He overheard our dilemma, and offered to help. A suave, 40-something gray-haired guy pulled up beside us, clothed and ready to check out. T and I resorted to the information desk. Most of our peers sympathized with our impossible quest. Nude bystanders tried their best to pinpoint when they saw Jane last and with which guy. Most men were lone wolves.įor whatever reason, my resistance to the hypersexuality was rapidly wearing. On bi night, the split was about 70 percent men and 30 percent women. This was believable: I estimated that out of 50 or so people, the average person at Hawks was about 45. We set out in search of Jane-he said he thought he saw her last in the middle of an orgy with a gaggle of older men. Having encountered something sentimental, I also felt fulfilled. He said he had had his fill and was ready to leave. The glass doors of the steam room and the silver shower faucets dotting the walls make for funhouse mirrors. It's a scatterplot of dressing rooms with netted ceilings that allow you to peer in from the tops of curvy landings.
Bounding out of the room, I saw T gliding up a distant staircase.
