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Aquaholics Anonymous
Hello, Friends!
There could not have been shittier conditions for a junk trip. The sky was pissing.
I thought that the boat would leave late, for sure, because the boys wouldn't be caught dead wet before a boat trip.
Big mistake.
"I'm trying to stop the boat from leaving," Chris hollered into his mobile phone at exactly 11AM.
"On Queen's Road now," I hollered back above the din of fat raindrops on the cab's roof. "Five minutes!"
"Let's hurry, please," I urged the driver.
He dropped me off at Pier 9, after which I had to sprint a short distance to the platform. Soaked from head to toe, I finally boarded the boat.
"I see nipples approaching; James is coming," Victor announced whilst passing around all manners of toxic fruit. There were fat lychees drowning in a pool of vodka, a succulent watermelon stabbed with a bottle of Absolut 100, mango and berry Jell-O shots... The boys greedily skewered the lychees on long sticks, after which the vodka marinade was wisely poured into pitchers to use as alcohol base later on. Waste not, want not.
I collapsed in a heaving pile beside Chris.
"Those lychees are lethal," he remarked.
"Hm," I agreed, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
"Three of those and you're drunk."
"I've had three," I admitted.
"Oh, dear."
We had only just begun.
***
I was expecting testosterone overdrive on the boat, but half the boys were still obviously recovering from Jason Lai's debauched birthday party at Volume the night before. The rain helped, too, in keeping people's energies within manageable levels. Most of us congregated to chat on the main deck whilst the boat powered onwards to Clearwater Bay.
Alcohol helped speed matters along. Everybody seemed to have met everybody else within the first 15 minutes - no mean feat when 31 beautiful men are involved. The natural instinct otherwise would have been to target one's crush and establish ownership within the first half hour. Then, you'd practically need pry bars to wrench the pairs apart.
The rain stopped along the way. A hint of indigo clawed through the grays. A brush of blue skies teased further down the horizon. We were hopeful that the weather would only get better.
When we finally reached the spot where we'd drop anchor, the boys needed no further prodding to jump into the water.
Within ten minutes, rain fell once more.
***
Even as the boat's speakers had to be wrapped in cellophane to protect against the rain, Eugene's reliable iPod pumped hit after hit.
Cellophane was, at least, peeled off the tinfoil trays. Lunch was served - whole wheat sandwiches with grilled eggplant and zucchini, orange chicken, salads, barbecued meats, Doritos, and nuts galore.
The boys descended on the spread like hungry vultures, which led me wondering: Where do all the food go? Do these boys have hollow legs? They were all wearing the skimpiest of swimsuits, too.
The chicken was first to disappear.
We were clearly a boat of carnivores.
***
Except for a couple of situations involving allegedly involuntary erectile manifestation, the boys were surprisingly well behaved.
And except for a few valiant souls who maneuvered the choppy waters in between intermittent rain showers, most were quite content to be lulled into an alcoholic stupor.
By 2PM, our collective struggle to cull more alcohol was becoming increasingly belaboured. The boys had almost depleted the contents of five enormous Coleman chillers. We were a quivering mass of alcoholics, battling to uncork wine bottles with whatever impaired motor skills we had left.
Miraculously, two more pitchers filled with the alcoholic marinade we salvaged earlier on re-appeared. Michael and his mini-me, Rob, proceeded to ration the thirsty masses. Calls of "Last alcohol on the boat!" only served to fuel the hysteria.
Later, it was becoming apparent that alcohol was marinating nothing less than our brains. Boys were belly-sliding across the upper deck, whilst Banedikt simultaneously poured vodka and coke into the mouths of other boys who were spread-eagled on the floor.
"Don't waste the alcohol!" someone wailed.
"I thought I wasn't going to driiink..." Noel bleated like a sheep as he passed around his stash of Chupa Chups. Excited hands quickly emptied the candy bowl of its contents until afterward, all you could hear were the contented sighs of boys hungrily sucking on sweets.
***
"Is it time?" I asked Jewell.
He nodded.
"Group photo!" I yelled.
"Everyone on the other side of the boat!" Jewell herded. Some boys were so inebriated, they practically needed to be scooped up.
"Can't we just take a picture from this side?" a reedy voice whined.
Our token straight boy, Nick, graciously offered to take the class photo for Michael Murphy's Summer 2009 Junk Trip.
CLICK!
In the end, everyone had a good time despite the rain.
Gay boys evidently didn't receive the memo when kids were taught, "If life deals you lemons, make lemonade."
Never mind.
Who wants to make lemonade, anyway, when you can use the lemon for vodka tonics, instead?
With Affection,
Astron
Thank you, Michael.
There could not have been shittier conditions for a junk trip. The sky was pissing.
I thought that the boat would leave late, for sure, because the boys wouldn't be caught dead wet before a boat trip.
Big mistake.
"I'm trying to stop the boat from leaving," Chris hollered into his mobile phone at exactly 11AM.
"On Queen's Road now," I hollered back above the din of fat raindrops on the cab's roof. "Five minutes!"
"Let's hurry, please," I urged the driver.
He dropped me off at Pier 9, after which I had to sprint a short distance to the platform. Soaked from head to toe, I finally boarded the boat.
"I see nipples approaching; James is coming," Victor announced whilst passing around all manners of toxic fruit. There were fat lychees drowning in a pool of vodka, a succulent watermelon stabbed with a bottle of Absolut 100, mango and berry Jell-O shots... The boys greedily skewered the lychees on long sticks, after which the vodka marinade was wisely poured into pitchers to use as alcohol base later on. Waste not, want not.
I collapsed in a heaving pile beside Chris.
"Those lychees are lethal," he remarked.
"Hm," I agreed, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
"Three of those and you're drunk."
"I've had three," I admitted.
"Oh, dear."
We had only just begun.
I was expecting testosterone overdrive on the boat, but half the boys were still obviously recovering from Jason Lai's debauched birthday party at Volume the night before. The rain helped, too, in keeping people's energies within manageable levels. Most of us congregated to chat on the main deck whilst the boat powered onwards to Clearwater Bay.
Alcohol helped speed matters along. Everybody seemed to have met everybody else within the first 15 minutes - no mean feat when 31 beautiful men are involved. The natural instinct otherwise would have been to target one's crush and establish ownership within the first half hour. Then, you'd practically need pry bars to wrench the pairs apart.
The rain stopped along the way. A hint of indigo clawed through the grays. A brush of blue skies teased further down the horizon. We were hopeful that the weather would only get better.
When we finally reached the spot where we'd drop anchor, the boys needed no further prodding to jump into the water.
Within ten minutes, rain fell once more.
Even as the boat's speakers had to be wrapped in cellophane to protect against the rain, Eugene's reliable iPod pumped hit after hit.
Cellophane was, at least, peeled off the tinfoil trays. Lunch was served - whole wheat sandwiches with grilled eggplant and zucchini, orange chicken, salads, barbecued meats, Doritos, and nuts galore.
The boys descended on the spread like hungry vultures, which led me wondering: Where do all the food go? Do these boys have hollow legs? They were all wearing the skimpiest of swimsuits, too.
The chicken was first to disappear.
We were clearly a boat of carnivores.
Except for a couple of situations involving allegedly involuntary erectile manifestation, the boys were surprisingly well behaved.
And except for a few valiant souls who maneuvered the choppy waters in between intermittent rain showers, most were quite content to be lulled into an alcoholic stupor.
By 2PM, our collective struggle to cull more alcohol was becoming increasingly belaboured. The boys had almost depleted the contents of five enormous Coleman chillers. We were a quivering mass of alcoholics, battling to uncork wine bottles with whatever impaired motor skills we had left.
Miraculously, two more pitchers filled with the alcoholic marinade we salvaged earlier on re-appeared. Michael and his mini-me, Rob, proceeded to ration the thirsty masses. Calls of "Last alcohol on the boat!" only served to fuel the hysteria.
Later, it was becoming apparent that alcohol was marinating nothing less than our brains. Boys were belly-sliding across the upper deck, whilst Banedikt simultaneously poured vodka and coke into the mouths of other boys who were spread-eagled on the floor.
"Don't waste the alcohol!" someone wailed.
"I thought I wasn't going to driiink..." Noel bleated like a sheep as he passed around his stash of Chupa Chups. Excited hands quickly emptied the candy bowl of its contents until afterward, all you could hear were the contented sighs of boys hungrily sucking on sweets.
"Is it time?" I asked Jewell.
He nodded.
"Group photo!" I yelled.
"Everyone on the other side of the boat!" Jewell herded. Some boys were so inebriated, they practically needed to be scooped up.
"Can't we just take a picture from this side?" a reedy voice whined.
Our token straight boy, Nick, graciously offered to take the class photo for Michael Murphy's Summer 2009 Junk Trip.
CLICK!
In the end, everyone had a good time despite the rain.
Gay boys evidently didn't receive the memo when kids were taught, "If life deals you lemons, make lemonade."
Never mind.
Who wants to make lemonade, anyway, when you can use the lemon for vodka tonics, instead?
With Affection,
Astron
Thank you, Michael.