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>Phill B. had only been coming to Decadence a few weeks when he first noticed Friction. At first it wasn’t even the size of him or the rumors that drew Phills's eye—it was the stillness. In a room built on motion and noise, Friction stood like a held breath. Phill would catch himself watching the way people subtly adjusted when he passed, how conversations softened or sharpened depending on where that broad, quiet figure settled.
>From Phill’s corner near the bar, it felt almost like being on the edge of a storm. Every glance Friction gave sent a ripple through the crowd, and when his eyes briefly met Phill’s, it was like being seen all the way through. Phill didn’t move, didn’t dare to, but something in his chest tightened with a mix of nerves and thrill. Whatever stories the regulars told about Friction, Phill realized, they all missed one thing: how it felt to be pulled into that gravity for just a second, and to know that if you stepped closer, your night—and maybe more—would never be quite the same.
— from Mark Smith’s new book Wet Nights: The Untold Story of America’s Gay Bathhouses (2025), p. 86.
>From Phill’s corner near the bar, it felt almost like being on the edge of a storm. Every glance Friction gave sent a ripple through the crowd, and when his eyes briefly met Phill’s, it was like being seen all the way through. Phill didn’t move, didn’t dare to, but something in his chest tightened with a mix of nerves and thrill. Whatever stories the regulars told about Friction, Phill realized, they all missed one thing: how it felt to be pulled into that gravity for just a second, and to know that if you stepped closer, your night—and maybe more—would never be quite the same.
— from Mark Smith’s new book Wet Nights: The Untold Story of America’s Gay Bathhouses (2025), p. 86.
