“Hey man, I ain’t through showering yet.”

“Well, you through now.” It was a black voice.

“Yeah, he’s through.” A white voice.

“We couldn’t wait no longer.” A sneering voice. Someone about to laugh. “Huh, fellahs?”

“No, I ain’t through,” I said. But I couldn’t really see anyone. I could see hair though, and some eyes. Then, as more steam settled, I saw mouths, beards, hands reaching through the air like they was lost. Bodies getting close to me. Closer. Voices like knives cutting through the steam.

“I ain’t had my nut today.”

“Ain’t had mine in a long time.”

“I’m gonna get me a nut. Don’t you want a nut?”

Bodies too close. Steam cooling with weight on my shoulders. Hair dripping. My toes tried to grip the tile. Another hand in my face. I slapped it back. Again. I pushed out and away. Tried to move through the bodies, the smell of men, open mouths, open legs, cocks hard as clubs at my sides.

“You gonna be nice and let us get a nut?”

“What you talking about? Let me get by.”

“He wants to get by, fellahs. Make room. Act nice, now.”

“Yeah. We gotta act nice.”

Suddenly a hand on my arm. I brushed it away again. Another. Another. Arms and legs holding tight. So tight I couldn’t move.

“You better relax, sonny.”

“Let me go.”

“It’ll be better for you if you relax. Act nice and you won’t get hurt.”

“Let me go. Let me go.”

“He ain’t acting nice, fellahs.”

“Don’t let him scream.”

“Huh—” But I couldn’t finish. A hand slapped against my mouth and held there. The whole palm tight. Calves next to my calves, hairy chest on my back. Stick of flesh at my waist, then hips, and moving down, down, down. Pushing in. Pushing in some more. The pain. Pain. Pain breaking me and entering. Someone threw my back forward, my hips up and out. Then I was down on tile and pushing away and slipping on the wet floor and trying to yell but couldn’t make a sound. Everything in me was open. I heard my own voice somewhere saying, “Help me. Help me.”

I remembered darkness. The darkness taking over the gray steam. I thought of pearls, gray pearls and blankets. Then red as something started wetting me all over and seeping from me like from a torn place inside. It was red, all right. Red October leaves. Copper-brown November leaves. Hands from everywhere falling, falling onto me, into me. Rushing, pushing inside. Into me. I was open everywhere. The last voice was a tongue in my ear, “You got to relax, baby. My bid for breaking and entering ain’t for nothing. I just want to get a nut.”

“Hold him till I get mine.”

“And mine.”

“And mine.”