And I hated it.
I walked across the office and began shelving the box of poppers. The door chimed, a gust of cold air somehow making its way through the small vestibule and the sliver of an opening under the safely glass. I sighed and called back over my shoulder, “One second. I’ll be right there.” The past week had been unusually cold for a Denver December and seemed to be ushering larger crowds than normal to the bathhouse.
I was tempted to keep stocking the poppers and then find something else to do and hope the customer would go away. I didn’t want to see anyone right now. Not till I somehow shrugged off the ick Philip had left me with. But that would top it off nicely—getting fired. Like Christmas didn’t suck enough. Add applying for unemployment to endless Christmas carols, and you had yourself a recipe for depression. I forced a smile on my lips and turned to walk back to the window, then halted.
It was him.
He’d been in a couple of times, but I was never the one in the office when he arrived. He was a bear. The good kind. The muscly kind. The over-six-foot, dark, and handsome kind.
A small grin tugged at his lips. “You okay?”
“Uh.” Fuck. “Uhm, yeah. All good. Sorry. Got dizzy.” Move, feet! Move, damn it! And they did. Taking me all the way over to the window, where I grasped the edge of the counter to keep my hands from shaking.
Dear God, the man was hot. And the last person I wanted to see when I felt like the kind of fat slob Philip liked.
His grin widened.
My feet had worked. Now, mouth, your turn. “Uhm, can I get your license and membership card, please?”
“You bet.” He already had them out and dropped them in the little metal tray under the safety glass.
I retrieved the cards and averted my eyes to the computer. “Locker or room?”
“Locker, please.”
Typically I’d think insulting thoughts about the kind of cheap guys who only wanted lockers. Or the really slutty ones who planned on going to someone else’s room or getting fucked out in one of the main areas where everyone else could see. Not with this guy. From what I’d noticed, he liked to put on a show. And I was more than okay with that. I tensed as I realized I was beginning to get a stiffy at the thought. I stepped closer to the computer, which only made it harder to type. Stupid, I was being stupid. He couldn’t see anything lower than my belly, thanks to the counter.
I glanced his way but didn’t really look at him. “One more second. Sorry. Computer is moving slowly.”
“No problem. I’m in no rush.”
Dear Lord, the low, gravelly voice. I’d not heard him speak the other times I saw him. Of course he had that voice. Forcing my attention to the computer, I entered his info. James Olsen. I glanced at the date to make sure he was eighteen. Ridiculous, of course, but simply habit. He was fifty-one. A long way from eighteen. And all the better for it. The picture on his license wasn’t very good. He had a full beard, and it made him look older than his trimmed scruff did now. His sideburns and mustache were still overly thick, but it managed to give him an older, sexy hipster look.
I scanned his membership card, waited for the acceptance chime, and then handed his cards back. Not able to look at him directly, I focused on his chest. At some point while I was at the computer, he’d taken off his coat, revealing a skintight thermal underwear shirt that showed off the massive planes of his chest and the hard curve of his belly. Fuck.
“Ahhh. That’ll be eighteen dollars, James.” I sucked in a breath. James. Fuck! I’d used his name. Not only were we supposed to never use names to give the illusion of anonymity, never mind having to check IDs every time, but…. Oh my God, I’d said his name. Like I knew him or something.
“Sure thing.” He retrieved his ID and membership and slid a credit card under the slot.
I took the card and then hit the door release under the counter, which buzzed obnoxiously. “Come on in. I’ll have you sign in here.” I waited until he opened the door that led into the interior of the bathhouse, then released the door lock and ran his credit card, wishing I’d had him sign before I let him come in.
Sure enough, turning toward him with the receipt and a pen in my hand, I wanted to melt into the floor. He stood behind the opposite counter. This time no safety glass between us. Stepping forward, I slid the paper and pen toward him.
“Thanks.” He looked down and began to sign.
I tried not to. I really did. But I took a deep breath, attempting to breathe him in. Okay, that was a lie. I didn’t try not to. I couldn’t even pretend to have actual thoughts at that moment. I just breathed deeply with him a few short inches away. And couldn’t smell anything. Which was exactly what I’d hoped. It was unreal the number of men who walked into the bathhouse smelling like they hadn’t showered in days or, even worse, bathed in cheap cologne. James Olsen, it seemed, was just clean. Oh, and gorgeous. Clean and gorgeous.
Clean and gorgeous and so fucking hot I felt like a total pile of dog shit in his presence.
He signed his name, slid the receipt back toward me, and his eyes met mine. Warm brown eyes that were attractive even with the red-and-green flashing Christmas lights Philip had strewn all over the office reflected in them.
“Uh, here’s a towel. Let us know if you need a fresh one.”
“Will do.”
I picked up the receipt, my heart sinking, and called to him as he started to walk away. “Oh, wait. Excuse me. James?”
He turned back. “Yeah?”
I shouldn’t have said anything. Like it really mattered. It wasn’t like the boss was going to come in and audit me this evening. “I was supposed to keep your driver’s license. Sorry.”
Part of me expected him to be annoyed, but he simply smiled as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Oh, right. Forgot about that.” He handed me the license for a second time. “So what’s your name?”
I froze. “Huh?”
A low laugh emanated from him. “What’s your name? You know mine.”
“Brian. Brian Jeffrey McKay.” Shit.
He laughed again. “Wow. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Brian Jeffrey McKay.”
I stared at him. Maybe I’d dropped a bottle of poppers and I was high. That had to be. I was imagining him flirting with me.
“Mine is Alan.”
“Huh?”
He smiled. Flirting. He was flirting.
High. I had to be high.
“My middle name is Alan. Figured it was only fair since I know yours.”
“Oh, right. Alan. Very nice.” James Alan Olsen. I almost repeated his name back to him. Luckily I stifled the impulse and instead said nothing at all.
He gave a wink and walked off toward the lockers.
I managed to make it back to the swivel chair behind the office desk before I collapsed. I gave a quick look at the shelves, then the floor. No broken popper bottles. I guess I wasn’t high.
Had he really been flirting? With me?
Was he a chubby chaser too, like Philip?
Maybe he was. But even so, his attention didn’t leave me feeling dirty like Philip often did. Perplexed and in shock, but not dirty.
* * *
About an hour later, I glanced toward Philip, careful not to meet his eyes. “I’m gonna go clean up room four. That guy just left.”
“I can. I know you don’t like to, and it’s about time for me to wander around again, showing off what my mamma gave me.”
“No, you always do it, Philip. Thank you, though.” I gathered up the disinfectant bottle, rag, sheets, and rubber gloves, and headed to the office door.
“No way.” Philip’s tone caused me to pause, but I didn’t turn around. “No fucking way. Brian McKay, Mr. Keep-It-In-Your-Pants-At-Work is going to go hunt around and find that hot bear that came in a while ago.”
I stiffened. “No, I’m not. I don’t even know who you’re talking about. I’m going to clean up room four.”
“Hey, no shame in your game, daddy. I don’t bl
ame you. That guy is smoking hot.”
I glared at him. “He’s not your type. You’re a chubby chaser.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sweetie, that man is everyone’s type. And I thought you didn’t know who I was talking about.”
My cheeks heated. “Shut up.” I stepped out of the office and shut the door to cut off his laughter, which didn’t work considering the open space above the service counter.
“Go get your stud, daddy bear!”
I forced myself not to reply and went directly to room four.
The room wasn’t too bad. Just some sweated-through sheets. It was a five-minute job, tops.
And then I found myself wandering through the bathhouse. We were supposed to do it every fifteen minutes, check that there were no drugs or alcohol, keep things picked up, and make sure we didn’t notice any barebacking going on. It was a job I forced Philip to do. He loved the attention, and I loved avoiding it. Win-win.
I passed room twelve and forced myself not to look through the open door to the dimly lit room. I tried and failed. The man was there every night like clockwork. He was the stuff of legends at the bathhouse. He only came in during the nights between Thanksgiving and Christmas and wouldn’t be seen again until the following year. Like every night, he was lying on the bed, propped up against the wall in a partially seated position. He was shirtless but wore a cheap Santa hat, Santa boots, and Santa pants, which were pulled down just enough to allow him to stroke himself under his large belly as he waited for someone to take him up on a Santa fantasy. He was massive and sweaty, and his beard was real and more yellow stained than white. And Philip had enjoyed him on more than one occasion.
I kept going quickly.
There was a ton of action in the glory hole sections, but not what I was looking for.
The sling was occupied, but again, none of the men gathered around it called to me.
The silhouetted forms in the steam room didn’t look big enough to be James.
James. What the hell was I doing? Sneaking around hoping to see him naked? And then what? Ask him if he wanted his own Santa fantasy?
Gross.
What was more gross? If he wanted, I’d do it.
I entered the video room, which had mattresses spread out on platforms of varying heights. It was where the most exhibitionists hung out. And where I should’ve checked first.
James was near the center of the room in a seated position on one of the mattresses, his back against the wall. His legs were spread as some muscled man lay between them, his head bobbing up and down and cutting off my view of James’s cock. Two other men were on either side of him, running their hands over his heavily muscled hair-covered chest and shoulders. Other men were servicing the two focused on James, but I barely noticed them. The man was gorgeous. As much as I hated being called daddy or a bear, even though both facts were true, this man made those terms not only look good, but like the best things a man could be. Maybe if I looked even half as good as James, I wouldn’t mind being a bear myself.
His eyes met mine across the room, and I flinched at being caught staring at him. He smiled, similar to what he’d offered me before, but more heated. He lifted his hand from the back of the head of a man who was sucking on his left nipple and motioned in my direction.
At first I thought he was telling me to quit staring or maybe he needed me to get him something. Then I noticed his beckoning finger. I stared at it, taking way too long to add up the simple math. Though it wasn’t that simple. I looked away from his finger and into his eyes. His smile curved wickedly, and he lifted his chin, again beckoning me to him.
Me? He wanted me to join in? Of all people?
The men around him weren’t all beautiful. But none of them fell into the category of Bathhouse Santa and myself.
I had to be reading him wrong.
I wasn’t. Couldn’t be. The finger, the chin, the look in his eyes. For whatever reason, he wanted me.
I turned and walked back toward the office. I nearly made it before I realized I was crying. Thank God I hadn’t walked in where Philip could see. I made a quick journey to the restroom and tried to figure out what was wrong with me. I quickly realized that was way too big to be tackled now. Or ever. Instead, I got myself back together and washed my face.
My shift ended in less than an hour. Surely I’d be able to leave and get home before James left and needed his license back.
Two
Eight more days and it would be over. The stupid carols would go away. People dealing with snow removal and icy roads would replace the frantic energy filling the city. Eight more days and I could quit being angry all the time.
“Dude. You gotta focus. You’ve not even gotten three cities built yet.”
Tearing my gaze away from the little girl screaming over a unicorn stuffed animal her mother put back on the shelf, I looked at my friend. “I swear to God, Lori, if I make it through Christmas without smothering a school bus filled with children, it will be a miracle. Why do parents insist on taking their kids shopping to make their Christmas lists? It just pisses them off when they can’t get the toy right then.”
She flicked her gaze toward the battle of the unicorn, where the mother was now yelling as well. She shook her head and gave an exasperated stare. “Bad parenting or not, we are in a toy store.”
I glared at her. “We’re in a game store. That’s a very different thing.”
“A game store that has toys, costumes, magic tricks, stuffed animals—”
I cut her off. “You’re a traitor.”
She gave a little snort. “And you’re just a Scrooge who hates Christmas. What’s so bad about it? It’s supposed to be happy and cheerful.”
“Doesn’t sound that way.” I gestured toward the still-squabbling fiasco toward the center of the store. “And what isn’t bad about Christmas? It takes over everything. You can’t go anywhere without hearing that fucking music. People are stressed about money and presents. There’s Christmas lights everywhere….” I paused, considering. “Okay, well, the Christmas lights are actually kinda pretty, but still, they’re everywhere. It’s eye assault. Did I ask to have to see bright lights everywhere I look? What if it’s giving me an astigmatism? Why don’t I get a choice in the matter? Maybe my eyes require a more natural look. Not to mention all the people out there who have seizures due to flashing lights!”
Lori just cocked an eyebrow.
“And even here at The Wizard’s Chest! My favorite place in the world. The place I’m happiest is invaded by screaming, selfish children and their stupid parents, just to take away my joy.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips curved up. “Take away your joy? Are you enrolled in how to be dramatic classes, or is that just in your gay DNA?”
“No, he’s right,” Jerry piped up from across the table. “It sucks! This is the only place I have a social life and friends, and they have to come ruin it all with a bunch of racket and noise.”
Lori spared him a glance. “One, Jerry, that’s sad. You need to have more of a social life than role-playing and board games. And two, don’t encourage Brian. He’s anti-Christmas enough without your help.”
Jerry wasn’t to be dissuaded. “It’s even worse on Pathfinder night.” He motioned to the board between us. “Catan doesn’t require as much attention or dedication, but on Pathfinder nights, I do a shitty job because of all the noise.”
Lori snorted again and opened her mouth, but I cut her off before she could speak. She didn’t like Jerry all that much and would have no problem telling him he sucked at Pathfinder all year round, not just at Christmas. “I agree, Jerry. Pathfinder night is my favorite too. It’ll be better soon. We’ve only got to make it eight more days.”
“You both need an attitude adjustment. I agree that Christmas is a bit… frantic, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s supposed to be about loving each other, and it really is beautiful, especially in the snow. All those lights.” She lifted a finger, silencing me before I c
ould speak. “And the only astigmatism you have is in your brain, so calm down.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
She pointed to the board. “And neither does your playing. It’s your turn. And build another goddamned city already.”
* * *
Another hour and a half, and it was over. I was glad, which was unusual. And one more bit of proof why Christmas sucked. Whether Lori thought Jerry was pathetic or not, I agreed with him. Two game nights a week at The Wizard’s Chest was my only real social life. Who was I kidding? It was my only social life, real or otherwise. And until Christmas was over, I left these nights feeling lonelier than ever.
It was nearly nine before we cleared out. Typically Lori and I hung around for a few moments after the games were over, but she claimed she had something else to get to. I think she was just annoyed with me, both for my poor playing and my lack of Christmas joy.
The store had finally emptied of kids, and while some customers still milled about, the place was at least more peaceful. I didn’t like Christmas or children all that much, but I did love toys. And the Wizard’s Chest had the toys I’d dreamed about as a kid. Knights on horseback. Dragons. Wizards. Mermaids. Fairies. Vampires.
I didn’t have the extra money to spend, but maybe a new vampire to add to the collection would make me feel better. And it had been a while since I’d refreshed the figures I used for my YouTube videos.
The debate raging in my mind over going with the more traditional vampire with a cape or the one who resembled a druid demon was blocking out all other thoughts, and I jumped when a voice rumbled beside me.
“Well, Brian Jeffrey McKay. Twice in one week. Must be my Christmas luck.”
Christmas Tales Page 8