Dancing In The Dark

DANCING IN THE DARK

TILL THE TUNE ENDS

DANCING IN THE DARK
AND IT SOON ENDS

Fire Island, 1985

Dave and I took a share in a house for the summer.  Both of us were working, making good money, enough money to buy a car, a Honda Civic Hatchback.  The curtain fell at 10:45 at the Palace, and by 11:00 we were on our way to Sayville, Long Island.  Time is of the essence since the last ferry leaves at 12:30. Traffic is light through the midtown tunnel as we connect onto the Long Island Expressway speeding our way to Exit 59, and the ferry to the Island.

Sometimes we had time to spare and sometimes there were only seconds.  As soon as I am on the ferry and it pulls away from the dock, a quiet, a peaceful tranquility comes over me.  The tensions of week, the drive, the relationship start to melt away and in the twenty minutes to the Pines my entire body relaxes, my breathing is easy as I transition into relaxation.

It’s almost one o’clock in the morning but I can hear pulsing beat from the Pavilion, the Disco at the Pines. For the boys of the Pines, it is still early.  Some are just getting up from their disco naps, and getting ready to dance and imbibe alcohol and other substances to keep them raging through the night, I make my way to the house.  Most of my housemates are already asleep, they are the older, more sedate type.

I get my second wind.  Not ready to sleep. No, not to dance.  I don’t dance don’t ask me.

No, it’s to get undressed and dressed again, now with that jock strap and shorts and make my way to the beach.  The moon is full, the water shimmers, there is a calmness on the beach.  Not too many people to be seen.  There are no lights, except the ambient light from the moon, and whatever lights shine from the houses along the beach.

I quietly and quickly make my way towards the Grove.  Cherry Grove is the less affluent gays mecca. The Grove is not my destination.  Between the Pines and the Grove is the forest of trees, or as it is better known, the Meat Rack.  That’s my destination.

It is dark in the forest, but I can make out shapes of men leaning against trees, suggestively posed, some clothed, some not.  No one talks.  Men of all types, hungry men, looking for a connection.  Looking to kiss in the dark. Looking for more than kisses in the dark.

It is 1985, and it is my misfortune to discover this oasis of sex just as the AIDS crisis is coming into full view.  Damn.  Why does it happen now when I am thin, and ready to do the cruising dance and so much more?  Why couldn’t it be five years ago.  But then if had, I probably would be dead by now.

Safe sex is the word these days. I touch him.  Feel his firm pecs.  Find his lips and we kiss, deeply.  Shorts fall.  Stroking.  Kissing. Lots of “kissing in the dark “and “it soon ends” with a sigh and a release.  

Then the long walk back along the moonlit beach.  I will sleep soundly.

©2022 Jim Pentecost