We carried our own booze to the beach on Friday. B took a pint of Svedka Vodka. I purchased a plastic jug from the Dollar Store and filled it with chardonnay wine from a box. A three dollar Styrofoam cooler filled with ice was all we needed to survive the beating rays of a golden August sun beating down upon the Fire Island Pines. B made roast beef sandwiches and potato salad.
The beach was still relatively empty when we arrived at 2 pm. A portion of the beach was roped off due to the growth of some protected shrub. There was little room for anyone to sit on the beach without being washed out to sea by rogue waves that sometimes crested above the mountain of sand that obstructed our layman’s view of the Atlantic. We took refuge behind a large piece of driftwood that had washed ashore, and did not realize that more than one hundred well-bred dogs would stop to pee there over the course of the day.
B forbade me from swimming, although several naked gay men swam in the sea right before us. Reports on Channel 5 news on Thursday indicated that sharks and large stingrays were spotted in the waters off Fire Island. By 3 pm I was too intoxicated to swim anyway.
A heterosexual couple, Harry and Joan sat on the sand near us and the piece of peed upon drift wood. Harry drove two large wooden stakes into the sand just inches away from my white feet and inserted umbrellas into them. “We are not in your way?” The rich Jew asked. “No, not at all,” my lover responded, his gold tooth shinning in the sand as the couple looked down on us.
“I have to stay out of the sun,” was all Joan admitted. A large hat with a wide brim offered shade over her entire face as she smiled.
Joan sat down and started to read immediately. Harry ran to the seaside as if in search of some sort of solitude. B whispered in my ear, “I’d rather have them sitting next to us than one of those chatty queens who sat behind us on the ferry ride here.”
to be continued….