There was only one other time in my life I'd had sex in a public place -- in college, some Italian restaurant-- with a married man at a nearby table who was making eye contact with me. I went first to the small, run-down men's room and waited. The door opened minutes later and the man stood there.

He came in, locked the door behind him and for ten minutes two mouths, four hands, two tongues and everything else was all over the place... but that was almost twenty years ago.

Now, I was doing it again in the men's room at Mocha Daze.

His mouth was hot. I figured he'd ordered Orange Tea because he smelled and tasted like citrus. His cologne was something hard to place, something European, not a brand sold in the U.S. -- his suit was fresh, clean as was his white dress shirt and white undershirt which I pulled up to get to his stomach, flat, hard and tan.

He put his arms up and locked his hands against the top of the stall behind him, and he whispered loudly, "Do it! Fast, Eric! Do it!"

I did.

Mark Fitzgerald's whisper bounced hard off the tile wall of the bathroom and I was on my knees in front of him-- taking him like he requested. With one hand I had a firm grip on him, the other was furiously working on my pants fly. It became comical for a moment as I screamed a muffled noise, trying to get my fly open. Then it worked and the det-det-det of the zipper came down. That sound too, bounced off the walls.

The sound was immense.

No speaking, no words. Just breathing, the clank of a belt buckle on the tile floor, and the creak of oxford shoes.

Then moaning. I opened my eyes to catch my bearings for a moment. God! We hadn't even made it inside a stall, we were on the outside of one, near the very center of the john. Anyone could come in, and that was what made this so incredible.

*****

Had it been an hour or only minutes?

I had no way of knowing but Mark was growing more and more fearsome. He arched his back to me and started bucking into my body. That spurred me and I slammed him back against the wall behind him.

"Hold still!" I ordered.

He looked down at me and grabbed my shoulders, not appreciating my tone. He pulled me up and I realized his strength was more than I thought it would be.

I was standing and he kissed me roughly. It felt right, this manner of kissing. He moved in close and grabbed my face, eyed me and said, "turn around."

"Not here, Mark. Not here!"

"Turn around, Goddamn it. Now!"

I turned, reluctantly.

We were both facing the door, we hadn't heard the footsteps. We hadn't been focused on the world outside.

So we were both looking at the door when Andrew came through it and saw us-- half-clothed-- sweaty, erect and trapped.