ZIP Code 33334

"Every place transforms us into passing desires, but very few sweat hedonism." Kyle repeated the phrase from memory, like a religious prayer. The shower water came out strong, like near-boiling needles against his skin. Thoughts drifted to PrEP, his cockring, debts, Viagra, and revenge. Lathering himself with soap, he pulled back his foreskin to check the head. A drop of spit served as pre-coital practice; he loved boasting about that to strangers right before penetrating them. Not a sex addict, just someone who found relief in casual cruising.

Those discovered messages had clouded his mind. Yes, text messages. Infidelity came with a cost, and he knew exactly where it hurt most, being no stranger to pain himself.

He suited up in a red-trimmed leather harness, choosing a jockstrap that matched his boots. Reaching for a butt plug from the collection, he slathered it in lube and shoved it up his ass. A mocking grimace at his pale reflection in the mirror preceded his exit.

Flags plagued the neighborhood. The government erased rainbows from the avenues, but could not wipe them from the balconies. It was Pride. "And proud of what?" his father had once asked. The memory fueled his rage. Alcohol soon flooded his thoughts across several circuit bars. Drinking heavily while adjusting his bulge in front of toned bartenders who offered distrustful glares, he stood out as a muscular, masculine white guy—a Midwestern stud to some, white trash to others.

Slightly drunk, he returned to the car for a few quick drags. Stashing the lighter in the glove compartment, he pressed on toward the ultimate destination: the cruising bar. Mark entered his mind. They had chosen this city where winter never arrives, leading him to ponder the exact moment their love broke. No answer came.

Pushing through leather-clad bodies sweating ecstasy across the dance floor, he made his way inside. A brightly lit bar flickered deep within a labyrinth of bodies and moans, wrapped in house music. Entangled in the sweat of men and hands inviting him to play, the room smelled of poppers and sex. Flashing light beams defined shadows along the corners of the sexual chessboard. Pausing in a room hung with dildos and intimate toys, he spotted bodies lined up with cocks ready for tasting, promptly taking a generous one into his mouth—an offer too tempting to resist.

His weakness for group sex, park handjobs, or random alleyway encounters was never disguised. Nothing mattered anymore. The spite born from betrayal demanded release.

Other hairy men stood watching, stroking themselves in that corner—thick, veiny cocks everywhere. One man turned him around, spread his cheeks, spat twice, and began working out the lodged plug. Relief washed over Kyle, feeling like a bottle of high-end champagne being uncorked. The guy stood, lubed up, and drove into that hungry ass. Choppy lights traveled across the room to illuminate those waiting their turn. Hands pressed a popper-soaked rag to his nose. He gasped with every thrust grazing his prostate, even hearing the groans of a couple of loads dripping inside him. More than five guys must have taken that hole during the leather-fueled fury, shattering his personal record of four. Fumbling on the floor until finding the plug, he slid it back in while counting the loads inside. Almost nothing mattered anymore.

The drive home passed under illuminated sequences of city palm trees. Switching on the radio brought political-religious propaganda, so he cut to his playlist; Grace Jones came on. A fleeting thought of Jonestown crossed his mind, dismissed with an incredulous shake of his head.

In a few hours, coffee, a shower, and a trip to the airport to pick up his husband awaited. The betrayal was clear, yet stronger bonds held them together: debts, the house, the dogs, family. The night remained stifling. Recalling his guilty heat at the sex club and the cocks inside him, very little mattered at this point. Rejoining his role required only the best attitude: remain a hard-working man, dedicated to his partner, and continue playing the top in a long marriage.