FIRE ISLAND

HOME TO DEERS, QUEERS AND THE NOTORIOUS MEAT RACK, FIRE ISLAND IS A LEGENDARY GAY GETAWAY. MARC ANDREWS FINDS IT’S STILL WILD AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.

A little over two hours journey from Manhattan lies a serene oasis that offers a vast stretch of white sandy beach, no automobile access and, in summer, more buff gay men than you’d find in a year’s worth of DNA issues.

Infamous for its “deers and queers”, Fire Island has long been the weekend or summer hideaway for hard-working NYC gay men and their peeps. It’s the gay party beach destination that literally defined the sex, drugs and disco of the pre-AIDS era, and it is still very much alive and kiki-ing now too, thanks for asking.

Just 50kms long, Fire Island consists of many hamlets, two of which, Fire Island Pines and Cherry Grove, are where the gay and gayer have long congregated. Its homo history dates back to the 1940s, when gay life centered around Duffy’s Hotel in Cherry Grove with gay writers WH Auden and Christopher Isherwood holding court. In the 1960s, male model John Whyte developed The Pines into the holiday spot of choice for the gay tribes of NYC, the US and soon after – the globe. With luminaries like Tennessee Williams, Tallulah Bankhead and Truman Capote all having spent time there, you know it has a wealth of gay history.

Arriving via ferry (about 20 minutes and $US16 return) from the mainland at Sayville, the first thing that strikes you about Fire Island is, well, just how gay it is. There are gay stores, gay clubs, gay organisations with stands to welcome you and swarms of buff gay men who are more than happy to show you around the island, if not their six pack.

The Pavilion, rebuilt after a fire on Fire Island two years ago, is a dance club surrounded by a fancy restaurant, a pizzeria, trendy shops, a pool with a bar and a small-but-functional gym. Everything is built of wood, keeping with the style of the island’s dwellings. The other thing you notice very quickly – there’s a lot of serious money here. Houses are not simple beach shacks. They are über-designed and exceedingly opulent predominantly cedar manors, most commonly with their own private pool, outside cabana area and all-weather hot tub. It’s as if every house has its own gay sauna.

Wooden boardwalks steer you around this beautifully manicured island, which, as the name The Pines suggests, is home to a swathe of large looming pine trees. You’ll also encounter a bounty of wild deer, the island’s mascot, which are, miraculously, native to the area.

Fire Island’s most infamous landmark is undoubtedly the “Meat Rack” (also known as the Judy Garland Memorial Forest), a stretch

We were whisked off to a private party at a Vogue Living type property with a gorgeous outdoor area, a hot tub, pool and, yes, two slings!

of sand dunes immortalised in numerous gay books and porn classics. Earlier this year a national directive to ban public nudity left the Fire Island communities exempt, which meant its long tradition of gay cruising in the dunes could continue minus the heavy hand of the law.

While there remains plenty of furtive fumbling along its well-worn paths (the Meat Rack at night has been described as “being in The Blair Witch Project”), due to the internet and mobiles most of the action now takes place in homes during private parties. As it happens, it’s not that hard to get invited to one of those. The boyfriend and I only had to hit the island’s sole gym for a pre-beach workout to be asked by three different welcoming locals to “join us in our hot tub”. Most of the houses rent rooms over the summer to either friends, or friends of friends and that’s the thing that will also quickly strike you about Fire Island – the sense of community. Everyone says hello as you saunter down the boardwalks, or they’ll ask where you come from and, quite commonly, they’ll even ask if you’d like to get a private tour of their premises. Just make sure you always have your sexiest swimsuit in your manbag. Thankfully, and thoughtfully, we did.

Relatively untouched by 2012’s Hurricane Sandy, Fire Island continues to survive and thrive. During the busy summer months it welcomes ferry loads of daytrippers and even heavier loads of weekenders. Being the latter, we checked in to a new B&B called 126 BHW (which stands for Beach Hill Walk). It transpired that most of the rooms had been taken over by TV executives from HBO who had just wrapped filming the long-awaited movie version of Larry Kramer’s The Normal Heart with Julia Roberts, Mark Ruffalo, Taylor Kitsch, Alec Baldwin, Matt Bomer and Jim Parsons. Some of this AIDS-era drama is set on Fire Island.

On our first night we had the choice of attending either the Underwear Party at Cherry Grove (a spooky 20-minute walk through the meat rack or a 15-minute ferry ride at $US7) or catching London hipster DJ outfit Horsemeat Disco at the Pines Pavilion. Stupidly, we chose the former.

When you think Underwear Parties you imagine hot guys wearing very little in a suitably sexy, if not sexual, environment. This, sadly, was not the case at Cherry Grove. Lesbians in lace panties and gaggles of drag queens were also in on the mix, while the “dark room” set up at the back of the stage was more like a bright room and with Cher’s Woman’s World being the most cutting-edge song played that night, the music was also more handbag than hand job. After a few hours we decided to leave, disappointed, thinking the glory days of Fire Island were indeed behind it. As we prepared to make our exit, an excited twink in unflattering boxer shorts breathlessly burbled that Lady Gaga was expected “at any minute” to make a surprise appearance on stage to launch her new single. Strangely, Gaga never eventuated. Instead a slim man appeared on stage in a leotard performing tricks with a fluoro hula hoop while doing the splits. The following day we were informed by friends how Horsemeat Disco had been “totally awesome”. Damn that underwear fetish.

We spent the morning enjoying a brief plunge in the refreshingly cool Atlantic Ocean after a “light” American breakfast of >>

>> pancakes, eggs and home-baked potatoes. In the afternoon we wandered about the boutiques, including Gostoso and gay clothing outlet Tagg for all those low-slung singlets (or tank tops, as Americans call them). There was also the Mt Sapola pop-up store carrying a range of luxury apothecary products, courtesy of hunky founder Pablo Andres Delgado, who is also owner of the world’s finest Black Swan tattoo.

During our browsing we were invited to have a swim at a friend of a friend’s pool (this is how things casually begin on Fire Island) and we brought along some friends who had just flown in from Belgrade. That’s when the real fun started to happen. Note to self – when running naked between pool, hot tub and cabana bed, be sure to use SPF50+ on genitals as well.

In the evening, we had a choice of former Wonder Woman Lynda Carter singing in concert, or dancing at the Pavilion. We chose the latter, no offence to Ms Carter, who carries on the fine tradition of Broadway by the beach on Fire Island. No sooner had we arrived at the club, which once again seemed to have Cher on high rotation, than we were whisked off to a private party at a Vogue Living type property with a gorgeous outdoor area, a hot tub, pool and, yes, two slings! Suddenly the seemingly lost magic of Fire Island began making itself very evident. We left some six hours later having enjoyed the attentions and affections of some of New York City, and Harlem’s, finest. In fact, we were then Whatsapp-ed to attend another party directly afterward and thought it would be rude not to accept. We ended up staying there for the remainder of the day and, yes, there was another hot tub, an outdoor shower and a dedicated sling space too. The glorious hedonist history of Fire Island, we discovered, is by no means a thing of the past.

What has made this hot spot such a draw for gay men over the decades now became more obvious. Its sweet, almost prudish public veneer is merely a front for its still-wild-afterall these-years frisky private underbelly. It’s not all daddies, either. The crowd is mixed ethnically and ethnographically with just the right blend of groovy Brooklyn hipsters and mature Manhattan-made longtime companions who nod knowingly about the activities of the “gotta have it all now” younger set. On Fire Island, there is little age discrimination, and more age equality. Everyone is welcome and everyone is welcoming. It’s an atmosphere quite unique to this pristine strip of tranquil beach, so close to the bustling burn-out capital that is the Big Apple.

Fire Island has played an integral part in the history of gay America, if not gay liberation the world over. A visit here is truly more a pilgrimage than a getaway stay. Even better is that it’s still sexy after all these years. Long may Fire Island be the gay disco inferno it’s been since long before liberation. Burn, baby, burn.