But he was still wide-awake, and his curiosity was far from sated. So he abandoned his bench and walked until he found a line on a side street that was snaking out of a club called Inferno and, for lack of a better plan, joined it.
Most of the men he saw were both younger and much more fit than he was. The handful of guys who appeared to be in their forties and fifties looked like bodybuilders, or like they were in the BDSM scene. One wore a leather cap; another was bare-chested and had steel barbells glinting from his nipples.
Sam suppressed a shudder, looking down at his seersucker shirt and his loafers—loafers!—in despair. What had he been thinking? Why hadn’t he packed anything slightly less square? Why was he here? Unfortunately, the peak of this existential crisis coincided with his arrival at the front of the line. The bouncer, an extremely large man with a spiderweb tattooed on his face, looked Sam up and down.
“You law enforcement?” he rumbled.
“Am I—what? No!” Sam stammered.
“If you are, you have to tell me,” the hulking man said implacably.
“I’m not. I’m just…” Old. Clueless. Wearing loafers. Scared out of my mind. Sam tried for a smile. “I’m not from around here.” The doorman held out one meat-slab-sized hand. Sam stared for a minute before fumbling for his wallet. He gave the man his money and was waved inside, into what looked like one of Dante’s circles of hell. The room was dark as a cave, except for the wash of red lights that lent the gyrating bodies an unearthly glow. Some of the men—most of them, Sam thought—wore nothing but underwear. Some wore jockstraps and a sprinkling of glitter. Nobody wore short-sleeved seersucker shirts or loafers. Everywhere he looked, men were grinding or kissing, or more. The leather daddy he’d spotted in line was standing in the corner, leaning back, a cigarette, or possibly a joint, dangling from his lips, one muscular arm folded behind his head, the other tangled in the hair of the boy kneeling in front of him, who was… Sam’s eyes widened. Oh, yes, that was, indeed, a blow job in progress.
Quickly, Sam turned away, and bumped into a young man with dark hair, almost knocking him off his feet. “Sorry!” he shouted. The young man touched his arm, leaned toward him, and put his mouth close to Sam’s ear. “We’re in hell!” he shouted.
“I know!” Sam shouted back.
“Want to leave?”
Sam nodded before he had time to think and found himself being tugged through the mass of writhing bodies, toward the door. Outside, Sam closed his eyes, leaning against the building as he gasped in relief. The cool air caressed his cheeks; the silence was a blessed contrast to the noise of the club.
When he opened his eyes the young man was standing there, looking at Sam with concern.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” said Sam. “Whew. That was a lot.”
“First time?” the young man asked, his voice sympathetic.
Sam looked at himself. “What gave it away?” he asked. “Was it the loafers?”
The young man considered. “It was more the look of unadulterated terror,” he finally said, and Sam surprised himself by laughing.
“Want to go for a walk?” the young man asked.
He’s going to rob me, Sam thought. Except there was nothing in his pockets but the car keys and two folded twenty-dollar bills. He’d left his wallet and his mother’s credit card locked in the car. Or maybe he’s after my kidneys. Maybe I’m going to be one of those people who wakes up in a bathtub full of ice with a bunch of stitches in his back. Tell him no, Sam thought. Just call it a night and go home.
Except somehow, while Sam’s brain was drafting a polite refusal, his head had made the decision to nod, and his feet were walking down Commercial Street. When the young man took Sam’s hand, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. They made their way down a grass-lined path, toward the bay. Sam could smell the salt before he saw the water, glimmering blackly under the moonlight.
The young man led him to a sandy spot under a deck. They sat down on the sand that still retained a hint of the day’s heat. Sam could hear waves, and the sound of other people: male voices, music. The wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and salt water.
Sam looked down and saw that their hands were still linked, and it still felt good, not strange at all. In fact, not holding this young man’s hand would have felt much stranger than holding it.
Again, he heard his inner Tim. When it’s right, you’ll know.
Sam cleared his throat. “Thank you for rescuing me.”