My wife was off to see her mother, and for the first time since he'd gotten it, my neighbor, Marty, had invited me for an evening in the hot tub he had put in. His house backed onto my side yard, and he'd done a whole lot of nice renovation on his property since he had moved in. Marty was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite fit. He was a businessman, and I could tell he was doing well at that because of all of the money he must be spending on fixing his house up. His fitness probably was a result of the many hours he spent at the gym. He had a good gym in his basement, but he still frequently went to a big fitness center in town. Marty said he went there for the people he met; he had already had a string of subtenants pass through in the two years he'd been here who he said he'd met at the gym. He said he could use the company and that it was always good to have someone at home to take care of his dog when he traveled.

I had deduced for myself, of course, what the real reason for the string of young, buffed male tenants was. For this reason, I had contemplated and planned what I was going to say if he ever asked me to visit his hot tub. I had noticed him eyeing me when I was doing yard work with my shirt stripped off. And when he did ask me over, I was prepared, although I wondered if the minimalist Speedo I had bought and not yet worn would give too obvious of a signal to him. I had always been curious about that lifestyle.

It was dusk when I walked around my fence and into his yard, with both a T and some shorts on over my Speedo, so as not to arouse the other neighbors, and a big towel draped over my shoulder. My wife had gone the day before, and I had called her shortly before making the trip next door to assure myself she had arrived at a destination a good five-hour drive away.

Marty was already in the tub, and his CD player was set on some music that had a real good steady beat to it and at a volume that would not impede discussion in the tub but would keep it to the near vicinity of the tub. The tub itself was quite large, more than eight feet in diameter—and a good thing too, because Marty wasn't the only one in the tub. Across from him was his most recent tenant, Seth, I think his name was, a big, black handsome dude, with Mulatto features, a massive chest that I could see above the water line, and a blue, intricate tattoo following the curve of his left chest muscle and wrapping up around his left biceps and down his arm to just above his elbow. I must admit that his presence was a little intimidating, but I'd waited for several months in anticipation of a new experience, so I gave him a friendly wave back in answer to the welcoming gestures from both of them.

"Come on in, neighbor," Marty invited. "The water's great and is bubbling up just fine. You've met Seth, haven't you?"

"Hi, Seth," I said. "We haven't actually met yet," I said, but I've seen you