Chapter 1 #3
The warehouse district was about a twenty-minute drive from my building, on the south side of the river, in the part of the city that had been industrial for so long it was starting to come back around into being fashionable.
The streets got wider. The buildings got squatter.
The signage got sparser. I followed the address on the back of the card, and the GPS guided me through three turns and onto a stretch of road I had genuinely never been on before, between a self-storage facility on the left and a row of low brick buildings on the right.
I pulled over and checked the address.
There. That one. Set back from the curb a little, sandwiched between what looked like a defunct printing company and what looked like a place that used to be something and was now nothing.
A flat metal facade. No windows. A single metal door, painted a flat industrial gray, with one bare bulb burning above it in the late-afternoon light.
And in the small window beside the door, the only window in the entire face of the building, was a small red neon sign, glowing steadily in only three of the four letters.
OPEN.
I sat in my car with the engine off and my hands on the wheel and felt the structural confusion come back into my body.
It was the same sensation I’d had with Hollis at the bar, but worse this time.
Much worse. Because the function on offer here was to let yourself want something for once in your life, and I genuinely was not sure my equipment could perform it.
I took the card out of my wallet. The silver foil caught the gray afternoon light, that wave symbol shifting subtly as I turned it.
I thought about Adrián, sitting across the kitchen table from me, saying I can't keep dating someone who isn't here.
I thought about Mira, in her quiet voice. You look like a man who's died and kept coming to work anyway.
I thought about Hollis. Thirty days, Cal.
I thought about the back half of my brain, flickering faintly back online for the first time in months, in a bar with my oldest friend, two drinks deep.
I got out of the car.
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 pools varying 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?"
He shrugged. "Depends on the day. We get a lot of shifters. Some fae. Occasional vampires, though they usually come later at night. And there’s a few other types too ranging from mythological to downright rare.
The point is, they're here to relax and have fun, same as everyone else.
They're not going to hurt you, but they might look different than what you're used to. Or feel different. Or do things differently. So, if you decide to try things out, don’t be shy about communicating. "
The way he said it made something low in my stomach tighten with what I was fairly sure was not anxiety. It was… excitement.
"Any questions so far?"
"What do I do now?"
"Now you go through that door to the lockeroom.” He pushed a wristband across the counter with a key on it.
“Locker sixteen. You are going to leave everything in that locker.
And I do mean everything. No phones, no devices, no clothing, not even a watch.
Put on your towel, go through the doors, and see what catches your interest. Towels are already in your locker.
Most people don't wear anything once they get settled in, but do whatever makes you comfortable.
" He walked back around the desk and sat down. "Have fun, Cal."
I stared at him. "I didn't tell you my name."
"It's on your forms."
"I wrote down an emergency contact. I didn't write down my own name."
He smiled for the first time since I'd walked in. "Hollis called ahead. Said to keep an eye out for a tall, pale, extremely wound-up tax attorney who would probably try to talk himself out of whatever he was doing at least three times before he got through the front door."
"He did not say that."
"He absolutely did say that. Word for word." The man picked up his book again. "Door’s right over there. Enjoy yourself."
The locker room was mostly just a locker room. White walls, metal lockers, a bench running down the middle, the familiar smell of chlorine and eucalyptus, maybe. It was empty except for me, which was somehow both a relief and a disappointment.
Locker sixteen was at the end of the row.
I opened it and found two thick white towels, folded neatly on the shelf.
I stood there for a long moment, looking at the towels.
This was it. This was the point where I either committed to whatever this was going to be, or I walked back out to the lobby and made some excuse about having to be somewhere else.
The thing was, I didn't have to be anywhere else. I hadn't had to be anywhere else on a Friday night in months.
I started with my tie. Then my jacket. Then my shirt, my shoes, my socks, my belt, and finally my pants.
Each piece felt heavier than it should have as I folded it and placed it in the locker.
Like I was shedding more than just clothing.
By the time I was standing there in just my underwear, I felt oddly lighter.
And oddly exposed, even though no one else was in the room.
The underwear came off last. I wrapped one of the towels around my waist and closed the locker. The wristband felt strange though. I hadn't worn anything on my wrists in years except my watch, which was now sitting in locker sixteen with the rest of my identity.
There was a mirror on the wall opposite the lockers.
I caught sight of myself in it and stopped.
I looked... different. Paler than usual, maybe because of the fluorescent lights.
Thinner than I remembered. The gray at my temples looked more pronounced without the expensive haircut to distract from it.
But there was something else, something I couldn't quite identify.
I looked like a person who was about to do something he'd never done before.