It took me right back to my school days and the overpowering scent of cheap deodorant, sweat and hormones that filled the changing room after a sports lesson. That smell was like the whiff of scented roses to a sexually charged, pubescent teenager years before his first gay sex experience.

Getting changed at the swimming pool or gym is pretty good for a fix of Straight Man perfume too.

I’ve lately developed a real thing for straight men; specifically your stereotypical bloke: sport loving, pub-dwelling, Top Gear watching, gadget buying, plain dressing, bad joke telling, un-hip, straightforward, unreconstructed and kind of dull… Yep, they do it for me.

I don’t know how this particular fetish came about, but I have often fantasized about gay sex with a guy like this. He’d have to be older – in his 30′s – plain in every sense and none of this devotion to working out and body obsession. No, he’d still be in reasonably good shape from playing football with his mates occasionally at weekends and you’d be able to tell he was quite athletic in his younger days, but you’d want him to be authentic straight, so signs of a few too many beers and pies appearing around his waist – love handles, man!

This guy would be above-average looking, a bit crumpled around the edges, but his former, youthful handsomeness still intact behind his stubble, dark rings and pastiness.

My straight gay sex fantasy man might be stuck in a boring marriage, frustrated and getting his kicks from ladyboy internet porn now that his sex life has dried up. He’s also turned to boyish pursuits – computer games etc. – in order to escape his current rut.

His only gay sex experience thus far is confined to mutual hand jobs behind the bike shed and he’s never done anything particularly adventurous in the bedroom – his wife strictly missionary – but he’s always been curious about what it would be like to get fucked.

This is where I come in and show my straight bloke just what he’s been missing, saving him from a lifetime of sexual repression. I would take him on an amazing gay sex adventure, expanding his whole horizon while I, in return, get that sweet scent on my pillow – a pungent mix of naff cologne, shaving foam, sweat and something else… ah, yes: adultery.

At one point having a homo sibling seemed like the latest must-have and I admit to leaving the odd gay mag or two at my brother’s house, hoping it might convert him.

I have my suspicions about Rich’s brother who is straight as far as their family is concerned, and has never dropped any hints, but my gaydar seems to be picking something up.

Anthony split up with his long-term girlfriend nearly two years ago and there’s been no hint of a new relationship since then as far as I know. He travels all over the country for his job, so is away a lot and could be getting up to all sorts – always struck me as a dark horse: very private; plays his cards very close.

He stayed over at our place last weekend. I tend to get up before Rich and was surprised on Sunday morning by Anthony wearing nothing but his tighty whities – and looking pretty good! He seemed totally unfazed about running into me while he  was so exposed and was determined to strike up a conversation. I did that thing of so obviously trying not to eye him up that the walls suddenly seemed so fascinating.

It’s not the first time that Anthony has sprung his near nakedness upon me and I’ve got a pretty clear mental image of his body now, all bar his dick – it’s so hard, when Rich and his brother share a lot of physical similarities, not to wonder just how similar they are in that department!

I do get this feeling that Rich’s brother is putting on a display for my benefit, enjoying an approving pair of eyes on his body, whether conscious or not. Of course, even if he is, it doesn’t mean he’s gay, but there are other bells ringing and Rich has commented that Anthony isn’t normally such an exhibitionist. Or maybe my gaydar is all out of whack…

I have brought the subject up with Rich, who is adamant that Anthony is not gay – he’s had several girlfriends okay. Rich even went as far as to say his family couldn’t cope with another fag in their midst, even though they’ve been mostly fine about him. Which raises an interesting question: in how many cases is one gay son fine, but two cause for family therapy?

A gay friend I’ve since lost contact with was in the closest to his family for most of the time i knew him. Which seemed really strange at the time when his younger brother was happily out to them and had received no negative reaction. My friend again reasoned that with only two children his parents would freak if both turned out to be cock fans.

I think there’s lots of reasons for this, cutting off the grandchildren supply being a big one. It also brings questions about upbringing more into focus – is it something they did? etc.

Personally I have no problem whatsoever with gay brothers, especially identical twins with blond hair, blue eyes, slim, athletic build…

By pure chance I stumbled across pictures of an ex-colleague posing and loving himself on a porn website, then recognised a gay musician and minor, local celeb, on another. (At this stage I would like to point out that I don’t spend all my time surfing for porn).

Then there were those two wrestlers from Nebraska who got kicked of their university team for doing gay porn and getting found out. I see their motive as being different, though, and more about the money. As far as anyone knows, they’re both straight.

So, what’s going on with all these gay men doing porn on the side? The guy I used to work with, I believe, is still in a very well paid job, so he can’t be doing it just to pay the bills. He was always very into his body and, I suspect, it’s more about the need to compete and to induce a bit of peer envy. Plain old showing off, basically – there’s plenty of local guys who’ve had a private performance; now he wants to take his one-man show to a global audience. And fair enough.

I blame all this online social networking, people creating ever more in-depth and information-filled personal profiles, bombarding the web with images of them, them and more of them, and shouting to the world in under 140 characters what it’s like to take a shit. We’re turning into such exhibitionists – whatever happened to a bit of mystery and reserve?

Of course, lots of gay guys have been uploading naughty pics of themselves for years, on sites like Gaydar, for anyone who cares to look, so the leap into the big league isn’t so big, it’s just adding a bit of gloss and better lighting. But is it progress if more and more guys break out into the big-time? I thought coming out was enough to demonstrate to the world my gayness and I really don’t think I need to provide visual proof.

Then there’s the danger of a class system developing among gay men: those who have the body and measurements to pose for pictures or have gay sex for the camera, and those who don’t have a fist-full of dollars waved at them.

I’m starting to wonder who I’m going to come across next wearing nothing more than a grin and an erection. I really don’t need to see my old English teacher shaking his subtext at me.

Actually, I might have played a part. You see, Andy, until very recently, was one of those gay guys who just couldn’t see the point of online socialising and found the idea of putting up a personal profile a bit strange, preferring to meet guys for sex/dating/a pint of lager the old fashioned way. And that’s fair enough.

One of the things about Andy is that he’s very argumentative, not in a harsh way, he just likes to debate – yes, he’s a master debater. So, if I’m with Andy and I have a different opinion about something I better be prepared to defend it. The whole topic of using gay dating sites came up again a few months back. I’ve not used one for a while, for obvious reasons, but found myself staunchly defending them against Andy’s negative picking. Then we got a bit drunk and thought it would be funny to create a fake profile of a hot 18 year old. Well, we’d barely uploaded it and the messages were coming in thick and fast: “got any pics?”, “hey sexy!”, “wanna chat?”; that sort of thing. I think Andy found the whole experiment quite an eye opener.

Andy promised he would delete the profile after I went home, but he later admitted, sheepishly, that he was actually using this fake profile to chat to other men under the guise of a sexy 18 year old! He did delete it after this and created a genuine profile. After that, I saw Andy less and less – staying in and going online became his new going out. I knew it was becoming a problem when he owned up to calling in sick to work one day because all he wanted to do was browse guys online. Then I found out he had more than one profile, different ones for different moods. Andy was becoming an addict.

In fact, Andy came to me for help, realising his internet cruising was crossing into obsessive behaviour. He wasn’t even meeting up with most of the guys he chatted to, let alone having gay sex, it all seemed to be about the thrill of the chase. I suggested that he restrict himself to something like an hour a day. This didn’t work because he’d get chatting, then lose track of time or walk away, but stay logged in, so that the messages would ping into his inbox and he’d be straight back on.

He agreed to go cold turkey last week. I knew he’d find it difficult and I’ve had to text encouraging words every so often, but then last night’s desperate phone call. The relationship between Andy and his computer was getting to surreal levels, like the treacherous computer, HAL, in 2001: A Space Odyssey. He couldn’t answer me why the computer was on at all, as if it now had independent control of itself. He had gone to bed, but the sound of messages pinging into his inbox was calling him. I managed to convince him to pull the plug and go to sleep.

I can appreciate how easy it is to get sucked into gay personals sites and waste hours surfing without noticing it, but my experience is more about getting into a habit rather than a genuine addiction; I was always able to walk away at the end of the day. I do remember the buzz of someone new and hot and the exciting sound announcing the arrival of a new personal message. The faces of those permanent, online fixtures become kind of reassuringly familiar, even though you’d never chat to them as they’re clearly desperate, always logged in… and, of course, with the good comes the bad: “Why hasn’t he replied to my last message? We seemed to be getting on so well. Maybe he didn’t take my ‘best ever film’ appraisal of Kermit: The Swamp Years as ironic”.

So, the paranoia creeps in, as does the disappointment, the rejection, and the disillusionment, to the point were you wonder why you would put yourself through it all in the privacy of your own home. But then again I’ve met some really nice people online – and had the odd decent shag along the way – so it’s all swings and roundabouts. Not for my friend Andy, though. Don’t know what to do about that one. I wish he could take some words of advice from HAL: “Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.”

To say I was involved in a fight would be exaggerating, but the threat of violence was real and so was the adrenaline pumping through my body. It all happened while I was food shopping at my local supermarket. I was a little distracted, ticking items off a mental list and thinking up recipe ideas when a guy, taller and bigger built than myself, came marching at me on my side of the aisle, his basket flailing as he bore down on me. He clearly expected me to somersault backwards into the shelves of vegetables and clear his path. I didn’t move and, in fact, as he knocked past me at speed, clearly unhappy at having to swerve slightly, I might have held my shopping basket out a bit further than necessary, but I’m not admitting to anything.

Just after the point when our baskets clashed and kind of locked, causing this big guy to stumble slightly, that’s when it all kicked off. I quickly realised this was a man who wasn’t going to let it go. He squared right up to me, inches from my face and started to make silly threats and insults in a gruff, slightly raised voiced. His face was bright red and, while he seemed to be putting a lot of effort into keeping his words controlled and even-pitched, his trembling body and clenched fists suggested that he really wanted to pummel me.

In one of those almost out-of-body moments when you seem to be watching yourself react, I responded calmly, but defended myself verbally. My adrenaline was fired to the max. I can’t even remember much of what was said. I do remember him jabbing me hard in the shoulder, however, and my unthinking response, which was to shove him backwards by pushing his chest – it was a very firm chest; big, hard pecs. Everything seemed to go slow motion after that and I could see that meaty fist of his positioning itself, getting ready to strike, at the same time as a security guard’s voice broke the air and the blur of his uniform appeared in my line of sight. My supermarket nemesis dropped his fist and backed off. For the first time I noticed the impressive bulge in his tracksuit bottoms.

The security guy gave us both a warning and sent us off in separate directions. He stuck to me, limpet like, for the rest of my shop. The adrenaline was still there, but easing off slightly, and I started to appreciate what a close call it had been. I also felt pretty macho – it might have been ugly, but this is how real men settle disputes, isn’t it? Well, truthfully, real men would probably fight with shopping trolleys filled with beer and steaks, not small baskets containing mange tout and porcini mushrooms, and they wouldn’t be squaring up in the organic veg section.

I managed to avoid running into the guy again, but while I was queuing for the checkout, he was waiting at another and I got in a few glances under the still watchful eye of the security guard. In a different light and no longer with a red, angry face, my opponent wasn’t bad looking. In fact, I would say he was kind of hot: tall, muscular and cheek-boned. His sportswear hugged his gym-toned body very nicely. In other circumstances I can easily imagine buying this guy drinks and taking him home to fuck. And afterwards, when all the adrenaline had stopped surging and I was back home, I found the whole experience a bit of a turn on! I mean, I did get to feel the fella up a bit and what other way is there, without having gay sex, to stir up such strong feelings between two men and use up excess hormones?

This experience highlights what a powerful thing testosterone is; all those guys walking around, pumped up and looking for a release. It now makes sense to me that some straight guys fight so they don’t fuck; I just wish it were the other way around.

I never made it onto that list and I don’t think there was ever any danger of it happening; for some reason, he just wasn’t that into me. I was about 19 at the time. If I met him know I wouldn’t idolise him, I’d think, “what a big gay whore” for sleeping with half the gay men in town (plus the same number of straight).

More recently I have a new gay sex idol. No, ‘idol’ is the wrong word, but this guy has my respect just for the sheer audacity of his sexual conquests – the first guy was all about numbers; this guy is just ballsy.

I’ve never actually met him. No that’s not true, I met him for the first time on Tuesday. But prior to that, all the anecdotes and stories about his sex life came to me via a mutual friend, Alison. She is one of the least discreet people I know and a great source of gossip! We meet up regularly for coffee and play a game whereby we compete with each other to have the most sordid or outrageous tale to tell – Alison usually wins.

I used to work with Alison; then she worked with Andy; then he left to become a plumber. It was when the two of them worked together that I started to hear about, and enjoy, the gay sex adventures of Andy, second hand from Alison. There was the time he picked up a closeted farmer at a gay club and disappeared to the countryside for a weekend of hay rolling; the time he cruised a doctor on the beach, fucked him so loose that he finished off with a swift arm up the guy’s butt. There was the birthday when he got bang-banged for a present; all the married men he fucked (and the occasional wife), not to mention his dick, which Alison assured me was the size of two coke cans on end!

So when I had to call out a plumber on Tuesday because of a leaking toilet, I was kind of taken aback when Andy turned up on my doorstep. I knew it was him because of photos I’d seen. Shit, this was gonna be awkward.

You should never meet your idols; they turn out to be nothing like you imagined, and after years of visualising Andy’s kinky goings-on, I had painted quite a picture. He turned out to be weirdly normal. If I hadn’t heard stories about him I wouldn’t necessarily have guessed he was gay – very straight acting. He was polite, quietly spoken, unassuming and kind of average looking, up close. I thought I was going to get away with anonymity, but he asked the right questions and put two and two together – I’m not naive enough to think that Alison’s gossiping is a one-way street!

So, there we were, in the bathroom, two hot-blooded, young homosexuals, both knowing intimate details about each other’s sex life and how the other one likes it. I showed him the problem and he carried on speaking, so I stayed. I couldn’t resist a sneaky glance over his body while he crouched down over the toilet, his slim lower back showing and tools protruding from places – two coke cans ‘ey?

He asked me to hold a screwdriver in place while he tinkered about. I hovered low and he leaned in close; we were practically touching cheek; he looked at me briefly and the silence and drip-drip made it all so erotic. When he asked me to tighten the ball-cock I nearly got an erection.

He took the screwdriver back and I left him to it; that was quite enough excitement for one afternoon. I made him a cup of tea and resisted asking if he wanted ‘one lump or two’. Wait ’till I tell Alison about this little encounter – I think she’ll be buying the coffee next time we meet.

The night came and I met my friend and all the other guys for drinks before the meal to help break the ice. It was a real mix of guys and us band of merry homos made our way to the restaurant. It’s always a worry when sitting down for a meal with a bunch of strangers that you might end up sandwiched for two hours between Tweedledum and Tweedledull, but I faired pretty well, sitting close enough to my friend to me able to talk to him and framed by a couple of nice guys. We all joked about being part of an ‘experiment’ and that none of us knew what to expect.

It felt different being out without Rich and kind of like being single again what with chatting to loads of available strangers, some of them, I’m guessing, just looking to expand their social network, while others were clearly on a mission to get laid. One guy in particular appeared to be so on heat that I was tempted to throw a jug of water at him – he was a walking hard-on, at one point literally fucking the table!

The thing that made me laugh was that this young guy – 22, I think – was so dumb, with a childlike bewilderment and curiosity that crossed over into annoying, asking random questions all the time and displaying a lack of knowledge about most things. He would also make blunt, personal comments to people at the table, not in a malicious way, but in the way a kid would do. My friend looked increasingly embarrassed by this guy’s behavior and it bought disapproving and condescending looks from the guys around him, the same guys who would later be desperately trying to bag him on the dancefloor – that’s the bit that makes me laugh.

This 22 year old himbo made no secret of the fact that he has a lot of gay sex and frequently chases several guys in one night. He oozed sex, from the way he was dressed; the innuendo he made; the frequent body contact, winking and making eyes, and ultimately the dirty dancing show he gave us on the dancefloor, flirting with men, women, anybody who’d pay him attention, and playing the guys in our group off against one another.

The reason I mention this guy is that this sex-on-a-plate vibe is kind of the opposite feeling you have when in a long-term relationship, where it’s comfortable and you don’t strive to impress anymore, your sexuality becoming defined between yourself and one other person. I’m not saying that sharing intimacy with only one person is a bad thing, but I think you can loose something that’s an important part of being gay, and that’s your sexuality, as opposed to your Sexuality with a capital ‘S’. I’m talking about flirting!

I think being gay puts you in a unique position of being able to have that subtle sexual frisson with people of both sexes, having an extra something in your relationship and communication with them that can be appealing, that blurs the boundaries and provides more possibilities. The odd bit of harmless flirtation can make you feel more in tune with yourself and definitely put a smile on your face. I was certainly smiling a lot on Friday night.

I first met Adam through work a couple of years ago and initially assumed he was gay – fortunately I never tried anything, deciding he was a wee bit too feminine for my taste. Even when he came out of the closet, it took me ages to believe he could ever be man enough to pin a girl down and give her a good seeing to (actually, I suspect he never gets far off his back, while they do all the work).

Adam is a really lovely guy; funny; kind; sincere; good looking too, and, okay, I have thought about it, but aren’t we supposed to be the sensitive ones who spend more money on our hair than we do on bills? I always feel sorry for Adam because he has real trouble convincing girls he isn’t gay – as far as I can tell, it’s a myth that women like a man to be in touch with his feminine side, preferring a good old-fashioned chauvinist shit. Sometimes they go for it and he’s been with his current girlfriend a while now, although I really do have trouble imagining Adam having sex with anything girlier than himself – maybe he compensates by having a huge cock.

So what makes Adam so ‘gay’? Well he doesn’t have a hair on him below the neck, which he claims is natural; his clothes are carefully considered to create a very specific look; his elaborate hairstyle looks like it requires a can of hairspray a day and never moves an inch; he has very effete mannerisms and a kind of shy, reserved quality – when we’ve been out together in the past, I actually look like the straight one, not even his boyfriend.

It would be interesting to know how Adam sees himself and if he’s had to grow up facing the same prejudice that a gay person faces. There’s certainly the argument that if Adam were gay he might as well just be honest, because it would be no great surprise. It also raises the question: is the common conception of what is ‘gay’ more about how you look than who you fook and can I label Adam as gay, even though he’s heterosexual, because if something looks, acts and sounds like a kettle, then surely it is a kettle?