... broad-shafted cock swung heavy and crimson-headed over his loose testicles as Jud lumbered into the bathroom doorway. He moved as though mankind had descended from the apes, not from The Garden. His massive build gleamed in the glow from the lamp on the stand between the two hotel beds, and he scrubbed himself with a coarse towel, fresh-showered and relaxed. He was in his mid-twenties, and his features were scar-lined and rough. His thick neck melted into huge shoulders and muscled arms, and silky black hair washed his wide, barreled chest and taut stomach.
“Give those lads hell, JayCee,” he drawled as a distant chorus of voices drifted through the open window. “Yeah, give them th’ word!”
Wrapping the towel about his solid hips, he crossed and gazed out at the night-swept skyline of Los Angeles, then at the building across the street. Formerly a motion picture theater, a huge sign was hung over the entrance: Last Night-Festival of Gay Joy—Come! Hear! . . . Love!! A renewed burst of singing swelled to the open Window, and Jud closed it fast as he heard the doorlatch snap behind him.