We were invited to a private house party on Fire Island in July. This is the only way to experience the gay reality of Fire Island. Sure you can board the ferry and enjoy the beach, the bars, the atmosphere. But can you walk the byways and paths and enter into the private gay world that is what Fire Island is all about?
This party just happened to be a nudist event and was held in a typical Fire Island summer home. Attended by some familiar… uh… faces, yeah, that’s it, faces… this party also had some new, to us, faces.
The long ride up to Long Island was pleasant enough. Parking was easy and not very expensive and the ferry ride was exhilarating – the sea breeze, hot men all around, a few friends on the same ride. And an adventure beginning.
I’d never been to Fire Island. Legendary though it was and is, I’d never had the opportunity. Desire, yes, but no one I knew before this had ever gone or had a place there. So, it was kind of a hazy gaydream. Yes, I’d heard about the wonders of the place. Yes, I’d heard about sex in the dunes (and anywhere else you could get away with it) and yes, I’d wanted to take part (even though sand up my ass is not something I look forward to).
But I never took the initiative and organized a trip, either with people or solo. It’s no one’s fault but my own. So, this time, I thought, why not? Let’s do it and see what all the hoopla is about.
We were greeted on the Fire Island dock by Tom, who’d extended the invitation. He was sweating (it was a hot day) and his runny while sunscreen gave him a ghostly appearance. So I wasn’t sure if this was a kind of Scrooge tale or some bizarre intro to Fire Island. But I went along since I heard no clanking chains.
Tom was excited to have us there and to show us to the party site and even offered to give us a tour of the island. He was and is a frequent visitor, himself living in the Bronx (I won’t share the name he give his chosen home).
The trek to the party was short and gave us a nice walk over wooden planked paths, down leafy avenues, and through quiet byways. Occasionally I’d see a cute twink (and I do not use that derogatorily since I like twinks) ambling by, his small bathing suit barely covering his flesh. Or they’d come in twos, either couples of friends, walking and laughing. So happy. It seemed as if they were permanent residents of this pleasure planet that I’d just landed on. And I felt envious of their carefree life, their obvious sense of belonging in and maybe even to this place. They discovered it while they were young and it would have a lifetime of visits yet to come.
That made me think of a man I met while in Ft. Lauderdale. We got into a conversation round one of the pools at my hotel. He was a New Yorker, I’d have known from his accent even if he hadn’t told me. A very nice man, educated, well traveled. He’d had a place on Fire Island in its heyday. When the ground was littered with men and sex was free and easy. When the whole island was one big party for as long as you could take it. But then, he remembered, AIDS happened, and he found himself more and more alone on the island as friend after friend died. One day, he told me, he remembers sitting outside of his Fire Island home, alone by the pool and crying his eyes out. He couldn’t figure out why he chose to stay there any longer. He couldn’t stand all the ghosts. He couldn’t take the pain. And so he, like many others, chose to leave.
Now, perhaps some of the old guard have returned (and others may never have left), but there is a new generation of islanders. And the parties, though more subdued, are beginning again.
The party was quite nice – a number of delicious men and some interesting food. Guys came and went – mostly to visit the beach and then return to the party. The owner was an extremely convivial gentleman who was gracious enough to let us all trample his yard and play in his pool. Of course, have a group of naked men cavort in your home isn’t exactly a bad thing.
After a while, Tom offered to take us on a tour of the island before we boarded the ferry for home. And what a tour it was – historical and informative. And we walked around a huge part of the island taking in not only the Pines but also Cherry Grove. Moving through the dunes and little forest that separates the two parts was an education in itself. Everything was in full swing – lots of parties and laughter and fun. I felt a little like an outsider now – after having felt like a real insider at the party. But it was fun anyway. Tom pointed out lots of places where all sorts of things go on and gave an historical accounting of each place we passed. The Blue Whale, The Meat Rack, the Harbor – oh so many places and names. Tom knows names and the faces that go with them. Sailor’s Haven/Sunken Forest was among my favorites because of the name. He’s knowledgeable and unflappable.
After a long while it was time to make our way back to the dock and the ferry. When we arrived people were already crowding on. It was like a scene from a movie. There were people having dramatic good-byes, others just pushing past as if it were the last ferry for the year.
We got a great seat up top. Jason floated off into his own thoughts and I into mine. The guys in front of us were talking food and cooking and it was kind of comforting to hear them talk about their approach to recipes and kitchen work.
Before long we docked, got back in the car and headed home. But not before we stopped somewhere in Jersey for a great Chinese meal.
