Chapter 10
Random nights out are always the best, I tell myself as I’m getting ready.
I rub wax onto my fingers, look into the bathroom mirror, then ruffle my hair to style.
Not spikey but not flat either. I rinse my fingers off and then take out my little bottle of beard oil and cover my whiskers in the cedar wood potion.
It makes my beard look shiny and dark. I assess myself – I’ll do.
Besides, I’m not going to bump into anyone I know.
I pull on a pair of navy jeans and finish off the outfit with a slimming black shirt, leaving the top two buttons unfastened to show off my chest hair.
I find gays have a strange relationship with body hair, they either love it or hate it, there’s no in between.
I love it. Give me a bearded man with a hairy chest, stomach and a fuzzy bum and I’ll go weak at the knees.
Which is ideal, as that’s where I normally end up.
Socks pulled up, I slip my feet into my boots, brown Timberlands.
I got them from a discount outlet; I’d never pay the full retail price for them.
They’re heavy. Not ideal for dancing, but they give me an extra inch in height.
‘Do you want a lollipop?’ She asks me.
‘I’m good thanks,’ I reply.
‘You’re not from round these parts, are you?’ She pushes her prosthetic boobs together; they resemble two bald heads in a bra.
‘No, I’m from Manchester, UK.’
‘Do you hear that people? We have a newbie in town.’ The drag queen shouts far too loud for the benefit of the five other people in the queue. ‘You can go straight in.’
And I do, past the two cheery bouncers who wish me a good evening. I feel they mean it, and I give them my best I’m ok I’m not pissed at all smile.
Glory is packed to bursting. Everything is metallic, making it impossible to get away from your own reflection.
A man at the bar is waving at me. I recognise him as Hudson immediately.
He’s fucking beautiful. He should put better in the flesh on his profile.
His hazel eyes stand out against his black hair and beard.
He’s stocky, the perfect dadbod. He eyes me up and down.
‘Look at you! So, this is how the English boys dress.’ He talks with a New York city
twang. He’s confident, but not arrogant with it.
‘We’re very fashionable, us English boys.’ I kiss him on the cheek to greet him.
‘Oh my god, I just love your accent.’
‘Thanks. I have beard envy. How do you get yours so precise?’ Two harsh symmetrical lines form a border between his whiskers and cheeks.
‘Wow, careful there, you nearly tripped up over your own feet.’ He turns to the barman; Hudson’s physique demands his attention. ‘Two tequila rose.’
‘God no, I’ll be shitfaced,’ I protest.
‘My friend, you already are.’ Hudson passes me a shot glass filled with what looks like pink water but tastes like petrol.
‘Fuck,’ I cough. ‘That’s disgusting but thank you.’
The DJ is playing music I don’t recognise.
It’s dance music, catchy, but no Kylie. A man wearing a silver vest and tiny matching briefs dances in time to the beat on a raised platform.
He’s surrounded by admirers who reach up to put dollar bills in his pants.
His face doesn’t change when one of the older punters purposefully pulls them down, revealing the very top of his dick. He’s completely shaved.
This isn’t a bar to talk and make friends; everyone here wants to be seen. The crowd hold, but don’t drink, complicated cocktails. They raise their phones for selfies, as if this is a moment in queer history that deserves to be captured for future generations.
‘What’s up with them?’ I ask Hudson, pointing to an emotionless quartet.
‘Nothing, they’re just robots who will self-combust if they smile.’
‘Sounds painful.’
We wobble over to the dancefloor and find a tiny space. We’re being bumped from all sides from enthusiastic dancers. The music takes hold of me. I raise my arms swinging them in time to the beat. My head drops. It suddenly feels very heavy.
‘Where are your friends?’ I ask Hudson, shouting over the noise.
‘They’ve gone to another club. I’ll join them soon.’
‘I know this one.’ I start dancing more enthusiastically to the first track I recognise.
Hudson grabs my arm to steady me. ‘Careful. You nearly fell straight into him.’
‘I love this tune.’
‘I’m really sorry pal,’ Hudson says to a man who’s licking up cocktail spilt on his arm. It looks like strawberry daiquiri.
‘Those are delicious,’ I shout at him. He doesn’t smile back.
‘Shall we go and stand over there?’ Hudson leads us to an empty place by the window.
I carry on dancing, side stepping and shrugging my shoulders with rhythm.
‘Are you OK?’ Hudson looks at me concerned.
‘I feel fabulous. You know you’re really beautiful.’ I feel more confident than I’ve ever felt.
‘Shall we get you some water?’
‘I’m absolutely fine. Are you single, because I am.’ Subtlety is for wimps.
‘Yes, I’m single.’ Hudson is looking around the room, probably to introduce me to his friends.
‘That’s great, we should make babies.’ I’ll win him over with my Northern charm.
‘I’ve never been one for children.’ Hudson takes a step back; I think he’s trying to get a better view of me.
‘Imagine how hairy our children would be! They’d have amazing beards. Probably the girls too. I’m not being the pregnant one though, I’ve got enough stretch marks.’
‘Fuck, are you OK?’ Hudson pulls me up off the bench I’ve found myself on, which is already occupied.
‘Oops, sorry,’ I say to the two lads perched on it. They scowl. ‘Everyone’s up their own arse in here,’ I say rather loudly to anyone who’s listening.
‘I think I’m going to go and find my friends. Will you be OK?’ Hudson’s pulls out his phone from his pocket. He’s clearly messaging his friends to tell them he’s found a cute guy he wants to introduce them to.
‘Of course I will. Do you want a snog before you go and find them?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Good idea, let’s save it till we know each other better. I’ll wait here.’
Hudson disappears into the crowd. I lean on a pillar which is covered in posters for upcoming club nights: DILF, Daddy I’d Like to Fuck, is on the second Wednesday of the month, Boner, for men who like to dress up as dogs, is on the last Sunday of the month, An evening with Miss Kitty Lashes is every Thursday from 9pm till late.
‘Helllllooooo,’ I say to some muscled god squeezing past me.
‘You look better out of uniform,’ he says, before being consumed into a sea of dancers.
God knows who he is, but I can’t help but think I’m more popular in NYC than I am back home.
The heat in this place would make hell feel like the chilled section of the supermarket. A cool beer is needed. I weave my way to the bar, tapping shoulders and saying, ‘excuse me,’ as I want everyone to know how polite English people are.
‘Budweiser please.’ I ask after what feels like an eternity of waiting but I realise the same track is still booming out the speakers.
‘You’ve had enough,’ the shirtless barman says.
‘Are you sure?’ I protest.
He doesn’t respond, he’s already moved on to serve the next punter. I’m fine without a drink. I should probably find Hudson anyway. I turn around and find him immediately, stood in front of me, his tongue down… is that... Derek? Bastard.
Why are all men such fuck wits? There’s no way I’m going back to the hotel defeated without a snog.
I pull my phone out my pocket and search for Gay Nauna Bew Tork, it searches and asks me if I mean Gay Sauna New York.
I do. There’s one on the way back to the hotel.
Perfect. I head outside and the same drag queen who greeted me bids me goodnight.
‘Tara love,’ I shout back at her.
‘You be safe,’ she warns.
I head off in search of HEAT, a men-only club which the website says attracts a diverse crowd.
The air outside is making me a little chilly and I’m half following the map on my phone and half focusing on walking, which has become challenging since getting out in the fresh air.
I just need to warm up again. I pass one lamp post, and another.
I’m moving in the right direction. A late-night hot dog stand smells utterly delicious, fried onions and grease. I shall not give in to temptation.
I reach HEAT. There’s no neon sign here, just a black door with a silver placard with the name weathered away.
I press the buzzer, the door unlocks, I enter.
A middle-aged man who looks like he’s not seen daylight for ten years is sat in another room, visible only through the serving window which he speaks through.
‘Twenty dollars. Cash or card.’ The smell of stale cigarettes clings to his breath like an ashtray that hasn’t been emptied for months.
‘Card, please.’ Because it doesn’t matter how much someone stinks, manners cost nothing.
He presses the keys on his card machine and turns it towards me. I double tap my watch then hold it against the machine. Transaction complete, the man hands me a towel and keys to locker forty-two.
‘Do you want lube?’ He asks. I nod.
He hands me two little sachets of Glide then points me in the direction of the changing room.
I walk towards it; the smell of chlorine and poppers fills my nostrils as the narrow landing gets darker and darker.
There are four rows of lockers. It takes me two attempts to find mine.
I use the key to open it and start to get naked.
I put my phone inside my shoe and then put them in my locker.
My shoes are followed by my socks, jeans and boxers.
My shirt is the last thing I take off. I close the locker and turn the key, then secure it around my ankle with the band, placing the two sachets of Glide between the elastic and my skin.
The corridors that lead into the sauna are like a maze.
It’s so dark a moth would struggle to find the light from the occasional bare bulb.
It’s busy. Men of all shapes and sizes are walking around, squeezing past each other in the purposefully narrow walkways, forcing bodies to touch.
Thick men, slim men, muscled men, tall men, short men, excited men, hairy men, smooth men, voyeurs, exhibitionist, all walking past each other with one thing on their mind. Dick.
Sex is everywhere. It’s in the whirlpool with six men in it, it’s in ten of the twelve side rooms I counted, it’s showing on the tv screens throughout the sauna, corridor after corridor of blowjobs and wanking and sex.
Loud sex, quiet sex, rough sex, group sex.
A man meets my eye, from the dim light I can see he’s older and taller than me.
He has stubble. His chest is smooth but solid.
I smile at him; he can validate me. He steps up close, forcing me to lean back on the wall.
His hot breath stings my neck as he bites it.
One hand holds my throat firm whilst the other works its way down, pulling at my nipple.
I’m instantly weak, gasping and sighing.
His strong and firm hand continues down my body, touching my stomach then my hip before he moves his palm to grab my arse. The stranger pulls me into him.
His mouth continues to work my neck before kissing my lips.
It’s not the best kiss. It’s wet, too much movement, but I continue to make sounds to show I’m enjoying it, gasping a ‘yes’ to reinforce the message.
This excites the stranger, and his free hand moves to my head and pulls my hair, forcing my head back.
‘I’m going to fuck you.’ It’s not a question.
He leads me into a cubicle and shuts the door.
It’s dark.
I’m pissed.