“Hi. I’d like to visit, please. The… uh… bathhouse.”
“You gay, pumpkin?”
The bluntness catches me off guard.
I rub the back of my neck. “No, ma’am.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She looks me up and down, then sets her nail file aside. “Sugar, this here’s a place for men who like men. You get that, right? Ain’t no ordinary spa. This is a safe space where boys come to play. You know what I mean?”
I can feel the tips of my ears turning red. “Uh, yeah, I get it.”
She leans back in her chair, her low-cut shirt offering a generous view of cleavage. “And you’re still interested in going inside? Not scared of seeing some manly, sweaty bodies in action, are ya?”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral.
She purses her lips and studies me in silence, eyes unblinking. For a second, I’m sure she’s about to kick me out. Then she grins, holds out her hand for my ID, and says, “That’ll be thirty-five bucks, then.”
A moment later, she slides a wristband across the desk.
“Here you go. This little band’ll get you through the door, and you can flash it at the bar if you get thirsty.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
“Call me Meredith, sugar. Everyone here does.”
I take the band and slip it on, the plastic sticky against my skin.
“Now, we got some house rules. No phones or cameras. You put your stuff in the lockers before heading in. Second, like I said, this is a safe space. If you see a closed door, you knock. Consent is king, and no means no. Don’t matter how cute you are or how big your muscles are. You touch someone who don’t wanna be touched, Meredith here will personally escort your ass to the curb. We clear?”
I gulp and nod. This woman doesn’t fuck around.
“Of course, since you’re straight and all, I doubt any of that’s gonna be a problem for you. Right, fruitcake?”
There are a hundred things I could say, but the words get stuck in my throat. I manage a half-hearted smile instead.
Meredith winks and waves a manicured hand in the direction of the doors.
“Well, then. Go on. Have fun, honey.”
4
TOBY
The second set of doors is heavy metal. I have to put my shoulder into them to push them open. Seriously, bank vaults are easier to access than this place.
Once I make it through, the air changes. It’s warmer, more humid, with a strong scent of chlorine and eucalyptus. Music drifts from speakers in the ceiling, something chill and electronic, the volume low enough not to be intrusive.
Micah was right. The place is nice. Way nicer than the dingy exterior suggests.
The locker room is all warm wood and soft amber lighting, like some upscale hotel spa. The lockers are real wood cubbies, not the dented metal ones back at the stadium. I pick the first empty one and toss my backpack inside.
A few guys move around the space. One older man with salt-and-pepper chest hair adjusts his towel. Two younger guys near the showers talk quietly, their bodies glistening wet, their cocks dangling in plain view.
I grow a little self-conscious as I strip down. I’m used to changing in locker rooms, but this is different. Normally, no onepays attention, but here, everyone seems to be checking each other out. My skin prickles as I feel their eyes rake over me.
As soon as my boxers come off, I wrap the big fluffy towel Meredith gave me around my waist and shove my clothes into the locker. My hands are shaking, and it takes me three tries to get the door shut.
“First time?”
