after wiping the spit from my face i noticed a humpy couple prowling around in the dunes . . . they ignored me until i took off my shirt and moved into action central, an area where i have seen as many as 50 horny men congregating on a hot moonlit night . . . we hooked up pretty quickly, starting a sex cluster . . . i'm way too picky for the group thing and crowd control is hardly possible when u are having sex in public, so i was pleasantly surprised to hear take us home . . . i'd love to, but i live all the way at the other end . . . that's ok, take us home . . . so i did and couldn't quite believe it when they walked a full mile, 20 paces behind me to minimize any lust-killing small talk, to my bedroom where i'd never had sex in four years, let alone a threesome . . . it was hot but once it ended, i had two questions: 1) what did we do inside that we couldn't have done outside much more conveniently? and 2) why did the younger guy ask his boyfriend for his wallet before he went into the bathroom for the second time? . . . were drugs the answer? . . . DUH!

is it my imagination or does everyone at low tea look a little bit tweaked? . . . there's Kevin, the adorable 31-year-old with a devil's beard who asked me to be his bottom boy at the party around 2 a.m., an ego gratifying request that nevertheless sent me back to the safety of the dance floor instead of my bedroom . . . he's in the same clothes working another older guy . . . c'est la vie . . . after dropping D off at the ferry, i head to the meatrack hoping for some "off hours" action (like everything else in the Pines, to maximize your opportunities you must adhere to the rigid schedule) . . . abandoned glow worms litter the dunes, offering an eerie green illumination in the humid dusk . . . a little guy approaches me, his hand reaching for my crotch immediately . . . i pass muster but don't work up much enthusiasm until a shirtless black man with a beautiful chest joins us . . . we deep kiss and he sucks expertly on my nipples before dropping his pants . . . i feel his Prince Albert before i see it . . . oh no, if i go down on him, i know that the ring is going to bang against my teeth and make an unpleasant sound that will ring through my head, the sexual equivalent of a dentist's drill . . . i accept his offer of poppers . . . as soon as the little guy moves away, the black man rises from his knees and spits in my face, once and then again . . . i can't bring myself to spit back and when he reaches orgasm, a few minutes later, i can't resist asking what's that spitting thing all about?. . . smiling broadly, he answers i don't know, i just like it . . . is it racial? i persist . . . no, not at all, i do it with my black boyfriends too. . . talking makes him nervous . . . i find the answer and the sex unsatisfying.

Xmas is coming, Xmas is coming! . . . that's what it felt like the weekend of the Pines 2001 party, when my housemates and i began putting on the Russian sailor shirts that D had brought back from Moscow for the occasion . . kind of like what the Pet Shop Boys would call a red letter day . . . can u tell that i'm relatively new to the circuit party experience? . . . but ever since last year, i had been counting the days until August 11 when i hoped to recapture the excitement of dancing all night on the beach among a tribe of half naked men who come together from all over the world . . . my first dose of ecstacy, the headless horseman variety, undoubtedly contributed to my aura of well being and i'd been warned not to expect the same level of intensity this time around but hey, even if it was only half as much fun, i'd still have a great time . . . not for a second did i believe V, the housemate who can get under my skin most easily, that i looked grim and determinedwhen the sun rose . . . yet it WAS only half as much fun, despite another tab of E--this time imprinted with the Euro sign--and a brief downpour that added to the sweaty sensuality of hands gripping bare chests from behind and tops beating the rhythm of the music into bottoms . . . the bacchanal ignited a sexual frenzy that still hasn't subsided . . . only a cold sore on my upper lip prevents me from unwrapping more presents under the pine trees in the meatrack.

u oughta be in pictures typed some guy in Philadelphia . . . if not for webcam technology, i might never have heard this cliche . . . there i sat, stark naked and artfully lit, in a chair with ICU software transmitting the image all over the world . . . it sounds really dumb, or at least it did to me, jerking off while watching small images on a computer screen, but once u try it, it's hard to beat the convenience, though i have yet to master the skill of one hand typing . . . remember the line from The Boys in the Band about masturbation? . . . u don't have to look your best. . . that's certainly true on ICU where cocks rule . . . all u have to do is go to a group room and hit "join in" . . . within seconds, as many as a dozen erections appear on your screen in tiny boxes, some from as far away as Turkey, others as close as Chelsea . . . u select the ones u want to keep open, and if they like u too, u can customize your very own on-line circle jerk . . . i call myself Swim Coach which definitely ups the fantasy ante and have learned that careful positioning of the camera can add inches to my allure . . . it also pays to have thick skin . . . i can't tell u how many times guys will tell me how hot i am and then ask: age?. . . if i answer truthfully, they click off . . . so now i type, cum first and i'll tell u!