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.

He smiled and paused, almost as if knowing the weight of his words. “I was a pilot.”
I stood there motionless. On the outside I looked calm, cool, and together. However, on the inside, I wanted to run around the expansive roof top and give everyone a high-five, while yelling, “I’M GONNA FUCK TOP GUN! I’M GONNA FUCK TOP GUN! HE’S GONNA TAKE MY BREATH AWAY BITCHES!!!! TAKE MY BREATH AWAY!!”
I took a deep breath. “Oh, I bet that was interesting.”
Let’s take a moment.
Tom Cruise is bat-shit crazy. We all know this by now; however, in 1986 no one knew Tom was a loon. All that we knew is that he was hot. Really, really hot. I remember my older brother (ten-years-old at the time) loved the movie Top Gun. When it came out on video, he and his buddies would watch it over and over, re-enacting the air battles and singing along with the bar song. I, on the other hand, was only seven, but I still remember sitting quietly in the corner watching the movie with my brother and his friends. I would sit curled up in a small chair in the corner of the living room watching Maverick take Charlie into his arms and kiss her gently. I remember wanting Maverick and the boys to sing to me in a bar and tell me I haven’t lost any of my loving feelings. My favorite moment, of course, was the volleyball scene. Damn. Thinking about Iceman drenched in sweat still brings me right back to that late summer in ’86; as my brother and his friends whooped and hollered, I’d sit there curled in my mother’s chair, petting my feathered blonde hair and dreaming of one day having my own Top Gun.
“Uh, I’m sorry. What?” I said snapping out of my fantasy.
Marlon looked at me inquisitively. “I asked you how you got to Los Angeles.”
“Well, it’s not as interesting as you, but…” and thus began our conversation for the rest of the evening.
It was the “usual” first conversation that I often have with guys I just meet. We discussed our families and what is was like growing up gay in the South in comparison to Los Angeles. We both talked about religion and the importance it played in our life; we noted how now were not religious at all because of it. Marlon mentioned he was brought up in the church choir and that’s where he began singing. He, like me, had pursued music in his early 20’s but now worked more on business and career management. The topics sound boring but the conversation wasn’t. It was very natural talking to Marlon. He had this energy about him. He did not seem to be so focused on what I was thinking about him; it felt like he was being himself. I usually am the opposite. I’m so neurotic that I’m always thinking about what they are thinking of me, but his ease made me comfortable. I found myself telling stories and fragments of my life that didn’t necessarily paint me in the “best” way but were the true me.
“So when, you’re not working so much, what keeps you out of trouble?” I asked, touching his forearm. He didn’t move it.
“Well,” he said, leaning in, “I love to cook. I’ll cook anything and everything, but Soul food is my favorite.”
Okay… all right…
So first Marlon is 6’2″, then he is from the South, then he is in the Air Force, then he’s a pilot, and now he’s a chef that cooks Soul food? This was too perfect and I was beginning to doubt if I could measure up. Could I handle this? Suddenly, I was imagining Marlon and I going on a picnic in Griffith Park. It would be a beautiful afternoon, not too hot. We would sit under a beautiful oak tree. He would feed me my favorite foods like smothered fried chicken, collard greens, and cornbread. But I wouldn’t get fat, because after our picnic we would work it off from all the sex we would have. In the late afternoon, he would take me up in his plane (which looked just like Maverick’s). We’d fly into the sunset, and he’d put the plane on autopilot and we would make sweet love again. And then we would eat some more cornbread, because I love cornbread.
“Well,” I said, “if you cook it, I’ll eat it.”
“I would love to cook for you,” as Marlon said this he slipped his hand around the small of my back.
“Can I be honest with you?” he asked.
Oh Jeezus. I think the fantasy was about to be over. I nodded my head, while taking a sip of wine. My eyes darted to see if anyone could eavesdrop on our conversation.
“I am really feeling a connection with you.” He leaned in and looked at my lips. “I have never met a boy in Los Angeles that has been as nice as you are. You just seem… different.”
Well, shit the bed. I didn’t expect this. In fact, I’m glad I took a drink of wine to give me time to respond, but I thought if we’re being honest here goes.
“I want to marry you”— okay, okay I didn’t say that. The lil’ boy in me did want to say it. Thankfully, the adult Steve prevailed.
“I like talking to you as well,” I responded, while trying to look at his eyes and his lips at the same time. He leaned in, as did I. We both smiled.
“Heeeeyyy,” an energetic voice interrupted the night air.
I turned over my right shoulder and looked to see Alex walking towards us with a smile on his face.
I looked at Marlon and smiled. “Marlon, this is one of my best friends, Alex.”
They shook hands. Marlon excused himself for some more wine. When he was out of earshot Alex spoke.
“Sooo, what is happening?” He asked excitedly. “He is very cute Stevie Prince. Good job. I am proud of you for being open.”
“Mmmm,” I replied as I watched Marlon walk away. “I’d like to be open.”
We both laughed. Actually that last remark was only halfway true; I was very sexually attracted to Marlon, yet I have to admit that as we talked I wanted to date him more than fuck him. This was rare for me as of late.
“Now it’s going well.” I said seriously, “he seems like a very down-to-earth man. It’s refreshing.” I gave Alex the run down on all of Marlon’ attributes.
“Oh My Gawd!” Alex said squeezing my arm. “He’s a singer?! You are like Heidi Klum and he’s your Seal!”
I spit out my wine I laughed so hard. Alex is so silly sometimes. Not wanting the moment to be all about me I replied.
“How’s Craig?” I asked Alex.
“He’s nice,” he responded as if teetering on his words. “I’m trying to not make any judgments. But I would like to go on an actual date with him. We shall see.”
Alex always had such a knack for being so optimistic. I had that in other parts of my life but not in regards to dating. I wanted to change my thinking and try to not be so fearful of rejection because that’s what’s scary about dating. I don’t care who you are or what excuse you give, people that say things like Oh, I just don’t like dating or Oh, I’ve done dating but it’s not really for me— those people are just scared of feeling rejected. Period. I can say this because I am one of those people.
“I’m ready to leave soon. Are you?” Alex asked.
“Sure,” I responded. At that same moment Marlon was walking towards us both. Alex excused himself.
“There you are.” I said smiling.
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he said looking me up and down.
“Well,” I said apologetically, “I am. My ride is leaving.”
His face dropped a little but then he smiled. “Well, let me get your number. I really want to see you again.”
And he did. We talked for a bit longer about our upcoming weekends. He was off to Vegas for the weekend and I had about four parties to go to. As he talked, he wrapped his arms around my waist. As Alex came over to get me, Marlon leaned in and gave me a soft kiss goodbye and smiled.
“Damn,” he said, “Where have you been?” I smiled and said goodbye. It was nice to be complimented by a stranger. It had been a long time.
On our way home, Alex and I decided to grab a bite to eat. We stopped into a posh diner in Beverly Hills just off of Rodeo and Santa Monica. Since it was such a beautiful night we grabbed a table on the patio.
“So,” Alex said as we both sat down, “It looks like the Social Club wasn’t that bad after all, huh?”
“No,” I replied “not bad.” We both smiled.
The rest of the meal we both discussed our respective evenings, filling one another in on every last detail. The world seemed like it was just Alex and I giggling and chatting away; our voices meshing with the soft purring of Jaguars and Mercedes crawling up Santa Monica Boulevard—their taillights blurring into the star strewn Western night.
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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
I Left My Heart In Oklahoma
As Luck Would Have It
Shock & Awe
Blame It On Britney
The Unending Journey
Makin’ Copies
Bullets and Bracelets… and Lube
To Tell The Truth…
Stars Aren’t Blind
The Dark Knight