Chapter 2: Interesting Interview
Rob’s stomach was a knot of slick, nervous energy the entire bus ride over. He wore the nicest clothes he owned—khakis and a pale blue button-down that his mother said made his eyes look brighter. He’d spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror, trying to tame his hair, practicing his polite smile. He looked like someone applying for a bank teller position, not a job mopping up shower water and handing out towels. The contrast between this clean-cut exterior and the frantic, humid images from yesterday in the sauna made him feel like a fraud.
The Apex felt different in the stark light of late morning. The lobby was quiet, almost austere. The blonde at the front desk, whose name tag read ‘Chloe,’ gave him a cool, appraising smile as he gave his name.
“Derrick’s expecting you. Down the hall, last office on the right before the locker rooms.”
Her voice was crisp, professional. Rob mumbled his thanks and walked, his footsteps echoing on the polished concrete. The muffled sounds of the gym were distant thunder. He focused on the smell—lemon disinfectant, the faint, clean ozone of the pool, the underlying scent of male effort.
The office door was open. Derrick sat behind a modest steel desk, typing on a laptop. He looked up as Rob appeared in the doorway.
“Rob. Come in. Close the door behind you.”
Derrick was nothing like John. Where John was broad and rustic, Derrick was finely made. He was probably in his late thirties, lean with a swimmer’s build visible even through his fitted polo shirt. His dark hair was cropped close, his jaw clean-shaven and sharp. He had the neat, efficient handsomeness of a high-end real estate agent. His eyes, a pale grey, scanned Rob from head to toe in one swift, assessing motion. He didn’t smile, but the expression wasn’t unfriendly. It was calculative.
“Have a seat.”
Rob sat in the chair opposite the desk, perching on the edge. He clasped his hands in his lap to keep them still.
“John speaks very highly of you,” Derrick began, leaning back. His voice was calm, mellifluous. “Says you’re a good kid. Polite. Reliable. That’s what we need more than anything in this position. Reliability and discretion.”
“I understand, sir,” Rob said, the ‘sir’ slipping out automatically.
A faint, almost imperceptible flicker at the corner of Derrick’s mouth. “Derrick is fine. This isn’t the military. It’s a service position. You’re providing a service to our members. A vital one.” He steepled his fingers. “The locker room and spa area is a sanctuary for our clients. It’s where they unwind, shed the day, care for their bodies. It’s a vulnerable space. They need to trust that the environment is immaculate, and that the staff is… unobtrusive yet attentive. You understand the distinction?”
Rob nodded, his throat dry. “Unobtrusive but attentive. Yes.”
“Good.” Derrick’s gaze lingered on Rob’s face, then dropped briefly to his hands, his throat. “The work is physical. You’ll be on your feet for long stretches. You’ll be cleaning surfaces, replenishing supplies, laundering towels. You’ll need to be vigilant. A stray hair in a shower drain, a water spot on a mirror—these things are unacceptable at our standard. You’ll also be assisting members. Sometimes that means fetching a product. Sometimes it means helping a member who may have overexerted himself. Sometimes it’s simply being a calm, pleasant presence.” He paused. “It requires a certain temperament. Not everyone can be comfortable in that environment. John said you seemed comfortable yesterday.”
The statement hung in the air. Rob remembered the steam, the naked bodies, the feeling of John’s arm behind him on the bench. “It was… very nice,” he managed.
“Nice,” Derrick repeated, as if tasting the word. He smiled now, a small, professional curve of his lips. “I’m glad you thought so. It’s the heart of the club, in my opinion. The weights build the body, but the spa soothes the mind.” He shifted forward, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement brought him closer. Rob could smell a subtle, expensive cedar-and-citrus cologne. “I’ll be honest, Rob. We get applications for this role from college kids looking for an easy gig. They don’t last. They get bored, or they get… inappropriate. They stare. They make the members feel like specimens. You didn’t strike me as someone who would stare when you walked in here.”
Rob’s heart stumbled. He forced himself to meet Derrick’s grey eyes. “No. I wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t think so.” Derrick held his gaze for a beat too long, then looked down at a paper on his desk. “The pay is nineteen-fifty an hour to start. A six-week probationary period. Hours are afternoons and evenings, Tuesday through Saturday. The schedule is firm. We need consistency. Are those terms acceptable?”
Nineteen-fifty. It was more than the gas station. It was a lifeline. “Yes. Very.”
“Excellent.” Derrick stood up, smooth and fluid. “Let’s do a quick walk-through of your domain. I’ll show you the supply closets, the laundry chute, the protocol.”
The tour was a blur of practical details. Derrick moved with silent efficiency, pointing out buckets and mops, industrial bottles of cleaner, stacks of pristine white towels. He explained the system for used towels, the schedule for scrubbing the steam room tiles, the exact method for folding. Rob tried to listen, but his senses were overwhelmed by the proximity of the man, the quiet authority in his voice, the way his polo shirt stretched across his shoulders as he reached for a high shelf.
They entered the empty locker room. The lights were up, revealing every gleam of chrome and tile. It felt naked itself without the steam and the men.
“This is where perception is everything,” Derrick said, his voice lower, echoing slightly in the tiled space. He walked down the aisle between the benches. “A member should feel that the space is his alone, even when it’s not. Your job is to maintain that illusion. You are a ghost. You see everything, but you are seen only when needed.” He stopped and turned to face Rob. “For example, if a member is at his locker and drops his shaving kit, you retrieve it for him before he even has to bend over. If he’s looking for the mouthwash, you point to it before he asks. It’s anticipation. It’s reading the room.”
He took a step closer. Rob could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. “It also means understanding the… culture. Men come here for more than a workout. They come for community. For connection. The spa area facilitates that. Conversations happen here that wouldn’t elsewhere. Friendships are forged. You’ll need to be aware of those dynamics, without ever inserting yourself into them.”
Rob nodded, mesmerized by the quiet lecture. Derrick’s grey eyes seemed to be imparting a deeper meaning, a hidden code.
“Do you have any questions for me?” Derrick asked.
The rehearsed questions about breaks and timecards fled Rob’s mind. One pushed its way out, born of yesterday’s dizzying experience. “The… the sauna and steam room. How do we clean them while members are using them?”
Derrick’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes deepened, a flicker of acknowledgment. “A good question. We don’t. We wait. We service them thoroughly at opening and closing, and we do spot checks when they are briefly empty. Sometimes that means waiting just outside. Observing. Learning the rhythms. You’ll learn to tell when a group is finishing up, when the room will be vacant for a few precious minutes.” He paused. “It requires patience. And a keen eye.”
He reached out then, not touching Rob, but gesturing to his shirt. “You’ll be provided with uniforms. Polos and shorts. They’re designed to be professional but… accommodating for the work. I think a medium will suit you. You don't have a slender build, there’s a softness to it, but we don't want you swamped in fabric. That’s good. It’s approachable.”
The comment about his softness, so clinically delivered, made Rob’s skin prickle with a strange heat. It wasn’t a criticism. It was data.
“Thank you,” Rob whispered.
“You start tomorrow at three. I’ll have your uniform ready.” Derrick extended his hand. His grip was firm, dry, his skin smooth. He held Rob’s hand for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb pressing subtly into Rob’s knuckles. “Welcome to The Apex, Rob. I have a feeling you’ll fit in perfectly here.”
The interview was over. Rob floated back through the lobby, past Chloe’s desk, and out into the blinding afternoon sun. He felt untethered, examined, and chosen. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling slightly. He had two texts. One from his mother: “How did it go?” The other was from John, sent an hour ago: “Good luck today kid. Call me after.”
He called John first.
It rang twice. “Hey! How’d it go with Derrick?”
“I got it,” Rob said, the reality of it bursting through. “I start tomorrow.”
“Yes! I knew it. Told you he’d like you. You’ve got that trustworthy face.” John’s laugh was a warm rumble through the phone. “Celebratory dinner? My treat. Nothing fancy, burgers and beers. You’re a working man now.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”
“Pick you up at seven.”
The burger joint was loud and saturated with the smell of grease. John insisted Rob order a beer, sliding a frosty pint across the sticky table to him. “To getting your foot in the door,” John said, clinking his bottle against Rob’s glass.
Rob drank, the bitter cold a shock. He felt adult, seen. John was in a boisterous mood, telling stories about construction mishaps and difficult clients. His knee brushed against Rob’s under the small table and stayed there, a solid, warm point of contact.
“So, Derrick gave you the full tour, huh?” John asked, dipping a fry in ketchup.
“Mostly the back areas. The supply closets and everything.”
John chewed, nodding. “He’s a detail guy. Runs a tight ship. But he’s fair.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “He liked you, I could tell when I talked to him. Said you had the right demeanour. Not everyone gets that from Derrick. He’s picky.”
“He said it was important to be… discreet.”
John’s eyes held his. “It is. It’s the most important thing. What happens in the locker room, stays in the locker room. It’s a code.” He took a long pull of his beer. “You’ll see things, kid. Men… blowing off steam. It’s a place with a lot of pent-up energy. Testosterone. You just have to let it wash over you. Do your job. Be part of the scenery.”
Rob nodded, his mind racing. Blowing off steam. The phrase took on a new, charged meaning.
“You nervous?” John asked, his tone softening.
“A little.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be around. I’m there most evenings after work. I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He reached across the table and squeezed Rob’s forearm. The grip was firm, reassuring. “You’re not alone in this.”
When John dropped him off later, the squeeze on the back of Rob’s neck was longer, more deliberate. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. I’m proud of you.”
Rob lay in bed that night, the buzz of the beer and the thrum of anticipation keeping sleep at bay. His mind replayed Derrick’s assessing gaze, John’s supportive touches, the vast, silent locker room waiting for him. His hand crept under the waistband of his boxers. This time, the fantasy had specifics. It wasn’t blurred, pornographic images. It was Derrick’s cool, precise voice explaining protocol while his neat, strong hands demonstrated on Rob’s body. It was John’s heavy, approving gaze watching from a sauna bench.
He came quickly, silently, biting his lip. After, he felt a new kind of emptiness. The fantasies were no longer just fantasies. They had locations, schedules, and names. Tomorrow, he would walk back into that world not as a guest, but as a part of its machinery. The thought was terrifying. It was all he wanted.
The next afternoon, at 2:55 p.m., Rob stood outside The Apex. Chloe at the front desk gave him a keycard on a lanyard. “This gets you into the staff areas and the lockers. Don’t lose it. Derrick’s in his office. He wants to walk you through the first shift.”
We made his way back to Derrick's office, the door open as it was the previous day. Derrick greeted him warmly, but not overly friendly, and pointed to a neatly pressed uniform on the small sofa. As Derrick was talking about the day ahead, he closed the office door and gestured for Rob to get changed. Rob assumed this way normal and began to change into his new uniform. The black polo was soft, clinging to the shape of his torso in a way he wasn't used to, the shorts a lightweight material that stopped above his knee, but were fitted around the ass and crotch. He felt exposed, but official. “Good. It fits.” A simple statement that felt loaded. “Follow me.”
The locker room was populated now. A few men nodded to him as he passed, seeing the uniform, dismissing him as part of the scenery already. His heart hammered.
The next few hours were a demanding education. Derrick showed him how to test the pH of the pool, how to clean the glass of the sauna door without leaving streaks, the precise angle to hold the nozzle to hose down the shower floors. He was a meticulous teacher, his instructions clear, his expectations absolute. He stood close, guiding Rob’s hand on a mop handle, pointing over his shoulder at a missed spot on a mirror. His cedar-and-citrus scent was a constant, dizzying presence.
As the evening peak approached, the spa area grew busy. The air grew thick with steam and the low murmur of conversation. Rob moved through it like a ghost, as instructed. He emptied bins of used towels, wiped down benches, refilled the dispensers of body wash. He saw everything. The easy, naked camaraderie of two friends shaving side-by-side. An older man slowly soaping his chest under a showerhead, his eyes closed in pleasure. A younger, incredibly defined man stretching languidly on the tiled floor, every muscle outlined under damp skin.
He didn’t stare. He absorbed.
Around eight o’clock, John arrived. Rob saw him enter the locker room, a duffel bag over his broad shoulder. Their eyes met. John winked, a quick, familiar gesture that sent a bolt of comfort through Rob’s nervous system. He changed and headed into the steam room with a group of other men.
Later, when the crowd had thinned, Derrick approached Rob near the supply closet. “It’s time for the final steam room sanitization. It’s empty now. This is your first solo clean. I’ll watch.”
Rob’s pulse skittered. He gathered the bucket, brush, and a bottle of the specific, mint-scented cleaner. Derrick followed him into the steam room. The heat was a wall, the air opaque with lingering vapor. It was like stepping into a cloud.
“The benches first,” Derrick’s voice came from behind him, calm in the fog. “Scrub down every slat. Rinse thoroughly. Any residue will become sticky.”
Rob got to work, kneeling on the wet tile. The heat was oppressive, beading his skin with sweat instantly. His uniform shirt clung to his back. He scrubbed, the rhythmic motion calming his nerves. He was aware of Derrick standing just inside the door, observing, a silent silhouette in the mist.
After the benches, Rob moved to the walls, methodically brushing the slick tiles. The silence between them grew thick, punctuated only by the splash of water and Rob’s own breathing.
“You’re doing well,” Derrick said, his voice closer now. Rob hadn’t heard him move. “Very thorough.”
“Thank you.”
“You have a good touch. Careful, but not timid.”
Rob paused, the brush in his hand. He could feel Derrick’s presence just behind his right shoulder. The steam swirled.
“A place like this… it reveals a person,” Derrick murmured. The philosophizing tone from the interview was back, but softer, more intimate. “Some men come here to hide. Others come to be seen. To find what they’re looking for.” A hand, warm and dry, settled on Rob’s damp shoulder. The touch was not part of the training. It rested there, firm. “What are you looking for, Rob?”
Rob’s breath caught. The heat, the exhaustion, the overwhelming sensory overload of the day collapsed onto this point of contact. He couldn’t form a lie. He didn’t want to. He remained perfectly still, his head bowed over. The weight of the hand on his shoulder felt like a leaden truth. The mint cleaner stung his nostrils. He stared at the wet bristles of the brush in his hand, the tile grout he’d just scrubbed white.
He had fantasized about honesty, about blurting it all out. Now the moment was here, trapped in the steam.His throat locked. “I…” The word was a rasp. He swallowed, tasting chlorine and sweat. “I don’t think I’m looking to hide.”
Derrick’s thumb stroked a slow line across his damp collarbone. The touch was appraising, patient.
“Go on.”
Rob closed his eyes against the swirling vapor. The images from his room, the lonely, frantic hours, rose up and merged with the sensations of today—the casual nudity, the approving glances, the feeling of being a part of something secret and humming. “I think… I’m looking to understand something. About myself. The kind of thing you can’t figure out shut away in your bedroom.” He forced his voice to stay level, clinical. “I want experience. I want my life to… thrum. I want to be where things happen, you know? To have my limits pushed.” He licked his lips. “I want opportunity.”
He couldn’t say the rest. He couldn’t shape the raw, screaming need into words that wouldn’t shatter the professional air. He wanted to be used, surrounded, filled. He wanted to get fucked every way possible by any and all. The confession stuck in his chest, a burning coal.
The silence stretched, filled only with the distant drip of water. Derrick’s hand lifted from his shoulder. Rob braced for dismissal, for a cold, polite end.
“Stand up, Rob.”
The command was soft. Rob obeyed, his legs shaky. He turned to face Derrick. The manager’s grey eyes were no longer coolly assessing. They were deep, focused, lit with a piercing comprehension that saw right through the clumsy words to the unspoken truth beneath.
A slow smile touched Derrick’s lips. It wasn’t the professional curve from the interview. This was knowing, intimate. “That,” he said, his voice a low vibration in the humid air, “is the most impressive thing I’ve heard from a prospective employee in a very long time.Understanding. Experience. A desire for your limits to be pushed.” He took a half-step closer. The space between them vanished. “It takes a remarkable self-awareness to admit that, even couched in those terms.”
Rob’s heart slammed against his ribs. He was pinned by that gaze.
“You’ve also done an excellent job tonight,” Derrick continued, his eyes drifting down Rob’s sweat-soaked front. The thin polo was plastered to his skin, nearly transparent. “But you’re soaked. You can’t finish your shift like this. Follow me. I’ve got a spare shirt in my office.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. Derrick turned and walked out of the steam room, the mist parting for him. Rob followed on trembling legs. The cooler air of the locker room was a shock, raising goosebumps on his wet arms. It was empty now, silent but for the hum of ventilation.
Derrick’s office door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the quiet, windowless room. The only light came from a brass desk lamp, throwing the corners into deep shadow.
“Here.” Derrick unlocked a small cabinet and pulled out a folded black polo, identical to the one Rob wore. He held it out.
Rob reached for it, but Derrick didn’t let go. He stepped closer again, into the small circle of lamplight. “Let’s get that wet one off first.”
His fingers went to the hem of Rob’s soaked shirt. Rob stood, paralyzed, as Derrick slowly pulled the fabric up. It clung, resisting. Cool air hit Rob’s stomach, his chest. Derrick drew the shirt over his head, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of Rob’s ribs. He tossed the wet garment onto the sofa, the sound loud in the quiet.
Rob stood shirtless before him, his soft chest rising and falling too fast. The light cast the gentle curve of his pecs, the faint swell of his belly, in sharp relief.
Derrick finally let his eyes roam, a slow, predatory inventory. There was no hurry. He took in the tousled damp hair, the flushed cheeks, the bright blue eyes wide with a terror that was also a thrill. His gaze traveled down the smooth plane of Rob’s chest, over the pale, pink nipples hardened from the chill and the adrenaline, down the soft trail of brown hair that led beneath the waistband of his uniform shorts.
“You have no idea how appealing you are, do you?” Derrick’s voice was a whisper now, almost reverent. “This sweet, polite exterior. Those eyes. And underneath it, this… hungry little body. All that wanting.” He placed the dry shirt on the desk behind him, not breaking eye contact. “You said you wanted to understand. You wanted experience. You wanted your limits pushed.”
He raised a hand. Rob flinched, but didn’t retreat. Derrick’s fingertips, cool and dry, touched the center of Rob’s chest. They rested there for a heartbeat, feeling the frantic pulse beneath.
Then they began to move. They stroked outward, tracing the soft, undefined contours of Rob’s pectoral muscles with a feather-light touch. The sensation was electric, dizzying. No one had ever touched him like this, with such deliberate, exploring intensity.
“Is this part of the understanding you’re seeking, Rob?” Derrick asked, his eyes locked on his own moving fingers.
Rob could only nod, a jerky, desperate motion.
Derrick’s touch grew more defined. His palm settled over Rob’s left pec, kneading gently. His thumb circled the tight, pebbled nipple, brushing over it again and again until it ached with a sharp, needy pleasure. A helpless whimper escaped Rob’s throat.
“Tell me,” Derrick murmured, his other hand coming up to mirror the action on Rob’s right side. He rolled both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, applying just enough pressure to make Rob’s knees buckle. “Does this help you understand what you like? What this soft, pretty body responds to?”
“Y-yes,” Rob gasped. His hands clenched at his sides. He was painfully hard, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his shorts.
“Good.” Derrick leaned in, his lips close to Rob’s ear. His breath was warm. “Because I think you want to understand how it feels to have a man’s mouth right here.” He pinched a nipple sharply, sending a bolt of pleasure-pain straight to Rob’s groin. “And here.” He did the same to the other. “And I think you want the experience of learning how good a tongue can feel on every single inch of your skin. And I am very, very interested in pushing those particular limits.”
He pulled back, his hands still roving, possessively mapping the soft terrain of Rob’s chest and stomach. His gaze was dark, dominant. “This is the opportunity, Rob. Right here. Do you want it? One word. Yes or no.”
The world narrowed to this room, to these hands on him, to the throbbing need that had defined his hidden life. This was the threshold, real and visceral. He wasn’t in his bedroom. He wasn’t fantasizing. Derrick’s cologne filled his lungs. The ache in his nipples was a brand.
Rob looked into those fathomless grey eyes. All the loneliness, the secrecy, the hunger coalesced into a single, clear certainty.
“Yes.”