undercover. Once in Denver at a pretty swanky rest area a beautiful muscular dark haired man caught my eye in the mirror while he rubbed the bulge in his jeans. I don’t know what it was, but I felt like it was fishy so I didn’t go for it. I had been right too. Thirty minutes later, he walked out with a black guy in cuffs. I hated that kind of shit. It was entrapment at the least and always seemed to me an accepted form of gay bashing. I had always been lucky cruising. I loved this kind of anonymous sex, but it carried with it lots of risks. To think that someone had come up with a way to offer the experience in a comparatively safe environment was brilliant.

“It’s expensive,” said Phillip. “You can imagine how long their waiting list is. They do it on a tier system. You can pay fifty bucks; that usually means waiting at least a week, a hundred and you’ll get a session within three days or the top tier is two hundred and with that you choose what night and time you go based on what’s available. Of course, they leave enough of these slots open for all the rich guys who call.”

“That’s the one I want,” I said.

Phillip gave me the number and I called.

“Three Booths,” said the man on the other end.

“Hi,” I said. “I want to make an appointment for tonight.”

“Sure,” he said. “We schedule sessions in thirty minute intervals. Let me see, tonight we have nine, ten-thirty, two, and three. We shut it down at three-thirty.”

“Ten-thirty’s perfect,” I said.

He told me I would have to come by their office on Stanyan, show some ID and pay the fee. It was only six. I had plenty of time to get in a good work out and shower at the gym.

I knew two hundred bucks was expensive for thirty minutes. But it was something new and different.

Their offices on Stanyan were posh. Red light filtered through fist-sized holes in the wall. Like some kind of divine streaming, the red light changed to blue and I realized the holes spelled out the words THREE BOOTHS. Not your ordinary cock club, that was for sure. The guy behind the black and metal studded counter asked for my ID.

“Yep,” he said. “Gotcha right here.”

I paid him the money plus an additional two hundred dollar deposit. He gave me a map and a key.

He said, “You could actually walk it. It’s only a few blocks from here. When your session is over, be sure to leave the key in the black bank mounted by the exit door. Tomorrow, you can come by and get your deposit, provided we get the key.”

Around ten, I took a cab back to Stanyan and got out a block from where Three Booths was located. It was a nice night. Clear and calm, none of that California rain you hear so much about. I saw a small building just up the hill. It looked like a miniature version of a rest area but it was spotless and shiny. The outside was made of gleaming polished blue marble. The short