“Sit down.” Chris called to the waitress: “Another mug, miss. And might as well get another pitcher ready.”
JJ laughed, tugged at his shirt, looked around the place.
“You been here before? Like, bro, I’ve heard of this place, lots of times, but this is my first time here.”
“I’ve been here a few times. I’m not a regular. On principle I’m opposed to anonymous, casual rumbles. I like to at least know a guy’s name first.”
JJ chuckled. His forehead grew a few beads of sweat. His face flushed slightly. “Yeah, me too … Chris?”
“One and only. In the flesh. And you’re ‘John-John’?” Chris asked dubiously.
JJ nodded, then downed three quarters of a mug as soon as the waitress poured it for him. A dumb, nervous grin on his face.
“Calm down, John-Boy. It’s gonna be a long night.”
It was quarter to one.
The guys chatted for hours—wrestling, fights, favorite fighters, working out, and sex were the main topics of the conversation. Both agreed they would rather fuck the other than have to put their dick in a skanky-hole that passed for pussy at Marie’s. Six pitchers of beer and three plates of nachos later, the guys were feeling pretty good and cocky; they were also told they had to get out at four a.m.
By now JJ had stripped off his wifebeater and tied it around his head to soak up his sweat. The two studs paid their bill and stumbled out into the empty parking lot. Nearly everyone was gone by now. The cars that remained were Marie’s staff or drunken customers who had found another way home. Chris pissed on the side of a Ford as JJ emptied his bulging bladder on the dumpster.
“W-well, lets do thish.” Chris said slurring his words.
“Show what you got fucker!” JJ snapped back as he waivered side to side.
Chris tugged at his cargo shorts, raised his fists and stumbled at JJ. As JJ moved sideways, the two young hunks jabbed at each other, neither really landing a punch.
(To be continued)