It was the first piece of the puzzle. You'd always liked the look on all the gym bros, and decided to try it yourself. It felt a bit weird at first. Almost like you were entering the territory of another tribe. This is what gym bros wear, not gay guys.
But then, you are a gym bro. Well, you sure go to the gym. Have done for a few months. Flashfoward a few years, and look at you now.
The loose tank, the scratchy stubble, the sexy studs, the stretch marks from all that new muscle. You actually used to shave your pits; one of those odd gay-boy misfires, confused around what men actually wanted. Now, the pit is free, and out, and freshly sweated from a killer sesh with Kyle and Stu and P Dawg.
You look fucking cool. Hot, actually. You'd never thought of yourself as hot before. You felt like such an indifferent, unremarkable, middle of the road gay man. Crazy what some muscle and a change of clothes will do.
Only, that's just the surface level. The muscles the tank top, the pits - it's all just a natural expression of a growing, confident masculinity. There was a word you used to shy away from. Loved it in other men, of course, what gay guy doesn't? But on yourself? Nah. It felt a bit... fake. Again, someone else's territory.
Only not anymore. The gym is a home away from home, the bros a group of close buddies, the identity - the masc label - a natural, comfortable marker of reality. You're masc. A sexy, studly, cool, masc gay dude, and that's pretty fucking awesome.
And it all started with a cap.
