My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson

Author:Rasheed Newson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

* * *

Walking through Mt. Morris’s battered front door normally took away my worries. Tension would drain from my shoulders. My mind would pause its incessant chant of errands undone and problems unsolved. The only other place that managed to hush my anxieties as reliably as the bathhouse was the Museum of Modern Art.

Marcel spotted the strain on me as soon as I stepped up to the check-in booth. “What’s got you down, brother man?”

I placed my wallet on the ledge. “A friend just begged me to stay away from this guy, and now I want to meet the guy more than ever, and I can’t tell if that’s just because I was told to stay away from him.”

“Temptation be a muthafucker.” Marcel put my wallet in a lockbox. “Adam only ate the apple ’cause God told him not to.”

“Right.”

“No good came from it, though. Adam probably didn’t even like the taste of the apple.”

“Or he could have loved it more than anything.”

Marcel shook his head as he passed me a towel and room key. “You gonna do what you wanna do. Now go get some tail. Gotta good crowd tonight. Mostly room buyers.”

He buzzed me in; I stripped naked in room 27 and headed to the sauna with my key around my wrist and a towel around my waist. The halls had a kinetic pulse. Men were going in and out of rooms. Doors were slamming shut. Beds were squeaking. Moans came through the walls. I felt charged. There was action everywhere.

I could have dived in and gotten my rocks off before I turned the first corner. Every guy I passed reached out to caress or grope my ass, cock, or nipples. A bull of a man beckoned me into his room. A threesome fucked with the door open and invited me to join them in putting on a show. This was going to be a fun night. Multiple scores. For whatever reason, I just didn’t want to blow my first load yet.

My restraint was rewarded. I entered the sauna, and as to be expected, the light bulb had been unscrewed. The only light was coming through the square window in the wooden door. There were seven or eight men interlaced by their limbs, mouths, and cocks. Even in this free-for-all of hand jobs, blow jobs, grinding, and kissing, there was a focal point: one man that all the others were maneuvering to get their hands on. They were auditioning their sex talents on each other for his approval. He sat in the corner on the upper bench, and he decided who would be called forward to blow and rim him.

He was positioned so that the light from outside shone on his face and torso. He’d done this before. I respected his poise and artistry. He was gorgeous. Made perfect sense that he would be the shot-caller. I stood back and calculated how best to enter the scrum.

Then it hit me: I had seen him before. Tonight’s shot-caller had

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