Guy #123 – The reason I’m on Grindr…

These days it says the following on my Grindr profile:

I will have sex with you if you can tell me what happened ‘before’ the Big Bang.

It’s an easy promise. Not even Stephen Hawking knows the answer, but it’s a nice invitation for Guys to get intellectual with me. I still judge people by their selfies, but I ache to be turned on by their brains.

Although the first I ever saw of Guy #123 was a picture of him in a swimsuit, he wasn’t the kind of underwear model I had come online for. Still, we somehow became engaged in an exciting conversation.

It happens sometimes. You start talking to someone, an actual dialogue erupts and it’s just nice to let it run its course. Sometimes the conversation dissolves almost the moment it started and sometimes you go from discussing youth traumas to cosmic inflation to Bach to trashing the Lord of the Rings-franchise to being invited over for dinner at his place.

Despite the absence of any sexual chemistry I found Guy #123 interesting enough to get to know in person. I had made it clear I had no sexual interest in him, which he was totally fine with.

Yet we soon ended up doing more than just having dinner and talking about each other’s lives. We’d spend entire nights watching The Lord of the Rings, after which Guy #123 admitted it indeed made no sense Frodo wouldn’t use those eagles from the get go. Or we’d lie on a couch and listen to music together. It’s difficult not to establish connection when you feel someone’s heartbeat to the tune of Beethoven’s 5th Piano Concerto.

Our fourth meet-up as friends was a bit of a goodbye. I was to go abroad for a while and wasn’t sure when I would be seeing Guy #123 again. He had become a dear friend I would miss.
So what started off as an innocent backrub quickly turned me on somehow, and since I was the one doing the rubbing I considered it an excellent opportunity to show some initiative. The kissing soon followed. The bed is where things ended.

It was unexpectedly great to have sex with Guy #123. I had reached a point where I could no longer relate to my previous self, who had rejected him over a photo.

Afterward, Guy #123 told me he he’d always known we would end up having sex at some point. The only thing he had to do to make it happen was not tell me. His brain had figured that out.1-copy

I’m not on Grindr to find sex. I’m not on there to find relationships. I’m certainly not on there to forge anything platonic. I’m on Grindr to find Guys like Guy #123, Guys who can give me the intimacy of a relationship with the commitment of a friendship, Guys who know my weaknesses well enough to understand I’m not the type to maintain a serious commitment, Guys who know my strengths to appreciate how much I have to give if they just let me, Guys who can even use the word ‘love’ without it having to define a relationship, Guys who get that relationships define themselves, Guys I can cuddle up with, cook for, sleep with and wake up next to.

Actually, Guy #123 and I only woke up together on a handful of occasions. Like most people with a good working brain he was a very sensitive person. Oftentimes I’d meet him while he was busy being hopelessly in love with someone he couldn’t be with, making it difficult for him to get truly intimate with someone.

I’m the type of person who looks for intimacy everywhere when I’m hopelessly in love. Guy #123 was the kind who’d deprive himself of it. Still, we often met on the middle ground and exchanged a lot of hugs there. One could argue it was in one of those hugs that Guy #123 inspired me to start writing.

His brains have proven to be an enormous turn on for me.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Loving friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Anything Gollum <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guy #122 – The spoiled brat…

Like most men never subjected to radiation poisoning I have hair growing out of my body at various places. While I make the effort to keep my chest Bieberesque by shaving it regularly, sometimes a single hair dodges my razor blade and remains sticking out of my body, as desolate as a man standing in the Sahara.

Guy #122 didn’t like chest hair either. That much became apparent when he noticed that one hair a few inches south of my right nipple. Even though we had been engaged in doing naked stuff for a good half hour already, Guy #122 stopped what he was doing and shifted all his attention to that one single bit of hair.

“Can you shave it off?” Guy #122 asked.
“No, I’m having sex,” I said.
It’s not like that one little hair got in the way of anything, but Guy #122 insisted. Again I refused to shave myself, proud as I was to stand up for myself for a change.

That’s when my date proceeded by trying to pull my hair out of my chest. The pain was intense and came without warning. I half heartedly yelled at Guy #122 and scolded him for hurting me, while at the same time laughing about how ridiculous sex with strangers can be sometimes.

The laughter stopped when Guy #122 pulled on my hair again, once again sending shock waves through my entire body. It was the first and to date only time I’ve ever been furious at someone during sex.

At the same time I had been enjoying the sex with this Guy. He was cute and good at it. I didn’t want the sex to stop because of that one tiny hair. Yet much to my surprise and anger Guy #122 kept making attempts at pulling it out. Thankfully I managed to stop him each time he tried, but my defenses came at the expense of my libido. After his fourth or fifth attempt I was so pissed off I turned Guy #122 on his stomach and had my way with him. He seemed to enjoy it, which pissed me off even more. I couldn’t stand being with someone so spoiled, so determined to get his way, so used to getting his way.

Putting on a T-shirt was my first act of business after I was done teaching Guy #122 a lesson. Finally, me and my hair were safe from the clutches of this spoiled maniac who now wanted to cuddle up with me. I however wanted him gone, out of my house, preferably out of my solar system.

Guy #122 hit me up online a few days later. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact our date had angered me to no end. We may have sent a few messages back and forth, but it wasn’t long before I ghosted him. I simply couldn’t stand someone as spoiled as Guy #122.

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He would hit me up again many, many times over the course of the next year or so, until eventually I blocked him. Just looking at his picture reminded me of his claws, obsessively trying to pull out that one tiny hair of mine.

I doubt Guy #122 ever realized what the reason for my rejection was. He probably confused my anger for lust, while the lust had merely been a disguise for my anger. Still, I feel good about not giving him his way. He needed it badly.

I do pay more attention to lone hairs sticking out of my chest these days. In that sense I’m giving Guy #122 exactly what he wanted.

Damn, he’s irritating.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = “Quid Quo Pro, doctor” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #121 – The dorminant one…

Dominance.

When it comes to sex, some people like to dominate. Others like to be dominated.

Guy #121 was dominant. He said so many times. He first made mention of it in our online conversation. He brought it up again over coffee. When we were at his place he once again asked if I was okay with him being so dominant.

Granted, Guy #121 pulled my hair a bit during sex and held down my arms for good measure. Not wanting to shatter his image, I was kind enough not to move my arms as he put on his condom.

The truth is Guy #121 was about as dominant as Pinocchio was a real boy. It didn’t help that I was about a foot taller, a difference that was reflected in our respective dick sizes as well. Him dominating me made about as much sense as David asking Goliath out for a date.

In short, Guy #121 was an adorable little Asian boy who wanted to be the Terminator. I granted him the illusion for a good five minutes, after which he cuddled up against me and remained in ‘dorminant-mode’ for the remainder of the evening.

The two of us met up on two occasions. Coffee tasted good in the company of Guy #121. He was smart-ish and sensitive. I empathized with him and his latte as he spoke of missing his home country. The way his lips stuck to the warm carton of his Starbucks cup suggested he had been deprived of labial action for quite some time. Guy #121 was like many of the Asian immigrants I dated: Lonely, shy and with a pinch of social awkwardness thrown in.

It was only during sex that Guy #121 let go of his inhibitions. I don’t think I’ve ever been dominated by anyone clumsier than him, but I did enjoy letting him believe he was in control of me. Sometimes accepting awkwardness is the only gift we have to give to someone.

A third date never happened. Guy #121 would visit my online dating profile every so often, but he never hit me up again, nor did I take note of his digital footprints.
I guess we both felt the sex had been an oddity of sorts, like Pinocchio getting tested for STD’s. There was nothing inherently wrong about the two of us having sex, but it was difficult to take it seriously.

I will never know whatever made Guy #121 think he was a dominant Guy. Well, except that maybe it was me who made him think that, me and perhaps all the other Guys who were patient enough not to move their hands whenever he struggled to put on a condom.

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Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 2 hours
FORMAT: Coffee and sex
SEX SCORE (0 = A date with Goliath <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

 

 

Guy #120 – Like a virgin…

I remember the first time I ever stepped into a gay bar. What terrified me most were the stares. Everywhere I looked people were staring at me and no matter how hard I tried to read the minds behind the stares, I stalled at considering the possibility people found me unattractive, dorky or badly dressed.

It took me a while before I realized the meaning of a stare in a nightclub:
– A short stare means I’m trying to determine if I want to have sex with you or not.
– Any stare two seconds or longer means I want you.

Understandably, not knowing this made my first steps into gay nightlife scary and uncomfortable at times. At the time I didn’t know I was being stared at for reasons I wanted to be stared at, except of course for all the times I dressed dorky.

Guy #120 was relatively new to this whole homosexuality thing. Everything about him radiated insecurity, the way he intermittently avoided then actively ached for eye contact, the way his soft-spoken voice trembled as he reached the end of his sentences and the way he clung to the glass of water I had given him. He reminded me of myself back when I was on my first date with a Guy and while I wasn’t the first Guy for Guy #120, I definitely was one of his first. I could tell, because Guy #120 was completely oblivious to how unbelievably good looking he was.

I mean, there’s hot and then there’s Guy #120.

Guy #120 was hot in the most generic way possible, meaning everything about his body and face was just about perfect. I didn’t get to see much of the person hiding behind the shyness, but at the very least Guy #120 was generically friendly, polite and well mannered. Long before he had finished his glass of water did I realize the two of us would not be having any interesting conversations and that we would not be establishing a meaningful connection. Guy #120 came to get sex and I was all too happy to oblige him.

The sex itself was rather disappointing though. It was great lying in bed with someone that could have been a model from one of my favorite porn movies, but beautiful as he was, Guy #120 was like a stewardess struggling to get a plane off the ground in terms of adequacy. Well mannered and friendly, sure, but nothing to get me high as I expected from such a beautiful Guy.

I imagine the sex was equally displeasing for Guy #120, who came suspiciously quick, probably as an excuse to leave.

A few years later I saw Guy #120 again as his beautiful face appeared on Grindr. I hit him up, asking how he was doing. He said he was doing fine. “Haven’t we met before?” I asked. “No,” was his answer. I left it at that.

Guy #120 wasn’t green anymore. He had been around long enough to know his league, long enough to know I wasn’t in it.

Good for him.

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Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 30 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = People with nomophobia <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6

Guy #119 – A vacation from my vanity…

As a gay Guy who frequents places where I face the scrutiny and judgment of other gay Guys, I try to take care of my body. I eat healthy, I even pack a few bananas every week, I run, I go for walks, I hardly ever drink alcohol, I reluctantly do push-ups, I plank until I fold and I quit smoking as often as I can.

The result is a body that, when photographed in a certain light and subsequently filtered in a tantalizing hue, is reasonably hot to look at.

It took me years to become reasonably hot. Being reasonably good looking is a lot of work. The reason I make the effort is because I like my sex to be with Guys that are reasonably hot as well.

Actually, what I’m really aiming for are Guys who I think are hotter than I am, so they can give me the feeling I am in fact more than reasonably good looking. So whenever I have sex with a Guy I deem hotter than myself, I do my best to be the Guy from my selfies, rather than just being me.

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Of course, sometimes it’s nice not to look for the hot one, but to be the hot one.

In terms of narcissism Guy #119 gave me the day off. Twice.

Sex can be comfortable when you know you’re the hot one. It takes off the pressure.
Guy #119 had a cute face, but his body reminded me of Elvis in his final days. It wasn’t a pleasant surprise, but I know what it’s like to be chubby and I know how easy it is to live your hotness away.
That’s why I didn’t reject Guy #119 when he turned out to be way fatter than his antiquated Grindr selfies. Instead I viewed him as a little vacation from my vanity: To be with a Guy without having to hold my breath for my tiny abs to show.

Granted, there were moments when I got a little uncomfortable by the amount of fat that crawled its way over and against and around my body, but Guy #119’s cute smile made up for a lot, as did his personality.

I guess Guy #119 marked the first time in my life I had sex with someone I deemed unattractive without it being pity sex. Although maybe I did have sex out of pity, pity for my future fat self.

Guy #119 gave me hope that all people, even fat people, can have sex with people who are reasonably good looking, meaning that no matter what happens to me and my looks, I can always count on my brains to get me laid.

Guy # 119 had used his brains to get me horizontal. Being insecure about the way I look, it was nice to be seduced by brains.

When you frequent places where gay Guys go to scrutinize and pass judgment over other gay Guys, it’s good to be reminded how sexy personality can be. Guy #119 definitely was one of the hottest Guys I ever dated.

Shame about the fat though.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 1 hour
FORMAT: Sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Toilet Elvis <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.3

Guy #118 – Dating alone together…

Sex is like food. Whether it’s caviar, a Happy Meal or anything in between, sex is something to look forward to. But unless it’s masturbation sex is not a dish you eat alone. Eating together can be very rewarding, provided both parties can agree on what’s for dinner.

Guy #118 and I had met online, where he had pictures of him wearing leather outfits for the world to see. Leather ain’t my thing, but it lets me know when a Guy is aching for sex and nothing but sex. So when I met Guy #118 at his place he took me to his bedroom, sat me down on his bed, offered me an obligatory glass of water which I refused and then proceeded to let me have his way with him.

At the time I mostly had sex to avoid thinking about being a telemarketer without any goals to speak of. I avoided conversations about my life the way Stephen Hawking avoids escalators. After all, I wasn’t living. I was telemarketing, the last thing anyone would want to think of during sex.

So when Guy #118 hit me up a few weeks later I was all too happy to meet up with him once more and forget about living for a short while, except this time Guy #118 suggested we’d meet up for a drink first.

That ticked me off somewhat. I’m not keen on spending money on drinks if it’s sex I’m after, not in the least because I don’t enjoy having to scream over loud music in aid of keeping a conversation going with someone I only want to get inside of. Still, Guy #118 being very cute I deemed it an acceptable investment.

Naturally, Guy #118 asked me about my life as we were having drinks. I complained about being a telemarketer whilst trying to maintain a sense of pride befitting the top I was to him. It was difficult to keep that up, especially when Guy #118 wanted another round of drinks. Small talk has a tendency to become torture after a while, especially in the case of Guy #118, who himself had little to say.
“Shall we go to your place?” I asked after he finally finished his second drink. It wasn’t subtle, but then again, the only reason our paths had ever crossed was because the internet had pictures of him wearing leather. Subtlety was never supposed to be part of our relationship.
“Yeah, about that…” Guy #118 replied as my heart sank.
My date went on to explain his housemate was also home that night, meaning we couldn’t exactly have sex there.
I did not stick around for a third drink, instead going home, sexually frustrated like a rabbit in a cage full of mice.

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Looking back, I don’t remember what on Earth convinced me to meet up with Guy #118 a third time. Once again he had asked to meet up for a drink. I guess I really wanted to believe Guy #118 was in it for the sex.
What struck me about our third date was how much attention Guy #118 had paid during our second. He remembered everything I had told him about myself. I on the other hand had totally forgotten what his job was, what part of Asia he was from, or what his name was.

Guy #118 wanted to be friends. I wanted to not think about telemarketing. He wanted a McCaviar. I wanted to eat my misery away.

A fourth date never materialized.

A few months ago Guy #118 got back in touch with me. He wanted to meet up again, only this time he suggested we’d get together and have fun on XTC and roofies. I guess he’d given up on friendship and gotten back to being his leather self again.

It’s not that I have anything against drugs, but I don’t think Guy #118 and I were ever meant to be on the same page together.

Like I said: A fourth date never materialized.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ±2 months
FORMAT: Sex date followed by failed attempt at friendship followed by failed attempt at sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Telemarketing <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.7

Guys #114, #115, #116 and #117 – The most dangerous drug of all…

Drugs will forever be a part of our lives, whether it’s nicotine, weed, alcohol, cocaine, XTC, roofies, poppers, ketamine, speed or the most dangerous drug of all: Intimacy.

The high Intimacy provides is unrivaled by any substance, but like all drugs, Intimacy is only fun by the token of its risk: Dosage is key and I for one suck at dosing Intimacy. Go easy on the Intimacy and you can’t help but crave a little extra. Go overboard and you OD on your own misery.
Added to this, Intimacy is the one drug you can’t dose by yourself. At the very least it requires two people to get it right. Achieving a successful high on Intimacy is like walking toward each other on a high wire and exchanging a hug without plunging to your death.

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On the surface dating is about finding ways to fit genitals into other people and the gay scene is unbelievably facilitating in that respect. Scratch the surface however and you quickly find people hiding behind their genitals, people like Guy #114, #115, #116 and #117, people whose genitals led their tepid quest for Intimacy.

Guys #114 through #117 all had one thing in common: I had nothing to offer them except my body. It’s not that I didn’t like them or that I didn’t find them attractive. I simply had no Intimacy to give. Not everybody you meet is someone you want to cuddle on a high wire. At the same time everyone – and I do mean everyone – is constantly on alert for someone willing to do Intimacy together. We say we’re not in it for the feelings the same way people read Playboy for the articles: We lie.

The result is a scene where everybody tries to maintain his balance and when sex becomes a commodity, people tend to plummet.

Guy #114 was a kindergarten teacher. I taught him a lesson by laying him down on my countertop for a good five minutes. It was fun, but all the while I couldn’t help but imagine this slutty piece of human standing in front of a dozen toddlers singing songs about Old MacDonald and his farm. Sure, kindergarten teachers can be greedy bottoms as much as anyone, but I’m not the type who enjoys thinking about toddlers during sex.

Guy #115 was a reclusive Asian who for reasons I will never understand neglected to shave his armpits. They were sweaty and disgusting. He contacted me many times after our first and only date, but his armpits were sweaty and disgusting.

Guy #116 had a gorgeous body featuring an interesting skin condition. He assured me it wasn’t contagious, but I wasn’t quite comfortable going to fifth base with someone who needed Vaseline literally everywhere but his fifth base. Still, when his skin condition indeed turned out to be benign, I met up with him a few more times, until he became irritated I couldn’t meet up with him every week. Irritation soon led to anger, to which I tend not to respond.

Guy #117 was unremarkably cute. The sex was unremarkably pleasant. He wanted to meet up another time, but I deemed him too unremarkable. The end.

If Guys #114 through #117 would ever ask me why I held off on seeing them again, I would tell them I was just in it for the sex, but it would of course be a lie. I lie as often as I’m lied to. We all know we lie, but it’s not like we have a choice: Intimacy is a dangerous drug. We all crave it as much as we fear it and when we find it all the strength in the world isn’t enough to prevent us from getting addicted to it. I didn’t reject Guys #114 through #117 because the sex was bad or because there was anything fundamentally wrong with them. They simply couldn’t give me the high I was looking for and I let them plummet the moment I realized they looked for it in me.

I’m an addict, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything in search of my fix. It’s what I do to people. It’s what people do to me. One day I might find an addict like me, someone equally bad at dosing Intimacy. It will be awesome, mind blowing, overwhelming and possibly life shattering.

I want it to be today, but I hope the day never comes.

French daredevil Jean Francois Gravelot, a.k.a 'The Great Blondin,' tightrope walks across the Niagara River Gorge carrying his manager, Harry Colcord, on his back, August 19, 1859. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

 

“Ballad of the sad young men”

Sing a song of sad young men, glasses full of rye
All the news is bad again, kiss your dreams goodbye

All the sad young men, sitting in the bars
Knowing neon lights, and missing all the stars

All the sad young men, drifting through the town
Drinking up the night, trying not to drown

All the sad young men, singing in the cold
Trying to forget, that they’re growing old

All the sad young men, choking on their youth
Trying to be brave, running from the truth

Autumn turns the leaves to gold, slowly dies the heart
Sad young men are growing old, that’s the cruelest part

All the sad young men, seek a certain smile
Someone they can hold, for just a little while

Tired little girl, does the best she can
Trying to be gay, for a sad young man

While a grimy moon, watches from above
All the sad young men, who play at making love

Misbegotten moon shine for sad young men
Let your gentle light guide them home again
All the sad, sad, sad, young men

(Frances Landesman)

 


 

Relationship summaries:

Guy #114
LENGTH: 15 minutes

FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to Darth Vader <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

GUY #115
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to Jabba the Hut <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

GUY #116
LENGTH: 2 months
FORMAT: Occasional bootie call on speed dial
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to Yoda <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.2

GUY #117
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to George Lucas <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #113 – The one I told my mother about…

My mother and I never talked about my love life. We maintained a silently agreed upon don’t ask don’t tell policy, which meant I ran off every time the subject of love and sex appeared on the horizon.

Guy #113 would go down in history as the only Guy I ever told my mother about:
“Mom, I may have met someone who I guess you could maybe call my boyfriend,” I said one day, after which my mother gave me a nice warm hug and told me she was very happy for me. She looked relieved, possibly because the last time she saw her son find love was when I was dating Girl #1, some six years prior.

A few days after informing my mother of the wonderful news, Guy #113 broke up with me. I never told my mother. Rather I stopped mentioning my boyfriend, until she quietly understood he was not to be brought up in conversation ever again.

Guy #113 had been a nice surprise. We dated each other for a few weeks during the 2012 holiday season. Our first date consisted of a conversation that lasted twice as long as it felt. On our second date we just got high and ended up in bed together.
The two of us had a lot in common, our sense of humor, the way we looked at things and people and the fact we both agreed Annafrid was the better ABBA singer.

Yet even though our personalities matched, our lives didn’t. Guy #113 had a successful career, a nice Amsterdam apartment and his life was in order. I on the other hand was a struggling telemarketer that lived with his mother, incapable of planning more than a few days ahead.

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Having never had a serious relationship with someone I never gave much thought to the concept. To me relationships were like Ebola: It only happened to other people. I had heard some Oprahesque clichés about getting your own stuff in order before committing to anyone or anything, but I had been so busy exploring my sexuality I neglected Oprah for the glory of my libido. I never even thought of committing myself to Guy #113. It was just good fun to experience true intimacy with someone for a change, to experience a relationship that didn’t end by putting my clothes back on.

What I considered a relationship probably was more of an escape. When I was with Guy #113 I didn’t have to think about telemarketing, what to do with my life or how to deal with my mother’s baldness. What I did focus on was how nice it was to wake up next to someone who’d make me breakfast in exchange for oral. Commitmentwise, that was as close as I’d ever gotten with someone.

Guy #113 had goals based on life. I had goals based on a lack thereof. A few weeks into our relationship he sat me down and told me things would not be working out between us. It hurt a little, but mostly because I knew my libido had to search for breakfast elsewhere. When Guy #113 broke up with me, I couldn’t help but agree with him. In fact, my primary concern was that I had just told my mother about him.

The word relationship can have many definitions. To me Guy #113 became a relationship the moment my mother learned of his existence. I suppose it´s safe to say Guy #113 didn’t use his mother as a measure of intimacy.

Of course Guy #113 agreed to remain friends and of course this friendship bled out faster than you can say Grindr.

I guess love, much like my mother´s cancer, struck a few years ahead of its time.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Going steady but not that steady
SEX SCORE (0 = Making out with a stormtrooper <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #112 – Gayspeak.

Social awkwardness is like quicksand: The more you fight it, the more you drown.

I drowned the night I met and did Guy #112. I believe we both did, but I will never know for sure. Communication between Guy #112 and me was so bad I can’t even say if he loathed or loved me.

Our online conversation had been cold and curt, our language one of abbreviations:

top/bot?
– vers
– u host?
– y
– stats
– 6’1” 155 7.5”
– nice!
– thnx
– 10 min
– k

When Guy #112 and I met up he turned out to be shy, very shy, like embryo at an abortion clinic-shy.

Gayspeak definitely has an Orwellian ring to it, the way it doesn’t allow for any feelings. Only when you meet someone in real life do you get to find out what kind of person hides behind the Gayspeak, which in this case turned out to be a socially phobic mute.

Guy #112 took my coat, sat me down on his couch and followed up on that by not saying anything.
The worst thing was he was visibly uncomfortable, his eyes constantly on the lookout for a place to rest, his body repeatedly changing posture and nothing but uneasiness spread on his face.
I didn’t know what to make of it: Was he mesmerized by my beauty or repulsed by my narcissism? I had no clue.
“So what kind of work do you do?” I asked.
Guy #112 seemed both relieved a conversation had started and at the same time distressed because he had to think of words to say.
“Bank,” was his answer.

It took Guy #112 another few seconds of everlasting silence before he leaned over and reached for my head with his lips. Not knowing what else to do I reached back. Our heads collided mid-couch. It was one of the worst kisses I ever had. His lips were void of any warmth, body or soul. The fact he kissed suggested he was into me. The way he kissed made me wonder he was straight.

The more we kissed, the more I felt the desire to move on, to do anything but linger in this perpetual gray area of consent. I guess undressing someone in a realm of ambiguity can be fun and exciting, but in this case the only thing I felt was Guy #112’s shyness and/or mortal fear: I might as well have been undressing a captured bird.

As Guy #112 and I celebrated our bond by exploring each other’s nakedness it amazed me how Gayspeak had been the prelude to a gathering such as ours. I imagine Guy #112 got to see as little of my personality as I did of his. All we did get to see were our bodies clumsily partnering up to create the act of sex.

I don’t remember how we ended, but it can’t have been climactic. To my recollection the word ‘Bank’ marked the last time Guy #112 and I spoke with each other. What I do remember is wanting to leave as quickly as I could, which I did. The fact I don’t remember any details is probably a testament to how awkward things had been.

The funny thing about Gayspeak is that you know for sure it will lead to sex, but never who you’ll be having it with. It’s literally a computer generated language programmed to facilitate horniness. Sometimes it’s a great way to make friends.

Other times it’s a great way to remind yourself it’s okay to stay inside and watch porn.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 20 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance on quicksand <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #111 – Downton Shabby.

Guy #111 lived in with his landlord, an 84 four year old friend who had somewhere else to be that night.
The house was what you’d expect from someone old enough to dislike Germans for a reason. I found myself on the set of Downton Abbey with one of the cuter looking footmen as my only company.

While it was beyond obvious Guy #111 and I would end up having sex, we postponed it for a good half hour by means of conversation. His landlord came up a lot. Guy #111 was about my age and it struck me as odd an 84 year old landlord would play such an important role in his life.

It’s not that I have anything against old people, but I don’t look for them on Grindr, the same way I don’t watch Youtube for the ads. But from what I could tell Guy #111 and his landlord did all sorts of friend stuff together. It did not occur to me once his landlord was also his boyfriend.
Like most people, I skip the ads whenever possible.

I remember it being somewhat of a turnoff whenever Guy #111  mentioned his 84 year old friend. The main reason I initiated foreplay was to get my footman to stop talking.

We ended up in his bedroom soon after the talking stopped.

For the first twenty minutes or so I was well on my way to making the sex yet another slightly above average satisfying memory, until the bedroom door opened and man a walked in, an old man, like an 84 year old landlord. I grabbed hold of the nearest sheets to cover myself and then I noticed: Guy #111 did not try to hide his nakedness. He did not feel caught.
“This is Lennard,” Guy #111 said casually, after which his very old friend stepped forward and extended his hand. I actually shook it, even though by that time I had already figured out how Guy #111 paid the rent.

Guy #111 was a recruiter, sent out by his landlord to scour the land for fresh meat. I realized I was tonight’s special the moment the old and wrinkled landlord did not let go of my hand, as he smiled at me like a kid waking up in a candy store.

It agonizes me when Youtube shoves a 20 second toothbrush commercial down my throat. Likewise, it pissed me off Guy#111 and his sugarpope had orchestrated this little get together. I understand it’s difficult to find fresh meat at 84, but trickery is never the answer. It’s just not sexy, not even on wizards.

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To their credit, Guy #111 and his boyfriend were quick to gauge my reaction and didn’t press me into a threesome from which I would never recover. The old man politely greeted me before he left the room again, leaving me with Guy #111 and the thought that somewhere in the house there was an 84 year old man who had seen my penis.
“So your landlord is gay then?” I asked.
Guy #111 explained his landlord had been in the closet for most of his life and that he enjoyed having a young gay man living in his house. I didn’t ask any further, but quietly assumed Guy #111 let his landlord crash all of his dates and wondered if seeing a penis was considered a success in their eyes, or if the landlord had hoped to get in on the fun.

After Guy #111 and I were done I very much wanted to go home. I was offered to spend the night, but the house had become spooky to me, knowing it had an old man wandering around at night, walking in on people having sex. It did not sit well with me how Guy #111 and his boyfriend had manipulated me. It had this The call is coming from inside the house-vibe to it.

When I was clothed and ready to go I carefully navigated myself to the front door, constantly ready for something unexpected, the hand of an 84 year old man, the smell of chloroform, anything. I didn’t run into anyone when Guy #111 showed me out. Yet it wasn’t until I was out on the street that I felt relief.

My footman hit me up online a couple of times afterward. Each time he did I was reminded of his haunted house where old men look at penises.

Ghosting never felt more appropriate as it did in the case of Guy #111.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date with a pinch of gerontophilia
SEX SCORE (0 = The Germans <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3

Guy #110 – The Oscar to my Elmo…

Sometimes life gives you lemons. Lemonwise, 2012 was not a great year for me. My mother was undergoing treatment for ovarian cancer, my brain still went sour at the thought of Guy #96 and I had to work as a telemarketer to make ends meet. Dating at the time was an escape.

The same was probably true for Guy #110. His mother had recently died from a brain tumor and his father was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Eating lemons was all we talked about on our first date.

Our first date took place at Guy #110’s apartment. He had made me dinner, the dessert of which was us making out on his couch. It was a make-out session during which we talked about the horror of having to see your parents lose their strength in front of your very eyes, the way life can wreak havoc on what you wanted life to be and how telemarketing has got to be the leading cause of suicide, because nothing kills you more than having to sell your soul over the phone 40 hours a week when one of your parents is fighting death itself. Sometimes it’s nice to dwell on the negative, to be with someone who doesn’t go into Oprah-mode the moment you say life sucks. Our first date was very romantic indeed.

We traded underwear on our second date.
Apparently underwear trade signifies the start of a commitment in the gay scene, at least it did to Guy #110. The last Guy to have ever worn my underwear had been Guy #8 and he turned out to be a possessive stalker, so I can’t see I felt totally at ease in my new wardrobe.

I guess what I liked most about Guy #110 was the fact his life was more messed up than mine. He was the Oscar to my Elmo.

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It was around the time Guy #110 put on my underwear I realized human misery was what connected us more than anything else. On our third date I remembered why we had hooked up in the first place: To sugarcoat our lemons. Guy #110 was friendly, warmhearted and funny enough to at least laugh at my jokes, but he wasn’t a fruit of his own kind.

After our third date he told me he was looking forward to our fourth. I said I’d send him a message on Facebook to initiate it, but then somehow ended up never doing it, and he somehow never reminded me.
My guess is Guy #110 was a bit offended, but that he was used to being let down in life. I imagine he regretted ever giving me his underwear, but that it was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

I did feel a bit guilty over quietly forgetting about Guy #110, believing I had added another pinch of misery to his life.

I guess grief doesn’t make for great relationships.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: 3 romantic dates that led nowhere
SEX SCORE (0 = Sequels <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #109 – That time STD’s were sexy…

Common as they are, no one particularly enjoys talking about STD’s. The human body is an ecosystem of countless miniscule organisms, but it’s the few that make you die or feel like you’ll die peeing that hardly come up in conversation. The reason is simple: STD’s cover our body in icky shame.

So when Guy #109 came over for an evening of sex it came as a surprise when he told me his hot body had hepatitis.

I quickly realized Guy #109 had to go through life broadcasting this disclaimer each and every time he encountered someone he wanted to have sex with. Or rather, he chose to be honest.

Honesty to me is hotter than STD’s are icky, so Guy #109 telling me his liver was at constant risk of succumbing to the dark side immediately turned me on. I also empathized with him, imagining what it must be like to hold off on foreplay with a chat on infectious disease all the time. I’d probably feel like a waiter handing out a roll of toilet paper in lieu of a menu. We don’t like to talk about STD’s because we fear it will ruin our appetite.

Yet when Guy #109 opened up about his hepatitis he became more human than his hot body had previously suggested. I told him I had no trouble having sex with him and his liver provided I couldn’t see the latter from the outside.

That’s when it became apparent how disastrously poorly educated I was.

Unlike HIV I had always ranked hepatitis as one of the more forgettable Bond villains. I knew one could get shots to prevent getting hepatitis and always figured there’d come a day I would. Until Guy #109 told me I never knew how contagious hepatitis really is, or how lucky I’d been never to have gotten it.

Guy #109 told me we couldn’t have the sex we had both anticipated, at least not until I arranged for myself to get vaccinated.
What we could do was get naked together and tease the living daylights out of each other, which is what we did on a number of occasions over the next few months.

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It was actually kind of hot to be with Guy #109 and not do what we wanted to do. It allowed us to get to know each other in a way we would never have known each other had sex been on the menu from the get go. When I finally was protected against hepatitis the sex between the two of us was cathartic, which it has been pretty much every time we hooked up since.

Every few weeks or so, Guy #109 and I would get together, cuddle up to watch a movie, eat pizza and have awesome safe sex. Hepatitis had stopped being an issue the moment Guy #109 opened up about it. And he may very well have saved me from getting it myself someday.

STD’s, as it turns out, are kind of hot.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Friends with benefits
SEX SCORE (0= The concept of ranking sexual partners <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

Guy #108 – Good things come from taking pictures of mirrors…

Guy #108 and I dug each other’s pictures. It was all we talked about online. He was hot, I was hot and together we set a date to celebrate our collective hotness.

Usually dates based solely on hotness feature very little conversation. When two Guys get together for sex a conversation is like listening to Al Gore introducing a stripper. It sucks the libido out of you.

On the other hand, I was raised to be polite, to at least feign interest in people in the absence of any.

The thing is, when you start a conversation with someone just for the sake of the conversation, an actual conversation might arise and people can become interesting all of a sudden.

Guy #108 and I dug each other’s vibe more than we did our pictures. The sex that followed our chitchat even seemed a bit misplaced, like Al Gore at a strip club if you will.

The conversation flowed into sex was because it was the agreed upon arrangement. It never occurred to me some hot Guys are just not meant to be hot for each other.

Going to third base with Guy #108 wasn’t at all unpleasant, but I think both of us were sorry the conversation had ended.

The sex ended when Guy #108 started laughing.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer: I was laughing too.

It was actually kind of refreshing to lie in bed with a beautiful Guy and not feel any sexual tension. In fact, all the tension that comes with random hook-ups had evaporated along with our collective libidos.

In lieu of consuming each other’s bodies in ways previously discussed online, Guy #108 and I became friends, our sexual history but a weird memory.

To people who meet me based on what I look like taking pictures of mirrors it can come as a surprise I’m not always as horny as my selfies would suggest. A sex date is not something I expect my personality to stand in the way of, but I guess Guy #108 had enough of a brain to realize I’m not at all like the person in my pictures. Sure, I try to come across as a hot puddle of vanity holding a cell phone when I’m on a sex date, but the reality is of course that having a laugh, making fun of myself and not being aroused by a total stranger come way more easily for me.

Sex dates, if nothing else, are a good way to make friends. I’m sure the world would be a prettier place if more people could get naked the way Guy #108 and I did.

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Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Ridiculous hook-up that quickly evolved into comfortably sexless friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Anything with the name TRUMP on it <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5

Guy #107 – The former model…

Not too long ago scientists discovered an Earth-like planet about 490 light years away. That means we get to see this planet as it was 490 years ago.

The same thing happens in dating: Some people advertise themselves using selfies that were taken light years ago. In astronomy it’s interesting. In dating it’s just a big fat lie.

Astronomers would agree with me Guy #107 qualified as a big fat liar of cosmic proportions.

Guy #107 had been a model. Had been. That’s more past tenserish than anything you see in the night sky.

I get it. The world of dating is shallower than the world of science. I don’t look at bodies the way NASA does. I do have a tendency to not really care for the inside until the outside satisfies me.

Guy #107 got it too. He had spent a few years in the sun, being photographed by professionals when he was at the peak of his hotness. When we chatted online he would send me the most idyllic pictures of him at beaches, pools and against a wall with some hot woman who looked equally bored celebrating her prime. His pictures were hot alright.

Or maybe people on Grindr just like to be lied to.

Most of the time anticipation is but a prelude to disappointment. Guy #107 was no exception. When he opened the door to his apartment I felt like Dr. Who stepping out of a time machine: Based on his pictures I had expected to meet Guy #107 at least a decade earlier.

The funny thing was his house had pictures of him everywhere, yet Guy #107 looked nothing like him. I could tell it was definitely him in the pictures, but his face looked like it had taken an asteroid hit. Age had hit him hard.

When I first laid eyes on Guy #107 he had this hopeful yet questioning smile on his old face. He knew modeling would never pay another bill in his life. His smile was him asking me if I was okay with it.

I wasn’t, but I had traveled more than an hour to get to his place, it was late, it was freezing cold outside and I suck at rejecting people, so I politely asked for water when he offered me a drink. I never get to finish my glass of water on a sex date. This date was no exception.

Not wanting to look at his face any longer, it was probably me who initiated the first kiss. Before long, we were in his bedroom, which was a lot like his living room in the sense the walls were like a museum in his honor. Everywhere I looked I saw hot looking professional photographs of a very hot Guy looking very hotly bored in very little clothes.

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I have to admit it was kind of hot to realize I was doing it with all the hot Guys around me. Sure it was a bit sad to have so many pictures of oneself, but I was glad to be constantly reminded of the hotness I might have been with had Grindr been around a few years earlier.

Afterward, Guy #107 and I sat on his bed as he gave me a binder which consisted of highlights from his portfolio. He’s the only person who ever started showing me pictures of himself after sex. I could tell he liked being reminded of the hot Guy he used to be. His interior was designed to look like the distant star he had become.

I could have been mad at Guy #107 for turning into a big fat liar, but I guess he was just a former model who had become karma to everyone who only cares what bodies look like on the outside.

We ended up doing it twice.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night trip down memory lane
SEX SCORE (0 = Bad karma <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #106 – Damn that beauty…

It is said that looks don’t matter. This is of course the biggest lie since Bill Clinton did not have sexual relations with that woman. Looks can fuel a crush as much as cigars can define a presidency.

In terms of hormones, Guy #106 to date has been the only Guy to get me hard at first sight. I could attempt to describe him, but for the sake of the story simply imagine the most beautiful person you’ve ever met and ever will meet.

Guy #106 and I spent one night together. The first few hours we talked in the absence of any physical contact. It made me wonder if he was even into me. I considered Guy #106 so beautiful I did not dare initiate a first move. It was he who had started our conversation. It was he who offered me a drink. And it was he who asked if I was up for sex.

It’s one thing to desire beauty. It’s a whole other thing to be desired by it.

The sex itself was what I would call spectacular. My lack of initiative dissipated the moment we got naked and I pleasantly surprised myself with my adequacy as I surrendered myself to the desires of my desire. If heaven is a place that houses 72 Guy #106’s I could empathize with people that fly planes into buildings.

Of course, the dimly lit cell that is a cabin in a gay sauna is about as far from heaven as a gay Guy can be. After exploring each other for a good few hours Guy #106 got ready to give me what I had wanted him to give me the moment I first saw him…and then he came. As such, the trip to heaven lost to gravity just as my hands reached for the clouds.

Guy #106 felt bad about it. I on the other hand was flattered and cuddled up next to him. For a long time we simply cuddled and talked, which I guess has always been my favorite sexual position. Not only was guy #106 drop dead gorgeous, he had a mind, feelings, thoughts, enough material to keep our conversation going for hours.

When morning broke Guy #106 suggested the two of us check into a cheap hotel and continue the weekend there. I wanted to, but instead I told him my mother had recently been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and that we had a family thing I would feel guilty for not attending, given the circumstances.

There really was a family thing and I really would have felt guilty for checking into a hotel with Guy #106. It’s also true I opened up about my mother’s illness to bring depth to a relationship that wasn’t really a relationship. For all the intimacy we shared we were still mostly strangers.

In lieu of flying to heaven in a hotel room I left Guy #106 my phone number. He texted me later that day (just as I was engaged in an epic battle of mini golf with family) saying he had enjoyed his time with me.
I’m not the kind of person that pursues a commitment, but when it comes to beauty I do tend to behave like an addict. Guy #106 got me high for a short while, but I quickly craved for more. So I texted back, asking when we could meet again. He said he’d have to check his schedule. I gave him dates when I’d be available. He said he’d really have to check his schedule.

He’s been checking his schedule for four years now. For years and counting.

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I suck at playing hard to get, blissfully unaware of the fact my initial shyness was the very thing that made me worth chasing. I had been hard to get without realizing it. My reluctance to make even a hint of a first move had created a certain equality between Guy #106 and me. Now that I knew he found me attractive and nice to be around with I had completely submitted myself to his beauty, neglecting my own in the process. As a result I stopped being the delicious prey I was when Guy #106 first laid eyes on me.

If ever there was a Guy I’d like to meet again, it’s Guy #106. Not because I want to have sex with him – well, not just because I want us to cuddle above the cloud deck – but because he’s someone I’d want to know.
Most Guys I met have Grindr profiles, Facebook accounts or Instagram selfies. Guy #106 turned out to be a digital ghost I only knew by his first name. Maybe that’s for the best. I’m about to publish this post labeling him as the most beautiful Guy I’ve ever been with. It doesn’t get much less hard to get than that.

I do regret not checking into a hotel with him.
I regret it every time I see beauty.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 hours
FORMAT: Wow
SEX SCORE (0 = Gravity <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.6

Guy #105 – Urkel.

Love can be either devastating or annoying.

Guy #105 was annoying. The more he fell in love with me, the more annoying he became.
What annoyed me most were his tics. He constantly made a “clissing” sound with his mouth (clicking and hissing, I don’t know what else to call it). Guy #105 had this weird accent I could never quite take seriously. He was a nerdy PhD. in something, German, and the closest I ever came to dating Urkel.

Urkel was smart and from a certain angle and after a few glasses of wine not entirely uncute. He obviously wanted me as he explained to me the PhD. stuff that he did. He wanted me so eagerly I could make him eat his own socks if I wanted to. Apparently he thought me so worthy he considered himself blessed I was within reach. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, his clisses became more frequent and he giggled like a ventriloquist’s doll when I told him I like talking about quantum physics during sex.

Our first date wasn’t all that bad actually. I was in a romantic mood and must have enjoyed talking about particles. I probably initiated the first kiss as a gift of sorts. That somehow ended up in four hours of tender lovemaking. It was during those four hours Urkel’s mannerisms started to annoy me. His spit spat outward like a supernova each time he laughed. Even worse, he thought he was funny. He laughed a lot.

Urkel was so busy enjoying his moment in time he failed to notice I contemplated smacking his head each time he clissed. Instead, he spoke of me visiting him in Germany someday. He wanted to show me around and introduce me to his social life. I on the other hand was silently wondering why I had let it come to this. It’s difficult to enjoy sex when the other one is enjoying it so much more than you ever could.

Of course it’s nice when someone finds you attractive, but even admiration can be overdone. Nothing is more irritating than someone who wants to be your shadow.

For a few hours I had granted Urkel the illusion the two of us could ever be a thing of sorts. That had planted a seed. The moment his first cliss annoyed me Urkel became unaware of my true feelings for him. No matter what I did, he liked me more. No matter how curt, avoidant or rude I was, Urkel praised me like a Trekkie taking a shower with Jean-Luc Picard. The fact he idolized me and every breath I took made him an incredible nuisance, like a mosquito hovering around your head when all you want is sleep.

I considered myself lucky Urkel lived in Germany. It’s easy to ghost people long distance. Yet somehow he managed to find himself in my country again two months later, where he somehow had us attending a pride parade together. (As mentioned before, I absolutely suck at rejecting people.)

At times I pitied Urkel. His brain was undoubtedly sexy, but his nerdisms were too much for me to take in. His clissing in particular annoyed me, especially when accompanied by one of his many attempts to get physical with me. Being with him again made me wonder how on Earth the two of us had ever gotten to seeing each other naked.

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Urkel was clearly disappointed when I told him we would not be having sex again, even though that had been the main purpose of his visit. I could tell he was sad because the clissing stopped.

We didn’t see each other after that, though he would frequently hit me up online to ask me questions like What’s up?, How’s it hanging?, How are you?  and Hi?. I did not Hi back.

No one likes to see a sad Urkel, but I guess that’s because we’re all Urkel from time to time. Being in love is pretty much what being Urkel is all about. Guy #105 completely neglected his own brilliance for the sake of praising my pretty blue eyes. Fortunately, crushes come and go and he eventually stopped attempting to contact me. I guess it means he rekindled his relationship with the hot PhD. stuff he was so very good at.

Perhaps one day I’ll be the failed writer whose only claim to success is that he dated a future Nobel Prize winner this one time.

That’s still better than having to listen to any more of his clisses though.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: Drunken mistake followed by four month hangover
SEX SCORE (0 = Urkel’s pubic hair in your soup <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3

Guy #104 – Best pity sex ever.

Sexting.
Like smelling your fingers or wanting to kill your neighbor, sexting is one of those common things people rarely talk about in public. In the land of sexting everybody has libidos that last all night, cum spreads like supernovae and penises stay erect till the end of time.

Sexting often doesn’t lead to an actual date, perhaps because it’s kind of silly and everyone involved knows too many superlatives can only result in disappointment.

Guy #104 was my most memorable exception in that respect.
The two of us got in touch on a dating site and quickly entered a conversation that read like a porn script. Unlike most sexting partners, Guy #104 seemed genuinely interested in meeting up with me, which is why we set a date at his place.

That’s when he got down with the flu. Usually people get down with the flu as a polite way of saying On second thought, I don’t want you in my house, but Guy #104 insisted we’d meet a week later.

A week later he still had the flu.

The thing with sexting is it’s kind of like sex itself: It can’t go on forever. Eventually Guy #104 and I started talking about other stuff, most notably about the fact he stayed in flu mode for so long.

As Guy #104 revealed more and more of his symptoms I realized he probably didn’t have the flu, but Acute HIV Infection. Not wanting to burden him with my hypochondria, I didn’t tell him about my suspicions at first.
But when another week passed during which his flu didn’t, Guy #104 told me he had seen a doctor who also deemed HIV the most likely culprit. Shortly after his test came back positive.

Needless to say Guy #104 was devastated. Like so many gay Guys he had barebacked his way through a recent date and subsequently became part of that statistic no one wants to be a part of.

There’s no arousal to be found in a sentence like Hm, yeah, Ima slide that condom on so hard. That’s why in the land of sexting the hypothetical sex is always a bareback extravaganza. Guy #104 and I had sexted each other about doing stuff some people get AIDS from. Now he knew he would never be able to do any of that stuff with anyone ever.

What started off as a lighthearted sexting session eventually took the form of therapy. Guy #104’s world was pretty much shattered and he could only confide in a sexting stranger.

Perhaps his biggest issue was he now felt unattractive. HIV simply isn’t a popular niche. It lets everybody know you barebacked one too many times. Guy #104 had trouble accepting Guys could still be attracted to him. So I told him I’d take him up on our date, saying I would gladly show him HIV was not a turn off for me.

We met sometime after his symptoms had disappeared. We spoke a lot about him having to adjust to his new status. He struck me as relieved, having taken comfort in the fact it’s not the death sentence it used to be.

It’s not uncommon for me to take on the role of therapist on dates, but never as much as with Guy #104. I actually enjoyed being able to offer him a sense of comfort.

It was during sex I felt his relief the most. It was his first time after testing positive and it was nice to see him enjoy himself.
For me the sex wasn’t great though. Guy #104 wasn’t really the kind of hot I had seen on his selfies and besides HIV we didn’t have much else to talk about. There wasn’t that much of a connection to be celebrated, but maybe that’s because I took on the role of therapist, even during sex.
Still, Guy #104 made me feel like a good therapist. It was definitely the best pity sex I ever had.

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The two of us met on three or four occasions. He was the kind of friend that would say ‘Hi’ each time I popped online on Skype. I am however not a very sociable person when I’m not having sex.
I could tell I meant something to Guy #104 and was very happy to have been there for him, but I never intended to be there for him forever: The better the therapist, the quicker his patients don’t need him anymore.
And of course I get immensely annoyed by people that say ‘Hi’ on Skype.

Ghosting someone always comes with a pinch of guilt. I simply suck at rejecting people. It would have been courteous of me to let him know I was happy to have been of help, but that I had given him all the help I could have. Instead I stayed silent until, eventually, Skype did.

I eased my guilt by figuring Guy #104 would take comfort in the fact that, whatever my reason for ghosting him, HIV wasn’t it.

I imagine he’s been happily sexting since.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: Sexting turned therapy
SEX SCORE (0 = That thing with Freud and wanting to do your mother <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #103 – Sticky rice…

Hotels are great for having sex with strangers.

When you go online to find a date, Guys in hotels are among the easiest catches. They can host, they are willing and sex will forever be the best amenity the Hilton has to offer.

Guy #103 was an Asian guy visiting Europe on business. We met online, where we agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel, where he picked me up and took me to his room, where we had mildly satisfying sex that lasted about 20 minutes.

The end.

Or so I thought.

Usually when two strangers meet up for sex in a hotel this tends to be the extent of their relationship. Guy #103 and I didn’t have any connection I deemed worthy of exploring, so putting my clothes back on was my way of saying goodbye.

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Guy #103 however was new to the city. He wanted to explore. And worst of all, he wanted to explore with me. Fake politeness being my superpower, I accepted his offer to go for a walk together.

As far as I could tell nothing was wrong with Guy #103. I simply felt no more for him than I feel for strangers on a subway. Guy #103 gave me the feeling you get when a random passenger starts talking to you. The fact I just had sex with this stranger made things awkward and extremely tiring.
I would have been moderately fine with this had the sex taken place at the end of our date. Then at least our meaningless conversations would have led somewhere. Now we were merely exchanging increasingly superfluous pleasantries that sucked the life out of me, all for the sake of being polite to someone I knew I would never see again.

We ended up in some sort of Hindu temple, where Guy #103 lit a candle and had himself a moment of solemn silence. While I find spirituality interesting, I found it odd to top off anonymous hotel sex with a few minutes of less consensual prayer.

Guy #103 spoke of a restaurant he wanted to try out. He said he wanted to buy me lunch. I said yes.

I really do suck at rejecting people.

We sat down in an obscure and rather filthy establishment. Our table placed us in full view of an abattoir where dead poultry hang on its legs. Our table cloth was plastic and the cutlery felt sticky. Having exhausted every other possible casual conversation topic, the food was the only subject of our discussion. My dish most closely resembled a watery rice porridge I imagine must have been conceived in times of famine. It perfectly mirrored the satisfaction I had gotten from my date.
I told Guy #103 my food tasted healthy, the culinary equivalent of telling an ugly Guy he looks sweet.
I’m not sure what should worry me most: the fact I lie during my dates or that I mostly lie for my dates.

When we got back at his hotel Guy #103 invited me to come up with him. The thought of having to go through another round of sex with this Guy was no more appealing than a root canal treatment at this time. So I decided to be honest and said: “No force in the universe is strong enough to make me have sex with you ever again.”

That was a lie. The kind of honesty I actually performed went something like: “I really had a lot of fun. It was really nice meeting you. Thank you so much for that lunch also. It was really great. I would love to come up with you, really. But I don’t really want to keep my friend waiting. I have this thing I really need to be at. We should really keep in touch though.”

We did not keep in touch.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 hours
FORMAT: Purgatory
SEX SCORE (0 = Youtube commercials you can’t click away <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

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