Look, we love Rehoboth. We will always love Rehoboth. Queer folks have been flocking there since the 1940s, and with scores of LGBTQ-owned businesses and a Pride calendar packed tighter than the boardwalk in July, “Rehomo” earned its crown fair and square.

But let’s be honest with each other: trying to buy property there right now feels a lot like trying to get a reservation at the one good restaurant in town on a Saturday in August. Everyone wants in, inventory is tighter than your swim trunks after Labor Day brunch, and the prices have officially entered “are you kidding me” territory.

So here’s a thought: What if you didn’t fight the crowd? What if, instead, you let Rehoboth keep doing its glorious, chaotic, glitter-bomb thing and you quietly built your beach life 15 minutes away for considerably less drama and considerably more square footage? Here are four towns ready for their close-up.

Lewes: The Charming Overachiever

Lewes is what happens when a beach town actually has its life together. Historic charm, walkability, proximity to Cape Henlopen State Park, less crowding, and a strong year-round community. Unlike towns that turn into ghost towns after Labor Day, Lewes maintains a real community all year long, which is more than we can say for some situationships.

And right now, the market is practically begging you to make a move. It’s one of the most desirable and stable markets in the county — built for buyers thinking long-term, not flippers, and Sussex County overall has flipped into genuine buyer’s market territory for the first time in years. Translation: you finally get to be the one with leverage. 

Bethany Beach: My Personal Pick

Full disclosure: I own in Bethany. So consider this section a little biased — and also the most honest thing I’ll tell you in this whole article.

When I drive down from D.C., I’m not looking for more of D.C. I love this city, but I also love leaving it — and yes, some of the people in it too (you know who you are, and so do I). Bethany gives me that full exhale. It’s quiet in the way that actually means something: fewer crowds, slower mornings, a soundtrack that’s mostly waves instead of nightlife. It leans hard into its “quiet resort” reputation, with low property taxes and a limited geographic footprint, and it is not the least bit sorry about it. 

But quiet doesn’t mean isolated. I’ve got a genuinely excellent food scene nearby, real shopping, and a string of charming neighboring beach towns — and when I do want a taste of Rehoboth’s energy, it’s a short, easy drive away. I get to choose my dose of chaos instead of living inside it.

And here’s the part that matters most for this article: the price. If you’ve looked at Rehoboth listings and quietly closed the tab in despair, I need you to hear this — you can absolutely afford a beach house. It just doesn’t have to be in Rehoboth. Bethany’s average home value sits around $848,592, which is still real money, no question — but it buys you more house, more land, and more peace than the same budget gets you closer to the boardwalk. Bethany is welcoming too, just without Rehoboth’s decades of built-in queer institutional history — and for plenty of us, that trade-off is more than worth it. 

Fenwick Island: Small Town, Big Flex

Fenwick rarely gets mentioned and, frankly, it should be insulted. It’s tiny, it’s quiet, and it has beach access without the carnival energy. The market data tends to lump it in with Bethany, where single-family oceanfront homes clear $1 million while entry-level condos start in the $600s — proof that “under-the-radar” doesn’t mean “bargain bin,” it means “fewer people fighting you for it.” 

South Bethany: For the Boat Gays

Some of us want sand between our toes. Others want a private dock and a boat named something deeply unserious. South Bethany’s canal communities are built for the latter — water access on both sides, fewer crowds, and a lifestyle that says, “I have a captain’s hat and I am not afraid to wear it.”

The Math Works in Your Favor Now

Here’s the part that should really get your attention: Sussex County’s median sold price has dropped to $440,000, down 3.3% year-over-year, and buyers are routinely closing around 88 cents on the dollar compared to asking price. That’s a far cry from the unhinged bidding wars of 2021 and 2022, when overpaying was basically a competitive sport. Inventory across the county sits at nearly 2,500 active listings — the most of any county in Delaware, meaning you actually get to be picky for once. Revolutionary, we know. 

And no, choosing one of these towns doesn’t mean leaving your people behind. Sussex Pride serves the entire county, not just Rehoboth proper, and CAMP Rehoboth’s resources extend well beyond town limits too. You’re not exiling yourself to the suburbs of queerness — you’re just getting a bigger kitchen, a quieter porch, and a much shorter line for the bathroom. 

Add in the fact that Delaware has no estate tax and some of the lowest property taxes around, savings that genuinely add up over a retirement horizon, and the case writes itself. Rehoboth will always be the beating, sequined heart of queer beach culture in Delaware. But if you’ve been telling yourself a beach house isn’t in the cards — I’m here to tell you it absolutely is. It just might be 15 minutes south, with your own quiet porch, your own salt air, and considerably more room to breathe. 

Have a real estate question or Rehoboth market tip? Reach out to [email protected] for LGBTQ-friendly real estate resources in the Rehoboth area.

Justin Noble is a Realtor licensed in D.C., Maryland, and Delaware with Monument Sotheby’s International Realty. Reach him at [email protected] or 302-897-7499.

‘My Favorite Sociopath’
Contemporary American Theater Festival
July 10-Aug. 2
Shepherdstown, W.Va.
Catf.org

Discernment. It’s a thing some people have, explains playwright Aurin Squire, especially when you’re gay or Black in America (Squire is both).

“You instinctively know when the mob is teaming up for the best interests of the powers that be. You can feel it in the air.”

In his sharp new satire “My Favorite Sociopath,” Squire writes about life experiences but set in a different time and place: It’s the 1990s, early days of the 24-hour news cycle, and three ambitious journalism students are pursuing success in D.C.

And now, Squire’s play, along with other new works, are making their world premieres at the annual Contemporary American Theater Festival (CATF) at Shepherd University in historic, queer-friendly Shepherdstown, W.Va. (just a 90-minute drive from D.C.).

“All of my plays are queer in some way,” says Squire, 46. “This one touches on harmless and dangerous lies. The characters are on the spectrum sexually, and it’s interesting how all that falls out.”

And he’s given it a lot of thought. 

“Already as a kid, it seemed to me that the rage against rap music and sex was coming from closeted people resisting their own urges and temptations. For me, it was interesting to see a witch hunt led by witches. Queer people can always call out a lie.”

Since September, Squire has also been working with a TV show about the tech industry set in Silicon Valley. He says, “It seems the general flow of the tech industry is that humanity and civilization is finished and it’s just about accumulating as many goods as possible before everything collapses. In fact, those who are profiting actually agree. But for those who disagree, they believe the solution is to build bigger gates, but activists believe we can stop this” 

Yet, he’s learned from folks associated with the show. “Many say the quickest way to divorce yourself from any responsibility or regulations — smash and grab. Otherwise, you have to stop and think and regulate your desires for greed and power”

Squire possesses a penchant for pithy titles. He laughs, explaining the first thing he wrote as a student at Juilliard was “Obama-ology,” the comedy with contemporary message. While a lot of people liked the name, it didn’t necessarily vibe with the author. He concedes that he chooses names based on “easy to remember” and titles that won’t be easy to lose as a file. 

Another is “Defacing Michael Jackson,” a coming-of-age dramedy set in rural Florida in 1984, specifically Squire’s native town Opa-locka, Miami, a fantastical place famed for its fanciful Moorish revival architecture.

Living in the shadow of exotic structures, he wasn’t particularly fazed. Squire says “It wasn’t until returning to visit after my freshman year at Northwestern University in Chicago that I realized how weird it was: When you grow up in a place, you take surroundings for granted no matter how over the top.”  

Now based in New York (where for two happy years, 2017-2019, he shared digs with drag king Murry Hill), Squire returns frequently to Miami to be with family, but this summer has been filled with both work and travel.

Currently, he’s in Shepherdstown with CATF shaping up “My Favorite Sociopath.” Later this summer he will travel to South Africa for research, followed by a silent writing retreat in Santa Fe, N.M. 

Much of Squire’s work reflects the Latino, African, Caribbean, African-American, and Jewish cultures he grew up around in South Florida.

When asked if today’s winds of anti-multiculturalism worry him, he replies, “No, because that’s going to pass. Most people don’t like, people are seeing the negative results of it, and the young people coming up despise it. White male gamers were tricked momentarily through the algorithms into voting against their own interests and they’re now seeing how it’s not working out for them. 

“Conservatives always try to stop progress and eventually they always lose. It’s just a question of where we’ll be in the middle of the end of civilization before that happens. I’d like to hope we can turn the ship around before then.” 

In addition to “My Favorite Sociopath,” CATF summer season features three other world premieres (Lisa D’Amour’s comedy “The Smoker,” “Refugee Rhapsody” by Yussef El Guindi, “Best Line Wins: A Play Inspired by the Improvised Lives of Elaine May & Mike Nichols” by Beth Kander) and “¡VOS!” by Christina Pumariega.

CATF runs from July 10-Aug. 2 in three venues on the Shepherd University campus: Frank Center, Marinoff Theater, and Studio 112.

‘Transcendent: A Memoir’
By Laverne Cox
c.2026, Gallery Books
$30/238 pages

OK, let’s just say it: You’re tired of lies.

They come from above, behind, from either shoulder. They’re repeated, laid out in a line, told as if they’re true but they’re not. You wish people would stop lying to you. As in the new memoir “Transcendent” by Laverne Cox, you wish you could tell the truth about yourself.

Sissy.

If the bullies in the neighborhood weren’t constantly calling Laverne Cox that name, then Cox’s mother was. “Sissy,” was just one word, though; the others were worse. The boys would say those things while they beat Cox, when they could catch her. Her mother screamed at her gentle child who didn’t like “boy” activities.

Even at eight years old, says Cox, “I was a prim and proper lady.”

Despite the verbal abuse about her perceived feminine behavior and a furtive, failed attempt at conversion therapy, Cox’s mother sent her and her brother to the Alabama School of Fine Arts, where Cox learned to dance. It was a lifeline for her, and the talent gained there helped Cox get into college in Indiana.

From there, Cox expected to find fame and fortune in New York City.

And yet, the abuse she suffered as a child held Cox back, and the words “There is something wrong with me” became a daily mantra.

“I didn’t know how to say it.” Cox says. “I’m a girl.”

There were therapy sessions to get to that point, as Cox learned the language and skills needed to speak the truth. Landing a sense of style helped, as did her brother’s support, a handful of friends, and happy, scent-infused memories of her mother’s make-up table.

At each step, Cox says, “I was expressing myself, I was also allowing myself to edge closer to my girlhood.”

Let’s start here: “Transcendent” is a difficult read – not for style, but for substance.

From her earliest memory of being sexually abused as a toddler; to verbal and physical abuse from many sources; to what, judging by photo captions, seems perhaps like forgiveness, author Laverne Cox glosses over nothing. Be ready, in other words, for pages and pages of memories that, like a roller-coaster, will make you cringe and want to hide your eyes, although doing so would be a mistake.

As this book progresses, Cox’s story does, too. We see a child who knows a truth but has no words for it. The child becomes a teen with a bursting sense of self, then a young adult who craves love as she’s stretching her wings. By the time Cox advances to writing about her career and the abuse is (mostly) over, readers will breathe a well-deserved sigh of relief. Whew, you’ve winced through a harrowing tale to reach a satisfying but not complete update.

Fans of Cox’s work will want “Transcendent,” as will anyone who’s transitioned, is thinking about it, or loves someone who has. It’s a rough read, but a necessary one, then, and that’s no lie.

The Blade may receive commissions from qualifying purchases made via this post.