"See that man over there?"
"The one in black leather? With those other guys who parked their cycles out front?"
"Yes," Sam said. "He's looking over here, so, no matter what, keep a smile on."
Danny had just come down from the pole. In the middle of the second week, Sam had insisted that he go up on the pole for at least two sets each night. Lance, the bartender, had given him some basic lessons and pointers. Lance had graduated from the pole to behind the bar. Danny still didn't think he did very well, but that didn't matter to his audiences, and he had well over $100 in small bills stuffed in the waistband of his sequined thong from this set alone. For the after-midnight show he wouldn't be leaving the stage with the thong on—but he no longer had to do the cleanup after closing either. He almost always had someone in his room with him after that last set on the pole and beyond closing.
"Saturday night's the big night here," Lance had told Danny, looking at him closely to get his reaction. "There's an additional show at 2:00, and we don't close up until 3:00. And whoever does the closing show on the pole doesn't go back to his room with anyone."
"What do you mean?" Danny had asked.
"Anyone who stays past 1:30 has to pay a stiff entertainment fee. During the 2:00 pole dance, Jose, or anyone who pays a lot extra fucks the pole dancer on stage, with everyone watching. But when we close up at night, there are to be no outsiders in the building. So, you might be fucked on stage in the last set, but you don't take anyone from the outside back to your room beyond closing."
Danny considered this last dance set business. He'd told himself he was going to try it all here on Fire Island this season. "The pay good for the pole dancer?"
Danny hadn't come to Fire Island for the money, but the money here was so good he started thinking about being able to continue in college and living on his own after the season close down here.
"The best," Lance answered. "Better than the rest of the week put together. Especially on a special night."
"A special night?"
"Sometimes more than one patron wants to pay to be on stage."
"Ah, well." Danny said nothing further. A patron had paid Sam to let him take Danny home the previous Saturday night, so he wasn't there for this special night. And who knew, by this Saturday night, Danny might have moved on. Or, maybe after thinking about it, he'd want to have a new experience.
Danny had been turning tricks now for three nights, but Sam had been limiting the engagements. He said Danny wasn't ready to be taking offers directly. Sam would pick out who went with him. And Sam would take the money and give Danny what he gave him the next day. Danny got the impression that Sam was funneling the high payers in his direction.
"Keep each one fresh—like you've never done that particular thing before," Sam kept telling him. "You're a natural innocent. Just remember how to tighten yourself up inside—and do a lot of moaning. But also remember to tell him how good he was. One of your first, but also one of your best."
"You sure about the guy you're pointing out?" Danny asked Sam when he'd seen the biker. He was all muscle and black leather. He didn't seem the high-paying type.
"He's a friend of Jose's," Sam answered. "And he owns the local Harley shop. He's good for the money. He's paid up front. Jose told him about you."
I'll just bet Jose did that, Danny thought. I wonder what Sam's thinking. Jose had thrown on a mad when Sam told him he couldn't touch Danny again after that first time—that Danny was worth too much to the house for Jose to be stretching him for free. "Maybe after a month or two," Sam had said. "After word gets around that he's not so fresh anymore."
Not so fresh anymore, Danny had thought. Then he decided he didn't care. The season would be over in five weeks. He'd either find what he wanted here or move on. The trouble was that he didn't really know what we wanted. He just knew that he felt freer and more in control of himself and closer to satisfaction here than he had back in Plainview with his mother and Floyd. He just didn't know how much farther off total satisfaction was—or what it would be, what it would feel like. Who knew, it might be Saturday night after 2:00 on his back with his legs spread on the stage with guys watching.
"Now or after the last set?" was all Danny asked.
Sam smiled. He apparently had expected some resistance. He was developing Danny slowly. Danny really did seem fresh and to have an innocence about him. Sam didn't know where the "escape" edge would be with Danny. Young guys had come and gone in Danny's position at the bar. They'd all had an escape edge that Sam eventually breached with his progressively more demanding arrangements. Lance and Joel had been able to move to the bar. Most of the others had just walked away in the middle of the night. Some had been rejected by the crowd that came here after they'd been used up. Danny looked like one who would be used up. Sam just didn't know how soon and which of his demands would do it.
"Now. In a few minutes. Jose is back in your room putting the sling up."
"The sling?"
"Yeah. First time, won't it be? Act like it's the first time. Looks are deceiving. This biker has money. If he likes it, he'll be back. You be fresh for him and he'll like it."
The biker was all bulging muscle everywhere but where it counted. Danny decided he must have traded the withering of steroids in the places that counted for flashy deltoids. Danny did get a little thrill of anticipation mixed with trepidation when he was completely incapacitated by being pushed back into the sling and having all four limbs cuffed off high on the four chains running up the corners. But the fuck itself didn't do much for him other than bruise him up a bit. He hardly felt the pumping action; he was mostly paying attention to the biker pounding on his chest and belly and thighs rather hard with his fists as he worked hard to grunt himself to an ejaculation.
Danny must have guessed right, though, on how to respond and the noises to make—until the biker had gagged him, obviously pleased at pulling screams of pain out of the smaller, but perfectly formed, and beautifully handsome nearly chaste youth. When the guy had gone, Danny had heard him talking to Sam out in the hallway and saying that he'd be back.
* * * *
After the first week, Danny worked out with Sam that, since the bar didn't really close at midnight and Danny rarely closed his legs before 3:00, he didn't really need to come in to work until after 6:00 in the evening. The late afternoon crowd really had someplace else to go after dinner or they would have come into the bar later. Sam was quick to realize that the money to be made off Danny was after the first set on the poles at 9:00 p.m. Danny wasn't the only pole dancer, but he had quickly become the most popular one with the late-evening crowd.
Afternoons Danny started to explore the island—mostly its beaches. Maybe, he thought, total satisfaction would come from young guys on the beaches who didn't club all that much. Even then, Danny began to get the inclination that maybe what he hadn't attained was some form of commitment and normalcy. Maybe he'd find that in the community of guys who just came here to meet and play with—and fuck around a bit—other just regular guys.
After a couple of days checking out the regular beaches—and noticing that most of the guys going there were already hooked up—Danny decided to up the ante. The guys at these beaches might give him a smile and a second glance as he walked around in his Speedo and the cut off T-shirts that only said "Sam's" because he'd cut them off below the pecs and lost the "Bar" part, but they usually were with someone else and had a set of friends they were working with. He had cut the shirts off because he had great abs, and he knew he did. He was more than a pretty face—although his face didn't hurt his prospects, he now was coming to accept.
Most of the close attention and offers Danny was getting at these beaches were from over-the-hill, big-bellied older men. He got a lot of attention from cops too, though, who mostly thought he was underage—or who were just hassling him to get a fast fuck in an alley or squad car in exchange for not taking him in on trumped-up charges. Danny didn't mind; the cops here kept in good shape, and he didn't mind being fucked by a randy guy in a uniform.
So, after this beach experiment, Danny decided to go where there weren't so many over-the-hill guys. He got the brilliant idea that the ones who weren't in shape wouldn't be as inclined to go to a nude beach. He also thought there might be more single guys cruising on a beach like that. He was equipped nicely too, so he could see no reason why he couldn't get some new experiences at a nude beach.
He found out that the Fire Island Lighthouse Beach near the western end of the island was the "the place" to go for young, gay nudists. He'd also heard that it was a good hook-up spot. So, on the eighth day of his employment at Sam's Bar, Danny rolled up a beach towel, put it under his arm, and took the public bus headed west.
The beach was really interesting. The older, out-of-shape guys tended to stay up on the road, sitting in their convertibles with binoculars and offering rides to guys they'd been zeroing in on when they came off the sand. The beach wasn't all that crowded that day. There were a couple of groups of guys playing volleyball, all young and in great shape. There were some couples laying close together on towels on the beach, and then there were a lot of singles, either staked out on towels or roaming around and cruising the talent on the beach.
There didn't seem to be any inhibitions. All of the guys were naked, and it was evident that not many guys came out here if they didn't have great bodies and good equipment. He walked around a bit looking for a good place to settle where he could see and be seen. And as he did so, he realized that there really were few inhibitions here. There were guys sucking and fucking on the beach towels. Not just in pairs, either. There were some threesomes. Out in the surf, he even saw where a train had formed, and there must be five or six guys fucking in one chain while the waves rolled over them and, laughing, they did what they could to remain both upright and hooked up.
He passed one set of six hunky young guys playing a vigorous game of volleyball. Danny was half way passed them when he heard a "Hey, guys, check this one out" call out in a bass voice from the midst of the volleyball players. Danny turned at the sound of a wolf whistle.
"Fresh meat, I think," rang out another voice, this time a higher, tenor pitch to the voice. "Ain't seen you here. New?"
"First time on this beach," Danny said with a smile.
One of the guys was holding his genitals. "Wanna play? We could have a ball. Got something good for you."
