Men on a Mission

For the last couple of years, I've been hearing stories about the beach in Provincetown.

You see, as a breeder, I only really knew about Herring Cove Beach off of the highway. Herring Cove has bathrooms and parking and is apparently only for families and straight people.

But a winding path through the dunes leads to the gay beach.

The start of the path is easy to find because it is surrounded by hundreds of bikes. And poison ivy bushes. I'd heard that it was quite a hike to the beach, but when the guys were here I found out what an understatement that was.

The guys (Patrick, Charles, Brian, Jase, and Jase's coworker) were excited to get to the beach on the Fourth of July. We started the day with brunch and in preparation for my hike, I forwent a yummy mimosa.

I knew it would be a long walk, but I figured we'd chat and rest every once in a while and it wouldn't be so bad.

I've never been quite so wrong ever before.

You see, I was doing okay. I was keeping up with the guys to start. Considering that they're a bunch of skinny, little, running-for-fun bitches, I was feeling pretty okay.

Then the sand got soft and thick.

I fell back a bit, but I was determined to get to that fucking beach.

And the guys were chatting and joking and having fun. And they were waiting for me too.

They were waiting for me to catch up to them, and then they'd start walking again!

So the fucking skinny, little bitches were getting a rest and the fat chick wasn't!

As we neared the end, they stopped waiting at all. They were men on a mission. I could almost hear them chanting, "Shirtless men. Shirtless men. Must reach the shirtless men."

Once we crested the dune and were among the men, I put my foot down. They wanted to venture farther down the beach where the men were more scantily clad and more cruisy. Considering I had already been teased about being a female sacrifice, I was pretty happy with the shirtless men smack dab in front of me.

If the guys had continued on, I would have headed in the opposite direction and found a nice lesbian couple to adopt me.

I was having a perfectly nice time laying on the beach and reading my book and barely ever glancing at the continuous parade of gorgeous men (ahem) when I encountered a problem.

I had to go to the bathroom.

If I were with the straighties at Herring Cove, I could have walked to the toilets. But, oh no, I had to hike to the gay beach where there are no facilities.

I had no choice but to wade out into the water. Except I had one more issue. I had left my bathing suit at my parents' house. I was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt.

My plan was to oh-so-casually wade out, quickly dip down to the waistband of my shorts, do my business, and stand up with no one but the fish the wiser. But, oh no.

As soon as I started to dip, a huge wave crashed into me and knocked me in the water up to my neck.

At that point, I figured what the fuck and I dove into the next wave.

But now I had to walk back to the car and my dry clothes, miles and miles away in soaking wet clothes. I was so damn sexy, I could barely stand it.

Not.

I sat in the sun to dry out a little. But before I even stopped dripping the skinny little bitches decided they were cold.

I had a strategy for the return trip though. First I threatened Patrick. "You'll walk slow with me and wait for me, or I'll fucking kill you." Then I headed out first. I figured if I had a head start, I wouldn't feel so desperate.

My strategy worked out well because the skinny, little bitches were slowed up by the tide pools we had to wade across. They may have been concerned that their designer swimsuits would dissolve in the water or something. I don't know. My Target shorts were holding up fine.

By the time we got to the car, I was feeling pretty good, until I realized something. I had forgotten to pack a dry shirt!

So I trudged my wet self to a shop and bought an extremely unflattering, but cheap t-shirt. I returned to the car and stripped right in the parking lot.

I wonder how many people I scared that day.

Guess how I spent the rest of my day in Provincetown.

That's right! I spent it getting fucking drunk off my ass with the skinny, little bitches.