It wasn’t just the booze. I was jubilant at having taken a diploma from the acting and dance school in Manhattan and gotten a part in the chorus line of a promising Broadway musical on the same day and was blowing off steam with some of my buds on a Fire Island excursion. And the last time that night I was fully lucid was at Cherry’s in Cherry Grove. I’d also taken some pills there. I didn’t usually do that shit, but, fuck, I’d got a diploma in hand and a date to appear at the Ambassador Theater stage door.
Somewhere between Cherry’s bar and the parking lot, I lost contact with my buds and found myself with a new set of buds, driving up the island in the backseat of a big honking open golfcart—two in front and me and some guy on top of me in back. Not just on top of me, but inside me, snorting and grunting and doing his thing, while I still was swinging and swigging from a beer bottle, rubbing my knees on his hips and trying my best to match his cadence in the fuck. He was a hunk and I certainly didn’t object to him being inside me.
Our destination, although I didn’t know it until we got there, was a really posh beach house in Saltaire at the beach end of Pennett Walk, taking up more lot space than most anything around it. That was a good thing because a queer bash was in full swing, and the noise must have been murder for the neighborhood around it. It was also a good thing, with all that manflesh in various stages of undress roaming around between the house and beach, that the neighbors weren’t living closer and that there were a lot of trees and bushes in the yard. Seemed like some guy was fucking some other guy behind every bush. Swaying legs and undulating butts everywhere.
Of course, for all I knew the neighbors were at the party and swinging from the chandeliers.
I was on the beach for a while and in the water, just in my briefs. But after a while I was in the house, on the dining room table, without the briefs, showing off the dance ability that had gotten me the acting and dance school diploma the previous Wednesday.
I was dancing and gyrating and being egged on by a crowd of boisterous guys around me when another guy came up on the table with me, He was muscular, good-looking, maybe five years older than I was, a good dancer. He started off shirtless but with jeans, but as we danced, he lost the jeans and then the briefs, and he was as naked as I was. He was one hung dude and in erection. I would guess I was hard too. We were gyrating close together. We put on a show.
I knew I was going to get fucked at the party. I’d been fucked in the golf cart on the way to the party. I was celebrating. All was good.
The guys around the table were chanting, “Fuck him, fuck him!”
The guy got the message and he encircled my waist with a beefy arm and bent me back, slowly taking me down to the tabletop on my back, but then rising again in a crouch, with me dangling down in front of him. First thing I knew condom packets were being flipped down on the tabletop.
“Say yes, say yes,” was lifted up as a mantra across the room.
At least they were being polite enough to ask permission.
“YESS!” I cried out.
The dude picked out a gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL, split it open, and hovered over me, grinning down at me, as he rolled the disk on. He was one big-dicked dude. Quite impressive. If I hadn’t been drunk and three-quarters stoned, I think I would have rolled off the table and hightailed it out of there. But I was celebrating and the dude had a shaft I could celebrate—if I could take it.
I put my hands back and encased the erection with them. It was me who guided the shaft to the hole.
It was sheer hell morphing into a sense of victory in the taking of that humongous cock. The crowd continued chanting, “Big cock. Bull cock. Fuck him, fuck him good!” as the dude rimmed the hole with the bulb. And then he penetrated. He worked his way in as I panted and gasped and nearly sobbed. Liquored and drug up, I luckily was loose as a goose, though, and I opened and stretched for him, putting my ankles on his shoulders, me draped on the front of him, and extending my hands around him and clutching his butt cheeks. I was lucid enough to want to give the crowd a show. I was going on stage. They needed to know I was an entertainer.
We rocked together as he went deep. I just collapsed then, reclining my torso back toward the tabletop, dragging my knuckles on the wood, and going limp as, deep inside me, he stretched and pumped me and pumped me and pumped me.
The crowd went wild.
Even as my dancing partner was finishing with a grunt, a final thrust, a withdrawal and jerking off of the Trojan Magnum, another man was climbing up on the table, smoothing out a condom on his erection. I reached out welcoming hands, clutching as his buttocks, as he hooked my knees on his hips, encircled my waist with one arm, put himself in position, and entered me.
“Help me,” he muttered, and I complied, squeezing his hips with my knees, using them as leverage to get into the swing. Swinging and swaying on his buried shaft, taking him deep.
* * * *
The sun was coming up in my face the next morning and I was lying on the sand of the beach, all alone, wearing briefs that were inside out and weren’t mine. I was on my back, with my legs spread and bent, my feet buried in the sand. I hadn’t just been fucked on the dining room table. I’d been fucked here as well. I had no idea by how many guys. My legs were bent and spread, and someone had pulled up a sand ramp that raised and rolled up my buttocks to provide ready access for I don’t know how many men. I hadn’t gathered the strength to see if I could even put my knees together again. I hoped they’d enjoyed themselves. I would have liked to have been conscious enough to enjoy it as well. This wasn’t my first time to be centerpiece for a gang bang.
I was sore as hell below, but I had taken what must have been eight very thick inches. I had something in my mouth. I pulled out a gold-foil packet for a Trojan Magnum XL. Very funny, guys, I thought. Couldn’t have any respect at all?
There were other condom packets around me and a couple of spent rubbers as well—but this was the only Trojan Magnum one. In fact, the sand was littered with condom foils and spent rubbers. I knew that it was quite some party, but I didn’t think the party did all of this. Fire Island was a legendary gay gathering place and some of the beaches on the island were famous in their own right for queer party activity in the open. This must, I thought, be one of those beaches.
While I was looking around, I spied an older dude, maybe in his forties, advancing at me from the beach house and carrying a coffee cup. He was wearing a pair of low-rise athletic shorts and nothing else.
“This is for you,” he said as he reached me. “I’m Steve. You put on quite a show last night.” I crouched down below me, putting his hands on my spread knees after handing me my coffee. He took an unabashed long look at my goods. He was going to fuck me here if I let him.
I took the coffee. “I’m not sure I’m alive,” I answered. “I was out of it last night, that’s for sure. I’m Cary.”
“Well, Cary, for such a little guy you took one big cock.”
“Just one?”
He smiled at me but didn’t answer, which was, in itself, an answer. It told me that he’d probably fucked me too. He was an OK-looking guy. He appeared to be in pretty good shape for his age.
“That’s what my ass channel is telling me,” I said, “that I took a really big one. And I’m way out of where I’m supposed to be, I think.”
“Where are you supposed to be?” he asked. “Where are you staying? You got across last night that you were from the city and celebrating something.”
“Celebrating getting a job on a chorus line,” I said. “I caught a Broadway musical.”
“Ah, yes. You did show as a really good dancer. And . . .”
“And what?”
“A really good bottom. You took one huge cock. You rode that sucker like a professional rent-boy. Is that what you are? You didn’t have any hesitation of taking whatever was wagged at you.”
“No, no such money source,” I said—which wasn’t the whole truth. I lay down for money when I was really in need of it and when I could do a hookup. It had gotten me through my acting and dance schools. “So, Steve, how many times did you fuck me.”
He just smiled and changed the subject. “So, you aren’t from Fire Island. Where do you need to go today?”
“Me and my buds are staying at the Fire Island Resort in Ocean Bay Park.”
“That’s in Cherry Grove. A long way from here.”
“You suppose that whoever owns that swank beach house we were partying in last night could give me a ride? Is there a golf cart or motorboat or something. How do people normally manage to move on this island? I somehow lost my clothes. These briefs aren’t even mine.”
“You look just fine the way you are,” Steve said. “And it might be possible to get a ride from the guy who owns the beach house. As it turns out, I’m that guy. And if these aren’t your briefs, maybe we should just take them off.”
“Maybe,” I answered.
“Maybe, or OK?” he asked.
“I asked you how many times you’ve fucked me already.”
“I haven’t . . . yet. It was all voyeur for me last night.”
“Well, then, OK,” I answered, “the briefs can come off.” He took his hands off my knees long enough to slide the briefs off me and then his own shorts off. He was in erection—nothing to hyperventilate over, but competently hard.
“OK?” he asked.
“OK,” I assented.
Then the hands returned, holding my knees spread, spreading them even more open, making me open and vulnerable to him. He quite obviously was looking at my package and hole again. I found that incredibly arousing. We both knew my “OK” was for more than just stripping the briefs and his shorts off.
“You like what you see,” I finally asked.
“Yes, of course,” he answered, continuing to hold my legs spread, and continuing to look at the goods. He then moved his right hand from the knee and moved it to my crotch. He fingered my hole, rimming it and rubbing it—slowly, sensuously. I couldn’t help but give him a low moan.
He wasn’t making any other move, so I jollied him along. I wasn’t about to ask him to fuck me, though. “And you’d maybe give me a ride to Cherry Grove . . . in exchange for . . .”
“I think we can do a deal.”
He crawled in between my spread knees, produced a condom from somewhere like it was magic, crowned himself, and put himself in position.
“So, you’re gonna fuck me now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.” He stood over me, stripping off his shorts and pulling on a condom. It was almost a relief the foil wasn’t gold, so it wasn’t a Magnum. Then he knelt between my spread legs, an arm snaked under my waist, and I reclined back onto the sand. He took his erection with the other hand and rubbed its bulb around on my hole a couple of times. I jerked and gasped when he put it. There was no further ceremony. He began moving it in and out in long, slow slides immediately and fucked me in a missionary there on the beach. I lay back, fully open to him, stretching my arms out, turning my face to watching the seagulls dance in the surf up the beach, turning my thighs out to give him full access, and let him take what he wanted, how he wanted it.
It was a smooth, straightforward fuck, moving relentlessly to a mutual coming, because once he was in and hovering over me, he fisted my cock and worked to bringing us off somewhere close together. It was slow, sensual, until the end, when he was feeling his cum rising. Then he build up speed and intensity. He was going good, with vigor when he came. When it was done—when we’d both shot our loads, it was done. He stood, standing over me in the victor’s position. He looked up at his house and then at me.
“Want to take this up to the house and continue?” he asked.
Why, yes, yes, I did.
We went up to the house hand in hand, and we humped into the afternoon, with time outs for food and drink. There was no indication he needed to do anything else this day but me. He fucked me on a lounge bed beside his very nice pool between the house and the top of the sand dunes—or, rather, Steve lay back on his lounge bed and I straddled his hips and rode his cock in a cowboy. It was hard. He was maybe bigger than the guy who spiked me in the back of the golf cart coming up here to the party, but he quite definitely was not hung like my dining table dance partner from the previous night. We didn’t need a super-duper rubber.
He was a nice guy, though. He fed me breakfast and gave me some clothes to wear. It wasn’t his fault they were a few sizes too large.
“You don’t keep a small guy like me around here who can offer your casual lays extra clothes to wear?” I don’t know if I was angling for a longer-stay offer or not, but it didn’t matter if I was.
“No, I don’t keep any small guys around,” he answered. He either wasn’t catching on to my wish to have more of him, or he didn’t wish to have more of me.
Maybe he wasn’t in to sluts. I certainly had, by all accounts, been the champion slut at his party.
* * * *
The thing with the Trojan Magnum XL condoms came to a head, so to speak, later that day. The first thing that happened came as I was snoozing by the pool at the Fire Island Resort motel late that morning. When I returned to the motel and went looking for my three buds from the city in the connecting double rooms we had at the motel, I found the “and where were you?” note that they were off on a day’s boating excursion.
Well, all right, I could take a swim and catch up with some Zs before lunch, I thought. That’s what I did, but I went to sleep on a lounge bed. When I woke up, I found six gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL packets on my belly. Nice joke that I assume someone other than me understood. But I had six rubbers to fit the guy of my dreams once I had found him. My thoughts then went back to the guy I’d danced with and who had fucked me on the dining room table at Steve’s beach house. He possibly had been a dream. He’d certainly been hung. Too bad I was too high on booze and pills to have fully enjoyed the experience.
But then Mr. Dream came out of the ether and entered real life. I took the water taxi up to Cherry Grove and had lunch at Jumping Jack’s Seafood Shack with the intention of walking over to the land side of the island then and checking out Cherry’s bar where it had all started the previous evening. And that’s what I did, except that between here and there, I stopped in at a sex store to see what they might be selling at such a store on the legendary queer scene island that they didn’t sell in Chelsea in New York City. When I entered, I was the only one in the store, but other guys came in after me—three white guys and three big black guys. I gave them just a glance, but one of the white guys looked very familiar to me.
Could that be my dancing partner from the dining table show last night? He sure looked familiar in that way.
I was standing at a shelf displaying dildos, some of them real thick and long. I picked up a monster one, although it certainly wasn’t the biggest they were showing. I liked the look of it, though—a veiny chocolate “X5 Hard On 8.75 Inch Dildo by Blush novelties,” the package said. I heard something of a snigger and looked over to see that the “possibly the tabletop guy from last night” was looking at me. When he saw I looked his way, his hand dropped to his crotch.
So, I guessed it was the guy from last night. To give him a thrill, I cupped my hand and slowly ran it up and down the dildo. He smiled appreciatively.
All six guys, spread around the store, were emulating him, dropping a hand to their crotches and giving me the eye. One of them—I don’t know which one—dropped six Trojan Magnum XL gold-foil condom packets on the counter in front of me while I wasn’t looking in that direction.
I pocketed the rubbers, put the dildo back, and walked up and down a couple of aisles so they wouldn’t know that they were spooking me, and then I headed out of the store. Near the door, all six guys were lined up at the cash register. They all lifted twelve-pack boxes of Trojan Magnum XLs for me to see and smiled at me.
I fled the store and went on over to Cherry’s, bellied up to the bar, and ordered a beer. A few minutes later, the six guys filed into Cherry’s and took a table where they could watch me and I could see them. I wasn’t scared by that. I was getting interested. The chase was on, and I understood chases like this. Six good-looking bruisers, three of them big and black, were tracking me. One of them probably had very publicly—and very well—covered me the night before. There was no doubt he’d told the others about me. But then, maybe they’d been there last night. Maybe all six had already had me. Keeping score as a drugged slut was a difficult chore.
My dance partner left the table and came over and pulled up a stool beside me. He flipped six gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL packets and a wad of folded fifty-dollar bills on the bar top in front of me. I was building quite a collection of oversized condoms.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi yourself,” I answered. I could have gotten up and walked away then, but I didn’t.
“I’m Niles,” he said, “Your guy from last night at the beach house party.”
“I figured,” I answered. “I’m Cary, and I know I was drunk, but I don’t think you were my only guy last night at the beach house party. And what’s all this, Niles? All these big rubbers. Why me?”
“You know I’m hung—from last night.”
“As well as I can remember,” I said. “And so?”
“You were able to take me. A small, good-looking guy—really good looking. A good dancer. Slim hips. You took eight-and-a-half thick inches. Guys like me can’t count on having a good time like that—certainly not with a small cutie like you are. It’s a fetish, you know—being able to stuff a small guy and not have him die on me.”
“No, I didn’t know,” I answered. “I’ve never died from what any guy had. I feel really bad for you—having to live with a monster rod. Making your lays think they’re gonna die. And what’s it with those other five guys.”
“Those other guys are like me—built like me, with my interests.”
“Were they all there last night?”
“Maybe. We’re a club. We call ourselves the Trojan Magnum Club.”
“I can see where you would,” I said. “And to be in this club—”
“At least eight inches long, five-and-a-half inches in girth, and one-point-eight inches wide.”
“Wow, that’s big,” I said, “and pretty specific.”
“We take the specs seriously. You took better than that last night—magnificently, I might add. I exceed the requirements.”
Of course you do, I thought.
“The thing with the club,” he added, “is that we have to use what we’ve got.”
“Do you?” I asked. I fingered the six condom packets he’d dropped in front of me. Six here, six at the sex store, six at the pool. “You are feeling really ambitious, aren’t you?” I asked, gesturing to the packets.
“It’s a club of six,” he answered. “If and when a guy drops out of the club, we’ve got to find a recruit another at least eight inchers.”
I paused. This was entering new territory, although, in the back of my mind, I had known it was going there. “I don’t do gang bangs.”
He snorted. “Yes, you do. You do them great. I was there last night.”
“And apparently more with it than I was,” I answered.
“You gave yourself—twice—on the table, on the beach—to a line of randy guys. Not two fucks—two gang bangs. And you more than survived. You flourished. When the last guy was done on the beach, you laughed and opened your legs again.”
“Sounds like fun. I only wish I had been wholly there for that,” I said. “And you were there both times—on the table . . . I remember that—”
“Fondly, I hope,” he interjected.
I grimaced at him and continued, “. . . and then on the beach, as well.”
“I thoroughly enjoyed it. You have a talent. There aren’t many opportunities with a small guy who can take it. It’s why the club is making this much of an effort.”
“I’ll rephrase that. I don’t consciously do gang bangs.”
“I think you do,” he persisted. “That’s what we want. All six. I think you’ll do it.”
I paused, giving him a pointed look. But we both knew where this was going. “So, now what?” I asked.
“I have a room back at the Fire Island Resort. You and me. We’ll take the water taxi.”
Maybe I should have been a wise guy and continue to spar the point with him by asking where the other five guys were going to go—but, of course, I knew.
* * * *
I was lying on my back on the bed in Niles’ room at the Fire Island Resort, naked, with my legs spread and my feet flat on the bed, when he came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and dropped the towel.
I gasped in appreciation, as he probably knew I would.
“Shit, that’s a shame,” I said.
“What’s a shame?” he answered, ready to be irritated. He was used to the gasp upon seeing his erection. He wasn’t used to what I’d followed up with.
“It’s a shame I wasn’t more with it last night so that I could consciously enjoy what you did with that shaft of yours.”
He was mollified. “Well, we can get right to you feeling what I can do with it now.”
And we did, but first he had a surprise for me. He’d bought the veiny chocolate-colored X5 Hard On 8.75-inch dildo I’d handled at the sex store, and I proceeded to howl as he used that to open me up. After that it wasn’t hard at all to take him, as he rolled a Trojan Magnum XL on his shaft; nudged in between my spread thighs; fed me over eight inches of hard, thick cock; and fucked the hell out of me.
I lay there after we’d both erupted, panting hard and whimpering. It was only then that I realized that the other five guys, all with their trousers off, all hung like bulls and in full erections covered by Trojan Magnum XL rubbers, had filed into the motel room and were surrounding the bed.
I wasn’t surprised that this was a called meeting of the Trojan Magnum Club.
I gave a low moan, stuffed a pillow under the small of my back, and widened the stance of my legs, as the follow-up guy to Niles, a big black bull of a bruiser saddled up between my thighs.
In fairy tales, the charming prince comes along and saves his belatedly realized beloved before the big bad wolf feasts. This wasn’t nearly that kind of fairytale for me on Fire Island. It wasn’t completely off. I was gang banged for a couple of hours in that motel room by the Trojan Magnum Club. And while that was happening, I did have some realization that I thought of Steve, the party host, as some form of Prince Charming who could have saved me from all of this by asking me to stay with him.
But I did get royally gang banged. During an interlude, when there was a basketball game on TV that the gang bangers wanted to watch—and did sit around on the bed watching and drinking beer, I managed to go to the window and look out. There was a golf cart out there, and in the driver’s seat was Steve, a sure candidate for the Prince Charming position. He somehow had tracked me down. But had he come for me?
He saw me and saw that I saw him. He smiled and nodded and so did I. It must have been an exciting basketball game, because the members of the Trojan Magnum Club didn’t seem to notice when I took a quick shower, redressed, and left the motel room.