Following The Forearm

You know how there are certain things about a person that immediately draws your attention, that turns you on, like his dimples, or his broad shoulders or the big, fat bulge of his wallet? For me, it's a man's arms. Nothing turns me on more than a man with muscular biceps and sinewy forearms. It makes me think of all the things he can do with the unassembled cabinets that need to be hung in my kitchen.

This fascination with men's arms has gotten me into trouble more times than I can count. I remember once at the gym, this massive, muscular guy with no neck, who was bench pressing eight 45 lb plates, asked me for help. For the next seven minutes, I helped him calculate the total weight of the eight plates. In my defense, I was so mesmerized by how close I was standing to the guy to think about using my cellphone's calculator that I had in my gym shorts.

I feel the way about biceps the way straight men feel about boobs except that I can masturbate to my own biceps. But I like to masturbate to someone else's because it's not that easy to sneak out of your own bicep after you get off. I could also probably try to give myself a blowjob. I think I am limber enough, but I have a moral aversion to eating my own meat and swallowing my own jizz. I mean, I dunno, isn't that cannibalism?

Then there's the highway, a veritable minefield of danger. Construction crews can be very very distracting, especially in the summer where they are working shirtless, all rough and sweaty. I feel like stopping and asking if they were doing anything after their shift. Those kitchen cabinets are not gonna install themselves.

And there are those times when you see a beefy, bronzed forearm hanging out of a car window and you want to get a glimpse of its owner. You drive in breakneck speed to catch up. Once, I missed my exit and had to drive back another thirty minutes, all just to see if the guy attached to the arm is attractive. He was. I just wished he wasn't also an undercover cop. The tailgating ticket wasn't so attractive.

And have you ever had a maddening flirtation where you inch up slowly to a car in heavy traffic, trying to catch the eye of the cute guy in the next car and he looks at you and he drives away? It's sooo frustrating. I just wish these guys wouldn't be so coy.

Who am I kidding? I don't need to see a guy's forearm to start following them on the highway. I'd do it even if all you had was a bumper sticker that says "I HAVE A BIG COCK."

Ahh, those bumper stickers. I remember how exciting it was when I first came out of the closet in the nineties with all the gays being all proud and shit. Everybody had some kind of symbol on their car to proclaim their gayness. There was the rainbow flag, the pink triangle, the Mazda Miata emblem. Nowadays, gay guys aren't as proud anymore. We're just very, very smug. And we're also harder to find on the road. We've diversified. We drive big, powerful, gas-guzzling SUVs in a very subtle shade of powder blue.

So guys, make sure to hang your buffed up forearms out the window. In the meantime, I'll be trying to catch up with that 23 inch bicep I spied three lanes over on the I-90.