QColumn: A Gay In The Life: I Left My Heart In Oklahoma

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.

I knocked on the door.
Five years earlier…
“I want a small bottle of Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion,” the pudgy woman said thinly. To insinuate my incompetence, she repeated herself, “a SMALL.”
“Yes ma’am.”, I said with a smile.
“And does that get me my gift?” She asked a question but her tone was more commanding that inquisitive. I knew a woman with hair that big and nails that fuchsia didn’t “ask” for a lot of things. Her hands were bespeckled with costume jewelry and her country sweater vest was laden with rhinestone birds. I hate birds, but that’s another story.
“I apologize ma’am, but that’s not enough.” I said with foreboding, “you have to purchase $19.50 or more. A large bottle of Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion would be enough.” I said this last part quickly and robotically because my manager was standing ten feet from me.
“I don’t want a large bottle. This is ridiculous!” She said slammed down her purse, which looked like a glittered carpet bag. “Let me speak to your manager!”
“Yes ma’am”, I said with a sigh, defeated. I was over her and it was time for my lunch anyway. Besides I wanted to see the jean boy.
I had been working at Foley’s, a department store, for about five months now. I was a makeup artist and I worked for a brand called Clinique. Clinique has been around for years and in the South, Clinique is king. Clinique, deriving from the word clinical, is set up like a 1970’s doctors office and all of the employees wear white lab coats so the look professional. Apparently doctors know more about makeup, so at least there was the illusion that we were all bright professionals rather than bored housewives and lost souls. The counter was always busy however. In fact, when it was gift with purchase, busy was not even the word for it. If you don’t know what gift with purchase is (or GWP for those of you in the business), consider yourself blessed. Basically gift with purchase is when a person spends enough money they get a little makeup bag with samples and a full size eye shadow. Ta-Dah. Women, well and some men, live for this shit. People clamor to the counter like paparazzi getting a picture of Britney’s gooter. I’m not going to lie, even I get a little excited now when I see a gift with purchase-who doesn’t love free shit?
The problem is many customers want to literally get something for nothing, like the lady I just helped. It is because of people like her that ten girls and one man (meaning me) look like extras in Grey’s Anatomy, scuttling around in a flurry of excitement just so someone can get there All About Eyes Eye Cream or their Wild Rose Blush. When I once told a woman we were out of her shade of Dewey Smooth Foundation in Amber Glow she screamed so loud that a baby in a nearby stroller began crying.
Needless to say, I was over this mother fucking job. I quickly changed out of my lab coat so I didn’t have to wear it in the food court. As I left the counter, I turned left. Yes it was the long way around, but I wanted to walk by the men’s jean department.
“Hey Steve!” the fragrance woman said as I walked by.
“Hey Lomita.” I said with a smile. Normally I add a “What’s up girl?” complete with a side head tilt, but the energy was sucked out of me. Besides, focus on jean boy Steve.
As I approached the denim department, I began to sniff the familiar smell of denim. I looked above the rounders of hanging jeans like a jungle animal peering above the treetops for signs of life. And then I saw him behind the register. He was adorable. His dark hair was cropped so short that it off set his brown eyes and long eyelashes perfectly. He was very thin but not skinny. His shoulders filled out his dress shirt beautifully.
He had golden Latin skin, but his most desirable was his beautiful full lips. I usually don’t notice lips. I can take them or leave them. But jean boy’s lips were perfect; like cupids bow with just the hint of fullness. I wanted to kiss him; no I wanted to make out with him. Did I mention I had been living in Oklahoma, for a year, at twenty-two years of age, with my mother? I was so sex starved that I bet Oprah would have started an Angel Network out of me just out of charity. Oh it might also be important to mention that he was not gay. My gaydar didn’t even blip. Nothing. I would walk by hoping to even make contact.
I slowed my pace hoping to make eye contact. I wasn’t expecting much; he never looked at me before. As bad his customer goodbye, he turned and looked straight at me.
He smiled a small crooked grin, and cocked his head back, “Whazzup?”
Feeling flush I smiled back. “Yeah.” I replied and I kept walking.
Yeah? I fucking said Yeah and then I just kept walking? Seriously, I’m the biggest friggin’ dork in the Union. Yeah? Are you kidding me? Jeeeesuhhs, Steve. You stupid prick. I didn’t even stop to see his face I just kept walking. Why didn’t I say hi? Or even “whazzup” back. Hell even a “Suck it” would have been better than “yeah”. Oh my god, yeah? I’m going to die a lonely old queen.
I immediately went to the mall food court and inhaled a chili cheese dog from Sonic, with extra large tater tots, and a large Dr. Pepper. Let’s be honest, I also had some Dairy Queen for desert. A fat girl drowns her embarrassment, and I did.
Two months later I moved to sunny California. I only saw jean boy from afar; we never made contact again. On of the girls at the Clinique counter did tell me his name was Tom.
Back to now…
As soon as I knocked on Number 2 a small door started barking inside the apartment. After a brief second the door opened.
“Steve, what’s up boy?”, he said. He was chipper. “Welcome to my home.”
“Well thanks,” I responded hearing the southern drawl in my voice. It always gets stronger when I go back to visit my parents.
What I saw on the inside of the apartment was completely surprising. It was a small one bedroom and was painted a mute gray. Eclectic records hung in frames all around the walls and interesting art and sculptures adorned shelves and nooks. There was a modern looking couch with a ridiculous entertainment system. His apartment was cute, but his puppy was even cuter. He was this small scrappy dog who immediately attacked me with cute puppy love. I wanted to steal him when I left.
“You wanna drink?” he asked.
“Um..” I paused, “yeah, I’ll take some water.”
“Alright” he replied, “but I’m having a screwdriver”. Was it me or did he put emphasis on the word screw? It was kind of punny, but I love cheesy humor. We settled on his couch and chatted. It was the usual pre-hookup conversation. He asked me how I’ve been doing in LA and I asked him how Oklahoma was. He talked about his niece and I talked about my nephews. We talked about how it was ironic that when I lived in Oklahoma City, I lived only six blocks away from him. He was very easy to talk to. We talked about country music, which was nice since country isn’t so popular in LA. It was almost like we had talked before. I’ve hooked up with guys before and there’s always this awkwardness of what do we talk about, when do we stop talking and play around, but there was none of that with him. We talked for about an hour and then I noticed he kept looking at my lips instead of my eyes as we spoke.
“So how long do you think you’ll stay in Oklahoma?” I asked, continuing the conversation.
He paused. I don’t know if he was listening.
“Tom?” I said.
With one swoop he took my face in my hands and kissed me.
Yesterday…
As we walked into the Foley’s my mother said, “I just need to return these”. With that she pulled up some black lacey see through panties. I think they might have even been crotchless.
“Oh God Mother!”, I squealed. She didn’t wear those for my father. “Why don’t you go do your thing and I’ll do mine. I’ll find you.”
“Alright, Steven. I’ll just be real quick.”
“Take your time, Mom.” I watched her scurry off to the lingerie department. When I was a kid I remember shopping with my mother all the time and never being embarrassed by what she bought, but that was when she was married to my Dad. Fifteen years and two marriages later, I wasn’t so comfortable.
Instinctively I went to the men’s department avoiding the Clinique counter. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone I knew. As I’m walking a voice stops me to my right.
“Steve?”
I turn. His hair is still short, but his face has filled out much more. A body that was once short and too skinny now is a bit stockier. He looked as though he used to be in amazing shape but now was just a bit soft-my favorite actually. He still had the longest eyelashes.
“Tom?”, I replied in shock. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m the store manager now” he said in an aww shucks kind of way. “Sometimes people never get out of here. Are you visiting family?”
“Yeah, just seeing my Mom.” I said. Damn he still looked cute. Too bad he wasn’t gay–
“Well, if you have time I’d love to hang out.” He said looking me up and down.
GAY ALERT GAY ALERT. HOLY LIZA MINELLI, BATMAN! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! My gaydar was going apeshit. Seriously, Tom was queer? How could I not have known this!
“Yeah that would be great.” I responded coolly, remember what I said last time.
“Well this might be short notice, but I’m free tonight,” He hesitated, as if making a decision, “after eleven.”
I’m not gonna lie. I got a little bit of a chubby right then and there.
“That’s perfect.” I said putting my hands in my pockets.
We exchanged numbers and he said he had to get back to work.
That night I told my mother I was going to have a dinner with a friend from high school and I asked if I could borrow her car. Yes, I lied to her like a fifteen-year-old girl.
Back to right now…
In an instant Tom’s lips were on mine. He was a good kisser. Correction an amazing kisser. I’ll say it again. If a boy can kiss–I’m done for. We kissed and kissed until finally, he squeezed my ass and grinned.
“Get in there,” Tom said with a tilt of his head. The look on his face was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. I could tell he wanted me. It was all I could do not to flit into the bedroom, leap into the air performing a Grand jeté, and then land on his bed lying on my stomach with my head on my hands with my toes in the air.
Then we got nekkid, and in 3 minutes flat he was plowing me like field of potatoes in Idaho. It has been a looong time since I’ve bottomed and let me tell you–we made up for lost time. Any position, any way, he just kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny! Yet the whole time he kept looking into my eyes, kissing me, telling me how gorgeous I was. Tom made sweet Latin love to me. I had forgotten how good Latin boys can do it.
“You better stop or I’m gonna cum”, I gasped. With that he leaned over and kissed me and kept going harder.
Well, I did cum. In fact, I hit my face I was so into the moment, but Tom kept going! He looked at the mess I made, leaned down, and he licked the side of my face. I was shocked, but not as shocked as when he then made out with me.
I am not here to promote unsafe sex. We used a condom and to be honest, I would not take cum from a guy in any way shape or form. I don’t know why he did it. Maybe he felt safe because he knew me before. I mean, we did both talk about being tested recently and being fine. I was just shocked he did that. I have only had one other person do that to me and that was a serious boyfriend over eight years ago.
I guess it goes to show. You can’t read a book by it’s cover.
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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