Home to Fire Island Ch. 01

Danny didn't mind the introduction to Fire Island. This was more or less what he had fantasized. But after it was over and the black guy was seeking assurances that he was the best cocker Danny had ever had, Danny realized—although he, of course, didn't tell the black guy this—that he didn't get the buzz and exhilaration from the casual fuck that he had anticipated he would.

Still, he got something out of it. The guy told him where he could find a bulletin board that posted job availabilities in Cherry Grove and the surrounding area.

"Sweet fuck," the guy had told him again in parting. "Lookin' forward to riding that again." Then he told Danny what bars he liked to hang out in. "Know some other guys who would be interested in fresh tail too."

Danny parted from him with at least the assurance that he was desirable to some men here. He'd never been sure about that with Floyd. He'd always felt that Floyd would fuck a tailpipe of one of the cars he was servicing, if nothing else was available. The guy in the library didn't really count. He could have been just some weirdo—who hadn't even gone to that men's room.

There were quite a few jobs listed on the curved walls of the circular kiosk Danny had been directed to—all of them menial and temporary. Most of them were seasonal, and it was early September already, so the season only had about six weeks to go. Danny took contact tabs off three of them, including the Grove Hotel, which had several openings listed, including wait staff and cleaning crew.

Danny had done a lot of cleaning in his day—his mother was both sloppy and disinterested in such chores. He hadn't done any waitering, but he bet that paid better, and he couldn't see that that would be particularly hard to do. He thought he'd try the hotel first, but he then remembered having passed one of the places listed, Sam's Bar, while he was walking over to the kiosk, so that won out as the first stop.

As he entered the dimly lit bar, not much more than a double-bay hole in the wall, with a front on the street and, at the side, a tiki-type open-air bar area with a sliver of view of Great South Bay, the first thing he heard was a bellow from a frowsy looking woman perched on a stool at the end of the bar.

"Hey, turn that fuckin' music to somethin' else. Anything else. Can't stand that Country twanging trash."

This was answered by a faraway man's voice, saying, "Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Ruth. Right away. Sorry 'bout that."

Danny decided immediately that if this place put a ban on Country and Western music, he'd bend over backwards to qualify for the job. The listed job was for a server—with unspecified extra duties. The qualifications listed didn't center on education or experience; they focused on being young, in good shape, open-minded, willing, and versatile. Danny thought these were pretty peculiar and loose qualifications—which he thought he certainly could manage—but he was just so raw in the time he'd been on Fire Island that he didn't know that those words had pretty specific meanings here.

The woman paid no attention to him when he walked into the bar. She was a bosomy lump hunched over the bar with impossibly blond, ratted hair, a cigarette in one hand, and a glass of some amber liquid in the other. A younger version of her was standing behind the bar, leaning over it with arms spread and palms dug into the bar top and giving a bored look to the clientele, which consisted, in separate pairings, of groups of young, nearly naked men and of older, figure-hiding shirted men. Those in each group was more or less keeping to their own kind, although the older men were ogling the younger ones and licking their lips. Danny hadn't ever been in any high-class bars, and after walking in here, he was pretty sure he still hadn't been.

"Can I help ya?" the younger woman behind the bar said in a clipped tone that suggested she didn't want to waste any words—or attention—that she didn't have to.

"I came about the advertised job. Is it still open?" Danny asked. He had come to stand in front of the woman at the bar. The other woman—the one sitting at the end of the bar—showed interest after hearing him speak. She turned her head toward him and gave him an appraising look that ended in a slight smile that seemed to signal approval. The main initial impression that Danny got of her was of a broad, horizontal streak of screamy red slashed from ear to ear. To at least pretend he wasn't looking at her, Danny turned his face toward the barroom. All of the older men were giving him speculative looks. A few of the younger ones were too.

"Samuel, someone to see you," the woman behind the bar yelled toward the back of the bar.

A middle-aged guy entered the bar from the back, carrying a couple of bottles of booze, which he handed to the woman behind the bar while turning a quizzical look to Danny. He was a florid-faced, sandy-haired, burly man in a sleeveless muscle T and baggy shorts and of an age that could have ranged anywhere between forty-five and fifty-five, depending on how rough life had been on him. He wasn't quite fat, but, with age, he was getting there. His arms were covered with tattoos, and he was wearing flip-flops. Danny would not, in a million years, have identified him as the owner of Sam's.

He gave Danny the once over without saying anything.

"This here young man said he's here about the job, Samuel," the woman behind the bar said.

"The patrons have been giving him a good eye," the older woman on the bar stool muttered.

"Have they now?" the man apparently named Samuel said in a tone that indicated he listened very closely to whatever the woman said. He turned his attention back to Danny. "You from Fire Island?" he asked.

"No. I'm from Plainview, over on Long Island," Danny answered. "Just bussed in today. I thought I'd check the place out and work while I was doing it."

"Just off the bus." Danny got the impression he'd just scored in the qualifications arena. "So, you haven't been fired from any other joint around here?"

"No, sir."

"Not twenty-one, are you?"

"No, sir. I'm eighteen." Danny could almost hear the sigh go around the room. He felt a dozen sets of eyes burning into his back. "But I'm a hard worker."

"Sure you aren't really sixteen or seventeen?"

"No, sure. I've got this driver's license you can look at."

"All of the sixteen and seventeen year olds coming on Fire Island have licenses to prove they're eighteen," the man said. Then he laughed. "But, what the hell. All the proof I need is that license. At eighteen, you couldn't make the drinks but you could help behind the bar and serve them."

Danny was heartened, getting the impression that Samuel was trying to think of reasons to hire him. "You done any table waiting?"

"Yes, I could do that, sir." Danny had fancied himself as a seasoned waiter all the way from the kiosk to here.

"No matter. That's not the most of the job. You're a real looker, so I could give you a try. It doesn't pay much, and they don't tip much here—at least if all they are in here for is the drinks. But there's other good tips to be had. There's a room with a bath of sorts in the back you could use, so you wouldn't have to find someplace to stay. Your hours would be four 'till midnight. If it's slow business, you can use your room during that time. But anytime you take someone to that room, I get a twenty or half what you get, whichever is greater. Understand?"

Danny was looking confused.

"You don't understand? Have I misjudged? You do know what Fire Island is and what this bar is, don't you? I think the ad was clear enough."

Understanding dawning, Danny turned a bit red of face, but he said, "Yes, sir, I understand. That would be fine." There was no real hesitation on Danny's part. He'd come here to experience it all.

"Guys like the hours," Samuel went on. "Gives them some beach time in the afternoon, and some time to recover from hangovers in the morning. This here's Sally. She's the barkeep here during the day and out on the patio at night. We have a couple of guys who come in to tend bar for the evening crowd. Don't let them use your room, though. They have their own room, and I want at least one of them out here all the time. And there at the end of the bar, that's my wife, Ruth. She tell you to do something, you do it, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because when she tells me to do something, I have to do it too." He laughed at his joke, and Danny gave the smile he knew would be expected.

"You ever dance a pole, son?"

"Umm. No."

"But you'll do it if we're shorthanded." It wasn't really a question. Danny realized that it was a condition for getting the job.

"Yes."

"Good. You'll be popular. You got that young, innocent look about you—and maybe a great bod too. And that's where the good money is in here in the evenings. Now go on back and find the room, second door on the right beyond those beaded curtains there. Hope you don't have much of anything of value in that duffle. We don't take any responsibility."

"No, it's OK. Just some clothes." Danny's thoughts went immediately to the dog tags. They were the most valuable thing he owned. But only to him. Still, he'd have to find someplace safe to hide them. He wouldn't want to be wearing them on the job—at least not what this job was shaping up to be. Then he thought of another question. "By the way, what's the dress in here?"

"The dress?" Samuel said and then stepped back and showcased his own body. "Nothing fancy, as you can see. Shorts and flip-flops will do fine. There are 'Sam's Bar' T-shirts in the bureau in your room. I'd appreciate that you wear those a good bit of the time—and even out on the beach. It would be good for business. But if you can do a good business for me in the room by going shirtless, that's fine too. Full skin isn't for anywhere in here except up there on the stage late at night. Otherwise, wait 'till you get to your room to strip down. Let's see what you got. Take the T off."

Danny did so, and Samuel studied his torso. "Turn around." Danny did so, and then he saw that nearly all of the patrons of the bar were studying his torso too. Sam ran his hand over Danny's chest and flanks and down to his butt, which caused the young man to tremble under his touch.

Sam looked out into the room and smiled at the reaction he could see that the shirtless Danny was receiving from the patrons.

"Told ya so," Ruth muttered from her position down the bar as she snuffed out one cigarette after lighting a fresh one from it.

"Very nice, kid. Sports in high school?"

"Most of them, yes, sir."

"OK, go on back now. Be back here fifteen minutes before four. That will give you time to check out the beach, but I wouldn't suggest getting into anything heavy out there today. There's time for that when you've got more time. And, oh," he added, as Danny moved toward the doorway covered by a beaded curtain, "there are sequined thongs in the bureau back there too. Those are for the pole dancing."

The room was a dump, but it was functional—for far more than Danny expected—and it just needed some cleaning, which, after he'd buried the dog tags in the toe of a clean pair of socks, is what Danny did for the rest of the afternoon, feeling a bit overwhelmed by this sudden rush of freedom—and of the interest he'd seen being shown in him since he stepped off the bus on Fire Island.

There was a twin bed with a brass headboard and a good mattress—probably the best condition of any of the furniture. That whole side of the room was a wall mirror, which made the room seem larger than it was. The T's and thongs were in the second drawer of the beat-up bureau. The bottom drawer was stuffed with bed linens. Danny had seen industrial-sized washer and dryer units in a room across the hall when he'd walked back to the room. He certainly knew how to use those. There was a small closet with three wire hangers suspended from a rod. The back wall had an array of sex toys and bindings hanging on it from hooks. On the floor of the closet was some sort of black leather sling, folded up, with chain leads from its four corners There was a strong overhead light and a lamp on the bureau with a red shade that gave the room a soft red glow when that was the only one on. He smiled a slight smile when he realized that there was a switch you could turn on to make the lamp light pulsate. Two straight chairs and a small, two-drawer nightstand and a valet rack to hang clothes on, both situated next to the bed, completed the furnishings. The top drawer of the nightstand contained a pile of condom packets, a couple of tubes of lubricant, and a black plastic ball gag. The floor was well-worn wood. There was a six-by-three blue plastic mat in the corner on the floor that must have been about four inches thick. Danny had used larger versions of that for wrestling in high school.

The bathroom was also the shower. You stepped down into a metal pan that was the floor, which sloped from all corners to a drain in the center. Danny found that, if he didn't turn the volume of the shower too high, the stream didn't reach either the toilet or the sink.

Coming back out of the bathroom, Danny took a closer look at the room. He saw that the ceiling above the bed was a mirror too. There were fur-lined cuffs on short leads at the four corners of the bed, on the headboard and footboard, and strong-looking iron rings hung from various positions in the ceiling. On the wall the bureau was on, there was a mirror the size of a window. When he came close to that, he saw that the mirror wasn't on the wall; it was in the wall. There were brackets at the ceiling at the four corners of the room. To hold video cameras, as needed? he wondered. He'd seen all of this in the magazines Floyd had confiscated. He even had some idea what could be done with this, and the thought of it was making him half hard.

Danny sat down on the bed and took a couple of deep gulps. It was all a bit overwhelming. It was just the sort of stuff that Holleran's Dancer from the Dance had promised him he'd find on Fire Island. But, truth be told, he hadn't really thought it was true. Or at least not this true. It was all moving so fast.

He didn't even know if this was what he wanted—or if he could do it. Hell, he wasn't even sure what a server was supposed to do—but he had now gotten the idea that it was much more than taking glasses of beer from the bar to the patrons' tables.

Maybe, though, this—this room and all—was just contingency, a maybe. Fire Island must be full of hot men. Experienced men. Not virtual innocents like him. He didn't know what even half of that stuff hanging on the wall in the closet was for—except what he'd read in magazines about it before Floyd had confiscated those. He hadn't had any really hardcore magazines to look at. Maybe no one would give him the time of day.

He stood up from the bed and moved to the bureau. He picked out a gold-sequined thong, stripped, pulled it on, and stood in front of the mirrored wall and flexed and posed. He thought he looked pretty good. But what would other guys think? Could they look at him and see that the only man who had ever fucked him was a randy old car mechanic? Well, until late this morning in that public toilet. That was hot.

Danny felt himself getting harder. He fished the Holleran book out of his duffel and laid down on the bed. With one hand, he leafed through the book, picking out favorite passages. With the other, he dug his cock out of the thong and started to slowly masturbate himself.

He looked over at the mirror by the bureau that seemed more a window than a mirror. He sensed there might be someone there, on the other side of the mirror, watching him. That was OK. This was his fantasy adventure. He wanted to pretend that there would be someone there who wanted to watch him stroke himself off. He looked at himself in the overhead mirror and then in the mirror at the side of the bed. As far as he could tell, he was looking good. He looked over his head and saw that there was a mirror on the wall behind the headboard too.

At three, still working his cock languidly, holding off each time he might come, he decided he should take a shower before reporting to work—and that he probably should show up early.

He stood, slipped off the thong, and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stood under it and soaped himself up. He was still hard. Looking around, he saw now that there was a peep hole in the wall facing the shower end of the bathroom. There had been no attempt to disguise it and it was large enough that Danny could see the moving pupil of an eye in it.

He turned full on facing that wall and ran his hands over his body. If this was a fantasy, he was going to make the most of it. Come the end of the season, he'd have to be back in Plainview, trying to make up for lost time at the community college. One thing was for sure, though, he wouldn't be moving back in with his mother and Floyd.

In these six weeks he'd do what he could to learn to be as sexy and experienced as possible. Then he'd see if he could find a sugar daddy who he could shack up with and who would pay for his college. He wondered whether that guy in the library was rich. He certainly dressed well.

Danny sensed movement on the opposite wall—lower than the peep hole. For the first time, he realized there also was a glory hole on that wall. And now there was a pair of lips and a lolling tongue at the glory hole. He'd only read about them and seen them in magazines. This was a pretty big one. He could see much of the bottom of a face through there. A square-cut jaw; a day-old growth of dark bearding.

Feeling totally bad boy, Danny walked over to the wall and hugged it close, his arms raised and spread on the wall. He looked up, surprised, when he realized that there were cuffs attached to the wall very close to where he'd placed his wrists. Looking down, he saw that if he spread his legs, they would fit with ankle cuffs as well. If he was cuffed to the wall, he'd be plastered to it, with his dick at the level of the glory hole.

He gasped and gave a little lurch as hands on the other side of the wall pulled his cock and balls through the hole. Someone was grasping his balls, holding him there, prisoner, against the wall. Moist lips came down over his cock head and then on down the shaft.

He was being sucked off, held captive there by a firm grip on his balls.

Danny moaned as he was being taken to paradise.