My whole life, I've had this unique gift- or curse as some would 
call it - that draws gorgeous straight guys to me.
I don't know why or how this happens, and I guess it doesn't really matter.
The important thing for you to know is that I've amassed a battalion of beautiful, athletic guys who are close to me. Many of these boys consider me their closest friend, perhaps because I have that sensitive gay gene that makes me a bit more considerate than their other testosterone-driven jock buddies and frat brothers.
But I honestly don't know the reason for this either.
I'm out to some of them, and cautiously closeted to others, and for the most part, I'm confident they're all straight. However, a few of these guys remain mysteries to me.
The "Gay or Straight?" series will explore this group of ambiguous men, and I will update each story as it develops over time.
My goal is to get past the mixed signals that these guys unconsciously throw out and determine once and for all who's straight and who's gay. Perhaps you can help me solve these puzzles.
Day 1
I met Gym Rat rather recently at my gym.
Of course I've noticed him in the weight room before.
He's cute, not smoking hot, but adorable in the way that a golden retriever puppy can be when he's gnawing on your shoe. He usually works out with a buddy, but the first day he's by himself, he walks over to me.
"Hey man, can you spot me?"
This is usually how it starts.
"Yeah, no problem."
I walk over and stand above him as he bench presses a couple hundred pounds. I'm impressed, and don't realize how close my legs are to his head.
After his set, I help him rack the bar.
His short blond hair brushes up against my knee.
Luckily, I keep my arousal in check . . . but I file away the moment for later.
He gets up and holds his hand out. After introductions, he finds out that I'm an attorney.
"Oh, man, I'd love to talk to you about that," he grins eagerly. Apparently, Gym Rat wants to get a law degree so he's more marketable to the FBI.
I give him some quick pointers, but turn back to my work out as soon as there's a break in conversation. After all, it's getting late, and it was a long day at work.
In any event, I figure that Gym Rat probably wants to start his next set.
I'm wrong. He stands next to my bench for another fifteen minutes. I learn that he's finishing up undergrad and lives in a frat house.
I try to keep my eyes focused on my own reflection in the mirror, but I fail miserably.
His gym shorts stop right at his knees, and whenever he moves, I see his meaty thighs bouncing beneath the cotton. It's very distracting, and my form suffers.
Eventually, Gym Rat leaves. Over the next couple weeks, however, I run into him a lot.
He always stops and talks my ear off.
Day 16
A couple weeks later, Gym Rat tells me that he wants to ask my advice about some stuff.
I agree to meet him for beers that night.
He shows up in an untucked button-down shirt and faded jeans, and his face is a little scruffy. He clearly hasn't shaved in a couple days.
Sexy. Definitely sexy tonight, not puppy-cute. I like this.
For the first time, I notice Gym Rat's eyes. They're dark blue, and he has fantastic eye contact for a 23-year-old.
For two hours, I give him my two-cents worth about law school, he tells me his professional goals, and we shoot the shit about life in general.
At the end of the night, he tells me that next time, he'll bring along some girl from his office who I'd like.
I tell him not to worry about it, and he never mentions her again.
Strangely, Gym Rat walks me to my car. It's a couple blocks out of the way from where he's going, and it catches me completely off guard.
Day 45
Gym Rat's work schedule changes, so we don't see each other at the gym for a few weeks. In fact, the next time I see him, it's not even in the weight room.
I'd received an invitation to an NCAA Basketball Championship Game watching party at a country club just outside the city. A corporation throws the extensively-catered, premium-booze-laden party every year for their clients, and somehow, I ended up on the invite list even though I only knew a couple people at the company.
I'd invited a buddy to go with me, but he backed out at the last minute.
So, as I'm driving to the country club, I call Gym Rat.
Gym Rat is thrilled and meets me there without hesitation.
Throughout the night, we stuff ourselves with crab legs, shrimp, beef and chicken kabobs, salmon, and my favorite - chocolate covered strawberries! I never see anyone I know from the company, and of course Gym Rat doesn't know anyone, so we just watch the game and get buzzed off the company's premium liquor.
It's a surreal experience, and I figure that it's about time to tell Gym Rat that I'm gay.
Unfortunately, right before I do, a ninety-year-old man sits down next to us.
He's the original founder of the company, and like us, is actually interested in watching the game; the majority of people there couldn't have cared less.
After the University of Florida wins the title for the second year in a row, Gym Rat and I walk out.
As we walk through the club's gardens, he tells me that he's going to meet a girl at his frat house that night. He's interested in her, but they haven't "done anything" yet.
My mind races on what I'd do to him in the frat house if I had the chance.
We abruptly reach our cars, and he stops awkwardly by my door.
"Matt, I really appreciate this. I had a blast."
"Yeah, me too, man."
He pauses, "Listen, you've gotta come to this party."
"What kinda' party? Like for your fraternity?"
"Uh, yeah, my 'house' is throwin' it."
I laugh. "There is no way-"
"No! It'll be awesome! It's at a bar downtown . . . there'll be older people there too. Lots of girls."
Ugh . . . I've got to tell him . . .
"Let's talk about it later. It's late, man."
"Alright, I'm gonna call you. You have to come."
Gym Rat and I go our separate ways, for that night.
DAY 55
A week after Gym Rat and I watch the NCAA finals together, I run into him at the gym again. He reminds me about the fraternity party. I tell him that I already have plans for Friday night, but will call him if I'm in his part of town.
On Friday, I grab dinner and beers at a sports bar with one of my straight buddies.
For some reason, straight land is dead, and my buddy wants to head home at around 12:30 a.m. His house is only a couple blocks away from Gym Rat's frat party, so I shoot Gym Rat a text message while we're driving.
"How's the party?"
I don't expect an answer, but Gym Rat's replies immediately.
"Awesome. R U coming?"
"I don't know. The line is long."
"It moves fast. I want u to come. Will meet u outside."
At this point, it's almost 1:00 a.m., and I'm ready to call it quits. But my straight buddy talks me into going. He's curious about Gym Rat's sexual preferences too, and thinks there's a 90% chance that the guy is gay.
So, I sack up and head down to the frat party.
Although Gym Rat swore that the bar would have a mixed crowd (i.e. people my age), when I walk in, I feel like the chaperon at a high school dance gone horribly wrong.
The alternative band is terrible. Drunk, eighteen-year-old girls are everywhere. Hot, straight frat boys are dancing with the teens and with each other in a make-shift mosh pit. Girls and boys with "X's" on their hands are all over the bar discreetly taking shots and sipping beers when the bartenders aren't looking.
I make a circle around the main bar behind the mosh pit and eventually plant myself in a corner.
It's only then that I send Gym Rat another text message.
"Behind the D.J."
I'm more sure than ever that this isn't my scene, and I hope that Gym Rat doesn't find me so I can jet before somebody asks me why I'm at their party.
Groups of twenty-one-year-olds are making out on the red velvet couches behind me. I feel like a complete jackass standing in front of them, but I'm not about to walk out into the mosh pit of young bodies. Besides, I can admire them much better from here.
Gym Rat eventually stumbles over with a slutty-looking nineteen-year-old girl with big boobs and long legs. He's obviously drunk, but really cute in his untucked, button-down shirt and faded jeans. He gives me a hug and introduces me to the girl, whose name I don't remember.
Like most hot girls, she takes center stage and demands our attention. She tells me how hard it is for underage people to get a drink at the party.
Well, what the hell do you expect? I think.
I figure that she'll go away, but she never does. In fact, she's really into me. She grabs my arm and shoulder and compliments me on my muscles. She begs me to dance with her in the mosh pit. When I refuse, she starts humping my leg right there in the corner.
I'm miserable. At this point, I just want to drink a beer with Gym Rat and head home.
When she steps away for a minute, I finally get to talk to him.
"She's a wild one," I say.
"Oh yeah. I think she wants to go home with you. Just wear protection. She's a little slutty."
"No thanks."
I scold myself again for not telling Gym Rat that I'm gay.
"I'm really glad you came, Matt. Let's do some shots!"
No way I'm doing shots.
But then he squeezes my shoulder.
"Alright, let's do em'," I say.
After three shots each, Gym Rat tells me about the girl he's interested in. She goes to school with him and plays hard to get.
I want to say, I'm not hard to get!
But, of course, I don't.
Drunk girl, seeing our shots, comes back and starts hanging on me again. Gym Rat whispers in my ear that I should buy her a shot and then offer to take her home.
It's that easy, huh? It's funny, now that I'm not interested in girls, they seem to be much more willing to jump in bed with me. Why is that?
I'm getting really frustrated now. It's time to tell him.
When drunk girl sneaks off to do a shot in the corner, I pull Gym Rat to a new corner.
I take a deep breath, unsure of how Gym Rat will react.
The three shots I just took give me liquid courage, and I say, "Listen, dude. I need to tell you something. I'm gay."
"What did you say?"
"I'm gay. I like guys."
Gym Rat pulls back and looks me in the eye. His face is emotionless, but he quickly blurts out, "Well, I'm straight."
"I know, man. I just wanted to tell you . . . that's why I'm not taking that chick home."
As if on cue, a cute blond girl runs up, grabs Gym Rat, and drags him into the mosh pit. I'm left standing there like a dumb ass.
I lose him in the crowd and begin to get bored.
Towards the end of the night, I head towards the door. Gym Rat catches me on the edge of the mosh pit. "Hey! Are you leaving?!"
"Yeah, I've got a long drive."
"You know I'm not gay, right?"
"Yeah, dude. Don't worry about it."
I say goodbye and head home, not expecting to hear from Gym Rat again.
But he calls me at 10:00 a.m. the next morning.
"Hey Matt, I just wanted to make sure you made it home alright. Crazy night, huh?"
"Yeah, it was wild. Did you take that blond girl home?"
"Naw, it didn't work out. Listen, I'm on the way to breakfast with some friends. I'll see you at the gym, o.k.?"
"Sure."
I hang up, still wondering whether or not Gym Rat is gay.
DAY 70
On a recent Saturday, I went to watch the Byron-Nelson professional golf tournament with a good buddy.
That morning, my buddy procured an extra ticket, so we both got on our cell phones and called everyone we knew to offer it out.
After going through my list of close friends, I thought I'd see if Gym Rat was in
terested in hanging out on the golf course all day.
I certainly wouldn't have minded seeing him all prepped out in a fitted polo shirt and shorts, and my buddy felt the same way.
Unfortunately, my call went straight to voice mail.
It was no surprise, though, considering that I called him at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday.
A PGA rule is that all cell phones must be turned off on the course during play.
When I walked on the course, I followed the rule and shut my phone down; consequently, I didn't get Gym Rat's voice mail until about 4:00 p.m. that afternoon. He said he was going to a sorority party with Raunchy Girl that night, and planned on getting tanked.
When I got back to the city, I called Gym Rat and jokingly told him to use protection with the girl. We both laughed, and he said he'd see me at the gym the following Monday.
That night, I went out to a relaxed sports bar with three of my straight friends. One of the guys was Travis, the first buddy I came out to.
Travis had never met Gym Rat, but he'd heard all of the stories and was convinced the guy was gay. The other two guys at the sports bar with us were curious about the mysterious Gym Rat, and pleaded with me to tell the story.
I relayed the facts in this blog entry to them, and they were all in disagreement about Gym Rat's sexuality.
Eventually, the conversation shifted to sports cars. Travis likes to race on the weekends, and he filled us in on the driving school he'd been to that morning.
After sitting at a picnic table on the pub's outdoor patio for two hours, we considered heading out.
It was early - only 11:30 p.m. - but I'd had a long day at the Byron and Travis was exhausted from racing his Z.
Then, to my surprise, I get a text message.
I casually flip open the phone and look at the colorful screen, expecting to see a message from BOB or some other gay buddy who wants me to come to gaytown.
But instead, the text is from Gym Rat.
I'm in shock when I click on "ok" and the following question pops up:
"I want you. You down?"
I unconsciously start smiling and lay the phone on the table for my buddies to see.
They all start laughing and talking shit about who'd predicted his sexuality correctly.
But I stop them.
"You know, he's out with Raunchy Girl. And I bet they're both wasted. He mighta told her I'm gay, and she's f*cking with me right now."
Everyone immediately calmed down and discussed the new theory.
They all had different suggestions on what I should do. I ended up texting back the following message:
"Are you serious?"
I hear nothing for quite a while, and I really want to send him another message, but my buddies convince me to play it cool.
Thirty minutes later, when I'm standing at the bar closing my tab, the phone rings.
It's Gym Rat.
"Hey!" He slurs, obviously drunk off his ass.
"What's up man?"
"Nothing."
There is a full five seconds of silence, which seems like an eternity.
"Are you drunk right now?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"Dude, I'm so wasted. We got really crazy."
"How did it go with Raunchy Girl?"
"Oh, we dropped her off at home," he replied.
"Why?"
"Man, I wasn't gonna hook up with her. She's been around too much."
I pause, not sure how to ask the next question.
"So . . . what was up with your text message?"
"What message?"
"The one you sent me a half-hour ago."
"I didn't send one. I was asleep on the party bus."
Is he serious? I wonder, now leaning toward the hypothesis that Raunchy Girl sent the text.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. What did it say?"
"You have no idea?"
"No, read it to me," Gym Rat replies.
At that exact moment, I think I hear a girl's laugh in the background. I'm about 40% sure that the laugh came from Gym Rat's end of the phone, 30% sure that it came from the bar I was in, and 30% sure that I imagined the whole thing.
Regardless, I tell Gym Rat that he should check his outbox instead.
Gym Rat tells me two more times how drunk he is.
I reply that he should catch a ride down to the bar to meet me and my buddies.
Before he responds, he drops the phone. I hear some scrambling, and Gym Rat says that he has to go.
I don't even get a chance to say goodbye before I hear his dial tone on the other end of the line.
Completely confused now, I close my phone and rejoin my friends at the table.
I didn't hear from Gym Rat again that night.
DAY 89
After the infamous text message, my friends became impatient, harassing me daily for updated feedback on Gym Rat's activities and communication.
Unfortunately, Gym Rat fell off the face of the earth for a couple weeks.
I didn't see him at the gym, and I didn't hear from him.
Each day, I wondered what he was thinking, and if he'd really sent the text message, or if he'd been put up to it by Raunchy Girl.
I hoped that Gym Rat had sent it.
I fantasized about kissing Gym Rat for the first time, about pulling his t-shirt over the top of his blonde head and running my hands down his curvy arms and around his tight back.
Even more so, I looked forward to speaking with him openly about my own straight-to-gay journey and hearing some of the struggles he'd been facing.
Of course, I knew that dating him would be an absolute disaster. First of all, if he was indeed gay, he was closeted to the entire world.
And he'd probably never been with a guy before.
I figured that it'd be fun at first to try to date him, but would lead to drama down the road.
Brian reminded me of a couple of his rules, which I'd definitely break if I tried to date Gym Rat: Brian's Rule # 48 - Only date guys within five years of your age; and Brian's Rule # 50 - Don't date someone closeted or recently out of the closet.
BOB, whose opinion was, of course, on the opposite side of the coin, told me that I needed to get Gym Rat drunk so that I could help him get over his anxiety, and then "get crazy" with him.
I reminded my buddies that they were getting way ahead of themselves. I didn't even know for sure that Gym Rat was gay.
Thus, I put my friends' advice on hold, and waited impatiently to see what Gym Rat's next move would be.
Eventually, I figured that, straight or secretly gay, Gym Rat was probably embarrassed about the text message, and would probably wait for me to make the first contact.
So I did.
I sent him a text message:
"How's it going, man?"
And I received an instant response, "Leavin for my internship in D.C. in 2 days."
Oh shit!
"Good luck! When do you get back?"
"Early Sept."
Then, to my surprise, Gym Rat invites me to a farewell dinner that one of his buddies is throwing for him at a popular Mexican restaurant. The dinner is that night.
I throw on my favorite polo shirt, which screams "All-American straight guy," but is just tight enough around the biceps to draw looks from women and gay men when I wear it.
I decide to wait to join Gym Rat's group until after dinner, as I dread sitting with a dozen strangers for a long, drawn out evening, especially because I don't know what Gym Rat is thinking at this point.
Is he going to introduce me as the "fag" that he's friends with? Has he told his friends that I'm some kind of stalker? Has he told them some lie to try to explain who I am, and I'm going to have to play along with it tonight?
Regardless, I take my time getting there, and show up after dinner has been cleared from the table. I walk up to the table, where Gym Rat, five of his closest friends, and a handful of young girls are throwing down beers and margharitas. All of Gym Rat's male buds are good looking, and a couple of them are really handsome, but none of them throw off even the slightest of gay vibes.
Raunchy Girl is no where in site.
Instead, on Gym Rat's arm is a smoking hot brunette who couldn't have been over twenty-years old.
When I walk up, Gym Rat clears a spot next to him and motions for me to sit down.
It is at that point that I realize I'm the oldest person at the table by at least five years. I feel like an ass, but try not to let it bother me.
Gym Rat's buds are all really cool guys, even if they're still living out the glory of their high school days. The girls, including Gym Rat's sidepiece, are complete duds, who just sit there listening to the guys talk about their partying escapades. Gym Rat puts his hand on his girl's leg a couple times, but otherwise, he pretty much ignores her. She seems bored, and offers nothing to the group beyond a pretty smile and slender legs.
There is no awkwardness at the table, and I figure that Gym Rat hasn't pegged me as a stalker or made up some wild story about who I am, immature stuff that I might've done when I was his age to make sure my friends didn't suspect I was gay.
To his credit, Gym Rat seemed really laid back about everything. It gave me the feeling that, after all this speculation, he might be straight after all.
But I wasn't entirely convinced, and I wanted to get Gym Rat alone for a few minutes to talk with him about the infamous text message.
But it never happened.
Gym Rat went to a house party with his long-legged armpiece that night, and left for Washington D.C. a couple days later.
He returns in mid-August, where I'll hopefully pick up this story again.
DAY 156
Gym Rat called me today. He was driving back from his internship in D.C.
He's bringing some guy home that he met at the internship, and the guy is going to hang out in our city for a week "and get crazy," according to Gym Rat.
It struck me as a little weird that Gym Rat would bring some random dude home from his internship, but at this point, Gym Rat is completely baffling me.
He told me that he is "looking forward to seeing me next week," and wants to check out my new condo in downtown.
He wants to grab some drinks soon.
Hopefully, I'll be able to end this story once and for all, and will be able to tell you which way Gym Rat swings.
I predict that he's gay.
DAY 222
Gym Rat met a girl while he was interning in D.C. this summer.
This girl, who I'll call "Okie," lives several hours away from our city, and she came to see Gym Rat last weekend.
Gym Rat did not have a romantic weekend planned for Okie. Instead, when she rolled into town, he had no idea what to do. No dinner plans. No plans to catch a play or a baseball game.
On Friday night, Gym Rat worked late while Okie watched television, and when he finally got home from work at 8:00 p.m., the young couple grabbed food at Sonic and then went to a bar and got drunk.
Then, on Saturday, Gym Rat wanted me to meet Okie, so I told him to bring her over to my pool to hang out with my friend, Heather, and I.
Heather asked me why Gym Rat would want to spend four or five hours out of his brief weekend with Okie at a pool with his gay friend.
I didn't have an answer for her.
Needless to say, Heather and I were both very anxious to see how Gym Rat interacted with Okie.
Gym Rat arrived at my pool at 1:00 p.m. with his cute blonde girlfriend in tow. After the awkward introductions, we grabbed some chairs, oiled up, and baked in the hot sun.
The next three hours went by fairly quickly, and I honestly can't remember what in the hell we talked about. But what I can remember is my impression of Gym Rat's chemistry with Okie.
Gym Rat referred to her as his "girlfriend" at least 10 times, but he never once touched her.
I mean, he didn't put lotion on her, he didn't hug her or kiss her, he didn't horse around with her in the pool . . . nothing.
At one point, Gym Rat and I got into the hot tub while the girls stayed back on the deck.
I used the opportunity to ask him about Okie.
What I got were vague descriptions of their relationship, like "she's great," and "she keeps me in line." He admitted that the distance was going to take a toll. I agreed, but gave him as much encouragement as I could muster.
Gym Rat and Okie left at around 4:00 p.m., but my friend Heather stuck around.
I asked Heather what her impression was.
She predicted that Gym Rat is gay. If I remember correctly, she gave it a 75% chance.
Alas, this story will be continued . . .
DAY 287
Out of the blue, I heard from Gym Rat last weekend.
I was at the Bob Schneider concert at House of Blues with my friends Brian and Heather, and I got a text message:
"Hey man, coming to Dallas."
"Cool. At House of Blues. Awesome concert!"
"U should come meet us."
"Where u going?"
"Corner Bar - uptown."
"Doubt we can make it, but we'll try."
"U should def come man - would be good to see u."
"Will try," I replied.
Of course, after the texting stopped, Brian and I discussed the situation.
"Dude, he's gotta be gay," I said.
"I think he's definitely gay, but may not completely know it yet. He's a mystery. But why would he keep text messaging a guy who he knows is gay, and he doesn't really have a past history of friendship with? It's weird," Brian replied.
We decided to stop by to see Gym Rat after the concert.
When we got to the bar, Gym Rat was on the front patio with a couple of frat guys. Brian and I circled around them and went to the inside bar to grab drinks.
I texted him:
"We're here. By the bar."
No response.
Brian and I decided to wait for him inside.
"By the dance floor," I text.
Still no response.
Eventually, Gym Rat texts me and says that his buddies want to leave, and that he has to go immediately.
It was completely strange, but not surprising.
Consequently, this story will be continued . . .
The WBC pickets the funerals and other events to spread its message that anyone who supports homosexuality will burn in hell.
I haven't been to the Big Apple since my last date with "
I found a great parking spot and began my quest to find the hidden gay oasis in the desert of straight testostirone-driven Morgantown. 
I took off my jeans and climbed onto the bed. 
I was watching The Hour--a some kind of interview-talk show. George, the host gave news that a Baptist Church clearly stated that Heath Ledger "is in hell now" because, one of the reasons, he starred in Brokeback Mountain. After watching that i was agitated. i really believe that if you go to hell or not depends on your relationship with God and how you are as a person. Seriously, that BS church (or whomever stated that)frustrates me. Don't they believe that our sins are FORGIVEN? I'm confused about why they are so sure that Heath Ledger would have total damnation when they have no freakin idea of what a kind of person he was. They are utterly judgmental! Sure, Heath promoted homosexuality, but who the frik are they to decide and say who's going to hell or not? I'm sorry if this is a bad place for me to post this. I really don't know any other places to post this at. I just needed to let this out. Sorry. I just pray that Heath Ledger can rest in peace.