QColumn: A Gay In The Life: A Man For All Seasons

Man For All Seasons
By Steve Prince
“You’ve got mail!” my roommate James said as I walked inside the house from a long day of work.
“Thanks,” I said absent-mindedly. As I walked in my room, I tossed my messenger bag by my door, kicked off my shoes, and moaned while reaching for the envelope on top of my dresser. With a weary thud, my body landed on my bed, pillow cradling my head. I sighed and looked at the back of the envelope.
The return address read, “Chad Ryan.”
Ah, Chad Ryan—it had been a while…
Chad Ryan was a friend I’d made while volunteering for AIDS Project Los Angeles. I provided peer support for teens diagnosed with HIV. At first, I felt nervous about volunteering; I wasn’t a teen nor was I HIV-positive. Thankfully, Chad Ryan mentored me through the process. In fact, he mentored and trained all of the peer volunteers and was a hell of a guy and handsome to boot.
I’d stopped volunteering for AIDS Project Los Angeles two years ago and Chad left the organization around that time as well. But since that time we’d remained friends, often chatting on Facebook, saying we’d get together but never getting our schedules to match.
I turned on my bedside lamp as the afternoon sun leaked through my bedroom windows. I opened the envelope, which read in whimsical letters:

Wow. I wasn’t surprised that Chad Ryan was having a birthday party, but I was more surprised that he’d sent me an actual invitation. I mean it was kinda… well… gay.
Chad Ryan was one of those gay guys who didn’t act stereotypically gay. He was a total fraternity-type guy, and would always interject a “dude” or “bro” into the conversation.
Not that I believe in stereotyping. I’ve met LOTS of gay guys and the many types of gat men no longer surprise me. We queers really do come in a variety pack that defies stigmatization. Still, it was different with Chad. With Chad you almost weren’t sure if you were getting to know the real Chad, or if you were getting to know the perception he wanted to embody. He always seemed trying to “man up.”
With these thoughts fresh in my mind, receiving a somewhat “girly” invitation from my very “masculine” friend piqued my curiosity. I checked the date; I was free. I was totally going to this shindig.
Two weeks later, I walked into Maggiano’s and instantly spotted Chad’s party group. Fifteen gay men and three women circled the bar. As Chad saw me, he broke from the group and raised his arms to hug me.
“What’s up, dude?” he said smiling broadly.
Suddenly, I realized I was wearing a pink polo shirt.
“Hey sugar!” I replied patting him tightly. We broke apart. “You look good!” I smiled. “Not a day over thirty-one.”
Chad grinned, “I knew I invited you for a reason.”

The hostess came us to seat us at our table, interrupting our chat. I followed the group through the restaurant. Making our way onto the patio and stepping out onto the terrace, a crisp breeze greeted my cheeks—a pristine Southern California night.
I scanned the crowd and took notice of several people I’d met during my time at AIDS Project Los Angeles. Of the fifteen, there were about five I hadn’t seen in over two years. We greeted one another as we took our seats and did the usual “catching up” conversation. Y’know questions like: What are you up to? What mutual friends have you caught up with lately? Are you dating anyone? What gym do you go to? Superficial boring gay stuff.
Now for those of you who know me, you may find this next part hard to believe, but I have to admit… I’m a shy person.
It’s true. I don’t think I’m perceived that way, but when I get surrounded by a group of gorgeous men, I often find my self horribly outnumbered by them and my own self doubt. As I sat at the party table and looked around, I realized that all of the men there were gorgeous—or at least “West Hollywood gorgeous.” They all had prominent pecs, six-pack abs, and hair that looked like they spent very little time on it, when in actuality it probably took a lot of care and love to get those locks looking perfect.
I felt so normal, but yet separate at the same time.
Bitches. I hated them. I wanted to soothe myself and eat everything on that goddamn table, but then I’d look like a fat girl eating her emotions. And though that would be an honest expression of my feelings, I wasn’t about to let them in on that!
Thankfully, some old acquaintances from AIDS Project Los Angeles had sat across from me.
“Hey Tony!” I said to the nice-looking man with brown hair and hazel eyes. Only the laugh lines around Tony’s eyes divulged his true age (somewhere in his mid-forties). His hair seemed perfectly in place, his teeth gleamed pearly white, and his black Marc Jacobs polo pulled slightly at the buttons, constricting his broad, built chest.
“Hey Steve,” Tony said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah, it has,” I said taking a sip of my water. Damn, he was pretty.
“Have you lost weight?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said straight-faced. “I’ve been throwing up a lot more. Whenever I have time to fit it in.”
Did I mention that when I get shy I try and overcompensate with humor? Well I do. One of my favorite ways to compensate for my feelings of inadequacy is to make jokes. However, not all of them are a) funny and/or b) appropriate. It’s like my mental filter shuts down completely and I just hurl out the first thing that comes to mind. It can be a problem.
Tony’s face froze for a second, probably because he thought I was serious. However, when I smiled, he chuckled and shook his head. He glanced over to the accessory sitting on his right.
“Steve,” he said curling his hand in the nook of the stranger’s arm, “I want you to meet Fabiano.”
Fabiano reached his hand out, “Puuhh-lez-ure,” he said, his Italian accent twirling the consonants in his mouth. Great. He was gorgeous AND Italian. Where’s the motherfucking lube?
Tony chimed in, “We’ve been dating for a year now.”
“Oh good,” I said shaking Fabiano’s hand, “please tell me you have some extra homemade tapes for me to watch. You too are just beautiful. I would love to watch that shit.”
Fabiano’s grasp loosened from mine.
“Uh,” Tony said, “Funny…” he paused. He turned to Fabiano, “I’m going to the men’s room, babe. Wanna come?”
They both left as I sat awkwardly. Why can’t I shut up? Really, Steve? I really just said that to someone I just met? Really?
They eventually came back and the dinner progressed mainly without incident, except for one thing—I was definitely gayer than anyone there.
Perhaps it was just my own nerves, but I was cracking jokes all dinner long. Not the whole time, but whenever I was engaged in conversation I was usually trying out some quip or zinger. I know I do it as a way of acclimating to people, but I can’t help it—it’s just the way I am. Thankfully, my politically incorrect humor took a back seat, but all in all it was still very gay. If I remember correctly I made 3 Judy Garland jokes, 2 Barbara Streisand references, 1 Bing Crosby joke, 1 Jesus Christ and John rimming joke, 1 Whitney Houston joke, and a minute-long diatribe about the amazingness of my most recent Britney Spears concert.
I was so gay that I could have farted glitter. Oh yeah, I might have made an actual glitter and sequence reference too.
Yet as much as I kept trying to connect with these people I felt myself separating from them more and more. Or maybe they were separating from me? I know it sounds weird, but I felt as if they were a little turned off by how “gay” I was.
We all live in a heterosexist culture, whether we like it or not. And just like women encounter sexism, I can’t help but wonder if gay men encounter heterosexism—or the belief that heterosexuality is the “preferred” way of being. I also feel that in this realm of heterosexism, we knowingly embody what is masculine and what isn’t.
For instance, to this day, Troy and Alex still tease me about the pig bottom story. They tell me all the time that I’m just a big ol’ bottom who just won’t admit it. I don’t think that’s true. I really do like both positions, but how come when I admit that I like getting it up the ass that people want to put me into a box? Does that make me less of a man because I like being topped? I don’t think so. But maybe heterosexist thought gets caught up in Troy’s and Alex’s perceptions of what being “a gay man” means.
I know it effects my views. I remember telling a friend once that I was starring in a cabaret show. I explained to her how in one scene I’d wear a dress without any makeup or wig. She said, “Oh, so you do drag?”
Her question almost offended me. How dare she think I do drag! Ten minutes later, when our conversation ended, I thought about what she said and realized that I feared doing drag because it might make me less of a man in other people’s eyes. In that moment, I realized that giving a shit about what other people thought was much more work then doing what I actually wanted.
I guess it really is about perception—how we look at the world and how we want to be looked at. Maybe part of the coming out process is acknowledging perception. Maybe it’s about making up one’s own rules of what’s manly or girly, what’s masculine and feminine. Hmm, maybe the bottoms of the world really are running things but heterosexism just won’t let us acknowledge that…
“Thanks for coming, Stevie,” Chad said giving me a hug goodbye.
“You think I would miss a glance at that ass, Sugar?” I said slapping his butt. Chad does have a nice ass.
As we broke apart, Chad seemed to be smiling, yet a bit of uncomfortablness seemed to linger in the corners of his grin.
“You are too much,” he said. “I love that you’re so gay.”
“Well, thanks,” I said not knowing exactly what to say.
A few minutes later I thought about Chad’s uneasiness with me. I wondered if, maybe, the unease in his smile was actually jealousy. Perhaps he longed to be more comfortable with a part of himself he felt had to be more mainstream.
I smiled an honest smile thinking about my response to Chad. I felt grateful that I could say “Thanks,” to him in that moment. I felt grateful that I keep exploring who I am and more grateful that I’m learning not to give a flying fuck about other people’s perception of me.
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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
A Birthday Surprise
The Sleepover-er
SP Phone Home
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Closet
What If…
Just Beat It
Intimate Portrait
Intimate Portrait (Part Deux)
Intimate Portrait (Part Trois)
State of Mind
The Age of Disbelief