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He can sense the change in my demeanor.
“Thanks,” he responds with a proud smile on his face.
“Did you train every day?” I ask. I need to know what the competition does to stay on their game.
“For the last month. Before that, I was slacking a little bit,” Isaac tells me.
“What? Only going to the gym five times a week?” I laugh.
“Sometimes only three!” Isaac admits.
“Well, I’ll catch you at the gym. Good job again. I can see you making quite the impression,” I support him.
“I think I’m going to go get drunk out,” Isaac declares and happily makes his way out of the fire station.
As Isaac turns away, I realize the amount of detail and focus I put into another man’s body. What makes Isaac so special to me? I think of him as a brother, at least that’s what I told myself.
I try to make sense of the whole thing in my brain. Do I like Isaac’s body in a sexual way, or do I just appreciate it for the work of art it is? What straight man calls another man’s body a work of art?
I can’t possibly like his body sexually, right?
The stress bottles up inside of me, and I feel relief when I can go home and drink my anxiety away.
As I pick up a bottle of whiskey at the liquor store, I look at the other guys to see if I think of them as “hot”. However, I get nervous that I can’t hide my glare, and someone might fight me (not that I couldn’t take them).
When I get home, I order a burger and fries from a local diner and put on an action movie. Maybe some explosions and car chases will restore my testosterone.
I pour drink after drink until the movie starts to get a bit hazy. In fact, I think I can picture Isaac in the camouflage outfit the main character wears.
When I realize my thoughts, I quickly finish my drink and go to bed. I clearly can’t think straight.
