QColumn: A Gay In The Life: A Man With A Slow Hand

A Man With a Slow Hand
By Steve Prince
I have a cardinal rule about hooking up with guys: DO NOT TAKE A GUY HOME.
I actually learned this rule from my roommate James. In fact, we both only bring a guy to the house if we actually want to have breakfast with said hookup the next morning. It’s a pretty good rule, and has thwarted some possibly bad situations. In fact, I’ve adhered to this rule for almost three years now.
Until tonight.
“Nice house,” JC said as he entered my kitchen.
It was late, probably about 2:30 in the morning. Thank God James was already in bed. I know that he wouldn’t care if I brought a guy home, but I was glad that I didn’t have to go through introductions and all that.
“Where’s the bedroom?” JC said with a pop of his head as he snapped his finger.
She was definitely a character. Let’s be honest. JC and I didn’t really have a lot to say to one another. The car ride from the bar to my house was pretty uneventful except for the times when he kept grabbing my hand and rubbing it on his cock. It bears repeating. It was motherfuckin’ huge, but hey, I never turn down a challenge. Who cares if I shit my pants for a week? During the ride home, I let JC fiddle with the radio. I truthfully was wishing it was Jerrell sitting in my passenger’s seat. Ahhh, Jerrell. Sweet, nice, non-arrogant Jerrell.
“Ohh,” JC cooed as he walked into my bedroom. “Look at this.” He turned to me, “You must have been ready for this.” As he said this last part, he grabbed his package.
All right, this guy was beginning to get a bit lame. But he was right, I do have a nice bedroom. In fact, I even have a canopy hanging over my bed. Yes, I made it myself—I’m crafty. I actually call it “the manopy.”
JC moved his hand along the hanging material. “I wonder how sturdy this thing is?” he asked.
“Don’t touch it,” I blurted out a little too quickly. “It’ll probably fall if you fuck with it too much.” It was true, and I didn’t want JC messing it up. Truthfully, I think I just didn’t want him touching my stuff. It made me feel dirty. Don’t ask me why this wasn’t an indicator for me to not go through with things. But, I’d already broken the cardinal rule.
JC turned, looked at me, and walked toward me like a snake slithering towards a paralyzed mouse. I moved in to kiss him and he turned his head, so that I kissed his neck.
All right, maybe he just likes neck play. Regardless, the night was late, so within minutes we were getting to it. Soon, he had lowered my head down and I was sucking his cock.
It was totally bigger than 9 inches (my previous estimation). He was easily, easily twelve, and girthy as hell. Soon, he was lying on my bed and I was on top, inhaling him. And then the dirty talk started.

“You like that big fuckin’ tool,” JC said under his breath.
“MM-mm,” I said. You really can’t say anything when a guy that size is in your mouth.
I don’t mind dirty talk. In fact, I actually like it. However, I think JC and I were schooled in two very different versions of sexual language. This is just a sampling of the things he said next:
“I bet you’ve never had a tool this big.”
“You’re gonna cry like a bitch when you take this cock.”
“You like to worship my cock.”
“You wish you could have a dick like this all the fuckin’ time.”
You get the point. This guy really liked his dick. I mean really really liked his dick. And I was a bit over it. I kissed up his stomach and I moved to kiss him.
We pecked.
That was it. I even moved in again, thinking of the peck like a runner gathering speed. The next peck would move into an open mouth kiss, which would eventually lead to some hard-core making out.
We pecked again.
This was not cool. Y’all know how I feel about kissing. Really, it’s the end all be all for me. It completely makes me feel connected to another guy and this was not working out. I was starting to think I didn’t want to do this, but then again…
I HAD BROUGHT HIM HOME WITH ME! Oh, and here’s the dumbest part—I told him I would take him home, but at least he lived close.
I went back to sucking his cock, because well, I do enjoy sucking cock. Again, he started in with the dirty talk.
“This cock is gonna slam your ass and you’re gonna take it.”
I looked up to respond.
He was texting.
Yes. That motherfucker. Was. Texting.
I grabbed his phone and tossed it aside. “There will be none of that, sugar,” I said with a smile. For some reason I didn’t want to seem too rude. Yes I know, how stupid of me to think that—he was the one texting!
“What baby?” JC said coyly, “A brother’s got business. I hope you know you’re with someone special tonight.”
Give me a fuckin’ break. In that moment, I was done, but for some reason I didn’t kick him out. I didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up. Instead, five minutes later, we were having sex.
“You like my chocolate stick in your milk, boy?” JC moaned. It’s official. I hated his dirty talk. I felt like I was in a bad porno. Is this guy really saying this?
He went to grab my hair.
“Ouch,” I said, “I’m not a fan of that.”
“Well, baby,” JC said, “maybe you should let me be in charge.”
That’s when it happened. That is when a part of my spirit actually floated out of my body. I imagined looking down at myself being pounded by this boy I’d just met. A man whose name I didn’t even know. A man that was basically fucking and using me like some glory hole.
JC was not Marlon, and that’s who I wanted him to be. I realized I was just using this fuck to try and get over the crush I had on Marlon. Still, in that moment I realized it wasn’t even sex that I wanted to begin with. I missed the conversations Marlon and I had. I missed the way Marlon looked at me, paid attention to me, and complimented me. I was a person in his eyes and not just a fucking hole. In fact, the more I thought as JC pounded away, I realized it wasn’t even about just Marlon. This was about me denying that someone could even care for me like that. The belief that someone could open up to me just the way I am.
“I have to go the bathroom,” I said removing myself from the bed.
“All right, bro,” JC said taking off the condom and stroking himself, “but be ready for round two. I’m not done with you yet.” Yuck.
I walked into my bathroom, put the lid on my toilet seat, and sat down. I was so mad. Not at JC, but at myself. Why did I do stupid shit like this, and how was I going to get out of it? I took a deep breath and stood up. I washed my face and looked in the mirror.
I walked back into my bedroom. JC was texting—of course.
“Hey baby, you back to please this?” JC said as he looked down at his dick. “I hope so because—”
“I’m tired,” I interrupted. “You need to go home.”
JC looked like I had slapped him in the face. “What?” he said in a dismissive tone.
“Yeah,” I said pressing on, “I’m worn out. Hope that’s cool… bro.” I added ironically.
“Yeah, but I didn’t even nut,” JC said looking at his dick like it was a lost little boy.
I began putting on my clothes. “Sugar, you can take care of that at home.”
We dressed in silence and five minutes later, we both got into the car. JC was texting of course.
“Where’s your house again?” I asked.
“Santa Monica and Bundy” he said.
What?! That’s on the Westside, about thirty minutes from my house. He had told me he lived closer. Maybe I would just suck it up and take him, but then without thinking I just spoke.
“Look,” I said flatly, “Do you have a friend that’s closer. I can’t drive that far tonight.”
He looked at me incredulously. “Umm…yeah,” he paused. “I can crash at a friend’s off Vine.”
Awesome. We were there in five minutes.
“It’s right here,” JC said and I stopped the car. He looked at me and smiled.
“So, can I get your number?” he asked sweetly.
Are you kidding me? Really! ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME?
“Nah, man,” I said lazily while raising my palm in the air, “I’m cool.”
Stoically, he turned and got out of the car. I drove away without looking back.
I actually smiled. I was grateful that I had stood my ground. Instead of feeling like a used body, I was glad that I didn’t go through with it. It was empowering to realize that I want a connection, and I want validation. Truthfully, I think JC was so arrogant to cover-up for his own insecurities. He had to hide behind his dick because he was afraid of letting the person out. I thought about what he had said to me, “I hope you know you’re with someone special tonight.” I don’t think JC knows what feeling special really means. For him, special was to feel worshipped, adored, and to remove himself from the here and now. For me, I want feel appreciated, considered, and share a moment with someone. However, even more importantly, I would rather be able to appreciate myself, consider my wants, and be accepting of my true self. Those are feelings I can give myself and, since I create them—I keep them for myself. That’s special.
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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
Come As You Are
A Date?
A Happy Ending
Better Than Nothing