Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (22 page)

"Right.” Nothing was ever that simple. “And married men never come here to play around and get off because they can?"

"Sometimes,” he conceded, something I didn't expect him to do. “Imagine being gay twenty or thirty years ago. Many of us got married and raised children because it was what was expected of us. We missed out on coming out and having a relationship, things someone like you might take for granted. It's not fair to us and it isn't fair to our spouses, let alone our children, so instead of tearing our families apart, we come here. We can take care of what we can't with our wives, and no one intrudes on us.” He chuckled. “You probably won't find a lot of people having conversations like we are, either."

"Catch me when you're done with the twink, Joseph.” Yet one more person strolled on by and interrupted us. “You can do that thing with your beard again.” And then he was gone into one of the rooms.

"Yeah, I get that conversation isn't real popular here. With all the stereotypes we have, you'd think our kind would be a little more responsible about these things."

"No,” Joseph corrected me, “you would think it would be that way. Got news for you, kid, it isn't. It may be wrong for you, but that doesn't mean it's wrong for someone else. There are also some of us who don't have time for a relationship, yet we still desire the company of a man once in a while. It wouldn't really be fair to start something with someone if there was no hope for it to go any further. This solves that problem, too."

"What if you aren't in that situation, though?” I pressed. “What if I don't want to do anything? I think people expect that, because I'm here, I'm looking."

"Well, you have to admit that when someone buys a pornographic magazine, they aren't looking at it for the articles. Now, when someone goes to a bathhouse, chances are they're not here to watch TV.” Yes, I got the gist. “If someone should make an advance towards you, and you aren't interested, all you have to do is tell them no. No one is going to force you to do anything you don't want to. It's another rule.” He added that last bit almost emphatically. “You're an attractive young man, and since you happen to be here tonight, what would be wrong if you saw someone you're attracted to and decided to see if the attraction was mutual?"

"Honestly?” I looked up at him. “That's not going to happen."

"Why not?” Joseph knew the answer, too. He definitely wasn't stupid.

"I have a boyfriend."

"Then why are you here tonight instead of with him?” Again he surprised me with his directness.

"I told you. Tristan wanted to introduce me to gay culture, and besides that, he doesn't know I have a boyfriend. I don't want him to know, either, especially because it's someone he hasn't had yet."

"You mean there's someone he hasn't screwed?” Joseph looked positively astounded.

"Amazing, isn't it?” I mumbled. “And he's just waiting for me to see what goes on here so that I'll give in to some animalistic impulse to ... play Twister with my Twix bar."

"Descriptive."

"I could get laid here tonight and my boyfriend would never even know. I'd know, though, and I won't do that to him, to me or to us.” My head hurt. “When the hell did being gay get so complicated? I've been nice to Tristan about it, I've been an asshole about it and I just tried compromising. Nothing works."

"Sometimes drastic measures are necessary to get drastic results,” he suggested dryly. “You'll find that concept being exercised throughout human history."

"At first I thought you were a doctor, now I'm wondering if you're a teacher.” What would he be a teacher of, though? Psychiatry? Psychology? Something related like ornithology? “Who are you?"

"I'm...” He caught himself. “You'll have to learn to respect the anonymity here. Nobody likes to draw attention to themselves when they don't want others to see them for who they really are."

"Okay. I can take a hint. One name bad, multiple names good.” Hey! Back up. Maybe he was on to something.

Tristan liked to be the center of attention, the one people held in awe. That kind of image and popularity boosted his ego off the scale, but if I could find a vulnerable spot, it might just get his attention and force him to leave me alone. Now all I needed was a plan. First things first, though.

"I have to get out of here. There's someone I need to go home and wait for.” This was another one of those defining moments in my life when everything seemed to come into focus.

"I'll tell you what. You hightail yourself down to the locker room and I'll go make sure Tristan stays busy for a few minutes."

We rose.

"Listen..."

"You're welcome.” Whatever his name really was sounded as if he'd saved me from saying something I didn't want to.

"I'm the kind of person who says thank you, so ... thank you."

We briefly shook hands, and then he quite unexpectedly gave me a quick tight hug. I really felt bad for him because he was such a nice guy, but the hair on his chest and back kinda grossed me out. Hadn't he ever heard of conditioner or wax? Just ... ewwww!

Huh. Maybe Alan was right, and it really was a word. It certainly fit here.

Joseph left the room first and headed down towards the locker room, checked it out then came back to tell me the coast was clear. I got my ass down there while he went to find Tristan, since whatever diversion he could arrange would only give me about ninety seconds. I ran back into the locker room, flung the locker open—and grabbed air!

"What the...?” Where were they? My shoes were there, but nothing else. No socks, no shirt, no underwear and no pants! I reached inside my shoes and was relieved to at least find my keys, license and the little bit of money I'd brought with me. Now, if I could only find the rest of my things before Tristan showed up.

I opened any lockers without locks as quickly as humanly possible. Nothing ... nothing ... nothing ... long thick rubbery-looking thing ... nothing ... little balls of something on a string ... nothing...

The damn things weren't anywhere to be found. Wait a second. Didn't Tristan stay in the lockerroom after I left? That rump rider must have done something with them just in case I tried to leave! He was trying to trap me here whether I wanted to stay or not.

Fine. He wants to get his kicks tonight? No problem. I was going to put my shoes on and then go put my foot up his ass. See if he gets a kick of out of that!

It was a great plan. No, it was a terrific plan. No sooner had I put my shoes on when I heard several voices coming closer to the locker room. One was Aydin's, one was Tristan's, and there were two others I couldn't identify.

"Andy ... we're coooooooming to geeeeeeeeeeet youuuuuuu...” they chanted in unison.

It was now a dead plan.

"Oh, hell no.” One I could handle, one I really wanted to handle, but not several of them at once.

I don't think they knew exactly where I was because I could hear them opening doors looking for me as they came closer. This gave me the few precious seconds I needed to hide until they passed the lockerroom by. Didn't Joseph say there was a shower room between the lockers? I glanced over to where I'd seen the other door when I'd first come in, but it didn't look like a door that would lead to a shower.

There wasn't much time, so I ran over, pushed it open and hid behind it. I grabbed the top edge so that it quietly clicked shut, then listened for voices so I'd know when the coast was clear. Brr. The shower room had one hell of a draft, and it was also a bit dark.

"I didn't see him back there, did you?” It was Aydin.

"No, and he isn't in here.” Tristan sounded frustrated. “Maybe we missed him. Start knocking on the locked doors, and see if he's already handcuffed. I'll check the shower."

"Shit...” This meant I had to find somewhere to hide in the damn shower room. At least it was dark, which ought to help. I turned around to see if there were any cabinets where extra towels were stored or at least a janitor's closet, but instead of coming face to face with all that, I found myself staring at a mailbox. This wasn't just any mailbox, either. This was a US Postal Service mailbox ... outside.

My whole body went limp with the realization that I was somewhere very, very wrong and this was very, very bad. I dropped my keys, mostly in defeat, and as I bent down to pick them up, a car turned a nearby corner and momentarily caught me in its headlights. Not amused!

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The coast was clear! Well, the coast had been clear until I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. Where had that car come from? A better question was whether there were going to be more of them.

I peeked around the corner of the building, still half-hidden in the shadows, and spied a group of elderly couples walking towards where I was standing. They'd probably just gotten out of a performance at one of the art centers in the theater area Tristan had mentioned and were heading back to their cars. Great. Knowing this didn't do me a bit of good. I couldn't very well move without being seen, and I absolutely hated the idea of being discovered by Tristan if I went back inside. The lesser of two evils won.

I turned and tried to pull the top edges of the door. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I gave it one more shot, just in case reality decided to cut me some slack. It didn't.

Shit! I was probably standing in front of a building built by the lowest bidder, and they'd actually installed a door I couldn't get my fingers on top of to pull open? It wasn't like I was going to rob the place!

Okay, maybe there was another way. I felt for the handle, only of course, there wasn't one. Why would there be? I mean, what kind of emergency exit can only be opened from the inside instead of the outside?

A large number of senior citizens were about to think they'd narrowly escaped being accosted by a getting-colder-by-the-moment young man wearing nothing but a small towel covering his privates and a pair of cheap K-Mart shoes and brandishing a set of keys. This might not seem like an unusual occurrence if this were New York City or San Francisco, but in Grand Rapids? Maybe...

Maybe they'd think I was part of some performance that had just ended. Maybe they wouldn't say a thing. Maybe they'd be subtle. Maybe...

"Oh, my God!” one of the women screamed, and I watched in horror as she pointed at me with one arm and hugged her husband closer to her with the other. “There's a naked man over there! Pervert! Pervert!” she yelled at me.

"Lady.” I stepped fully out into the light so they could see me and raised my hands in a sign of peace, “I'm not a pervert, and I'm not naked.” At least, I thought it was a sign of peace. “See? My hands are up. I just stepped out the wrong—"

"Put our hands up? He's got a gun!” someone else in the group shouted, and they all started looking for somewhere to hide.

"This isn't a gun.” I waved the keys in my hand so they could see them. “These are my keys!” I shouted. These people couldn't see that I had a towel around my waist, yet they could clearly see a gun in my hand? Give me a break! They were old and guessing. “Keys!"

"He wants your keys, Henry! Oh, my Lord, hide them!"

"What?” Old, blind and deaf. “Lady, who are—"

"Car? The naked pervert wants to steal our car! Help! Somebody call the police!"

Oh, spiffy. Life back at school was difficult enough without this, and now the old witch was asking for someone to call the police? What a great idea! Why not just go ahead and call them? What did I care anymore? Why not just...

I stood there dumbfounded as a squad car turned the corner and came to a sudden halt before the mob of fleeing, screaming old people. Okay. I could attempt to explain to the officers the rather incredible set of circumstances surrounding this evening or...

A searchlight sprang to life and came to rest on me. The hell with it. I turned and ran.

I believe it was the draft I noticed first, before the overwhelming sense of freedom that comes from not wearing clothes hit me. My body was luckily working faster than my mind, and it had already begun to respond to this new emergency by racing back to where the towel lay on the ground. Unfortunately, I overshot the mark, and as soon as I turned around and bent over to pick it up, the searchlight found me again.

There, in full well-lit view of a number of alarmed and stunned witnesses, was my bare ass. Yes, I'm certain the local law enforcement intuitively understood that I was actually picking up my towel and not suggesting they apply gentle suction to my derriere with their lips.

I ran. I ran so fast my brain didn't have time to catch up, and it was only after I realized I'd only gone around the block and was coming up behind the very same police car that I took the time to come up with a better plan.

It took a few minutes, but I finally managed to put some distance between myself and the rest of the world. I had no clue where I was, how I was going to get home or how I could get the temporary insanity plea to work in my favor.

Twenty minutes of walking, ducking behind bushes, fences and other assorted barriers while shivering my ass off ticked by. There were a number of police cars out now, and they were undoubtedly looking for me. I finally noticed a street sign that was familiar, but it had to be one very long street to be this far out in the city since it ran fairly close to Ryan's house.

Ryan! He could help me—provided he was still talking to me. There was only one way to find out. Provided I could find the house. Provided I could remember the address.

That was a whole mess of providence I needed.

I started down the street and could hear the sound of a large number of cars in the distance. That gave me a pretty good indication of where I actually was.

As I suspected, there loomed an overpass directly over Interstate 131. There was no avoiding this obstacle—to get where I wanted to go, I was going to have to cross it. I would be visible and vulnerable as I made my way to the other side, but I doubted I could stay where I was for much longer. The air wasn't nearly as warm as it had been when I'd been wearing clothes.

I took several deep breaths and starting jogging. It might help me stay warm. Something caught my eye halfway across, and I looked down over the side. A long line of squad cars sped by with their lights flashing. They passed the exit onto the street I was on, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't mean there weren't other patrol cars in the area, but even a false sense of security was better than none.