What

There is a little game we play.

Every Thursday I go to the bar. Every Thursday J is there waiting for me. Every Thursday we sneak off somewhere to play.

This arrangement has obviously come to be an expectation for both of us, and yet we are both entirely unable to acknowledge that this is now the case. And so every Thursday we end up having the same, entirely bizarre exchange:

I get to the bar and sit down and J gets me a beer, which I drink while we watch football or baseball or Comedy Central and J cuts up fruit. He is a far more patient person than I, and so I always end up getting antsy and squirming in my seat and trying to will him with my mind to stop with the lemons and whisk me off to the bathroom or the basement or the dj booth. Every week he starts to feel that tension building and looks up to catch me staring at him intently. And then he says "What?" This is silly because he knows perfectly well what. He knows it and I know it, and still every time I get the same question. And then I say "Nothing." Which is also silly because he knows perfectly well I don't mean it. I say the same thing every time and he pretends to buy it - every time.

Following this he comes out from behind the bar and either sits next to me or stands near me and we pretend to watch television until phase two of our little dance, where he astutely observes and then comments on whether or not I'm wearing a skirt. Because although it's never actually been stated, if I'm wearing a skirt it means I want fucked, but if I'm wearing pants it means I just want to suck him off. And shortly thereafter, he will wordlessly walk away from me knowing that I will casually get up and follow him.

It is only when the door is locked and he is reaching for his belt that either of us dare to whisper what we really mean: "Bend over." "Fuck me harder." "Yeah, suck it."

When it is over, we walk back to the bar and slip back into the routine, watching football or talking about music, sometimes picking up a conversation in the middle, right where we left off before the "What?". As if it never happened. As if we aren't going to do the exact same thing next week.

It may seem odd that two people who are capable of (and guilty of) incredibly filthy exchanges in any other setting are reduced to the level of junior high kids when put into context of this one particular location. But you see, that is part of the draw of it. These are stolen moments. We are engaging in something forbidden. It is an erotic fantasy fulfilled that would be taken away from us if we were ever caught. And so we have to keep it a secret.

Even from each other.