It wasn't just the booze. I was jubilant at having taken a diploma from the acting and dance school in Manhattan and gotten a part in the chorus line of a promising Broadway musical on the same day and was blowing off steam with some of my buds on a Fire Island excursion. And the last time that night I was fully lucid was at Cherry's in Cherry Grove. I'd also taken some pills there. I didn't usually do that shit, but, fuck, I'd got a diploma in hand and a date to appear at the Ambassador Theater stage door.
Somewhere between Cherry's bar and the parking lot, I lost contact with my buds and found myself with a new set of buds, driving up the island in the backseat of a big honking open golfcart--two in front and me and some guy on top of me in back. Not just on top of me, but inside me, snorting and grunting and doing his thing, while I still was swinging and swigging from a beer bottle, rubbing my knees on his hips and trying my best to match his cadence in the fuck. He was a hunk and I certainly didn't object to him being inside me.
Our destination, although I didn't know it until we got there, was a really posh beach house in Saltaire at the beach end of Pennett Walk, taking up more lot space than most anything around it. That was a good thing because a queer bash was in full swing, and the noise must have been murder for the neighborhood around it. It was also a good thing, with all that manflesh in various stages of undress roaming around between the house and beach, that the neighbors weren't living closer and that there were a lot of trees and bushes in the yard. Seemed like some guy was fucking some other guy behind every bush. Swaying legs and undulating butts everywhere.
Of course, for all I knew the neighbors were at the party and swinging from the chandeliers.
I was on the beach for a while and in the water, just in my briefs. But after a while I was in the house, on the dining room table, without the briefs, showing off the dance ability that had gotten me the acting and dance school diploma the previous Wednesday.
I was dancing and gyrating and being egged on by a crowd of boisterous guys around me when another guy came up on the table with me, He was muscular, good-looking, maybe five years older than I was, a good dancer. He started off shirtless but with jeans, but as we danced, he lost the jeans and then the briefs, and he was as naked as I was. He was one hung dude and in erection. I would guess I was hard too. We were gyrating close together. We put on a show.
I knew I was going to get fucked at the party. I'd been fucked in the golf cart on the way to the party. I was celebrating. All was good.
The guys around the table were chanting, "Fuck him, fuck him!"
The guy got the message and he encircled my waist with a beefy arm and bent me back, slowly taking me down to the tabletop on my back, but then rising again in a crouch, with me dangling down in front of him. First thing I knew condom packets were being flipped down on the tabletop.
"Say yes, say yes," was lifted up as a mantra across the room.
At least they were being polite enough to ask permission.
"YESS!" I cried out.
The dude picked out a gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL, split it open, and hovered over me, grinning down at me, as he rolled the disk on. He was one big-dicked dude. Quite impressive. If I hadn't been drunk and three-quarters stoned, I think I would have rolled off the table and hightailed it out of there. But I was celebrating and the dude had a shaft I could celebrate--if I could take it.
I put my hands back and encased the erection with them. It was me who guided the shaft to the hole.
It was sheer hell morphing into a sense of victory in the taking of that humongous cock. The crowd continued chanting, "Big cock. Bull cock. Fuck him, fuck him good!" as the dude rimmed the hole with the bulb. And then he penetrated. He worked his way in as I panted and gasped and nearly sobbed. Liquored and drug up, I luckily was loose as a goose, though, and I opened and stretched for him, putting my ankles on his shoulders, me draped on the front of him, and extending my hands around him and clutching his butt cheeks. I was lucid enough to want to give the crowd a show. I was going on stage. They needed to know I was an entertainer.
We rocked together as he went deep. I just collapsed then, reclining my torso back toward the tabletop, dragging my knuckles on the wood, and going limp as, deep inside me, he stretched and pumped me and pumped me and pumped me.
The crowd went wild.
Even as my dancing partner was finishing with a grunt, a final thrust, a withdrawal and jerking off of the Trojan Magnum, another man was climbing up on the table, smoothing out a condom on his erection. I reached out welcoming hands, clutching as his buttocks, as he hooked my knees on his hips, encircled my waist with one arm, put himself in position, and entered me.
"Help me," he muttered, and I complied, squeezing his hips with my knees, using them as leverage to get into the swing. Swinging and swaying on his buried shaft, taking him deep.
* * * *
The sun was coming up in my face the next morning and I was lying on the sand of the beach, all alone, wearing briefs that were inside out and weren't mine. I was on my back, with my legs spread and bent, my feet buried in the sand. I hadn't just been fucked on the dining room table. I'd been fucked here as well. I had no idea by how many guys. My legs were bent and spread, and someone had pulled up a sand ramp that raised and rolled up my buttocks to provide ready access for I don't know how many men. I hadn't gathered the strength to see if I could even put my knees together again. I hoped they'd enjoyed themselves. I would have liked to have been conscious enough to enjoy it as well. This wasn't my first time to be centerpiece for a gang bang.
I was sore as hell below, but I had taken what must have been eight very thick inches. I had something in my mouth. I pulled out a gold-foil packet for a Trojan Magnum XL. Very funny, guys, I thought. Couldn't have any respect at all?
There were other condom packets around me and a couple of spent rubbers as well--but this was the only Trojan Magnum one. In fact, the sand was littered with condom foils and spent rubbers. I knew that it was quite some party, but I didn't think the party did all of this. Fire Island was a legendary gay gathering place and some of the beaches on the island were famous in their own right for queer party activity in the open. This must, I thought, be one of those beaches.
While I was looking around, I spied an older dude, maybe in his forties, advancing at me from the beach house and carrying a coffee cup. He was wearing a pair of low-rise athletic shorts and nothing else.
"This is for you," he said as he reached me. "I'm Steve. You put on quite a show last night." I crouched down below me, putting his hands on my spread knees after handing me my coffee. He took an unabashed long look at my goods. He was going to fuck me here if I let him.
I took the coffee. "I'm not sure I'm alive," I answered. "I was out of it last night, that's for sure. I'm Cary."
"Well, Cary, for such a little guy you took one big cock."
"Just one?"
He smiled at me but didn't answer, which was, in itself, an answer. It told me that he'd probably fucked me too. He was an OK-looking guy. He appeared to be in pretty good shape for his age.
"That's what my ass channel is telling me," I said, "that I took a really big one. And I'm way out of where I'm supposed to be, I think."
"Where are you supposed to be?" he asked. "Where are you staying? You got across last night that you were from the city and celebrating something."
"Celebrating getting a job on a chorus line," I said. "I caught a Broadway musical."
"Ah, yes. You did show as a really good dancer. And..."
"And what?"
