QColumn: A Gay In The Life: The Marlboro Man

The Marlboro Man
By Steve Prince
Editor’s Note: After this, there’s only 3 MORE INSTALLMENTS OF AGITL! Prepare to kiss Steve goodbye!
“You didn’t bring boots?” Chad looked at me seriously.
“I uh…” I stammered. I was caught off guard. “I have boots, but I just didn’t think I needed them.”
My cousin looked at me disapprovingly. “Mmm-mmm,” he mocked with a smile. “You move to Los Angeles and you can’t even remember that when you go out in Texas, you wear boots.” He shook his head.
“Well, girl,” I said, “Where’re yours?”
Chad smirked and waved his hand in the air, as if waving away an annoying fly. “Cuz, you know I only wear Prada. Who the fuck wears boots?”
I knew he was kidding.
I couldn’t remember a time when Chad hadn’t kidded around. Even as a kid, I remember going to visit my Aunt Starlene (yes, Starlene) and her family in Dallas. Chad was the oldest of the kids, which made him only a year older than myself. From the moment we met, he and I seemed to be kindred spirits—probably because he was a big ol’ Mary like me. Seriously, I think being gay did have something to do with our connection; we both had a shared understanding of what it was like to be in our family and be different.
I sat on the bed watching Chad primp in the mirror.
“Is Brad coming?” I asked.
“He had to go to some work dinner,” Chad said with a smack of his lips. “He’s meeting us there.”
Brad was Chad’s boyfriend. Yes, Brad and Chad. I know it might sound a bit cutesy, but they actually were one of the most stable couples I have ever known. Brad and Chad had both met when they were seniors at the University of Texas in Austin. They’ve been together ever since. They both gave me some hope… maybe some relationships work out.
An hour later we both were out the door of Chad’s apartment. The strip of bars—known as the Drag of Austin—was only a fifteen-minute walk from Chad’s apartment. The early night air was still warm. Heat wafted up from the street as Chad and I chatted and talked and eye-raped the scenery.
Jeeezus. Texas boys were hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock. The University of Texas should be called the University of Corbin Fisher. Seriously, the guys are ridiculous.
“Look at him,” I said as a tall, tanned blonde man sat at a nearby bar drinking a beer. He smiled at some girl across from him. Of course he’s straight, I assumed.
“Well,” Chad said, “it is Texas. Gotta play the butch part, but ya never know. Oh, check him out.” Chad pointed with a nod.
An Adonis of a man lumbered towards us and passed while chatting with friends. He looked like John Stamos from the 80s. Sooooo hunky. Chad and I looked at one another and smiled.
“Were almost there, girl,” he said.
I looked around. Not one gay flag was in sight; this was such a different place than West Hollywood.
“Where are all the gay bars?” I asked.
“Everywhere,” Chad said.

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