a lot of hot tubs out here have a no-fabric rule

Click here if you missed Day 1 of Memorial Gay Weekend.

Sunday morning (of Memorial Day Weekend), everybody started stirring around 10. I figured there were a lot more bodies in the house than there was hot water, so I immediately grabbed my stuff and jumped in the shower upstairs.

As I was showering, I noticed that the window in the shower looked directly onto the back yard. Basically, if there were anyone outside (or if a neighbor looked out the window), they’d’ve gotten quite a show. So for the next hour or so while people were taking showers, I would periodically walk out to the back yard and cat call them through the open window. Unfortunately, there was a screen, so one couldn’t really see from the outside, but the guys in the shower didn’t know that.

About 20 of us walked to a diner for breakfast, and I saw one of my favorite names for a drink on the menu.

Make mine a double.

While we were waiting to place our order, I noticed a young server with a lot more swish in his walk than I expected to find in Nassau County!

“Check out Miss Honey with the coffee pot!”

“You think he’s family?”

“Oh, please! Look at that walk! He was probably Prom Queen in high school!”

At one point, he was refilling our (non-alcoholic) drinks, and I asked him, “So, do you make it to Manhattan often?” He kind of smiled and blushed. I noticed an accent. “Well, you definitely should." Someone beside me gave the oh-my-god-I-can't-believe-you slap. "Oh whatever, she loved it!”

After sorting out our bill (they split it between the two tables incorrectly… and they made me a turkey club instead of an egg-whites with turkey sandwich, so it took forever!), we moseyed back to the house to laze around until mid-afternoon. For whatever reason, the group never does the beach on FiPi (Fire Island Pines) when they go to Westbury. A few of the guys worked out the logistics of the cars, but when they announced the plan, Frat Boy threw a wrench in the gears: “I can’t drive. I don’t trust myself not to drink… And if I’m going to stay sober, I’d rather go meet up with the family for their cook out.” Huh?!

The boys went to work trying to shuffle people around. I looked up the train schedule (because AT&T's 3G actually works out there) and found that if Frat Boy dropped Urban Sprawl and me off along the South Shore, we could get a train to the Sayville Ferry pretty easily (it’d take a while, but it would work). But we had to leave immediately, so we jumped in Frat Boy’s car. An hour and change later, Urban Sprawl and I got to the ferry, and everyone else strutted up about 10 minutes after.

Ligaly Blonde: “I really didn’t mean for you guys to have to take the train! We found a spot for you guys in the cars, but you left so quickly.”

Me: “Well, we appreciate, but we had to move, you know. But it’s all good: we’re all on the same ferry.”

Ligaly Blonde: “Well, you guys definitely have a spot going back. I take care of my guests!”

The ferry over was a mess. We ran into ‘Trish, who had a Gatorade bottle of her own. Except hers was actually vodka and fruit punch Gatorade, which doesn’t go so well together (not that that stopped us from taking a few gulps).

Dirty Sanchez and Freak Ho obviously hadn’t gotten enough of each other’s, uh, company the night before. Did anybody else notice the matching cut offs?

And I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to bask in wind-machine fabulousness!

Once we arrived on the Island, we heard about an open-bar reception at the Community Center. We rushed over, and one of the group complained, “God, the average age here is, like, 60.” I retorted, “Then we’ll be the young, cute ones here! Unless you want to pay $9 for an 8-ounce drink at Low Tea?... That’s what I thought.”

MicHELLe and ASFKAB collaborated on an impromptu photo shoot on the stairs.

After at least 4 drinks, Urban Sprawl got in contact with Rosebud, whose house share happened to land on that weekend. The two of us ditched everyone and went over.

One of the things I hate about FiPi that there are so many rules. Let’s say I’m on the island with a friend or two. A friend with a share in a house invites me to come over for a drink/pre-game/whatever. It would potentially be a big deal if I were to bring my friend or two with me. And most houses make dinner a whole social event, so we would definitely have to be gone by then. And don't even think about crashing on a couch! It’s understandable, but I’m just not a fan of going through that whole song and dance, especially since I try to avoid making that long-ass FiPi trek by myself.

Anyway, we go to Rosebud’s, and TTT and MicHELLe are among the familiar faces around the hot tub.

But why was everyone outside of the hot tub? Fuck that! I stripped down to my speedo and jumped in, the others soon following suit. Urban Sprawl had brought a handle of liquor, so he made screwdrivers for us to pass around (there were about 10 guys and only 4 glasses).

RSTLNE is a friend of ours who has about 7 names (all of which are on his Facebook profile... for a while, I couldn't remember which was his first). He’s basically that guy you would imagine would have gone to undergrad at a Big 3 Ivy, but he actually has a sense of humor. He commented, “Wow, D. Kareem, you really just dove in there, huh? No clothes necessary.”

“Well, a lot of hot tubs out here have a no-fabric rule. They claim it clogs up the filter. In fact, since we’re on the subject, MicHELLe, why don't you be a pioneer and lead the way.”

MicHELLe's look of terror was priceless. I dove for his shorts, and one or two guys held him down while I slipped him off, his screams only fueling our amusement. When the deed was done, I threw the shorts on a lower level of the deck. Of course, I couldn't leave my girl out on a limb, so I slipped my speedo off as well.

This time, it was RSTLNE's face that was unforgettable, but I’m sure I had a rather priceless face when he said, “Wow, D. Kareem, I feel like I know way more about you than I ever thought I would.” I looked down and realized that the bubbles from the jet weren’t exactly providing the coverage I had thought and that the water was pretty clear on the step where I was sitting. I promptly moved down to the actual bench.

We continued sipping shared drinks and having loud, boisterous fun. And as always, there's the one hot friend that everyone was drooling over (myself included). Everyone was trying to find little ways to engage him and flirt without taking too much of a risk. My version of that was looking him in the eye (and possibly pointing for effect): "So [name I'm surprised I remembered]... d'you have a boyfriend?" Apparently, it came off as a ploy to turn the attention away from him, but I really asked out of my own phallically-driven curiosity. Everyone's head turned for his answer. He paused before saying, "Yes, I do."

I don't think anyone said a word to him for the rest of the night.

Some random from the house who grabbed RSTLNE’s hand: “What’s this? Oh, a class ring. Wow, you probably wouldn’t like me. I went to a state school.”

RSTLE: “No, no, no, no! I actually like state-school guys!”

Me; “RSTLNE, are you serious with that statement. You just said the equivalent of ‘Some of my best friends are black!’ ‘Some of my favorite guys went to state schools!’”

Urban Sprawl jested in my ear, “No wonder we hardly hang with anyone from a Big 3.”

Did I just say that Urban Sprawl jested in my ear?!

We polished off Urban Sprawl’s bottle around the time that the house was about to start cooking dinner (which meant everyone needed to clear out). As I was walking around the pool towards the bathroom, a friend of a friend (who had slept over at the Westbury Estate) ran at me and grabbed me by the shoulders. When you’re a foot away from the pool and someone has you in their grasp, you can either fight and fall in or just roll your eyes and fall in. I chose the latter. Unfortunately, I had my glasses on, and they didn’t come up with me.

. o O (Okay, how productive would it be to go off on this guy? I’ll look like the angry black guy who can’t take a joke. He doesn’t know how I am about cold water, and it’s not like I just did my hair. Really, as long as I get my glasses back, I’m fine.)

After about 10 minutes of me fake half-panicking about my glasses and getting them to turn on the deck lights (it was dark, and the pool itself had no lights), dude finally came up with my glasses. I took him aside and told him that usually black hair and water don’t mix, especially since we tend to spend a lot of time and money on our hair if it’s more than a half inch long. And I used the phrase, “I’m not mad, I’m just letting you know.” I think he got it, but who knows.

When I came out of the bathroom, I ran into the guy with the boyfriend who was still in his speedo. “Um, dude,” I said, pointing down, “your cock head is sticking out.”

“Huh?”

“Look at the waist band of your speedo.”

“Oh. Crap.”

I had set my alarm to catch the 8:50 ferry, but the one flaw in my plan was that I wasn’t wearing pants at 8:50. Even worse, Morehead was driving back to Manhattan and had texted me to see if I wanted a ride. Many of the guys were going back to Westbury, and most of them were planning to take a late ferry back from Cherry Grove (about a half mile from the Pines), but I ended up taking the 9:50 back to catch a train to Manhattan.

I ran into Ms. W’s roommate on the ferry (there’s a slight crush there), and we ended up flirting and cuddling on the ferry. Then he ran into an older guy he was checking out earlier in the day. By the time we got back to Manhattan, it was pretty obvious that the two of them were going home together. I guess my going there with him could have had the potential for awkwardness, and I was over it in about 30 seconds.

Did I mention I ended up going directly to No Parking after getting into Penn Station around midnight?

Yeah.

My blog turned a year old last week! Check out some of my early posts here.

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