So I was invited by a friend -- OK, OK, a sleazy, sexy fuck buddy from Asspig -- to cruise the delta in his motorboat up to Sacramento, where the locals have a gay day bash scheduled for this weekend. I was enticed by the lure of the waters and a promised post-cruise romp in the living quarters below deck. He was heading up to meet some members of the Barbary Coast Boating Club for the weekend. His partner and his boy -- aren't relationships interesting? -- were heading up by car together the next day, although my date's boy's own partner, I think, was planning to celebrate Sacramento's gayness closer to home. I was busy the next day, so I planned to take Amtrak back to the Bay Area from our state's gracious capital.
As we pulled into the delta from a modest East Bay port, my date's MAFIA baseball cap (MAFIA stands for Mid-America Fists in Action, for those who need to be told) blew off and into the water. We puttered around and I hooked it with a long metal pole designed to, well, hook things from the drink. The trip took about five hours, and we hooked up with another Barbary Coast member along the way for a quickie lunch in a little deli along the water in Walnut Grove.
We docked in Sacto at about 3 p.m., alongside several other Barbary Coast piratical types with much bigger boats than ours, including a modest-sized yacht that could have been transformed into a lovely sex club or even boat-bathhouse. After a bit of schmoozing and socializing with the other denizens of our colorful little gay boating band, my date and I descended to the nether regions of his vehicle and did the nasty deed. Mission accomplished!