He looked at Tarzan as if I had said I were Amanda Knox visiting Rome to murder a few sodomites. Inside, I joined the line behind businessmen in suits carrying backpacks-the postwork closet-case crowd was just arriving, I guess-and examined the portrait behind the receptionist of two gay men jerking each other off in an empty disco, until the receptionist shouted at me in Italian. A Tarzan look-alike wearing nothing but a white towel appeared and gave me a once-over-to see if I was hot enough, maybe?-then opened the front door. Luckily, the sex club, as well as the Vatican-owned apartments, were located in Salustiano, a nice (read: bourgie) area that didn’t seem like it would hold any insane gays.Īfter a few minutes of procrastination, I swallowed my fear and buzzed the Multiclub’s entrance. We ran out of the building after 20 minutes because a guy claiming to be Gloria Estefan’s “background dancer” shoved Diva D, naked, into a locker.
The last time I had been in a bathhouse was my senior year of high school, when my friend Diva D and I went to one in Miami. Naturally, when I visited Rome recently, the Multiclub was on my sightseeing list, though I was a little nervous.
