Page 91 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

Joe felt another wave of weeping coming on, and at the same time his desire for the sexy but terrifying man intensified.No, no,he thought.It’s not desire you’re feeling.It had never been that. Gladiator Man was why he’d come to the island—not to fall in love, but as the vehicle for his escape.He is your penance.

“You can even fuck me raw,” Joe said, still snuffling. He undid his fanny pack and yanked off his shorts, leaving both on the ground. “This is what the Meat Rack is for, right? I don’t even care if you’re a ghost with AIDS. Just fuck me, okay? Please.”

Gladiator Glen’s snigger was like slow bullets. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a ghost with AIDS, hmm?” His eyes combed Joe’s naked body. “Nice cock.” He gestured for Joe to turn around. “Nice butt. You’ll do.” He lowered his mouth to Joe’s and kissed him. The roughness of Gladiator Glen’s beard; the turgidity of his lips; his hot, wet tongue exploring. His breath tasted old, sour. It didn’t matter since this wasn’t about pleasure anymore. His hand moved to Joe’s ass.

“Ow!” Joe’s teeth gritted as he felt Gladiator Glen’s finger roughly penetrate him. “Lube please. I’ll also need another bump of something. I need to stay brave.”

“Brave? What for?” Gladiator Glen scoffed. “To get raw-dogged by a stranger you met in the Meat Rack?”

“Sure, and other things. I’m in the process of escaping. I don’t know to where … but I need to be brave.”

“Whatever toots your whistle, stud. I left my backpack in a spot farther back. It’s a ten-minute walk from here, and a lot more private. I got lube there, and something else that might relax you—andmake you brave at the same time.” He lifted Joe’s chin, forcing him to confront his now colorless eyes. “You really wanna do this, boy? You’re not going to waste my time, are you?”

Joe looked up at the moon, which was nearing its full eclipse. It was far more orange than blood red. Another of the island’s disappointments. “Lead the way.”

49.The Last Dance

“At the end of the world there will be suffering, there will be chaos, there will be death. But still, there will be dancing. Dancing is the only hope to overcome the Great Darkness. Dance, Disco Witches, dance!”

—Disco Witch Manifesto #157

THE DANCE FLOOR—9:46PM

The five Disco Witches entered the Promethean covered in their black capes. As “Pump Up the Jam” by Technotronic blasted, they began strutting toward the center of the dance floor, their arms folded across the tops of their chestsI Dream of Jeanniestyle. Silver silk flags dangled from their left hands while disco-ball rings sparkled on their right. Some men sniggered at the sight of Ronnie in his flowing robe, his head topped with the rhinestone-covered cowboy hat, his face, like the four others, painted with black, white, and silver semi-runic, semi-Mayan symbols, partially masking the crimson of his embarrassment.

“Woo-hoo, Ronnie! Didn’t know drag was your thing!”

“Ronnie, what are you supposed to be? A Christmas tree cowgirl?”

“Isn’t that Trey Winkle’s ex–boy toy? Someone find Trey! He’s gotta see this!”

Ruined,Ronnie thought.I’m ruined.His years of carefully curating his “hot blond jock” image lay crushed under the soles of his silver, sequined cowboy boots.

“Just ignore them!” Howie shouted over the music. “Our job is not about impressing a bunch of self-hating homo-assimilationists. We’re here to help Joe! Hold your head up. You look fabulous!”

Ronnie looked at all the gawkers, seeing neither lust nor envy in their eyes. He had become a sexless, campy part of the scenery. Even his “sexy stud sneer” could barely be seen through his makeup.What a fucked-up summer!

Surrendering, Ronnie dropped the sneer, un-sucked his gut, and allowed his perpetually flexed biceps and pectorals to relax.What’s the point? No one will ever forget this.And then it hit Ronnie—if his reputation was already ruined forever, then he no longer needed to prove himself to anybody. A wave of peaceful energy surged throughout his body while that strange prescient feeling in his stomach got even stronger than before. He looked ahead at Howie, Dory, Lenny, and Saint D’Norman. Their hats and rings shimmered in the disco lights, shoulders pulsing to the beat, strutting toward the center of the dance floor. A mischievous smile erupted across Ronnie’s face. He too began to strut like the others, rooster-flapping his black cape with his elbows.

THE JUDY GARLAND MEMORIAL PATH—9:47PM

The path along the dunes was more difficult to navigate than Fergal had hoped. He kept getting trapped by dead ends and frequently needed to empty sand from his boat shoes. If it weren’t for the brambles and used condoms, he would have gone barefoot. Because of the darkness, he had to get extra close to any correctly shaped silhouette—whether alone or in the midst of an embrace—and whisper, “Joe? Is that you?” Awkward misunderstandings abounded, inspiring contrite apologies and the batting away of groping hands.

At one point, he was ninety-nine percent sure he saw Joe having sex with two men under a canopy of shrub pine. Enraged, he charged the ménage. “So this is where you’ve been!” he shouted, kicking sand. “Don’t you know people are going nuts looking for you?”

The rutting triumvirate, horrified, unknotted their amorous tangle. “What the fuck?” the jock-strapped bottom cried out, throwing an empty bottle of poppers. “Back off, ya pervert!”

Fergal flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, I just thought you were someone else.”

“No wonder whoever you’re looking for is avoiding you! You’re pathetic!”

Apologizing again, Fergal continued his quest, exercising more caution in his inspections of coupling men. A few minutes later he spied a discarded fanny pack and a pair of glowing white shorts on the pathway.Wasn’t Joe wearing white shorts?On closer inspection, he found the fanny pack contained Joe’s wallet and empty drug vials. Then he saw the smear of blood on the front of the shorts. His insides exploded with a dozen feelings at once, the most prominent being panic and heartbreak. The emotion he longed to feel toward Joe,hatred, was nowhere to be found.

“Vince!” his hoarse voice cried out. “Vince! I found something! Vince!”

THE DANCE FLOOR—10:04PM

While Ronnie waited anxiously for his next instructions, Elena ran up to Howie, looking frazzled.

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