QColumn: A Gay In The Life: I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No

I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
By Steve Prince
I stood feet from him watching his body sway in the foggy dark, watching the sweat build in the middle of his chest, forming a pool and then a small droplet of moisture separated itself and snaking down the man’s rippled abdomen, like a river running through a canyon.
At that moment I realized, it’d been a while since I’d gotten laid. I had been so fixated on Kelly lately, that I felt very sexually unrepressed. Also, this night snowballed into something completely different from what I had expected. I actually had no plans for the night. In fact, how did I get here? Oh yeah, Cody.
It had been a busy day. I was running errands out in West Hollywood. Yes, I say errands. People tease me about this all the time. My friend Carrie says “Errands are things sixty year-old grandmothers do.” Then I remind her that I also knit and she shuts the fuck up. Also, it’s just easier to say errands. Why explain that I need to go to the bank, run to Target, go by a locksmith, and get a new cockring and lube at the porn store? Why bore people with the details?
So I’m running errands and I realize that I’m hungry.
“Cody, sugar,” I say as he answers the phone, “what are you doing?”
“I’m working out,” he says panting over the phone.
“Sugar,” I ask, “do I need to let you go?”
“No,” he says gasping, “I’m fine.”
I hate people who talk on the phone while they work out. Okay, actually I don’t hate them. Let’s be honest, I’m jealous of them. When I’m working out. I’m just working out. Well, that’s not true sometimes I’m throwing up, but mainly I can barely keep myself on the goddamn treadmill. I don’t count myself as a religious person, but when I’m running on a treadmill, sweating my ass off… I believe in something. Why? Because I’m so motherfuckin’ clumsy that I’ve fallen off a treadmill just by standing on it. There sheer fact that I can run on it without killing myself means something is protecting my klutzy ass.
“Well,” I say snapping back to the conversation as a car pulls in front of me, “you want to grab a bite soon?”
“Can’t,” Cody grunted. “I’m dancing tonight at FUBAR, but I’ll come hang.”
Cody was true to his word. As I ate a burger, he didn’t eat—he drank. And then, he bought me a drink. Okay, maybe four.
“Cody,” I said finishing the fourth beer, “you’re the devil! I can’t drive home now.” I didn’t feel drunk by any means, but I’m super-cautious about drinking and driving.
He laughed and finished his beer in one gulp. “Well, then come to me to FUBAR.”
I paused and Cody grabbed my arm excitedly, “It’ll be fun Stevie Prince. AND it’s BIG FAT DICK Night!”

All right, it didn’t take much convincing after that. That’s why two hours later I found myself transfixed by this gorgeous Latin dancer in front of me. He had the most gorgeous lips and his dick seemed to pulse underneath his shorts. I looked over to my right. Wearing his signature trucker hat, Cody pumped and moved to the music. A crowd of tippers surrounded him. Cody did have a gorgeous face, a sculpted body, and a ten-inch dick; hence he was never in need of admirers.
A guy passed me and smiled.
“Good try in there,” he said in my ear while patting my ass.
He was talking about the Big Fat Dick Contest. Yes I tried to enter it. Fubar does this to me; it brings out the dirty. I mean, I didn’t expect to win—I’m no Cody. I just happened to be standing in the back waiting for Cody to fluff himself, when one of the dancers talked me into doing it. We walked into the back room, but I couldn’t do it.
Stage fright.
I guess I could never be a porn star. I mean, I’ve always prided myself on being the last person in the room to get embarrassed, but as I sat massaging my limp dick with all those gorgeous boys around me, I became so nervous. Yes, I got gun shy!
Thankfully, Cody was a great sport about it and made me feel better.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said patting me on the back, “it’s like riding a bicycle. I couldn’t get hard until my third try. It’s just a confidence thing.” He passed me a beer, which I took gratefully.
Not wanting to feel embarrassed again, I went back to focusing on the sweaty Latin dancer. Ten minutes later, I shoved a five-dollar bill in his pants and he graciously slipped my hand around his semi-erect shaft. My loins actually moved. Because I’m a tease, I moved away from my Latin dancer and made chit chat with other fellas around the club. I wasn’t really cruising; no one seemed that cute. However, the spontaneity of the evening had put me into a good mood so I decided to chat it up. Okay, I did make out with two guys… at once.
What only seemed like minutes later, actually turned out to be an hour; the bar was about to close. Cody came out from the fluffing room fully clothed.
“I’m ready when you’re ready,” he said, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder.
“I’m ready,” I said. I had sobered up quite a bit and felt okay to drive home.
Cody lives in West Hollywood, just a block south of Santa Monica, about a fifteen-minute walk from Fubar. I decided to walk him home and then I would walk to my car.
We both walked laughing about the night and glad Cody had made good money in tips. We hugged one another goodbye and I walked towards my car.
I had been walking for only five minutes when I felt something odd. You know that feeling where you feel as if your being watched or that someone is aware of you? That was the feeling I felt as the hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle. It was then that I noticed footsteps behind me. I took notice of my own gate and listened to the rhythm behind me. They were walking faster. As nonchalant as I could, I turned around to see who was walking behind me.
A beautiful young man with dark hair smiled back at me. He was so not threatening. Embarrassed, I turned forward and smiled to myself. I could hear him walking faster.
Soon he was walking beside me.
“Hey,” he said, “fun night?”
“Yeah,” I said with a chuckle, “probably too much fun. You?”
“Oh man,” he sighed, “It was an awesome fucking night.” He sounded drunk. I couldn’t help but notice how cute his green eyes looked from behind his hair.
“That good, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he smirked, “I’m in town visiting friends while I’m on holiday break. I’m from Orange County originally.”
“Nice,” I said making small talk. I could see my car up ahead. This guy was cute and all, but I was getting tired and just wanted to go home. “Where do you go to school?” I asked.
“I study law,” he answered, “at Georgetown.”
Jeeezus. Hand me the lube. I have only been to Georgetown once in my life. For those of you who don’t know where Georgetown is, it’s practically a part of Washington D.C. If you’re into preppy, rich, frat boy types then Georgetown is the place for you—so many hot guys. The stranger kept talking a bit more while I imagined my own Georgetown fantasy. Finally, we approached my car.
“This is me,” I said clicking the doors open with my keychain, “nice to meet you.”
“You too,” he said absent mindedly, while looking around. He looked lost.
“Do you remember where your car is?” I asked.
“Honestly,” he paused, “no. I thought I parked on San Vicente, but… I dunno.”
Sometimes I love being Southern. However, sometimes I open my big, hospitable Southern mouth before I actually think.
“Do you need a ride?” I asked instinctively. Really Steve, you just offered a ride to a complete stranger? It’s like I want to be left for dead in a field somewhere.
He paused and looked at me as if to decipher what I meant by “a ride.” I interrupted his thought.
“Look,” I said, “I’m just trying to be nice. I’m really not trying to offer you a ride so that I can fuck around with you. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Oh,” he said, disarmed, “OK thanks.”
We drove around until we finally found his car less than a block away. I really didn’t think he needed to drive, but the place that he was staying was way out of my way. And, I’m not his mother.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said with his hand on the doorknob.
“No prob,” I said, “good luck with schoo—”
I couldn’t finish the sentence because his tongue was in my mouth. What? How did this happen? I had in no way hit on this guy and now we’re making out? And then I realized… this guy is an amazing kisser. If you’ve read my columns then you know what happens when a guy is a good kisser. Suddenly my thoughts began a racing internal dialogue:
Christ on a cracker this guy can kiss. Ah, Jezus. He’s nibbling on my lip. Don’t nibble on my lip. This guy is weakening my resolve to go home. Oh great, now I’m hard. Perfect. Just perfect. Well, fuck me… he’s nibbling on my ear. Oh and, well crap. How did my left hand move down and unbutton his pants? How did this happen? I didn’t even realize my left hand was doing that because his tongue was in my ear. Oh great we’re kissing again and his hand is stroking my tool. Great! Just don’t look down, Steve. Don’t look down. Why did I just look down? Why did I look down and see he has a beautiful dick. Well, I’m gonna have to suck it. And, now I’m sucking his dick. Oh my God, it taste like yummy salty goodness. Dammit! Why do I love sucking dick so much? Oh yeah, I’m gay, but still. I was going to go home and go to sleep. Oh, hells bells. He’s fingering my ass. Why would he do that? Wait a minute. Why am I pulling a condom out of my glove box? Steve Prince don’t you do it! Don’t you even thinking about pulling your pants down. Don’t do it. Steve don’t you sit on that… No no no no! Aaaahh, fuck that feels good.
Yes, I had sex in my car at the intersection of Santa Monica and San Vicente. For those of you who don’t know where this is… it’s a major intersection. It’s only a block from the police station. And I do not have tinted windows. However, none of this mattered because I rode that Georgetown kid like Paul Revere’s last ride—fast and furious. As he sat in the leaned back passenger’s seat, I straddled him like a Sit ‘n’ Spin.
After we both finished, I simply crawled back into the driver’s seat. Pulled up my pants and he buttoned his. He stepped out of the car and leaned down and kissed me.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said seriously.
You could say that again sugar.
As I pulled a U-turn and began driving home, the night’s events began replaying in my mind. My thoughts began to churn. Why did I have sex? What the heck was I thinking? And then something happened. I stopped myself. Instead of overanalyzing why I did this or why I didn’t do that, I decided to let it go. You had fun Steve; that’s a good thing. Just enjoy the ride, literally. I’d realized that this was the first time in a while that I wasn’t so obsessed with Kelly. Even though I did like him, it felt good not to think about him for a night. I opened the moonroof to my car and turned up the radio. I smiled.
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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
A Man With A Slow Hand
Taking The Long Way
Everybody Knows
Wake Me Up, Before Ya Go-Go
Definition
The Best
The Upper Hand
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
2000-Date
Dick The Halls
The Queer Dear
A Night At The Museum
A Conversation