I think I've only ever had two crushes on guys. We're talking actual crushes here, not that thing I've got with Bradley Cooper right now where I want to throw him over the prep table and show him my nonstick all-purpose spreader. Or the thing where Brandy forces me and Chris to make out. No, I mean the thing where I get all giggly and girly (more than usual), over a guy. They were both straight boys so nothing ever went anywhere (even reasonably assuming that I had the willpower or the manpower to make anything go anywhere, which is a stretch), but they certainly stand out in the ever-increasingly-crowded line of doomed crushes and love affairs that files off to the left at the door of the Matt's Mega-tainment Life Emporium and Whiskey Bar. Mostly because they're taller than the others.

The first was a beautiful blonde boy when I was in my late teens, and man howdy, growing a hefty crush on a guy when it's never happened before, even if you've always accepted the limited possibility, sure knocks you on your ass. More like, it sucks the wind right out of you. But in a nice way, where there's gasping for breath that reminds you that you should have been breathing better all along. This dude was a year or two younger than me, and entirely too clever, funny as hell, had the muscles without going too far with the muscles, and the clearest eyes I've ever seen on a male. I don't want to comment specifically on the butt, but there was butt. And so, there was much lusting. There might even have been scheming. The camera certainly loved the kid, and he loved the camera, and that's as far as it went. I haven't seen him in near a decade.

Boy #2 was the real deal. Made Boy #1 look like boy parts. Boy #2 was a co-worker, and I lusted on him for like nine solid months. And I had a girlfriend at the time (so did he). I would have dropped mine like a bad habit if something ever actually happened with Boy #2. Or more accurately, would have gay-cheated on her like crazy and insisted that it didn't technically violate the terms of our relationship, because it didn't. Boy #2 brought out all kinds of nasty in me. He was tall, lean, and vaguely British-descended, but without the accent. He was surprisingly warm and friendly to me, and interested in my shit, which only furthered the problem. The farthest it ever got was getting to see him in his underwear - red briefs, holy cattleprods create a fetish for me right on the spot - but I had years of good times with that one. After I left the job, I think I ran into him maybe once or twice on the street or something, but we didn't stay friends. But he still wanders through my thoughts with appreciable regularity.

And that, for now, is that.