![]() It dawned on me that I was in a bathhouse for the first time in my life, but any misgivings I had were quieted by the liquor in my bloodstream and a singularity of purpose. ![]() I followed him inside, where he paid for my admission and our private room. So what to do? The man with dreadlocks said, “I know a spot.” He took me to a nondescript building on 14th Street. He might have lived with his boyfriend… I, for sure, couldn’t take him back to fool around on the top level of the bunkbed that I slept on, with a roommate snoring below, in a row house that was made available to me through Campus Housing at Georgetown University, the nation’s oldest Catholic institution of higher learning. I can’t recall exactly what the hold-up was on his end. I met a handsome Black man with dreadlocks in a gay bar called The Fireplace on the edge of Dupont Circle, and after a few rounds of drinks, we left to go have sex only to discover that neither of us could take the action back to where we lived. My first experience at a gay bathhouse took place in D.C.
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