I was inspired by a marathon viewing of the TV show Neat that ran all night on HGTV. Do I watch some fucked up TV or what? Anyhow, the show is a wet dream for people (like me) who like to organize things and maximize small spaces. During the course of sorting a crate of old newspapers and journals I stumbled on another treasure trove (to me) of pictures as well. One series even comes with it's own little story. It was sometime in the late 90's and I was bartending at the now defunct sports bar chain and Planet Hollywood stepchild The Official All Star Cafe. While it was no Chelsea muscle bar, a surprising number of The Gays would always be found working there, although I was only one of two gay bartenders that ended up working during my tenure. But we were in the minority and as such, for the most part we had a tendency to huddle together. (Read: Get drunk after work.) Which is how we found ourselves planning a weekend getaway one summer to Fire Island.
Now I had been many times but if memory serves my other two partners in crime, both managers at the time, had never been. So I was leading the expedition and set about getting us rooms at the Ice Palace and dispensing advice about what to wear and how much cash to bring. ATM's hadn't made it out to Fire Island at this point.
By and large we had 3 1/2 lovely days marred by just the hint of scandale (spelling intentional). On the second drunken night of an admittedly drunken weekend we all retired (passed out) wherever we did, but most definitely alone. I was in a trundle bed while one of my managers was in the larger bed off to the side and a half foot up. Imagine my surprise when I awoke sometime between 4 am and an impending noon headache to his hand down my pants feeling up my half hard cock. Can you be sexually molested in your 30's? Does it count if you're both drunk and gay? I decided at the time to remove his hand from my penis, admonish him not to touch me and then roll over and go back to sleep. I never mentioned it again until now. Here's a picture of me and my molester. Look. I smoked then. And I'm really, really gay.
And here's a picture of me relaxing poolside. I'm probably deciding if a Bloody Mary or a Margarita would be better. Can you believe this whole weekend we were there I was worried about whether or not I was too fat for this bathing suit? What the hell is wrong with me?
And finally, here's a picture of a boy that I most happily allowed to touch, see and otherwise fondle my cock for as long as he wanted. For obvious reasons. God he was yummy.