Basketball players - college age - used to frequent the old Art Cinema, the last male porn movie theater in Boston, and also occasionally the Club Baths, around the corner from there. I was once sitting on the edge of the padded area in the orgy room at the Club Baths, recovering from some other encounter, when a very handsome group of 6 or 8 very tall basketball-player types clad only in towels or jockstraps came into view. They stood in a small circle in the lighted area of the orgy room, chatting and scratching their pouches from time to time. One of them was terminally cute, and he and I were keeping an eye on each other. I was waiting for him to separate from the group, but he stayed in the circle, yet he winked at me. Finally, I couldn't stand it any more, and so I simply got off the padded area onto the floor, entered the circle, didn't say a word to the guys above me, who continued to chat as I began with my guy and then made my way around the circle. I got a kick out of how they pretended not to notice what was going on below their waists. Funny, for basketball players, they were all powerful shooters, not one dribbler in the bunch. Man, those were the days. I seem to recall finding one of them a few hours later hanging out on his belly, ass up, and mounting him, but some of those days are a blur. You went to the baths to have sex with lots of guys, and you did. This was the early 1970s, when things were still fairly hidden, and once the bathhouse door closed behind you, you were in a confidential world where you could adopt an identity for the evening, play out your fantasies, and you didn't expect to find your cameraphone image an hour later on Facebook, showing you with two cocks in your mouth at once. There was something powerful and mysterious about that lost world that we'll never see again, for all that we've gained (and the many guys we've lost).
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