Let’s be a summer share in Fire Island Pines!

I’m the ‘B’ side share snooping through the ‘A’ side’s dresser drawers and closet, hoping to find drugs or weed.

I'm the hoe using cooking oil as lube as I get up in the swing for my fifth fuck of the day.

I’m the fat fag hag who comes for one weekend and wants to be everyone’s best friend

I'm Malone, swimming away from the shore, bent on suicide.

I'm the smell of sun block on hot balls.

I'm Sutherland accidentally overdosing and never waking up.

I'm the freezing, godawful Atlantic that is usually too rough for swimming. Miami is where it's at and the sea is warm too.

'I’m the daylong drama of whether to cook individual game hens or one large rack of lamb for our dinner.'

IS this really what you do there? You sound about 80 years old.

I'm 80 in the B shares, wondering why no one talks to me.

I'm the flattened brush deep in the shrubbery.

I'm all the young gays who go to Tulum instead. Better weather, warmer sea, whiter beaches.

I'm the drunken post-dinner nap before the midnight Underwear Party in the Grove....

And the last-minute decision: fuck it. I'm not trudging all the way to the Grove to have boys be rude to me in their underwear.

I'm the lack of inhibition.

I'm the eight bottles of wine for the weekend.

Six of them will be empty before brunch on Saturday. Ooopsy.

I'm the 3 types of quiche the fag-hag guest has lovingly whipped up for Sunday brunch.

Unfortunately, everyone in the house is either too hungover, still high, or missing in action for brunch, so she will tearfully sit down and finish one by herself over the NYT Styles section.

PS: she took the next ferry back and left a fucking mess in the kitchen, boys.

I'm the surprisingly well-attended AA meeting. One day at a time.

I'm these girls.

I’m the plywood paneling in the bedrooms. You might as well just hang sheets of toilet paper as room dividers. This shit isn’t blocking any carnal sounds.

I'm the perfect outfit for Low Tea: flirty but not slutty, casual but not Trying Too Hard, gay but not "tres gay."

Are we still doing rompers? Or is that totally 2019?

I'm the massive piles of mildewing, damp oversized towels.

You may as well burn me. You will never get that smell out.

I’m the no-trick rule that’s supposedly enforced, by July it’s a free-for-all and there’s cum discovered floating in the pool in the morning.

OMG, the last time I was in Fire Island Pines was in1999 and that is exactly what happened. Rack of lamb won! My elderly friend also fell off the boardwalk on his way home. He was drunk and it took 3 people to help hoist him back up. So embarrassing.

I'm the Transtapo-loving, AOC-worshipping, shrieking Millennial SJW gays who spend nine months a year bleating and posting endlessly about BLM, Trans Lives Matter, and DIVERSITY, who then spend three months in the Pines in an all-sixpack, all-white share house! There won't be much "diversity" in the guys who fuck them all summer either!

I'm everyone under 30 laughing at the thought of going to Fire Island when Cancun and Miami exist.

Nobody knows what happened to Malone that night.

'If it's a pill, take it.'

I’m the ticks, and your Lyme Disease.

[quote]I'm everyone under 30 laughing at the thought of going to Fire Island when Cancun and Miami exist.

Yes, well some people live in New York and want a summer cottage that they don't have to take a plane and fly for hours to reach.

Is anyone still going to Cancun? Wasn't that super-hot in the late 90s/early 00s? And no, gramps. Young gay guys are not going to Miami unless they live there.

R28 is correct. I think many DLers have never been to Fire Island and have no understanding of those who do. It's a weekend beach community for NY-area people who buy regular shares in houses. It's not Key West or Palm Springs.

Cancun and Miami existed 30 years ago too

Cold polluted sea, no thanks.

We’re the faded cardboard boxes of board games on the living room entertainment center. No longer played, and with many pieces missing, we recall the days of the 80s and 90s when the boys would play “strip” versions of us. Strip Trivial Pursuit, Strip Scrabble, Strip Monopoly, etc. Nowadays they just look at their phones.

I own the house. The 12 week A renters pay the property taxes and maintenance/upkeep for the full year. The every other weekly B groups are pure profit. And I get to enjoy the house from April through Memorial Day and then the best time of the year, After Labor day through Halloween.

[quote] Are we still doing rompers? Or is that totally 2019?

Oh, but definitely!

I’m the tiny blue Speedo, size XS. I’m rolled in a ball and stuffed in the back of the drawer, a souvenir from last nights twink trick.

I’m the housemates who were happy to take your money for the 4th bedroom, but won’t be caught dead with you in public. Tah tah—we’re off to a party! Have a good night!

We’re doing abs by the pool.

I'm the stupid "We have to all eat dinner together" house mate

I'm a relationship. I got off the ferry in June, got beaten up immediately, and my body was hidden in the shrubbery.

I hear hook-ups, one-night stands, and quickies prancing along the boardwalk above me, and I call out to be rescued be but no one hears me.

We are the lesbians in adjacent Cherry Grove. We prefer quieter pursuits.

I'm the truly terrible drag act at the Ice Palace, convincing you all that my anger-management issues (or is it Tourette's?) and filthy mouth are outrageous and unfiltered and super FUN.

I'm just an excuse for y'all to drink excessively. I know I have no talent.

I'm the Belvedere Bathhouse with rooms at $400/night

And I'm your unchanged bed linens and towels at the Belvedere. I will accompany you for the entire length of your stay.

I’m the $500.00 worth of drugs that start getting consumed in the jitney/train over and by 9:00 pm at dinner have run out. Then I’m the 1500.00 with of drugs that get purchased locally due to the insane sand bank markup.

I'm your Queer Studies academic/journalist/bookish/activist friend visiting for the weekend ("I've never been before!") And I'm appalled. Enraged. By the classism, the de facto racism and sexism ("have we seen one lesbian of color in these Pines houses?"), the commodification of sex and gay desire. The dumbness of it all.

Then a hot dude offers me a bump at the Underwear Party and I blow him. And two of his friends.

I'm renting a room in the Grove for the rest of August.

I’m the 90s porn god you lusted after. I’m walking the planks of Ocean Walk in my Speedo, fat and wired up on crystal, hoping someone will recognize me and toss me a few $20s for some sex.

I'm the unexpected pouring rain this weekend. There is nothing to do but stay indoors and drink. Or fuck, if you can.

I’m the Invasion. The only time SOME Pines muscle queens will allow a little rouge and lipstick on their mugs... and that’s about 50 years after resisting.

I’m the Meat Rack, a place all share mates love to agree on ridiculing ... until they all run into each other there at 6:00 am after some glorious theme party - at all levels of “theme undress.”

I'm Andrew Holleran loving this thread and contributing to it.

I’m the House Mother, engaged in never-ending tasks like rolling fresh beach-length towels into bundles to place on baskets around the pool, only to have house whores and their guests immediately use them to wipe their cum-filled asses. Rinse, dry, repeat. I rarely go out to the Pavillion, and save my energy and enthusiasm for parties or events scheduled months in advance.

nobody goes to the Pavilion anymore, House Mom. You’re not missing much. The place to be is private parties now.