I crossed the sidewalk.
I put my hand on the metal door, and I felt, actually, physically, somewhere in my chest, the smallest possible movement of something I hadn't felt in years.
Curiosity.
I pulled the door open and went in.
The interior was far more plain and functional than I expected. It was little more than a lobby with vinyl floors, a couple of chairs, and a desk with a single attendant. He was about my age, maybe a few years older, with gray hair and a permanent scowl. And currently he was nose deep in what looked like a smutty romance novel.
He looked up when I walked in, marked his place with a finger, and gave me a once-over that felt somehow both professional and deeply personal.
"First time?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You have a membership card?"
I held it out. He took it, examined it briefly, then slid it back across the desk to me.
"If it’s your first time here, this is somebody else’s card," he said. It wasn't a question.
"My friend loaned it to me. He said this place would… do me some good."
The man nodded, as if this explained everything he needed to know about my situation. He reached under the desk and produced a clipboard with several forms attached.
"Standard health forms. Recent test results. Emergency contact. Nothing too invasive. The information is internal only." He paused, studying my face. "You look nervous."
"I'm fine."
"Uh-huh." He went back to his book for a moment, then looked up again. "Listen. I'm going to give you the same speech I give everyone who comes in here looking like they're about to bolt. You can leave anytime. No one's going to chase you down. No one's going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do. The whole point of this place is that you get to decide what you want. All of it. Every piece of it. You understand?"
I nodded.
"Good. Fill out the forms. There's a pen chained to the clipboard because people keep walking off with the fuckers." He gestured toward the chairs. "Take your time."
The forms were straightforward enough. Basic medical history. STI testing dates. A liability waiver that was surprisingly brief. An emergency contact line that I stared at for a long moment before writing down Hollis's name and number.
When I brought the clipboard back, the attendant reviewed it quickly, nodding at various points.
"All right," he said. "Few things to know. This is a private club. What happens here stays here. Members don't share real names unless they want to. You can call yourself whatever you like while you're here, or nothing at all. Some people just go with first names or nicknames."
He stood up and walked around the desk. He was shorter than I'd expected, stocky, with the kind of easy competence that suggested he'd been doing this job for a very long time.
"The building has three floors," he continued. "Ground floor is common areas like the Roman bath, steam room, and sauna. Second floor is private rooms with glory holes, televisions, and swings. The basement is smaller and has several private poolsvarying in size should you want to be one on one with someone else or entertain a small group. You're welcome to explore wherever you want, but if a door is closed, knock first. If someone says no to anything, that's the end of it. No arguing, no negotiating, no second chances."
"Okay."
"And our clientele isn’t just human. Is that okay with you?”
I felt heat creep up my neck. "I’ve never been with anyone who wasn’t human."
"Well, there’s a first time for everything," he nodded.
“I’m open to it though,” I said quickly, not wanting to sound like a dickhead. “I just… I’m not sure what to expect.”
“Well, being curious is fine. I just want to make sure you understand what you might encounter. In this bathhouse, we don’t ask the non-human members to hide what they are when they're here. That's part of the appeal for a lot of people. But if you've never been around that before, it can be...surprising."
"What kind of non-humans come here?"
