Ocean Titty

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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A week at the beach sounds like a good time, but toss work into the mix and it becomes a week of crazy.

We’ll jump right into the fun! At Seacrest, a restaurant with indoor palm trees and a floor of sand, I stood with coworkers around a cockeyed table. Eventually wandering onto the dance floor, also covered sand, I was quick to leave when a forty-something woman got her freak on with a palm tree. I was highly impressed with her ability to get “low.” Making my way back to the table boredom set in until security was forced to escort another forty-something out of the bathroom for taking her shirt off. This scandalous behavior continued as not on or two, but three women puked on the floor. Apparently the beach, age forty and two-dollar beers are a deadly combo…but hilarious.

After becoming bored, a few of us headed twenty minutes up the road to the nearest gayish bar. I say gayish because it was  mix of straight and gay people…and a lot, lot, lot of trannies. So, it’s karaoke night and everyone is dancin’ and having’ fun, but I stood there and wondered when I became so shallow. All I could see were some scary country folk that might stuff me in a trunk if given the chance. There was the guy that looked like a cancer patient grinding a pole, the inbred couple blocking the bar and some loud lesbians trying to engage a member of my group.

What a nightmare, I’m used to gays that are clean and semi well dressed. This place was like the land of misfit gays where sweatpants were acceptable and no one cared what they looked like. Never have I seen so many beer guts, I mean not just on the lesbians, the guys too!

I believe what made it worse was that I was the responsible person that evening and not drinking…not drinking enough to blind myself! Cutting the night short I forced everyone into the car. Everyone had a great time and that was the moment I realized a week was too long to be away from New York and that I needed to return immediately.