Bone Island Weekend
Social nudity in Key West
Winter was rolling around, and it was time for me to start thinking about a quick jaunt to somewhere warm before the holidays set in. So when a TripAdvisor alert for a low fare to Fort Lauderdale showed up in my inbox one day, I picked a weekend that looked good for me, and contacted my new Gay Nude Counchsurfing friends to see what was up. They couldn't commit to hosting me, and pointed out that it was naked weekend in Key West, so a lot of people might not be around. I thought about it for two seconds, and considered that a naked weekend in Key West might be just what the doctor ordered. I'm not a huge fan of Key West, but for me, anywhere people are getting naked is a good place to be. I did a quick google search and found Bone Island Bare It All Weekend. After a couple phone calls I was able to find accommodations, so I booked the trip. The thing was that the air fare bargain I had found was to Ft Lauderdale, not Key West. There were no bargains to be found there. But I had always wanted to do the drive out the keys, so I decided this would be my opportunity. I'd fly into Ft Lauderdale and spend Thursday night, then drive out Friday morning, back Sunday morning, and fly home the following Monday.
At first I thought that Bone Island Weekend might be like Key West Fantasy Fest, where the heterosexuals get in on the act. I imagined naked people walking all over town. But I came to learn that this was not the case. Not at all. There would just be naked parties in gay hotels and bars in the area, and nothing outside of that. However I still wanted to jazz it up a bit. I envisioned myself walking everywhere I went in nothing but my tighty-whities. So I went to Wal*Mart and picked up a brand new pack. I've found that Hanes boys' size large fit me the best. Men's size small just aren't tight enough for me. When I got home with the package, I started feeling randy early. I put on a pair, and I decided that I would wear them pretty much non-stop for the week before the trip. Except for removing them to shower, or dropping them to take a squat, that same pair of briefs did not leave my body. I slept in them. I wore them to work. I exercised in them. I wore them continuously 24/7 up to and including the flight out. I thought of it as "distressing" them, like you distress antique furniture. It worked. My underwear became progressively distressed as the week wore on.
I always get nervous when I fly. It's not the flying that bugs me. It's worrying about getting to the airport on time, and the possibility of missing connections, etc. I didn't have a lot to worry about this time, though. It was a pretty straight forward flight from Syracuse to Newark with a comfortable two hour layover, and then on to Lauderdale. There weren't any major snow storms brewing. What could go wrong?
I made it to the airport no problem. Checkin was a breeze. I could have checked in online, but that's a technological advance that I've still yet to embrace. It only took two minutes at the airport kiosk anyway. When I headed to the gate I realized that the Hancock Airport had undergone some renovations. I had heard on the national news, actually, that it was the first airport to install special doors. They were kind of like automated revolving doors, and looked a lot like the "we can see you naked" contraptions that they have at security. I had expected to go through them when I entered the building, but that was the same as it had always been. It wasn't until I got upstairs I realized that they were employed in the exit-only egress of the secured area. It looked kind of clever, actually. I've always thought that it wouldn't be too difficult for some nefarious character to wait by the exit until one of the TSA flunkies was distracted, and sneak easily into the secured area. In addition to these new exits, they had consolidated the two security stations in once central one with a nice panoramic window out to the tarmac. I considered it to be an improvement.
As I waited in the security line I noticed that some of my fellow passengers had opted for the online checkin. I saw them putting their mobile devices up to the barcode readers. It made me think that maybe I should consider doing that next time. Still, it would give me one more thing to worry about. What if my phone's battery died, or I couldn't get a signal or something? Being an IT professional I'm not exactly one to stick with a paper system, but I also know how many things can go wrong. I like having that physical boarding pass right in my hand.
So I got to the gate with plenty of time to spare. I indulged my tradition of watching a Garth Marenghi episode on my iPod while waiting. I really do love that show. Too bad they only ever did 6 episodes. That's one reason I save it only for these special occasions, so that I'll never over-watch the few shows they did do.
Before I knew it, it was time to board. The flight from Syracuse to Newark is on one of those little commuter airplanes, which means we walk right down onto the tarmac. I was in one of the latter boarding zones, but I didn't really care because I packed a book bag which I knew would fit into the little overheads. But as I was walking out to the plane, I saw something I'd never seen before. All of the other passengers doubled back and were now walking back to the terminal. They said that Newark had just closed. Apparently the pilot informed them, because the guy inside the terminal was still sending people out.
In fact, the guy at the counter never did make any kind of announcement at all, and the board still indicated the flight as being on time. I got out my phone and did a little checking. I found on the FAA website that Newark wasn't letting incoming planes land due to the unusually low cloud ceiling. Obviously I don't like these delay situations a lot, but it usually doesn't stress me out too bad, because I know that if my flight is delayed then all the other flights will be delayed too. I checked the United website, which had a pretty good user interface for mobile devices. They had my flight now listed as delayed. I took a peek my connecting flight. Interestingly it was still listed as on time. I checked the FAA status page a little more closely. It did say that Newark wasn't letting planes land, but it didn't say anything about not letting them take off. This was a first for me, to have my flight delayed but all the connecting flights taking off no problem. I didn't panic just yet, as I did have a two hour layover.
But the time was ticking away. And by the way, the guy at the counter still hadn't made any kind of announcements at all. Not one goddam peep. The rescheduled departure time came and went, and they pushed our new departure time another hour later. I decided to go up to the guy at the counter and make some inquiries, mentioning that all the connecting flights seemed to be taking off. He confirmed a seat for me on the next flight from Newark to Lauderdale. I relaxed a bit.
The flight was delayed one more time, but finally the buzz was that we would be boarding soon. Indeed, they eventually made the boarding call, we all got on the plane, and after a while took off. But we seemed to be spending a lot of time in the air. It's normally just under an hour flight, but this one was dragging on. And on and on. I figured they had us circling while they slotted in all the other delayed arriving flights. Eventually it felt like we were descending, but we were in the thick of the clouds, so it was hard to say. Finally we did emerge under the cloud cover to the scenic sights of Newark New Jersey in a wintery drizzle. Time was now really tight for my newly scheduled connecting flight. But of course we didn't just pull up to the gate. We had to stop a number of times and sit still. And when we finally did pull up to the gate, it took forever for the ground crew to rope off the propellers and stake out our path to the terminal.
When I finally got inside the building, I figured it was probably too late for my confirmed flight, but I made a bee line for my connecting gate. Of course it had to be the farthest possible distance from where I landed. At least it was in the same terminal. I hoofed along as briskly as I could with my bags over my shoulders, quickly building up a sweat under my leather jacket. I passed concourse after concourse until I finally got to mine, and walked the entire length of it to my gate way at the very end. I walked right up to the desk, panting and sweaty. The guy said the flight had already left, but hat I'd already been re-booked on another flight. He redirected me to the customer service area. I again walked briskly there. I knew that whatever happened next, I'd be looking at significant delays, but I still felt a sense of urgency. Not only did I just want the situation to be resolved, I also knew there would be lots of other people trying to reschedule their flights. I did not take the guy at face value that I had already been re-booked.
When I got to customer service, I saw a number of people from the flight I had just gotten off. Overhearing their conversations, I could tell that they were all going to Ft Lauderdale too. I waited as patiently as I could, still very anxious to discover my fate. And these things never go quickly, as frustrated travelers weigh their options and have the operators check myriad options.
Eventually I got up to the desk. The guy checked my records, and looked at me incredulously, stating that I had already been confirmed on another flight. "Yeah, I know," I said. "It left without me." Fortunately there were a zillion flights from Newark to Lauderdale every day. He put me on standby on the next one, and had a confirmed seat for me on the one after that. So worst case I would get out of Newark at 9PM and touch down around midnight. Not optimal, but still I knew for sure I'd get in that night.
So I went directly to the standby gate, which was of course waaaay back by where we initially touched down from Syracuse. I checked in with the attendant, but she said that they wouldn't be calling standby for a long time. I found a seat within eyeshot of the jetway door, and settled in. But after a while I got hungry and thirsty. I went to the McDonalds that was just across the concourse, but by the time I got back someone had snatched my seat. I went to sit in an empty seat next to some business woman gabbing away on her phone, but she said, "Someone's sitting here." It certainly didn't look like anyone was sitting there. I was going to call her on it, but I decided to sit on the floor nearby and keep an eye on it. If she got up to board without anyone else sitting there, I was going to confront her and say, "How does it feel to be a LIAR???" But a few minutes later her timorous husband sidled up and sat sheepish beside her.
I was surprisingly patient as the time ticked slowly away. I figured that it was entirely likely that I would have another couple hours to kill before I would have any realistic likelihood of getting on an airplane. The good news was that the next one was not delayed. In fact, before long, they started boarding. As the hordes filed onto the jetway and the waiting area thinned out, they started calling the names of standby passengers. I saw a number of people I recognized from the customer service area. My name was not among those called. The familiar faces got in line and disappeared through the jetway door. Then they called a couple other names. It appeared that they had three seats for two couples. I was hoping that one couple might not want to get split up, and that the odd seat would go to me. But whatever the situation, they ironed it out, and all four got on the plane.
The waiting area was by now practically deserted. I had already given up hope by the time the attendant got on the intercom and said, "Christopher Westfall..." I literally jumped out of my seat. I rushed to the desk, and she gave me my boarding pass. Row 7. Hmmm. I wondered if it might be in First Class??? Maybe the very last seat available on the plane was in First Class, and that all this waiting and uncertainty might actually pay off! But as I got on the plane I saw that it was the first row of coach. I was stuck in a middle seat, but it was a small price to pay to be safely on the plane. And to my surprise, there was still room in a nearby overhead for my book bag. And there was a space at the base of the partition in front of me for my shoulder bag. I was content.
Another interesting fact about this trip was that United had just started allowing passengers to use their electronic devices during takeoff and landing. It was a small luxury, but nice nonetheless. Laptops were still forbidden, but anything up to and including an iPad was okay. So I got my movie started. I had rented "World War Z." I was a little zombied-out after having just finished watching the first half of the third season of Walking Dead on AMC, but it was something to watch. What set this zombie film apart, in addition to the zombies being of the fast-moving variety, was that the victims turned to zombies really really fast.
As the movie played out I realized that in actuality it wasn't really a zombie film. It was actually more of a virulent outbreak film. And not a particularly good one at that. I really didn't think it was a project worthy of Brat Pitt. But it was something to watch on an airplane. And the running time was just perfect. It was just ending when we started our descent into Lauderdale. For once I would have been able to continue watching it as we touched down, but I was happy to put my tablet away and look past my rowmate out the window and see the familiar twinkling lights of the Fort Lauderdale skyline beyond the starkly delimited, dark ocean.
We were soon on the ground, and being at the front of the plane I was off pretty quickly. We landed in Terminal 1, so I could walk directly to the rental car center. I had to wait in line for a bit, but before long I was tossing my shit in the trunk and driving away. First order of business was finding a hotel. I hadn't made a reservation for Thursday night. I knew there were a number of hotels along Federal Highway, so I figured I'd just cruise along there until I found something good. Unfortunately there weren't as many as I recalled. The only one I seriously considered was a Best Western. I pulled over and checked Trip Advisor. There was a Travel Lodge on Ocean Blvd. I thought that might be fun. I called the 1-800 number to see if they had any vacancies, but the woman I talked to wanted to book me into the room over the phone. I asked her if there was onsight parking, and she gave me what sounded like a scripted answer. It did not fill me with confidence. I actually hung up on her and drove right to the location to see for myself. There were millions of tourist hotels along the strip, and pretty much all of them had vacancies, but I couldn't find the Travel Lodge. I went up and back a couple times, but it was not where the address said it should be. I considered stopping in at one of the tourist hotels, but something about them just felt sketchy. I decided to drive all the way back to the Best Western.
I went in and found that they did have vacancies, but it was a little pricey. But when I saw they had a pool, I decided to just take the bird in the hand.
"How late is the pool open?" I asked as the lady checked me in.
"Ten O'clock," she said.
It was a little after nine. I could go out, grab a bite, which I desparately needed, and get back in time for a quick dip before I climbed into bed. I thought about hitting Hamburger Mary's in Wilton Manners, but for expediencies sake just went to the Subway at Federal and Sunrise. Other than the fact that the kid behind the counter could utterly not believe that I didn't want any dressings on the sandwich, all went well. I wolfed it down, and was back in my room by 9:40. I immediately stripped down to a Speedo and went to the pool area.
The bartender lady, who apparently doubled as the lifeguard, said, "Oh, I'm sorry honey, I've already closed the pool."
I stood there, gaping at her for just a moment. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I was told at checkin that it's open until 10."
"No, sorry," she said. "It's all closed up."
I looked over to the pool. I wasn't sure what she meant by "closed up." It was right there. I half wanted to just run past her and dive in. I really just wanted to quickly immerse myself anyway to wash away the stress of a day's traveling, and then get back out again. What could she do? But instead I went up to my room in a huff.
I called the front desk. I said, "I was told at checkin that the pool was open until 10, but I was just told that it's already closed."
"Who told you that???" I was asked, as if in disbelief.
"The bartender lady down by the pool," I said.
"Oh. Well the pool closes around quarter or twenty of."
"Yeah," I said, "but you see, that wasn't what I was told just a little while ago when I checked in. I specifically asked, and I was specifically told it was open until 10."
"Well, the pool closes when the bar closes."
I knew this wasn't going to get me anywhere, so I just said, "Yeah." and hung up. I then created a Yelp! account so that I could write a review of this hotel. But I shouldn't have done that, because one of the other reviews said that their room was broken into while they were sleeping and all their electronics were stolen. Great. One more thing to worry about. So I made sure I bolted and secured the door. I plugged in the white noise machine I always bring with me when I travel, and tried to fall asleep.
I woke up the following morning reasonably early, which was an improvement over unreasonably early, which was what I expected. I had no particular reason to rush, except that I wanted to beat all the tourist traffic on the causeway out the keys. I had heard that the drive is beautiful, but the traffic is miserable. I figured mom, dad, and the kids would have to take time to get the car loaded and everyone fed before they made it to the coast. If I got there before they all did, then I should have pretty clear sailing all the way out the causeway. So I just threw my stuff back into my bags and checked out. Usually when I leave a hotel room I go all the way around it like 2 or 3 times to make certain I'm not leaving anything behind. But this time, presumably because I had a little anxiety over the long drive ahead of me, I just walked out.
When the clerk asked me how my stay was, I couldn't help but mention the issue with the pool the night before. He was sympathetic. Once in the car, I simply hit the first fast food I found on the right side of the street as I headed to I95. It was a Burger King, and I got my favorite ham egg and cheese croisandwich. Back in the car I decided to strip down to my distressed underwear and drive along like that the whole way. It was exciting.
I was confident in my plan to get on the causeway early. Right up until I actually pulled onto I95. It was then that it dawned on me that my schedule put me right smack in the middle of Friday morning commuter traffic. It wasn't too bad until I got closer to Miami, where things slowed to a crawl. I had my Garmin programmed for my ultimate destination, Eden House on Flemming St in Key West. My experience with my Garmin is that it often chooses pretty insane routes much more straight forward options are available. One time I was traveling from Albany to Brooklyn, which is a very direct journey, but the Garmin routed me all across northern New Jersey and across Canal Street in Manhattan, which was totally nuts. In my mind I figured I would take I95 to the very end, where I would pick up US-1 and take it straight through the keys. But the Garmin had me exiting early and taking the Florida Turnpike. I had to decide if I were going to trust Garmin or my own instincts.
Despite the slow-moving traffic, I wound up having to make the decision very quickly. Traffic started speeding up again just as I was approaching the exit, and it came upon me before I was expecting it. I wound up with a split-second to make the decision. Knowing that to follow my route I would have to try to follow the map on my iPad while driving in frantic traffic, I chose to put myself entirely in Garmin's hands.
Once off on the Florida Turnpike the traffic dropped off dramatically. I actually started enjoying the ride. But I started seeing signs about the tolls, and worried about pulling up to a toll plaza in nothing but my distressed underwear. So I then went about pulling my jeans back on one leg at a time without getting in a horrific accident. I somehow managed to succeed. But still, there were no toll plazas to be found. The signs said something about Sunshine Pass or "Toll-by-plate." The latter sounded like a very nice high-tech solution to toll collection, but it also sounded like something you would have to register for in advance. I mean, I was in a rental car. How could they bill me based on my plate number? Surely there would still have to be toll plazas. But I did not encounter any. It looked like I had put my pants back on for nothing.
The only Garmin-based drama that I did encounter was where they had made changes to the roads, usually at complex interchanges, that were not reflected in my outdated map database. There were a couple times where Garmin was saying, "Recalculating... Recalculating..." and the map showed me off in the medians even though I was actually on the road. But I just focused on the route number and direction that Garmin was indicating, kept my eyes on the road signs, and everything wound up okay.
Eventually I was off the turnpike and onto surface streets. This was where the turnpike met up with US-1. I'm pretty sure that if I had taken my own route I would have wound up in the same place, probably without any drama, but would have had to travel many more miles in traffic with lots of red lights and intersections. It had been a much longer drive so far than I had expected. I knew that Ft Lauderdale was a ways from the southern coast, but it was still farther than I had imagined it. By now about half the travel time had already expired, and I was only just arriving at the coast.
I still had like 3/4 of a tank of gas, but I didn't know how much access there would be to gas stations over the rest of the drive. All the photos I had seen were of a narrow strip of highway suspended over the ocean surface. So I decided to top off the tank before I continued. Finally it was good that I already had my pants back on.
There was still a little ways to go before I actually left the mainland. I was very relaxed. I had a full tank of gas, and low-key, slow-moving vacation traffic in a beautiful setting for a couple hours, and then naked mayhem. I decided to roll all the windows down and enjoy the warm ocean air. At this point the Garmin was really nice to have. Despite the fact that I would continue straight for the whole rest of the way, it was nice to have a bird's-eye view of the islands and water as I drove along. You really couldn't see a lot from the road. If I hadn't been glancing at the map, I would probably not have even noticed when I got onto Key Largo. Visually it looked pretty much the same the rest of South Florida. I had pictured it as looking like a 1940's Humphrey Bogart picture, but it was all strip malls, fast food, and gas stations.
In fact most of the rest of the drive was pretty much the same. I could see on the Garmin map that we were in fact traversing a string of islands, but from within the car you would never know. The transition from one key to the next was generally transparent, and by my reckoning contiguously over dry land. Any man-made causeways were apparently wide enough that there was room for vegetation on both sides of the road. So when I wasn't seeing strip malls and tourist traps, it was like I was just driving in a grove of trees somewhere.
As the drive went on, the traffic wasn't too bad. There were some sections that were two lanes in both directions, so it was possible to get around people. But even when you couldn't pass, the speed limit was generally 45-50, so traffic could only move so fast anyway. At one point I did get stuck behind a guy with a huge boat on a trailer. He was moving along okay, but all I could see was the ass end of his boat. But after a couple miles he got pulled over by a cop. I wasn't really sure what for. All I knew was I could finally see out ahead of me again.
I had been in my blue jeans and not much else this whole time. But now the sun was starting to beat down on the left side of my forehead, and I was concerned that my left arm would be burned and my right arm pale. I did not want to be walking around Bone Island Weekend with a driver's tan. So at one point I pulled over, put some sunscreen on my face, and a long-sleeved shirt. The only long-sleeved shirts I had were a white thermal undershirt, and a black loose-fitting nylon thing. I opted for the nylon shirt because it was the more breezy, but it did suck wearing black with the ocean sun beating down on me.
It wasn't long before the drive started dragging on. There were some stretches that were out over open water, which was rather scenic, but for the most part it was just mile after mile of strip malls and groves. Whenever we did get out in the open, I tried using the panoramic feature on my iPhone camera, which was the one good thing that came out of my recent iOS upgrade. It wasn't really designed for these kinds of closed quarters, but it did work sort of.
Just as the trip was entering the final act, I came upon the end of a string of cars that was stuck behind a huge dump truck. Now that we were farther out the keys, there were a lot more 55mph zones, and there were a lot more scenic causeways and bridges, but I found myself stuck at around 40mph following a bunch of zombies who were following this dump truck. I was definitely getting to the point where I just really wanted to get there. But there was still a ways to go. I wasn't in a huge rush. I was relaxed enough, even stuck behind this dump truck. I was just looking forward to being able to get out of the car.
Again, it was good having the Garmin with me, because I could continuously tell how far away the destination was. It's actually a blessing and a curse. Watching the trip in that detail can really make it drag. It's like, "Okay, there's a tenth of a mile. And another tenth. And another. Only 900 more tenths to go..." But by the same token, at any one time you know exactly how much farther the destination is, and the exact time that you'll arrive. The end is always in sight when you travel with a Garmin, from the moment you leave your door. I patiently bided my time while driving with all the windows down in December, the end finally became just around the corner. That damn dump truck finally pulled off the highway when we were like 15 minutes away. And just as Key West itself was coming into visual view, so did the dark clouds that were hovering over it. Not what I was hoping to see. I actually got a couple raindrops on my windshield.
By the time I was actually on the island of Key West, I was too distracted by the nasty construction zone I immediately got stuck in to notice that the clouds had already passed, and it was hot and sunny again. I was so close and yet so far, because the construction had traffic at a grind. They were re-doing the whole oceanside boulevard and adjacent pedestrian concourse, and I was coming upon this scene right at the lunchtime rush. But again I was patient and waited it out, and although I had already been in the car for about 4 1/2 hours, and unbridled nakedness was happening at that very moment just a couple miles away, I managed to hold on until I got through it.
After I pulled off the main road and away from the construction, I finally found myself in what I would call historic Key West. It had the thin, one-way streets, and all the little cottage houses and stuff. Finally I arrived at my hotel. It wasn't a gay hotel. All the gay guest houses were all booked when I set up the trip. But it was located just about a block and a half from the Island House, which I knew would be the epicenter of Bone Island Weekend. And it turned out to be a nice hotel with a nice courtyard and pool. All I wanted to do was get checked in, drop off my stuff, and go to the naked party that had just started. But it wasn't that easy. First of all, the checkin lady was on Island Time. There was no rush in her mind, and I knew that any rush on my mind would not make the process go any faster, so again I was patient. But on top of that, I was arriving earlier than the standard checkin time. My room wasn't ready yet. But they could stash my stuff while I went off to frolic. The checkin lady called the bell boy, who was the cutest little strawberry blond number with pastel eyes and pale, freckled skin. I assumed he was straight, but that didn't stop me from ogling him. I was enthralled by his strawberry blond eyelashes. The checkin lady handed him a stick with a key on the end of it, and he led me back to a large cabinet with a padlock. I threw my stuff inside and he locked it back up again.
But even once we got through all that, I still had to park my car. The inn had contacted me a couple weeks earlier saying that their on-site parking was going to be inaccessible due to village work on the sidewalk, and that they would put me in a nearby parking garage. That was particularly irksome to me, based on the fact that I had specifically confirmed they had on-site parking before I would book the room, and that I'm a worry wart when I travel, and I don't need one more thing to stress over. But I had checked it out on Google Maps, and it was indeed just a couple blocks from the hotel. So now all I had to do was find it, find a spot, and hoof it back to the hotel. Finding it took just a couple seconds, and once inside, to my surprise, I found gazillions of available parking spaces. I locked the rental car up tight, and quickly made my way back to the hotel.
By the way, all this time I'm still in the blue jeans and black long-sleeved shirt. As I walked back to the hotel I at least took the shirt off and tucked it into my back pocket. These jeans were a little baggy on me, so they were drooping enough to see the waistband of my distressed white briefs. By now I had been wearing them non-stop for well over a week. So I got back to the hotel, and I desperately needed to change, so I found the strawberry blond bell boy and got the key to the cabinet so I could get to my stuff. The checkin lady directed me to a bathroom upstairs where I could change. She was still calling out directions to me when I got to the top of the stairs and found it for myself.
Getting dressed for a nude event is an interesting affair. There might be the matter of putting on a cock ring, or selecting some sexy underwear that people will see for that fleeting second as you're disrobing. For me it's mostly about managing my belongings. No matter where I'm going, I'll want my phone, an ID, a debit card, and some cash. And in my case I needed some goggles so I could swim with my contacts in. Ordinarily there's the matter of the hotel key, but since my room wasn't available yet, that wasn't yet an issue. I have a pair of cargo shorts that are just perfect in these situations. They have a million pockets, even for things like swim goggles. Some of the pockets zip closed, so you can be sure that things like phones and cash won't accidentally fall out. And plus they fit me just right and make my ass look really hot. So I loaded up the pockets with everything I'd need, slipped on a tank top, and I was out the door (as soon as I got the bell boy to stash my bag back in the cabinet).
I wasn't really sure how this whole Bone Island event worked. I had purchased a pass online that would get me entrance to all the parties, and be my unlimited weekend pass at Island House. I had my registration receipt printout from the website, which the instructions said could be exchanged for an official pass at any of the weekend events. I figured that they could probably handle that at the Island House, and since I was just a block and a half away, I went straight there. The guy at the desk said that everyone was at the party at Equator, which was where I could pick up my pass, but that he'd hook me up with the weekend pass to Island House while I was there. I really wanted to rip my clothes off and run around the grounds a couple times just to get it out of my system, but instead I waited patiently while the guy filled out my guest pass.
When I left Island House I headed to Equator. I knew it was right on Flemming St, past my hotel and about a third of the way up to Duvall, but I wasn't sure what Equator was. When I got there the door was propped open, and down a long hallway I could see a naked guy sitting at the very end, and what looked like a nice courtyard beyond. Equator turned out to be another gay guest house. It was like a somewhat smaller, lower key version of Island House. I walked to the end of the hallway, and was greeted by a Bone Island event organizer, and a hot, young, well-hung number who was handing out his business card. It turned out he was an aspiring porn star who was working the party. The organizer gave me my event pass. I was wondering how this would work, considering this was naked weekend, and no one would have pockets to keep passes in. I was hoping it would be one of those tyvek wristbands that just stay on for days. In fact it was a clear plastic pouch big enough for credit cards, attached to a broad elastic band that could be pulled up over your bicep or calf. You could have the pass on the outside where it could be seen, and stick cash or credit cards in the pouch up behind it. It worked well enough.
I asked the organizer where people were stashing their clothes. I had assumed that there would be some manner of clothes check. But he said that everyone was just sticking it wherever. So I went all the way to the back of the space, stripped naked, and tucked my stuff up behind some junk where no one would want to look. I walked back out to the party. Finally, after all this time, I was completely free of my clothing, and among dozens of other men who were also free of their clothing. I scanned the crowd. It was full of strangers. I didn't know a soul. Ordinarily this would be social death for me. To show up at an event where I didn't know a single person, and to try to approach total strangers and strike up a conversation, goes right to the heart of my social anxiety. But I've found that at nude events, that anxiety just all goes away. Completely. The absence of clothes fosters an environment absent of pretense. We're all naked together, and we all have our nakedness in common, and all other trappings of the outside world are gone.
So I stepped into the crowd, but before I could even scope out someone I might want to approach, a guy walked right up to me. "Hey!" he said. "I recognize you from your performance at the Mardi Gras party last year."
He was referring to the nude mardi gras party I had attended during my CouchSurfing stay in Ft Lauderdale the previous year. I hooked up with a guy in a spot that would allow the whole rest of the party to watch, which they did, and it made quite an impression.
"Oh, yeah, cool," I said. There went any vestigial social anxiety right out the window. I felt like a celebrity that had been recognized. We chatted for a couple minutes, and then I went on to mingle. I wound up back up front by the aspiring porn star.
Someone else walked up to me, and said, "Hey, I recognize you from your Hillside performance, and your Xtube channel." He was referring to one or more times I was at Hillside Campground, and shot a big load for the crowd, probably either at the NNS 4th of July party, or at the Mad Hatters Ball. And of course all the videos I have on Xtube. Unfortunately I didn't recognize him. He had sandy brown hair, a little long for my tastes, and a light beard. It was so cool of him to approach me. I hadn't been at the party 10 minutes and already I had been recognized twice.>
What was even better was that the aspiring porn star totally picked up on it. "You have an Xtube channel???" he asked enthusiastically.
"Yeah he's got all kinds of erotic art videos out there," the guy said.
So I chatted with the porn guy for some time, talking about the possibility of shooting something with him. I had just recently learned about the Berlin Porn Festival, and was trying to come up with a concept for a submission. Now here I had a legit porn performer who was interested in appearing.
After I milked that for all it was worth, I just started mingling around the party. Equator had 3 pools: a hot tub, a standard swimming pool, and something kind of in the middle. It was too big to be a hot tub, but too small to be a pool. The water hotter than pool water, but not quite as hot as hot tub water. I wasn't sure what it was all about, but it was comfortable, so I went in there first. Then the proper swimming pool. And then the actual hot tub. I made this circuit a few times.
One thing I had been curious about was what kind of sexual activity there would be at this/these event(s), and if it would be out in the open or not. I've found that this factor varies greatly from one naked event to another. Usually it's going on, but more often than not sequestered off in a "discreet room." I know the last time I was at Island House I was admonished for getting my dick sucked out in the open on the pool deck. But before long I saw a group of guys right in the middle of things who were playing with each other's boners. On average they were pretty well endowed. Some of them were quite well endowed indeed. I went up to try to get in on the action, but they were circled off pretty tightly, and didn't appear to be letting others in to play. The sandy brown hair guy seemed to be one of them, but wasn't directly engaged in the play, at least at that minute.
The important thing was that this let the genii was out of the bottle. As far as I was concerned, I was cleared to exhibit a vulgar display right out in front of everyone. That knowledge alone was enough to start giving me a chubby. And the more I walked around with a chubby for all to see, the harder it got. I strolled around the grounds letting my schlong wag back and forth between my legs. Over by the pool I caught my reflection in some sliding glass doors. It's not so much that I get turned on by the sight of my own naked body as much as seeing my naked reflection puts it into context, making it all the more real that I'm naked and aroused out in the open. I touched my nipples for two seconds, and I quickly became fully rigid. I walked around the party like that for a little while. I got a fair amount of attention, but no real action other than a grope or squeeze here and there.
My dick was up and down, and I was in and out of the water over the course of the afternoon. The circle of guys went through phases of playing and just standing there talking, but all the time circled up and not letting anyone else into their group. I decided I was going to call them "The Wang Gang." I also decided that I was not going to let myself be put off by their exclusivity.
By and large I was enjoying myself, but it was a little tough to find any decent conversation. And I was starting to get a little hungry. I hadn't eaten since my BK breakfast back in Ft Lauderdale. But I didn't want to put my clothes back on to venture out for food. Eventually someone showed up with a stack of pizzas and we were all able to pig out. The Wang Gang finally had to break their circle, but they still seemed to be interacting only with each other.
After I had eaten, I was able to find a little conversation. I was chatting with a German guy for a while. What was interesting, was we were both standing there talking naked, and at one point I reached out and grabbed his dick. I didn't ask. He didn't gesture. I just reached over, gave it a squeeze, and just sort of diddled with it while we chatted. The conversation continued as it had before. It was as if it wasn't out of the ordinary in the slightest for one guy to be fiddling with another guy's dick as a natural part of casual conversation.
I also wound up chatting with a young guy named Aaron. It turned out this was his first naked event. Apparently he tagged along with a fag hag friend who was in Key West for a NORML rally, and she encouraged him to go to the naked party and whore it up. It also appeared that he'd had a lot of drinks, probably to loosen himself up. He wasn't sloppy drunk, or obnoxious, but he wasn't far off from either.
I asked him how he was dealing with the whole naked thing. He said okay, but in a way that suggested it wasn't all that okay. I pressed him on it, and he admitted that he was concerned he didn't measure up. In fact his pee wee was a little on the little side. I assumed he was referring to the very showy Wang Gang. I explained to him that a lot of times guys with big dicks come to these events because it gives them an opportunity to show off their big dicks, but that their size should not be construed as any kind of standard to measure up to. I went on to say that social nudity isn't about how big your dick is. It's about the freedom of liberating one's self from the restriction of clothing, and about being in the company of others who are sharing the same liberation, and enjoying and reveling in the uninhibited dynamic that invariably ensues.
I continued wandering and mingling. I frequently wound up circling back to Aaron. At one point he finally blurted out that he wanted to suck my dick.
I said, "What's stopping you?"
"Where can we go?" he asked.
"Don't bother," I said. "Let's do it right here out in the open.
I think that was a new concept for him. Not having been previously introduced to social nudity, he may also have been a newcomer to public sex. But, to his credit, he got right down on his knees and started blowing me where I stood. He was trying to deepthroat me, but it was not working. He said it was because he lacked the skills, but I said it was more likely because he was coming at it from the wrong angle. He didn't know what I meant. It always surprises me how few people grasp the concept of deepthroat position.
I brought him over to a poolside chaise lounge, which I flattened put, and I lay on my back. I had Aaron come at me from the 69 position. "Try it now," I said. He started sucking me again, and within a minute let my fat dick slip right down his throat. "There you go!" I said. He kept sucking me, but didn't deepthroat me again. It may have been a little much for him. But we were now definitely garnering a little attention. Even some of the Wang Gang were looking down our way.
After we concluded that scene I went back to the party, but things were starting to wind down, and the crowd was thinning out. I mingled a little more, but I could tell the end was in sight. When I came back to the epicenter I saw that Aaron had apparently broken into the Wang Gang. They had let their circle break up a little bit. They didn't seem to be paying any attention to Aaron, but neither were they shooing him away. Perhaps the biggest dick of the group was on a scruffy but fit British guy. Someone was trying to deepthroat him, and apparently not succeeding, and he stopped. Aaron said, "You should give it a try, Toaph." No one was in front of the guy at the moment, and he didn't seem averse to it, so I got down on my knees. It was a big, fat dick, but I was still able to deepthroat it easily. I went nuts on it for a while. He wasn't telling me to stop, but neither was he giving me much of an indication that he liked (or appreciated) what I was doing. So after I had my fill I just stopped.
It wasn't long after that that I decided it was time to go. I encountered the catch-22 that always comes about at this juncture. I've had enough of the party, but I don't want to put my clothes back on. I've heard it described as slaves putting on their own shackles. To be naked just a bit longer always keeps me lingering just a bit longer, but finally I got dressed and left.
I went back to my hotel. My room was finally ready. I also took the opportunity to fetch my car from the parking garage, because the construction workers had opened up the entrance to the hotel parking lot. I had no real use for it, but I felt more comfortable having it close to me. I parked it toward the back of the hotel lot, out of the way and as far from the street as possible. I found a back door here into the hotel courtyard. I assumed it would be locked, but it wasn't. I went up to my room, unpacked a few things, and relaxed naked for a bit. There was the pool and jucuzzi down in the courtyard, but it was full of straight people, and it would be necessary to keep covered up. I got out my camera and tripod. I took a number of art shots, but none of them really looked any good at all. Eventually I got tired of that and just lay on my bed.
There were still a few hours to kill before the scheduled events in town would start for the evening, so I decided to zip up the block to Island House and continue the nakedness. I threw on some shorts and ran down the stairs, across the courtyard, and out the back door to the parking lot. I hid my room key behind the front wheel of my car so I wouldn't have to worry about losing it.
It was a quick walk up the block to Island House. I wasn't sure what kind of crowd would be there. This was the dinner hour, and I know that often the gay guest houses are typically deserted at that time as people go find local eateries. But I could hear quite a ruckus over the fence as I walked past the building to the entrance. I handed over my Island House guest pass, and the guy gave me a locker key and a towel. Two seconds later I was back to being naked.
I had forgotten how confusing the Island House layout is, but I managed to make my way out to the pool. I had also forgotten that they have a restaurant and bar poolside, which probably explained why a lot of the guys were still there rather than at restaurants having dinner. I didn't want to be burdened with carrying a locker key around with me wherever I went, so I hid it under the decking off to the side way at the back of the pool area. I dipped my toe in the pool. It was warm. I mean really warm. Swimming pools are never warm enough for me. But this one was heavenly. I swam a little, but I didn't have my goggles with me, and I didn't want to lose a contact lens. I wound up lying on my back on a floating pad. I looked up through the palm fronds, naked and wet, to see the constellation Orion looking back down at me. I have a love/hate relationship with Orion. He's the sexiest of all the constellations by far, but he only comes out in the Winter. I always revel in the rare occasions when I can gaze upon him when I'm naked.
After a little time in the pool I went up to find the playroom. I hadn't been in there in years. I found what I believed to be the entrance. I opened the door to a long, dark corridor with fun-house mirrors on either side. I wasn't entirely sure what the mirrors were all about, but I knew I was in the right place. I didn't know what kind of action I'd find there. These things can be very much hit-and-miss. But it turned out there were plenty of guys in there. I got sucked and touched by a number of them.
The rest of the night was marked pretty much by me circulating from the pool to the hot tub to the playroom and back. My dick was up and down the whole time. My favorite thing was to walk from the playroom out amongst people with copious slobber clearly glistening off my still totally hard dick. This went on for quite a while, but before too long I decided it was time to head into town. I found my key right where I left it. After getting dressed and returning the towel and key, I left Island House and walked all the way up to Duval.
It took me a little time to find the gay bars. I knew they were up Duvall, but I wasn't sure how far, and I didn't have the street address with me. I kept walking, and finally came upon them. The first event was a drag show. Ordinarily I wouldn't have gone, but I got free admission with my Bone Island pass. The fat chick at the ticket window seemed perturbed that I would not be a paying customer, but she directed me upstairs where the show was. There was another bar up there, with a drag stage down at one end. I wasn't really sure what the deal with nudity was. This event was on the agenda for the Bone Island Weekend package, but it was clearly not the same crowd. After a while I realized that they had a section off to the side half covered with tarps. If you wanted to be naked you had to stay back there. I took a peek, and there were only a couple fat hairy old men in there.
That was totally not working for me, so I went back out among the clothed and found myself a seat in a dark corner. I saw a couple people I recognized from earlier in the day, but I wasn't feeling particularly sociable. It must have been because my clothes were still on. Before long the show started anyway.
Now, I love drag and drag queens. I love everything about it, from the witty outrageousness to the gender-bending subversive nature of the whole scene. But I'm not all that crazy about drag shows themselves. Honestly, I find it a little boring to watch someone lip-sync to recorded music, no matter how outrageous their persona. I sat through the first couple of performances, but then the emcee started coming around and hitting people up for tips. She was on the microphone the whole time, publicly embarrassing people into giving money. I snuck around the bar, keeping one step ahead of her until I could get back to the people she had already shaken down. But as the next performance started, I decided I just wasn't into it, so I quietly snuck out.
The problem was there was still over an hour before the next party started. The bar where the party was taking place was in the space behind the bar just downstairs from the drag show. It was already open, but there were only a few early-bird bar flies there. I went to the space out back. There was porn playing. I dropped my shorts and started playing with myself, but it wasn't that hot. The porn was really grody, for one thing. Others would occasionally wander out back, but none was anyone I was particularly interested in interacting with. I went in and out of the bar a couple of times, generally wandering around the area, and just waiting for the party to start.
Finally people did start arriving. They set up a clothes check, where I dropped off my gym shorts and shirt, but I wasn't terribly confident in their system, so I wasn't sure if I'd ever see my stuff again. I kept my distressed tighty-whiteys with me so that they could be on and off over the course of the evening. I looked around for anyone to talk to. It was pretty much the exact same crowd that was at Equator earlier in the day. The Wang Gang formed up at one end of the bar, interacting with each other, and pretty much shutting the rest of the party out. I got up in the go-go booth and did a little dance, but I got like zero attention.
The bar started filling up with naked men, but I still wasn't really feeling the vibe. I migrated from the front of the bar where the clothes check and the Wang Gang were, to the back of the bar where the go-go booth was, to out behind where the porn was playing. By now the whole place was rather crowded. I found myself back out by the porn. Some drunk guy with clothes on seemed to be quite irate at a naked old man, who for his part was doing the best to ignore the whole situation. The drunk guy was positively screaming at him about something. I'm not sure what it was. Probably nothing. There seemed to be one or two people around the drunk guy to keep things from getting too out of hand, but no one was stopping him from screaming until he was red in the face. The naked guy, who was the recipient of his shouting, was simply acting like he wished the other guy would go away. I'm not sure what wound up happening there.
It wasn't long before I decided I'd had enough of this whole party. I had discovered a dark hookup room at the back of the bar across from the go-go booth. I loitered in there looking for an opportunity to unload. I offered my cumshot to the first guy who could give me a decent blowjob, but he declined. That doesn't happen to me very often. But some other guy was nearby. He was wearing like a Robin Hood hat. He said that he'd be happy to take my load. He gave a good enough blowjob. When I started feeling close, I took control of my cock, and warned him to be prepared to get drenched. I kept pumping, and within seconds I was squirting all over him. What with the buildup earlier in the day and that evening, it was a pretty heavy load. The guy with the Robin Hood hat certainly appreciated it.
After this I hung out just a little longer, but then got my shorts and t-shirt and walked back to the hotel. It was a nice quiet walk. I found my hotel key right behind the front wheel of my car. I expected the back door to the hotel compound to be locked at this hour, but it was not. I went through the courtyard and directly to my room. It wasn't until I was crawl in in bed that I realized I didn't have my white noise machine. I must have left it in the hotel room I had in Ft Lauderdale the night before. I cursed myself for rushing out the door that morning needlessly, and figured I might never see the device again.
The next morning I was up at the crack of dawn. I really wanted to sleep in, but my body had other plans. I lay around for a while, but I was bored. And hungry. And I knew there was no way I would fall back asleep. I decided to hike into town to score some chow. It was a beautiful, sunny morning. It was still early enough that pretty much the only people out and about were health nut jogger types. I saw a pile of puke on the curbside, glistening in the morning sun. I figured some late night reveler had deposited it, probably not that long ago. I snapped a picture to text to my friends back home.
The events that were scheduled for later that morning/day were nude shopping excursions at a couple of local establishments. I scoped them out on my way to find food. One was a leather/sex shop a little ways down a side street. Another was a retailer right on Duval St, which had paper up over the windows and a sign saying that it would be closed for a private event. It still wasn't even going to start for some time.
I decided to relive past culinary experiences in Key West, and went to the Denny's on the corner of Rt 1. I was going to get my usual Moon Over My Hammy, but I couldn't help but notice the Grand Slamwich. I decided to order it in support of my penchant for getting exactly the wrong dish. It was way too much food, way too heavy, and the bread was infused with sweet syrup that really ruined the otherwise savory note of the meal. I choked down as much as I could and left.
With nothing better to do at this hour, I just went back to my room. I lay down on my bed, and the next thing I knew I was fast asleep. In fact I slept like a rock. I was able to catch up on all the sleep I had been missing the past few days. The problem was that when I woke up, the naked shopping events were almost over. I threw on some clothes and ran into town. On the way up Flemming I bumped into the sandy blond hair guy who approached me at Equator the previous day. I asked him if he had been to the shopping events, and if there was much of anything going on.
"Well, I kinda had my own party with me, so it was happening while we were there. Can't say what's going on now, though."
I knew he was referring to the Wang Gang. Apparently their coordinate covalent bond was equally strong day or night, wherever they were, whatever they were doing. He continued on his way back to Island House, and I continued into town. I wound up at the leather/sex shop. There were one or two guys in there, including the guy who was working. He was actually pretty hot, and he was naked. I didn't really feel the need to get naked, actually. I didn't plan on staying long or buying anything. But the guy was friendly, and he offered me a bag to put my clothes in. So I decided what the hell, I'd get naked. It was an interesting experience to be in a retail store with nothing on, even a smutty sex shop like this. And it was convenient for when I tried on jocks and harnesses. I came a little close to buying a jock with a chainmale codpiece. It was reasonably priced, as these things go, but still pretty pricey, and I knew I'd rarely if ever wear it. But I didn't want to leave empty handed, so I bought a big butt plug.
I went to the other store that had naked shopping going on, but I didn't even go in. I knew I would probably be the only person there, and they sold underwear and shorts, none of which I knew I'd buy. So I hoofed it back to my hotel room.
That afternoon's activities were at the Island House. This time I decided to walk up from my hotel in nothing but my distressed tighty whiteys. I already had them on under my gym shorts, so I stripped off everything else and headed out. I didn't even put on shoes. But this time I was sure to bring my goggles with me, and while I was at it I grabbed my GoPro camera. It was particularly fun walking through the courtyard of my breeder hotel in nothing but my dirty underwear. I don't imagine that's something they see very often. I snuck out the back entrance like the night before, and similarly hid my hotel key under the front tire of my rental car. Then it was on to the mean streets of Key West in my obscene getup. But there was hardly anyone to see me on the short walk, and if anyone took notice they took no offense.
Once inside Island House, the guy at the front desk handed me a locker key. I stood back, stretched out my arms, stood before him in nothing but my underwear, and said, "I really don't have anything that needs locking up."
"Fair enough," the guy said.
In I went. Having been there only the night before I knew my way around this time. It was still fairly early, and not much of a crowd had built up yet. I tossed my underwear somewhere off to the side and took a dip in the pool. It was not quite as warm as the night before, but still very nice. With my goggles on, I could fully enjoy the pool, which basically meant that I swam extensively underwater, only coming up to grab a quick breath of air. I played with my GoPro a little, but I already have plenty of footage of me skinny dipping in hotel pools. After a little while of that I went back to my pattern of rotating between the pool, the playroom, and the hot tub.
After a while more people started showing up. The Wang Gang appeared en masse and all got in the pool. I decided that this might make for some more interesting underwater imagery, so I got my GoPro back out again. I swam back and forth a couple times getting footage of them playing with each other's hard dicks underwater. But as soon as I came up for air, one of them confronted me.
"I don't think people are cool with having their pictures taken," he said sternly. "In fact I think you should go take that little camera back to your room. Right now."
I wasn't really expecting this. I mean, it was underwater footage. No one could be seen at all except from the waist down. I also wasn't expecting quite that harsh of a reaction. I interpreted that the suggestion to remove my camera from the scene was so that no one would take it from me and smash it. And maybe my face along with it. I got a little panicky at this point. The last thing I wanted was for a whole hoard of guys to be mad at me, or to make a big federal case out of it, or to maybe complain to the organizers, or that it might become a physical altercation.
In the moment I decided to just remove myself from the situation. I quietly swam to the other end of the pool, climbed out, and exited the pool area. My heart was beating a little fast. I was afraid I'd hear someone say, "There he goes!" as they all charged after me. But I didn't look back. I went to a distant part of the compound and found some quiet little corner to hide the GoPro, and I kept walking. Really the only place to go was the playroom. I wasn't really in the mood for hot action at the moment, still freaked out by the whole confrontation, but at the very least it was an effective dark corner where I could hide for a while.
The irony was that the action in the play room had really picked up. There was a lot going on in there. I just parked myself in a strategic position to get my dick sucked, and tried to take my mind off the drama while one guy after another blew me. But as this was going on I noticed a skinny Asian guy whom I'd seen around the compound all morning. We caught each other's eye. I'm usually pretty selective about whose dick I suck in these places, and usually I don't select small Asian dicks, but the guy was pretty hot, so I stepped in front of him and got down on my knees. He turned out to be a face-fucker, which is not something I like, but I gave him a pass based on his lean, tight body, and the fact that his little Asian dick wasn't much of an imposition on my mouth. I was trying to deepthroat him, which was something he seemed to be responding to, but the logistics were all wrong. I walked him into the video room and had him lie on his back on one of the benches. It seemed he wasn't sure what I was up to, but when I got into 69 position and could properly deepthroat his little dick, he totally responded. He was now quite aggressively throat fucking me. Ordinarily I would not stand for this, but his little prick wasn't much of an imposition, so I let it go on. But it didn't take too long before I was bored with it, and I brought the scene to a close. I think the guy was disappointed as I inexplicably walked away.
What I really wanted to do was rejoin the pool party, but I was afraid that I would be confronted again. I decided that I might as well take my GoPro back to my hotel room. This way I would be sure no one could fuck with it, and it would allow a little more time to pass. The problem was that my underwear was back at poolside. I was afraid that if I showed my face, they'd all yell "There he is!" and chase me down. I went to the pool area entrance that was nearest where my underwear was, and nonchalantly strolled in. I acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. The last thing I wanted to do was look like I was slinking around, or otherwise give off a hesitant or cowardly vibe. So without looking at the pool or making eye contact with anyone in it, I quietly but deliberately grabbed my underwear, and walked right back out of the space. No one chased me.
I went back to my camera and found it safely where I'd left it. I went out the front door and walked in my underwear briskly back to my room. Once again I walked past the breeders in the courtyard, wondering what they were thinking. Back in my room I put my camera away. I thought about ditching the whole party and just staying put, but that wasn't an option. I paid a lot of money and went to a lot of trouble to attend this event, and this afternoon would be one of the high points. I would have to brave the possibility of a harsh reception. I was, however, not feeling particularly daring at the moment, so I slipped on a pair of gym shorts for the walk back.
Back at Island House I ditched my underwear and shorts in the same spot poolside. I was feeling a little more brave by this time, so I looked out across the sea of people. The Wang Gang hadn't budged from where I shot video of them. No one seemed to be taking any notice of me. I spied the guy who had confronted me in the first place. He didn't seem to be holding any kind of grudge. So I pretty much got over my anxiety. Actually what I really wanted to do was go back up to the playroom and get my dick sucked again. It was nice to just get a blowjob on demand whenever I wanted. Even in bath houses it can take some time to get a little action. But on this day all I had to do was walk into the playroom and stand off to the side, and someone would start sucking me right away.
Later I did wind up back in the pool. By now the porn star from the day before had shown up. He was floating in the pool on a raft on his back while dirty old men talked to him and played with his dick. To his credit, he was being very charming with them. I caught up with Aaron from the day before. I asked him what he did last night. It turned out he was at some NORML function where he got insanely stoned. I mingled around a little more, but there wasn't a lot of stimulating conversation in the pool. I grabbed my goggles and swam around. The pool water was a lot more cloudy than it had been earlier in the day. Disturbingly so.
Things started to get somewhat repetitive as I pretty much went back and forth between the playroom and the pool. The action was much better than the day before at Equator, but the conversation wasn't really there. When the crowd started thinning out, I thinned right along with them. I wound up back in my room where I chilled out for a while.
The next event was a viewing of the Key West Holiday Parade. Apparently it was a coincidence that Bone Island Weekend happened to be the same weekend as the annual parade. So the organizers arranged that we could hang out naked on the balcony of the New Orleans House on Duval overlooking the whole event. I didn't know how interested I was in a holiday parade, but it was better than sitting in my room and doing nothing.
Now came the really interesting part. I had all along wanted to walk the streets of Key West in nothing by my distressed tighty whiteys. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. I could walk all the way to the event in nothing but my underwear, and spend the rest of the evening that way. But I wasn't sure I had the nerve. People tend to describe me as being "brave" for all the naked activities and outlandish events I engage in. But the truth is, they're all held in safe, private environments where people are supposed to be naked and frisky. It's not a stretch for me to be naked and outlandish, because everyone else is being naked and outlandish. If I were to actually walk to the New Orleans house in my underwear, I would be wandering out into the cold harsh world, totally exposed. Granted it was Key West, but I would still be out in public without a net. I've found that it's difficult for me to push my limits anymore, because I've moved the limits out so far. But this was definitely something to take me out of my comfort zone. If I walked out of that hotel in my underwear, every step I took would take me one step further away from safety. There would be no turning back. And if things went awry, there would be nowhere to hide. This was something I had to commit to.
I didn't allow myself to ponder it too long. I just pulled on my underwear, slipped into my shoes, grabbed my ball cap, and walked out the door before I could change my mind. Once again I walked past all the straight people in the hotel courtyard in my brief little briefs. I stepped out the back gate and hid my hotel key under the tire of my rental car. Then it was out into the harsh streets of Key West. The main reason I brought my ball cap was so that I could pull it down over my face and avoid eye contact when needed. That was pretty much what I did as I walked along. It wasn't like there were a lot of people out and about on Flemming St, but I just hid under the brim of my ball cap and stayed in my own little world. I tried to keep my mind off of what I was actually doing, if for no other reason than it was quite exciting, and if I thought about it for two seconds I'd get a total hard-on. Keeping my head down also helped prevent that I saw my reflection in a passing store front window, which would also have meant an instant boner. My dick was already threatening to plump up, and in these little boys briefs there was nowhere to hide.
I didn't really have any human interaction at all until I was almost up to Duval. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple girlfriends giggle and shriek as they pointed at me and clung tightly to their boyfriends arms as if for safety. I walked past some gray-haired, bearded old parrot-head burnout who laughed, and wheezed, "Nice outfit!" Then I turned the corner and walked up Duval proper. I kept my face buried deeply under my ball cap and walked briskly with a determined gate. As far as I could tell, no one was taking any notice of me whatsoever. It was as if it happened every day. But things were rather busy in preparation for the parade, and there were some people walking to and fro in unusual get-ups. But it became a moot point when I reached the New Orleans house and slipped inside where it was safe again.
Up on the balcony they had the balustrades blocked off so that we could all be naked up there without traumatizing the people below. They were just setting up the clothes check when I walked in. But I didn't need one, because again I didn't really have any clothes to check. I left my briefs on for a while, just to be contrary, and to give an excuse to tell as many people who would listen that I walked all the way from my hotel like that. But it wasn't long before I needed the freedom of complete nudity. I pulled off my shorts, and did my trick of sticking my foot through the fly so that I could keep them wrapped around my ankle.
I milled about on the balcony, looking for someone to keep me company. It was pretty much the same crowd as before, minus the Wang Gang, and anyone else I had grown accustomed to chatting with. But before long I was approached by a guy who was staying there at the New Orleans House. I don't believe he was in town for Bone Island Weekend, he just happened to be hanging out when all these naked men descended on his hotel. But he had absolutely no issues joining in. He was a little on the chubby side, but not exactly fat. He wasn't terribly bad looking, but he did have bags under his deep set eyes. Still, he was affable enough. Actually he was borderline sloppy drunk. And he seemed to latch onto me. But I abided, mostly because I didn't have much of anyone else to talk to.
Finally the parade started. I stood at the edge of the balcony with my new friend. The parade started with a lot of municipal vehicles: fire trucks, paddy wagons, ambulances, etc. It wasn't really what I thought of when I pictured a tropical Christmas parade. But soon things transitioned over to more conventional holiday floats. It was interesting. Apparently there was little or no coordination between them regarding issues like which float would have Santa, or other standard icons and themes. Because there was a lot of thematic duplication between them, and about half of them had a Santa on them. But hey, who gives a fuck. It's Christmas in Key West. What do you expect?
So I was chatting with my new friend, trying to make witty remarks with each sight that passed by. When an overtly gay float went by, I yelled out, "Hey! We're NAKED!!!" In truth the parade went on for quite a while. Fairly early on I wondered how much longer it would be. At one point my new friend got on his knees and sucked my dick a little, just so I could say that I had the life experience of receiving oral sex while watching a Christmas parade pass by. I imagine not a lot of people can make that claim. A little later he wanted to do it again, but I said once was enough. He was starting to get a little clingy. And frankly I was starting to get a little bored. You can really only take so much tropical/holiday cross-themed content before it gets repetitive. Finally the tail of the procession did pass by, and things started to break up.
There was still about 90 minutes to kill before the next event started. It was the big Saturday night blow-out event, and it was happening in the huge open courtyard right behind the New Orleans House. My new friend took me back there to show me. The space was quite impressive, but at this time it was abandoned. I certainly wasn't going to just sit back there with this guy and wait for an hour and a half. He had frankly become glued to my side, and I needed to do something to shake him. I decided that I was going to go back outside and strut proudly up and down Duval in my underwear. Things had been going well enough so far. I was feeling more brave. It was the perfect activity. I told the guy I was going for a walk and that I'd see him at the party.
I squirmed back into my tighty whiteys and trundled down the steps back to the exit at street level. What I really needed was a bite to eat. I gave myself the mission to find the nearest pizza joint and order a slice in my underwear. It turned out I didn't have far to go. There was a little shop selling slices immediately next door to the New Orleans house. To my surprise, they did not refuse me service based on the fact I was in a restaurant in my underwear. Honestly they didn't look twice.
Back on the street I stepped to the curb and chowed down. Having something in my hands made it a little easier to pretend I wasn't fully aware that I was a total public spectacle. But unlike the walk up Duval, people were now definitely taking note of me. Some young woman in a sexy dress actually approached me.
"Why are you in your underwear?" she asked.
"Because I'm in Key West," I answered
She looked back at me for a second. "That's what being in Key West means to you?" she asked.
"Pretty much," I answered.
"You didn't lose a bet or anything?" she asked.
"No..." I giggled. "It's just what I wanted to wear."
She thought about it for a second. When she realized there was really nowhere else to go with it, she just said, "Okay," and walked on.
After I finished my slice I started walking. A lot more people were checking me out. It was mostly more girlfriends giggling and clinging tightly to their boyfriends. I caught some people surreptitiously taking my picture. I had to laugh, because they were doing secretively, like they were afraid I'd freak out if I caught them, when in fact I would gladly have posed for them. The real shame was that I would have no photographic record of my own to document this folly. I wanted to go up to someone to have them take my picture and email it to me, but that was contrary to the devil-may-care demeanor I was trying to emulate, that there was nothing unusual about me being in my underwear.
I walked North on Duval almost all the way to the water. Some people were taking note of me. A lot weren't. But I didn't really care. I was just enjoying the freedom and excitement of being out in public in the tightest whiteys you can imagine. When I got almost to the end of the street, I turned around and walked all the way back up on the other side. I walked past the New Orleans House and kept going. This white dude almost walked into me. He was just a little bit older, probably a husband and father on vacation and separated from his family. When he almost bumped into me, and looked and realized what I was wearing, he paused, looked me square in the eye, and said, "Good for you." It made me smile.
I walked up Duval maybe a couple blocks past US1, and then turned back around again. As I was coming back towards the New Orleans House, I saw a mom and dad approaching with a little kid in a stroller. I thought this was going to be interesting. I intended to walk past as if nothing were out of the ordinary at all. Just as I was almost up to them, the mom said, "Aw, honey, did you get robbed?" That one made me laugh.
So I had basically walked all the way up and down Duval, and there was still plenty of time to kill before the next party started. I hung out with the drag queens trying to get people to go into the drag show. I thought they'd have a hoot with me, but they took no notice at all. I stepped into the back bar where the party had been the night before. There were a couple bar flies, and a couple naked guys I recognized from the weekend. I went out back and jerked off a little to the lame porn. I went back in and stepped into the dark room that was at that end of the bar. This creepy older guy whom I'd seen lurking around the edges all weekend chose that moment to suck my dick. It wasn't all that hot. In truth it was kind of a turnoff. But that made it easier to tuck my dick back in my shorts and walk back out onto the streets again.
I decided I needed a new mission. I remembered seeing a shop that sold slices of key lime pie. That sounded good. I knew it was right around there, but I couldn't find it. So I walked all the way back up Duval again. I still couldn't find it. So I walked all the way back down again. I think by now pretty much everyone who was going to react to a man in his underwear had already done so, but I did still occasionally catch people who were seeing me for the first time. The kicker was, I couldn't find this key lime pie place! So I walked up and down again, and still couldn't find it. This was good in that it gave me an excuse to keep walking up and down the streets, but it was starting to get a little old, and I really wanted that piece of pie!
Finally, just as I was back at the New Orleans House and about ready to give up, I noticed that the pie place had been right next door all along. It was on the other side from the pizza joint where I'd gotten a slice earlier. I must have been looking at the New Orleans House each time I walked past rather than the establishments adjacent to it. I paused for a moment before I went in, because I knew it was going to be fun.
So this young woman was behind the counter in the pie shop, when some man walks in wearing nothing but skimpy white briefs. I stepped directly up to her. "Hi!" I said with a friendly smile. "Do you sell individual slices of key lime pie?" She nodded, doe-eyed and agog. "May I have one slice please?" She got the slice ready as I pulled some bills out of my arm band thingy. "Thank you!" I said with another friendly smile as she cautiously took the money.
Then I found myself back out on the street eating food in my underwear. The pie was good. I had forgotten that the make it extra tart in the keys. But I was enjoying it. The problem was that it was so good I wolfed it down in like 3 bites.
Now that I had accomplished my mission I really just wanted the party to start. With no watch or phone I couldn't be sure that the exact time was, but I knew it was close. I decided I would just go in and wait for the party to start. I went back in the New Orleans House to go up to the balcony and work my way back to the space behind like earlier, but there were a couple guys on the steps cleaning up. They were like, "Whoah, where do you think you're going?" I told them I wanted to go back to the party, but they said the passage way had been locked up, and I needed to go to the side entrance around back. I walked around to the side entrance, but it was locked. I could look over the gate and see that people were now starting to arrive at the party, but I couldn't get through the gate. I pressed the button, but no one buzzed me in. I felt so left out. But as I looked, I saw that more people were entering the party. There must be another way in. So I went back out front and into the bar that was directly beneath the balcony where we'd watched the parade. The place was rocking, with lots of gay guys whooping it up and go-go boys up on the bar. I had no idea! I could have been killing time in there! So I just walked through the bar, found the way to the back, showed my pass, and walked past the people who were disrobing and handing their things over to the clothes check guy.
So now the party had officially started, but things were still a little slow. I checked out the space. It was quite expansive, with lots of little vignettes. I had heard someone say there was a hookup spot way in the back. I walked over there to check it out. It didn't look like much of anything to me, and no one else was back there. So I went back up by the bar, but I didn't really see anyone to talk to. Until my shadow spied me. He went right up to me. "There you are!" he said. "I was devastated when you left!"
"Devastated???" I asked. "Seriously?" I knew this guy was going to be a problem. He had now gone from borderline sloppy drunk to full-on sloppy drunk. I saw some go-go boy platforms nearby. I knew he couldn't follow me there, so I dropped my shorts, climbed up, and did my little go-go boy dance. No one was really paying much attention to me, but it was a nice way to pass the time. That was until another guy got up on the next platform over. He was older, short, with a fat belly and a flat ass, and skinny, spindly little legs. Oh, and he was wearing a dorky wicker fedora. And he couldn't dance. I mean really bad. He looked like he was having a seizure. But he sure seemed to be enjoying himself. It was a gigantic turn-off for me. And a little pretentious, I might add, for this unappealing guy to presume it was okay to get up there and dance with me. So I quickly jumped down and walked away.
The crowd had picked up a bit. The Wang Gang had taken up their spot at the end of the bar, exercising their standard practice of interacting with each other and no one else. I saw some people walking back into the shadows at the back of the space, so I decided to follow them. They went back to where I had explored before, but made a turn off to the left. There was a whole section back there that I hadn't noticed. It was a glory hole maze. Now we're talking, I thought. But when I went in there I saw the guy who had been tailing me all night. I decided I'd come back when he wasn't there. I went back up towards the bar and milled around some more. I found my way up to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. I got a little excited up there, like I was standing naked before the whole party.
While I was up there, I saw the porn star from the day before get up on the go-go boy platform below. I watched him as he got into his groove. He really knew how to move. I mean, he was really, really good at erotic dancing. Guys were coming up and putting dollars in his knee socks. I went back down from the balcony and watched him a little closer. The way he moved his body was really quite captivating. But I didn't want to get too close or I'd feel obligated to put a dollar in his socks. So I watched from afar until I lost interest.
I went back out to the glory hole maze. I'd never really done the glory hole thing before. This arrangement was set up properly. I've never understood the logic in having a glory hole when the two participants are otherwise right there with each other. I mean, what is the point of putting a plank of wood between them with a hole in it? Why not just suck his dick? The whole objective is to have the spaces totally separate, so that the guys who stick their dicks through the holes have no idea who is sucking them, and the guys doing the sucking have no idea what body is attached to the dick that pokes through the hole. That's what glory holes are supposed to be about. And this one was set up like that.
So I stepped up to a hole and stuck my big business through it. Right away someone started sucking me. And he was doing a pretty good job. In fact I found myself really enjoying a legitimate glory hole experience. But just as I was getting into it, I felt something back around by my rear. I looked over my shoulder, and there was the guy who had been following me all night, poking around my butt crack with his dick. This pissed me off. No one gets access to me back there unless I grant access. Period. Who did this guy think he was? I really wanted to give him a shove and holler, "Enough!!!" Instead I just stormed away.
That left me back at the same party that I was already getting bored with. I tried to wallflower around the edges, but some guy came up and told me he'd seen me dancing. Ordinarily I know how to take a compliment, but I just wasn't feeling it that night anymore. Honestly by then I'd had about enough of the whole Bone Island scene. It was still fairly early. It was actually borderline late by my standards, but I had already given myself permission to stay out very late that night. But now that I was there, I wasn't really in the mood. The thought of climbing back into bed was actually a lot more appealing.
But before I could leave I needed to take care of business. I walked back out to the play area. I found the first guy I could cum on, whipped it out, and pounded it until I squirted all over him. That was it. I was done. And happily so.
I emerged back out to the party. Now not only was I bored and tired, but I had undergone the profound hormonal drop that accompanies ejaculation. And here I was, a million miles from my hotel room, with nothing but my distressed underwear to protect me on the walk back. Where before I had found it exciting, now it was just a huge inconvenience. But I had no choice. I had to make the walk. There was no option.
I pulled the underwear back on, adjusted myself, and walked back out to the streets. The good news was that the crowds had thinned out a lot. The bad news was that the people who were left were all drunk. I just pulled my hat down over my face and made a bee line for the corner of Flemming St. I don't know if anyone was checking me out because I was looking at my feet the whole way.
Just when I was almost back to Flemming, I heard some drunken frat boy jock say, "Is that legal?" I knew he was referring to me, but I didn't know if he was directly addressing me. And I didn't care. "Is that fucking LEGAL?!?!?" I heard him say. I still didn't know if he was talking to me, or just inquiring to his fellow drunken frat boy jock buddies. But I didn't care. I was not in the mood. I just kept on walking. And not hearing anything else, it appeared that the drunk guy was content to let me pass by. Next thing I knew I had literally turned the corner onto Flemming where it was dark and deserted. All except for a kit kat klub just around the corner that had some scantily clad tarts out in front of it. They would generally harass the men who walk by in a sad attempt to entice them into the club, but something tells me they knew they'd be barking up the wrong tree with me.
As I disappeared into the darkness I felt a little more relaxed. I even allowed myself to catch a glimpse of myself in store front windows. I was quite a sight. I really, really wished I'd gotten a picture of it at some point. But the opportunity was gone. Next thing I knew I had my hotel key from under my rental car and was back in the compound. No one was down there at this hour. I just went into my room and passed out.
The plan was to be up and out early to beat the vacationer traffic headed back to the mainland. What wound up happening was that I took my time and checked out when I was good and ready. It was still pretty early. I used the Garmin to get me out of town, but it was directing me to the construction zone I had driven through two days before, which on this day was closed altogether, at least in the direction I wanted to go. I knew the island well enough to get me back out onto the causeway. The Garmin kept telling me to head to the North shore of the island, but I just kept going the way I was. There's a perverse satisfaction in ignoring the satnav. She was saying, "Turn left. ...Recalculating... Turn left. ...Recalculating... Turn left. ...Recalculating..."
As I left the island and headed out to sea, I noticed something. On the drive in, when I left the mainland, it was like I was going through endless strip malls. I was so focused on arriving at my destination that I allowed the strip mall perception to stay with me the whole way. But now that I was seeing the Western portion of the drive fresh, I noticed that it was a lot more picturesque than I had given it credit for on the drive out.
Traffic was not bad, but it only takes one car to slow everyone down. The biggest problem I had, actually, was some obnoxious pickup truck riding my bumper despite the fact that there was nowhere to pass anywhere. The first time there was any shoulder on the side of the road, I pulled over and let him pass. For the next several miles I watched him ride the bumper of the car that had been in front of me.
It was a rather relaxing drive, actually. I had an interesting podcast on the radio, and nowhere to be at any specific time. The miles ticked away and I saw for a second time all the tourist traps I'd seen on the drive out. Frankly, before I knew it, I was back in Key Largo, and almost to the mainland.
I did have one thing on tap for when I got back. Some weeks before, I had gotten a Facebook friend request from Peter Ian Cummings. The name immediately sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. The best I could recall was that it was someone with whom I had communicated years ago about gays in fraternities. I wrote him a note asking who he was. "I used to publish XY Magazine," he wrote back. I practically fell out of my chair!
It all came back to me. I had been a huge fan of XY when it was being published. The name Peter Ian Cummings was all over the masthead. My photographer friend in San Francisco Byron had gotten a couple of his images published in it. I had reached out to Peter way back then, asking if I could be a contributor to the publication, but never got a response. I mentioned it in an essay I had been writing at the time, but I never completed the piece, so it didn't get published on my site. In fact it languished on my hard drive for like 15 years until I discovered it while cleaning up old files, and decided to publish it unfinished. By a striking coincidence, Peter found it shortly thereafter while ego-surfing. And here he was friending me! It turned out that life after XY was quiet enough that he had interest in reaching out to strangers on the web.
It also turned out that Peter lived just a mile or two from the Lauderdale/Miami nude beach. It was on my agenda to pop in there on my way back from Bone Island Weekend, so I arranged to meet up with Peter when I got back in town. He suggested the nearby Starbucks. I already had the address punched into my Garmin. When I started getting close, I texted Peter, and it looked good that we would both arrive around the same time. The Garmin got me close, but the fact that A1A is a divided boulevard bamboozled it. It started sending me all over kingdom come, presumably to be coming down A1A in the proper direction for the Starbucks to be on my right. I couldn't tell where it wanted me to go, and wound up back on A1A on the wrong side of the street. I finally ignored the Garmin and just drove up A1A until I found it.
Peter was still a few minutes away. I got out of the car and stretched. I had been stationary pretty much since I left Key West hours before. Frankly there was not a single thing in Starbucks that I wanted, so I just sat quietly waiting for him. I didn't know what he looked like. Despite his myriad publications and Facebook presence, he'd only ever shown himself in like 2 images, each of which were contorted close-ups of his face that gave little away. He described his hair as being "shaggy."
After a few minutes I saw someone who must have been him, although he didn't really look like what I was expecting. The shaggy part was what he had left on the top of his head, with the back and sides being practically shaved. He was also carrying a couple more pounds than I would have imagined. He looked a little like a character from a B. Kliban drawing. He was approaching someone who I guess roughly fit my description. Just as I got up to grab him, he noticed me and came over.
After a brief back-and-forth over whether we should stay there or find somewhere less crowded, and what each of us wanted to order (I wound up going for the fruit smoothie), we got our drinks and sat down. It was a nice chat. I mostly got him talking about the history and disposition of XY, his current project B Magazine, and his plans to get into grad school. Turned out he was in the midst of preparing grad school applications. He and I were about the same age. I was more fit, but I think he looked a little younger. But what was interesting was that we were at about the same place on very different journeys. He talked about how he still had the opportunity to attend fabulous late-night parties with sexy models and lots of drugs, but in fact he'd rather just take it easy and go to bed early. I could so relate to that. Not like I got invited to those kinds of parties, but there's no shortage of exotic night life I could avail myself of if only I weren't more interested in getting some sleep.
We chatted for an hour, maybe more, but eventually I started getting antsy. It's my curse. No matter who I'm talking to, I run out of attention span pretty quickly. I told him I was headed to the nude beach. I invited him to join me, and I think he did consider it momentarily, but decided to get back to his grad school applications. He brought me over to his car and pulled out a couple back issues of B Magazine (which looked an awful lot like XY Magazine), and we parted ways.
It was a very quick drive down to Haulover Beach, but parking was a bitch. The whole lot was full, including the overflow yard. I should have expected this at early afternoon on a beautiful Sunday. I positioned myself up by the front of the lot, and watched for people returning to their cars. It was not long before I was able to follow someone to their car and nab their spot when they vacated it.
At this point I ran into the dilemma I always run into in this situation. I want to run around the beach stark naked, but I don't want to leave my car key unattended. What I usually do is hide it behind the front wheel of the car, like I had done when I left my hotel back in Key West, but that makes me paranoid too. It's hard to relax when all the while I'm thinking to myself that someone may have found the key and stolen my rental car. But that was the lesser of two evils, so I went with it.
The beach was pretty crowded, but not packed. I went down to the gay end and stripped. After all of the action I'd gotten over the previous 48 hours, I was not exactly jazzed up and ready to go. But that's not what Haulover Beach is about anyway. I decided to lie naked in the sun. It felt good, but it got old after about 2 minutes. I walked down to the water, but very quickly decided that I didn't feel like getting wet. I strolled naked all the way down to the far end of the beach and back. I lay back in the sun for another 2 minutes, but decided that this just wasn't working for me. So after all this I just went back to the car and got back on my way.
I had a couple of things next on the agenda. I needed to get a room for the night. I also wanted to strut my stuff at the bath house. And finally there was returning to the Best Western from 3 nights ago to hopefully retrieve my white noise machine.
I decided that finding a room was the most critical task, and that I should get it out of the way. My flight was crazy early the next morning, so I wanted something about as close to the airport as I could get. Peter actually recommended a Motel-6 that he thought would be the closest. I checked it out on the map and it looked good. I also found a nearby Econo Lodge. I had decided over the past year that for whatever reason they would get my brand loyalty. I was able to find it, but it was a real dump, and was located right across the street from what looked like a pretty sketchy low-income apartment complex. I got out of the car to find the office, honestly questioning why I was even bothering, but couldn't even seem to find it, so I said "fuck it" and got right back in my car. Sometimes even I wonder what motivates me.
I found the Motel-6. It was also a little on the dumpy side, but it was located on a stretch of road where I expected there to be no foot traffic. The price was a little higher than I expected, considering it was a bit of a dump. I went back to compare rates with a place that I had seen on my way up that struck me as having a nice vibe. But when I got back there I found that it was as expensive as the place I had stayed the first night, but not nearly as nice, so I bagged it. I got back to the Motel-6 just as the clerks were changing shift, and I had to wait while one cashed out. I hate waiting. But after a few minutes I had my room key.
I stepped into the room and found that it was actually kind of sporty, but it smelled like the detergent aisle of the grocery store. I don't know if that particular room had some foul smell they were trying to cover up, or if all the rooms stank like that. I considered asking for a different room, but I didn't want to deal with the hassle. I was heading right back out anyway, so I figured I'd deal with it when I got back.
From here I could have gone back to the Best Western to get my white noise machine, but I decided to make a bee line for the bath house. I didn't even stop for food despite the fact that I was now getting pretty hungry. I was hoping that their Sunday KFC buffet would still be going on. When I got there I saw that the parking lot had been jam packed, based on the way some guys found creative parking spaces, but by now some of the spaces had been vacated. Whenever I arrive there I just want to get inside, but I'm always stuck behind some tottering old dude taking forever. On this day there were a couple of guys in front of me. One had his luggage with him. I had heard that a gay cruise ship had come into port earlier that day, and the bath house might be crowded. I thought that after a week at sea with a thousand screaming fags that no one would want more at the bath house, but apparently I was wrong, because here was the guy with all his luggage. The wait was excruciating, but after several minutes I was inside.
I threw my stuff in a locker and set up my towel on a deck chair. Unfortunately the buffet was long over. I wasn't sure what my erectile function would be like after 48 hours of non-stop action. I brought a pill with me, but I decided to see how things went before taking it. Early indications were that I would not have any trouble getting it up.
So I went inside the building, and had a pretty generic day at the baths. The action was okay, but not remarkable. If someone started sucking my dick it would get hard, but as soon as they stopped, it would go down. I knew I wasn't going to be fucking anyone that day. Which suited me fine. I decided to build upon my experiences the night before and focus on the glory holes. This place had it set up pretty well. Unlike the New Orleans House which had very separate spaces bound be a wall with holes in it, this place had a set-up kind of like confessionals. There was one central booth where the sucker would go, flanked with suckee booths on both sides. This created a closer proximity, but because the booths were entirely closed off, anonymity was preserved. I went into a suckee booth and immediately started getting a pretty damn good blowjob. But due to my cursed attention span, I moved on to other adventures pretty quickly.
There wasn't a huge amount of other action going on, so I decided that I wanted to go back to the glory hole. Unfortunately by now both of the suckee booths were occupied. I mingled around, checking back every so often, but nothing was opening up. Finally one of them did, but after having served the occupant, the sucker now turned to the booth on the other side, and I was getting no attention. At all. So I gave up.
I figured by now it was about time to get wet, so I went into the steam room. There's one big section way to the back (this place has the largest and most complex steam room I've ever seen anywhere). I go back there and lie on my back waiting for guys to take their turns on my dick. I got some action right away, but it tapered off after a while, and no one was picking up the mantle. So I made a couple rounds of the pool, hot tub, steam room circuit until I got bored of that and dried off.
There was nothing else particularly remarkable about the rest of the day. I did get recognized by one other guy who knew me from the Mardi Gras party the year before. We had a nice chat, but I wasn't there for conversation. I continued mingling around, getting plenty more blowjobs, but I didn't suck a single cock all day. The first moment the time felt right I let my load go blasting onto whoever happened to be in front of me. Then it was into the showers, into my clothes, and out of the building.
By now I was really hungry and I decided I needed to have a nice big meal. But first I decided to run to the Best Western to get my white noise machine back. I drove directly there and went in. When I said why I was there, the guy quickly said that only the general manager had the keys to the lost-and-found, and that he was gone for the day. Curses! If I had gone their before the bath house I probably would have caught him. Oh well. The guy gave me some info for how to follow up once I was home (spoiler alert: they never did locate it, let alone get it back to me), and I took off.
There was still the matter of dinner. I was just around the corner from the Peter Pan Diner, which was perfect. I decided to have the chicken parmesan. It was enough for 4 people, which was just right for my appetite at the time. I was stuffed. From there I went right back to the Motel-6. I had forgotten about the fake, perfumy smell until I walked back in and it assaulted my olfactory senses. It was really, really, really overpowering. But there wasn't much I could do about it. I just had to endure it as I lay on the bed watching TV.
I did run out one more time that night to get some travel snacks and do a dry run of the drive to the airport the next morning. Peter was right. From the hotel to the turn-off to the airport was literally under 5 minutes. I got some snacks at a sketchy gas station, and then it was straight back to the hotel. Normally my return flights are later in the day so I don't need to worry about getting up at a particular time, but not this trip. I went through the process of working backwards from my boarding time, taking into account security, check-in, and rental car return. I added a good 30 minute contingency time, but then upped it to 45 minutes. I set the alarm on my phone, and on the hotel clock radio, and I settled in to an uneasy night's sleep.
The next morning I actually woke up just before my alarm(s) went off. I'm not as paranoid as I used to be, but I still have a fitful night's sleep before an early flight. I'm actually surprised I slept as soundly as I did (which was not a lot). But I had gotten all my stuff together the night before, so it was just a quick shower to wake myself up, throw on my clothes, and I was out the door.
The drive to the airport went quickly as expected, but I had a little trouble finding where I was supposed to return my rental car, despite the fact that I've rented here from the same company many times. I went down the aisle where I thought I could return my car. I got out and started getting my stuff together, but I found that the people in front of me were having a fit because the attendant accused them of causing damage to the car that they denied. So I had to wait for that to resolve itself before I could find out that I had to go one aisle over. But when I got there I was checked in in minutes.
Once inside the terminal I found it to be a lot more crowded than I would have expected at that early hour. I was able to check in okay, but there was a huge line at security. The contingency that I had given myself was quickly evaporating. But it wasn't time to panic just yet. Things were moving along well enough, if slowly. By the time I got through, filled up my water bottle, and made the quick walk to the gate, they were just pre-boarding. That's cutting it pretty close in my book.
The flight back to LaGuardia was a breeze. I think we even got in early. I checked the boards, and saw that there were two commuter flights back to Syracuse. I was on the later one, but if I rushed I might be able to switch to the earlier. As usual my connecting gate was a million miles away, but fortunately not the worst-case-scenario I had experienced on the flight down. When I got to the gate I found it still mobbed with people, so I knew it hadn't taken off just yet. But when I got up to the desk I found out that there was a mechanical problem with the plane, and it was delayed indefinitely. Now this wasn't exactly a schadenfreude moment, but I did take a bit of glee from the knowledge that I had a ticket on the later flight that all these people were now desperately trying to switch to. So I went and got some food, and settled in for the wait, all the while listening to the dire updates for the earlier flight. In the end they wound up cancelling it outright. But mine boarded on time, and had me back to Syracuse no problem.
By the time we touched down it was still early afternoon. This was a new one on me. Usually I'm getting back home in the dead of night. But we were early enough that I could swing by the Carousel Mall to grab a box of Karmel Korn, which is a delicacy I rarely allow myself. Things had gone so well, in fact, that I started wondering if maybe all my return flights shouldn't be this early. I munched on Karmel Korn for the rest of the drive home, as I listened to Katie Segal being interviewed on The Nerdist. Once home I got very, very stoned and sacked out in the recliner for the rest of the day.