right there beside the octagon table…anyway, I can’t take it on the bus so Kyle’s giving me a ride home in his pick-up truck and I wondered if you’d mind stopping at the store?”
“Sure. But I might be a few minutes late getting home. I have to make a few stops first.”
“More bars?”
“No, I have to stop at Rage and the Six-Ten.”
There was a moment of silence, then a rather shocked: “Those are baths ! You’re not going to go in are you? I mean…I’m sorry…I…”
I laughed. “I know what you mean and you don’t have to be sorry and no, I’m certainly not going to go in any farther than the lobby.”
Not even if Troy’s there? my crotch asked.
Shut up! I told it.
“I’ll stop at the store. And I won’t be that long.”
“Okay,” he said, obviously relieved.
*
Rage looked exactly the same as the last time I’d been there: the same blue canopy with the white script “Rage,” the same bright blue door. But beside the door there was now another small sign which said “Health Spa for Men.” I’m sure that made all the difference in the world.
When I opened the door and stepped into the small, familiar lobby, I had a momentary flashback to the earlier case, and I thought of the small room beside the manager’s office where Troy and I had gone for our intense but wordless little conversations.
But no one was in the room behind the large glass reception window, and part of me breathed a sigh of relief. But not for long, because the door from the reception area to the hallway beside it opened, and in walked the familiar blond Adonis spectacular-ness of Troy, in his how-in-hell-could-he-get-that-thing-on Rage tee shirt. I’m sure that if he’d had a pimple on his chest, I could have seen it outlined by the shirt. But of course, Troy didn’t have pimples.
We get your point, Hardesty, my mind said with mild disgust.
He saw me and burst into a huge grin as he came to the window.
“Dick! How the hell are you? I thought you’d moved to Mongolia or somewhere.”
“Great to see you, Troy,” my crotch and I said in unison. I was glad there was a window and a wall between us, or I know we’d have exchanged a hug, and to feel that hot…
We get it, Hardesty! Move along!
“What brings you here, anyway? Another case?”
I nodded. “Yeah, actually.” I reached in my pocket for Jerry Shea’s photo, which I stepped forward to slide through the slot cut in the bottom of the glass. “Ever seen this guy?”
Troy picked it up with one hand, unconsciously rubbing his other hand, spread-fingered, over his chest. He furrowed his brow and moved his lower lip and jaw forward in thought, then slowly shook his head and slipped the photo back through the slot.
“Sorry, Dick. Never seen him. Want me to check our member list to be sure?”
“Could you? I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said reaching under the counter for a large ringed binder. “What’s his name?”
“Shea. Jerry Shea.”
He flipped expertly through the pages, backed up a page or two, studied something carefully, then closed the book.
“Nope. Sorry.”
“Well thanks for checking.”
He replaced the book under the counter, then looked at me, his lips curling into a very sexy grin. “You know, that little room’s been turned into a storeroom, but there’s still a cot in there. You got a minute to go take a look at it?”
Yes, we do! Yes! panted my crotch.
Luckily, though, I heard myself saying: “I really wish I could, Troy, but I’ve got a partner now, and…”
“Hey, that’s great! Congratulations! So you don’t play around anymore?”
I shook my head. “Afraid not. It ain’t easy, but…”
“I understand. Some guys can, some guys can’t. I admire your conviction. But if you ever change your mind, you know where I am.”
“Oh, I’ll remember.” I replaced Shea’s photo in my pocket, gave Troy a wave and a grin—there wasn’t enough room to reach through the slot to even shake
“Sure. But I might be a few minutes late getting home. I have to make a few stops first.”
“More bars?”
“No, I have to stop at Rage and the Six-Ten.”
There was a moment of silence, then a rather shocked: “Those are baths ! You’re not going to go in are you? I mean…I’m sorry…I…”
I laughed. “I know what you mean and you don’t have to be sorry and no, I’m certainly not going to go in any farther than the lobby.”
Not even if Troy’s there? my crotch asked.
Shut up! I told it.
“I’ll stop at the store. And I won’t be that long.”
“Okay,” he said, obviously relieved.
*
Rage looked exactly the same as the last time I’d been there: the same blue canopy with the white script “Rage,” the same bright blue door. But beside the door there was now another small sign which said “Health Spa for Men.” I’m sure that made all the difference in the world.
When I opened the door and stepped into the small, familiar lobby, I had a momentary flashback to the earlier case, and I thought of the small room beside the manager’s office where Troy and I had gone for our intense but wordless little conversations.
But no one was in the room behind the large glass reception window, and part of me breathed a sigh of relief. But not for long, because the door from the reception area to the hallway beside it opened, and in walked the familiar blond Adonis spectacular-ness of Troy, in his how-in-hell-could-he-get-that-thing-on Rage tee shirt. I’m sure that if he’d had a pimple on his chest, I could have seen it outlined by the shirt. But of course, Troy didn’t have pimples.
We get your point, Hardesty, my mind said with mild disgust.
He saw me and burst into a huge grin as he came to the window.
“Dick! How the hell are you? I thought you’d moved to Mongolia or somewhere.”
“Great to see you, Troy,” my crotch and I said in unison. I was glad there was a window and a wall between us, or I know we’d have exchanged a hug, and to feel that hot…
We get it, Hardesty! Move along!
“What brings you here, anyway? Another case?”
I nodded. “Yeah, actually.” I reached in my pocket for Jerry Shea’s photo, which I stepped forward to slide through the slot cut in the bottom of the glass. “Ever seen this guy?”
Troy picked it up with one hand, unconsciously rubbing his other hand, spread-fingered, over his chest. He furrowed his brow and moved his lower lip and jaw forward in thought, then slowly shook his head and slipped the photo back through the slot.
“Sorry, Dick. Never seen him. Want me to check our member list to be sure?”
“Could you? I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said reaching under the counter for a large ringed binder. “What’s his name?”
“Shea. Jerry Shea.”
He flipped expertly through the pages, backed up a page or two, studied something carefully, then closed the book.
“Nope. Sorry.”
“Well thanks for checking.”
He replaced the book under the counter, then looked at me, his lips curling into a very sexy grin. “You know, that little room’s been turned into a storeroom, but there’s still a cot in there. You got a minute to go take a look at it?”
Yes, we do! Yes! panted my crotch.
Luckily, though, I heard myself saying: “I really wish I could, Troy, but I’ve got a partner now, and…”
“Hey, that’s great! Congratulations! So you don’t play around anymore?”
I shook my head. “Afraid not. It ain’t easy, but…”
“I understand. Some guys can, some guys can’t. I admire your conviction. But if you ever change your mind, you know where I am.”
“Oh, I’ll remember.” I replaced Shea’s photo in my pocket, gave Troy a wave and a grin—there wasn’t enough room to reach through the slot to even shake
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