Gay Night at Six Flags Hurricane Harbor Water Park -- July 2007

While in New York at the Eagle, Jason picked up a brochure about a gay night at Six Flags Hurricane Harbor and decided he wanted to go and see what it might be like. Jason has enlivened my life and gotten me into things I’d never imagined doing. And I’m glad and grateful. Not that I’m a stick-in-the-mud, but we all have issues with ourselves, don’t we? Jason has begun to force me to face some of those issues and attempt to grow. He’s got a long way to go with me but I’m a willing student.

Trusty old friend that I am, and curiosity/adventure seeker that I also am, I agreed to go along. I had my doubts about what it might be like and also wondered just what kind of demi-gods attend such events. I’d seen circuit boys and party boys, go-go boys, and just plain old bar patrons at some other events and occasions I’d attended. But this, I thought, might attract a different crowd.

We arrived after a longer than expected drive and pulled into the nearest (which was a long drive in itself) parking lot to the Hurricane Harbor section of Six Flags where the gay night would take place. Both of us were taken aback by the price they charged to park. But what choice did we have? We’d already paid for the tickets. We saw other gay guys parking and unpacking themselves from their cars. And it didn’t look like an intimidating crowd in the least.

Next came the “crossing the entry” phase. Entry from one part to another is restricted because you can’t do the whole park on one ticket. They are huge megaplexes – different areas, different themes, different entrance fees. These theme parks are a strange breed of entertainment, though I’d been to versions of these parks (their less muscular and far less capacious ancestors) and this had a similar feeling. But there was some indefinable difference also. It was kind of haunting.

The strangest thing I noticed and felt on a visceral level occurred as we passed the turnstiles and began to cross what looked like a bridge between the mundane world and the land of Six Flags. The voice of authority came over the hidden PA system and wafted through the air telling the day patrons that it was time to leave because a special, pre-ticketed event was about to take place. As we walked across this bridge/road, there was a steady stream of straight families going the other way, back into the mundane world. Strange looks were exchanged, they undoubtedly knowing that gays and lesbians would be filling up the park, and we all wondering what these people could be thinking.

There wasn’t any tension, at least not on the surface, but there was an inexplicable weirdness about the moment. As if one group of passengers had been asked to leave their nice quarters to make room for a different class of voyagers. And, in some way, that’s true.
We made it across the bridge. Went to the booth to claim our tickets and there I was confronted with the gaily gorgeous and the gorgeously gay. Hunks, of the outdoorsy type, picking up tickets so they could ride the rides and stroll the grounds. They wore their knee-length shorts as casually as if they’d been born to the aristocratic beach life. I looked around wondering if there were a magic bathing suit salesman who could gave me a suit that would hide my extra pounds and fill in the few wrinkles that had crept up on me. No luck. I tried wishing my way into a new look. No luck. So I decided to just accept myself and my twenty extra pounds and those few flaws that I’d gotten over the years.

We went into the park and watched the guys enjoy some of the rides and attractions. There was the Cannonball, Wahini, and the Jurahnimo Falls seemed like the most frightening – though it probably wasn’t all that bad. It’s a kind of water slide, actually a body slide, three separate ones as part of the same “ride” – that deliver your body over and under and around until you come flashing out the other end at bullet speed and plunge into the waiting water. It was interesting to watch gay guys of all stripes from twinks to hunks submitting themselves to this. They’d enter one end and then when released you could hear them screaming all the way through to the other end, where, eyes bulging, throats raw from screams, they would be pumped out into the waiting water. Oh, yeah, I was gonna try that. Not!

Or, Hurricane mountain which features two or three person toboggans which were hurtled through waterways with heart thumping speed, all passengers screaming, as the toboggan came shooting out and into the water.

Maybe you’d like the Big Bamboo Reef Runner or other rides – all a little tamer, all equally wet. My choice was the Blue Lagoon – a gentle wave ride where you could sit in an inner tube and float peacefully through. But it was not open at first and by the time I did see some cuties floating around, we’d decided to leave.

We walked around – the grounds were nice, the clear night punctuated by screams of fun, and the moon was big and silvery bright. We sat and watched a number of small groupings attempt the various rides, or some little hotties, wet and sometimes scrawny but still attractive, running delicately through the park in search of towels or something else.

Elsewhere in the park, the disco was getting going – loud and raucous – and, at least when I looked, not well attended. But I was sure that, like moths to a flame, the boys would cluster in the dance area. And sooner rather than later, the energy high, they would whirl and gyrate, jump and jangle, until everyone glistened with sweat.

At some point we decided to leave. I don’t know if the “party” was that well attended. I just remember seeing the same guys over and over as we traversed the park. But it was fun, the air was refreshing, and the men were cute.