On the outskirts of the city, in a forgotten industrial neighborhood, among buildings in various stages of abandonment is a club. It's rainbow colored "OPEN" sign is the only clue that you're in the right place. The glass door has a one-way, reflective film to conceal the activity of the men inside. The other windows are blacked out. The entry is hidden from view of the street by tall hedges. The city insisted on the landscaping after learning the nature of the business. No, not alcohol. Not gambling either. A strip club would be a close guess, but also wrong.
This is a men's bathhouse. The club is well known and has a roster of dedicated members who's tastes are aligned with their fantasies. It is variously attended by the curious, the lonely, the partiers....everyone has their reason. The common thread is sex: that's what we're all here for. Inside, men strip naked and do things to each other that a polite public would prefer not to imagine. Guests appreciate the cover that the hedges provided and so does the public.
When I arrived, I couldn't find parking within half a mile. I usually arrive early to avoid the problem, but indecision meant that I arrived at the same time that everyone else came up with the same plan.
I took consolation when I saw that the club hired a DJ for the weekend. He has amazing talent for reading the room and orchestrating the scene. Most people don't notice the gradually increasing tempo through the evening or the subtle change of pitch and tone. He plays "house" music: electronic synthesizers with a strong, almost sub-aural beat. The style fell out of fashion decades ago, but the ravers dance to it like they were still in their twenties. He knows the artists and maybe a few in the club recognize them as well. Rumor is that the DJ is a regular, that he plays among the guests and controls the music remotely, that he tailors the soundscape to what he's watching, enhancing the experience of his favorites.
The line is a dozen deep when I arrive but still within the cover of the hedges. Capacity crowd! I take my place and fix my gaze on the door. The line to get in is always awkward. No one knows how to interact. We're all fully clothed and looking our best, but what happens to the guy standing next to me when he gets naked? Is he a top? Is he a voyeur? Who's his match?
The young man in front of me doesn't glance toward me when i take my place, but his scrolling pauses. He's staring down at his phone blankly. His attention span is indicated by the changes in light coming from his screen. He is both completely absorbed and completely detached. He swipes to a different app, punches out a message, then quickly swipes back. My presence is acknowledged.
Looking down the line, other guys are doing the same thing without expression and oblivious to each other. The rules governing interaction outside the club are being carefully obeyed. Members prefer to keep their relationships outside the club separate from their relationships inside. But, in a few minutes, the guy in front of me is going to be sucking my dick. Until then, we are strangers.
The door opens and a guy comes out adjusting the collar of his jacket. He obeys the rules and ignores the guy at the front of the line. The guy at the front doesn't bother to look up from his phone when he grabs the door that is now swinging closed. The detachment is surreal.
I am the odd man out. My phone is in my pocket as are my hands. My gaze falls on the face of each guy as I size him up. All are handsome, ages ranging from 20s to 60s, but none are distinctive. If I ran into any of them in a public place, I wouldn't give them a second thought. They are extras in my cinematic story. Standing in line with them with just a few feet of separation feels slightly awkward. I suspect they feel the same way and hide it with their phones. I immerse myself in it!
Another guy comes out, the next guy in line disappears through the door. The bass ignores the closed doors but has no effect on the soulless automatons waiting to get in. The DJ is in rare form though. The keyboard slides through a range of pitches and masks a subtle change to the beat. I would be in dizzy ecstacy on the dance floor twenty years earlier, but I can still appreciate smooth transitions to the higher energy beat.
A couple guys fall in line behind me, pull their phones out of their pockets and start tapping out messages. The pair are clearly together; they stand closer than strangers would. By the rythm of their tapping and pauses, they're messaging each other. Im happy not to be a part of their conversation, at least not an active participant.
I stare expressionlessly forward with a focus on infinity. As I concentrate on the movements in my peripheral vision, I steal a glance at the guy in front of me. He's an inch taller than me and forty pounds heavier. His jacket makes him look bigger. His khakis tell me nothing about what's underneath. He definitely has a desk job. No wallet in his back pocket so he's younger than he looks; everything is in his phone. He has a full scalp of dark brown, unkempt hair. His shoulders are slightly rounded forward. He probably won't be caught without his towel in the play areas. I recognize the app he has open: a hook-up site, of course. He's planning his exit already.
People act differently when they think they're being watched....more polite, more reserved, more timid. In spite of everyone's apparent obliviousness to everyone else, though, we are all watching each other very closely, sizing each other up, noticing jewelry, tats, clothing labels, head gear. If you're smart, you'll pick your mates out here; the insight into their personality will be lost inside when they strip naked.
Another guy exits, takes his phone out of his pocket, begins to walk in a specific direction and blinks out of existence 100 feet away. No one notices. The line shortens by one and the placeholders adjust their positions without acknowledgement.
A familiar notification sound announces that a guy behind me is also looking at a hook-up site. He briefly breaks his gaze from his phone, looks at the door at the front of the line, turns back to his phone and walks away. He has better options.
The exit doors open and three men walk out. One adjusts his jacket, another fishes for his phone. The third has a bewildered but otherwise blank expression on his face and looks a little uncertain about where he is. His hesitation is enough to reveal the naked men inside. Each leaves in different directions and becomes invisible.
We stand outside in awkward silence, afraid to show our humanity. In an hour, I'll be fucking the guy in front of me. I'll shoot a load into his ass and then he'll turn around and clean my dick with his tongue. But here, we don't speak or even glance at each other.
Two more come out. The guy in front of me grabs the door and holds it open briefly, acknowledging my presence and our inevitable pairing. I follow him in and the line adjusts to the two empty spaces as the door closes. The beat of the music slows slightly.
Time to play!
