Thank you for your patronage.
Please do not think that I do not notice your stares, your smiles, your oogling as each and every one of you checks me out as I pass through the store, and you all turn a delightful shade of pink when I return a smile or acknowledge you. It's nice to know that all of you are collectively questioning your sexuality, but I don't think I am the guy over whom you should be busting your nuts.
Contrary to popular belief, I have no plans to open a school of faggotry, and am not in the mood to deal with breaking in a newbie. Even if you aren't out to anyone else, at least be able to say to yourself that you like boys. I don't want to deal with guys who look but are too overrun with guilt or shame to touch. Guys are not allowed to blame me for turning them gay; I do not want to be seen as some sort of evil guy who tricked you into sex. If you start flirting with me and I return in kind, and you look to the floor and turn away, well, you're out of the running.
That being said, I have not had any action in nearly eight months, and your coquettish looks are greatly appreciated to this boy who is beginning to wonder if something is physically wrong with him.
I hope there isn't a memo in the break room that requires you to flirt with everyone within a five-year radius, in which case you can all bite me.
But seriously. Being checked out by one guy is nice and two can make my day, especially if it's been a while. But six in the course of a grocery trip? They are either handing out Levitra in the break room or I must have really been working it yesterday.
