He looked at Tarzan as if I had said I were Amanda Knox visiting Rome to murder a few sodomites. The website said the club only cost 13 euros, but I handed him cash, anyway in return, he gave me a pile of paper thicker than the documents I had presented to enter Italy. The contract stipulated that to enter any Roman gay club, men must pay a membership fee and agree to keep the identities of the patrons a secret. Each member receives a card and must turn in the card upon entrance. The club returns the card to the patron when he leaves. Once I handed over the paperwork, an Asian twink in a tank top approached me from across the lobby. He presented me with flip-flops and led me into a locker room blasting the Bee Gees.
While the twink sang “How Deep is Your Love” and sprayed disinfectant over any surface he could find, I looked around the room at grown men removing their suits and young guys slipping out of their sweaty boxers. Strangers looking for cocks to suck surrounded me.
