QColumn: A Gay In The Life: A Birthday Surprise

On the eve of his 30th, Steve Prince presents the first of a two-part column. He promises the cum-drenched second half next week.
A Birthday Surprise
By Steve Prince
I’m feeling nostalgic. Why? Well, on March 12th I’m turning the big 3-0. And no, I’m not freaked out. I’m fine. In fact, I’m so fine that this week I’m taking trip down memory lane, and not because I don’t want to deal with my present birthday… because I’m fine. Besides, wouldn’t you rather hear about my 27th birthday anyway? I mean, 30-—it’s boring right. And besides I’m not avoiding anything. I’m fine… I’m just turning thirty… I’m going to go throw up while you read this…
Saturday March 11th, 2006
James needed to get it done. And by get it done, I mean he needed to have someone plunder his booty like a pirate who’s been on the Seven Seas for three years.
I guess that’s the beauty of having a gay roommate that you’ve lived with for a long time; you can tell him anything.
I could tell it’d been building for days. James had been working himself like a dog lately. James is very much the constant pianist. He’s super talented and works extremely hard. When he’s working on a project he throws himself into it completely. This is great if you’re a fellow musician, but if you’re his roommate… not so much. Within a week of working on something non-stop, James’ creative energy gets drained and he becomes a bit cranky around the house. I try to be sympathetic, because honestly I do the same thing. I guess we all go and go until we need to take some time for ourselves.
Luckily, we were going out for my birthday that night; at the stroke of midnight, I’d turn twenty-seven years old. Late twenties here I come. I’d spent that Saturday morning cleaning up around the house. James had been out playing a matinee. I’d just reached into the laundry bin to begin yanking out clothes to wash when I heard the familiar hum of his Rav4 pull up the drive.
“I hope you’re ready,” he called as he came in the back of the house.
“Ready for what?” I asked walking into the kitchen to greet him.
“Ready for tonight,” he said locking the back door behind him.
Jeezus. I knew where this was heading; James had hit her breaking point.
“I’m done,” James sighed, “this week has officially fucked me in the ass and you know what?”
“What?”
“If I’m getting fucked in the ass, then I might as well get a reach around while I’m at it,” he declared. He tossed his keys onto the counter and immediately walked over to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed the bottle of gin to make himself a drink. I looked at the clock; it was only 3:30.

As James poured the Bombay Sapphire Gin, it curled between the ice cubes causing them to crackle like palm leaves breaking under the weight of a slithering snake. James put the drink to his lips and drank slowly.
“I’m getting it done tonight, ” he said with his left and gesturing dramatically. Sometimes I think James should go through life wearing a turban like Norma Desmond. He does have a flair for the dramatic.
“I need to get laid,” he continued. “It’s been too long and I need a stress relief.”
“THANK GOD,” I exclaimed. “It’s about motherfucking time.” I squealed out of gratitude for the end of James’ funk. I ran to my room to pick out an outfit. I wanted to look good; it was the eve of my birthday after all.
9:45p.m.
“I.D.?”
Ruth, the bouncer at Akbar, really commanded your ID rather than asked for it. You don’t fuck with Ruth, and I adore her for that. She’s part of Akbar’s charm.
Akbar is a dive bar in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles. Some people love Akbar and others hate it. By others, I mean Troy.
“It smells like B.O. and everyone has hair, everywhere,” Troy would say while gesturing wildly.
I can’t say I agree with Troy, but I think it also makes a difference that he’s usually into twinks. Akbar’s not your average West Hollywood bar. There aren’t any go-go dancers, and most of the guys look like the people you’d see at a neighborhood bar. It isn’t packed with gorgeous looking Adonis bodies plucked from the set of Gossip Girl. I love it and so does James. Akbar is our bar.
“What do you want?” James asked as he walked to the bar.
“A sidecar,” I yelled, “no sugar on the rim.”
As my eyes began to adjust to the dim light, I scanned the crowded bar. Men of all shapes and sizes huddled around their small tables as if warming themselves by the fire. A large crowd gathered at the bar&mdash,above them, a large Persian-inspired archway framed them as the candles’ flickering glow illuminated their faces.
James soon returned; half of his drink already finished.
“Let’s dance,” he said moving into a hallway as I followed. We exited in to a large room. Again, Persian architecture outlined a smaller bar in the corner. To my right was a small wood laden dance floor. Clusters of men danced and throbbed together. I took a deep breath taking in the smell of sweat and heat.
Two hours and three drinks later, I found myself sandwiched between two men. One of them tall and slim, while the other short and muscular. Our hands mingled throughout one another and the techno boomed. The short one pressed his pelvis up against my ass. The tall one leaned down to kiss me.
I moved away. I wasn’t intending on making out tonight. Those guys were cute, but I wasn’t feeling it.
As I moved away from the dance floor, I peered across the room and saw James talking to some artsy looking guy in a corner. I approached them both.
“Hey,” I said smiling, “y’all having fun?”
James drew close and called in my ear, “This is Yeewnwot.”
“Huh?”
I had no idea of what he said. With understanding, the cute blond boy leaned over and said his name in my ear. I still had no idea of what he’d said, but I heard a slight accent.
James beamed broadly at me, as if reading my mind. “He’s from Cuba,” he called out. He smiled greedily.
Jeeezus. James has such a thing for Latin men. Each time he beds another Latin boy he swears that he’s over them, but he never actually is.
“I’ll talk to y’all later,” I said, making an excuse, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
The bathroom was all the way across the dance floor. I looked at the mass of sweating men and sighed. I decided to grab a drink and then go to the men’s room.
Minutes later, I curved my way through the crowd while sipping on my fourth vodka tonic. Suddenly, I noticed I was getting drunk. I went to the bathroom and before I returned to the dance floor I finished my drink.
That’s when I noticed someone watching me.
He looked young, real young in fact. His tall slender body pulsed to the music. Our eyes met and he smiled. Immediately, my shyness wanted to make me look away, but I didn’t. Something else was stronger, and I realized it was horniness. I looked at my watch—it was ten after midnight. I downed the rest of my drink. I was twenty seven…
And I was about to get laid.
Come back for part two of Steve’s column next week!
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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
I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
Change The Way You Feel
Kissing A Fool
Leo The Lamb
The Elephant In The Room
Zuckerman’s Famous Pig