. . . At 2:30am, the bar was still filling up. I kept drinking and drinking until I was dancing, releasing myself from my body and the expectations of who I should be. It reminded me of when I was a late teen, dancing like a fool at the Barn in Toronto. I used to take the Greyhound bus all the way from Waterloo and stay at Spa Excess overnight. As I danced, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders — I was slowly finding my way back to myself.
I went to use the toilet just after 3am, but all the urinals were occupied with guys peering over at each other’s bits. I couldn’t wait, so I went over to the handicapped bathroom just down from the men’s room. I tried to push the door open but it wouldn’t go all the way. There were people blocking it on the other side. Someone came up from behind and pushed his way past me into the washroom, so I followed him, crushing the men standing behind the door. Strangely, nobody complained about it.
Once the door closed it took me a moment to process the goings-on in the stall. It was a single bathroom, maybe a little larger than a typical one at Starbucks, but it was jam-packed full of men, exchanging their limbs for pleasure — cocks were being sucked, asses fucked and fingered, lips locked. It was completely silent, with only the sound of the music muffled through the closed door and the occasional moan, groan and quiver. I was being groped from all directions: a hand at my thigh, on my ass, at my belt trying to undo it. I had no idea whose hands were on me, and I’m sure they didn’t know who they were touching either. It was a man-soup of an orgy, and I was being absorbed into that medley of lust.
When more men entered the room, I felt overwhelmed and anxious. How more people could fit in was beyond me; where did they all come from anyway? And will I ever get out? Yes, this was the world without DH and it was like I was drowning in there, drenched in the rays of the red light from the fixtures up above. I couldn’t distinguish one person’s limbs from another — that’s how intertwined we all were.
I pushed some people out of my way, callously, but still, nobody complained. I pried the door open, exited and was starting to understand the meaning of “fate.”
“Wow,” I said to myself.
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Hole & Corner appears on Daily Xtra every Wednesday.
Follow Mike Miksche on Facebook or on Twitter @MikeMiksche. His first novel, Paris Demands is now available.
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