It was my first share, having only been a weekend guest at hotels or worse yet, a daytripper.  The daytripper is easily spotted by the backpack they tote with them everywhere they go and the intense look in their eye straddling desperate for a place to stay and desperate to get laid.  Between subway, Long Island Rail, taxi, and Ferry, it can be a three hour trip each way so the daytripper often tries to become an overnighter, tempting the adage “beggars can’t be choosers.”  I heard about stories of sleeping on people’s rooftops, on the beach, on the dock, or just giving up and forgoing sleep for the night (as if that doesn’t happen to some of us anyway).  As a young doe-eyed daytripper I never understood why people who had shares didn’t just fling open their doors for the rest of us.  But now that I was on the other side, I get it…the share isn’t just a house, it’s a home you make with your fellow housemo’s.

The BackPack at a Party - Daytripper!

And don’t get me started on being a weekender and the underwhelming amenities of the local hotels.  (I’m sorry, for $300 bucks I want more than cinder blocks and shared bathrooms – yeah I’m talking to you Hotel Ciel!  And I did not order crabs with my bed Belvedere Hotel!).  Ahem, anyway, shares are great ways to guarantee extended stays on the island, as you generally have the entire week – so if it’s a quarter share you get five weeks and a half share gets your ten.  The thing to note about shares is the emphasis on the word SHARE.  I did not expect this, but many many houses prefer to set up very communal schedules, where everyone cooks together and takes care of the house together.  Don’t worry, most houses hire maids once a week, I mean, we aren’t animals!  But especially coming from a one-bedroom apartment and a city where three literally is a crowd, living and sharing with ten people takes some getting used to.

Communal living can be great though.  I know I know, I was cynical too but it’s kind of incredible to have an instant extended family (just add water…ok vodka).  And the houses can be huge, so that family can be 15 or 20 guys strong.  Never in my tiny Brooklyn apartment could I entertain that many guys at once…try as I may. But all families, extended or not, can be a little tiring after a while.  Though the food you cook as a group is generally the best you’ll find on the island, it can get a little rocky waiting for a house of ten guys plus guests to converge on dinner from the teas, the meatrack, and lord knows who’s hottub.  That’s where the Prosecco comes in, which is apparently this year’s Rosé, in case you’re keeping score.  It held me over waiting for dinner more than once.  But if the drink trends keep heading in this direction next year’s beverage du jour will be lighter fluid.  Oh wait, they already have that, it’s called Pine’s Punch (drink at your own risk – I almost fell off a boat after one pungent punch!)

11PM dinner almost served

And speaking of trends, I’m calling you guys out.  Since the Pines is all about what you’re wearing and (hopefully) not wearing, I couldn’t help but notice one trend that better be dead by next year - Board shorts.  Talk about dead trend walking.  Who decided that we were going to have tanlines starting around the knees?  Who decided we were going to be demure this summer?  Not this gay.  While the beach scene may have been typified in the past by what can only be deemed speedon’ts (speedos where they shouldn’t be), this year it was all about the board shorts.  Even one of the two circuit parties held on the island was themed “Endless Summer” which sadly meant a night of looking at all the wrong prints covering all the right bodies.

I miss these...

...but not these

What surprised me the most though and the biggest lesson learned was the mood that overtakes the island the last few weeks of summer.  Granted, those weeks are just as fun and full of debauchery, and still way too many trannies up in my business, but there’s a hint of sadness.  It’s the end of summer camp and time to go back to reality with the chill of autumn already hitting the city.  Every last supper is called The Last Supper, and that’s when I realized this was more than just a vacation for a lot of people who hit the Pines.  It’s not a place they visit, it’s a place they live.  We’re already talking about next year’s house, and during the cold months of winter I’ll tide myself over by watching this video one or two (hundred) times.  If you haven’t seen this video yet, stop what you’re doing right now and watch it!  I’m mortified to write this, but a Miley Cyrus song, with GENIUS Fire Island footage, pretty much sums up my summer on fire.

Party in the FIP

So basically, the Meat Rack is like a 50,000 square foot sauna. Like I said in another post it’s the area of land between the Pines and Cherry Grove, and it’s arguably the quickest way to get from one to the other. Arguable only in the sense that it’s easy to get distracted so a twenty minute walk ends up stealing your afternoon and making you late for tea. Whether you’re a voyeur, an exhibitionist, or madly in love with a new friend for the next twenty minutes, the Meat Rack is the spot for you to get your fix of hedonism. Technically it’s illegal to play in the area but with several ways off the beaten path, to the well hidden beating paths, the action still goes on.

Local Wildlife

According to my sources, who of course all claim never to actually go there, the Meat Rack is at it’s peak in the late afternoon, after getting hot and bothered on the beach, and late night after getting randy at the bars. In the afternoon you mostly have to be careful of the men who set up camp in the Meat Rack. No, not with tents and sleeping bags, but with lawnchairs, newspapers, and cock rings. They sit in strategically marked spots, waiting for some boys to stray from the herd. You can compare them to that guy in the sauna who tries to get involved when he’s clearly uninvited…not that I’ve ever been in that sort of situation, I swear. If you’re looking to find some action in the afternoon, I realized it’s a lot like bird watching, as a friend of mine took me through the woods of the rack. One minute we’re walking along and the next I’m told to be quiet and to slowly walk towards what looks like just a row of bushes. As we near we see a small opening and hidden away from the path is a small group of guys. And I’m guessing that if they were birds they’d be Swallows…ahem, you know what I mean. At night it’s a little harder to find people once you’re in the Meat Rack…there are absolutely no lights and once in the wooded area, even the stars don’t help you anymore. Most often you’ll see groups of boys giggling and squealing their way through, like a remake of the Blair Witch Project. So you’ll probably want to bring a friend with you instead of trusting whatever lurks behind that flickering iPhone in the distance.

Midnight Cardio

Now I’m not one to judge (I swear!!). The Meat Rack adds to the Pines experience, even if you don’t actively seek out any wooded woodpeckers. It is yet another way that Fire Island offers a complete escape and a community where anything goes. I for one think the Meat Rack is an institution worth supporting. Where else in the country can you find a gorgeous stretch of land devoted almost entirely to orgasms?

So it’s definitely a sight to behold, and worth paying extra for the primo holiday weekend, when every 4^th of July the Pines experiences what’s simply known as “the invasion.” It’s safe to say that today there’s a love hate relationship between the Pines and Cherry Grove, but it hasn’t always been so warm and fuzzy between the two. At least now there’s some love. In the 1970’s drag queens were a large part of the Cherry Grove experience but frowned upon by some in the Pines community. In the summer of ’76 one drag queen was denied service at the Botel, a former Pines hotel and restaurant. Upon hearing this, some local trannies planned to descend upon the Pines in a show of solidarity. Stealing a page from of George Washington, who attacked the British on Christmas day, the revolutionary trannies staged their invasion on Independence Day. While it was a great surprise to the residents of the Pines, there was no battle, and the only bloodshed came from anyone in heels trying to maneuver the boardwalk after a few cocktails. The small group of trannies was actually welcomed with a warm hugs, major snaps, and a few “oh haaaaay”s.

Little did they know this would become an annual event, where every 4^th of July a group of drag queens board a water taxi in Cherry Grove and heads over to the Pines. And the number of trannies participating has ballooned (who says trannies can’t reproduce?). Now they pack themselves in by the dozens, braving the rocky seas with weaves, make up, and accessories fiercely in place. And they are welcomed with huge crowds of buff boys, leather daddys, trannies in training, and every other kind of lgbt islander. This is the genius of the annual party. In a group where there’s sometime a little too much division, this event like no other brings together every kind of queer. For a day we forget which kind of gay we are, enjoy one of the best bashes of the year, and are free to tap into our own part time tranny.

Halfway through the summer I’ve realized you actually need three things on the island…money, an iPhone, and stamina. The Pines is a paradise of fun and games. But if you aren’t a kid anymore, these games start to take it out of you. There’s so much to do and see, and well, “do”, and see being “done”, that staying a week or even a few days is like the ultimate physical challenge. It isn’t quite like running a sprint, and it isn’t like running a marathon either. Just for giggles I’d like to call it a biathlon, but that’s only two events, and well, there really aren’t any bi guys (I mean really). No, every visit on Fire Island is like a freakin decathlon and if you don’t pace yourself you’ll being dragging your tired ass across the finish line and onto the ferry home. Luckily there are lots of ways to recharge on the island and eventually you learn which events to enter.

Thursday is generally the opening ceremony, and like the Olympics, nothing really counts so you don’t need to go all out on this night. I watched one evening as friends arriving from the city unwound with cocktails at the house, hit low tea to check out the scene, had a boozy dinner, relaxed in the hot tub and then made it out for one last round at Sip n Twirl, though one swears he doesn’t remember going there. He also doesn’t remember using pick up lines that invariably included the words pee, rape, and “come oonnnnnnnn.” Now, since it’s Fire Island, there are worse lines, but this friend’s poor form knocked him out of commission for Friday when the island gets into full swing.

The action peaks on Saturday, where you can always find house parties in the middle of the day, followed by low tea, middle tea, and high tea…or as I call it the triple pump, er, I mean triple jump. Then there’s dinner to be followed by dancing, at the Pavilion in the Pines, or Cherry’s in the Grove for the more ambitious gays. But at this point in the weekend you have no choice but to start making choices. Some people blow their party load early in the day and that’s all right…the smarter Pines partier will know to take it easy later on.

Oh, and speaking of easy loads, at this party we ran into a friend leaving with a new friend to go find a bathroom. He came back 15 minutes later with his new friend’s “easy load” on his lips and shoulder. There’s really no way to comment on this, other than maybe when you think you’ve seen all there is to see in the Pines, your friend comes back to the party covered in spooge.

Like I was saying, after all the partying that can be done during the day some may still force themselves out for the night but after two or three days of that, try to remember you’re visiting one of the most beautiful beaches in the northeast and some days the party can go on without you. Another friend kindly suggested to start doing lines to stay up, and while that advice may work for some, I’d say just pace yourself before you waste yourself.

So no, it’s not because you need to be able to make calls…though most other phones don’t get service on the island. In some ways that’s a pro; you get to completely unplug and just let yourself get swept up in the environment. However, there are times when you’ll absolutely need to reach out and touch someone. Like if you want to txt that guy you just met at Sip n Twirl to find out where his hot tub is, then you’ll need to get some service, before getting, well, some service.

Also, when you’re out and about in a bathing suit, how much can you really carry? Sure, stuff it into your bathing suit, but a camera isn’t the bulge we’re looking for down there. Instead, your iPhone is the perfect way to capture some of the natural beauty, gym-pressed beauties, and of course the not so pretty moments.

These pictures, for example, are from Shequida’s amazing show at the Ice Palace in Cherry Grove. (BTW, sorry Shequida, you got totally upstaged by Busted, the most entertaining drag queen this year…I mean, a white girl in an Erykah Badu costume performing a spiritual song and actually going out and exorcising the crowd? You can’t beat it).

And if you get asked onto a speedboat by some rich daddy and his Russian boytoy whore, you have to be able to capture the amazing sunsets. I don’t know how my phone didn’t fly into the ocean during this one.

And like I said, the Shequida show was in the Grove (Cherry Grove, land of lesbians and more “colorful” gays), which is a hop, skip, and Meat-rack jump away from the Pines. The Meat-rack, well, it’s hard to begin describing the Meat-rack. It’s a gorgeous state park that separates the Pines and the Grove, with forests, dunes, deers, amazing views, and so much public fucking you almost feel weird if you don’t have your cock out.  In the middle of the night and at the end of a few cocktails, the iPhone becomes a necessity. There’s a flashlight app but all you really need to do is keep activating the wallpaper screen and you’ll be able to see just enough to make it across. People used to carry tiny flashlights but now they let their screens show the way. Like fireflies you can see iPhones flashing on and off, some heading towards each other to meet up and some running away for cover.

Then there are the hilarious apps to use and abuse while out and about. Like Grindr, which is fun more for the uselessness of it than anything else. It’s an app that tells you how far away a gay guy is and usually shows a picture and what they’re into. At the Ice Palace, the closest gay guy was my housemate who was standing next to me and it said he was 80 ft away. So basically it just called us fat and said there were no other gay guys in the bar. And there’s Bumpit, where you can just bump phones to get that hottie’s number before he leaves to turn up the heat in the hot tub.

Sure, you don’t NEED an iPhone on Fire Island, but if you want to have more fun, and an easier time remembering it all, I’d say don’t leave home without it.