I could tell he was gay and a bottom: pleasantly chubby, a pearl right earring stud and round tortoise-shell hipster glasses.

As he scanned my produce, his fingers lingered over the eight-inch cucumber.

“Did you find everything you needed?” he asked while biting his lower lip.

I looked him in the eye and responded, “Not really, but I bet you know where the big sausages are. You know, the ones that squirt all that salty-sweet juice when you bite them.”

I looked toward the overhead sign that read Restrooms.

He winked and said, “Give me five minutes.”