And so, late one night he entered a bathhouse off Polk Street where he was greeted by pulsing disco music, the stink of poppers, and a gimlet-eyed attendant at a counter who took his money and gave him a towel and a key to a locker to store his clothes. The reception area was harshly lit but once he pushed through the interior doors, he entered a red haze of near darkness. Off to one side was a bank of gym lockers. On the other a dimly lit corridor, studded with doors, led into the gloom. Men in towels shuttled in and out of the doors. Someone laughed, someone else moaned. The music thudded overhead. Bill’s heart raced and not for the first time in the gay world he was unable to distinguish whether he felt fear or excitement, attraction or repulsion. He had just stowed his clothes into his locker and tied the towel around his waist when a man came up, leaned against the lockers, looked him over, and said, in a friendly voice, “Hi, I’m Jack. What’s your name?”
Jack towered above him, his massive body sculpted at one of the gyms that advertised in the gay newspapers, and he had the requisite buzzed hair and moustache. Billy would have been completely intimidated had Jack’s face, plain almost to the point of homeliness, not reminded him of a friendly dog.
“I’m Billy.”
“How are you doing tonight, Billy?”
“Um, I’m a little nervous. I never been here before.”
Jack smiled. “Nothing to be scared about. We’re all friends here.” He brushed his big fingers across Bill’s chest. “Why don’t you come to my room.”
The touch of Jack’s fingertips startled him into hyper-alertness. He was suddenly and keenly aware of being nearly naked in a pit of heat and darkness thick with the musk and noises of sex. He had expected to be repulsed but instead the blood surged to the surface of his skin and his cock stiffened. Jack, who noticed the sudden movement beneath the thin towel, grinned and said, “That a yes?”
Bill managed a hoarse, “Uh-huh.”
Jack dropped a friendly arm around Bill’s shoulders and shepherded him down the murky corridor to a door he unlocked to reveal a tiny cubicle. Inside was a single bed covered with a rumpled sheet and a metal bedside table. On the table was a piece of cardboard, a razor, and a nub of something white.
“What’s that?” Bill asked, alarmed at the sight of the razor.
“Blow,” Jack said. “You’ve never done it before?”
“No,” Bill said.
“Watch me.” He took the razor and cut the white nub into powder and then knelt beside the table, lowered his head, pinched one nostril shut and inhaled a line of the powder with the other. He threw his head back, sniffed loudly, and then cut another line. He grinned at Bill. “Your turn.”