A New Resolve
By Steve Prince
The car chirped beep-beep as I locked the doors, and made my way up my front porch.
Finally, I was back home in Los Angeles.
It’s always a feeling of déjà vu—returning after Christmas in Oklahoma. I always walk in and sigh exhaustedly, drop my bag—which sits there for at least a day—plop myself on my couch and unwind, usually while going through my mail.
This time back from Oklahoma was no different—I came home alone with Peter still in Oklahoma. Sadly, I never even got to see him. He was too busy trying to “fit in” time with everyone. Also, his Grandpa was dying so I understood him wanting to spend time with him. Still, I felt a bit bummed I didn’t see him, especially on New Year’s Eve.
Okay, honestly I felt a bit shunned, but realized selfishness. Give him space, I kept reminding myself. In fact, give him space, had quickly become my new mantra for Peter nowadays. Still, really…he couldn’t spare just one night for New Year’s Eve? Instead I spent another year watching everyone kiss their significant others at the stroke of midnight. I wanted that.
Grateful
By Steve Prince
I know it might seem like a silly tradition, but it’s something we do every year before Thanksgiving. Once every dish has been put on the table and once every wine glass has been filled, my “California family” and I go around the table describing what we are thankful for that year.
Call me a dramatic gay, but I guess I just need a bit a ceremony to mark a Thanksgiving meal.
I took my seat and scanned the table. My roommate James sat to my right, and my queer dear Raquel took her seat to my left. Alex sat across from me. A total of eight people sat at the table, friends I have made during my time in Los Angeles.
As I looked around, I couldn’t help but notice Peter’s absence.
“Hmm,” I paused while I raised my glass, “what am I thankful for?”
Seven pairs of eager eyes looked at me, their pupils reflecting the glittering candlelight. Twenty-four hours earlier…
“I’ve decided to come out to my family,” Peter announced. Almost spitting out my iced tea, I turned to face him.
Blind Faith
By Steve Prince
“Just let ’em sit in their own shit and smell themselves.”
My Grandma Ida used to say that, God rest her soul.
She also loved to cook and feed her family. When you came to Grandmamma Ida’s you ate whether you were hungry or not. Her home cooking also came with food for thought. Often, as I ate macaroni and cheese and sipped Dr. Pepper from a can, Grandmamma would recite her own life lessons and stories of raising my father and his four siblings.
Grandma Ida (Ida Jean to be exact) was a master of sayings. Growing up I knew her as an old, stubborn, and extremely wise woman with a heart of gold. She said what was on her mind, whether it hurt or not—the truth, or her opinion of it, was paramount. She had lived an extremely hard, very poor life in Southern Oklahoma, yet she loved her children and her grandchildren with a ferociousness that could also be scary if you ever crossed her. She was a survivor to say the least.
As Peter and I stood in Obar, me waiting for the bathroom and he wearing a waiter’s apron, I watched him shuffle from side to side, his eyes darting for refuge. I felt my Grandma’s ferocious spirit—bubbling inside of me. Don’t overreact, Steve, I kept telling myself.
Eye of the Beholder
By Steve Prince
“I can’t do this, Stevie.”
“Yes you can, Alex.” I paced back and forth in my room, something I do when talking on the phone. “You are just meeting him in New York and meeting his parents. That’s it.”
“But this is a vacation,” Alex implored as if I missed something.
“Aaaand?” I asked, wondering if I’d missed something.
“Aaand,” Alex continued, “people have sex on their vacation.”
“Well, fuck yeah they do,” I said with a laugh.
“But what happens if I can’t get it up?” Alex pleaded, his voice rising. Oh Jeezus not this again. Alex seemed to always get so hung up on his hard-ons.
“First of all, take a breath,” I sighed, “and secondly, Dave cares for you. It’s not just about sex.”
“That’s hard for me to believe,” Alex began.
I cut him off, “So it’s hard to believe you’re more than just sex?”
Silence.
What if…
By Steve Prince
“I don’t like this,” Troy muttered as he flopped his feet down his apartment steps, his head looking down.
I shut his door behind him.
“Oh, man up,” I called after him. “We’ll be done in no time.”
Troy turned around and glared at me incredulously. “Well!” he said his voice rising along with his eyebrows, “I guess, I’ll tag along just to support you.”
I walked past him and beeped my car unlocked. “Oh thanks,” I said.
Troy sighed as I started the car, “I just want to get this over with.”
I did too.
Two hours later, Troy and I still sat at the clinic waiting to get our STD tests. We’d been there two hours already and I was getting grumpy as hell, wishing I’d brought my knitting.
As we sat in the lobby my year’s sexual past crept up in my mind like a ghostly vision. Soon, I replayed incidents: each time I swallowed a guy’s cum or even gave a simple rimming… was that safe? Could I have gotten something? Oh god!
I look over at Troy chewing on the end of his finger while his left knee bobbed up and down. Apparently he was thinking the same things I was. We both had to look ridiculous just sitting there thinking about our “what ifs.”
What if I was HIV positive? Would my life be that different? Ironically, it might be good for me; maybe then I would take better care of myself. Sexually I am very safe, but my general health practice sucks. I eat what I want and the last time I really hit the gym was in Ricardo’s Boot Camp of Hell. What if I had Hepatitis B? What would I say to my parents? What would they say to me? What if…
Zuckerman’s Famous Pig
By Steve Prince
Sex had been on my mind all day. You know those days when you just can’t stop thinking about it? Early that day as I sat in a work meeting, I couldn’t help but think of someone’s strong hands sliding down my back as we kissed, or the touch of a man’s cock against my own, or the scrap of someone’s teeth against my bottom lip. I actually started to get hard in the meeting.
Even on my lunch break I couldn’t get sex off my brain. As I sat at an outside table, a toddler ran up to me and waived innocently.
I grinned and waved back. “Hey cutie,” I said sweetly as I looked down at him.
“Oh sorry,” said the father’s voice causing me to raise my head. If I ever had a type, it would have been this guy. He wore a soft yellow polo shirt that hung on his slim frame, his chino pants looked clean and fresh, and his brown eyes glistened in the midday sun as he smiled. Yum.
“Oh,” I said shutting my dropped jaw. “No worries. He’s adorable by the way.”
“Thanks,” he replied taking his small son’s hand in his own. “Come on, Conner.”
Okay, let’s take a moment. Men are hot, but few things are hotter than a hot dad. Seriously. Yes, I know a lot of you don’t want children, but I would totally get knocked up right now if I could. Seriously.
As the man walked away with his child in his arms, I couldn’t help but imagine what kind of husband he was to his family. What kind of husband would he be to me? I began to imagine what it would be like for us to make a baby. (Yes, I know this isn’t possible but it’s my fantasy, dammit.) I imagined cooking him the best steak he’d ever had, then we’d have a glass of wine and sit by our fire. Next, he’d pick me up (yes again, fantasy—in reality he’d probably drop me), and he’d carry me into the bedroom. Soon his rock hard cock would be sliding inside and he’d plant his seed in my womb and nine months later… Junior arrives! I know, I watched too much Donna Reed on Nick-at-Nite as a kid. And yes I know I’m not a woman, but this is my fantasy. Oh God, I want a baby! All right… back to the story at hand.
So needless to say—I was very horny. Sex had been on my mind all day. As I got home, I felt so grateful that Friday evening loomed just minutes away; I planned to relish the weekend and get my mind off sex. You know what?, I thought to myself, I’m going to have a glass of wine, catch up on some reading and get some schoolwork done. THAT’S what I’ll do! Yes THAT’S what I’ll DO!
Ten minutes later I found myself in front of my computer screen, watching Leo Giomani get his cocked sucked by David Taylor. My pants lay on the floor and a bottle of Gun Oil sat on my side table.
Have you ever had that feeling that jacking off isn’t going to cut it? As I lay on my bed, with my dick in my hand I looked at lovely Leo in ecstasy and I realized… this ain’t gonna cut it.
I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
By Steve Prince
I stood feet from him watching his body sway in the foggy dark, watching the sweat build in the middle of his chest, forming a pool and then a small droplet of moisture separated itself and snaking down the man’s rippled abdomen, like a river running through a canyon.
At that moment I realized, it’d been a while since I’d gotten laid. I had been so fixated on Kelly lately, that I felt very sexually unrepressed. Also, this night snowballed into something completely different from what I had expected. I actually had no plans for the night. In fact, how did I get here? Oh yeah, Cody.
It had been a busy day. I was running errands out in West Hollywood. Yes, I say errands. People tease me about this all the time. My friend Carrie says “Errands are things sixty year-old grandmothers do.” Then I remind her that I also knit and she shuts the fuck up. Also, it’s just easier to say errands. Why explain that I need to go to the bank, run to Target, go by a locksmith, and get a new cockring and lube at the porn store? Why bore people with the details?
So I’m running errands and I realize that I’m hungry.
“Cody, sugar,” I say as he answers the phone, “what are you doing?”
“I’m working out,” he says panting over the phone.
“Sugar,” I ask, “do I need to let you go?”
“No,” he says gasping, “I’m fine.”
I hate people who talk on the phone while they work out. Okay, actually I don’t hate them. Let’s be honest, I’m jealous of them. When I’m working out. I’m just working out. Well, that’s not true sometimes I’m throwing up, but mainly I can barely keep myself on the goddamn treadmill. I don’t count myself as a religious person, but when I’m running on a treadmill, sweating my ass off… I believe in something. Why? Because I’m so motherfuckin’ clumsy that I’ve fallen off a treadmill just by standing on it. There sheer fact that I can run on it without killing myself means something is protecting my klutzy ass.
“Well,” I say snapping back to the conversation as a car pulls in front of me, “you want to grab a bite soon?”
“Can’t,” Cody grunted. “I’m dancing tonight at FUBAR, but I’ll come hang.”
Cody was true to his word. As I ate a burger, he didn’t eat—he drank. And then, he bought me a drink. Okay, maybe four.
“Cody,” I said finishing the fourth beer, “you’re the devil! I can’t drive home now.” I didn’t feel drunk by any means, but I’m super-cautious about drinking and driving.
He laughed and finished his beer in one gulp. “Well, then come to me to FUBAR.”
I paused and Cody grabbed my arm excitedly, “It’ll be fun Stevie Prince. AND it’s BIG FAT DICK Night!”
A Night at The Museum
By Steve Prince “So when are we going to that museum you talked about?”
Me and my big mouth. The last time I volunteered with Kelly I just had to suggest we should go to a museum. I mean, who really suggest that to someone they just met? I felt like it was more of passing invite, and part of me was hoping he would forget about it. Well, he didn’t because now it looks like we’re going. The problem is I haven’t exactly told Troy about this little adventure myself. I mean… I didn’t lie to him.
“He’s very sweet,” I said over the phone, “and very conversational. Smart guy.”
“Okay,” Troy acknowledged and pressed on, “Did you get a good look at his ass?”
Man oh man! The work week’s done and it’s time to have fun! So let’s take the weekend off to kick back, unwind with a man friend or two (or five or eight), and groove. This installment of the Weekender has four ultra-funky tunes to keep you moving and grooving past your worries and into the new week!
Let’s Groove by Earth, Wind, and Fire: This video has everthing you could possibly want: vocal synthesizers, computerized space effects, glittery costumes, psychedelic tracers, a woman dancing on a rainbow, and a heck of a lot of funk! No sirs, they don’t make videos like this anymore… well, maybe in France, but nowhere else, we assure you. Also, did you know that this is one of Barack Obama’s favorite bands? Thank goodness America elected a hip president this time.
Make Me Smile (cover) by Erasure: Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel recorded the original version of this in 1975 and it was later covered by Duran Duran featured on the ultra-gay glam rock Velvet Goldmine soundtrack. Erasure’s version makes it sound like the bonus round music to some high-energy video game. And to make it double weird, someone made a video for it featuring five multi-colored Santas advertising a German website for free classified ads. Odd. Two fun and funky songs from different Michaels after the jump!
Concluding Mr. Prince’s Wonder Woman pilgrimage, we learn just how much of a lightweight he is and whether he falls for Brazilian charm in San Francisco. (Read Part I.) To Tell The Truth
By Steve Prince
I lowered my glass of wine, licking my upper lip. Francisco smiled at me.
“I’m so glad you decided to have a drink with us.” His accent made his speech sound rhythmic. It pulsed with sexuality.
Rachel smiled awkwardly. The intermission had just begun and I think she already felt like a third wheel. “So, are you a big cabaret fan?” she asked, “or a Lynda Carter fan?”
“Yeah…” I paused. What should I say, that actually I am a cabaret fan but secretly I’m obsessed with Lynda Carter? As much as Lynda looks beautiful singing in her elegant black gown, I really just want her to spin around on the stage and create a bursting beautiful heavenly light that fades to reveal my favorite Amazon goddess in all her star-spangled glory.
“Um… I like Lynda’s voice, and I just stumbled upon this little show and I was in town. So, here I am.” I took a swig of wine. Why was I lying? Okay I wasn’t lying but I wasn’t really telling the truth either. Why couldn’t I just say I was a queeny fan of Lynda Carter—it’s not like her gay fans are a secret.
“Well, I loved her as a child,” Francisco added. “At home in Brazil, I would watch re-runs of Wonder Woman and pretend that I had an invisible jet. I also thought Steve Trevor was a fox.”
I don’t know anyone who says “fox” nowadays, and normally it would sound dated. However, as Francisco said it with his pursed lips rounding into a tight “oh”, the word sounded delectable; it was almost as if he invented the word “fox” and was the only person allowed to utter it.
“To Wonder Woman,” Francisco toasted.
Again, Rachel and I echoed and drank. My stomach grumbled as warmth began to spread through my arms. I really had to slow down drinking on an empty stomach. It was just Francisco was just so… tempting.
The lights dimmed and the second half of the show began. Lynda walked onstage wearing the same dress but with a deep scarlet wrap. She was gorgeous. I was glad I had brought my camera; I wanted a picture with her, dammit! I imagined myself babbling to her how important she was during my childhood and how I idolized her. I knew that my story would be memorable to her, and that she would tell her other friends, “I met this one guy, Steve, and his story was just so touching.” She’d surely want to be my friend.
My fantasy was interrupted by Francisco whispering in my right ear. “Doesn’t she look incredible?” As he spoke his lips danced on the top of my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck rose stiffly, wanting more. “Be good,” I kept telling myself.
Forty-five minutes and two encores later, the show ended. I must say it was a great evening of cabaret. As the lights came up, people began to rise from their tables. I had decided to be good, even as tipsy as I was.
“Well,” I said, putting my hands on the table, “thanks so much for the company. This was a fun little night.” I began to rise.
Francisco put his hand on top of mine and stopped me. “But we still have some wine left? I can’t drink it alone.”
I Left My Heart in Oklahoma
By Steve Prince
“Hey, I’m here.” I say as I pressed the call button outside the front door of the building.
The building is definitely aged, especially for the area. I could tell someone had put some work into it, yet the owners still had a ways to go. It was a modest apartment building; it reminded me of a longer and taller colonial home, only two floors with a center hallway dividing the structure. As I walked up to the building I noticed the white painted siding was chipped, revealing a dull blue underneath. The porch light flickered sporadically. Standing there I could still feel heat wafting up from the earth, releasing the beating it received during the hot Oklahoma afternoon.
A crackled voice broke through the humid night, “Hey, come on up. I’m upstairs. Number 2”. Hearing the buzz, I pushed open the heavy door into the foyer. I stood for a second letting my eyes adjust to the brightness from the porch. The outside looked much better than the inside. A cockroach scuttled across the floor and under a cracked floorboard. I hate cockroaches. It was then that I noticed the wooden stairway to my left. It was lined with frayed, dingy, paisley carpet and it wound its way to the second floor. As I started up the stairs they creaked with each step announcing my arrival. Reaching the second floor I looked to my left and there was Number 2. I took a deep breath and sighed.
