So I went to the gym to cool off.
Men. They're everywhere. They're certainly everywhere at the gym. Tanned, cut, coifed, and cruising. And they're not shy about it either. Some are as subtle as a Sherman tank. But y'know, I envy that about men.
Sometimes their interactions with each other are so direct, so painfully honest and simple. Boy meets boy. Boy wants boy. "Do you wanna have sex?" Yes or no. " Do you want to be monogamous?" Yes or no. "Wanna break up?" Yes or no. Bing, bang, boom.
Now, the girls. You spy a beautiful girl across the room. She sees you. Contact! Electricity! And then you go into the Lesbiana Circle Dance, which can last as long as one hour -- or the rest of your life. Wanna do it? Well, can we talk about it -- I don't know if I'm finished processing my last 12 relationships, and my relationship with myself, so maybe if we can be friends first, and work through this awkward period, perhaps in time we can join together emotionally and if we're lucky develop a sex life that will sustain itself for longer than two months?
So, I guess I can't blame Greg for making the moves on Mike. He felt it. He went for it. He got decked. No mistaking any of those messages.
But Greg knew that Mike was straight. Why the heck did he go after him anyway? I dunno. Greg's so totally driven by his body, and his attraction to other men's bodies - it's like he can't help himself.
Men. You can't live with 'em. You can't kill 'em. You can't cut their dicks off. Well, you can, Mrs. Bobbitt proved that, but even if you drive away with it and chuck it out in a field, those boy doctors will hunt it down and put it back on, and after that the guy to whom you tried to teach a lesson is the third guest on Jay Leno and making a million bucks on a video deal. 
