by Kage Alan
"Aydin? What are you doing here?"
"Remember that day at the library?” I nodded that I did. “Tristan followed me to my next class and said he always wanted to sample some Turkish delight."
"Well, two things. I can't believe you fell for that line, and I can't believe you're gay!” I was dumbfounded. It was one thing to discover my kind was in California, but we were international to boot? That was a little hard to swallow.
"You can't believe I'm gay?” Aydin sounded a bit surprised himself then sighed in pleasure as someone shifted ... something on top of him. “I can't believe you're gay! You're always so proper, prudish and anal about things that I thought you were just another straight breeder."
"Because that's flattering.” A proper, prudish, anal, straight breeder? I don't think I've ever been described quite that way before. “I'm going to get out of here now before you charm the towel off of me."
"I'd love to charm that towel off you.” He gave a loud moan as somebody else shifted. Apparently, air wasn't the only thing moving in and out of him.
"I'll catch you a bit later when you aren't so ... full.” I hurried away and decided to see if I could find someplace to be alone. Aydin was cute, but he obviously couldn't see past the proper, prudish and anal portrait I was apparently perpetuating.
I exited that door into another hallway and heard what must be a television in a room at the far end. If nothing else, it sounded safe.
It turned out to be two televisions, one on either side of the room. However, what had sounded like a sports program from out in the hall...
Well, there was definitely some scoring going on, but the players weren't recognizing the rule about staying above the waist. In fact, they were focusing on it.
What to do? There were several chairs on either side of the room facing the televisions and then some padded benches along the sides. I chose a bench, sat down and rested my head in my hands. It was all too apparent now that Tristan had no intention of making good on yet one more promise. Gee, what was my first clue? Here I thought I'd figured everything out in my short existence only to be trumped again by a tramp! Thank God I was all by myself for the moment to think this through.
"Someone slip you a Mickey?"
"As in Mouse or the song by Toni Basil?” I looked up and saw a man staring at me, concern clearly readable on his bearded face. He was about fifty years old, maybe, a bit out of shape but not badly, and wearing the same kind of towel I was.
"I'm familiar with the mouse...” He managed a weak smile. “...but I'm afraid I don't get the Toni Basil reference."
"Sorry. It's a song from my early teens."
"Oh.” He paused for a moment. “So, it's recent?” Cute. “Someone get a little rough with you?” He was still concerned.
"No, nothing like that.” Did I look like somebody who let some nameless, faceless guy have his rough way with me? Thank you, no. They had names. “I'm just piecing some things together in my mind."
"That happens here from time to time. This can be a place of intense personal honesty. I'm Gregory."
"Hey, Jonathan!” someone passing by greeted him.
"Jonathan.” He turned a deep crimson at having just been caught in his little faux pas but extended his hand nonetheless. “I'm Jonathan."
"Andy.” I did the damn shaking hands thing.
"So, Andy.” Jonathan sat down next to me. “What deep thoughts are we pondering?"
"I've have this theory that Frank Sinatra is actually a pioneer responsible for rap music.” I had his attention. “It's the way he spoke instead of really singing his songs. Give the man a fresh beat, throw some lyrics in about how he grew up in poverty on the streets looking for respect and some bitches while avoiding the cops and you've got Vanilla Blue Eyes."
"You're a writer, huh?” he asked, and I nodded. “So, do you want to tell me what's really on your mind?"
"Okay, Jon..."
"Hey, Toby!” Someone else walked by and gave Jonathan/Toby a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"...Toby. Here goes. I finally came to terms with my sexuality nine months ago, and the first guy I'm attracted to back at school turns out to have bent more people over than the IRS. Of course, I don't know this or bother to ask before I let him treat my body like a cheap snack food."
"Cheetos?"
"Thank you! Anyway, I tell him that I don't want to sleep with him again, so he starts stalking me. After a couple months of that and getting nowhere, he offers me a truce and asks me to come with him tonight to some sort of party where I can learn more about gay culture. This isn't exactly what I had in mind, though. Tristan has gone too far this—"
"Sorry.” Toby cut me off. “I don't mean to interrupt, but you know Tristan?” He looked as if it all suddenly made sense. “I'm surprised you'd hang around someone with a reputation like his."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that,” I growled. “After figuring that nothing good will ever come of my being gay, I end up meeting someone looking for the same things I am. He's who I should be with tonight. Instead, Tristan picks me up, brings me here, tells me to strip, put on a towel and be open-minded. Yeah, right. I heard ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ on the radio when I was changing. People work out, sleep and shower in these places? What is this? Bette, bath and beyond?"
"You sound disappointed."
"I think I'm just too trusting in life, Toby."
"Good evening, Wesley.” Another person passed by and greeted ... what's-his-face.
"I don't get this place.” There were quite a few things I didn't get at the moment, starting with his name. “Guys paying to go somewhere to have indiscriminate sex with each other?” I shrugged my shoulders. “What is that? What does someone get out of screwing around with someone whose real name you may not know, may never know and who you may never see outside these walls again, and if you do, can't or won't acknowledge you?"
"Well, I won't debate the issues of morality because I doubt they would end in this lifetime, but I can share a few things with you that I have learned.” He shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable, since it was obvious he was going to be here a while. “A lot of people have problems with places like this, but what they don't understand is that it's dangerous out there for gay men and women, especially if they're already involved in heterosexual relationships.
"Some of us are still trying to figure out where we stand, and a place like this allows us to explore our sexuality safely. There are rules here, and if they aren't followed, the rule breakers won't be allowed to come back."
"Right.” Nothing was ever that simple. “And married men never come here to play around and get off because they can?"
"Sometimes,” he conceded, something I didn't expect him to do. “Imagine being gay twenty or thirty years ago. Many of us got married and raised children because it was what was expected of us. We missed out on coming out and having a relationship, things someone like you might take for granted. It's not fair to us and it isn't fair to our spouses, let alone our children, so instead of tearing our families apart, we come here. We can take care of what we can't with our wives, and no one intrudes on us.” He chuckled. “You probably won't find a lot of people having conversations like we are, either."
"Catch me when you're done with the twink, Joseph.” Yet one more person strolled on by and interrupted us. “You can do that thing with your beard again.” And then he was gone into one of the rooms.
"Yeah, I get that conversation isn't real popular here. With all the stereotypes we have, you'd think our kind would be a little more responsible about these things."
"No,” Joseph corrected me, “you would think it would be that way. Got news for you, kid, it isn't. It may be wrong for you, but that doesn't mean it's wrong for someone else. There are also some of us who don't have time for a relationship, yet we still desire the company of a man once in a while. It wouldn't really be fair to start something with someone if there was no hope for it to go any further. This solves that
problem, too."
"What if you aren't in that situation, though?” I pressed. “What if I don't want to do anything? I think people expect that, because I'm here, I'm looking."
"Well, you have to admit that when someone buys a pornographic magazine, they aren't looking at it for the articles. Now, when someone goes to a bathhouse, chances are they're not here to watch TV.” Yes, I got the gist. “If someone should make an advance towards you, and you aren't interested, all you have to do is tell them no. No one is going to force you to do anything you don't want to. It's another rule.” He added that last bit almost emphatically. “You're an attractive young man, and since you happen to be here tonight, what would be wrong if you saw someone you're attracted to and decided to see if the attraction was mutual?"
"Honestly?” I looked up at him. “That's not going to happen."
"Why not?” Joseph knew the answer, too. He definitely wasn't stupid.
"I have a boyfriend."
"Then why are you here tonight instead of with him?” Again he surprised me with his directness.
"I told you. Tristan wanted to introduce me to gay culture, and besides that, he doesn't know I have a boyfriend. I don't want him to know, either, especially because it's someone he hasn't had yet."
"You mean there's someone he hasn't screwed?” Joseph looked positively astounded.
"Amazing, isn't it?” I mumbled. “And he's just waiting for me to see what goes on here so that I'll give in to some animalistic impulse to ... play Twister with my Twix bar."
"Descriptive."
"I could get laid here tonight and my boyfriend would never even know. I'd know, though, and I won't do that to him, to me or to us.” My head hurt. “When the hell did being gay get so complicated? I've been nice to Tristan about it, I've been an asshole about it and I just tried compromising. Nothing works."
"Sometimes drastic measures are necessary to get drastic results,” he suggested dryly. “You'll find that concept being exercised throughout human history."
"At first I thought you were a doctor, now I'm wondering if you're a teacher.” What would he be a teacher of, though? Psychiatry? Psychology? Something related like ornithology? “Who are you?"
"I'm...” He caught himself. “You'll have to learn to respect the anonymity here. Nobody likes to draw attention to themselves when they don't want others to see them for who they really are."
"Okay. I can take a hint. One name bad, multiple names good.” Hey! Back up. Maybe he was on to something.
Tristan liked to be the center of attention, the one people held in awe. That kind of image and popularity boosted his ego off the scale, but if I could find a vulnerable spot, it might just get his attention and force him to leave me alone. Now all I needed was a plan. First things first, though.
"I have to get out of here. There's someone I need to go home and wait for.” This was another one of those defining moments in my life when everything seemed to come into focus.
"I'll tell you what. You hightail yourself down to the locker room and I'll go make sure Tristan stays busy for a few minutes."
We rose.
"Listen..."
"You're welcome.” Whatever his name really was sounded as if he'd saved me from saying something I didn't want to.
"I'm the kind of person who says thank you, so ... thank you."
We briefly shook hands, and then he quite unexpectedly gave me a quick tight hug. I really felt bad for him because he was such a nice guy, but the hair on his chest and back kinda grossed me out. Hadn't he ever heard of conditioner or wax? Just ... ewwww!
Huh. Maybe Alan was right, and it really was a word. It certainly fit here.
Joseph left the room first and headed down towards the locker room, checked it out then came back to tell me the coast was clear. I got my ass down there while he went to find Tristan, since whatever diversion he could arrange would only give me about ninety seconds. I ran back into the locker room, flung the locker open—and grabbed air!
"What the...?” Where were they? My shoes were there, but nothing else. No socks, no shirt, no underwear and no pants! I reached inside my shoes and was relieved to at least find my keys, license and the little bit of money I'd brought with me. Now, if I could only find the rest of my things before Tristan showed up.
I opened any lockers without locks as quickly as humanly possible. Nothing ... nothing ... nothing ... long thick rubbery-looking thing ... nothing ... little balls of something on a string ... nothing...
The damn things weren't anywhere to be found. Wait a second. Didn't Tristan stay in the lockerroom after I left? That rump rider must have done something with them just in case I tried to leave! He was trying to trap me here whether I wanted to stay or not.
Fine. He wants to get his kicks tonight? No problem. I was going to put my shoes on and then go put my foot up his ass. See if he gets a kick of out of that!
It was a great plan. No, it was a terrific plan. No sooner had I put my shoes on when I heard several voices coming closer to the locker room. One was Aydin's, one was Tristan's, and there were two others I couldn't identify.
"Andy ... we're coooooooming to geeeeeeeeeeet youuuuuuu...” they chanted in unison.
It was now a dead plan.
"Oh, hell no.” One I could handle, one I really wanted to handle, but not several of them at once.
I don't think they knew exactly where I was because I could hear them opening doors looking for me as they came closer. This gave me the few precious seconds I needed to hide until they passed the lockerroom by. Didn't Joseph say there was a shower room between the lockers? I glanced over to where I'd seen the other door when I'd first come in, but it didn't look like a door that would lead to a shower.
There wasn't much time, so I ran over, pushed it open and hid behind it. I grabbed the top edge so that it quietly clicked shut, then listened for voices so I'd know when the coast was clear. Brr. The shower room had one hell of a draft, and it was also a bit dark.
"I didn't see him back there, did you?” It was Aydin.
"No, and he isn't in here.” Tristan sounded frustrated. “Maybe we missed him. Start knocking on the locked doors, and see if he's already handcuffed. I'll check the shower."
"Shit...” This meant I had to find somewhere to hide in the damn shower room. At least it was dark, which ought to help. I turned around to see if there were any cabinets where extra towels were stored or at least a janitor's closet, but instead of coming face to face with all that, I found myself staring at a mailbox. This wasn't just any mailbox, either. This was a US Postal Service mailbox ... outside.
My whole body went limp with the realization that I was somewhere very, very wrong and this was very, very bad. I dropped my keys, mostly in defeat, and as I bent down to pick them up, a car turned a nearby corner and momentarily caught me in its headlights. Not amused!
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18
The coast was clear! Well, the coast had been clear until I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. Where had that car come from? A better question was whether there were going to be more of them.
I peeked around the corner of the building, still half-hidden in the shadows, and spied a group of elderly couples walking towards where I was standing. They'd probably just gotten out of a performance at one of the art centers in the theater area Tristan had mentioned and were heading back to their cars. Great. Knowing this didn't do me a bit of good. I couldn't very well move without being seen, and I absolutely hated the idea of being discovered by Tristan if I went back inside. The lesser of two evils won.
I turned and tried to pull the top edges of the door. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I gave it one more shot, just in case reality decided to cut me some slack. It didn't.
Shit! I was probably standing in front of a building built by the lowest bidder, and they'd actually installed a door I couldn't get my fingers on top of to pull open? It wasn't like I was going to rob the place!
Okay, maybe there was another way. I felt for the handle, only of course, there wasn't one. Why would there be? I mean, what kind of emergency exit can only be opened from the inside instead of the outside?
A large number of senior citizens were about to think they'd narrowly escaped being accosted by a getting-colder-by-the-moment young man wearing nothing but a small towel covering his privates and a pair of cheap K-Mart shoes and brandishing a set of keys. This might not seem like an unusual occurrence if this were New York City or San Francisco, but in Grand Rapids? Maybe...
Maybe they'd think I was part of some performance that had just ended. Maybe they wouldn't say a thing. Maybe they'd be subtle. Maybe...
"Oh, my God!” one of the women screamed, and I watched in horror as she pointed at me with one arm and hugged her husband closer to her with the other. “There's a naked man over there! Pervert! Pervert!” she yelled at me.
"Lady.” I stepped fully out into the light so they could see me and raised my hands in a sign of peace, “I'm not a pervert, and I'm not naked.” At least, I thought it was a sign of peace. “See? My hands are up. I just stepped out the wrong—"
"Put our hands up? He's got a gun!” someone else in the group shouted, and they all started looking for somewhere to hide.
"This isn't a gun.” I waved the keys in my hand so they could see them. “These are my keys!” I shouted. These people couldn't see that I had a towel around my waist, yet they could clearly see a gun in my hand? Give me a break! They were old and guessing. “Keys!"
"He wants your keys, Henry! Oh, my Lord, hide them!"
"What?” Old, blind and deaf. “Lady, who are—"
"Car? The naked pervert wants to steal our car! Help! Somebody call the police!"
Oh, spiffy. Life back at school was difficult enough without this, and now the old witch was asking for someone to call the police? What a great idea! Why not just go ahead and call them? What did I care anymore? Why not just...
I stood there dumbfounded as a squad car turned the corner and came to a sudden halt before the mob of fleeing, screaming old people. Okay. I could attempt to explain to the officers the rather incredible set of circumstances surrounding this evening or...