''Some guys just throw you out of the room if you pull one out,'' said one of the men, James, who, like everyone else, would not give his full name. ''Whatever,'' he said, turning away.Īt the club, there were plenty of condoms for the taking, courtesy of the management, but in conversations with a dozen patrons who acknowledged using crystal, only two men said they were following the rules of engagement in the age of AIDS. Asked about condoms and the niceties of safe sex, Bob shrugged. ''The stuff is a wonder,'' he said, taking a pause from his prowling, his scrawny frame wrapped in a white towel. Like many of the men cruising the two-level club lined with closet-size cubicles, Bob, a 37-year-old advertising copywriter, was ''tweaking,'' high on a wildly addictive stimulant that has been sweeping through Manhattan's gay ghettos. The powder, known as methamphetamine, or crystal meth, had helped Bob conquer a half-dozen sex partners during a 35-hour binge. Chewing gum at a manic clip, circling the labyrinthine halls of the West Side Club on a recent Sunday afternoon, he had been awake since Friday, thanks to a glassine pouch of crystalline powder he had tucked beneath the mattress of a room he rented in this Chelsea bathhouse. Bob looked haggard but was feeling fabulous.
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