QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Better Than Nothing

Better Than Nothing
By Steve Prince
“Alex, where the hell are you?”
I was talking to Alex’s answering machine and I was annoyed. Hmm, I’ll try Troy.
“Troy,” I pleaded, disappointed that I got his voicemail as well, “give me a call or just go ahead and meet me at Roosterfish.”
I knew he would come, well… maybe. OK, maybe he probably wouldn’t, but I wanted to go out. Correction. I was keyed up. I wanted to mess around with a boy and then not remember his name the next day.
Earlier that night I had been at a Culver City restaurant meeting some school friends for dinner. After a couple of glasses of wine, the group’s conversation began to revolve more and more around sex. One of the girls who was there didn’t know a lot of gay men, so she asked me tons of specific questions. Things like, “How do you know who is the top?” and “Do guys give oral better than girls?”—questions gay guys usually seem to get. I answered them appreciatively; I was glad she was asking. It’s always better to be informed than ignorant, however all this talk of sex made me… well… want it.
Let’s be honest, it had only been a week since I got Marlon’s oh-so-subtle text. True, Marlon and I had not dated for that long; okay let’s be more honest, we really didn’t even date per se. However, I did put some more emotional time towards him then I had towards any other guy lately. My ego was still a little bruised, and I just needed to be validated. And that meant making out with someone shamelessly at a bar, preferably where others could see and think, “Wow! He’s still got it.” Yes, I know no one actually thinks that. I can only imagine that the bar patrons’ inner dialogue is more like, “That’s real slutty and I don’t want to see it.” Thankfully, this was my inner fantasy so I imagined whatever I liked, thank you very much.
As the time crept towards 10pm, my school friends started dispersing. I, on the other hand, felt as if I was just getting revved up. Ten o’clock was early for a Thursday night. That’s when I decided to call Alex and Troy on the way to the bar. I knew that the Roosterfish was by their homes and I was hoping that the fact I was actually on the Westside (which was a rarity) would encourage them to go out even more.
Minutes later, I pulled up in front of the bar and parked. A band of smokers looked at me lazily as I got out of my car, as if daring me to enter.

I love The Roosterfish. First of all, it’s a fairly old gay bar. I don’t know how old, but it definitely looks aged. I would guess it’s been open since the early 80’s. The bar is just off Abbot Kinney Drive in Venice; hence the crowd is way more relaxed than at a West Hollywood bar. Even Venice—the town in California, not the city in Italy—has a different vibe than the rest of Los Angeles. Whereas Santa Monica plays into the ritzier, white, upper-middle class society, Venice abounds in diversity. There are so many different types of people of all shapes, hues, and orientations. Hippies that smell of pot and have dreads walk along the boulevard, yoga mats cradled in their arms like prized trophies. Meanwhile, straight and gay couples walk hand-in-hand with their kids down the boulevard. It’s a very accepting place.
I crossed the street taking in the salty sea air. There was something calming about Venice. Tonight was going to be a good night. I could feel it. My body felt electric and I had a surge of confidence that often escapes me in bars. I walked into the bar and stepped to the side as my eyesight adjusted. The bar wasn’t dark, just dim. Dust from the walls and decorations seemed to antique the place. One half of the bar had a pool table with a jukebox while the other had some taller tables and a dartboard. You almost couldn’t tell it was gay bar, but then I noticed the 1980’s poster of a naked man with a Tom Selleck mustache, hairy chest, and a full bush of pubic hair. I smiled as I thought about how silly the term “manscaping” might sound to him.
I went to the bar and ordered a beer. I handed the bartender a five a sauntered across the bar while sipping at my drink. I scanned the place. All right, there were some cute fellas. Things were getting better. My phone vibrated in my pocket.
Can’t make it. Early work meeting. XO-Alex
Shit the bed. Well, maybe Troy would come. Ironically, my phone vibrated again just as I slipped it into my pocket.
Roosterfish. Ewww, you know the guys have hair and smell like BO. Besides I’m exhausted. Long day. Have fun! Troy
Well, crap. I forgot Roosterfish was not the bar to meet twinks, and therefore that is not the bar for Troy. I took a swig of my beer and pondered just going home, when someone put their hands over my eyes.
“Hey, Stevie!”
I turned. It was my friend Chris Carole. Chris was a friend of a friend, but we had seen one another so often at different functions that we were now just becoming friends. He was tall and lanky, and you could tell he was from Alabama. He didn’t speak with a Southern accent but his character just oozed with Southern charm and civility.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, smiling while giving him a hug.
“Ahh, just hanging out with a friend,” Chris said with a wave of his hand.
It was just what I needed. Chris and I talked for about an hour, just catching up. Chris was at the bar with a friend; however, he also wanted to go home with his friend’s friend. As our conversation wore on, his hooking up seemed more and more like a possibility. Around eleven, the friend was feeling on Chris so much as we talked that it became pointless to continue.
“Sugar,” I whispered in his ear, “Go get it done.”
They left five minutes later. So by this time it was around eleven-fifteen and I had drank two beers. I was keyed up even more. And as I hugged Chris goodbye I made eye contact with the cutest black man in the corner. As Chris left I looked again. I knew this guy. In a burst of surprising confidence I walked directly to him.
“Hey, how are ya?” I said boldly.
“Good, man, ” he said showing a smile. “How are you?”
“Good,” I answered as we shook hands, “I’m Steve, by the way.”
“What’s up?” he said with a sideways grin. ” I’m Jerell.”
OH MY GOD!!! I am not a starfucker, well at least usually, but I now realized who this was. It was Jerell from this season’s Project Runway.
Let me explain. I normally don’t watch reality TV—not really a fan. However… however… I LOOOOOOVE Project Runway. I love the show because it is not about bitchy attitudes and drama (well, maybe a little), but the main part of the show is about the drama of making the outfits. I love it so much, and this whole last season I had been going on and on about Jerell and his hotness. And there he was right in front of me. I decided to play dumb.
“Oh, nice to meet you,” I said innocently.
Jerell and I talked for about fifteen minutes and I bought him a drink. Let me just say, he was a pleasure. He’s funny, charming, and so down-to-earth. He was there with his mother and his sister, which I thought was a bit odd but I’ll roll with it. However, there was only one problem with Jerell… he wasn’t that into me. Now this wasn’t just self-critical Steve being hard on himself—it was just the truth. But honestly, it was okay. I just loved talking to Jerell so much I didn’t care.
Now, however Jerell’s cousin, was all up in my business. From now on I’ll refer to him as JC (Jerell’s cousin) because I don’t remember his name. JC was cute—well he was okay. Not completely my type. He was shorter and dressed very punkish, with a short fauxhawk. As Jerell and I talked, JC kept interrupting to talk directly to me. Finally, Jerell got the hint and sauntered off to talk to his mother.
“So, what work do you do?” I asked trying to make conversation.
“Oh,” JC said enthusiastically, “I’m an aspiring singer.”
Ok. Not that there is anything wrong with being an aspiring singer, but meeting an aspiring actor/musician/dancer in Los Angeles is a whole other ball of drama. In my experience, aspiring entertainers in LA can be real self-involved, and honestly I can see why. The business is so cutthroat and unsupportive that an artist really has to self-promote his or herself just to be noticed. More power to them, but the problem is that entertainers are always on. They’re always promoting, always trying to convince you that they are the most awesome person you’ve ever meet. I never feel like I am talking with an actual person, rather it’s more like speaking with a glossy cardboard cut-out.
For the next fifteen minutes, JC talked non-stop about his music career and how being gay and out wasn’t going to mess up his career. Great for him, but I had to say the conversation was a bit boring, and I could tell JC was real into JC. Before I knew it JC had whipped out his Ipod.
“Here,” he said, slamming the headphones into my ear, “take a listen. It’s popping.”
Yes, he was actually having me listen to his music in a gay dive bar. Jeezus. How did this happen? I just wanted a night out with the boys and I wanted to make out. I looked over Jerell looked deep in conversation with his mother and sister. Well, I could tell that ship had sailed and I was thinking I would just call it a night.
I looked over at JC who had pulled out his iPhone and was now listening to music; his own I assumed. I watched him dance around the floor while he looked at me, licking his lips. I returned his smile politely and instinctively. He leaned over and pulled out one of the headphones. “So I’m going home with you tonight, right bro?” he said. All right, Mr. Presumptuous.
I paused. I thought about what I had wanted this night. I thought about Marlon and that kiss we had outside the bar. I thought about JC, and then I made myself think of Marlon again. Hmmm I dunno.
As he moved, JC danced up on me. Taking my hand in his, he slid my palm down his pants. His dick was semi-erect and he had to be at least 9 inches long. It was huge.
I made my decision and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go.”
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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