From a distance, it looked as if a heavily-garlanded, gargantuan Christmas tree had dropped from space and exploded in the middle of 12th Street Beach. Crimson-and-gold ornaments dangled beneath flapping yellow banners and strings of lights, all swaying above a mass of gold-flecked muscle gods. It was Christmas on Muscle Beach and DJ Oren Nizri was Santa Claus, promising “I’m Gonna Sex You Up”—as if the sea of Santa’s helpers needed any persuasion. This was Santa’s workshop imported to South Beach, with over 3,000 of the hottest boytoys ready for delivery.

Twas the month before Christmas—and everyone was both naughty and nice. And why not—with the sun shining bright and the mercury hitting eighty and everyone huggy and happy? For the past few years, ever since White Party’s Muscle Beach was switched from Sunday afternoon to Saturday, the beach party has become an example of what sells the circuit best: outdoor events that highlight the health and happiness and camaraderie of a musically-motivated and dance-driven tribe.

This year’s version of Muscle Beach, the perennial White Party favorite, showcased the giddy romance of dancing on the sand with those you love. Everywhere you looked, boyz were hugging and kissing—and comparing underpants. I’ll show you mine; you show me yours. Dancing in next to nothing, working hoodies and tats while accessorized with suspenders and berets, fedoras and shades, bracelets and chains, this was a group of people who never met a mirror they didn’t stop to acknowledge. These people can pose! These boyz can walk! These kidz work a box!

And everyone was there—and everyone was happy, basking in the sun, sated and filled from the Thanksgiving feast. Family obligations fulfilled, it was Saturday on the beach, with the family that loves you—for all that you are. Kiss-kiss, hug-hug: pose for the paparazzi.

Debby Holiday sang from a box at the center of the crowd—and then it was DJ Chris Cox—and if Lady Gaga wasn’t also on a box, she was there in spirit, along with Beyonce and Rihanna, Madonna and Janet. And Kristine W., too—no, really, she was there. Radiantly happy with Cox in the box—er, booth.

No, ma’am, no, sir: there was nothing bad about this romance—nor anything bad about the boyz so in love that they couldn’t stop kissing. So many happy couples: Joey and Antonio, Avi and Logan, Ric and Abel, Chad and Jonathan, Tod and Gorm, Eric and Jarrod, Hilton and Mel, Ernie and Jeffrey, Parz and August, Billy and Luis—and Omar and Bene… It was Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island: a haven of happiness for boyz on holiday.

And when the winter sun scuttled off behind the city skyline, Pleasure Island’s carnival lights came up, in a vibrant palette of greens and yellows, blues and reds, illuminating the funfair and the faces of boyz laughing, dancing, their hands in the air. There was gorgeous Leo Neves, and stunning Juan Andreas, and Strawberry Stine, and sex god Matthew Rush, and a glowing DJ Sayho, and DJ Paulo, and a mirthful Danny Tenaglia, and DJ Joe G., and coverboy Gil Dominach, and a giddy Carlos Hernandez, and Ricky Perez, and Rich Campbell, and Erin Stacey, and JC Curry, and Michael Bath, and luscious Matthew Wright, and power editor Steve Weinstein, and flirty flibbertigibbet Flavio, and a beaming George Coronado with DJ Oren Nizri, and a smiling Chris Donahue, and the boys of MedEvent, and a radiant Rick Siclari—all of them dancing amongst 3,000 other happy boyz while keeping a bouncing Christmas ornament buoyant above the crowd—before the sky exploded with a profusion of fireworks.

The fireworks! The fireworks! They came one after another, bursting in the sky, high above the sea of smiling faces: euphoric boyz holding on to each other, hand in hand, arm in arm, staring awestruck at the bursting blossoms of light. A sky of glimmering blooms raining down on the ocean that shimmered beneath a nearly-full moon.

Oh, what happiness to find oneself gazing heavenward as the skies lit up with love—for all those who’ve come before us, and all those who remain here still. Here’s to Muscle Beach, and to White Party, and Care Resource—and to Christmas in Miami where the joy is in feeling the sand beneath your feet.