Snakebite kits are available behind one counter. Through yet another door is a foyer of display racks of wares to help the Chute's members explore more than that: latex gloves, enema kits, handcuffs, jars of lubricant labeled 'Elbow Grease,' and a wide selection of dildos, the most impressive of which is 'The Man Rammer,' a black staff of such length and heft a careless wielder could be charged with armed assault. This card describes the Chute as a gay men's health spa which enables its members to explore the issues of identity and spirituality. I sign a temporary membership card affirming that I am a gay man and warning that if I am not, I am thereby invading the privacy of those inside. I pay my 17 bucks and get a numbered padlock and a key. I'm told they're all occupied, but if I want one, they'll call my locker number as soon as one opens. The second door leads to a second waiting area with a price board: $17 a head for a towel and locker on weekends another $25 for a private room $35 for 'specialty rooms.' 'One by one, boys,' he says, pushing a hidden buzzer that unlocks a second door. Inside, a young, muscular, topless man wearing a bondage harness eyes new arrivals. The 50-space parking lot behind this gay sex club in central Phoenix is nearly full, and there's a line forming beyond the tinted glass door that serves as the Chute's main entrance.
