Bergdorf Boys

Chapter 4-2

Afterward, they didn’t speak. The ass had huge black eyes, fat red lips. Neal figured him for a South American. As they rested on the narrow mattress, the door creaked open. A blond man peeked in, then darted away. Neal sat up. It looked like Paul. In the dark, the flash of blond looked like Paul. Neal shut his eyes. The ass with the black mane of hair, and an expertly shaved crotch, was snoring lightly.

Neal had seen Paul the first time after rehab at the bathhouse. He’d caught a look at him through an open, gang-bang door. Paul, who was striking with white-blond hair, a year-round tan and eight percent body fat, was lying on a mattress, surrounded by three big men. Neal moved away, embarrassed to see a friend in the nude, but Paul had caught his eye and winked. There was no expression in Paul’s face, it was completely still. Just that one, quick, dead little wink. The ass was snoring louder. Neal shifted his weight on the mattress, hoping to stir him. He didn’t budge.

“You must be content,” Neal said in a whisper. “To sleep so easily.”

He laid his hand near him, on the mattress, touching the side of his body just below his armpit. There was warmth and a slight tremble from the snoring. Neal used to hear his father snoring, through the wall. It was a family joke, how loudly he snored. Neal shut his eyes, pressed his hand closer, then rested it on that hollow between the edge of the armpit and the start of the chest. He breathed deeply, then spoke, his lips barely moving.

“Let’s run away,” Neal said.

The snoring continued, soft and gentle. Neal pulled his hand away, then sat up and grabbed his towel. There was a black leather bag on the ground. He bent, and poked gingerly. There was a hotel room key and a scrap of stationary. Neal reached in and fingered around. He felt a cigarette box, a condom, something wet, then a pen. He jotted his number, added a smiley face, scratched over that, then left. The ass did not stir. He stepped into the hall, which was busy. It would be dawn soon and he hated hailing a cab in the daylight. That first wave of post anonymous s*x meltdown was creeping in. It was best to get home, shutter the windows and sleep. Either that or rev up for another s*x round. He considered it, then stifled a yawn, and headed to his booth. As he dressed, he wondered if he would regret leaving this quickly. Often, in the cab home, he felt a rush of desire, a longing that overwhelmed him. More than once, he’d gone back to the baths, despite the fact that he had to pay a re-entry fee. Tonight though, he would go, and he would make it home, and he would cook a very large frozen pizza and watch taped television reruns in his tiny, air-conditioned studio apartment. And he would sleep soundly.

Waiting in line to drop his room key, he saw, at the end of the first hallway of booths, a black kid, leaning in, then out of his booth doorway. He was nude, no white towel, just dark black skin and a strange knit hat on his head. He was swaying in and out of his booth, and he was staring at Neal. The kid paused, ran his hand along his chest, and smiled, showing several big gold teeth. He nodded at Neal, then he motioned him over. The key line was crawling. Maybe he could go another round after all. Neal stepped toward the booth and the kid disappeared. He kept moving, a little afraid, then stepped into the doorway. The kid was lying, knees pulled up so his feet touched his ass, hands casually behind his head, weird knit cap and glittering gold teeth. He tilted his head far back, as if drawing Neal on a string toward him. Dawn had already come and gone. Neal stepped in, and shut the booth door.