Like what?
He probably didn't have that much practice. Or maybe he normally had guys hit on him, but it had been a while. Who knows? It was all probably somewhat new to him, whereas Bill sounds much more experienced.
"What do other people do?" "Move to Denver, I guess.
"Like what?"
This is a hard question for me to answer. First, I haven't been in a bar, straight or gay, for a long time, so what I would say might be hopelessly outdated. Secondly, there are probably differences between Canadian and US men, and third, I can't really offer a sort of gay alternative screenplay for the Jack/Jimbo scene because there is an infinite set of possibilities. So I will limit myself to some general observations.
It is a commonplace amongst gays that straight men are a lot less straight when they are around gay men, and there are no straight women to provoke in them a need for macho posing. They are softer, more vulnerable, able to be more honest about their feelings, and to open up to other men. And in these circumstances, a lot of straight men are more up to showing affection, including sex, than they are when women are around. (Women, you are just going to have to accept the fact that men are not only more promiscuous by nature, but also more experimental than you may realize. And don't bother asking a straight man if this is true, he will never tell you.) This makes social encounters between men less hazardous than between men and women. Men can sit down and talk without all the cultural baggage between them--unless someone amongst them is so repressed he must carry on with the facade of talking about the game and banging bitches, etc. That kind of talk does put men on guard and limits what they can say to each other.
This lies at the heart of the problem with the way the Jack/Jimbo scene is presented. Reworking the scene as if it were a man hitting on a woman in order to make the scene comprehensible to a straight audience omits the crucial point that it is indeed between 2 men, and would not begin with eye contact that went on too long, and that preposterous "Let me buy my friend Jimbo a beer'" like he had just donated a million dollars to Cancer. Any drink buying would be much more low key, something like "Let me get the next round," and would carry no expectations beyond acknowledging that the conversation was worth pursuing.
When it is time to think about sex, the two would already know how friendly they had become, and whether anything more was in the cards and a good idea. One man might say, "Want to get out of here?" or some such line suggesting that they were together now. The rest you can imagine. There would not (at least in Canada) likely be any public displays like touching, groping, or unzipping of flies. I have had that happen to me in the US, and I let it continue because I was caught up in the sleaziness of the scene, but he was certainly not the man I went home with. And if you were not interested in anything more than conversation, you would just say so politely--no need to flee like Jimbo did. Why wreck a nice conversation over that?
Canadian men are more likely to congregate in groups because there are more and bigger tables to sit at--this stemming from the days when Canadian pubs were all tables with no bar, and strangers would sit together at a table, at first perhaps quiet, but gradually joining in the general conversation. If any special relationships seem to develop, everyone is aware of it, and accommodates accordingly--moving seats etc. At that point if one of the pair suggests moving on, everyone else will decline leaving the two free to go off by themselves.
Casual sexual hookups such as on the street, in the baths, etc., are a totally different matter. They can be as gritty as you imagine, and I don't want to talk about them here.
"Bill sounds much more experienced."
Bill was indeed more experienced than Jack. In Flagstaff I warned him not to start anything, but the sight of a big room filled with cowboys was too much for him. He was a total slut, and gloried in it. There was nothing so sexually demeaning or sleazy he would not try, and probably enjoy. I must admit to a certain envy. I did try, but I just couldn't--there was no way I could match his enthusiasm and style. Now I look back with "nostalgie de la boue," nostalgia for the mud--a delightful phrase that exactly captures my memories of the times. But those days were my early 20's. I did grow up eventually. Thankfully, memories do not grow up.
"Move to Denver, I guess."
I actually thought of Bill when I first read those lines in the short story. I am glad he is happy now. He certainly was not when playing the slut, in spite of how well he carried it off.