The Dick Dock

One summer in college I got an apartment in Provincetown with an old friend of mine. We both got jobs in town where we worked six or seven days a week, and we drank each night until two in the morning. He was as straight as a line dance, but we held hands as we walked down the street each morning simply because we could.

In Provincetown everyone assumes you’re gay. It’s incredibly refreshing, but as a twenty-one-year-old mildly bisexual college student, it was culture shock. The first week we spent a few nights at the only straight bar in town before we realized that it was not only depressing, but also boring as fuck. Once we made friends, found roommates, and settled into our jobs, we expanded our horizons.

It was late one night in the middle of the summer when my new best-friend Mark asked me if I wanted to go to the Dick Dock. The Dick Dock was a legend. It was a running joke for the locals, a fantasy for the tourists, and a reality for a small group of men, who often found themselves on the beach at two am trying to satisfy something or other. I had never been, and so with a smile we crossed Commercial Street, took the narrow path to the beach, and turned right.

There is no Dock at the Dick Dock. But there is dick. On this particular night there was a line of dick. About fifteen or twenty men stood in a row, but Mark took me by the hand and marched me to the front without a word. There was a young man, possibly a few years older than me, kneeling at the front, his back to the wooden fence that closed off the dunes. As each man approached, they pulled their cocks out, jerking themselves off until they were hard. When it was their turn they looked down at the young man with mysterious expressions, and he dutifully took them into his mouth for the best blow-job he could manage at two am.

Mark stood me so close to the young man that I was almost touching him. My pant legs brushed his shoulder but he never once looked up. We may has well have been invisible. If we got even a glance I didn’t notice, although I was definitely distracted as I watched the kneeling boy go from one man to the next. We didn’t stay long, but it was enough.

As we walked down the beach he asked me what I thought.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty intense.”

“He likes sucking cock.”

“I guess so.” I said. “You don’t ever get in line?”

“Dude, if I want to get my dick sucked I just go to the bar. Those are the dudes who can’t get their dick sucked any other way. It’s a little depressing. Still fucking hot though.”

We walked back into town a few minutes later and most everything was closed. Even the pizza place was quieting down, and there was not much else to do. I said goodnight and climbed the stairs to my apartment. My old friend was still up, and with mild curiosity he asked where I had been.

“The Dick Dock,” I said.

“You get any Dock?” he asked, laughing at his joke.

I shook my head and climbed into bed. I was still overwhelmed by what I had seen, and not sure how I felt about any of it. I thought about waiting in line, watching everyone else use the young man for their pleasure and I shivered. And then I thought about him, taking cock after cock into his mouth without any regard for where it came from. I rolled over to find myself hard. I tried to let it go, but my hand moved faster as I closed my eyes and imaged myself kneeling in the sand on that quiet stretch of beach.

-Guy New York

(If you enjoy my writing, you might like my new novel, The Island on The Edge of Normal, now available on Kindle and in Print.)