I arrive at bathhouse matinée hours, past midnight on a weekday, and wait in line at the front counter like at the deli. Because I am 21 at the time, I get in at the comparably bargain price of $13, which is only the cost of a locker. In an effort to draw in a younger crowd, Club O has introduced discounts to those below 23. I shouldn’t be surprised about the tax-this is a business after all-but still I can’t help wonder how many roads and schools can be traced to two men going at it in a sauna.
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One second I’m naked and then I’m underwater, watching the world through a sterile blue fog.Ī standard room at Club Orlando will cost you $20 plus tax on a weekday, $28 plus tax on a weekend. I let my towel drop and it falls into a pile by my feet like an old snakeskin. If you walk up to me you would see that I’m made entirely out of matchsticks expertly glued together? Instead of eating I just soak my body in chicken broth overnight? No. Different how? I’m not like other gay guys. The old slurs rush to my head-queer, homo, fag-, my mom’s face when I told her I was one, images of tragic sitcom sidekicks, every time I said to a classmate in high school that I was gay but that I was different. I’m not really here, I want to tell it, as if it isn’t obvious. The water stares up at me, stone-like and bored by my nerves, wondering how a little boy like me could have strayed so far from home.
Gradually my limbs acclimate to the temperature. Apparently not a lot of Olympians are looking to hook up at 2 a.m. They were mostly right and the Olympic-sized pool area is deserted. They must have forgotten to turn the heater on. The website advertised the pool as heated, but I can’t imagine the staff thought anyone would venture outside the clubhouse on this unexpectedly chilly Florida night. I dip my toe into the shallow end and recoil, feeling the cold work itself up through my leg. Mine is still clutched tight around my waist. I believe they can sense that I’m an outsider, someone to skirt around, because when I got to the pool, the two swimming inside jumped out and strutted back into the main building all dripping and exposed, leaving behind two towels haphazardly strewn on a tanning chair. I am alone here on this strange alien planet inhabited by glistening nude Martian men. From the edge of the pool, the water looks a perverse picture-book blue.