QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Luck, Be A Lady Tonight

Luck, Be A Lady Tonight
By Steve Prince
Thump! My glass of water fell on my rug and soaked the floor. Damn. Why didn’t I drink that water before I went to bed? I probably wouldn’t feel so hung over now if I had. I turned to look at my clock. It’s almost noon. Wow. I guess last night was a late night; I never sleep this late normally.
By instinct I reach over and grab my phone to check the text messages. I hate texting. I really do. Hold on. Let me find my soapbox…Ahem.
The problem with texting is that inflection and the intention of what was said isn’t there. For the gay man who already second guesses himself all the time (I’m raising my hand right now) texting is not a tool–it’s a second guessing death trap. Dating is nothing but second guessing already, but combined with texting it makes a fella feel like he’s third and forth guessing. A simply “sure” as a response to lunch can mean many things. Sure, I would love to have a meal with you. Sure, I would like to get to know you better. Sure, I’ll go because I have nothing else better to do. Sure, but I’d rather just sit on your face. Sure, this way I can find out where you live and stalk you.
DO WE SEE THE DANGER OF TEXTING PEOPLE???!!! Texting is the problem; I’m certain it has NOTHING to do with my own insecurities. Nope, not a bit. Okay back to my morning–well afternoon by now.

I’m a needy drunk. There I said it. Not annoying needy. I’m not crying or whiny. It’s more of an inclusive drunk. See when I’m tossed, I’m usually pretty happy and carefree. I just want others to be as happy as I am in that moment. Momma wants to share the love. So what do I do? I text friends I haven’t seen in four years, and I text friends I just saw across the bar. It’s weird and I don’t understand it. Especially since I hate texting (see soapbox above), but I do it.
Besides being a needy drunk, I’m also forgetful as hell and that’s when I’m sober. Needless to say when I’ve been drinking I can’t remember anything for shit. As I scroll through the text messages on my phone from the night before I remember that I’m forgetful. Truthfully I am a bit grateful for texting, for it provides me with a history of the night’s events. So yes, texting is bittersweet.
I check the first text. Well apparently I made out with someone last night, because I’m reading a text that says, “You’re such an awesome kisser. I love your lips. Talk to you soon.”
Okay. With the glance of the texter’s name, memory floods my brain. I DID make out with someone last night, and I think he was real cute. I called my friend Alexander.
“Hey handsome”, answered Alexander. Alex was good to me. Even though we had been good friends for a while now, I never tire of Alex complimenting me and stroking my ego. Maybe it was the lilt of his Columbian accent that made his flattery less sugary and more like caramel. Alex was my logical friend. He really had it all together. He is my friend I talk about some new age book I read or we gab about an episode of Oprah that totally changed our lives. He’s a successful attorney and lives in a beautiful condo in Santa Monica that is literally one block from the beach. He has a gorgeous swimmers body and a barrel chest. He is smart as a whip, and his hearty contagious laugh shows his beautiful perfect teeth. All of this and he’s only 32. I know what a catch! Alex is also very honest, sometimes brutally honest. I knew he would give it me straight, or in this case–give it to me gay.
“Sugar” I croaked. My voice sounded like Carol Channing in the last revival of Hello Dolly!. “What did I do last night?”
“Oh my God!” Alex gasped. “You don’t remember?” With one of his hearty laughs, he began.
As Alex recounted the events of last night, things that were fuzzy became clear as glass. Here’s how it went down…
So the boys and I went out last night. It was me, Omar, Alex, and Troy. We went to a bar in West Hollywood call FUBAR (yes, it means Fucked Up Beyond Any Repair–apparently it’s an applicable name). The bar has theme nights that include: just wearing your underwear, Stallion–where “breeding” references are made throughout the night, and my favorite…BIG FAT DICK. Big Fat Dick is when you go into the back room and take a picture of your little guy. Then the bar hangs dick pictures all around the walls. There’s an informal vote and the winner wins money. It’s so seedy…and amazing.
FUBAR is a dirty bar and the boys and I kind of love it for that, well most of us. Omar, Alex, Cody, and myself like the eclecticism found at a dive bar. Troy on the other hand feels like a eight-year girl in a room of spiders. She hates dirty bars. Troy’s a little snobby like that and that’s why I love him. He hates body hair, old men (guys over 27-in his opinion), and bad breath. We all worry one day he’s going to become a pedophile; he loves the young ones. If he could marry Zack Efron, he would. The best thing about Troy is that he has a heart of gold and although I may describe him as shallow–it’s an act. He’s actually quite the deep thinker. Troy’s Italian so how could he not be emotional? When I’m moody or sad, Troy will always talk me out of it. Oh, and he has an amazing Dancing with Stars body, maybe because he is a dancer. And even though he’s 32 (he’ll NEVER admit it), he looks 22 and we all kind of hate him for that.
We decided to go to FUBAR because our good friend Cody was dancing. It’s ironic how well Cody’s name fits because he looks like a Sean Cody model. Seriously he could put Patrick to shame (if you don’t know who Patrick is from Sean Cody please stop reading this and look him up now and then get back to me). Cody also has about a ten-inch cock. I’m not kidding. His penis could be a cover for a Whitesnake album, because it’s just that–a white snake. He’s the oldest of our group, 37, but he looks 30. Out of our little group, Cody is always up for a party. Always. When you first look at Cody you think that he would be so stuck on himself and bitchy, but he’s not. For someone so pretty he is very down to earth and kind hearted. Most importantly he will travel the inappropriate humor road with me–which makes me adore him more.
We walk in and Cody is shaking his money maker (literally). He’s a real good dancer. As soon as he sees us, Cody’s sexy Derek Zoolander expression is replaced with a huge grin and he waves. We wave back with open-mouthed smiles and the four us shuffle though the crowd to the bar. We get the usuals: Long Island for Omar. Vodka Soda for Alex. Tap water for Troy. I order a gin and tonic (G&T) for me, and I grab a Corona for Cody. And then the shot-boy came up to us.
I’m a bit of a lush and I’m a gay man, hence it is very hard for me to resist the shot-boy. It’s my two favorite things–dick and booze! Hmm, his hot little shot-boy body and easy little one dollar shots–they’re harmless right? Well yeah they are harmless the FIRST time but after shot four and G&T number two, not such a good idea. I paid the shot-boy and tipped him, putting a dollar down his thong. I leaned in and whispered thank you in his ear and moved my hand toward his cock. It got there pretty easily but he was already oiled up. I cupped his head and squeezed; he was starting to get hard.
“You’re welcome”, he said touching my ear with his lips. With a pat of my ass he walked away smiling. Uh-oh! Goodbye Steve hello Miss Slutty. It was on.
We were all pretty tipsy by now, except for Troy who was scared to drink. “These men smell like BO”, he would whisper in fear, “They might man handle me!” I thought that was the point.
I looked over and Omar is making eyes at the cute stocky Mexican dancer on a platform ahead.
“He is hot”, I say to Omar’s side. “Give him a dollar.”
“Maybe. I dunno” Omar said. I could see Omar was fighting the urge.
Omar is that professional man by day and wild boy at night–that’s one of the reasons I love him so much; he surprises me all the time. When you first meet him he seems so mild mannered, in his nice preppy work clothes. Mr. Organized by day–he even has a dry erase board in his house to plan his workdays. His voice is soft spoken and he has kind brown Mexican eyes that seem so laid back and calm. Being that he’s one of fourteen children he was raised to get along with everyone, and he does. Omar gets play. But not in an aggressive way. He lets the boys come to him. It also helps that his dick has got the girth of a baseball bat. Bitch is packin’! Maybe that’s why he gets laid so much. He’s totally a Men At Play type fella. He even drives a black Jeep. What can I say, my friends are just pretty. I don’t know why I do this to myself.
“Here.” I handed Omar a dollar. Omar will go up to anyone so I knew I was just pushing things along a little bit. He already was on Long Island Iced Tea number two–so I knew it wouldn’t be long.
With a restrained grace, Omar folded up the dollar nicely and instead of walking up to the dancer, sauntered up to another beautiful Latin man having a drink with friends. With a smile and soft “Hello”, Omar slid the dollar down the front of the guy’s jeans. The man was shocked and so into it.
Jesus. Looks like the slutty is going around tonight. I went to find Troy and Alex.
“Stevie, look”, Troy nodded his head. “That guy is totally eye-raping you.”
“What?”, I looked over. He was very cute. Tall and lanky with dirty blond hair. He was dancing with friends and it did seem a little like he was looking at me. “No…he’s looking at you.”
“Nope”, Troy quipped like a stubborn ten-year-old who always knows better. “I’ve been watching him. He’s been noticing you while you were talking to Omar.”
“Eeewww!”, Alex interjected like a thirteen-year-old girl with a secret. “I think he wants some of your hot white cock.”
Okay it sounds gross when you read it, but Alex says things like that and I tilt my head to the side and blush. I act as if he has just said I had the loveliest petticoat in all of the plantation.
“Stop!” I squeal. And the three of us giggle. Yes we’re tweeny girls.
“Come on.” Troy sets down his water. “Let’s go dance!”
Within a second Troy and Alex pull me onto the dance floor right by Cody’s platform.
“Heeeeyyy!!!” Cody yells. He leans down on his knees as I stuff a five in his underwear. He grabs the back of my head and pulls me into his crotch. I don’t mind. Cody’s my friend and truthfully I think it’s good for his tips. So who am I not to help a friend out?
The DJ starts blaring Kylie and the hands go up around the bar and some shirts start coming off. Cody releases me and I come up for air. I look over and see cute blond guy. He IS looking at me. Even I can’t talk myself out of this one. He sees me glance at him and he smiles. I smile back and then turn my head away coyly. I look over and see Troy and Alex nod their heads in approval. I turn around to look at him again and I stop surprised. He’s standing in front of me about four inches from my face.
“Well, hello” I say regaining my composure.
He leans forward and puts his right hand in the small of my back. “You’re beautiful” He says inching his lips toward the lobe of my ear. The small hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Yes, I know it’s a line but I was just drunk enough to hear it.
“My name is Luck.” He said in a graveled whisper.
Luck? What kind of name was Luck? He danced up against me and pressed his hard cock against my leg. Well apparently I was about to find out…

Yes I’m a cocktease-but some stories need to be told in parts. Come back next week for the conclusion!
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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 & The Birds
Lyin’, & Twinks, & Bears–Oh My!
Going Public
Christmas in July