Loose Lips	Loose Lips Archive

Miss Poubelle supposes that many Guide readers have visited a sex club or bathhouse at some point in the not-too-distant past. She herself has not been immune to the charms of joyous, dog-like promiscuity, conveniently provided for at a modest fee. But such commercial establishments do pose certain problems of etiquette and decision-making. And therein lies a linguistic gap.

When you visit a typical bathhouse, you pay your fee, get a towel, and then proceed to a locker or room where you shed your clothes before going out to survey the scene. From comparing notes with friends, Miss Poubelle would venture to say that most customers would like to stay at least an hour, but probably not more than three hours. During that time they would like to fool around with at least two or three guys.

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And while the sex club or bathhouse may seem enticing and arousing for a while, after an orgasm it quickly seems loud, smelly, and dirty. Miss Poubelle supposes that this is the gay man's equivalent of the famous straight dictum, "The perfect woman turns into a pizza at midnight." It would seem that in the perfect bathhouse, you're automatically dressed and transported to your car as soon as you recover from your orgasm.

Of course, the desire to fool around with a few different guys and stay a while flies right in the face of the desire to get the hell out as soon as you come. Knowing this, many a patron of such an establishment will carefully plan the evening so as to get close to orgasm many times, but not go over the brink until the end.

In the perfect bathhouse scenario, you start off slowly, sampling the wares here and there, but not going too far yourself. Possibly you take a break and watch some porn on the video screen or sit in the hot tub for a while to cool off between encounters. At the point in the night at which you're starting to feel ready to leave, you encounter a fabulous stud, head off together, and have mind-blowing sex, at the end of which, you shoot your load. Then you bid your farewells, get dressed, and get the hell out.

Unfortunately, events don't always work out that way. This scenario relies on the fabulous stud showing up at just the right moment so that you can pop and go. And here's a linguistic gap. What do we call this guy­the one who you're going to come with at the end of the evening?

Miss Poubelle's friend Ron has a suggestion from the sporting world. In baseball, the closer is the relief pitcher who is called in for the last inning or so, when his team is ahead by a few runs and a secure victory is needed. The closer is usually the best pitcher on the team, the one who can comfortably be relied on to bring the game to a satisfactory conclusion. In bathhouse terms, we could say that the closer is that fabulous guy you want to end your evening with.

One possible problem with the perfect bathhouse scenario is the premature closer. Mr. Perfect walks in when you've just arrived and haven't seen a soul. He gives you the eye, and the next thing you know you're faced with the premature closer dilemma. Do you a) miss the opportunity to come with him, b) go ahead and shoot with him, then get dressed and leave 20 minutes after you get there, or c) shoot, then hang around the bathhouse to face an evening of diminishing pleasures? None of these are particularly happy choices.

The problem of the missing closer is also obvious. In this scenario, you never find the right guy to finish up with, so you end your evening unsatisfied, consigned to a disappointing solo wank or an encounter with a guy who doesn't do it for you.

In some cases of a missing closer, what is really involved is an inflated notion of who the closer will be. How do you know if the guy you've just played footsie with is the hottest guy you're going to get that evening? Miss Poubelle suggests that essentially, the guy has to achieve a certain score in the rather intricate sexual calculus of desire. We've all got some notion of our "market value"-- depending on our bodies, our age, and the size of our dicks, we are more or less likely to score in a situation like this. If you're not considered a particularly hot commodity, at some level you usually realize this, and set your goal accordingly. When a guy comes along who is interested in you, and he is about as hot as you are likely to get, then mentally you characterize him as a possible closer du jour.

It is easy to run into trouble here, due to the uncertainties and self-delusions we all engage in from time to time. It is easy to fall into the trap of thinking "Ah, with my new haircut and with the full moon, I should be able to attract a 19-year-old Cuban body builder with a fetish for licking the hair on my back." Alas, it is rarely so. The sexual market judges us ruthlessly, with little regard for our knowledge of Victorian architecture or our acts of charity toward the poor.

Miss Poubelle can provide no solution to the inevitable problems that arise when our fantasies of the perfect sexual romp collide with reality. It may turn out that the perfect bathhouse evening is about as common as a perfect game in baseball. Yet that shouldn't prevent us from enjoying the challenge. Let us choose our closers wisely, and play ball!