QColumn: A Gay In The Life: To Tell The Truth

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.”

“Oh, well, I just assumed…” I stumbled over my words. He had the most beautiful amber eyes and super long eyelashes. Damn you boys with your long eyelashes. It was tempting but I couldn’t. I had to catch a 6am flight back to LA, so I could be at work by nine. It already was almost eleven. I regained my footing. “Uh…but they’re clearing out the theater, and your glass looks empty.” I said this last part while looking at Rachel.
“Oh,” Rachel responded quickly, “I’m going home. I have to get home to my boyfriend. He worries if I’m out too late with Francisco.” Her eyes cut to him precociously, “He gets me into trouble.”
Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Francisco seemed like all kinds of trouble, and by trouble I mean hot butt sex.
“Besides,” she added, “you can just take the bottle of wine to the hotel bar and finish it. They don’t mind.” She smiled at Francisco knowingly.
Oooh, well played, Rachel. Well played. It seemed that Ms. Carter’s cabaret wasn’t the only thing rehearsed tonight.
“Well,” Francisco said rising, “that settles it. We go to hotel bar. Besides I want to find out where you got that adorable southern accent.”
Five minutes later, Rachel was gone and Francisco and I headed to the hotel bar. Francisco led the way and sat in one of the small round tables. The setting sat in a nook flanked by dark mahogany patricians that added intimacy to the candlelit table. I looked around and realized the bar was full of couples; mostly gay male couples but with a few straight ones as well. The sound of jazz and the tinkling of ice in glasses filled the bar as couples leaned towards one another either speaking closely or kissing softly in the candlelight. The atmosphere was intense, romantic, and erotic.
Francisco poured wine into both of our glasses. He looked incredibly sexy in the light and, from the looks of it, he thought the same about me.
“So I feel like I’ve talked enough tonight.” He smirked. “Now, how did an adorable man like you end up in California?” I loved the way he said “adorable” with a rolled “r”.
And this began our conversation. I talked a bit about being from Oklahoma and how much I loved Los Angeles. He spoke about being from Brazil, where he earned is law degree. However in the States, Francisco found that his law degree didn’t carry much weight, so he was considering getting a degree in San Francisco. He also talked about his family that he sorely missed and we both talked about our upbringing and the differences in being gay from our different roots.
For about an hour, we talked but we also kept touching each other more and more. About an hour later, we couldn’t keep our hands of one another. Yes, we were that couple in the bar. Francisco brought up the show and with my defenses down, I admitted why I really came to the show—my love of all things Wonder Woman. As I said it, I felt silly.
“No no no no,” Francisco said, “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed. Like me, you needed something to inspire you. You should be proud of that. It is not like we had any strong male role models to inspire us.” He was drunk and so was I, but I appreciated his honesty and was so turned on by his passion as he spoke. He stared at me either with intensity or a drunken face—I decided on intensity.
“What?” I asked coyly.
“Mmmm,” he said looking at me fiercely. “If I only had a lasso. The things I would want to do to you.”
Aww Jeeeezus. Game on.
“Well,” I smirked, “It seems as if we are already telling the truth. So on that note…”
I leaned over the table, closed my eyes, and kissed him softly. No tongue—yeah I’m a classy drunk girl. I save that shit.
I just want to say, it was smooth. I mean, I was smooth. I mean, like James-fuckin-Bond smooth. For the record, I am never that smooth, never that sexy, but in that moment—I felt it. It was electric. It was like being the boy at prom that knows exactly when to say the right thing and kiss the girl (yes, I watch too many romantic comedies). We kissed for just a second, and I triumphantly leaned back to sit on my seat.
That’s when I completely missed my chair, and busted ass right there in front of Jesus and everybody. But good thing I didn’t knock our table over with the wine… oh wait, I did that too. Yeah… um… what was I talking about smooth again?
Thankfully… THANKFULLY… I did not scream like a girl. In fact, I think I was too shocked to even make a sound. Sprawled on the ground, I instantly gazed up at Francisco to see his response. For a second, he stared and then with simultaneous understanding, we both began laughing. He helped me up and we both laughed harder. We even walked out of the bar laughing. In fact, we laughed all the way to the hotel elevator, and we giggled as we kissed on our way up to the fourth floor. Still chuckling, I unlocked the door to my room, and as we stood inside shirtless, we both were all smiles.
And then we had really drunk, sloppy sex. I’ll spare you the details, but I’m glad that Francisco had a good sense of humor. Let’s be honest, I was not at my best and neither was he. Sometimes people are just too tossed to get it on. Luckily, he was a great kisser, which is always a plus in my book. And lucky for him, no matter how drunk I get, I’m always able to give good head. He was moaning and groaning, gasping and wriggling. I came up for air and he kissed me. I started lowering him down. It was my turn.
“Oh,” he paused, “I don’t do that. I don’t like to.” He smiled.
What? Who doesn’t like sucking the shaft, playing the skin flute, gettin’ nectar from the tree? Isn’t that one of the beauties of being gay? I was disappointed; as much as I like to give it, I love getting it too. But no worries, without a beat I moved on to plan B.
“Alright,” I said flatly, “then I’m gonna need to fuck you.”
Two minutes and a condom later, we were on our way. He kept moaning my name, “Oh Steve, oh Steve.” I really don’t know how I was having sex, because I was real drunk. In fact, as he said my name I went to respond and thought, “Shit. I forgot his name.” Then I remembered, okay I am in San “FRANCISCO,” I said back. Phew, that was close.
The evening began to fade into the early morning and at four am we drifted off to sleep. Seemingly, five minutes later I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. It was 7a.m.
Oh good, it’s only seven–FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!! I sprang out of bed, startling Francisco. He looked at me.
“I missed my flight,” I stated, running around the room naked.
He stretched. “Oh, they do not care. It will be fine. Come back to bed.”
“No, I can’t.” I admit I’m a bit OCD about work. I wasn’t the type to blow it off. I went to my open suitcase and began stuffing clothes into it. I was so frantic I didn’t realize Francisco come up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me pressing himself into my backside.
We had sex again. I’m weak, dammit.
Finally at 11:30, I was on a plane back to LA. I had already called my boss Jay Day and told him I’d be late. He said he expected it; “Girl, you can’t go to San Francisco your first time and not have sex! It’s part of the grand tour.” On my flight back, I wondered why I’d had such a desire to have sex last night? I mean, at first I thought it was just Francisco. But as I thought back on the night, I recalled trying to talk myself out of sex before I even really met him. To be honest, I think we were both just in the right place and the right time.
Was it because of seeing Lynda Carter? I kept hearing Francisco’s words about Wonder Woman—how she inspired both of us. I think the allure of Lynda Carter was the duality she represented in the Wonder Woman show. Yes, she played Diana Prince, however, when she turned into Wonder Woman she became powerful and sexy. Diana Prince didn’t turn heads, but Wonder Woman made men’s jaws drop.
I think Lynda Carter, in a way, inspired Francisco’s and my eroticism. I know sex is different where you’re a young boy, but for me, there was that same-sex desire that gay boys experience towards other boys. Usually, that desire is squashed and not validated by anyone in that child’s life; it wasn’t in mine. Yet, Wonder Woman honors truth. I felt validated by watching Wonder Woman be sexy—which was her true self—and be okay with that. I can’t help but think she’d want Francisco and I to live our truth. She would want us to be ourselves. She’d want us to be turned on by one another and to connect the way gay men are meant to connect.
With a loud crackle, the pilot’s voice interrupted my thoughts, “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Los Angeles.” As the plane taxied to our gate, I rubbed my red, tired eyes. It was going to be a long day. My body was hungover. My muscles were stiff from sex. Still, my first trip to San Francisco had been a great one. In the city that many consider the heart of gay America, I reconnected with the beautiful, effeminate four-year-old boy who would lasso his friends in a jump rope and exclaim, “Ha! Now you can’t lie!” It was nice to remember him and instead of feeling embarrassed, it was important to remember to love him. And that’s the truth.
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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