside, and ...

The rest of the day and night became a sexual blur for me: heated, unstoppable, dramatic for all the right reasons, sweaty, and exactly how I wanted it to turn out, man connected to man in my upstairs bedroom, on my bed, naked and relentless, enjoying sex.