QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Fuck Road

Fuck Road
By Steve Prince
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Bye dad.”
I hung up the phone and sighed. I loved driving in Oklahoma. It’s completely different from Los Angeles. It was nice to be home for Christmas. Instead of fighting traffic, I cruised down a dirt road in my father’s pickup truck, the smell of the country wafting itself in the cab. The inkiness of the night made the road visible only feet in front of me. The Oklahoma night seems so much darker than in LA. The edges of the truck windows fogged with the chill of nightfall. Soon stars would begin pinging in the infinite clear indigo sky.
I didn’t want to live in Oklahoma again. I couldn’t actually. It would be a step backwards for me. Still, I missed the countryside, the smell of earth and grass, and the sound of crickets instead of car horns. It feels good to come home every so often and see that nothing has really changed; things look the same and people stay the same.
I began driving into the main part of town, just a small four lane street lined with streetlights. I pulled into the parking lot of the El Chico restaurant to meet my family at. I looked at the clock; I went sixteen miles in only ten minutes—it would have taken an hour in LA.
I arrived earlier than the rest of my family even though we all left the house at the same time. Of course I did, my father drives so slowly. He wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes. I walked in the restaurant and made my way to the bar. Cautiously I looked around, grateful to see no one I knew. I didn’t feel like catching up tonight.
“What beers do you have on draft?” I asked, taking a stool at the bar.
The bartender turned and immediately I recognized him. I didn’t know his name, but I definitely knew his face. To be honest, I had known a bit more than his face. He looked older, as if the town had aged him. His smooth forehead now seemed lined and his skin blotchy. He had definitely put on weight. But he still had the same great hair. Nonetheless, it had been so long that I might have been remembering him how I wanted rather than how he really was. A shame really, because I remembered this guy being so attractive. Now he just looked… normal.
“Tonight we have Bud Light, Stella, and Pyramid,” he answered. In the instant, I studied his face yet the dawn of recognition was absent. He didn’t remember me at all, which honestly kind of hurt. I thought that was a pretty good fuck, if I do say so myself…

Nine years earlier…
“We’ll be there in a min-hut, Stee-vun,” my Dad’s voice said over the phone, his Southern twang pacing his words to a crawl.
I was waiting for him and my step-mom. Damn, Dad always drives so slowly; it’s a wonder he gets anywhere on time.
I was tired and broke. That’s why I had driven home that weekend from college. I needed to do laundry, get a hot meal, and just be home where the weight of school seemed galaxies away.
I just had driven up to El Chico’s when my father called to tell me they were just leaving the house; they’d be at the restaurant in ten minutes.
“Table for three,” I told the hostess. I figured I’d go ahead and get seated; the restaurant would be crowded soon. There wasn’t anywhere else to eat on a Friday night.
“Your waiter will be here shortly,” the hostess said with a polite Southern smile. She left and I perused the menu.
“Can I get you started with a drink?” a voice asked. I looked up at a handsome waiter, probably my age, standing in front of me. He had dark hair and tan skin. He looked Native American. His broad straight hair reclined on the side of his forehead. God, I wished I could have straight hair like his. When he smiled, his teeth glimmered.
“Would you like a beer or a margarita?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not twenty-one but thanks,” I said, completely eyeing him up and down. Suddenly I paused. Wait, Steve. You’re in Oklahoma, and you’re not out to people here. Be careful.
Everyone back at school knew I was gay, but no one—including my father—had any inkling of my sexuality.
Strangely the waiter didn’t seem to mind. As I eyed him his stance switched to the other foot. Was it me or was he posing for me? He smiled even more brilliantly if that was even possible.
“Well,” he said, “you look like a man to me and if you’d like I’d love to serve you a drink.”
What the fuck? Really? Was this happening in Okla-fucking-homa?
I ordered a beer and two minutes later he returned.
“You’re not from here are ya?” he asked.
I licked beer from my upper lip. “Actually I am,” I said, “I go to school now though. Out of state. I’m a music major.”
I know it’s a stereotype, but saying I was music major was my way of letting him know I was gay and he seemed to get it.
“Having dinner with the folks then?” he asked, as if he knew something they didn’t.
“Yep.” I said. “Exciting times tonight.”
Before he could respond my parents walked in and he scurried off.
It wasn’t until dinner was almost over that he and I talked again. As I exited the bathroom stall, I moved to the sink to wash my hands. That’s when he walked in.
The stress of his job was etched in his smooth face, yet when he looked at me he smiled, desire spreading in his grin. And then, his eyes darted to the bathroom stall. I followed.
He’d barely shut the door before his lips embraced my own. Suddenly we heard the bathroom door open and we both stopped, his breath resting on my neck. As we waited for the man to pee and leave, the hot waiter’s hand began to fondle the crack of my ass. He looked at me and smiled. Finally the man left, the bathroom door softly thudding behind him.
Decorum pushed aside I asked, “What time do you get off tonight?”
“Eleven fifteen,” he said not missing a beat. “Pick me up here?”
I nodded my head and kissed him one last time before he left. I waited a minute and left the stall as well.
Later that night, I had barely driven out of the El Chico parking lot before he was sucking my dick as I drove. He smelled a little bit like Mexican food, but I was too horny to care.
Every once in a while his head would pop up so he could see where we were going. Oddly enough I was taking him to a place I had known about since I was in sixth grade. We called it Fuck Road. Yes I know it’s a lame name, but when you were a kid in middle school what else do you call the dead end street that kids park on?
As I drove there I couldn’t help but smile, I never thought that I would be fucking around with a guy on Fuck Road.
He smiled as I slowed the car to stop.
“Ah, Fuck Road,” he said, “how appropriate.”
I laughed. “You call it that too?”
“Who doesn’t?” he said beginning to unbutton his pants.
Minutes later the windows of my father’s pickup truck were completely fogged. I lay on my back, legs arched up in the air as he rimmed the hell out of me. Finally I was begging him to fuck me.
And he did. It was a bit surreal actually. In high school I never fucked around with girls like this. All my friends did and I was so jealous. It felt pressured to relentlessly follow. But now I finally felt as if I would get to relive a bit of my missed past and I loved it.
“Deeper,” I said as he continued to pound me.
He stopped. “I can’t do this,” he said pulling out.
“What?” I asked shocked wondering if I had done something wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I hate fucking in cars and it’s so hot in here.”
“Oh,” I said, beginning to look for my underwear. “It’s no big deal.”
“Oh wait,” he said stroking my dick, “I’m just gonna fuck you outside.”
Five minutes and a new condom later, that waiter pounded me up against my father’s pickup truck as the Oklahoma moon shone brightly on my bare ass. My cheek pressed itself into the window with each one of his thrusts. I could hear the crickets and even small animals rustling in the woods around the road. The possibility of someone approaching made me even harder. He kept thrusting and I shot down the side of my dad’s truck. Minutes later he pulled out, ripped the condom off, and shot up my back. The crickets chirped as he kissed the back of my neck.
…
“So,” said the once hot waiter who was now much older. His tone sounded weary and short, “what beer did you want, man?”
I paused. “Uh, never mind,” I said.
I was wrong. I guess some things do change in my small hometown and I guess some things are just meant to be memories.
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Years after moving from Oklahoma, Steve Prince is still acclimating to the gay scene in Los Angeles—he’s a slow learner. By trial and error and a lot of sex, his mission is to make the uncomfortable, comfortable. Also it should be known that he is gayer than butt sex.
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Previously, on A Gay In The Life:
The Birds and The Birds
Lyin’, & Twinks, & Bears—Oh My!
Going Public
Christmas in July
Luck Be A Lady Tonight
I Left My Heart In Oklahoma
As Luck Would Have It
Shock & Awe
Blame It On Britney
The Unending Journey
Makin’ Copies
Bullets and Bracelets… and Lube
To Tell The Truth…
Stars Aren’t Blind
The Dark Knight
Come As You Are
A Date?
A Happy Ending
Better Than Nothing
A Man With A Slow Hand
Taking The Long Way
Everybody Knows
Wake Me Up, Before Ya Go-Go
Definition
The Best
The Upper Hand
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
2000-Date
Dick The Halls
The Queer Dear
A Night At The Museum
A Conversation
I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
Change The Way You Feel
Kissing A Fool
Leo The Lamb
The Elephant In The Room
Zuckerman’s Famous Pig
A Birthday Surprise
The Sleepover-er
SP Phone Home
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Closet
What If…
Just Beat It
Intimate Portrait
Intimate Portrait (Part Deux)
Intimate Portrait (Part Trois)
State of Mind
The Age of Disbelief
A Man For All Seasons
Summer Lovin’
A-Men
The Urge
Gettin’ It Done
Here You Cum Again
Eye Of The Beholder
The Present
A Minute’s Pause
Brotherly Love
Ladies Who Lunch
Here Cums The Rain Again
Dinner For Two
Blow by Blow
Commando
Cum As You Are?
Aftershock!
Caught in the Act
The Great Compromise
The Tipping Point
Cross Country
In Stereo
Get Smart
Blind Faith
The Dirty Mexican
A Few Good Men
Peter’s End
Getting Stuffed
The Good Boy
Cracking Up
The Agreement