Red Is The Color Of Me

Yesterday, the first full day of summer, I met up with UnFortunate at the New Jersey Transit Train Station in Long Branch and we headed up the coast to Sandy Hook, looking forward to a day of nudidity at Gunnison Beach, apparently the largest nude beach on the Atlantic Seabord.

The last time UnFortunate and I had a beach day at Gunnison, it was like a four hour stay at a Soviet Gulag. When we arrived in the morning, it was a beautiful day for the beach. Then the sun went in. Then the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Then the wind came up, so that every gust was literally sandblasting us. Cold and shivering and smarting from the stinging sand-storm, we headed for my car and called it a day.

Yesterday again started out as a beautiful beach day. But largely stayed that way, sunny and warm. The weather report said "breezy," and that should have been a warning, but there we were, again getting an unexpected dermabrasion treatment, punctuating our conversation with "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Oh! Ow. Ow." now and then.

The beach was fairly sparse. And it seems that the piping plover have decided to do their nesting on the part of Gunnison that was always the "gay part" of the nude beach. Thus, a high school student in a lawn chair was posted at the southeast end of the beach letting none of the naked people trespass where they might disturb the piping plover. ("So Meghan, do you have a job lined up for the summer before you go to college?" "Uhh... Yeah I do, Uncle Al. I'm... um... working doing wildlife conservation?")

Except for a trio of callow youths, UnFortunate and I were the only homos on the beach. That we spotted everywhere. And everyone else seemed to have those windscreen things, and I am officially In The Market for one. Hopefully I can find an orange one.

The water was perfect! It was cold, but not freezing. Just really invigorating. And because the Atlantic isn't warm yet, I didn't have to worry about jellyfish.

We spent a good four hours at Gunnison before we decided we couldn't take the dermabrasion anymore ("I bet I lost two pounds in epidermis!") and headed down the coast, stopping for burgers and dogs and fudge. I dropped UnFortunate off at the Long Branch train station and headed for home.

It was during the drive home that I noticed that Something Was Wrong. My butt was feeling especially tender.

Now, when someone commented to me recently that I'm something of an anachronism in that I still smoke, I replied that what really made me feel anachronistic was eschewing sunblock. Never touch the stuff. I still harbor quaint notions that a "healthy" tan is fetching, and try for one every summer. I usually tan well. In the past, I've stopped by a tanning place a few times during the winter to keep a base coat going, but due to my dire financial straits, I haven't this past winter.

By the time I got home, I was definitely feeling the chills. I stripped int he bathroom and immediately saw the problem. My arms, back, chest, shoulders, back, and face got some nice color. As did my thighs. But the area between my belly button and my knees is lobster red. It's been many months since they've seen sunlight, and don't seem to have taken to it well. My butt, in particular, looks like I bottomed in a pretty heavy spanking scene. And it feels that way, too. Only moreso.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow! Ow. Ow! Ow! Ow.

A good night's sleep has me feeling a lot better, but my but is still pretty sting-y and tender.

If anyone gives me a playful swat on the fanny tomorrow when I'm up in NYC enjoying Pride with the Baron, I may retaliate with a left hook.