There are alternatives, of course: Lombard Swim Club (too exclusive), Overbrook Golf Club (too many kids), and North Shore Beach Club (too “douchey” - others’ word, not mine). When a gay man texts “I’m going to the pool,” it’s no mystery which one - it’s not his pool, or a pool, but the Pool. But it’s been a summertime staple for gay men from Philly, New York, New Jersey and parts of what is commonly called “Pennsyltucky” for decades - New Hope’s crown jewel when it comes to summer gay tourism. If you don’t know the Pool, it’s probably because you’re not gay, boozy or particularly randy, or preferably all three. His gaze quickly moves on to the next focus of his (easily diverted) attention: an olive-skinned, firm-chested man whose nipples, he boisterously marvels, are extraordinarily hard and pointy. He positions his hand to the back of his head like a Roman god, gives me his best Marilyn-Monroe-seducing-the-camera eyes, then breaks at the knee like a schoolgirl about to curtsy.
