The closest thing I ever got to having a relationship was going through an actual relationship with Guy #144. More precisely, a relationship with Guy #144 and his mother.
The first time I met Guy #144 was on a sex date at his place. He lived with his mother as it turned out, who I first saw lying lifelessly on a couch, watching TV and smoking a cigarette. She politely greeted me when I walked in, as her son showed me the way to his room.
I won’t deny sex with Guy #144 was good, but I couldn’t shake the realization his mother was but one door handle away the entire time. And I knew she knew all too well what I was doing to her son.
Guy #144 having a sex date over for his mother to see is one of those things that gets weirder the more you think about it. Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought about it much a few months later, when Guy #144 and his mother moved to a new house that happened to be a mere two minute drive from mine. Living on a small sexually void island I suddenly found myself within reach of sex in the format of a magazine subscription.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I visited Guy #144 at his new home, where he and his mother entertained me for a good thirty minutes before Guy #144 took me to his bedroom to give me the sex I had come for. As the three of us sat down on their porch, it struck me as odd Guy #144 wore nothing but a boxer in the presence of his mother.
Still, Guy #144 and I hit it off nicely. I almost instantly knew this wouldn’t be the man of my dreams, but he was close enough to have a go at this ‘relationship thing’ I had already heard so much about. In that sense, it wasn’t even that odd his mother had been part of the relationship from the get go. In Guy #144 I didn’t only gain a boyfriend, I also got a stepmom. My own mother having passed away not too long ago, it was nice to have a mother figure in my life again. And if I’m being completely honest, my gut told me Guy #144 was in no way capable of truly hurting me.
I guess I always knew there’d come a day I’d end up hurting Guy #144, and his mother.
Life at my own place at the time was a bit of a mess, so being with Guy #144 and his mother offered me solace from my daily worries. It wasn’t long before I slept at their place every night.
Guy #144 didn’t only live with his mother. They were also colleagues. They drove off in the same car every morning and came back together every night, after which they’d let off their steam by getting into heated discussions about the finer ethics of their job as bailiffs. It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good argument every now and then, but these two found grounds for quarrel in everything, that’s how much they wanted the fight. And no matter what the fight would be about, Guy #144 always fought in his underwear, the contours of his testicles hovering over his chair for boyfriends and stepmoms to gaze at.
Our relationship was very much rooted in sex at first, but the more I saw of Guy #144 the less I got to do him. Also, somewhere down the line he had taken up drinking and was now at a bottle of Scotch every day, which didn’t do wonders for either of our libidos. Sometimes Guy #144 would trick me into letting me think we’d be having sex only to call it off and go to sleep, saying the alcohol had made him tired. As my sexual frustration grew, so did my annoyance over the fact it was his mother who went out buying him Scotch almost every day.
At the beginning of the relationship, I got about thirty minutes of stepmom followed by four hours of Guy #144. A good month in and I had to go through 4 hours of stepmom followed by a few minutes with Guy #144 in his room as he took his nightcap and complained about how his mother didn’t get his side of the ever so fascinating bailiff spectrum.
My boyfriend had a pet name for his mother: ‘Mumsy’, as in It is my duty as an only child to make sure Mumsy has financial stability after she retires. I don’t think I ever hated a word as much as I hated Mumsy.
When I first saw Guy #144 he had been very cute. His somewhat antiquated Grindr photos proved he used to be incredibly hot. Yet as our relationship progressed, I could see the sad glance of alcoholism take root in his face and posture.
Whenever I told my boyfriend he should maybe consider moving to his own place he would fall into a well prepared monologue about the financial risks of such an undertaking and how living with his mother solved so many of his problems.
About four months into the relationship I realized I was basically living with my boyfriend and his mother, so I decided it would be good for me to spend some more time at home. I told Guy #144 he and of course his mother were both welcome there.
As it turned out, Guy #144 had abandonment issues. Who would have thought?
The idea of me spending time away from their safe space did not land well. Guy #144’s anger imploded in on himself, rendering him barely able to talk for a few days. So instead I faced off with Mumsy, who explained to me how neither one of them blamed me for wanting to spend time at my place, but that they were ticked off I didn’t discuss my decision with them before making it. His mother and I discussed the situation for well over an hour, as her son sat a few feet away from her, silently suffering in his underwear as I calmly smacked his mother in the face with my each and every one of my arguments, until she eventually conceded her objections had not been what one would call reasonable.
Feeling victorious I was in the mood for sex that night. Guy #144 went along with some foreplay, but quickly lashed out against me and then proceeded to cry his guts out, practically begging me not to leave him, not even for my own home, two clicks down the road, for two nights a week, where he and his mother would be welcome. Guy #144 wouldn’t have any of it, took a drink and went to sleep.
Me slaying Mumsy would prove to be my last conversation with her. When I left the house the next morning, I said goodbye to Guy #144 without even looking at him. I instinctively knew I would not be seeing him again. I later texted him saying I would prefer to keep some distance between us.
It’s a distance I enjoy till this day.
Guy #144 did make one halfhearted attempt to get back in touch with me, but I was too busy enjoying my distance. I did encourage him to start living on his own life. I believe I said something along the lines of You will never find happiness if you continue living with Mumsy.
I hope for his sake his mother invites a sex date over for her son to see one day. I’m sure it would do wonders for his abandonment issues.
Relationship summary:
LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: An actual relationship
SEX SCORE (0 = “It rubs the lotion on its skin” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5
168guys.com 
How old was this guy?
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Too old to be living with his mother…
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