Missive From Fire Island

I managed to score another 3 day break from work. How I don't really know. I decided not to over-analyze it and just go. The first day was spent relaxing around the house. I was a little spent from work in general and from the assault that happened. The whole next day I kept seeing a vision of that poor girl covered in blood. I am still stunned that a grown human being can be that careless and unthinking. Shockingly, at least to me, after the fact, the woman who hurled the object at her face showed absolutely no connection to the deed. I guess that's how you can do something so heinous to another person. By day two I was emboldened by a good weather report and had made plans with The Hellcat to hit the beach. I tried to lay the groundwork for an early start, intending to arrive around 1:30 and enjoy the late afternoon sun. Turns out, we managed a 3:30 arrival for some very late afternoon sun. I blame myself partly, for staying up till my normal bed time, and for failing to set an alarm. Still, we managed to get some much needed lay in the sand and do nothing time. The Hellcat got the phone number of a skinny 22 year old bottom boy. We both flirted with a gorgeous 30 something Broadway dancer with a most spectacular body. I think I may have decided at the ripe old age of 43 to finally get a couple of tattoos. I know for sure what I want and where I want one of them. I'm just a little suspect of my motivation for wanting them. I've never been what you call the type to run with the in-crowd. I guess being tatted up at 40 something still puts me in the march to my own drummer category.

It was only as we were packing up for the evening with the intent to head for home that The Hellcat took a call from an acquaintance on Fire Island. Since we were at least half way there, his invitation to come out and spend the night couldn't be ignored. Problem was, while I technically had the next day off, I did have a noon manager meeting on my schedule. I will rail against the aggravation of having to come in for a meeting on my day off another time. We checked the weather, and while previously the day forecast thunderstorms, the update called for sunny and hot. That was all the motivation I needed, besides seizing on the serendipity of the whole situation. Thus began a set of phone calls both to my boss, and the owner of the club, seeking permission to skip the weekly meeting. I had never begged off before, but I couldn't get anyone by phone to give me an OK. In spite of this, we headed by train out to the last leg of the journey. I tried again upon arriving at the ferry for the final trip. No luck. I finally left a message with my intent to accept the offer and head out to the island for the night. The idea of waking up at the beach was far too appealing. It was only until I was quite literally on the boat, at the dock with the engines running that I received a call on my cell from my boss at the club (No Lucy, you can't be in the show), giving his permission to skip what turned out to be a manager's luncheon (Oh, the horror!). Thus began my boat ride to Homo Island.

We arrived late, after 10 pm. But still our sponsor met us at the dock. Our accommodations, an unfinished but quite lovely guesthouse in the Pines, a mere stone's throw from the boat dock. The parts that were finished were lovely. My favorite features being a private outdoor pool and shower, as well as another glass enclosed shower that holds up to nine people. (No, I don't know that for a fact, but I have no reason to doubt it.) It's not surprising in the least I was attracted to the combination of naked/public/water, but more on that later. After settling in for a bit, The Hellcat and I set out into the Pines, ostensibly to get liquored up and get some sleep. Mission accomplished, although not without me getting into a tense moment with the owner/manager at a certain Pines drinking establishment. All I will say is come and see me when your club is doing two 1,000 person shows back to back before you throw me that kind of shade. Better yet, you've got far too much attitude period considering your club had 10 people in at 1 am on a Thursday and your piece of shit sound system gave out for a half hour 'till you got the hamster back on the wheel to power the fuckin' thing.

At any rate, I awoke the next day totally disoriented, as the Duchess has not slept away from the castle in far too long. After getting my bearings back I enjoyed a cup of coffee and a magazine poolside. Followed by a brisk nature (Meatrack) walk. Alas, I arrived 'tween Meatrack high tides and the pickins were decidedly slim. Refusing to lower my standards that far, and that's saying something, I returned to the house. By then, The Hellcat had roused and we began getting ready to hit the beach. The beach was lovely, the boys were gorgeous and the men were overly done. As much as I have dug my heels in and tried to escape the ravages of time, some of these men have gone way too far. To wit: after 40 it's probably not wise to wear form-fitting T's. You may think you can but the reality is you probably can't. A leather arm band around a sagging tricep is not hot, it's just sad. A choker of any kind that accentuates a double chin or turkey skin, particularly if it's in gold, is a serious error in judgment. Almost no one looks good in a Speedo. If you think maybe you do than you definitely don't. With a Speedo, there's no maybe.

After a couple of hours swimming and sunning, I abandoned The Hellcat, explaining that "I need some dick." I set out searching the dunes for a willing participant. Several likely candidates emerged, but they all seemed rather shy, trying to find a totally secluded area for us to have public/private sex. This always puzzled me. More, the older and more uninhibited I've gotten. It's sex. It's gay sex. Sure, if you were my lover and we were having an intimate moment I would (probably) prefer the privacy of our bedroom (kitchen/washer- dryer). But it's outdoor gay sex between two strangers. And you expect privacy? That's absurd. Yes, yes, I know that some men don't understand that looking is OK but touching may be another matter, but honestly, I've never encountered the man that didn't understand the firm replacement of an unwanted hand. OK that's not true, but in that case, a scolding seems to do the trick. So the need to find a perfectly private spot, outdoors in public, baffles me. Which probably explains why I found myself surrounded by five men, jerking off as I noisily sucked off a guy exclaiming "You like that uncut Peurto Rican cock, don't you?"

Why yes. Yes I do.

Jones Beach, July 22 2005