I assume that most straight guys would feel about like I feel right now, a few hours before attending a big gay event, but I don't know how much they'd actually talk about it. So here's what the topography of my mind looks like from helicopter level.
It's sort of like a lot of the landscapes I've canoed past in the Adirondacks: a mass of light green deciduous leaves blending together into a canopy, with here and there the striking dark green of a conifer poking its way up over the top.
The light green deciduous layer is this fairly lush mass of "Hey, I just want'cha ta know I'm straight, so I ain't kissin' any guys. I'm so happy about the event that I'm here in support, but don't none o' you guys try to kiss me!"
And then there are the conifers: little eruptions of "But... what if no guy tries to kiss me?? Does that mean I'm getting old and unattractive?"
'Cause I'm a guy, folks. And that's the way we roll. We tend to take umbrage at not being wanted.