Several weeks back I spent an afternoon with a friend on Alki Beach when we were having one of those rare Seattle summer days where instead of the usual gray skies it was clear and sunny with the temperature well over a balmy 80 degrees.  It was certainly one of those short shorts or cut-offs appropriate days where revealing a little more thigh than usual wouldn’t have been socially unacceptable – even for a guy.  I had just returned from camping where I spent the weekend in the Mount Adams wilderness with my ex-boyfriend… alone… in the woods…

Just two guys, a dog, coolers of beer, packing meat in the heat.

“What happens in the woods stays in the woods!” was provoking “advice” given to the ex by his roommate before I arrived to load up our gear in a rugged Volvo XC70 SUV that I was fortunate enough to secure prior to the trip.  I’d later learn on the winding road up Mount Adams during our four-hour drive that Roomie’s implicit statement came about from an initial discussion with the Ex about what were the best camp sites and trails to search out, which later lead to “whom” would be joining him on his extended camping weekend.

Let me cut to the chase.

If you were to ask me, “How’d it end up going with Mr. Ex for your big camping weekend?  Eh?  Eh?”

Knowing very well exactly what you’re getting at, I’d reply matter-of-factly without even as much as a smirk on my face that through some talking and negotiation over the campfire, I had got Mr. Ex to assume the position –

As my BFF.

Not FWB, but thanks for asking.

After gathering armfuls of firewood in the sweltering heat the sweat just seemed to drip profusely off both of us.  I could feel each drop coming off my neck and stick to my shirt as I noticed it glisten off the hairs on his chest when he pulled the bottom of his t-shirt up to wipe his forehead.

I couldn’t take it any longer.

I stripped off my shirt pulling it off me as quickly as possible.  Instantly, he looked up to see what I was doing as he was stacking the sticks for a fire.  I walked in his direction, but took two steps passed him reaching into the cooler.

“What are you doing?”

I pulled out two beers, opened one and handed him the other as I sat down on a log.

“I need to cool off.  You good with an IPA?”

He twisted off the cap from the bottle, lit a match under the firewood and stood back as smoke began to rise from the pile.

In short, NOTHING HAPPENED.  At least sexually.

But we talked.  As fire began to build up so did our conversation.  We arrived at the topic of dating – about how the experience for gay men in Seattle must be different in other cities.  BFF and I had a heart-to-heart about who we’ve seen since we broke up, what we were looking for, where we were meeting other guys and how hot they were in the bear/cub/otter (in my case panda) continuum.  I learned that we generally are attracted to the same kind of man – your typical (if there is such a thing) Pacific Northwest guy – bearded, outdoorsy, smart, slightly indie or hipster, frequently wearing flannel or plaid, but always sexy and confident knowing what he wants and where he’s going.  Most importantly we established that we can share this kind of stuff with one another along with other stories from our lives about dating and relationships.

Fast forward.  I’ve just arrived at the home of one of my teammates in West Seattle and noticed a set of weights curiously positioned next to the couch in his dimly lit yet charming abode.

“I didn’t know you lifted weights?”

“Yeah, well I’m trying to get myself back in shape and get the other guys to notice me.  My goal is to get a boyfriend.”

His words stuck with me for just a couple moments – long enough to think contextually about how a set of weights had any relationship to obtaining a partner of the male species.

“Oh?  Well, you could probably meet people at the gym instead of working out at home.”

I reasoned thinking about that gay institution known as the gym.  You know, the one on Stewart Avenue in downtown Seattle… ahem… the one supposedly open 24 hours where it’s just muscle and you feel like you’re being violated before you’ve even reached the entrance to the locker room.  Well, this could apply to any other gym for that matter in highly urban, populated areas where gays MUST live since a majority of us (in order to keep up the stereotypes) socialize at gay bars and dine at fabulous restaurants as part of a cabinet of weekly rituals.

Now Donovan is a particularly athletic guy with a fondness toward local micro beer so he’s not necessarily walking the runway sporting a six-pack with a Blue Steel or Magnum pose.  However, he’s a fit, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and good-looking gay Seattleite wearing that lovely facial scruff that most dudes in my social circle would dig and perhaps even woof at.  This brings me to the next logical question:

Where does a scruffy, decent-looking guy who can hold a conversation go to meet other men in this town with the intention of dating them?

Read on to find out what Donovan does to find dates here.