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.