Guy #207 – The horrible aftermath of that time I cried at an orgy…

Guy #207 was by far one of the saddest individuals I ever had sex with.

He was the kind of Guy that would go from orgy to orgy, desperate to find a place where he belonged. When at orgies, I always saw him take too much GHB and pass out at some point, easily spending hours on end lying on the floor with other Guys occasionally checking to see if he was still breathing.

When attending larger gatherings like techno parties I would often see him at the first aid stand being tended to by medical staff, assumedly because he had taken too much drugs again.

His relationships with the people he met at orgies were, as far as I could tell, shallow at best, even by orgy standards. He found his way into orgies by hitching invites from notably cooler people, only to be dismissed by the very people that brought him along.

When at orgies, he would be clingy, killing the sexual tension by imposing his desperation and loneliness onto those he hung out with. Enjoying sex in the presence of Guy #207 was as challenging as playing a game of Mikado during an earthquake or unwrapping a condom when there’s already lube on your fingers.

But what annoyed me most of all about Guy #207 was that he reminded me of me a lot.

About half a year before running into Guy #207 I attended my first orgy. It was an overwhelming experience: to be included in a group of people based on my looks… It was like being one of the cool kids. Having gone through life without ever being one of those, I latched onto orgy culture like a newborn duckling sticking to whatever creature it sees first.

I became addicted. Not to sex or drugs or chemsex, but to the idea of being one of the cool kids.

Half a year later I found myself crying at an orgy after being mercilessly rejected from a threesome with Guys #168 and #206.

Before discovering orgy culture, I had been fairly confident in my sexual exploits. Sure I was clumsy, awkward and inept at building any sort of relationship with anyone, but I had rarely experienced any form of dependency on something or someone.

Then came the day I fell hopelessly in love with this Guy at this orgy, and half a year later I met Guy #207: a reflection of what orgy culture had made me become.

For a long time I went to orgies for the wrong reason: to be included.

I met Guy #207 in a house with about 30 or so other Guys. I would’ve hooked up with any of them, were it not for the fact I had literally cried myself to sleep a few hours earlier.

If you never experienced the rejection of someone you love at an orgy, let me state that in terms of shame it ranks among my most embarrassing experiences, on par with that time my mother found out I’d been watching gay porn.

So when Guy #207 approached me, I instantly saw the sad hump of hopelessness he was…and I intuitively felt he was me.

I was too overcome with shame to set any boundaries for myself. It might very well be what attracted Guy #207 to me in the first place. So when Guy #207 offered himself to me, I didn’t know what to do but to go along with it.

The great thing about orgies is that you can enjoy your sexuality freely in the company of others. In fact, this often adds to the flavor.

Unless of course you’re engulfed in shame and you don’t want to be seen.

Me having sex with Guy #207 felt weird and misplaced. He seemed relieved to have found someone to belong with, I was mostly just resenting myself, hoping no one was witness to me having sex with him, which at an orgy is akin to wanting to be the only one stuck in a traffic jam.

After the sex was over, I more or less let Guy #207 be. I saw him lying passed out on the floor a while later. One could argue it was in that moment I decided not to become like him.

These days I’d like to think I go to orgies for the right reason: simply to have fun.

It took me a few orgies and a hopeless crush to realize and accept the fact that orgy culture is the place to have fun and unwind, not the place to get the therapy you think you don’t need.

Go to orgies for fun and they’re actually quite therapeutic. Go to orgies to alleviate your issues, and those issues will be as naked as you are.

I got my ego served to me the day I met Guy #207 and it was a lot to swallow.

A few months ago I found myself at this party somewhere when someone poked me to say Hi. The Guy in question appeared very manly, friendly and confident, so much that I found him attractive without him being my type. I needed a few seconds before I recognized him as Guy #207.

In the few years that passed Guy #207 went from being a saggy drug addict incapable of maintaining consciousness for more than a few hours at a time to a good looking, sexy and capable person.

I still regret having sex with him, but still…well done.

I hope he’s a reflection of me now as he was back then.


Guy #206 – That time I cried at an orgy…

When you fall in love with a Guy you meet at this drug infested orgy, and you only ever get to see him at drug infested orgies, and the only time you get to be with him is when both your highs are way above the legal limit, the only real relationship sprouting from that scenario is your relationship with reality.

My reality was as follows:

I fell in love with Guy #168 at this orgy this one time. He embodied the youth I had lost to a closet. My wish was not only to be by his side at orgies, but also to become friends without the nakedness of others. I wanted to get to know Guy #168 sober and find out he was the amazing Guy I fell in love with when we were both high.

I quickly got frustrated by the fact I could only ever meet him at orgies. The reason for this was simple: he had little to no interest in meeting me outside of this cocoon where gay orgies take place.

So I opted to believe an alternative reality, or as it’s commonly called: a fantasy.

My strategy for getting closer to Guy #168 was to chase a mirage I had created for myself: I searched the horizon for faint clues of him being madly in love with me, whilst ignoring the reality that was only apparent when I wasn’t high.

While high, I could easily fit every word, whisper, sigh, eye contact or even absence of contact into the narrative I wanted to believe: that, at least on some level, Guy #168 was into me and shared my feelings, that I was on his mind as much as he was on mine, and that he too wanted nothing more than to get to know the real me, that he too was aching to be with me on occasions that were not just orgies.

So when I ran into Guy #168 at this orgy again one day, it struck me as odd he arrived on the scene in the company of another Guy, an amazingly good looking one I instantly felt didn’t fit my preciously twisted narrative.

Part of me couldn’t blame Guy #168: the Guy that accompanied him was one of the hottest people I had ever seen in my life. One might even say he was hotter than Guy #168 himself.

Of course Guy #168 preferring someone even hotter than him didn’t fit my fantasy one bit, so I decided not to like his friend, regardless of how good looking and annoyingly charming he was.

As much as I tried not to give this Guy who was stealing my thunder any attention, it was all but impossible to pursue Guy #168 and ignore his friend at the same time. They were pretty much inseparable.

Then came the moment I was on my knees giving Guy #168 a blowjob, with his hot friend lined up next to him. I found myself in the awkward position of more or less having to perform oral on one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen and resenting every second of it.

So I went down on Guy #168 and his companion, making the latter Guy #206.

Orgy culture being what it is I should’ve felt blessed to be able to get my hands on someone as gorgeous as Guy #206, but my crush on Guy #168 rendered me jealous above anything else.

My guess is Guy #206 felt my resentment. I considered him the competition after all.
When you give a Guy a blowjob and your heart’s not in it, that tends to be noticeable. I was orally obligating my way through Guy #206 while being heartbroken over the fact he was kissing Guy #168 at the same time. The very act of giving it to Guy #206 shattered the reality I so much wanted to believe.

The chemistry to turn our gathering into a real threesome was lacking. I simply couldn’t bring myself to like Guy #206, and seeing him with Guy #168 only paralyzed me and what sexuality I had to offer.
So instead of focusing on the sex, I deemed it wise to show off my amazing sense of humor:
“So tell me, where do your parents think you are right now?” I asked Guy #206 mid-blowjob, showing him that what I lacked in looks I made up for in wit.
Sadly, neither Guy #168 nor #206 seemed to understand why on Earth someone would bring up the subject of parents during a blowjob, at an orgy.

What little eroticism we shared quickly dissolved in my attempt at being funny.
Guy #168 and #206 went away to be with other people, leaving me to fend for my own groove.

Instead of shifting my attention to other Guys, I could only quietly spy on Guy #168 and how he was giving all his attention to his friend, flaunting him in ways I had never been flaunted.

Even though I found myself in a house with about 30 horny homos, all open for business, I couldn’t get myself to strike up the slightest bond with any of them. My entire self confidence had become dependent on Guy #168. Without him validating my presence, I felt like a weird outsider.

Seeing Guy #168 living up the orgy lifestyle with Guy #206 and excluding me from it, I grew faintly suspicious that maybe, just maybe, Guy #168 didn’t see in me the man of his dreams.

It wasn’t exactly the reality I wanted to have a relationship with, so I quickly went through the 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness and more drugs.

The drugs, in this case a tender mix of XTC, GHB, ketamine, 2C-B, weed and the occasional laughing gas allowed me to cling to the reality I had come for, to believe that Guy #168 was into me and my awesomeness.

Little did I realize I was constantly testing my reality, and with it Guy #168’s patience, by demanding attention from him, constantly killing his groove by imposing mine. I noticed he was appreciating my presence less and less, which I remedied by forcing more of me into his personal space. We were at an orgy after all. He was someone who had given me attention this one time. I had given him and his way too attractive friend an amicable blowjob earlier.

While I was slightly aware of the fact I was pissing off Guy #168 in ever increasing dosages, I couldn’t get myself to back off. The drugs had lowered my inhibitions and any form of self control was now out the window: I just wanted to be with Guy #168 and relive the high we shared at our first orgy together. 

I guess I never stopped to think that drugs can bring out the worst in you when you can’t accept your relationship with reality.

Whenever I saw Guy #168 and his Guy #206, I would join their company, only for them to leave my presence as quickly as they could. At the time I thought my avances were subtle. Sure I could see Guy #168 and #206 rolling their eyes each time I appeared, I could see them whispering about me behind my back, I knew my hotness was declining with every bit they saw of me, but in my reality Guy #168 was into me.

If all of this is confusing to you, try having a go at it with six different drugs coursing through your system.

To simplify, I kept coming on to a Guy who treated his own space as if it was his to own. And the more he pushed me away, the harder I tried.

Cut to Guy #168 and #206 getting cosy with a third Guy. It hurt to see it transpire right in front of me: in a house filled with Guy #168 and 30 other Guys, I wasn’t even his second choice!

I suppose the potent mix of insecurity, denial and drugs convinced me it would be a good idea to impose myself once more, to turn a threesome without me into a foursome in which I would claim top billing.

So I did.

Or at least I tried to.

I sat down behind Guy #168 and his two friends and started massaging his shoulders, to which he responded with a deep, resonating sigh. Guy #206 started breathing angrily, no doubt pissed off at me for spending all my time trying to hit on Guy #168 at his expense.
A few seconds into my attempt Guy #168, #206 and their newfound friend got up and walked away, clearly not wanting to be with me.

This is painful I thought, but the drugs weighed it as one would a distant siren at night. I didn’t yet realize I was the one in pain.

So I went in pursuit of Guy #168, #206 and their hook-up. I rejoined them as they were smoking a cigarette. When I did, their annoyance had been replaced by disdain. I had pushed them to the point where they could no longer be polite.

As a result, they no longer made the effort to uphold my reality, instead exposing it for the fantasy it had always been.

It was the moment it hit me. Seemingly out of the blue reality washed over me, with me unable to hold on to my narrative, unable to escape what was real:

Guy #168 maybe kind of liked me, but I wasn’t special to him. Nothing about my behavior was subtle or sexy. I was being obnoxious, sad, clingy and worst of all, I was unwillingly revealing my true feelings. And in doing so I had been rejected from a threesome. I had exposed myself, my needy ego and my naked self, and all three were scoffed at, at an orgy.

The embarrassment flooded me to the point that I froze. I found myself in front of someone I was madly in love with who kind of liked me when I kept my distance, accompanied by Guy #206, who was getting really tired of having to constantly fend off my bad intentions toward him, and their friend, who no doubt thought I was sad. It was like hearing that distant siren at night and suddenly realizing it’s coming for you.

As before, Guy #168, #206 and their friend fled the scene to not be with me. Only this time I was too overcome by sadness to pursue them.

I secluded myself to a mattress of sorts, surrounded by people who were having sex. I lay down on my stomach, my eyes hiding in my arms, and cried, at an orgy.

A lot of questions went through what was left of my mind as I hid my tears:

Why did I do anything as stupid as revealing my true self to someone I loved?
Why is my true self such a far cry from the Guy I want to be?
Can I ever face Guy #168 again?
Can the people sharing my mattress see I’m crying?

How did I manage to find myself in a house with countless attractive Guys and not have any fun?
How can I ache for sexual freedom and be consumed by jealousy at the same time?
Isn’t XTC supposed to make you happy?

Then why am I crying at an orgy?

Eventually I fell asleep, at that point the only escape from reality left at my disposal.
When I woke up a few hours later Guy #168 and #206 had gone.

I was left feeling sad, embarrassed and hurt, at an orgy that was still ongoing.

So I did what any wise Guy on drugs would do.

I went on the rebound. Plenty of Guys to choose from after all.

I chose Guy #207. And in case you’re wondering how that went, you should read about him in my next story: The horrible aftermath of that time I cried at an orgy.


Guy #205 – Close for comfort…

If there’s one thing gays are good at, it’s throwing a party, especially when it’s a party without straights. Or clothes for that matter.

In fact, the less straight people are part of a gay party, the less clothes will be.

The idea of being in a room with good looking naked Guys for the purpose of dancing, doing drugs and lovemaking may sound appealing to anyone who’s into naked Guys, dancing and lovemaking, but the reality of it is that being surrounded by so much nakedness can be a bit intimidating.

Because the only way to truly enjoy that much nakedness is to get naked yourself as well.

Naked in every sense of the word.

Naked means holding my breath enough for some abs to show but not too much lest people see I’m holding my breath. It means trying to look sexy but not desperate, eying others while trying to be eyed. It means trying to get to touch other naked people without being rejected, and rejecting others without coming across as unavailable, an exercise as delicate as playing a game of Operation.
Being naked in the company of hundreds of other naked Guys means letting go as much as it means keeping it together.

While I go to extravagant gay parties to hook up with hot Guys, it’s the presence of those hot Guys that reignites the very insecurities I come to shed myself of.

A familiar face at parties celebrating our collective sexuality is a welcome sight, someone you can walk up to and say Hi without it being awkward, someone you can get physical with without the risk of being pushed away.

Guy #205 was such a familiar face.

Guy #205 was not someone I would dare walk up to in a club or gay sauna. Luckily for me, we first ran into each other at this private party in someone’s living room. He introduced himself by seductively positioning himself behind me. Unbeknownst to him though I had just come from the washroom, where I had vomited some excess levels of GHB from my system. I was feeling drowsy and not at all in the mood for sex, so I rather bluntly pushed him away.

That was a bit of a dick move on my end, and I immediately felt sorry for it. Guy #205 was the kind of hot I go to gay parties for, so to dismiss him one second into the relationship was unintentionally harsh.

Feeling sorry for Guy #205, I took a few minutes to regain the high I had overshot, brushed my teeth, then sat down next to him as he was smoking a cigarette. We got to talking and, since it was the kind of party without straight people or clothes, we quickly worked our way to the sex part as well.

The sex turned out to be good, good enough to exchange phone numbers even.

A few weeks later I found myself at Guy #205’s place, spending the night and drugs together.

Nice as our date had been, I wasn’t in the mood to commit myself in the slightest. Hence I never really contacted Guy #205 afterward, nor did he contact me.

He had become a familiar face however, the kind I would often see at the many gay parties to follow.

When you find yourself dancing in a pool of foam with countless other Guys and one of your main reasons for being there is upping your ego, it’s incredibly comfortable to find a familiar face in the crowd, someone who once came onto you even when the GHB rendered you nigh unable to have a conversation, someone who will exchange a quick kiss with you, acknowledge your presence in a place where that presence is as casual as it is intense.

These days when I party the gay way, I do it to be gay as in happy. Boosting my ego no longer is a priority. In part this is thanks to Guys like #205. When you’re surrounded by hot Guys you think are out of your league, looks matter. When you can dance with a hot Guy you had sex with a few times, you can let go of looks and focus on the party.

And gays are good at throwing parties.


Guys #201, #202 and #203 – Five Guys, one cabin, lots of fun…

I suppose the title above does a fairly good job telling this story, but for the sake of fun, let’s go into some details:

Guy #200 was someone who recognized me from my blog. He introduced me to Guy #201, his boyfriend, who was also there.

There in this case was a drugs invested foam party in a gay sauna where people go to be gay in every sense of the word.

As I was getting acquainted with Guys #200 and #201, Guys #202 and #203 were also there all of a sudden. Or maybe they’d been there all along. I don’t remember every detail. I do recall letting myself be carried by the flow of it all and somehow ending up in a cabin with four other Guys not long after Guy #200 had said Aren’t you that Guy from that blog, 160 guys, 1600 Guys or something?

I also don’t quite remember who did what to whom in that cabin. It was dark, we were high, the flow didn’t require me to keep track of anything.

Some people feel alive by jumping out of an airplane or climbing Mount Everest. My highs take place at lower altitudes: having sex with four other Guys is something that makes me feel alive.

And more than anything else I remember the feeling of being alive that night I met and had sex with Guys #200, #201, #202 and #203.

My guess is each one of us had our own unique backstory, our own path that had led to this small cabin designed for sex.

Personally, I was in it to celebrate my sexual prime while I still could. Being part of a fivesome with four people who were all younger than me was my way of convincing myself my youth wasn’t lost to the many years it spent in a closet. I was ragingly defining my pride.

As alive as I felt during a fivesome, that’s how deprived I felt by the memory of being a 24 year old virgin. A fivesome was the perfect way to rid me of that memory for a few hours.

Being with Guys #200 through #203 as we were doing our stuff to each other, my mind raged along with the rest of me: I am actually living this right now! I am in this moment, living it and inhaling every sensation! This is what being alive means! This is what it means to be truly horny and satisfied at the same time! If ever there was a perfect moment for a meteorite to strike Earth, this would be it! Please, let me be stardust again, right in this moment! Or rather, I AM stardust, sharing a cosmic bond with four other stardust entities! This moment of sheer joy is the end result of gravity acting upon the remnants of a now distant supernova, and I’m here to be aware of it! Life is such a grand miracle and I’m celebrating it by merging my being with other beings, made up of the same stardust, and they’re all using condoms so I’m not even going to feel guilty for enjoying this moment so much come Monday!

When I engage in chemsex, my vocal output is usually restricted to Hm yeah, Oh yeah, Fuck yeah or just Yeah, but my mind usually wonders wonders off to galaxies far, far away.

After the fivesome had more or less concluded, the five of us sort of clung together for the remainder of the night, eventually ending up at this afterparty at this friend’s place.

The great thing about afterparties in living rooms is that they allow for the sex to be augmented by conversation, allowing you to get to know the people you’re having sex with:

Guy #200 and his boyfriend Guy #201 were someone I clicked with on an intuitive level. I still run into them occasionally, and it always makes me feel a bit awkward. I like them, but I’m always high when I see them, meaning I never have any memory of any conversations we might have had. My mind’s always on stardust when I see Guys #200 and #201, so I trust my subconscious to take care of the conversation on my behalf. I only ever remember the vibe, not the content. I have no idea what they do for a living, where they live or if they have pets or not. But I do know our entities are good at merging.

Guy #202 was one of the sweetest people I ever ran into at an orgy. It was this sweetness that initially made him attractive to me. As we got to the talking part, I quickly realized Guy #202 was not what I would call smart. He didn’t seem to have a bad bone in his body, but the sexiness of his sweetness vaporized with every word he spoke.

I would run into him on a few other occasions, but the more I saw him, the less I treated him with the respect his sweetness was deserving of.

To make things worse, Guy #202 seemed very much into me, even giving the impression he had a crush on me, however breezy. I ended up ghosting his online attempts to get in touch with me, instead being awkward with him every time I ran into him.

Guy #203 was by far the hottest of the five, and as such I was the most shy with him. It took me the bigger part of the night to get closer to him, to finally have sex with him. As with the other four, Guy #203 was someone I only ever see at orgies or parties where being sober would be the same as not being there at all. The few times I got to experience Guy #203 without drugs he struck me as someone I can relate to on more levels than just a sexual one.

Of course, when you’re high enough to consider yourself stardust and you’re living the moment with four other people, nothing besides that moment really matters.

It’s why I’ve come to combine doing Guys with doing drugs over the years.

 


 

 

 

 

 

Guy #200 – The fan?

I first kissed Guy #100 in full view of about a dozen Guys that had come and gone before him, making the story of Guy #100 a flashback episode of sorts.

The ‘eponymous’ Guy #168 was someone I fell in love with the moment I met him. The experience turned out to be so intense and revealing of this gay scene we find ourselves in that he’ll feature in a book I’m currently writing.

Then there’s Guy #200, someone who also stood out for more reasons than just a numerological one.

Guy #200 was the first Guy to ever recognize me from my blog.

Over the past few years, more and more Guys have stumbled across 168guys.com. It’s linked on my online dating profiles, it features highlights from my sad selfie collection and I don’t shy away from telling people I write the story of every Guy I ever had sex with when they inquire about my hobbies.

Added to that, gay scenes are extravagant as they are small. Gay clubs are often a gathering of who’s who of who’s done who. Whenever I go out, I find myself surrounded by Guys who have seen me before, either during sex, on Grindr, or on my blog.

These days it’s not uncommon for me to go on a dance floor and have someone come up to me saying Aren’t you that Guy from that blog, 160 guys, 1600 Guys or something?

Anyone familiar with my blog will know narcissist me is not above sleeping with fans.

Not when they’re cute, that is.

Whether Guy #200 actually was a fan I’m not sure. We met at this gay party where XTC and nakedness were the main ingredients. He came up to me and said he recognized me as the Guy from that blog about all the sex.

To me, it was a special moment. People who are active in the gay scene constitute my core demographic. Guy #200 was the first random stranger to make me realize I’m not only read by people I know or have slept with. Being high, I instantly knew Guy #200 was someone I wanted to celebrate the moment with.

I did, though not exactly in the way I envisioned it.

I tried to steer the conversation toward Guy #200 praising me and my writing, but he didn’t seem that interested in my material. Instead, our conversation somehow ended up in a fivesome with him and Guys #201, #202 and #203, mere minutes into our relationship.

The fivesome was fun, but it lacked the Oprah’s Book Club feel I was aiming for when Guy #200 and I started dry humping.

I would run into Guy #200 on numerous occasions to follow, even having sex with him a few more times.

Whenever we run into each other, I can’t help myself: I remind him he’s the first one to ever recognize me, and each and every time he doesn’t quite respond to it on any level whatsoever.

“You do realize I will write about you someday?” I asked Guy #200 at some point. I believe that made him laugh briefly, but not in a way that steered the conversation into him praising me or my writing.

I suppose it’s safe to say Guy #200 never wanted me for my words. Which is fine, because I have no qualms with people liking me for my looks.

To me #200 will forever be my first fan though, even if deeming him a ‘fan’ would be like calling my blog the Declaration of Independence.

Not that much of a stretch when you’re high on XTC and the end result is a fivesome.


Guy #196 – Another common side effect of GHB…

People look prettier when you’re high, even more so at orgies, where everybody is high, where you look prettier too.

Guy #196 was one of the sweetest, caring and also oldest people I ever ran into at an orgy. His home was designed to facilitate gay sex in large quantities, but more importantly, it was a place where gay people of all ages could feel safe, protected and horny at the same time. To dismiss Guy #196 for being too old would be cruel, even for me.

Or so my brain told me the night we met. Needless to say, my brain was under the influence of drugs, most notably GHB.

GHB lowers each and every one of our boundaries and while it doesn’t necessarily attract you to people you don’t find attractive, it does make you empathize with them more than you would during weekdays. You still see their imperfections, but value the art of compromise at the same rate.

I appreciated Guy #196 for what he meant to others, and I projected that sentiment onto myself, even though in all fairness this man never meant anything to me, nor would I ever dream of pursuing a connection with him in the absence of drugs and our proximity to each other.

Added to that, I had conquered Guy #195, a cute twink in his early twenties, minutes earlier, in full view of Guy #196. As I went down on this twink, I could see the duality in the eyes of Guy #196: aroused by the site of two younger people doing it in his living room, frustrated by the fact he wasn’t one of those younger people. I sensed Guy #196 felt excluded.

In fact, Guy #196 embodied one of my biggest worries, that someday, in the distant but not exceptionally distant future, I too would live my life clinging to orgies with young people who just wanted a place to have sex, that my life would continue revolving around sexfests with ever decreasing meaningfulness, where instead of living the remainder of my days surrounded by people I’d have valuable connections with, my only cure for loneliness would be the occasional orgy.

The more orgies you have, the more mundane they become. In retrospect, my first orgy was pure magic, the second one lived up to my expectations, the rest were just increasingly formulaic sequels and to me meeting Guy #196 was like running into Vin Diesel driving a pimped up wheelchair at the cast party of Fast & Furious 21.

But when you’re high on GHB, Vin Diesel in a wheelchair is not all that unsexy.

Guy #196 came on to me pretty strongly, and I let him. It was an exercise in empathy more than sexuality and I can’t say I very much enjoyed the experience. At the same time I wanted Guy #196 to get the impression what we were doing was somehow mutually rewarding. I managed to keep this up until we hit fifth base.
“I’m not really a good bottom,” I said, something that’s true for all people I don’t find all that attractive.

I suggested Guy #196 and I take a little break, knowing all too well this break would extend well beyond the sun’s estimated life span, no matter how high I’d fly.

GHB had lowered my defenses. It had given Guy #196 his way for a short time. It made me feel comfortable enough to have sex with other Guys in his house, limiting the rest of my relationship with Guy #196 to just talking instead.

As it turned out, Guy #196 enjoyed talking to me. He would hit me up online a number of times afterward. I halfheartedly responded the first couple of times, only to more or less end up ghosting him. I actually really liked Guy #196 for the person that he was, but I simply wasn’t interested in the connection.

Having sex with almost 200 Guys will do that to you.

I ran into Guy #196 a number of times afterward, each and every time at an occasion where we found ourselves surrounded by people having sex. The last time I saw him we actually spoke a little. He told me he still hosts the occasional sexfest at his place.
I asked if it was a rewarding experience for him, to go through life aging from orgy to orgy.
He told me about a group of friends he regularly has sex with, in addition to doing ‘normal’ stuff with them. To my surprise it sounded less shallow than most of what I encountered in our collective scene.

While I don’t see myself doing orgies when my body’s too old to pass for youthlike, I did find it hopeful to learn there was at least someone who managed to forge meaningful connections with people there.

When I first met Guy #196, I judged him on a wave of GHB: I had sex with him because I tried very hard to find him attractive, which meant I had to think of something to make him attractive, which meant I took the tried and tested empathy route, which meant I needed a reason to pity him: so I presumed Guy #196 to be lonely, all the way to fifth base, where the GHB levelled out.

When it later turned out Guy #196 wasn’t lonely, it meant I had pitied him for the wrong reasons, that I had found him attractive enough to have sex with based on a false assumption.

GHB makes sex so much easier and so much more complicated at the same time.


Guy #195 – A common side effect of GHB…

Apart from knowing two people who died doing GHB and having one of my best friends almost die from it, my experiences with this drug are generally top notch.

GHB is essentially a cleaning agent mixed with distilled water and as such ideal for rinsing your sink or getting high, the latter being the preferred option for most people.

Getting high from GHB in the company of other Guys means getting horny to the point that people become attractive no matter how clean their sink is. Its effect resembles that of alcohol, except that your high has a very distinct sexual component and you’re not hung over the next day, although you may feel regret when seeing the Guy you had sex with sober.

When the GHB high kicks in, you let go of common boundaries and initiate sexual contact far more smoothly than you would sober, ever more so when you’re at an orgy.

– How much?
– 3.5.

This is a perfectly understandable dialogue to anyone who’s ever attended a gay orgy. 3.5 refers to the amount of milliliters. If the orgy in question is an all-you-can-take buffet, GHB is generally placed in the kitchen, next to a selection of sodas with which to wash the stuff away: like all drugs, GHB tastes horrible, almost as if evolution is telling us it’s poison.
But mix 3.5 millilitres of GHB with a few sips of diet coke, don’t think, drink, then wait about 15 minutes or so and suddenly you feel like you could seduce Zac Efron if you’d put half your mind to it.

The first time you experience a good high from GHB that is.

The more you use it, the more your body gets used to it, the more you need to believe you and Zac Efron have a chance.

Dosage however is key. 1 milliliter can mean the difference between having a great night because everybody in the room looks like Zac Efron and passing out to wake up hours later, clearly awake yet equally weary with the irresistible urge to puke.

I first met Guy #195 at this orgy in someone’s living room, where he was by far the cutest. When I arrived at the scene, I was the only sober Guy there. I awkwardly greeted my fellow gays whom I could tell were busy rating my looks, then went to the kitchen, took 3.5 and proceeded doing a smalltalk exercise with the nakedness I had landed in. As the minutes passed, I managed to position myself ever so smoothly next to Guy #195, to start smalltalking with him.

He was still in college or something, lived in a city I had no real connection to, I was a telemarketer who didn’t really have a career because I spent most of my free time either doing orgies or taking care of my slowly dying stepdad, but mostly I was just a telemarketer with no real career and I also had this blog about all the Guys I ever had sex with which seemed of some interest to Guy #195 and then through some cosmic energy my hand drew ever closer to his left or right foot, which he reciprocated by caressing my hand with his toe, which at that moment did not seem silly at all and a few seconds later all the smalltalk was in the past and we were kissing.

I felt lucky, to have caught the cutest Guy in the room within minutes of arriving there. Plus the foreplay with Guy #195 was nice. The chemistry flowed like tap water giving in to gravity. It was delightfully refreshing.

Until Guy #195 fell asleep, just as I was giving him a blowjob. It’s not that the sex was so boring Guy #195 couldn’t keep his eyes open. It’s just that the GHB in his system reached the point of system shutdown. Guy #195 fought falling asleep as best as he could, but fighting that kind of fatigue is like having three jetlags wash over you while listening to Enya…

The moment Guy #195 fell asleep I stopped my blowjob for the sake of it not being stupid, while the other Guys checked to see if Guy #195 was merely passing out or in serious trouble.

Take too much GHB and the body can relax to the point of not breathing. Take just a bit too much, and you can count on your fellow orgy crew to lay you on your stomach, make sure the breathing continues and you’ll wake up from a vidid Zac Efron dream a few hours later.

Although I enjoyed being able to hit up the cutest Guy at the party, the overall experience left me feeling frustrated, as the action stopped barely into the opening act.

When Guy #195 woke up a few hours later he was still fairly weary. When I told him he’d fallen asleep during sex he barely seemed to remember it. We cuddled around some more, but actual sex didn’t materialize, not this orgy, not on any of the subsequent orgies I ran into him.

I liked Guy #195 and I got the impression it was mutual, but at the same time he fell asleep during my blowjob. In other words, he was so high when he was into me it made me doubt if he was really into me at all.

Which, incidentally, ties into the story of Guy #196, which is about how GHB makes people I have sex with look far more attractive than they are in ‘real’ life.

Sweet dreams for now.


Guys #186, #187, #188, #189, #190, #191, #192 and #193 – The weekend…

I first met Guy #168 standing next to this whirlpool at this gay sauna during this foam party: hundreds of Guys either in their prime or clinging to it for dear life, gathered in a building built to enable gay sex, it be under hot showers, boiling sauna cabins, misty steam quarters, foamy dance floors, shady dark rooms or just up against any available wall. Lawyers, business owners, the unemployed, nurses, cab drivers, telemarketers, students, policemen and criminals…perfectly normal people who so happen to be gay get naked at foam parties at gay saunas sometimes, to get high on drugs and then on each other.

This particular foam party served as my introduction to the scene which, as it turned out, would be home to my sex life for the years to come. I had experienced my first orgy not long before, but nothing as extravagantly hedonistic as this night would become. Added to that, I had just moved back to the Netherlands, having spent nearly a decade abroad in exotic locations void of a vibrant gay community. Now I was back, home, in a country with a spectacular gay scene, ready to start living the gay life I felt deprived of for so long. I considered it the start of the peak of my sexuality. I had come here to celebrate my prime or at the very least cling to it for dear life.

The night I knew would be spectacular: I was invited to join my friend’s afterparty later on, which meant I had a living room of 20 hot Guys to look forward to. Me, in a room with 20 hot people, having wild, animalistic sex, the kind I had only seen in porn movies. For someone who had spent 24 years in a closet, feeling unattractive, 9 years abroad, feeling deprived, being invited to this exclusive afterparty was nothing short of a volcanic eruption of suppressed mother issues.

Guy #168 was someone preceded by his unspoken reputation. Secluded as our little gay culture can be, within the hamlet we call home some are prettier, sluttier, funnier, smarter or put simply, some are more desirable than others.
Guy #168’s first name was known to everyone I knew, and he owned it like Madonna, Adele or Bono…So when he stood before me all of a sudden, I instantly knew who he was: his gorgeous, well trained body, his carefully chosen bit of sportswear that seemed deceptively casual, his angelic smile that could have passed for innocent were it not for all the Guys exchanging blowjobs in the background. The many first impressions that was Guy #168 quickly took hold in my mind, just as my XTC started kicking in.

Needless to say, I was instantly starstruck the moment I first laid eyes on Guy #168.

The night I met Guy #168 I was poised to meet Guy after Guy after Guy, to live a life of lust, hedonism and freedom.

Falling in love was the last thing I wanted to do. It just so happened to be the first thing I did.

I first got high on drugs, then I got high on Guy #168. It was one of my best evenings as a human being. Guy #168 was one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen or been with. His constantly generous smirk kept on swaying me, giving me a courage I’d never felt in the presence of beauty before. With every word he said he channeled limitless positivity, his rich vocabulary a reminder that yes, sometimes abs and brains do come together in one and the same human being.

Guy #168 and I had sex later that night at our afterparty. We were in a room with about 20 naked Guys, all of them gorgeous, but none more so than Guy #168, who on all accounts was the star of the party, always the center of attention, always modestly accepting his status as orgy queen, always spreading good vibes to anyone high enough to receive them.

Best of all, Guy #168 gave me a lot of attention, allowing me to detach from my issues, leaving but the best version of myself.

By the time morning broke, I had fallen head over heels in love with Guy #168. And it felt fantastic, right up until the day after, when Guy #168 had gone home and the XTC had faded into oblivion.

I loved being with Guy #168 at an orgy, but what I craved was spending time alone with him, getting to know him, feel what he was like without the drugs.
Being intimate with Guy #168 proved so much easier than getting close to him. In fact, my only chance of being with Guy #168 was by going to orgies.

I can’t pretend to know people’s individual reasons for attending orgies, but I assume it has to do with horniness, damage repair from a plethora of youth traumas and a desire to fit in and be wanted. Valid as those reasons are, for a long time I only attended orgies for the sole purpose of hoping to run into Guy #168. Orgies were my only way of seeing him.

And when I attended an orgy only to find out he wasn’t there, the drugs somehow lost their magic pretty quickly.

Which brings us to the story of Guys #186, #187, #188, #189, #190, #191, #192 and #193.

It’s the story of a weekend that took place a few months after I had fallen in love with Guy #168.

There was another foam party at the same sauna we first met, with a similar afterparty to follow. I had sent Guy #168 a carefully constructed breezy WhatsApp message, which led to the following ‘conversation’:

Me: Hey gorgeous, how’s it hangin’? Wanna join us for foam party and afterparty, tomorrow?😜 Let me know, hot stuff!
#168: will think about it
Me: K cool, thinking is what you’re good at haha😘🌈💪

Whether he actually thought about it is very much up for debate. What is certain is that I thought of nothing else but him that weekend, first wondering if he’d come, then slowly realizing he wouldn’t be there, then shifting my attention to filling up the void I felt inside.

I had come to this foam party to chase the high I felt when I met Guy #168. In his absence, all that was left to do was chasing. Chasing because I didn’t know how not to.

I was in love, and high, and simply wanted to rid myself of my issues, and had come to a 400 Guy foam orgy to lighten my load. I hit on Guys I deemed cute, remotely cute, or just Guy. At one point a friend of mine pulled me back from my quest and told me I was trying to hard.

Up until meeting Guy #168 I had always been fairly smooth when it came to picking up Guys. I didn’t know any better or Guys I wanted wanted me back and needed little to no convincing. Now, as I was desperately trying to find someone to make up for Guy #168’s absence, Guys seemed uninterested, ignoring me, not even seeing me, or pushing me away.

It was the summer of 2016, I was 34 four years old, I had reached the peak in my sexuality, and I had lost my mojo.

Guy #186 – The one I wanted to forget

As the night progressed, so did the decimation of my standards, until this not entirely unattractive or old Guy slid his fingers against mine as I passed him in what was probably the brightest spot of our dark room.

I didn’t even stop to take a closer look at this Guy. He was there, he wanted me, he wasn’t twice my weight…it sufficed. So I let him have his way with me. Sex with Guy #186 was nothing short of awful. We ended up doing it on a couch in a well lit area, in full view of Guys of all kinds of cute passing by. Some of them were my friends and I could tell by the looks on their faces they were surprised to see me with someone like Guy #186.

I don’t remember how long the sex between me and Guy #186 lasted. I do remember I told him it was over at some point, excusing myself and leaving him behind with a strangely satisfied glow on his face.

“Why did you do that?” one of my friends asked me after I had removed myself from under Guy #186.
“Well, he sort of had a cute face, didn’t he?” I tried, hoping to add a flinch of redemption to my desperation.
“No. No, he did not,” my friend said.

Guy #186 is someone I would run into on various occasions afterward. Each time we did I pretended not to recognize him. The one time he tried to seduce me again I pushed his hand away as if he was Donald Trump reaching for my pussy, that’s how much I was repulsed by Guy #186, and by the thought of us having had sex. I would feel guilty over treating him that way, but then again, we met at an orgy, our dialogue was akin to two Terminators trying to off each other and he never would’ve gotten anywhere with me had it not been for my highly dysfunctional crush on a Guy I had met months before.

Guy #187 – The one to make me forget Guy #186

There’s always an afterparty.

That’s what I thought as I scoured this foam party. Technically, the foam party was the main event. In practice though, it’s spending the remainder of the day in a living room full of naked people why I would seek out such a foam party in the first place.

Not long after my regrettable hook-up with Guy #186, I made my way to my friend’s house, hoping it to be filled to the brim with Guy beauty, just as it had last time, that night I fell in love at an orgy.

This time however the living room was mostly empty, which meant we’d have to go on Grindr and advertize our little after to the neighborhood.

Instead of being in a living room with the country’s finest, I now had to settle for the country’s nearest.

Guy #187 was near and sort of my type. He was of course not at all like Guy #168, but enough to make me forget about the debacle with Guy #186 hours before. Guy #187 came to my friend’s house, took a little XTC, some GHB, had a little conversation to let the drugs take effect, then had sex with me and no doubt some other people who were also there.

I ran into him at an art exhibition about a year later, where we pretended not to know each other.

Guy #188 – The one who was very much like Guy #187

The story of Guy #188 is pretty much the same. The only difference is he was reeled in by one of my friends, so he had sex with my friend first, and then with me.

I wasn’t into Guy #188 that much, but he was very friendly. Plus he wanted me, something I was longing for more than anything else. Add some poppers to the mix and going down on Guy #188 was pleasant-ish.

Guy #188 was barely 20 years old and already looked like 30 was just around the corner. I didn’t express my advice to stay off drugs, seeing it’s not the most plausible advice to hand out when you’re high. Watching Guy #188 going steady on drugs made me feel relieved I was clinging to my peak in my 30s and not earlier.

I remember the two of us befriending each other on Facebook amidst the scent of poppers. We’re no longer Facebook friends though, meaning he probably unfriended me in a wave of sobriety at some point.

Guy #189 – The one I tried not to be awkward with

By the time I got around to Guy #189 the living room was occupied by about 6 or 8 people either having sex or using their phones to get some. It’s the kind of party where people constantly show each other the selfies they receive on Grindr, so that everybody may gauge the meat before it’s invited over.

And of course there’s the unspoken rivalry of who brings in the best meat. When someone shows you a picture of someone they want to bring in, you’re not just passing judgment on a stranger, you’re also checking if this stranger is someone you spoke to as well, if he deems you attractive too.

Shallow waters can be the perfect ground for epic battles in the gay scene, and it’s not something I’m always in the mood for. Added to that texting can be a daunting task when you’re high on XTC, so instead of trying to bring in fresh meat, I focused on some that was already in the room:

Guy #189 was someone I gave a blowjob to. He was among the 20 Guys I had an orgy with a few months earlier. We had gotten along amicably, but there had never been any sexual chemistry between us. This time we once again shared a living room full of nakedness, and we happened to end up lying next to each other. I couldn’t think of something to say and felt awkward just lying there doing nothing, hence the blowjob.

Turns out giving a blowjob for the sake of not being awkward is still kind of awkward. We’d run into each other on a few orgies to follow, but never got close to having sex again. Or talking for that matter.

Guy #190 – The one who made me forget

Guy #190 was a highlight of my weekend. He came over to my friend’s house early in the morning, the moment I went into Jack Bauer mode: 24 hours without sleep and no end in sight.

Guy #190 had just woken up and his sobriety brought a refreshing energy to our living room, which at the time of his arrival counted about 5 or 6 Guys either having sex or looking for it on Grindr, or having sex while looking for other Guys on Grindr.

As I had a very nice time with Guy #190, I looked around in wonder. I actually saw a Guy being a bottom to another Guy, whilst chatting with yet another Guy on Grindr, and thought to myself how I would never in my life treat sex so casually.

After all, wasn’t sex something sacred, an intimate bond you share on this quest called love? That at least was how I had described my experiences on 168guys.com up until the point I started doing orgies.

It was the kind of sex I experienced with Guy #190. He was funny, smart and even though my high was no match for his sobriety, we managed to establish a connection. He reminded me of why people pursue sex, the first one to do so the entire weekend.

We even met up a few times afterward, our most recent hook-up only a few months ago. We might have even gotten to know each other a little better had we not lived as far apart as we do. Then again, Guy #190 was mostly apt at making me forget about the Guy he wasn’t. I respected him for making me not ache for Guy #168 for a while, but it was a fleeting appreciation at best.

Guy #191 – The one I actually forgot

I remember nothing of Guy #191. All I know is I took note of him in my Excel sheet shortly after the weekend was over. I only wrote down his first name, without any extra information to stir my memory. I started writing 168guys.com under the assumption that all sex is a story worth telling. Yet when I started this site, I had no idea it is common for some Guys to have sex and be on Grindr at the same time.

Guy #154 – The old friend

Sometimes you run into an old friend at an orgy. It was lovely seeing Guy #154 again, and exactly what I needed, as the sex between him and me has always been spectacular.

Guy #192 – The young and the restless

Next up was a Guy who hit me up on Grindr the night before. I had deemed him too unattractive based on his selfie. Overnight he had uploaded a different, better selfie however. I replied to his message, told him I was in a room filled with Guys who’d be into him. He arrived at the scene half an our later.

Gorgeous as he turned out to be, Guy #192 was incredibly restless, a trait no doubt worsened by the GHB in his system. He had sex with pretty much all of the people there, but only very swiftly. His attention was never on the person he was having sex with, but always on his next prey, never on his catch.

As a consequence I couldn’t feign a real interest in Guy #192 for very long. Besides, my drugs were wearing out and I could tell my body should not aim for anything higher than the natural release of endorphins at this point. So I went on Grindr just as Guy #192 was giving me a blowjob, pursuing meat of a different flavor, becoming a Guy who goes on Grindr during sex.

Guy #193 – The one who died

Guy #193 had been at our afterparty since pretty much the beginning. He was in his early forties, which I considered old and not my type, but his maturity and endearing personality swayed me to fool around with him a little throughout the day. It wasn’t great, but it was nice doing him a favor that way.

I might have done more with him than fooling around, but the more drugs he took, the more annoying he became, the more I realized how drugs were an integral part of his orgy personality.

He was found dead in his apartment almost a year later, after he had apparently taken too much GHB, lost consciousness and suffocated, making him the first Guy I ever had sex with who’s no longer alive.

…and so ended a weekend filled with Guys, drugs, sex and no Guy #168.

When I met Guy #168 he introduced me to the world of lust I had ached for and it was exactly as I had always imagined it, a world where my libido could roam freely and feast on Guy after Guy after Guy. But the minute I stepped foot in Guy #168’s world, I found myself longing only for him.

I started 168guys.com under the assumption love and sex are inseparable, that anyone looking for sex is looking for love at the same time. Then I discovered orgies, hoping to be liberated from the burden of feelings, only to project all my feelings onto it and losing myself quite completely at the first try.

My first night with Guy #168 took place in a purple haze of extravagantly beautiful sexuality. A few months later, that magic had evaporated, revealing a much darker side of orgy culture, where the haze had become a gritty gray, where people have sex while they’re on Grindr, dismiss Guys while they’re having sex with them, where friendships only last as long as the drugs do, where drugs bring out weird alter egos who are without exception both the best and worst versions of ourselves, and where people die alone.

It’s a world where I felt at home: orgies are like a played out metaphor of real life, albeit with far more polarizing extremes.

It’s where I had come to chase the high that didn’t chase me back.

Guys #186 through #193 all had one thing in common. They were not Guy #168.

And I had sex with all of them because of Guy #168.


DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #168 – Meet some of my issues…

“The path of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”
William Blake

Ever since I started 168guys.com, the question I get asked the most pertains to what I will do after I reach 168 Guys.

The answer is both simple and not so simple.

Let’s start with simple.

When I started writing this blog, the number 168 was just a ballpark figure of the amount of Guys I’d been with. I began writing in October of 2015. As I started chronicling my sex life, I recalled more and more of the Guys I had sex with. Eventually, I opened up an Excel sheet, wrote down every Guy I could remember and ranked them according to their chronology. As it turned out I was about 20 Guys shy of Guy #168 at the time.

So when people asked me what I’d do after reaching Guy #168, I’d tell them I’d be doing what I’d been doing for the 167 Guys that preceded him: Make a note of it in my Excel sheet and move on to the next Guy.

Which is what I did, so for those of you in fear of this blog coming to an end, my Excel sheet currently lists 260+ Guys and I’m still out there, every day, advertising my whorish selfies on Grindr, looking for Guys to connect with, Guys to get high with, Guys to write about and possibly someone to love at some point, although there’s a good chance I have issues prohibiting that last part from ever happening.

Which brings us to not so simple.

I have issues. Let’s meet some of them:

I don’t date Guys because I want a relationship, but I am constantly on the lookout for that one Guy who befits my image of what perfection should be. Being a bit of a narcissist 99% of the Guys I do I dispense with even before I wash my hands clean of them, and truth be told it’s comforting to know 99% of Guys couldn’t hurt me or my feelings even if their lives depended on it.

My relationships with Guys are mostly short-lived, yet each and every time I engage in conversation with someone on Grindr, in a bar or at an orgy, part of me hopes to find someone I can establish a meaningful, lasting connection with. Relationships lasting longer than one date are the exception however. Either I make the effort to invest more time in a Guy and this effort is not reciprocated, or the other Guy gets back to me and I dismiss him for being too needy.

I am good looking. I get stared at a lot when I’m in a gay sauna, flaunting my deceitfully youthful exterior for anyone willing to admire it. Being good looking is a blessing as much as it is a curse. Seeing beauty when I look in the mirror gives me a sense of entitlement bordering on the unsympathetic. I am polite whenever I reject someone, but on the inside I feel anger toward the many Guys hitting on me and resent them for not being more like those few hot Guys who are not nearly as generous with their attention.

I wasn’t always attractive. In fact, for a long time I believed myself to be irreparably weird looking. Having spent the first 24 years of my life in a closet, I have a lot of experience falling hopelessly in love with girls who would have made the perfect daughter-in-law to my mother, were it not for the fact they thought of me as their little brother they wouldn’t dare share their vaginas with. One can imagine what happens to someone when you stir rejection in a bowl of narcissism and let it simmer for 24 years: I was damaged goods even before people started touching mine.

Consider how happy I was stepping out of my closet and landing in a world where I was considered doable by practically everyone who lived there. To this day, every time someone compliments me on my looks, every lusty stare I get, every bit of attention, it all acts as a band aid, covering the wounds of being a 24 year old virgin, a dorky figure who at one point was convinced sex was only meant for other people. At 35 years of age, that failure of a human being still exists, occupying my subconscious like a Bond villain that just won’t die.

At first I wasn’t very picky when it came to having sex with Guys. If it felt right I would go for it, often with pitiful results, but still, the thrill of being considered attractive gave me a high I simply couldn’t stop chasing. It’s a high I’ve been chasing for well over a decade now.

However, the more beautiful Guys I catch, the more beautiful the next one needs to be. I’m a 35 year old narcissistic gay Guy who, with the right amount of effort, can still pass for a youthlike twink such as the ones I’m attracted to. Yet the older I am, the higher my standards become, the rarer I catch what I aim for…and what I aim for is perfection.

I’ve only been in love a handful of times. I tend to fall for people who are unsuitable relationship material. I can always tell they’re unsuitable, but my hormones usually stand in the way of accepting this as fact. Looking back, I’m thankful I never ended up in a relationship with any of the people I ever fell in love with. At the same time it makes me wonder if I should want a relationship with the next person I fall in love with, seeing as how I always crave someone I don’t need. The status quo is that love for me is like a mirage I stop chasing the moment it becomes real.

As you can probably figure, I’m not really the relationship type. I dabbled in relationships very briefly, with Guys #14. #143 and #144 to be precise. They all lasted only a few months. I enjoyed the intimacy of a commitment, but each time I was quick to point out the reasons why my relationship with a particular Guy would eventually fail. Once that happened, continuing the relationship would have been like walking all the way down a dead-end street you already know is a dead-end street. What experience in relationships I could have had I gladly traded for a life in the fast lane.

Said fast lane eventually brought me into a world where homosexuality is celebrated in all its extremities, a world where casual sex flows on waves of drugs that make the experience anything but casual. When I started writing 168guys.com, love and sex to me were inseparable. My issues aside, I firmly believed that anyone looking for sex is also looking for love. Even when I arrived at my first orgy, I figured all the people there were in it for the intimacy.

When I started 168guys.com, I thought I had seen pretty much everything there is to see in the world of gay dating. Then came the day I discovered orgy culture, XTC, GHB, ketamine or just plain old fashioned cocaine. Before all of this I considered myself an expert on gay life, gay culture and even gay relationships. One year and nearly a hundred Guys later I am more at odds with sex, love and dating than I was when I stepped out of my closet. And I’m 35, single and incapable of keeping a Guy around for more than one date.

Basically, I’m a narcissist, insecure to the bone, looking for perfection, and alone.

All in all I guess you could say I’m your typical gay Guy.

You see, the one thing writing this blog has taught me is that issues are what binds us more than perfection. The more people read my blog, the more people tell me they find it a very relatable read. It would seem confusion, insecurity, clumsiness, loneliness and a restless search for perfection are quite common in the gay scene. So instead of limiting myself to chronicling short snippets of gay life, over the past year the idea grew I could expand 168guys.com into a book, offering the world a peek into the world of gays, drugs, orgies, lust, despair, jealousy, passion, addiction, hurt, pain, joy, ecstasy and yes, even love.

So in addition to writing about all the Guys I ever had sex with and trying to figure out myself in the process, I’ve also been writing a book about gay life in all its glory and not so glory. It’s still far from completed, but I will of course keep everyone updated on its progress. Writing a book featuring my issues is a lot of work.

Fortunately, Guy #168 gave me enough material to work with.

Guy #167 – Twice you go black…

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have much experience with ebony. Call me a racist sexist, but I’ve felt much mutual attraction between me and black Guys. I would like to be sure my white privilege has nothing to do with it, but I had to spend time living in a former Dutch colony for a few years to discover my privilege. God knows what racism I haven’t unearthed yet, but for the most part of my sex life black Guys to me have been like women in the sense that I have considerable trouble getting hard in their company.

Unless of course someone is so unbelievably beautiful and good looking they make you forget about sexuality, preference or privilege, someone like Charlize Theron or Guy #167, the latter of which started touching me at this orgy the night I also met Guy #165, #166 and #168. The night in question was what I would later consider a peak in my sexuality, much like Toxic was a peak in Britney’s recording history.

Speaking of toxicity, Guy #167 and I started feeling each other up on a wave of XTC and GHB, easily the cornerstones of gay sex dating these days. I was standing on a balcony, smoking a cigarette with some other Guys, when Guy #167 sat down next to me and put his hand on my legs.

I instantly remembered the last time I had done sexual stuff with a black Guy, seven years earlier, at a time when I knew nothing of drugs or orgies. At first I figured it was the drugs attracting me to this Guy, but a quick glance at Guy #167 taught me I ought to consider myself lucky to be getting attention from him at all. He was a muscled hunk. I was a skinny sag of insecurity by comparison.

Fortunately there were drugs involved.

To say drugs smooth seduction is like saying air enables breathing. Guy #167 and I communicated through our physicality and quickly established we were into each other, found our own spot in a room filled with over a dozen Guys doing the same and had some good old fashioned gay fun for a while, and again a while later…and perhaps another time after that. I don’t remember exactly.

As we were making out in a bathroom I looked at the reflection of us doing so in a mirror. Part of me had wondered if maybe I was having sex with Guy #167 because the drugs had gotten me high to the point Bea Arthur’s voice would have turned me on. However when I looked at us in the mirror I had trouble fathoming just how incredibly beautiful Guy #167 really was.

But that’s the thing: Even when you realize you’re on drugs you’re still on drugs. Just because you know the world is beautiful because you took a pill doesn’t actually make it beautiful, even when you know it does.

Objectively speaking, Guy #167 was one of the most beautiful people I ever had sex with. I would have liked to meet Guy #167 on a wave of sobriety, but as is so often the case with people you meet at orgies, you only meet them at orgies.

I ran into Guy #167 a number of times since the night we met. We’d fool around a little each time, simply because he has the kind of beauty I’d feel spoiled for resisting. I never met him sober, though. Seeing as he comes with a caring and sensitive personality that neatly contrasts his manly appearance, it would be interesting to see if the caring sensitivity wears off when the drugs do.

Because a lot tends to wear off when the drugs do, something I didn’t know yet the night I had sex with Guy #167. Like that first time I had sex with a black Guy, the only way was still up for me. Seven years earlier I had a one-time thing with a black Guy just to try it out. It was a time of exploration and excitement. Now, seven years later, I was still busy exploring uncharted territory. When you’re on XTC and in a room with 20 good looking Guys who took the same pill you did, you’re basically king of the world in a world full of kings. That, in and of itself, is an experience I wish upon everyone.

Being king of the world in a world full of queens however is a completely different thing. The gay scene consists of grown men acting like teenagers because they were deprived of doing so when they were teenagers. It’s great when you’re high, but it’s unforgivably harsh when you find yourself surrounded by people chasing that high, even more when you start chasing it as well.

I suppose the nicest thing about meeting Guys #165, #166, #167 and #168 was that I didn’t know any of this yet. The night I met Guy #167 I was mostly just excited I got to have sex with one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen.

The night of Guy #167 happened about five months after I started 168guys.com. It seemed fitting I would pass the actual 168-mark on what was easily my wildest night in terms of sexual exploration.

What I didn’t know was that the fun part of exploring was about to come to an end.


Guy #166 – The thing with orgies…

“Can I fuck you?” were the first and pretty much only words Guy #166 ever spoke to me. I don’t remember much of our remaining conversation but imagine I must have said something along the lines of Yes, as Guy #166 in fact became the 166th Guy I ever had sex with shortly after the conclusion of our little dialogue.

The sex was about as spectacular as standing in line at a restaurant, waiting to be seated and seeing waiters with good looking food go by.

The room Guy #166 and I found ourselves in was filled with about 20 or so other Guys, most of which were better looking than him. On the other hand, Guy #166 seemed sweet and he’d been coming onto me the entire night. He wanted me badly. I suppose it’s always nice to run into a waiter who wants to feed you properly. Even though Guy #166 was far from my main course that night, I allowed him to be the mozzarella stick to further wet my appetite.

I guess Guy #166 enjoyed me saying Yes to his question more than he did the sex with me. His drug induced horniness came with a drug deduced boner that was hardly a boner at all by the time he managed to put on a condom. He even lost his balance a few times while rubbering up, something I would later learn was due to this drug called ketamine.
Compassionately, I pretended to be into the whole affair. Guy #166 came across as nervous and I didn’t want to leave him feeling incapable, even though I knew that’s exactly what I’d be doing eventually and soon: leaving him. I was at an orgy, celebrating what I would later consider a peak in my sexuality. I wasn’t planning on upgrading an appetizer to a course. In fact, Guy #167 was already starting to feel me up a few minutes into my relationship with Guy #166, and Guy #167 looked like one of the tastiest and exotic entrées I had ever seen.
It didn’t take me long to shift my attention from Guy #166 to #167. I allowed Guy #166 to have his way with me for a few minutes, even though his ‘way’ was mostly paved by the drugs he had taken. He seemed happy I hadn’t rejected him, which made me all the more comfortable to move on and basically reject him.

Guy #166 went his own way as soon as the ketamine allowed him to. To my relief I saw him having fun with plenty of other Guys that night.

Although the two of us would politely greet each other at various occasions over the year that followed, we never exchanged any words, probably because I had already given him everything he wanted by saying Yes. We were just strangers who so happened to have had what can best be described as a vague echo of sex at an occasion where sex was the only real means of communication. I had been his appetizer as much as he had been mine.

That’s the thing with orgies: They’re like all-you-can-eat buffets where you can spit on your food and then watch someone else eat it.

They’re both the best and the worst place to make friends.


Guy #165 – Two Guys, some drugs and a whirlpool…

Imagine for a second a universe that is truly infinite. Picture yourself traversing the cosmos for an eternity and more without reaching an end, only finding an infinite number of galaxies, stars and planets.
If the universe is really infinite that means the atoms that make up my body, my friends, my Guys, my home, my planet and my solar system are organized in a way that, given enough infinity, will repeat itself somewhere. In an infinite universe the events that created Earth, its oceans and the cycle of life that eventually led to my existence will inevitably happen elsewhere as well.

Sure, the odds of me ever happening were one in a googillion to begin with, but that’s the great thing about infinity: You never run out of the stuff. Somewhere, an uncountable number of light-years away from this Earth, floats another Earth just like this one, with another me, just like me.

So if a Guy sits down next to me in a whirlpool it is perfectly okay to feel him up to see if he’d be interested in having sex with me. In an infinite universe, it is a mathematical certainty that out there, somewhere and sometime, atoms will organize themselves in such a way that different yet totally identical versions of me and this Guy will meet up in a whirlpool under exactly the same circumstances. If I get rejected, I can always take solace in the fact my distant counterpart might have more luck.

In an infinite universe there is no such thing as true consequence. Everything has already happened and everything will happen again. That’s just how infinity works.

It’s thought trains such as these that wash away my sense of insecurity as if it’s tooth decay in a Colgate commercial. When your mind is pondering the wonders of infinity and the possible reality of there being an endless number of me’s in galaxies far, far away, groping a Guy in a whirlpool becomes such a mundane undertaking you can’t be bothered to doubt yourself doing it. You just do it.

I had no way of knowing what Guy #165 was thinking of when I started touching him, but I intuitively felt he shared my sense of wonder. The mere scope of the universe contrasting with the banality of two Homo sapiens going to third base in a whirlpool offers a person such clarity I wonder why people don’t call it Clarity instead of XTC.

Yeah.

Perhaps I should have mentioned I was on XTC the night I felt up Guy #165. As was he. As were all the people surrounding us. The odds of Guy #165 and me thinking the same thing were, again, one in a googillion, but emotionally we were on one and the same page and easily able to carry our make-out session on the wave of empathy that is XTC.

When you’re on XTC, you just ‘get’ people. You see their strengths, their weaknesses and most of all their humanity. Add some nakedness, some poppers and a space filled with a few hundred other naked Guys and before you know it you find yourself at the bar grabbing condoms from a bowl, enjoying the fact you live in a country where gays can celebrate their sexuality loud enough for the universe to hear it.

Guy #165 and I would celebrate our little cosmic connection in a lounge area occupied by a few dozen couples doing the very same thing. I thoroughly enjoyed his company and the sex with him was everything I had come for that night: Closeness without having to get close.

When I took a closer look at Guy #165 I felt sorry for him not being entirely attractive, even though his imperfections could have been the very thing I would have liked about him had I been sober.

I actually ran into Guy #165 about half a year later when I was in fact sober. We both ignored each other and I imagine he was as fine with pretending to be strangers as I was. I did take one more look at him and figured that, if the universe truly is infinite, an infinite number of me’s must be out there, wondering what the hell we were thinking the moment we groped up Guy #165.


DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guys #154, #155, #156 and #157 – My first orgy…

Porn.

How I used to love it.

Because if sex is enjoyable, watching people you kind of wish you’d look like having sex is a pleasant alternative.

I was about 18 years old when I got internet. It’s safe to say I reached maturity to the tune of Pshhhkkrr​kakingkakingkakingtsh​chch​ding!ding!ding!
When I first went online I searched this internet, or Altavista as I called it, for pictures of airplanes. They took a minute to download. If I was lucky, I would find a three second clip of an airplane taking off, angering my mother who didn’t want me to occupy the phone line for an hour and a half.

I intuitively liked the internet. It didn’t have a lot of cat videos at the time, but I couldn’t imagine ever being in need of pussy. Instead, it wasn’t long before the following thought occurred to me: If Altavista has pictures of planes flying, does it also have pictures of boys riding?

It was that tiny era of human history when credit cards stood in the way of watching full-fledged porn movies, so I settled for the excitement of tiny thumbnails. Still, Altavista had pictures of boys riding alright. Sure the phone bill got a little higher, but for the first time I saw how my own sexuality was in fact quite common and not particularly unpleasant to look at.

To those who tried to call me during this time of my life, getting a busy signal probably meant I was busy masturbating.

This one time I landed on a site that had three videos a few minutes each. It was the first time I got my hands on a bit of actual porn, not just a tiny thumbnail, but actual moving imagery, video of lots of Guys engaged in lots of sex! I felt like Columbus setting foot in The New World. The videos took about an hour to download. I wanted to download more when I read a little disclaimer on the bottom of the site I was visiting. It said it cost seventy cents a minute. That sparked a bit of a panic.

I went offline and closed every window. I removed every bit of digital history I could possibly find. It was the day I first learned about cookies. And having just seen porn it was as if my cookie bin was filled with skeletons that weren’t ready to come out of their closet.
I erased every trace of my porn past. And trust me, I learned a lot about computers that night: Cookies are just the beginning.

The one thing I couldn’t erase was the phone bill.

My mother wasn’t the frugal type, but 40 Euros on a phone bill sparks interest. It even inspired her to call the phone company and ask them about it. I wonder what went through her mind when a helpdesk employee told her someone in her house had been downloading porn.

Curiosity killed the cat, but we didn’t have cats, so I was next in line to have my curiosity reprimanded.

Or so I thought, because my mother actually took it quite well. While I was engulfed in shame, she explained how having a healthy sex drive is only natural, about as natural as paying one’s mother the 40 Euros you owe her due to a self expedition campaign that went over budget.
I’d like to think she enjoyed being a mum in that moment, when she comforted me by saying a high sex drive kind of runs in our family. I think she was relieved at least I was sexual, having never brought home a girlfriend or something that could make her a grandmother someday. Porn gave her that moment, with a little help from the phone company.

It was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life, but porn has never been as exciting as that night I learned where cookies come from.

 

It was worth every cookie. Those few minutes of gay porn opened up a whole new realm of fantasies…or rather they confirmed those fantasies for me.
Eventually, I would come to chase two things, both of which I was chasing the night I saw my first porn scene: Sex and excitement.

At first, the pursuit of sex went hand in hand with the thrill. It was true the first time I had sex, the first time I had good sex, the first time I had sex with more than one Guy, not to mention that time I did porn myself.

As we all know, obtaining porn these days is easier than ordering a pizza. As for the internet, it has since given birth to Grindr, Hornet and a dozen or so apps that tell me where sex can be found. The more boundaries you break, the more difficult it becomes to find new ones.

As such, the more sex you have the less exciting it becomes…with a few notable exceptions.

One of those exceptions was the first time I attended a gay orgy.

At 33 years of age I got thrust into a bit of gay subculture I hadn’t yet explored. While I was familiar with sex dating, the vast majority of my sexual experiences had been with one Guy at the time. I had experienced this one massive gay orgy some years before, but found it didn’t entice me. The reason a 150 Guy-sexfest didn’t do anything for me was because it had been anonymous, way too crowded, uninspired and lacking all forms of intimacy.

This time however I found myself in the seclusion of a living room at a friend’s house, along with about eight other Guys, all of them horny, all of them aching for sex and excitement and all of them high as a kite. It’s the kind of setting that allows you to bond with total strangers in a heartbeat. Look someone in the eye at an orgy and you’re connecting with someone who’ll bear your secret as you bear it for him. Add some XTC to that and a blowjob becomes a way of saying ‘hi’, a way of sealing the unspoken bond you automatically share at such a gathering.

Being in a room with eight naked Guys was more exciting than anything I’d ever done before, sexually speaking. It was as if the seed that had planted itself the moment Altavista produced its first tiny thumbnail had finally come to fruition. And like that very first time I watched porn, it felt deliciously bad, naughty and consequently rewarding.

Only this time I was able to share the experience with other people. I quickly learned that, to me, it wasn’t sex, it wasn’t the excitement, it was the connection I felt with total strangers that got me high more than anything. Well, that and the XTC of course.

Actually, of all the Guys only two or three were what I would consider hot. The others weren’t really my type, but I was glad to be sharing the experience with them regardless. Really, one shouldn’t underestimate just how potent XTC is.

Even though I had eight naked Guys at my disposal, I mostly focused on Guy #154, whom I had sex with in full view and at times admiration of those present. Guy #154 and I both got high by our mutual attraction to each other, notwithstanding the fact ‘high’ had been the altitude where we first met. We had a great evening as we celebrated our sexual prime on each other. We would later become friends and meet up at numerous parties. Guy #154 would eventually tell me the night of our first meeting had been his first orgy as well. We’ve probably been feeding off each other’s excitement from the day we met.

In fact, I’m glad my first partner at an orgy was someone like Guy #154. At the time I had no way of knowing, but he was the kind of Guy that could empathize with my former self, hopelessly downloading some snippets of gay porn and being caught by my mother in the process. Guy #154 was someone to whom secrecy was an integral part of his existence as, in many ways, it had been for me.

Apart from Guy #154 I also more or less had sex with Guys #155, #156 and #157 that night, albeit briefly. Guy #155 decided he liked my penis so much he wanted to ride it. I would have told him not to, were it not for the fact I was so busy with Guy #154 I hardly noticed him being my bottom bitch for a few minutes. Guys #156 and #157 both did some oral stuff, but nothing spectacular. I had in fact reached a point where the sex itself had become mundane. It was the setting that made it spectacular, like watching porn for the first time. I was finally living a fantasy I had always deemed unrealistic, above me even.

That 18 year old teenager who got hard at the sound of a dial-up modem had set himself on a path of exploration. Thumbnails led to porn, porn led to quietly experimenting with Guys, which in turn had led to all sorts of meaningful experiences, like falling in love, getting hurt and gonorrhea and somehow gaining confidence from all of it. With each sexual experience my confidence had grown somewhat. The more excitement I conquered, the more I culminated into the Guy I wanted to be when Altavista showed me pictures of boys riding.

And here I was, 15 years later, celebrating my sexuality like a champion.

The first time you experience a drug induced gathering where nakedness is the dress code you can’t help but be overwhelmed. It’s one of those Now I’ve seen it all-moments, where you witness four Guys engaged in acrobatics no one would dare tell their mother about, as a fifth Guy casually helps himself to some GHB that’s freely available in the kitchen, while Guy #154 and I enjoy the poppers that scatter the coffee table like biscuits at a high tea. For a few hours time stands still and Earth might just as easily be a completely different planet than the living room you’re in, comfortably stuck in a world where intimacy and sex flow like the drugs that precede them.

It was one of the happiest days of my life, that’s for sure.

Of course, back when Altavista presented me with its first tiny thumbnail I had no idea thumbnails would ever grow to bore me. When I first watched porn, I had not yet experienced a world where internet has more free porn than anyone could watch in a lifetime. Likewise, when I had my first gay orgy, I couldn’t fathom ever being jaded by that much sex.

I would quickly learn it’s not uncommon for gay Guys to get together every so often to share sex and drugs. It’s a wonderful concept, but truth be told the drugs prevented me from seeing the dark side of that much nakedness. It’s something I would grow to experience in the year that followed.

 

 

To me, the unexpected highlight of my first orgy (and perhaps every orgy that followed), was the downtime that followed afterward, when the drugs subside and basic underwear replaces all the naked. It’s a time when sex makes place for conversation. It’s like waking up from a journey and being able to ride your sense of wonder together. Being the bearer of each other’s secrets, the air is one of trust and empathy, people get stripped of their defenses and tend to open up completely, as did Guy #154 and me. The afterhours of an orgy are a time of reflection, taking place in a cocoon that shields attendees from the outside world on account of what they’ve just shared with each other. It’s like being that 18 year old kid who sees his first porn movie and getting sucked into that reality right then and there.

At 33 years of age I had my most exciting sexual experience (up till that point that is), 15 years after I discovered it as a possibility. Sex is a journey, a continuous obstacle course with occasional highlights and a never ending string of lessons.
My first orgy taught me two things:

People at orgies always have the most fascinating backstories.

One shouldn’t underestimate the power of XTC.

 


 

 

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

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 #85 – XTC.

Three symptoms are indicative of people on XTC:

  1. They go out of their way to say how beautiful you are.
  2. They can’t get an erection.
  3. They go out of their way to say how beautiful you are again.

Guy #85 thought I was very good looking. He said so many times. His mind was really set on doing stuff to my anus that would require him to have an erection, of which he couldn’t get one.

Not that it mattered. Guy #85 was extremely happy to be with me, or rather: he was extremely happy to be. I kind of happened to be there with him, enjoying the cuddling, the kissing and the constant stream of compliments as he frantically tried to perform CPR on the lifeless shrimp that was his penis.

Anuswise, it was a slow night for me.
But I did appreciate the intimacy of being with someone on XTC. The stuff really puts the happy back in gay.

As such, Guy #85 and I had a really good time together. I have no idea what on Earth we talked about, but I do remember our conversation flowed like a catchy Beyonce song. It doesn’t get much gay-as-in-happier than that.

One could argue if any of the intimacy we shared was real. I’d like to think it was in that moment, when it counted the most.

Guy #85 and I exchanged phone numbers. He wanted to see more of me. More importantly, he probably wanted to meet me again to do the anus stuff he had been talking about and was currently incapable of due to his drug induced impotence.

Guy #85 called me a few times. I liked him when he was sober, but our conversations stopped being catchy very quickly. We didn’t have that much in common as it turned out. We did set a date for him to visit me at my place, but he ghosted me before that date ever materialized. I sent him a compulsory text message, asking if he still intended on seeing me. To my relief I haven’t heard from him since.

An actual date with Guy #85 would likely have been awkward, clumsy and baseless, like making out with a dead shrimp if you will.

I don’t have anything against people doing XTC, nor do I have anything against sobriety, but I guess some relationships can only play out at a certain altitude. There was little to bond me and Guy #85, but enough to find it on a high.

XTC brings out the best in us for a short while and lets us see the best in others. I’m sure XTC could do wonders for the Middle East. And it makes getting an erection like breathing at 30.000 feet.

That’s probably for the best.

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Relationship summary:

LENGTH: A few weeks
FORMAT: One time hook-up followed by few phone calls
SEX SCORE (0 = The word ‘anuswise’ <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #81 – Nearer to God… (Part 1)

I want him.

That’s what I thought the first time I saw Guy #81: Perfect body, perfect face, sweet, seemingly innocent and Asian. I have never hunted anyone down the alleys of a gay sauna as determined as I have Guy #81.
I knew he was out of my league, but I also knew that out of all the Guys there, I was the only one even remotely close to his league. It was a slow night and I deemed myself the best he could get. Guy #81 apparently agreed.

The two of us stuck together the night we met. It surprised me Guy #81 appreciated my company. I tend to get clumsy in the presence of beauty.

I’ve been clumsy with Guy #81 from the day I met him.

When morning broke he insisted on coming home with me. I let him. After an exciting blow job on a train we spent the rest of the day sleeping and cuddling at my place. We didn’t have any more sex though. Guy #81 told me he had been on XTC the night before and that he couldn’t really have sex without any. At first I thought it had to do with muscle relaxation, but as it turns out XTC doesn’t just add joy.
It rids you of guilt as well.

As time went by Guy #81 allowed me to get to know him better: He was a Jehovah’s witness in a family of Jehovah’s witnesses in a community of Jehovah’s witnesses in a world of Jehovah’s witnesses. His entire life had existed in a universe secluded from what others would call ‘reality’.
He was also gay: He spent his weekends in the obscurity of gay saunas or remote parking lots and his weekdays being a knock knock joke. In my eyes at least.

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I often encouraged him to ‘just’ come out, saying his family would have no choice but to accept him for who he was. I pictured his family as a bunch of homophobic narrow minded simpletons, even though Guy #81 spoke very highly of them. He loved his family very much. I on the other hand couldn’t imagine loving a homophobe.
According to Guy #81, I didn’t quite understand his predicament.

He was right.

The end of times is near. Only those that adhere to God’s will are allowed a place in paradise.
Guy #81 handed me a few editions of ‘The Watchtower’, the magazine Jehovah’s witnesses give you when you open the door for them. It included drawings of happy straight folks enjoying a familial get together in the presence of pandas and baby lions.
“Do you really believe all this?” I asked in disbelief, pointing at the pet pandas.
“I know it to be true,” Guy #81 said.
“And what happens if you let go of it?”
“Then I’ll die when Jesus returns.”
In fact, by engaging in homosexual behavior Guy #81 didn’t just harm himself, he also prevented the Holy Spirit from protecting his loved ones. One day, in the never too distant future, the bad parts of the bible would descent unto Earth, killing everyone. Everyone except Jehovah’s witnesses. They would all rise from the dead and live an eternity in paradise. With pandas.
Sex with Guys would prevent all that from happening to Guy #81 and his family.

The more I learned about his religion, the more I came to realize that the life he led inside his community was a nigh perfect haven of love, harmony and understanding. Cuddly lions were notably absent, but apart from that his life was like one of the drawings in ‘The Watchtower’. Everything and everyone Guy #81 knew made him feel safe, welcome and prepared for whatever life could throw at him.

Everything except the gay sex of course.

I regret the lack of empathy I showed. At the time his religion showcased more compassion for his sexuality than I did for his religion. Despite their bleak outlook on the future, Jehovah’s witnesses genuinely believe they can help people and they are very accepting of those that don’t follow God’s word to the letter, even though they are certain those people will die soon. I wasn’t aware of the fact that faith, though stubborn and arguably blind, isn’t half as heartless as the real world can be. That’s what Guy #81 called his existence outside of his religion: The real world, and it was cold and scary.

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Cold, scary, yet somehow tempting.

Leading a double life became increasingly difficult for Guy #81. One night I woke up from his screams. I asked what his dream had been about.
“Satan,” he said. Consumed by fear, he could only lay still and whisper.

For Guy #81, God and Satan were as real as his sexuality. I tried to explain that no God in his right mind would make a Guy as beautiful as he was only to not let other Guys have sex with him. I couldn’t fathom a God that cruel.
Guy #81 was never disappointed by my lack of empathy. He simply accepted that no one could fully understand what he was going through, except maybe God. And Satan.

Certainly not clumsy me.

It took some time for me to realize my atheist goggles warped my reality as much as religion had warped his. It’s easy to label someone indoctrinated and be done with it. I thought I was helping Guy #81 by trying to ‘snap him out’ of his belief system, not realizing how much God had given him.

We ended up dating for about four months, though it was more of a friendship with a sexual component than a relationship. We came to care a great deal for each other. Our friendship didn’t end after those four months, but our proximity to each other did. Our ‘relationship’ ended when I moved to South America. It was difficult for me leaving Guy #81 behind, left to fend for himself in the real world.

On our last night together we spent a long time lying in each other’s arms, Guy #81 feeling sad, me feeling inept.
Being one of only a few people in the real world that had ever been there for him, I couldn’t help but feel I was deserting Guy #81. I didn’t expect to ever see him again.

I didn’t expect Guy #81 to ever come out of his closet.

I let go and let God, so to speak.

 

Guys #59 through #79 – To sex or not to sex…

I have a confession to make.

I’m not entirely sure how many Guys I’ve had sex with in my lifetime.

Yes, this site is called 168guys.com, but in all honesty 168 is just a ballpark figure. I had already bought the domain name when I created an Excel document listing all my sexual escapades.
As it turned out I could not remember all the Guys I’ve ever been with.

How do you lose track of the people you had sex with, a good Christian might ask.

The answer is orgies.

The year was 2010 and I found myself in what was arguably the most gay friendly place on Earth: A shady dance floor occupied by about 150 naked Guys, of which I was one.

As with many of my sexual experiences, I had fun, but not because of the sex. It was fun because it was interesting.

First of all, when you’re naked and you share a space with 150 people who are also naked and you’re all there to be naked and have sex with other naked people, some Guys make the assumption anyone’s testicles are up for grabs. Anyone’s, including mine.

I removed quite a few hands from my balls in 2010.

Also, an orgy with 150 Guys changes the meaning of the word ‘sex’.

When someone pushes you against a wall and starts to kiss you and then suddenly four or five other Guys show up and start participating, does that mean I had sex with five or six Guys? Some touched me, some kissed me, some tried to go a little further. Some I allowed to go a little further.

So did I really do 20 Guys on one night? It all depends on one’s definition of sex. For me it depends on having an Excel document that has to sum up 168 Guys in total. I needed 20 Guys to make that work. How many Guys I really did that night?
First, it depends on the definition of sex. Second, I have no clue.

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I don’t have anything against orgies, but I believe the people I was with misunderstood the concept of an orgy because they misunderstood the concept of sex. Sex is about intimacy. It’s perfectly possible to share something intimate with 150 people, provided it’s not a drug induced ball grabbing fest aimed solely at lifting our egos above the discomfort of mediocrity.
Because that’s pretty much what this particular orgy was all about.

There was no naughty secrecy, no sense of breaking boundaries together, no intimacy of any kind. In fact, the Guys all acted cold and goal oriented. Nobody was nice to anyone. Everybody merely consumed everybody for the sake of consumption.

In fairness, I was probably the only Guy not on drugs that night. When you’re in a room with 150 naked Guys on XTC, roofies and poppers, sobriety tends to warp reality. Maybe I would have enjoyed myself more if I had taken the effort to get on the same wavelength as Guys #59 through #79.

Still, it was to sex or not to sex for them. Nothing else seemed to matter. I’ve done drugs, but I’ve never found myself on that wavelength.

As the evening progressed, tissues started scattering the floor like stars lighting up the night sky. Eventually, the music softened, the mood got killed and more and more people put their clothes back on. And then everybody dispersed on the streets outside, going back to being the total strangers they were before.

I took a streetcar back home. I consciously observed my fellow passengers. In all likelihood, none of them had any idea I had just attended a gay orgy. It felt like I was carrying a big secret with me. I imagine there were 150 Guys spread throughout the city, feeling the same.

I like Amsterdam.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: “Relationship”? Really?
SEX SCORE (0 = Your name on a Starbucks cup <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

 

Guy #27 – Recreationship…

 

 


 

 

Sex is a bit like drugs.

If you know how to use drugs wisely, a lot of them can be fun.

Sex is the one drug we should embrace as a society. It is pretty well established that the more people smoke weed, the less people get upset about it. It’s the same with sex.

So while we shouldn’t get high 24/7, on the special occasion you do the best idea is to simply enjoy it as much as you can.

This was my mindset the night I met Guy #27.

His opening line was Do you know that you are very beautiful? It was in that moment I decided I was going to enjoy him as much as I could.

We talked a little over very loud music. I’m not a fan of extremely loud club music, but I do like how it forces you to be in each other’s space when you’re talking. It makes the whole seduction ritual flow ever so smoothly. The noise causes proximity. The proximity causes touching. The touching causes even more touching. All the touching causes kissing and not long after that Guy #27 and I were gorging on each other like a pair of toothless zombies.

We didn’t just kiss. We ate each other.

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I was in a big city in a shady night club celebrating my own sexuality. I was fully aware of the fact there were people mere feet away from us, staring at us in silent disbelief over how Guy #27 and I were going at each other.

When you have sex it’s nice not to care about what the rest of the world thinks of it.

Naturally I ended up at Guy #27’s place, a beautiful Downtown apartment overlooking the city skyline. I was living a dream.

The great thing about careless sex is that it allows you to open up to someone. Guy #27 and I got to know each other quite well over the few months we dated. In some ways we had a little bit of a relationship-thing going on. We went out for dinner together. We ate breakfast together. We would talk together. We would be together.

A big city becomes so much more of an experience when you have someone to share it with.

Sexwise, the gorging stopped after our first date. The sex between us became increasingly satisfying, but neither one of us was being greedy about it anymore.

I guess you could say Guy #27 and I were both very good recreational drug users. You might argue the two of us were having a recreationship. I enjoyed being with Guy #27 the way I enjoyed a good massage or a nice dinner. Or drugs.

Guy #27 had made his home in the city we enjoyed together. To me this city was merely a stopover. Our recreationship was never meant to last.
The two of us recently got back in touch though. It’s a nice feeling when someone welcomes you back into their life after having been absent from it for years.
Guy #27 told me he has fond memories of the time we shared together. He also said he had enjoyed the sex, but that he has since gotten better at it.

I told him the same goes for me.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 2 months
FORMAT: Recreationship
SEX SCORE (0 = Club music at a funeral <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.8