mom was right about fresh underwear (which of course requires a clean buttcrack to remain skidmark-free) . . . U just never know when U will end up in a car wreck . . . or the Pig Pit after some resourceful analinguist has imported new furniture.

here's the drill: at the beach, i often rely on what my father described as a "whore's bath" when we moved to France and i asked what is that funny looking thing in the bathroom that looks kinda like a geyser in the toilet? . . . it turns out that that sex pigs and whores aren't so different tho there aren't any bidets in the Pines that i know of . . . a quick dip in the ocean or pool between tricks will take care of any sticky body fluids after a little soap & water have been applied to your arm pits, cock and ass before U leave the house in the morning . . . ooh, gross cry my housemates who, like most Americans, take hygiene to an absurd level . . . they do their best to eliminate the ripe odors that make men unmistakably men by showering as frequently as they change their morning, afternoon and evening outfits.

it's unlikely that brown skid marks would show up on my black Speedo anyway but having a shit-free ass made me a lot more comfortable as i lowered myself onto the makeshift rim chair that had suddenly appeared in the Pig Pit . . . i wouldn't even have known that it was a rim chair if some guy weren't lying flat on his back underneath it, with his head positioned directly below the horizontal rubber slats . . . as soon as i pulled down my bathing suit and sat down he spread the slats as far apart as they would go and dug in with the gusto of a gastronome.

now for the embarrassing part . . . he definitely wanted some nipple play because he had his shirt pulled up but when i tried to unbuckle his belt he pushed my hands away . . . what exactly did he want? . . . in my book, rimming generally falls into the foreplay category but after 10 minutes of having my ass swabbed and tickled by his square-cut goatee, i grew a little bored and looked around for some reading material . . . he, however, seemed as content as a Holstein chewing her cud . . . i suppose the obvious thing to have done would have been to jerk off and leave . . . post-ejaculation small talk would have required rearranging the furniture and therefore did not seem entirely appropriate . . . instead, i overthought the situation and wondered if he wanted what i understand is known as "a little sugar."

believe me, i thought i was accommodating my sex partner when i began to push my empty bowels like a pregnant woman in a Lamaze class . . . he rewarded my effort with even more vigorous probing of my rosebud . . . i pushed and pushed until suddenly he sputtered loudly and drew the back of his hand across his mouth . . . had i gone too far? did my pantry have some sugar after all? did he get more than he ordered? am i out of my fucking mind?

undeterred, he continued after spitting . . . i quickly shot a load on his chest . . . as he got up, brushing the leaves, dirt and god knows what else from the back of his clothing, i avoided eye contact and beat a hasty retreat to the ocean . . . and as soon as i got home i took a long hot shower, finally adding shame to my list of meatrack acquaintances.

how often do U get a chance to give someone the shirt off your back? . . . it's a good thing i didn't wear just my Speedo while photographing the more interesting flotsam and jetsam on the beach in extreme close-up late yesterday afternoon . . . naturally i ended up in the meatrack where i immediately spotted somebody whacking off while seated on one of those ubiquitous white plastic chairs featured in the july issue of the Smithsonian . . . who knew something so hideous ever would qualify for design recognition? . . . they call it "a chair for all seasons" . . . yesterday it was more like a throne for Big Dick Dude . . . through the bushes i could see the head of his uncut cock poking above the arm rest like a periscope and the rapid motion of his elbow as he langorously smoked with the other hand.

Big Dick Dude was not an unfamiliar presence . . . for years our attitude towards one another has been studied indifference . . . U know how it is with anonymous cruising: if U saw someone as many times in any other environment U would have a nodding acquaintance but here, seeing the same person repeatedly reminds U how frequently U are there so it's better just to erase their existence.

nothing much was going on elsewhere so i parked myself in the shade at an intersection where i could see the occasional comings and goings . . . Big Dick Dude walked past eventually, stark naked . . . longish hair, Fuller Brush mustache, broad shoulders, slim but well-defined, he looked as if he belonged in an After Dark fashion spread, circa 1972 . . . apparently time has stood still in some parts of Long Island . . . his complete nudity in such a public spot and the absence of a cigarette seemed a little out of the ordinary but i didn't pay much attention except to note i wasn't going to get very far with his kind of competition even if another hot prospect else did show up.

Big Dick Dude finally aroused my curiosity, if nothing else, half an hour later, while i was making a final tour of all the trysting spots including the one where i had been introduced to Tina (i recalled seeing an abandoned bag in the area and wondered if it was still there . . . it was but the thick underbrush impeded further investigation) . . . excuse me Big Dick Dude said as he brushed past me on his way into the Pig Pit, clearly agitated and still naked . . . i'd never heard him speak before . . . the low timbre of his voice would have sounded great on the other end of a phone sex line although i didn't imagine he would begin yelling SHIT! and FUCK! quite so loudly just seconds later.

it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Big Dick Dude couldn't find his clothes . . . was it penis envy that me giggle? . . . that's what u get for being such a show off, buddy . . . it also occurred to me that someone he rejected was out to get even but as the severity of his embarrassing predicament grew more obvious--how would U get back to Sayville without clothes or money from a popular resort community that requires ferry transport and what would U do after U got there?--and the expressions of his rising frustration more frequent and audible--think of the sound a bull elephant makes before he is about to charge and U will get the idea--i softened . . . are u ok? i finally asked . . . did u see anybody with a white bag? he demanded . . . his grey eyes bored into mine and suddenly Big Dick Dude transcended his prime asset and became the Dude Up The Creek . . . it turns out up close he was much better looking than i thought, too.

if i catch the guy that did this i'm going to make him pay bad he warned . . . first things first, fella . . . would it help if i gave u my shirt? . . . with a little luck, the extra large black Russell Athletic singlet i was wearing would reach down to his knees tho that didn't necessarily mean it would cover his privates. . . the cruelty that normally characterizes the meatrack threw the kindness of my offer into high relief . . . the Dude Up The Creek looked at me with grateful surprise . . . yes . . . little did he know that i had even more tricks up my now bare sleeve.

here, follow me . . . i led him to the abandoned bag . . . now what are the odds it would contain a black chiffon evening dress and black heels? . . . i guess better on Fire Island than most places . . . no fuckin' way am i gonna wear this stuff he growled . . . that phone sex voice again, this time at almost the right volume . . . fortunately we also found a sodden beach towel to complete his ensemble . . . the next move was his . . . he thanked me again and we parted company . . . do U think we will acknowledge each other the next time our paths cross?

ever gone speedwalking shortly after gorging on an Independence Day barbeque and binge drinking? . . . getting shitfaced can be lots of fun just so long as i don’t do it as often as some of my housemates . . . but we only drink like this when we’re out here they rationalize . . . ahhhhh, rationalization . . . so helpful when it comes to drink, drugs and sex . . . it gave me an excuse to cross a new line, and just as the crystal backlash appears to be gaining new momentum . . . if U went to the Gay Pride parade this year, U know exactly what i mean . . . a mobile traffic sign proclaiming "Crystal Meth: Nothing To Be Proud Of" followed shortly after the stroller-pushing gay parents, demarcating the two poles of queer life as we know it in 2004 . . . i even spotted a couple of hunky spectators wearing “Tina Is No Friend Of Mine” t-shirts exchanging phone numbers . . . a Times wedding announcement that says “the couple met at a CMA meeting” can’t be far behind.

but when i entered the meatrack, considerably more sober than when i started out 90 minutes earlier, my voice hoarsened by singing along with Avril Lavigne's “Don’t Tell Me” far too loudly and way too often during my four mile walk, i was thinking only about getting my rocks off . . . none of the younger guys seemed to be having much problem . . . whoever determines the rigid Pines schedule has decreed that pre-tea is prime time for daylight cruising in the meatrack (has this activity finally lost some of its stigma? one recent afternoon i saw at least half a dozen small groups of men going at it in very public spots) . . . nobody paid me much attention until i passed a bear with a close-cropped beard and a circle of mostly gay flags tattoos around his initials on his shoulder who screamed sex pig . . . follow me, fella . . . he did and we began going at it immediately.

it didn’t take him long to suggest that we light the pipe . . . i remained silent at first, perfectly content to have legally intoxicated sex but when it became pretty clear that refusal wasn’t going to be an option i decided what the hell . . . i need to see what all the fuss is about and besides, what have i got to lose now that i have quit my job? . . . he wanted to move to a more private area . . . i took him deep into the dunes to a small clearing so seldom used that it wasn’t littered with the trash that spoils the more heavily trafficked areas . . . if he thought i would take him home, he had the wrong guy: no way was i going to introduce Tina to my housemates the first time i met her!

truth be told, she and i didn’t get along all that well anyway . . . maybe i didn’t give her a chance, but first impressions do count, U know . . . she kinda got in the way, sort of like your kid sister who’s always whining for attention when your parents are out of town and all U want to do is shut the bedroom door and jerk off with the guy on the swim team who keeps returning your glances in the locker room after practice . . . i mean here’s this hot guy whose face makes me practically swoon and who kisses really well and now we have to stop what we’re doing and move to a different area to light the pipe . . . okay maybe this did give us the opportunity to take off all our clothes but just as i’m starting to enjoy the heat of his furry body pressed against mine he stops and reaches into his backpack . . . out comes a glass tube with a hollow bubble at the end and a miniature version of what i’m thinking we should have used to light the coals for the barbeque . . . he takes the first hit and then shotguns the smoke into my mouth as we begin a deep kiss . . . as soon as i exhale he takes another hit and then hands me the pipe . . . we repeat the sequence and i’m feeling a rush of euphoria which does greatly intensify the sensuality of the experience . . . it also gives me a sense of confidence without altering my consciousness . . . if anything, i’m superconscious . . . the little grunts he’s making in my ears are turning me on as much as his mouth on my chewing my nipple or sucking my cock . . . and then i suddenly realize my dick isn’t quite as hard as it usually is.

houston, we have a problem when somebody has his tongue as deep in my ass as Pluto's orbit and i’m not in ramrod mode . . . at first i’m wondering if maybe i’ve had too much sex lately . . . or maybe i’m just not responding to the heterosexual porn fantasy that he began spinning as soon as we got high . . . i mean, i know i’m high . . . why else would i be trash talking about eating pussy and having a threesome every Tuesday night with the beautiful young couple who lives directly across the street from me in the city? . . . i’m the kind of guy who can barely deliver a gay porn cliche when called upon to do so . . . sure i can turn into Barbara Walters afterward, but during the act of sex mum is usually the word for me, not her pussy juice is dripping from my mouth . . . thank U Margaret Cho for helping me fake it!

it’s not that i’m not enjoying myself . . . and it’s true that our encounter is lasting much longer than my usual but Tina keeps interrupting the natural ebb and flow of sex . . . when he stops to light the pipe a second time i begin wondering how we’re going to make our way through the deep thicket of bushes that surround us . . . maybe that’s the problem: Tina keeps me too much in my head, eager to verbalize, when eats, shoots and leaves is my preferred sequence of events during anonymous sex . . . i can’t say that i’m sorry when finally he comes, long before i am even remotely ready . . . but neither am i particularly eager to leave his company.

i’ve never done this before i confess . . . i mean smoked crystal . . . he looks at me incredulously and says u could have fooled me before quickly adding don’t do it too often . . . Tina interjects yeah, i was pretty convincing wasn’t i? . . . she also encourages me to accept his offer to accompany him for a slice of pizza in the Grove even though i’m penniless, barefoot and barechested . . . i get a little nervous when he reaches into his backpack again but this time he pulls out a sleeveless Key West Fire Department and hands it to me with a smile.

eating pizza together proves to be the most awkward part of the evening . . . when i comment on how often he checks out the people passing by our table--including some couple he had sex with before me--he responds u told me back there u weren’t the marrying kind . . . hmmmmmm, and u told me that i was your first of the day . . . a little later he explains that his ex-lover, with whom he still shares property in two places, didn’t accompany him to the beach today as planned because they had a fight . . . he also calls me by the wrong name when i put him on the 11:30 p.m. boat.

i walk away feeling that letting him buy me a slice was a mistake and head straight back to the meatrack even though i insisted i would be returning to the Pines along the beach . . . i eat and shoot twice before leaving, fulfilled only in the sense that i know that my sex addiction won’t be taking a back seat to Tina anytime soon . . . but then again, maybe that’s why breaking up with her is so hard to do: people who need crystal meth for sex associate lighting the pipe with orgasm, something that no twelve-step program can help U live without . . . cuz who would want to?