Host Shequida and her friends at Fire Island Invasion. Photos by Wilsonmodels.
“It’s a good place to meet a husband, but not a good place to babysit a husband,” stylist Christian Freedom told me of Fire Island the other day.
And it is so true!
Raging hormones, the scorching sun, more than occasional mood enhancers, and desperate escape from lockdown make this a sex paradise, but not a heaven where commitments are always remembered when the sun rises and the privacy sets.
So fuck it all up.
I’m just going to keep going there to find some fabulous drag queens to make me dizzy in my celibacy. And the best time to do that is the annual Pine Invasion (except last year), in which a boat full of gusseted tuckers arrives from the nearby Cherry Grove to ritually undo a centuries-old incident where drag queens have been hanging out. refused service by the exclusive gays of Pines. These bitches really hold a grudge!
The invasion usually takes place on July 4th, but this year they moved it to 3rd so there are fewer day trippers, but then because of the disgusting weather they moved it to Monday July 5th. .
Surprisingly, I was available every three days. The postponement is the reason why the host of the festivities, Shequida, announced to the crowd, “Happy July 4th, one day later! Slide time! “
As some giddy queens scurried aboard an outbound ferry en route to New York City (many Pines action ends at noon Monday), the Invasion pre-show began, with local legend Rose Levine taking to sang “We’ve got a lot of life in Do” a cappella and Seth Sikes full-throated singing “Glory, glory hallelujah, the queens are marching on” with a Judy Garland tweet.
When a new queen named Tina Twirler paraded down the pier, Shequida exclaimed, “She’s the size I was before covid!” Cable queen Robin Byrd also bravely made the trail, despite a slip and a foot injury. And whenever people weren’t encouraging enough what was going on, Shequida would say, “They didn’t fly me over from Europe for this answer – and by Europe, I mean New Jersey.”
The drag boat docked and the girls disembarked, with an emphasis on the barking. MC Pansi kept referring to their woofy look, especially seen in daylight. Of the rather unusual Zondra Fox, she said: “She was on the Titanic. That’s why everyone jumped, not because of an iceberg. But I thought they were all gorgeous and funny, if not necessarily husband material.
The second best drag name of the day was Shitinya Panties. But the best by far was Delta Variant, a stunning girl who looked positively contagious. I spent the rest of the day trying to find her in the Pines, only to run into another queen who originally claimed to be called Delta Variant.
“You should have copied the name,” I advised her, not even bothering to ask her what her current plumage name is. (Probably Astra Zeneca.) I needed to find the new Delta variant! And a husband! And I’m not talking about the bearded man who sailed the Meat Rack (the dune area between the pines and the grove). I need someone who got the memo that people stopped doing that over there in the 80’s!
By the way, thanks to PJ McAteer for granting me press entry to his lodge and other properties. (It was very valuable because they were charging that day, to make up for last year.) And the best gossip floating around, with all the little pots hidden? A drag race winner who broke up with her boyfriend is now on Grindr and isn’t too happy when tricks come in and recognize her. The price of fame! She will never have a husband!
TAWDRY BITES
“Did I see you at Battle Hymn last week?” A guy asked me at a party, referring to the regular gay party in Chelsea. – Yes, I replied. “Have you undressed?” Was what I thought he said then. “No! I wish!” I answered. But he actually said, “Did you get strep?” “Ah. No. Have you got? I was wondering.
– Yes, he nodded. “What did you do to get it?” I asked, innocently. He just smirked and woke up.
In happier news, gay writer Dan Avery is moving to Tulsa for a fancy writing gig… At the beach at Riis Park in Rockaway, New York, there’s usually a whole section of trans men at Speedos these these days. It’s a fabulous new world… But back to the dance floor: the Roxy was an ice rink, then a music club, then a 90s gay dance phenomenon where I spent many Saturdays. Well, the owner, Gene DiNino, is writing a memoir about rising high as the king of the nightlife and then going through some rough times when the Roxy closed its doors and lived in the club closed for two years without water or electricity! I never wanted to leave the Roxy either, but I felt Gene’s plight and I think that’s the kind of warning I have to absorb, not a fairy tale about keeping a husband. !
