Batter Up-3
586 Words
The place Rob has in mind is a little dive set off one of the main roads. It’s part of a strip mall, and most people wouldn’t look twice at its unimposing door, whose glass paneling is covered with black construction paper. The windows are, too. Most who pass by think it’s just another closed-up shop, unused retail space waiting to be rented to someone new. There’s no sign anywhere indicating Bailey’s is open for business.
“How’d you find this place?” Mike asks as Rob leads him to a circular booth near the back.
Rob shrugs. “Word gets around.”
He follows Mike’s gaze as the shortstop looks at the wooden panels lining the walls, the mirrored ceiling, the glasses hanging above the bar, the bottles of alcohol winking in the recessed lighting. It isn’t much, Rob knows, but he likes it. “We mostly get an older crowd out here,” he says, signaling to catch the bartender’s attention. Mike eases into the booth and Rob squeezes in beside him. “No college queers like the gay bars downtown. At least that’s something.”
“So this is…?” Mike raises an eyebrow to finish his question.
In response, Rob slides a hand under the table to cup Mike’s knee in his palm. Gently, he rubs his hand up a little, his fingers dipping into the hemline of Mike’s shorts. “Oh yeah.”
“Good.” One of Mike’s arms finds its way around Rob’s shoulders. He leans back in the booth, rubbing an intricate pattern between Rob’s shoulder blades, and spreads his legs a little, as if to encourage Rob’s hand to move higher.
It does. Rob smoothes his fingers up over Mike’s shorts and into the fold where leg meets crotch. There he finds a thick swelling against the inside of Mike’s left thigh. He presses, eliciting a faint whimper from Mike, and grins. “Are you freeballing?”
“Boxers,” Mike says. He gasps as Rob’s hand closes around the width of his d**k. “I spent all day in a jock strap, man. I need to let the boys breathe a little, if you know what I mean.”
Rob moves his hand up along the inseam of Mike’s shorts, until he finds Mike’s ‘boys.’ A gentle squeeze and the hand on his back splays flat as Mike thrusts into his palm.
Before things go any farther, a waiter appears with two draft beers. The foam billowing above the brew spills down the side of the glasses as they’re set on the table. The waiter’s young, probably one of those ‘college queers’ Rob avoids, working at Bailey’s to earn extra tips from aging gay men with daddy complexes. As if he knows exactly what Rob’s hand is doing under the table, the waiter winks. “I can give you guys a few minutes,” he says, “but it looks to me like you already know what you want.”
Mike gives Rob a mischievous grin. “I know what I want, but maybe we should get something to eat first.”
With a laugh, the waiter produces two menus—nothing much, just single sheets of paper listing the few food items Bailey’s carries. “Try our date night special. Two burgers for the price of one, a large side order of fries to share.”
“Sounds good to me.” Rob pushes the menu back with one hand, the other still kneading Mike’s crotch beneath the table. “Don’t feel like you have to keep checking on us every few minutes, you know what I mean?”
Another wink. “Sure do, hot stuff. I’ll leave you two alone.”
Once he heads back to the bar, Rob turns to Mike. “Now, where were we?”
Mike’s eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, flashing from brown to green and back again. His face is suddenly so close, Rob can see faint flashes of gold in the depths of Mike’s eyes, like shooting stars. Leaning toward Rob, Mike murmurs, “Right about here.”
Then his lips cover Rob’s in a sweet first kiss.
- Writer
