Upon entering a relationship—even when it became an open one—I never found the urge to go back to the place where “the thrill is in silence.” Perhaps it was too far. Perhaps the ubiquity of gay hook-up apps made it unnecessary. Whatever my reason or reasons were, the raid on CB by the police (twice, in fact) sealed its fate for me. I let my old membership card expire, and I didn’t bother renewing my membership.
It’s been almost six years since I last set foot in this place. The gym area and the TV room look the same. The stairs leading up to the second floor is the same, including the row lights placed on the banister. The second floor looks the same; even the bathroom looks the way it was 6 years ago.
But when the attendant showed me to my room, bingo! Aha, here’s something new. They now have a built-in drawer in side the bed. Inside the drawer is a huge plastic storage box, the kind you buy in SM. You can now store your valuables inside the plastic storage box, for added safety. I decided to stuff my clothes, wallet, and shoes inside the box.
The showers are still the same. The steam room though has been expanded—they ate up one shower stall to make room for the extension.
Up on the third floor, everything remained as I remembered it. The small free-for-all rooms, enough space for two guys to stand. The open-air smoking area. The dark room. Even the posters remained the same.
And even some people remained the same. “Hmmm, I remember him.” “Oh my, he still goes here?” “He looks familiar.” But there are also new faces; I wonder how many of them will turn out to be recurring new faces.
The second floor smoking area has become the choice area for those who want others to see them do it. Several times I saw it get crowded, a sure sign that a “show” was ongoing.
The music, thank goodness, is new. I mean, they still play wall-to-wall dance music, but at least they didn’t play any Gregorian monks chanting. (Oh wait, that was in Fahrenheit. Wrong bathhouse!)
Had a pretty straightforward hook up—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing blog-worthy.
Who knows, maybe next time, I encounter another polio victim. Fingers crossed!
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