I like dates, especially first dates, but they're a lot of work. You have to find a guy to ask out, find some nice places to take him, clean your apartment, wash your car, buy new clothes, lift weights so you're buffed when you pick him up. Then you have to be on top of your game for four hours of socializing and sex.
Hookups are easier, but still a lot of work. You have to find the guy, interview him, deal with stupid or annoying questions, clean your apartment, take safety precautions, do 100 push-ups so you're buffed when he knocks on the door. Then you have to be on top of your game for an hour of socializing and sex.
But beefcake watching -- looking at cute guys with no intention of approaching them -- is simple. No preparation or strategizing necessary. Didn't shower this morning? Feeling cranky or depressed? Got a runny nose and a sore throat? Not a problem. Just go where the cute guys are, and gawk away.
On the Plains, the beefcake is plentiful, and the heterosexuals, assuming that no gay men exist outside of New York and San Francisco, don't get insulted when another guy looks at them. You still have to be careful: face-crotch-face, no eye contact unless you know them -- but it's not a major crisis if they notice you looking.
Today is my long day -- on campus from 9:00 am to 8:00 pm, teaching four classes including one three-hour night class, breaks only for my office hours and the gym. It's a heavy schedule. But fortunately, it provides for ample beefcake-watching.
A big class, 98 students in a giant lecture hall. Not a lot of muscle: mostly first years, fresh-faced twinks. My favorite is Ryan (not his real name): medium height, slim, glasses, unruly black hair, shy, scared. He needs nurturing.
He's absent today.
Advanced class, 15 students, only 3 men. One is rather chubby, one tall and geeky, but Austin provides ample opportunities for beefcake-watching: he's short, buffed, blond, always wearing muscle shirts that show off his biceps.
Before my office hours, I dash over to the library to return some books, head back into the Student Union, and stop into the men's restroom by the bowling alley. It's got a trough instead of separate urinals, and during lunchtime it's always busy.
I have just enough time to grab my standard lunch of a quarter grilled chicken and vegetables. Matty, the student worker who mans the lunch counter is Hispanic, short and compact, with a nice chest and square hands.
Not there today. Is there a hunk convention going on?
No one comes to my office hours.
A small class, only six students, two men, neither particularly attractive. But the professor who teaches the class next door, Dr. Granger! In his 40s severe military haircut, square face, thick chest, veiny arms. I usually let my class out before he does, so I can usually get an ogle in as I'm walking past.
Today his class lets out before mine.
Enough time for the campus gym and a little course prep.
I look forward to running around the indoor track, where the basketball players divide into shirts vs. skins: endless tight bare torsos!
Today there are about six basketball games going on down there. They're all fully clothed!
This is getting serious.
No hunks undressing in the locker room, either.
My evening class. About 50 students in another giant lecture hall. A few are attractive, but...
Well, you get the idea.
I should go home for dinner, but instead I stop at the gay-friendly coffee house, figuring that I'll have a brie sandwich and a scone, and look at the cute bohemian guys writing screenplays on their laptops.
But tonight they're having a Women's Poetry Jam.
Skip the brie sandwich and scone!
Food is a more pressing need than beefcake right now, so I drive to the pizza-by-the-slice place downtown.
The straight bar next door is crowded with college boys, playing pool, drinking, watching The Game on a big-screen tv. Curious, I drop in. I can't find a free booth, so I sit at the bar.
One of the guys playing pool is a college boy, tall, black hair, square jaw, sharp features, prominent ears, prominent bulge. We make eye contact. He smiles.
I pick up my soda and walk over to talk to him.
In my apartment, I'm going down on Kaleb's uncut Bratwurst.
If you can't find the beefcake, go for a hookup.
See also: A Day of Beefcake, Bulges, and Sausage Sightings on the Plains