This post was submitted by TNG reader, Eric Jost.

Photo by Hans Bruesch

I stood in the dimly-lit alley outside the Green Lantern, trying to keep warm and desperately searching for a sign pointing me home.

My boyfriend, Leo, had convinced me to join him and his friends at the monthly disco party held at the Lantern. Even though I was exhausted after a long week, I felt I owed it to him after the many concerts, parties, and events he had dutifully gone to for me. But the deal we agreed on was, although I would go with him, he would give me his keys so I could leave whenever I wanted and go home to sleep. Many vodka-cranberries later, I stood outside in a neighborhood I was wholly unfamiliar with, yet avoiding going back inside out of fear that Leo would hound me to stay.

I stumbled towards the closest street, a row of smokers eying me suspiciously as I neared the oncoming traffic. Without any cash my only option would be to catch a bus and hope that it would take me to Columbia Heights and the big, comfy queen bed waiting for me inside Leo’s apartment. But as the alley opened onto the street, a bus sped by without stopping. Shit, I grumbled, but at least I now had some idea which direction was north and began following the bus until it was out of sight. Surely another one would come along any minute.

I made my way around Thomas Circle and up 14th, a blur of colors, shapes and noises overloading my drunken senses. Storefront after storefront was dark, providing no respite from the cold and no place to sit for a minute and sober up. I would kill for a bucket of fried chicken, I thought as I passed the empty Popeye’s. But then fate smiled down on me.

The Crew Club was almost an urban legend of my gay DC. For years I had heard about the last remaining bathhouse but never met anyone who had actually been inside. While I visited bathhouses in other cities, my gay adolescence in DC consisted of nothing more than trips to Apex and Nation. Finally, after years of procrastinating (and an excruciating dry spell) I had attempted to visit several months earlier – which resulted in me entering the lobby, then immediately turning around and running away. To be fair, the sight of workout equipment behind the receptionist led me to believe that I had made a huge mistake and stumbled upon an actual 24-hour gym. But having been laughed at and corrected by Leo and all of my friends, I was confident in my newfound knowledge of what went on behind closed doors. So I entered the club and joined the queue of late-night revelers.

I had been refused entrance to bars for being less drunk than I was now, but apparently the gatekeepers to the Crew Club saw my intoxication as an opportunity and swiped my credit card cheerfully, handed me a towel, and explained to me my sexual options while I bobbed my head in agreement. The Club presents two opportunities for its visitors: The first, simply rent a locker to store your clothes while you wander through the club wearing nothing but a bath towel and a smile. Or two, rent a private room where you may set up shop for the evening.

Even in my drunken stupor I was too cheap to rent a private room.

After storing my clothes, I wandered through the sexual maze without much direction. Bathhouses in Sydney, Australia were multi-level expanses, with each floor providing a different setting for the night’s sexual escapades: the porn floor, the glory hole floor, the private room floor. But with my vision still impaired by vodka, the long hallways composed of dark cedar caused me to walk around in a never-ending circle, wondering if I should open one of the closed doors to see what was inside – or simply continue my laps. If nothing else I would burn off some calories.

I finally noticed a man in his mid-forties with a surprisingly-defined stomach standing seductively outside an open door. At first I simply walked passed, but decided to try my luck and turn around for a closer inspection. He smiled and backed into his room and I had no choice but to follow.

The interior of the room resembled a small, wood-paneled bedroom – complete with a single bed next to a nightstand to set lube, condoms and props. The man sat back on the bed, mumbling a few words as I moved in close and pressed my lips against his. We made out for several minutes before he readjusted and whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go find a third?”

That sounds like way too much work, I thought.

“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll be right back.”

Quickly, find a room to hide in! I was now a man on a mission. No longer was this simply about getting laid; this was about avoiding confrontation and being called out on my lazy abandonment. A surge of panic-induced adrenaline led me by a room where a thin, brunette man with a small potbelly laid on his private bed. He would have to do.

An hour later I emerged a little more disheveled and, sadly, no more sober. Time to continue my search for that missing bus, as images of the pillow-top mattress enveloping me like a soft cloud drifted in and out of my semi-conscious mind. I was no more than a few steps out the door when my pants started vibrating. Fumbling for my phone, I saw Leo’s smiling face staring back at me as I answered.

“Hello,” I sang.

“Where are you?!” Leo slurred, anger permeating his voice.

“Umm, I’m almost home,” I lied. “Where are you?”

“I am outside my apartment. I’m locked out because you have my keys!”

“Oh no, sweetie, I am so sorry! I should be home in five minutes.”

“Fine,” he hung up.

I really need that bus right about now, but after waiting at the nearest stop for five minutes I could sense Leo’s anger growing with every passing second. I would have to catch a cab and ask the driver to stop at an ATM so I could get some cash. Fortunately, taxis were easier to come by than late-night buses.

I returned from the ATM to discover that my fare had astonishingly doubled in the two minutes it took me to go to the ATM. I practically threw the money at the driver and slammed the door as I weaved towards Leo’s apartment building, trying my best to hurry home.

Leo was curled up like a dog sleeping outside his apartment door. I approached cautiously, tapping him on the shoulder as gently as possible and he jerked awake.

“Where were you?!” Leo struggled to stand up.

“I’m so sorry! I got lost and then stopped to get Thai food,” I figured that drunk-Leo would be less angry to hear a lie about me eating rather than knowing he had been locked out while I was exploring uncharted sexual territory.

“I left early so I could spend the night with you and you weren’t even here!”

“I know, I know,” I unlocked the door and Leo pushed passed me and darted for the bedroom. “I’m really sorry, sweetie.”

Leo was already lying in bed by the time I entered the room and began getting undressed. I turned off the light and crawled into bed, keeping my distance so as to not disturb the angry lion sleeping next to me.

“What Thai restaurant in DC is open at one in the morning anyway?” Leo mumbled.

“I don’t know. I was just wandering around and it was the only thing open. I didn’t have any idea where I was.” Good job Eric, I congratulated myself on what I believed to be a very plausible lie. “Well goodnight!”

Sadly, having recovered his sobriety the next day, Leo knew full well that there was no Thai restaurant in downtown DC open at one in the morning. I came clean and, fortunately, he laughed at what I believed to be an exceedingly traumatic evening and he thought sounded more like an adventure.

Even if he had been left to sleep alone in the hallway.