Saturday, November 7, 2009

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)


Greg Louganis turned me gay, God bless him. I don't think I'd even heard of "competitive diving" before I caught a glimpse of Greg on television, diving in the 1984 Olympics. In a sport full of tight, hot bodies barely squeezed into speedos 2 sizes too small, Greg was a stunning standout even before he left the diving board. Those thick, gorgeously muscled thighs... the stunningly defined torso... that shy, handsome face... I was captured the moment I saw him. Then I saw him dive... the amazing grace... the astonishing control of every thrilling muscle... that toe point!... and the moment he hit the water, I was gay.
I lapped up all the coverage of Olympic diving I could to adore Greg. He was not only the object of my teenage lust, he also kicked ass! The juxtaposition of his shy smile and his totally dominating performance, blowing his competition out of the water made me not only lust for him, I was in love. And then he went and posed for Playgirl. Oh... my... God...
I don't think it ever occurred to me when I was young that the guys I so lustfully worshipped could actually be gay. When Greg came out in 1994, it honestly opened my eyes to the adage, "We're everywhere." Discovering that my teenage crush also played for my team was one of the most liberating moments of my coming out.
Greg's continued grace and class only reinforces his iconic status in my life. The promo pics of Greg coaching hardbody Mario Lopez in preparation for his portrayal of the Olympian in the movie Breaking the Surface, propels both of them still higher up my lust index.
Greg Louganis didn't inspire me to become a diver, but without a doubt, he turned me gay.... Well, if he didn't actually "turn me gay," he certainly opened my eyes to the world full of beautiful, graceful, hot and hardbodied gay boys all around me. So let the games begin!

1 comment:

  1. Oh my God yes. And it's wonderful when our fantasies are actually gay in life.

    My anything-but-lymp Olympic moment came much earlier--with Mark Spitz, whom I idolized in my late teens and early twenties, only wishing he wrestled.

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