Date: Sat, 28 Aug 2010 00:26:09 -0400
From: Ike <oldtimer25@gmail.com>
Subject: The Night I Found My Prince

"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 - he`ll 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.