The LGBT Center had been renovated a few years back, the drab lobby spiffed up with a granite greeting counter, elevators, new sofas and a brass rail on the curling staircase sweeping to the upper floors. The SLA (s*x love addicts) meeting was on the 4th floor. Neal was wearing loose faded jeans, which he thought were appropriate. Nothing too tight. There was a hole in one knee, but who lusted after knees? He wore a brown straw hat to give the look flair.
The room was bright with huge windows at one end, and a long table in the center. Half a dozen people sat at the table and gave him an up and down as he entered. He smiled and sat, wishing the clock would rush from 4:57 to 5 P.M. when the meeting was scheduled to begin. The concept of attending was invigorating, but actually sitting in
