"The Night I Found My Prince"
This is NOT a sexual story, but a Gay Romance written to submit to an editor for an anthology. It was not selected. A longer, more sexual version, perhaps even a series, will appear in the future. Enjoy the Romantic version.
"The Night I Found My Prince"
By "IKE"
How a blue-collar punk from a tough working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn ended up finding his Prince Charming at "The Falcon", an Upper West Side gay bar, is a long, complicated story. Being that working-class guy, I hate long stories, so I'll keep this short.
I'll start with the first time I stomped in that dive. In the spring of 1975 I was 23 years old. Still living with my folks, I'd been dating Kathy, with her own Manhattan apartment, basically for sex. I never pretended to love Kat, and she said she felt the same way.
After dating eight months, Kat lied and told me she was expecting my brat, but she hadn't paid the lab bill for her pregnancy test. So they sent me a collection letter with a copy of the report showing that she wasn't pregnant. I confronted her with the report, asking her why she had lied. She wouldn't answer.
I had never realized I was so easy to manipulate. I stalked out of Kat's apartment and Kat's life.
I did what any red-blooded blue-collar guy would do: headed to the first bar to get plastered. I didn't know it was a gay bar. I was too angry to notice that there were only men in the bar. It didn't take me long to realize I'd found my first gay bar. Pounding back my first boilermaker while cursing all lying bitches, I became the center of attention. Strong male arms caressed my beefy shoulders, encouraged me to express my anger at women.
I wasn't as straight as these men thought. In my early teens, I regularly had mutual oral sex with some buddies. That ended when they started dating girls. Stopping killed me, but I kept quiet, knowing that they would beat me senseless, then tell our entire tough school that I was queer, making my life a violent, brutal hell. At 15 I put a lid on my passion for males as tight as a coffin's.
My family had been determined that I become the first Harahan to go to college, a good idea given Vietnam. With a scholarship for tuition to a local college, I had to live at home while working part-time throughout college to pay for expenses like books, beer, and my motorcycle, which was not just how I got to school and work. It's been a big part of my masculine self-identity since I bought it at 17.
I did manual labor in a furniture warehouse. Summers I worked full time. After graduation, my "lack of class" meant no employer in my field would hire me, so I kept working there. The week before I first wandered into "The Falcon", I had a second, promising interview in my field. The executive with crutches who interviewed me seemed to like my rough edges, so I had hopes.
In my senior "Practical Psychology" seminar, I had been forced to admit how much I missed sex with my buddies. I realized that that I was queer, but also that I'd never do anything about it. I continued to have sex with women while dreaming of men. My conflicts were predictable for a lower-class queer-boy from Brooklyn. I loved being "one of the boys": racing my motorcycle, playing rough sports, and getting drunk with my buddies. Living at home with my parents in our tough neighborhood, I saw no options. Our only image for "queer" were "fairies". I was only turned on by tough, masculine men like myself, but I didn't know any masculine gay men.
I had HEARD of gay bars, but there weren't any in our end of Brooklyn. I had no idea of how to find one, until I stomped into "The Falcon" by mistake and seven men tried getting "that angry straight biker stud who had just dumped his lying girlfriend" drunk enough to seduce me.
HOME AT LAST!
At 23, I wasn't a typical recent college graduate, but a tough, hard working punk with a broken nose - and a college education with a 3.85 GPA. After six years of lifting heavy furniture daily, I was a strapping young bear when I first slammed angrily into that bar, my motorcycle gear over my shoulder. I attracted quite a bit of attention. I was a young new face and not exactly unattractive. I knew that I liked older, masculine guys, and a number of them were now vying for my attention.
After nine boilermakers, I was no longer feeling much pain. Or my toes.
One man aggressively took over after discovering that I was born on a Navy Base. Handsome, in his 40's, with a great build; he was a U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer in dress uniform. As "Chief Max" talked to me, his hands got more... friendly. Max's initial remarks let me know that he was eager to seduce a straight virgin. Since my immature experiments years earlier did not seem like REAL gay sex, I could honestly play the part - sort of. I loved being seduced by that masculine and domineering man used to getting what he wanted. Max got some token resistance, which turned us both on.
I'm not being coy when I leave out the details of what happened after Max grabbed me in up his strong arms and kissed me. I just don't remember a lot through the alcoholic haze.
I DO remember the BEST kiss I'd ever experienced...
kissing Max back with equal passion after muttering honestly..."Never kissed a guy before"...
walking to Max's hotel, his arm around me... slowly undressing... admiring each other's hairy bodies... Touching HIM...
Then memory gets misty, with HOT flickers.
Max woke me up with toe curling kisses, followed by fantastic sex I DEFINITELY remember. Over breakfast, Max said he thought that taking a drunk straight man's ass-cherry would have been unfair, but that we'd done "everything else". I said that I loved "everything else". We returned to his room to repeat "everything else". Twice!
What my buddies and me had done hadn't been ANYTHING like "everything else", so Max HAD gotten his virgin.
Max was on leave, so we spent five nights together. I decided that the one thing Max and I hadn't done would be reserved for "the right man", which would NOT be a sailor who was leaving soon.
During that week, I was hired for that new job, so I went office clothes shopping with my new gay buddies!
After Max shipped out, I was in that bar about every other night. I found a way there of escaping my old life. A guy from "The Falcon" invited me to become his roommate. The 2 bedroom apartment was within walking distance of both my new office job and the bar, so I agreed. A new job and a Manhattan apartment equaled FREEDOM for Jimmy!
I never had to come out to my family. My dad and younger brother Sam helped me move. They met my effeminate roommate and saw his homoerotic paintings in our apartment. Over some beers while I unpacked, Dad quietly asked me "James, are you queer?"
"Yes, I'm GAY, Dad."
Sammy sputtered: "Gay? What about that girl you've been balling?"
I told them about the trick Kat tried to pull on me; how I wandered into a gay bar to drown my anger and ended up seduced by a hot sailor. Staring at the floor, I told them about teen sex with my buddies. Sam laughed: "So what? We all did that, then discovered girls, grew up and stopped."
"Sammy, I never WANTED to stop! I buried those feeling until senior year of college when I finally admitted my attraction for men. I just never had the balls to try to FIND a man until that night. Then I woke up with that sailor and had better sex than any I've ever had. I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I had to escape Brooklyn and become a gay adult. Pop, I'm sorry."
"Why? Because you need to be honest? Because you want to be proud of who you are? I may not understand it, and it may not be how I would want to live, but I was a sailor. Do you think I spent 6 years at sea without ever having had men make passes at me?"
We stared into each other's eyes. Suddenly I knew from the pain I saw there that Dad had said "yes" to many of them; had enjoyed himself, and missed it. Hugging my dad, I whispered in his ear, "I see the truth in your eyes, but Dad, that's the DEAD PAST, and none of my fucking business. I also know that you would never cheat on mom." He kissed my cheek. That ended the matter.
There was this popular bar game at "The Falcon": "Some Day My Prince Will Come". Each man would create a witty second line to go with the famous first line, often punning on "Come/Cum". The first night I played, the first guy punned: "With my bad luck, with some other stud!" The next joked: "And I'll be off visiting my Wicked Stepmother!" Then it was my turn. With everyone staring at me, I blurted out: "And he'll take me away from this DUMP on his White Horse into the sunset." I got a standing ovation!
The joke was this: it was the truth. I'm a born romantic. I wanted my Prince Charming.
I adjusted to being an office worker. I was assigned to a Working Group of executives, with "Line-workers" like me under them. The Working Group was split into smaller teams, each one made up of Line-workers and junior execs working under a senior exec. There were four smaller teams in our Group. Each team was assigned to a different aspect of the Working Group's Project.
I was thrilled on my first day to find that I had been assigned as the most junior Line-worker of the team working directly under Paul Smith, the senior exec who had interviewed me the second time and hired me.
The extremely handsome Paul now walked with a cane, with a brace on one leg. I learned that he had originally been in a wheelchair, and gone through lots of surgeries over the years. He had jet black hair with some distinguished grey around the temples. I found him very hot and sexy. Although inconvenient, I moved a big form holder on my desk so that I could gaze at him through his office door.
The junior execs began to realize that I was the hardest working Line-worker on the team, often coming in early to set things up, and that I was more reliable and industrious than the others in general. After three months, I was promoted, no longer on Paul's team. I kept my same desk, with my view of Paul's desk. When he worked with his shirt sleeves rolled up, I got to see how powerfully built Paul was.
Paul, the only other reader in the place, would occasionally join me for lunch to talk about whatever book I was reading. He gave me books to read so we could discuss them. I was becoming increasingly fascinated with him. I was going from a crush to strong attraction, and I had no idea of his sexual orientation.
The bar's softball team had always been the worse one in the Gay Bar League. The bartender discovered from talking to me that I'm a highly competitive athlete. The bar's owner, Carl, asked me to make the team winners: recruit younger members and start a training exercise program at a gym Carl co-owned.
Carl bribed me: "I'll give you free gym membership, and all the free beer you can drink. I'll give you a bonus if the team ends up in the playoffs, and a bigger one if we get to the league championships."
One of the regulars heard that and cackled. "Kid, you've got a snowball's chance in hell of creating a winning team out of the pathetic crew here."
"He's right, Carl. We need new blood. We can start getting gay jocks to hang out here by making The Falcon' THE Gay Sports Bar' for all of New York. There isn't one in the whole city."
"Business is so bad, I've considered closing, so that sounds good, but how?"
"Ready to invest a few thousand?" He nodded. "Put in two really large TV's high up on both back corners in that big buffet area in the back. Advertise in every gay publication `Gay Sports Bar Specials' for all major sporting events to be shown on cable TV. That should bring in the gay sports crowd. Get a load of assorted cheap small tables and chairs from thrift shops. Folding chairs, too."
"But face it, Carl: one look at this tacky dump, and as soon as the special's over, they'll run for the hills." Carl agreed. "We can make this a place where gay athletes will feel at home pretty cheaply." I gave him a half dozen suggestions and he loved them all. He paid me $500 just to come up with a design plan, select the paints and decorations, and then supervise the work.
The bartender lamely joked: "Maybe James' Prince will show up on his White Horse to carry him off - hell be a jock-ey`."
Giving him a friendly finger, I snapped back: "I'll settle for a pitcher with a great fast ball".
I was used to being teased about my "Prince Charming" one liner. I remained unusual because as a romantic I wasn't hunting for sex so much as I was looking for love. It was common knowledge in "The Falcon" that until I found HIM, that one thing Chief Max left virgin was being saved for "My Prince Charming". Which doesn't mean that my bed didn't see a lot of unqualified candidates for the position. I'm a romantic, not a saint!
My first suggestion to Carl was that we had to find a new logo design for the bar. Everyone agreed that the old art on the window looked like "a badly deformed pigeon exploding in flight". We needed a new, simpler "Falcon" to change the bar's image.
I spent my lunch hours working on designs. Most were easy, but with the logo, I was hampered by a lack of artistic talent. With pictures of falcons scattered around me, Paul came over to ask what I was doing. I explained my task.
Smiling, he took a piece of sketching paper. "Let me see what I can do."
With some quick, sure lines, he produced a large stylized profile of a Falcon, with a baseball above it's head like a crown or halo, and "The Falcon" underneath in an oval base. It all looked like it was carved into stone. "That's perfect!" I shouted.
He laughed. "Actually, it's the Egyptian sun god Ra, usually shown as a Falcon with the Sun as a crown, which I turned into a baseball. My mom's an archaeologist. I spent most of my childhood summers climbing around ancient Egyptian ruins. Mom always had me copying tomb inscriptions. I must have sketched THIS guy 1,000 times."
He smiled at me "You know something? Soon this brace comes off, and I'll be able to run for the first time in years. I'll be a normal adult man for the first time. Maybe I'll join your team." I stared at him in terror. "What's the matter, Jim? I'm only half serious. I've been waiting 20 years to become athletic again. I've been working really hard in physical therapy..."
"It's.. I just never thought of my private life and my work life mixing. You don't even know where the bar is, Paul."
"OK, where is it?"
"Amsterdam and 79th Street."
"I live on Riverside Drive, off 80th Street. I can already walk there without my cane. Maybe I should check this place out. Jimmy, I`m 39 years old and I've never hung out in a neighborhood bar."
"Uh, Paul, I'm not sure you'd be comfortable there."
"Why? Because I`m a CRIPPLE?" His voice got angry.
I whispered. "No, sir, because it's a gay bar."
He looked into my eyes, smiling. Suddenly, I noticed what beautiful green eyes he had. "James, I'd be VERY comfortable there. Do you think you're the only gay man in this company? I've noticed you checking men out. I've even noticed that I fall into the age range and type you prefer, and that you moved that form box over so that you could watch me in my office." He smirked at my blush. "I was quite complimented by that, by the way."
He put his hand on mine. "Jimmy, YOU happen to fall into the age and type of man that turns ME on. So I'll be there tonight, at 9 PM, to see how the owner likes MY sketch. Then I'm taking you out to dinner, OK?" He winked at me with a brilliant smile which left me breathless.
After he left, I broke out in a cold sweat. I had a date that night with a senior exec who I did not report to, so it's not a conflict of interest by company rules. I smiled. Before my promotion, I'd been supervised by Paul. Had he manipulated that promotion so that he could eventually ask me out?
A big, foolish grin split my face. Paul liked me! Paul had just asked me out!
At nine, Cal and I were sitting at the end of the bar. I'd told Carl I wanted the artist to show him his design for a bar logo. I beamed as I watched a grinning Paul limp toward us. Carl whispered "You didn't tell me he's your boyfriend!"
"He's not. He's one of my bosses at work."
"Oh? Then why are you staring at him like lust incarnate? While his grin at you looks like the Wolf ready to devour Little Red Riding Hood's humpy big brother?"
"You're crazy, Carl. I only found out he's gay this afternoon, when he asked me out to dinner."
"Did you accept?" I nodded. "Smart kid!"
After I introduced Paul and Carl, I handed the sketch to Carl. "This is great. I love this Egyptian style. It's real classy. This is perfect, guys." I noticed how his smile of pleasure at Carl's compliments made the skin next to Paul's smoldering emerald eyes crinkle in a sexy way. As we left for dinner, Carl mouthed "Prince Charming?" behind Paul's back. Winking at him, I shrugged.
Was Carl another romantic?
"Paul, may I ask you a personal question?"
"Jim, we`re on a date to get to know each other. I know a lot about you from your resume and interviewing you. So shoot."
"Everyone at work assumes that you were born with your... problems. But you told me you've waited 20 years to be athletic, and that you're 39. You mentioned crawling all over ruins as a child... "
Clutching the tablecloth, he spoke low, almost in a monotone: "When I was 18, a crazy man began shooting up my college campus. Ten people died, dozens were seriously wounded. A ricocheting bullet nicked my spine but didn't do permanent damage. He pumped five bullets into my legs, shattering bones to splinters. Then he killed himself. The surgery was for my legs. When my therapy is over, I'll be a normal adult man for the first time in my life."
Paul stared blankly at the tablecloth while he recalled his traumatic experience. As he looked up, his hard face melted. Tears flowed freely over my cheeks. I'd shoved a cloth napkin in my mouth to block my sobbing. Reaching over, he eased it out, then grabbed my hand. "Jim, you know that I really like you. In the last few weeks, I've gone from wanting to get into your pants to thinking about possibly..." He looked down, blushing. "But I have to honestly tell you that I've never had any kind of a relationship..."
"Paul, I finally came out the week after you interviewed me. Before that, I slept with women while thinking about men, so I've never had a relationship that wasn't about sex. You're the first man who's made me think that a serious relationship with a man I like is possible. Can I suggest good old fashioned dating? It will give us a chance get to know each other and see if our feelings are real; if we're interested in the real man, or just his hot body."
So we agreed to dating without sex until we BOTH felt ready, and to not visit each other's apartments, to avoid temptation.
Paul clutched my hand. "James, you're the first man who has ever wept openly for that 18 year old boy who got shot in the back. I may have just fallen in love with you, just for that." He gently kissed my palm. My heart skipped a beat.
We stood to leave. He sighed sadly, "I guess we shouldn't kiss on our first date?"
Running a hand over his cheek, I gently, lingeringly kissed him on his lips, whispering: "One kiss can't hurt." As I closed the door leaving the restaurant, I saw him pocket the napkin I had used to stifle my sobs. Was Paul another romantic?
Carl closed the bar for three days for the redecoration. Paul's logo went on the window and door. Paul also drew humorous Egyptian designs for the toilet doors.
Redecoration was done in time for the opening game of the football season, a great event for the "reopening". Carl put big ads with the new logo in every gay magazine and paper, and flyers hung all over town advertising the "Grand Reopening" of "The Falcon - The Gay Sports Bar". The event was a smash hit.
It was our first big public date. Carl brought a loveseat from home for us, marking it "Reserved". With all eyes on the Game, we began to make out, and got a bit carried away, unbuttoning each other's shirts, running fingers under them... Stopping ourselves, we learned that we had to be less passionate when kissing, to keep our long term goal in mind.
Alone in bed that night, I moaned: IS Paul my Prince?
Some of our dates were at "The Falcon", where we could kiss freely. To avoid frustration, we kept it "laid-back". At dinner dates in restaurants, public kissing opportunities were limited in 1975.
Most of our dates were almost daily lunches at work where we talked about our lives, dreams, hopes. We found a lot in common. Paul had ridden a Harley before the shooting, and hoped to ride again. We're both history buffs, and general sports fans. Paul was looking forward to replacing his "crippled car" with hand-brakes with a "real" car, very soon.
We tried to be discreet in the lunchroom, holding tables under the corner table while snuggling up together. We weren't fooling anyone. One of my gay co-workers who'd been actively flirting with me said: "Now I see why I couldn't get your attention. You're in love with THAT hunk! If I'd realized Paul was available, I'd have made a play for him, too."
"We got together by accident, and we're JUST dating." I grinned crookedly. "But I'm falling in love with him."
Paul told his bosses we were dating, so we could publicly hold hands. This also allowed my romantic Paul to send me 24 roses in an antique "Egyptian-deco" vase for my 24th birthday, at work. I rewarded him with kisses in his office, manhandling each other`s shirted upper bodies. I realized that I was definitely "ready"; I was eagerly waiting for hints that Paul was ready, too. I didn't want to push him. We had worked too hard.
At the bar, business boomed; the place always packed. Loads of men were interested in joining the team training. At our first session, thirty-two men showed up. Paul was serious about getting on the team, planning to join when his therapy ended.
Surprisingly, the new sports guys blended well with our old customers. Some of the young studs preferred mature men. The new men found "Some Day My Prince Will Come" funny, becoming highly competitive about finding funnier second lines, even creating two and three line additions. My "And take me away from this DUMP on his White Horse into the sunset" line remained popular. I still insisted that I'd settle for a pitcher with a killer fast ball.
I became more positive daily that Paul was My Prince.
I glanced up from my book to see Paul striding across the lunchroom. I shouted joyously: "No cane! No limp!"
He knelt, laughing, next to my chair. "I'm finished with therapy! I'm a normal adult man for the first time in my life! I needed to talk to you right away, sweetheart."
My heart melted. He'd never called me that before. "About what, hot stuff?" It was time to hint.
"Those DAMNED THINGS are gone. You know what 20 years of crutches and wheelchairs has done for my arms and chest from our kisses. I've worked on my legs ..."
"Paul, I need you to know that to me, you've always been a "normal adult man", and very special, but I'm not sure ...."
In his eagerness, he almost shouted: "James Harahan, I think it's finally time for us to have our serious date. The one where we test what we've been building."
I chuckled. "In other words, YOU can't wait any longer?" He nodded. I smirked. "Me neither. I've been waiting for you to be ready since my birthday, hot stuff."
"I'm MORE than ready. How about dinner, then we go to my place and see if we're..."
I smirked. "A REAL couple?" He nodded. "Oh, damn! I have a meeting with Carl. Met me at the bar at six?"
"It's a date, sweetheart. We'll climb into my new car and head to my place. We can order in..." he ran a finger down my cheek and neck, sending shivers down my spine. "...eventually." He got up and walked away effortlessly.
That afternoon, all I could think about was being in Paul's arms all night.
By six, my business with Carl was done.
Paul strode in the door, a commanding figure in his new suit which revealed how powerfully built he was. His face lit up when he saw me.
I stood.
Coming up to me wordlessly, Paul grabs me in his brawny arms, giving me a kiss which goes on for centuries of bliss.
Our kisses before then had avoided getting too passionate. This is an explosion of our mutual welled up desire! Our
tongues duel as my arms wrap around his powerful shoulders, clutching him as tightly as he is holding me. I'm
absentmindedly humming a tune. I cease to be conscious of the bar, even of gravity. I just know Paul's smell, feel,
taste. His hand explores my rear end; I know it belongs there. My hands explore his breathtaking body. Two loud
moans, becoming One...
Carl laughed, "Excuse me, guys, but I'd like to keep my liquor license? The law calls this a lewd entertainment..."
Pulling back while still in those strong arms, I looked into his flaming emerald eyes. My doubts vanished: Paul IS My Prince. I had not seen him naked yet, and I knew that didn't matter. I loved Paul, the person. Paul had made it possible for us to be together. Putting my hand on his cheek, I said: "I love you, Paul Smith. Totally."
He put his hand on mine. "That's good, because I adore you, James Harahan. I've been waiting so long for tonight." Turning my hand from his cheek over, he kissed my palm. Just like on our first date. "I just have one question: Why the HELL were you humming `Someday My Prince Will Come' while we were kissing?"
I laughed. "After many weeks of resisting it, I finally accepted that you truly ARE my Prince Charming. You have your new car?" I got comically dramatic. "Take me from this DUMP, my Prince. You have no idea the prize you claim tonight. I`ve been saving a Ruby of great value just for YOU, Oh My Beloved Prince!" I kissed his nose.
He got into my playful spirit. "Your carriage awaits outside. But what treasure do I claim, other than the ONLY one I ever wanted: your love?"
I whispered enticingly, "I'll tell you in bed."
At the door was his new car; a white Mustang. As we got in, I laughingly told him my famous one-liner about the song as we drove away. I stroked the familiar stolen napkin hanging from the rear-view mirror. "Our first date." I sighed.
"I DID fall in love with you that night you wept." Paul whispered. "I've loved you more every day since."
As he turned left, the sunset over New Jersey lit us, causing more merriment. My True Prince was taking me away from that "dump" in a white Mustang into the sunset to his Castle.. well, his apartment!
Eventually...
we ordered dinner at midnight.
Four months later, it became OUR apartment, and still is all these years later. Carl gave us matching Harleys as a "wedding gift". I knew Carl was a romantic!
How did our softball team do?
I recruited a strong team. I trained them HARD. We won the League Championship, then won the East Coast Gay Championship. We lost by one run to the West Coast Team, Seattle. Paul played every game as our "secret weapon", our super-pitcher whenever he tied a certain napkin around his neck. It turns out that my Prince Charming can also slam a fast ball like a pro.
ALL of my dreams come true!
Copyright 2010 - "Ike"
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author, who can be reached at oldtimer25@Gmail.com
5028 words, including the 29 words of the copyright declaration.