Home to Fire Island

Danny's session at the wall left him weak kneed, apprehensive, and feeling a little guilty about maybe moving too far too fast. And he suddenly felt exposed and robbed of his privacy. He saw that there was a hook over the peephole, and he hung a bath towel on that that dropped low enough to cover the glory hole as well as the peep hole. He wouldn't keep it there, but he'd pick and choose when he wanted to be ogled. Then he quickly showered, pulled on shorts and one of the "Sam's Bar" T-shirts while he was still in the bathroom, and padded out into his room. He set one of the straight chairs down beside the mirror that he strongly suspected was a window into his room from the adjacent room, and sat down in the chair.

He took some heavy breaths to pull himself together. Looking around the room, he spied out the various sexual devices and tried to imagine himself using those. Was this what he wanted? Was this what he'd come to Fire Island to find?

He didn't know. He wanted to be open to possibilities—to experience as much as he could take in search of himself and what he wanted from life. But was it all coming at him too fast?

Could he really be that desirable to men? Surely Fire Island was packed with desirable men—men more mature, more experienced than he was. Of course, he had to admit that his young looks might be an element in why men here might want to sniff around him. Just now, in the bar, Sam had given the impression that Danny's youthful looks were a plus in hiring him. But, even if there were a lot of men who might desire him, did they have what Danny wanted?

What did he want? He didn't know. In that case, he thought, maybe he should drop back ten yards and do more watching than doing for a while.

That lasted for nearly nine hours. And even doing that was a chore.

It was clear that, in the evening, Sam's Bar was one of the more open and rowdy gay spots on the Ocean Grove stretch of the beach. The drinkers and talkers were mainly outside under the grass tiki roof. The serious cruisers were inside, where the smoke lay in a heavy blanket over the crowded tables and dance floor, colored strobe lights were going, and the spotlight was on a small stage topped by a platform with two dance poles running up into the ceiling.

Sally was tending bar out under the tiki roof, and Ruth, Sam's wife, had taken up a stool at the end of the bar there. She was still smoking her cigarettes, one lighting up the next as it burned down to the filter, and holding a glass of booze in her other hand. Danny was never quite sure if Ruth actually drank anything out of that glass, and although she appeared to be watching every movement Sally was making, the two putting their heads together frequently for a private laugh about something, Danny also quickly figured out that Ruth saw everything that was happening at both the outside bar and the inside one. The garage-door-sized opening into the bar building gave her a panoramic scope of the entire operation. A meaningful look and flick of her wrist would send one of the two bouncers who worked the evening shift to any locale in the bar that was heating up toward an incident.

The two bouncers, Fred and Jose, were real bruisers. Danny was to learn that they spent their days on the inevitable muscle beach blacktopped strand just off the street running parallel to the beach, where they worked out with weights and on high bars and flexed their muscles for each other and everyone walking the beach.

Fred was Polish and Danny could never tell if he spoke accented English, because he didn't speak much and when he did, it was with a mumble. He was bald, with a Fu Man Chu drooping mustache, and was mean looking, which probably was a requirement for the job he did. To Danny, however, Fred was always a pussy cat and never bothered him, sexually or otherwise. Jose was better looking and better spoken, although it was with a Spanish accent. He was either Cuban or Mexican—which he picked and chose in saying he was depending on who was asking. Danny got the impression that he was illegal. He was always looking out for anyone who looked or smelled of cop—he said—and would fade into the background at the mere suggestion the law was nearby. He had jet-black hair, a lock of which perpetually was falling in his face, and a big smile that showed off a couple of gold teeth. He smiled even when he was putting a drunk in an arm lock and hustling him to the street.

Both men wore gym shorts, flip-flops, and Sam's Bar T-shirts. On them these looked great, the material of both the shorts and the shirts being strained to almost popping stretch as they breathed. Their chests and thighs were massive; their waists thin, and their washboard abs molded the T's to give the impression of Roman breastplates. They both had impressive basket bulges as well. You had to be really drunk to pick a fight with either one.

The two guys tending the bar were an interesting pair. Lance was slightly effeminate, raucous, and touchy-feely, which some of the clients tuned in to, and Joel was all dark and swarthy bad boy and always wearing tight black leather pants and just a vest over his bare chest. He drew an entirely different interest then Lance did, no doubt a combination Sam set up on purpose. They worked together, and although they worked the crowd well and occasionally would go to the back room, it was never obvious that they were scoring more money in the back room than in bar tips. Although they talked with Danny with easy friendliness, neither showed any sexual interest in him. They were here in the same capacity as Danny. If a patron really wanted to bottom, one of the bouncers could accommodate him.

Throughout his first shift working at the bar, Danny tried to maintain a low profile and to concentrate on the various instructions Sam was giving him on what he should do and how he should do it. There was always some guy reaching out for him as he waded into the table section by the dance floor to serve drinks, but he quickly learned how to smile but not be caught. More than one patron came to him where he was standing by the bar, waiting for an order, and whispered a suggestion in his ear, but he smiled and explained that he was new here and that tonight just learning the ropes was all he could cope with—that maybe on another night . . .

Once after such a discussion, Jose pulled in close beside him, ran a hand down the line of one of Danny's butt cheeks, and offered to show him "the ropes." But Danny jollied that off as well—or at least thought he had.

When the evening started to become rowdy, Danny asked Sam if he could shift to working mainly outside, where there was more talk but fewer roaming hands, and Sam said that would be fine for tonight. But he said it in such a way that Danny knew it wouldn't be fine for another night.

"You haven't been in the back with a guy yet, have you?" Sam asked him at some point.

Danny answered that he hadn't, believing that Sam would consider that to be a good thing.

But Sam came back with, "Well, you need to get into doing that when you feel comfortable with the service out here. That's where we make the most money."

"Uh, OK, Sam," Danny had answered. "It's just that it's new tonight and all. I think I need to go slow and get the job down in sections, you know?"

"I know that there's slow and then there's slow, kid," he answered. "You weren't shitting me when you said you went with men, were you?"

"No, of course not."

Danny moved off as quickly as he could then, because he remembered that Sam had said something about working the pole too. And Danny wasn't ready to do that tonight, either.

He possibly was in luck on that this night. It apparently was some sort of amateur night. They had a DJ there with records and corny jokes and a lounge lizard voice, but the guys going up on the poles—and not that often on Danny's first working night—were coming up from the audience.

Danny kept an eye on them, trying to take pointers from those who did it the best and got the best reaction from the crowd—for when he'd have to start doing it. Most of them were lame, couldn't do anything to the music, and stripped down much too fast to be erotic. Most of the ones most willing to dance weren't the ones that most patrons wanted to see dance. One young guy, though, was quite good at it—and had the crowd fully behind him. He had a great, lithe body and had the look about him of a sensual Greek boy. Marble-white skin, jet-black hair, bedroom eyes, and thick, sensual lips. He stripped down to his bikini briefs slowly and moved well with the beat of the music.

He seemed to be there with an older man—a very distinguished-looking older man, with a good body. Not old old; just a good fifteen years older than the younger guy. Danny looked at him as much as he did at the young guy working the pole, because it was evident that they were there together and that the older guy wasn't completely happy with how into the exhibition the guy on the pole was.

Danny found himself eyeing them both—and, surprisingly, finding the older guy more arousing. That bothered him a bit. He'd come to Fire Island assuming he was looking for younger guys. So, he wondered, why was he eyeing an older one? Was it because nearly all of his sexual experience had been with a controlling "daddy"? Maybe underneath he thought that, but was scared of it, and had come to Fire Island to beat that out of his system.

The rest of the evening, these thoughts ran through his mind. Along about 3:00 a.m., it occurred to him what working the four-to-midnight shift meant. It meant that at 1:30 the bartenders stopped taking drink orders and at 2:00 a.m., Sam and the bouncers started moving patrons to the doors. The last hour, Danny did most of the cleanup work, under Sam's direction, while the bartenders cashed out; Ruth and Sally headed for the stairs to the apartment overhead, arm in arm and smiling to each other; and the DJ and Fred, the bouncer, evaporated. Jose, the other bouncer, stood next to the door from the inner bar to the street, leaning against the side of the door, beefy arms crossed, and watching Danny work.

Just after 3:00, Sam announced he was going to his office—which proved to be the room next to Danny's bedroom on the other side of the window mirror. As he left, he said that Jose could lock up and that, when Danny had scrubbed down the last of the table tops, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

"So, ya wanna fuck?" Jose said in a hoarse voice when it was only the two of them left in the bar.

"Sorry, not tonight. It's late, and I'm done in by my first night working," Danny said. He smiled at Jose, though, not wanting to antagonize him. He turned and walked toward the back.

He'd barely made it beyond the beaded curtain, when Jose was there close behind him with his beefy hands gripping Danny's waist.

"I think ya wanna fuck," he said.

Danny tried to make it to his room, but he didn't stand a chance. The bouncer was too much muscle for him. He fucked Danny against the wall, beside the door into Danny's room. He had Danny's T and shorts off while he was still standing behind him, and although Danny struggled against him, all effort was ineffectual. Jose entered him from behind, with Danny bent over at the waist, and held him there as his dick bottomed inside Danny's channel.

"So, ya wanna fuck?" Jose bent over and whispered in Danny ear.

"Jose . . . don't . . . not tonight," Danny whimpered.

"Ya gonna fight me? I don' mind if I gotta fight for it."

"No," Danny whimpered.

Jose pulled out of Danny's channel then and pulled him erect, turned him, and pushed his back against the wall. Getting his knees between Danny's thighs, he spread them and lifted Danny off the floor with the strength of his own thighs and slammed his now-bare chest against Danny's.

Resigned, Danny hooked his legs on Jose's hips and rolled his butt up to meet Jose's searching cock. Jose wasn't long, but he was very, very thick, and Danny groaned and grunted as the big Hispanic pumped him.

During the encounter, Sam came out of his office. Surely he could see them, Danny thought. But Sam said not a word. He just went over to the staircase to the apartment overhead and was gone, clumping up the echo-sounding wooden stairs.

Later, in the early morning hours, Danny lay, naked, in his bed. He had enjoyed Jose's fucking. He wouldn't pretend otherwise, and when Jose had left, saying that maybe they'd do it again the next night, Danny admitted to Jose that he'd want it if it happened. Still, it hadn't been completely satisfying. Danny couldn't help but think that there was something else—something more arousing and satisfying out there.

He went to sleep fiddling with the dog tags suspended over his bare chest and pondering all that had happened to him in this first nearly twenty-four hours he'd been on Fire Island.

He assumed he now knew all that that first twenty-four hours entailed. But he was wrong.

Not long after he'd drifted off to sleep, he was awakened by the weight of knees on the foot of his bed and hands on his ankles, spreading his legs. Then hands on his butt cheeks, spreading them too, and a tongue at his rim and then inside him. He raised his hips to the tonguing, the bulb of his engorging cock gently stroking the surface of the mattress with the movement of his pelvis—until a hand pulled his cock back between his legs and the moistness of mouth pressed at his entrance, now splitting its duties with sucking his cock.

"Floyd," Danny murmured, still half asleep, imaging himself in his own bed at home.

The weight of a man lowered itself on his back, and a hard cock was entering him from behind.

"Floyd," he murmured again.

"Not Floyd," a voice Danny knew but couldn't quite place, whispered in his ear. "You know a Floyd who does you like this? I won't bother you often—as long as you bring money in—but I gotta know that you aren't shitting me—that you want a man inside you."

With that, Sam went back up on his knees between Danny's thighs; grasped the young man's wrists; pulled Danny's torso up, bowing his chest up and back; and began rocking a not-too-thick, but quite long cock ever deeper inside.

When Sam began to pump Danny's channel with increasing depth and speed, Danny cried out, "Oh Shit yes! Fuck me. Fuck me!" He set his hips in motion, just as he had involuntarily done those last few days when he felt himself slipping away under Floyd's control. Floyd had gasped at Danny's response then and it urged him to drive harder, and Sam gasped at it now and pistoned Danny like a madman to a victory yelp of mutual ejaculation.

Danny was aware that he hadn't reacted to Jose's fucking this intensively—and he had the awareness to wonder if it was because this was Floyd's favorite position, one that Danny was used to. But he was too much into the fuck to care.

Afterward, with both men still panting hard and Sam draped over Danny's back, his cock still buried inside Danny's channel, he put his mouth to Danny's ear and whispered, "Yeah, you want a man inside you. I had to check that out. You'll be good. Just pretend, each time, that it's a new experience for you and the man is king. And I'll take back what I said. Yeah, maybe I will bother you often. And maybe there are some tricks I can teach you. You're gonna be an A number one moneymaker."