We hold these truths to be self-evident - water is wet, the sky is blue, ice is cold, Jensen is gay. He isn't the gayest of the gays - I hold that title, damn it, and I refuse to relinquish my position. The only thing is, he won't admit it. Yeah, he flirts with me. He flirts with Jared. Hell, I even saw him flirt with a fat mullet-head middle-aged guy with a beer gut and two missing front teeth, just to get the last copy of a bootleg Metallica cassette.

But, he's not gay…or so he says.

But I'm here to tell you that Jensen Ackles is such a twink, he needs to be wrapped in sponge cake and shot full of cream.

Let's exam the evidence. Dude, I feel so CSI right now.

He wears pink better than any man I've ever seen. And he pulls it off like nobody's business. It brings out the color of his eyes, those cute little freckles that dot his nose, and those pouty lips of his.

His lips. Now that's a subject I would love to explore, in more ways than one. Just one little smirk and the only thing going through your mind is yes, I'll do anything you want…as long as you promise to put that pretty little mouth to some good use. And I don't mean all that smart-ass talk he's so good at throwing around either.

The man is a walking aphrodisiac. There isn't a soul alive - man, woman, stray dog - who can be in his presence for more than 2 seconds without wanting to hump him. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Sex on legs, that's Jensen.

Which would lead us to his ass. And what a sweet ass it is. Even in those baggy jeans he runs around in, you can tell it's hot. Trust me, it's even better when he's running around his room in nothing but his boxer briefs. You could bounce a quarter off that damn thing and have time to take a bite before it lands on the floor. His ass gives a whole new meaning to Quarter Pounder. That's why I make it a habit of taking them to breakfast every Sunday morning. How else am I going to get a change to stare at him, half naked, hair messed up, lips swollen from whatever sweet dream I interrupted.

I know I'm not the only one who's noticed the way he looks at Jared. Maybe it's just a glance that he holds a second too long, or a smile that reaches all the way from his mouth to the corner of his eyes. The inside jokes with so many double meanings that you can't tell if he's serious or just playing around. It's the way he touches his arm or his leg, fingers lingering for a moment more, drawing energy from the big goon.

I guess it's all in the way you look at it. From my point of view, I know exactly which side of his bread carries the butter. But Jen, he's basking in the sun on the shore of the river and he's a little too scared to dip his toes in to test the waters.

Watching the two of them running around the park, ignoring the rules of touch football and tackling each other every chance they get, I can see it. I have front row seats to the coming out of Jensen Ackles. Jared's been trying for ages to pull him out. I want to make a banner for him: "C'mon over to the dark side, Jen…we have pie and cookies!"

And when I see them rolling on the grass, Jared holding the ball just out of Jensen's reach, Jensen trying his damndest to grab it, I smile. Jensen goes for the belly, rubbing it like an overgrown puppy and I laugh. But when Jared kisses him, full on lip lock in the middle of the afternoon, I cheer inside. There just might be hope for him yet.

Read the sequel From the Mixed Up Files of Mr. Michael O. Rosenbaum - Wash & Wax