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QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Come As You Are

Continuing his attempt to enjoy a night of wine without hooking up, Mr. Prince meets a tall, handsome stranger. (Read Part I: The Dark Knight)
Come As You Are
By Steve Prince
“Hi, I’m Marlon.”
Our glasses clinked as we toasted and we both took a sip of our wine. Greedily the night breeze lapped at the wet wine on my lips.
“I’m Steve,” I said with a smirk. I cradled my wine glass in my hands as a chill came over the rooftop. I smiled a somewhat fake smile. As cute as this man was, I just wasn’t in the mood to meet someone else and go through all the motions of getting to know someone. I immediately heard Alex’s voice in my head, “Stevie, keep yourself open and be positive!” All right, I was going to try.
“Now, tell me,” Marlon leaned in, “why I have been to three of these socials and never seen a sweet thang like you?”
Jeezus. You really think that macho attitude is going to work with me? You really think that you can compliment me while gazing at me with those deep brown eyes hooded by those long eyelashes, framed by that strong square face that sits on those broad squared shoulders? You really think that I’m that gullible?
Well… I am.
I giggled. Yes, you heard me. I audibly giggled like a twelve year-old girl. It was a small giggle but still loud enough that Marlon heard it. Thank God he smiled and chuckled along with me.
“Well,” I said trying to regain my cynicism, “my friend dragged me here. If it wasn’t for the free wine, I’d be off like a prom dress.”
He laughed—not a small, placating laugh—but a deep hearty laugh that was warm and soulful. I smiled—a real smile.
I stopped leaning on the rail and I turned to look at him or (correction) to look up to him. I never really think of myself as tall—I’m six feet—but I guess I am somewhat tall, because I never notice myself looking down at someone. However, when someone is taller than me, I’m a bit surprised. Marlon was at least 6’2″; very attractive to me.
Marlon looked at me and paused. “Now, I know you didn’t hear that in California. Where are you from?”
“I’m from Oklahoma,” I said, and maybe I turned on a bit of the accent… maybe. It’s totally shameless, but sometimes guys go crazy over the accent.
“Well, there ya go. I love me a fellow Southern boy,” he said softly. “I’m from Alabama.”
Okay, so first he’s 6’2″ and he’s from the South. This is starting to be too much. Next, he’s going to tell me that he’s the president of all fraternities in the United States or something like that.
“Well, here’s to home,” I said as we toasted. We both paused to drink. “So what brought you out here?” I asked.
He swallowed his wine. “I was in the Air Force.”
I almost dropped my glass. I grabbed onto the railing for support. Thank goodness the wind had died down or I think I would have been blown over. Let’s be honest—I think my ass lips twittered like an Olympic diver waiting to jump.
“Oh,” I said trying to look calm. “What did you do in the service?”
Please say a pilot. Please say a pilot. Please say a pilot.

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