Church

Rich drained his first mimosa and plunked the glass heavily onto the table. "That was not nearly as satisfying as it should have been."

Kirk coughed harshly. Neither of them had had a good night's sleep. "Not when you drain it like that. Why are we here again at nine o'clock in the morning on a Sunday?"

They were the only other people in the Greek restaurant known as Apollos, which had a good Sunday brunch despite the occasional Board of Health citation that nobody paid attention to.

"Because they have a good Sunday brunch despite the occasional health violation that nobody pays attention to," said Rich.

"You must have been hungry to be waited on, then. You got me in such a hurry my underwear and one sock are probably still on the floor of your bedroom." Kirk smiled with mischievousness.

"I was awake. I'll go back to sleep at like, one."

"We're not staying that long."

"No, but we'll go back to my place afterwards."

"Oh, we will, will we?!" Kirk's smile grew, though it had a tinge of grimace.

The waiter came and took food orders. Rich had bacon, eggs and a short stack of pancakes. Kirk stuck to hash browns and the fruit-and-yogurt plate - and a cranberry juice and coffee.

"Oh, yes, and another mimosa," said Rich. He slightly adjusted the empty glass via its foot to encourage the waiter to take it away.

Kirk started another topic. Pippi Longstocking said in her first book that if you don't go, you can't come back, and that would be a shame. Why not do the same when talking about sex?

"It was nice to see, um - what's-his-name out last night."

Rich almost gushed, "YES, Ajax, it WAS. Oh, I'm so happy he's looking better."

"He seemed happy. Well, happier. Still obviously desperate and single."

Rich had known Ajax for a while, and in all the years Ajax had had very sporadic dates. "Yes. He should probably just open himself up to sex more. He's gotten very - well, he's always been a very private person."

"He's not the type to talk to people much, or take someone home?"

"Well, he's been in town so long, and probably doesn't like all the regulars. He seems to not like himself either." Rich looked out the window languidly.

"What's his problem?" queried Kirk.

"Who knows?" Rich suddenly fussed with his phone. "Oh, look, there he is."

Kirk furrowed a puzzled smile. "What, did he check in somewhere?!"

Rich had a dry look. "He's at church."

At the same moment Rich began explaining this remark to Kirk, over in East Providence, Ajax was saying the Lord's Prayer for Gym Bunnies.

"Our muscles, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy endurance be won, on Earth as it is in Heaven.

"Give me this day my daily sweat, and forgive me my gorging, as I forgive my temptation. Deliver me from fat, and make me look good naked like all the other smarmy assholes who show it off and make it look so easy."

Ajax hit the buttons to program the treadmill and started walking. There were a few - enough - other people in the big-box gym considering it was a freaking Sunday morning. A mix of older straight women and men. Maybe a couple. Probably that guy, a boring straight-looking 40-year-old, was closeted.

The man was two treadmills away and wore a blank white T-shirt and basic gray cotton gym shorts, and some name brand jogging shoes and white tube socks. His torso was in decent - well, acceptable shape. He wasn't running tremendously fast.

Ajax started at 2.5 mph, then made it up to 4. By ten minutes into the run, he'd felt ready to go for his burst of speed - to 6 mph.

512 CALORIES PER HOUR, the treadmill tickered across its readout.

After about a minute, and then another half-minute, Ajax brought the treadmill down to a moderate walking pace and increased the incline to 9, whatever that meant. He was walking uphill. And then he felt he was being watched.

How this phenomenon works, I don't know, but surely you've had that feeling of eyes boring into your epidermis? Ajax looked in that direction, and it was the 40-year-old man.

But the man wasn't looking at him. Well, not right then. It's difficult to look to the side that much when you're running. It made Ajax think of the story of Atalanta - from "Free To Be, You And Me."

Ajax decided to stop his music and give his brain over to that earworm of a song. He pictured the 40-year-old turning into a cartoon like the childhood movie's opening sequence and flying backwards off the treadmill with grace, running on a flowing rainbow.

By now Ajax's looking at the man had been too frequent - jog, jog, jog, dart look, jog, jog, jog, look - that the man started to look back.

At first he had a nondescript look in return.

But then - was the man kind of smiling to himself, while also trying not to trip while running?

Ajax figured it was one of those guys he could talk himself into liking enough to play with sexually, if the opportunity arose. Though his own 40 was way too close for Ajax's taste, the man - well, maybe the man was more like 45. He was taller than Ajax's 5'7" - probably 5'11". He had distinguishment of age - greying at the sides and a few facial creases - compared to Ajax's perpetual looking in the mirror and feeling like an inept, immature child, with none of the confidence or benefit of a gay man's youth.

Ajax brought down the incline of the treadmill again with the intent of another 90 seconds of burst. His tongue lapped, needing water, and he grabbed the bottle to pull the top off and gulp.

Ajax almost thought, instead of feeling, one of his deep dips of hormonal emotion. He crumpled his brow briefly in confusion. What the hell was wrong with him? Running like this would be taking away blood - and his body computer's processing power - from that kind of area.

In his head Ajax started running from the idea of the man, of chatting him up, of kissing him naked while the blood surged through their veins and body heat pulled them together. Ajax angrily jabbed at the speed selector. 6 MPH. 6.5 MPH.

742 CALORIES PER HOUR, the treadmill said.

Ajax angrily ran his heart out. He tried not to grit his teeth. He hoped his watery eyes wouldn't water.

He could only do it for a minute before the panic arrived that his heart would give out, and he rapidly slowed.

The man's workout finished, and he came to a stop. He labored in breathing as he got off, went over to get a paper towel of disinfectant spray and wiped off his machine, and walked away.

Ajax returned to calm. Nothing mattered. And he still had probably ten more pounds to lose.