he subversive sex was good for a month’s worth of catering gigs. We’d hook up in the fifteen minutes between entrées and dessert, then leave some physical evidence of our two-man revolt: a used condom in the toilet, a splash of cum on the tile, the unmistakable musk of anal sex. But Robert grew dissatisfied with leaving room for doubt—he needed for them to know we’d been there. He left gay stroke mags between the towels, AIDS prevention pamphlets in the medicine chest, dildos under the sink. Robert kept a detailed list of each skirmish—what we did, where we did it, and what we left behind—until it filled a notebook.

 

Complete story published in Quickies 3.

 

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