My Hookup in a Sauna Next to a Straight Man

An excerpt from Jesse James Rose's memoir 'sorry i keep crying during sex'

Author note: Part of SORRY I KEEP CRYING DURING SEX chronicles my healing from sexual assault and a torrid breakup through a myriad of hookups. In pursuit of a safe place to fall apart I found myself in the sauna…with Hookup #32.

#32
1:15 p.m.
32^nd Hookup After

I’m in the sauna at the gym and I’m definitely not looking at the ­Daddy next to me.

He is doing the Straight Man thing where he can’t complete a Figure 4 stretch and I am doing the Gay Whore thing where the corner of my towel barely covers the tip of my cock. Both of our towels splayed so our bare hip flesh is locked in the staring contest our eyes ­can’t have. His body hair forests down the side of his thighs—massive slabs of muscle, the watermelon-crushing kind. If I look at them any longer the blood will rush down and pop the towel off my tip. I avert my gaze.

#32 is sweating profusely, and I’m waiting for him to gather the towel from his lap and wipe his face so I can see underneath where the forest thickens. He’s bald like Vin Diesel and cut like George Clooney and I’m ready to have his children. There’s another man in the sauna, some dudebro listening to a podcast in a pair of swim trunks. If only #32 would wipe his face.

You might think this is invasive to look at #32 this way, but you have to understand there are signals:

· Open towels

· Splayed legs

· Sparse cock coverage

· A quick ball pull with eye contact

· Excessive body rubbing and touching

· Stretching that exposes yourself

· Stretching that allows you an excuse to look at someone ­ else

· Even looking around more than usual

· Mirroring the other’s actions, affirmatively coded as YES,

· I AM GAY TOO show me the goods

So far #32 has displayed two of them. Well, technically one and a half. His towel is only half open, and while he is stretching, I can’t tell if he’s stretching to stretch (straight) or stretching to give me a better look (gay as hell). Usually I need at least three items from the list to confirm, but if I’ve gotten one and a half signals and haven’t given him one, he’ll have no incentive to continue. I offer him Mirroring the Other’s Actions by sliding my right ankle over my left knee and folding effortlessly, hoping he’ll take my limberness as proxy for eagerness. He glances over; his eyes are hotter than the sauna stones. He counters by switching the legs of his stretch.

That’s a full two signals, so it’s my turn. Dudebro in the swim trunks has his eyes closed, oblivious to the homosexual mating ritual taking place before him, so I’m free to respond. If I Mirror again and switch my own legs I’ll expose my too hard dick and then I’m in dangerous territory.

Instead I choose to add a spinal twist to my Figure 4, employing Stretching That Allows You an Excuse to Look at Someone Else. #32 responds by shifting in his seat and hiking up his towel. Is this a third signal or a comfort movement? He begins to twist away from me when I see it: his shaft snaking out, peeking onto the wooden bench. It twitches, and to my delight I watch it harden and lift back into the forest. Stretching That Exposes Yourself. Third signal. Booyah.

By some miracle (one I absolutely deserve!!) dudebro in the swim trunks stands with all too much noise and leaves. Now it’s down to me and my not-so-straight Vin-Diesel-Clooney-Forest-Daddy. He looks over again, this time for longer. I try to smile but I can’t hold his gaze. Was he staring me down (hot) or scaring me off (comp het)?

I readjust my towel. Abandon ship. He flicks yet another glance, so fast his eyelashes barely move. Ok, maybe not. I take a leap of faith and go in for the Ball Pull (sans eye contact). In my periphery he reciprocates, pulling his own. Oh, hell yeah. Unmistakably, Diesel-Clooney Daddy and I are gonna fuck.

We begin to fool around in the sauna, which is always a fright because the risk of interruption (or banishment, humiliation, jail) is high. Any sexual activity is a workout, but even the CrossFit world champions would have to train for aerobic fucking inside the swelter of the sauna. I, defending champion, have stolen a few grabs at his cock, he’s moaned, he’s called me “good boy,” which I’m deciding is not gendered because that’s convenient right now and I am more worried about whether he’s gonna have a sexuality crisis and bolt.

He does stand, but instead of bolting he turns to me.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, despite the sauna being nearly soundproof. He keeps staring. I keep being hot. “I want you.”

Thank god. “I want you too.”

He closes his hand around my throat, and I assume he’s ­ going to push my head down between his legs (where I belong!!!) but instead he picks me up by the neck.

“Come with me.”

He’s taking me to the shower where I will have his children. The shower stalls in this gym have dark blue curtains, which is ideal for cruising because you can’t see who’s inside. The first shower could be dudebro, the second vacant, the third a business executive rinsing off, the fourth where #32 has me pushed against a wall with his hand pulling the bun on the back of my head.

In that same fourth stall #32 has pushed the shower nozzle away from us, the water lukewarm. I imagine this is because he is also a climate activist who doesn’t want to waste (1) water and (2) time not pleasuring me.

And pleasure me he does. I am returning the favor, crouched underneath him when he shoots into my mouth. A rope of semen splatters into what I think is my eye, and I am about to reach for the nozzle to wash it out when the sting of pain never comes. In fact, as I move, the semen splatter moves with it and I discover, to my horror, that I am wearing my glasses.

“Fuck, baby boy, that was hot.” he bites me on the chin, hard.

“I can’t believe I was wearing my glasses this ­ whole time,” I joke, and he grins.

“That’s why I ­ didn’t turn the ­ water on hot.”

“Huh?”

“That’s why I ­ didn’t turn the wat—”

“No, I heard you, what did you mean?”

#32 nips at my ear and slides a hand around to grab my butt. “I didn’t want your glasses to fog up.” He pats a cheek, and slips out of the stall.

I collapse on the bench, semen gobbed on the corner of my mouth, and wonder why this is the nicest thing a man has done for me since I can’t remember when. That probably explains the tears that come. At least, I hope it does. I want to run after him and ask for his phone number and his address and if he has a dog and whether the second shelf of his medicine cabinet is spoken for already, but instead I grab the shower handle and twist it past the bright red temperature strip. Within seconds steam fills the stall, clouding my lenses, holding me in a fog of warm loneliness. I cry and pretend I am sweating instead.

Excerpted from SORRY I KEEP CRYING DURING SEX: A MEMOIR. Copyright © 2025 by Jesse James Rose. Published and reprinted by permission of Abrams Press, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved.

We’re thrilled to announce that SORRY I KEEP CRYING DURING SEX is our March 2026 Open Secrets Book Club pick! You can purchase it at Bookshop to support us and independent bookstores or wherever you buy books. Watch our interview with Jesse James Rose on March 24 at 7 pm ET on Substack Live and stay tuned for a book club discussion chat.

Jesse James Rose (she/they) is a transgender actor, writer, and content creator based in New York City. Every president who has attacked her in the media has been shot at. Rose holds degrees from NYU in music theatre and child and adolescent mental health studies, as well as a certificate in diversity, equity, and inclusion from Cornell University. As an actress, Rose made queer theater history as the youngest openly nonbinary professional performer to take on the title role in Hedwig and the Angry Inch. The same year they co-starred in the indie film Adelphe, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival. They are perhaps most known as a transgender activist attacked by Donald Trump, as covered by Rolling Stone and THEM. Their work lives largely on social media, where Rose writes about gender, queerness, survivorship, mental health, their feelings, and their exes on Instagram & TikTok (@jamesissmiling).