Pittsburgh’s Out was an essential periodical for me as a pre-internet twink wrestling my way out of the closet in the mid 90s. I’d clumsily grab a copy on my way out of the club, shove it in my back pocket, and when I had a moment to myself I’d flip to the final pages where crude ads provided a view into the unspoken thrills available to gay men. The advertisement that piqued my curiosity most was for the gay sauna. There wasn’t a lot of information on the ad, and there were no Yelp reviews to check, of course. I was mortified to ask anyone about the place, and even if I did there was no guarantee that anyone would admit to going there. I eventually found the courage to drive to the shady neighborhood to see for myself if this place was real. I parked outside and observed that men approached and disappeared through the door in a slow trickle that increased as the night waned. When I finally went in myself, I experienced a sequence of events that I’d come to realize were nearly universal no matter where you go in the world. Was I a member? No, but I could pay for a temporary membership. My hands would tremble as I filled out the form. They’d take my ID, then hand me a lockbox for my wallet and keys, which I would exchange for a locker key, flip flops, and a towel.
A walk around the space revealed the difference between the bathhouse it once was, and the “gay sauna” it had become. It was the 90s, and the shadow of AIDS followed a burgeoning gay through every experience. The basement pool was empty, like a large empty sarcophagus. The steam room was dry and the sauna cold, yet they were open for cruising, as were the dark hallways. It was all a little sad and frightening, but in that edgy sexy way. I mostly just walked around and observed, in my usual ritual of following somebody around until they’d notice me, and then I’d be the one followed by them, too afraid to follow-through, but excited to be pursued. I had no awareness that I was a fresh, young face, and I don’t know what frightened me more; the potential of contracting HIV, or the prospect of fulfilled pleasure.
The next bathhouse I explored was in Dallas. It was nicely appointed with private and group rooms and an outdoor pool. It had a similar aesthetic as the one in Pittsburgh (campy takes on Roman gods - a common theme), but it didn’t feel like an establishment in decline. There was a good crowd, and for the first time, lurking through the dark mazes felt like a kinky choice rather than a necessity for anonymity. Next was the East Side Club in NYC, a nice-enough space, but the shut-down amenities never ceased to depress me. Visiting the local bathhouse eventually became part of the fun of solo travel. Always late at night, filled with liquid courage, I learned that the ritual of these places is the same no matter where you are, although the standards vary vastly. In the nicer bathhouses, like Steamworks in Chicago and Sauna Nieuwezijds in Amsterdam, I observed groups of friends showing up together. There was an openness in these places, you could walk around the dark like a phantom voyeur if you wanted (like I wanted), or you could laugh and chat and dip in and out of sex without needing to become a seedier version of yourself.
The only time I went to a gay sauna with friends was Eros in San Francisco. It was the final month in the Castro location and we all wanted to see it before it disappeared. It was nicer than I imagined it to be, but nowhere near as nice as you’d expect for the gayest neighborhood in the US. My desire wasn’t sexual; I wanted to photograph the place before they closed their doors. At present, the building is a somewhat converted event space so you can still see the remnants of Eros in decline. I recently had the opportunity to photograph there and I invited my friend and collaborator Ryan for a thoroughly impromptu shoot in some of the most recognizable spaces from the old Eros. Ryan is young, and so his sexplorations were different from mine, but I imagine they came with the same trepidation and the eventual ledge-jumping that the bathhouses offered me.
