Over the years, I've had dozens of buddies with whom I hung out with as though we were brothers. Many have gone on with their lives and I've not heard from them again but some I continue to see even after 20 years. Nevertheless, I still feel something is missing and has been missing in these friendships but I could never quite figure it out. I cared for my friends in the way that guys do and apart from playing sports, which I was never interested in (or good at) my pals and I engaged in all the activities that are commom and expected among men- chasing pussy, clubbing, fishing, and, especially, beer drinking. Not one of us could be considered effeminate in any way- at least not according to any of the stereotypes demonstrated by the "gay scene"- and all of us overtly shunned any activity or individual that could be considered "gay". Unfortunately for me I eventually came to realize that the beer drinking had become a way of life rather than an occasional get together with the guys and, finally hitting bottom, I had to concede that the drive fueling my desire to be constantly buzzed was an attempt to ward off the anxiety and panic that seemingly was comming from nowhere- but- was actually an attempt, a futile attempt, to mask the unnacceptable. I wasn't straight. At least not like my buddies were. I did'nt want to get fucked by a guy (still dont), wear lingerie or go "antiquing" but I was too much into dudes and fascinated by male sexuality to be "normal", so to speak, like everyone else. Comming from a New York neighborhood brimming with the sons of southern Italian Immigrants made it even more fucking difficult. I'm Italian myself, obsessively proud of it too,) but I felt I had "failed" my ethnicity which was marked by hypermasculinity, mystic Catholicism, and an obsession with pussy which was the sole topic of teenage discussion only to be replaced by talk of money when we began to marry off. After I started to realize what was really going on with me, I allowed myself to experience my feelings even if, at the time, I didn't act on them. Which brings me to the point of this story.... After I left New York, I met someone at the gym I worked out at in my new home town and eventually he became a close friend and my work out partner. In time, we did everything together, go out to eat, look for women ( yes, I had- and have- some interest) go to the movies, rent movies, ecc. And I slept over his house alot. Alot. This friend of mine, an all-American guy type, blonde, blue, sports fanatic, former high school wrestler, ripped hard as a rock and fucking great looking considering he was such an ugly duckling as a kid, seemed to want me around all the time. He had a habit of showing off his junk once it was hard, a fat, cut american dick he was obviously proud of. He did the same showing his ass, usually on the nights that I would sleep over. None of my other friends had ever done that. On several occasions, after showering (he never once approached or came close if I was dressing) he asked if I needed to borrow underwear. The prospect of having his clothing against my skin turned me on, but I said no. Again, none of my other friends had ever offered me their boxers. I found it strange but enticing. One night while eating out, I ran into a waitress who was a friend of mine. My friend and I sat at a two top, him right across from me. During a brief conversation, the waitress referred to a guy she and I both new and announced, abruptly, that she thought he was gay. My friend lost his composure, grew terribly uncomfortable and blushed deep fucking red. After that night he stopped talking to me for two months without explanation despite my attempts to try and find out why he had become distant. Eventually it blew over and we became close again. In time he married. Some years into his marriage, he told me his wife thought I was gay. She also accused him of being gay too. He soon turned out to be a dick as big as the one that swung between his legs and our friendship began to sour. We argued over everything and eventually stopped talking. I suppose the obvious reason for my story is this inevitable question... IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THIS GUY WAS ALOT LIKE ME? He never looked, he never touched, he never stared. But he ALWAYS wanted me around. I saw him again after that walking through a shopping center close to my house. His chiseled jaw and cleft chin were unmistakable. His blue eyes flahed under the bright sun when he turned my way, but I pretended not to see him. He knows, however, that I did, and he knows that I know. I don't plan on ever seeing him again- nor do I want to. But I will always wonder just what was going on inside this guy.