7. PLAY IN THE HAMPTONS

WHY: See how the other half lives.

I never belonged to any circles that did the Hamptons every weekend. I did, however, belong to a listserv that turned up an ad in the summer of 2003 for a weekend at a timeshare in the Hamptons. I figured I had to grab my chance. I met the girl who was forfeiting said share, paid her the fee, and received directions and keys to a house that my friend and I would be sharing with an unknown number of other people.

Katy and I drove out to the tip of Long Island and waded through traffic, the great democratic equalizer, alongside countless Jaguars, Mercedes, and Land Rovers to get to our turnoff. Once we reached the house we walked in to find a party of frat boys downing cheap beer. They offered us some, but we passed. We went to a bedroom that we would shortly be sharing with four foofy girls. Thankfully, we would avoid having to actually share sleep space with these creatures.

Katy and I quietly prepared ourselves for an evening out as the foofies started downing beer with the boys. A van came to pick us all up and deposited us at a nightclub.

We walked through the doors and angels sang. Suddenly I knew where all the hot New York men were hiding in the summer. I was like a kid in a candy store. I may not be “A” list, but the guys liked me nonetheless. I kissed and danced with at least a dozen men that night. At one point, as I was following Katy to the bathroom, a man grabbed my arm. I turned around to find one of the hottest men I have ever seen, certainly the hottest man who had ever touched me. He was tall, dark, handsome, blah, blah, blah. He said, with a British accent, that he liked my juicy bum. Not exactly poetry, but I was hooked. Apparently I had something unique to offer amongst the size negative two models wafting around.

Sadly Alan had to go to another party so we exchanged numbers and promised to meet up later in the weekend. His afterglow shown on everyone around me and tragically I ended up with a less than stellar specimen as the club started emptying out. Katy had left with someone and, not wanting to go back to the foofies alone, I decided to go with this guy, a slightly overweight Egyptian. We went back to his share. I’d had enough to drink to fall asleep quickly.

I woke up in the morning to the sight of a muscled stud. Unfortunately he was in the bed across the room, next to a pixie of a girl. I then glanced behind me to see that I was sharing the bed with something best not seen by the light of day. I tried to stealthily put my clothes on without disturbing it, but it awoke anyway and insisted on driving me home. Although he kept telling me how loaded his family was, we piled into a mid eighties Ford that barely seemed road worthy.

I hadn’t the slightest idea where “home” was. I told him the address, but neither of us knew how to get there from where we were. Turns out each “Hampton” has a similar set of streets and if you’re not in the know, navigating between the separate towns is nothing less than hellish. I kept begging him to let me take a cab, but he vowed to get me there. An hour and a half later we found it.

I accepted his business card, thanked him, and breathed a sigh of relief that he could probably never find me again. I then called Katy and set out in my car to find her. Thankfully her place of capture was easier to find. She also had had better luck in her man selection. I found a girl with stars in her eyes. Even though he was under-endowed, he was a good massager and gave her enough pot to make even the smallest pin prick enjoyable.

We found a treasure of a hole in the wall serving up Tex Mex. Hamptons Mexicans? Who knew? We returned to the house, put on swimsuits, and set out to find the beach. The water was brutal! After being slapped mercilessly on rocky sand a handful of times I lay on my blanket and watched Katy enjoy the beating. My little adventuresome one got in trouble with the lifeguard for going too far into the surf.

Alan called! He invited us to a house party; suddenly my status was skyrocketing! Katy and I treated ourselves to dinner at the quintessential Hamptons restaurant then set off to find the boy. After painfully navigating forested roads without signs, we managed to find our destination. A house glowing with the comfort of wealth beckoned us in. We grabbed up free wine and snacks and searched for Alan only to find out that he had already absconded to the next party. He offered to give us directions, but we’d had enough of forested mansions. We returned to the car to find a parking ticket. Apparently these labyrinthine roads were concealing a well-stocked police department.

Breathing a sigh of relief upon escaping the beautiful people, we headed for something more our speed, a local pub. AC/DC was on the jukebox and we could down beer in frosty bottles; we were content. Two locals struck up a conversation with us. I got the hot one and managed to not get too upset at the thought of Katy having to tolerate his scrappy, fat friend.

She was not overly enthused when the hottie invited us back to his house. After a little begging she agreed to come. He brought us beer out to a gazebo behind the ragged old house he shared with his mother; yes, his mother. He was young, going to junior college, worked on cars, and was hot, hot, hot! We got busy in the gazebo while Katy worked to keep fatty at bay. Katy and I arrived back at the house in the wee hours of the morning. Thankfully one of the foofies had gotten lucky so there was a bed free for us to share.

Alan called the next morning and asked us to come pick him up. We arrived at a gorgeous beach house occupied not by ten kids straight out of college like our own, but by the owner who was a photographer friend of Alan’s and a waifish model who shot Katy and me daggers as we took Alan away. I agreed to take him back to the city after we hit the beach.

Katy and I actively drooled as he took off his shirt. Having ruined my swimsuit with the violent waves the day before and not particularly wanting to parade around in a swimsuit in front of Alan anyway, I was content to keep myself in shorts and a top. Alan, on the other hand was not. He insisted I take off my top. He was going on about how Americans are so inhibited, so I gave in. Models are walking past us in Gucci and Prada bikinis and I’m sitting there in a slightly worn bra. Great.

Alan and I took a walk down the beach and made out.

We all returned to the house to clean up. Thankfully everyone else had left. As Katy was getting dressed Alan and I came in and brought her a beer. We then got naked and got in the shower while Katy sat on the toilet lid laughing. Katy had been in numerous orgies, but instead of joining in, she went into a catatonic laughing shock. Alan was once again admiring my bum and asking Karen if she agreed. She laughed hysterically and downed another can of beer.

She shook into a better state of mind when he pulled out pot for the ride home. While they toked, I drove responsibly. I took her home first then went to his place to share a bottle of wine. That bottle still lives in my wine bottle collection with my hot pink thong wrapped around the neck as a souvenir. I would get a booty call from Alan at about 4am approximately once a month for years. I finally returned to him one night. The sex was very mechanical. He took a Polaroid photo of me and added it to a stack nearing a foot in height. The calls kept coming, but I never went back.