The aughts were truly a wonderful time to be a latent homosexual. What with the social acceptability of metrosexuality and the near ubiquity of Hollister clothing stores, never before had it been easier for a man to hide his true sexual orientation. But of all of these, perhaps the greatest boon to the covertly queer was the meteoric rise in popularity of mixed martial arts fighting competitions. Finally, the closeted gay man had a sport to call his own. Other than lacrosse, I mean.
MMA really had it all. Besides the obvious pleasures of watching near naked men, their perfectly sculpted bodies glistening with sweat, writhing on the ground with limbs entwined, engaging in the savage ballet that is hand to hand physical combat... You know, besides those pleasures, MMA also provided an outlet for the frothing rage that builds up in one's mind after years and years of hiding one's true sexual proclivities. Additionally, from Affliction tees to tight spandex TapouT skivvies, MMA fandom comes with its own unique wardrobe. What more could a closeted homosexual want? I mean, besides feeling safe enough to reveal his true self or living in a country whose government doesn't seek to deny him rights at every turn?
"I am very much enjoying watching this mixed martial arts match with you, Bryce."
"And I you, Marco."
"Oh! Look at that! A near-perfectly executed rear naked choke!"
"Indeed. It was, in a word, exquisite."
"Bryce?"
"Yes, Marco?"
"I want you to know that I definitely do not have a boner right now."
"I also do not have a boner. Surely, my penis has never been more flaccid."
"Yes, of course. More brie?"
"Please, but I'm afraid we're all out of the toasted rosemary artisan bread."
"Not to worry, I have another loaf in the kitchen. I'll just go get it now."
"Bryce?"
"Yes, Marco?"
"I . . . um . . . . I ---"
"Shhhhhh. Sweet, dear Bryce. Say no more for nothing needs to be said."
"Of course. I'll just go get that bread."
"And I will be here, patiently waiting your return."
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