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Gay Summer Camp
Controversy stirs up The Pines, Fire Island
"Traitor," a gay acquaintance hissed at me as I entered the Fresh Market, the gourmet grocery store that opened in The Pines, Fire Island, in 2007. As a dedicated fag hag, I've been going out to the Pines since the mid-'90s, but times are a changin' in more ways than one.
A dozen years ago, I would stay with my struggling 20-something gay male buddies in a group house — seven bedrooms split 14 ways. This allowed a revolving cast of 28 people total, each with a half share, to come every other weekend. I think people paid about $2,000 a summer for this arrangement. If you do the math on that, that's $48K total for the whole house, and yes, landlords get away with it because The Pines community on Fire Island isn't just another beach town: It's like the gay utopian summer camp most of these men never had. The costume parties and the canapes and the cattiness do sometimes get out of hand (every house seemed to have at least one major scandal and one major relationship drama), but it's like a big homosexual fraternity party.
Don't get me wrong: The Pines also has many natural charms — big sandy beaches, wild deer, and battering surf. And I love the process of getting out there: taking the LIRR train from Penn Station in New York to Sayville Station on Long Island, then getting a $5 shuttle bus to The Pines Ferry, then sitting on the roof and sunning during the $7.50, 30-minute jaunt across to Fire Island. Once you arrive, its a picturesque land of wooden walkways with no cars. Everyone walks and transports their stuff in old-fashioned red wagons. It's always 95 percent gay men, some young and beautiful, most older and wealthy, with just a handful of heteros who got smart and like it better than The Hamptons, and fag hags like me.
A dozen years ago, I would stay with my struggling 20-something gay male buddies in a group house — seven bedrooms split 14 ways. This allowed a revolving cast of 28 people total, each with a half share, to come every other weekend. I think people paid about $2,000 a summer for this arrangement. If you do the math on that, that's $48K total for the whole house, and yes, landlords get away with it because The Pines community on Fire Island isn't just another beach town: It's like the gay utopian summer camp most of these men never had. The costume parties and the canapes and the cattiness do sometimes get out of hand (every house seemed to have at least one major scandal and one major relationship drama), but it's like a big homosexual fraternity party.
Don't get me wrong: The Pines also has many natural charms — big sandy beaches, wild deer, and battering surf. And I love the process of getting out there: taking the LIRR train from Penn Station in New York to Sayville Station on Long Island, then getting a $5 shuttle bus to The Pines Ferry, then sitting on the roof and sunning during the $7.50, 30-minute jaunt across to Fire Island. Once you arrive, its a picturesque land of wooden walkways with no cars. Everyone walks and transports their stuff in old-fashioned red wagons. It's always 95 percent gay men, some young and beautiful, most older and wealthy, with just a handful of heteros who got smart and like it better than The Hamptons, and fag hags like me.
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09:15 EDT, 03.Jul.08