Guy #144 – Having an actual relationship…

The closest thing I ever got to having a relationship was going through an actual relationship with Guy #144. More precisely, a relationship with Guy #144 and his mother.

The first time I met Guy #144 was on a sex date at his place. He lived with his mother as it turned out, who I first saw lying lifelessly on a couch, watching TV and smoking a cigarette. She politely greeted me when I walked in, as her son showed me the way to his room.

I won’t deny sex with Guy #144 was good, but I couldn’t shake the realization his mother was but one door handle away the entire time. And I knew she knew all too well what I was doing to her son.

Guy #144 having a sex date over for his mother to see is one of those things that gets weirder the more you think about it. Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought about it much a few months later, when Guy #144 and his mother moved to a new house that happened to be a mere two minute drive from mine. Living on a small sexually void island I suddenly found myself within reach of sex in the format of a magazine subscription.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I visited Guy #144 at his new home, where he and his mother entertained me for a good thirty minutes before Guy #144 took me to his bedroom to give me the sex I had come for. As the three of us sat down on their porch, it struck me as odd Guy #144 wore nothing but a boxer in the presence of his mother.

Still, Guy #144 and I hit it off nicely. I almost instantly knew this wouldn’t be the man of my dreams, but he was close enough to have a go at this ‘relationship thing’ I had already heard so much about. In that sense, it wasn’t even that odd his mother had been part of the relationship from the get go. In Guy #144 I didn’t only gain a boyfriend, I also got a stepmom. My own mother having passed away not too long ago, it was nice to have a mother figure in my life again. And if I’m being completely honest, my gut told me Guy #144 was in no way capable of truly hurting me.

I guess I always knew there’d come a day I’d end up hurting Guy #144, and his mother.

Life at my own place at the time was a bit of a mess, so being with Guy #144 and his mother offered me solace from my daily worries. It wasn’t long before I slept at their place every night.

Guy #144 didn’t only live with his mother. They were also colleagues. They drove off in the same car every morning and came back together every night, after which they’d let off their steam by getting into heated discussions about the finer ethics of their job as bailiffs. It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good argument every now and then, but these two found grounds for quarrel in everything, that’s how much they wanted the fight. And no matter what the fight would be about, Guy #144 always fought in his underwear, the contours of his testicles hovering over his chair for boyfriends and stepmoms to gaze at.

Our relationship was very much rooted in sex at first, but the more I saw of Guy #144 the less I got to do him. Also, somewhere down the line he had taken up drinking and was now at a bottle of Scotch every day, which didn’t do wonders for either of our libidos. Sometimes Guy #144 would trick me into letting me think we’d be having sex only to call it off and go to sleep, saying the alcohol had made him tired. As my sexual frustration grew, so did my annoyance over the fact it was his mother who went out buying him Scotch almost every day.

At the beginning of the relationship, I got about thirty minutes of stepmom followed by four hours of Guy #144. A good month in and I had to go through 4 hours of stepmom followed by a few minutes with Guy #144 in his room as he took his nightcap and complained about how his mother didn’t get his side of the ever so fascinating bailiff spectrum.

My boyfriend had a pet name for his mother: ‘Mumsy’, as in It is my duty as an only child to make sure Mumsy has financial stability after she retires. I don’t think I ever hated a word as much as I hated Mumsy.

When I first saw Guy #144 he had been very cute. His somewhat antiquated Grindr photos proved he used to be incredibly hot. Yet as our relationship progressed, I could see the sad glance of alcoholism take root in his face and posture.

Whenever I told my boyfriend he should maybe consider moving to his own place he would fall into a well prepared monologue about the financial risks of such an undertaking and how living with his mother solved so many of his problems.

About four months into the relationship I realized I was basically living with my boyfriend and his mother, so I decided it would be good for me to spend some more time at home. I told Guy #144 he and of course his mother were both welcome there.

As it turned out, Guy #144 had abandonment issues. Who would have thought?

The idea of me spending time away from their safe space did not land well. Guy #144’s anger imploded in on himself, rendering him barely able to talk for a few days. So instead I faced off with Mumsy, who explained to me how neither one of them blamed me for wanting to spend time at my place, but that they were ticked off I didn’t discuss my decision with them before making it. His mother and I discussed the situation for well over an hour, as her son sat a few feet away from her, silently suffering in his underwear as I calmly smacked his mother in the face with my each and every one of my arguments, until she eventually conceded her objections had not been what one would call reasonable.

Feeling victorious I was in the mood for sex that night. Guy #144 went along with some foreplay, but quickly lashed out against me and then proceeded to cry his guts out, practically begging me not to leave him, not even for my own home, two clicks down the road, for two nights a week, where he and his mother would be welcome. Guy #144 wouldn’t have any of it, took a drink and went to sleep.

Me slaying Mumsy would prove to be my last conversation with her. When I left the house the next morning, I said goodbye to Guy #144 without even looking at him. I instinctively knew I would not be seeing him again. I later texted him saying I would prefer to keep some distance between us.

It’s a distance I enjoy till this day.

Guy #144 did make one halfhearted attempt to get back in touch with me, but I was too busy enjoying my distance. I did encourage him to start living on his own life. I believe I said something along the lines of You will never find happiness if you continue living with Mumsy.

I hope for his sake his mother invites a sex date over for her son to see one day. I’m sure it would do wonders for his abandonment issues.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: An actual relationship
SEX SCORE (0 = “It rubs the lotion on its skin” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #82 – Fast Food Sushi.

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Guy #82’s first words were hi.
And I was going to let him.

We didn’t speak much afterwards. Which makes telling the story of me and Guy #82 a bit difficult. There’s not much to tell.

Sometimes you just have sex with a random stranger you run into. I believe Guy #82 was quite an easy catch, not the most spectacular one but rewarding nonetheless.
I still have no idea what language he spoke.
To me he was just another brick in my list, another number to add to my Excel sheet that powers this blog.

Guy #82 was like a microwave dinner that tastes like a microwave dinner. He satisfied my cravings without fulfilling my longings. Fast Food Sushi would be my name for him.
He was Asian.
I have a lot of Asians on my list.

My mother would sometimes carefully initiate a conversation about my love life. It always made me uncomfortable. Actually, I was uncomfortable talking about all private matters with my mother, whether they were about sex or not.

I think it’s in our nature to do stuff we don’t tell our parents about. My mother often said how happy it would make her if I were to be happy with someone. Of all the Guys I did, Guy #81 was the first one I ever told my mother about. Whenever my mother inquired about my love life I kept it vague, saying I hadn’t met anyone special yet, or that I wasn’t really looking. I certainly didn’t tell her about Guy #82.
I knew my mother would not disapprove of me having sex with strangers, but she would ask me if it was truly making me happy, if perhaps I was worth a little more than Fast Food Sushi.

Sometimes I wonder how much mothers know of what goes on in the gay scene, and how much we want them to know. My mother hadn’t exactly raised me to be the predatory top Fast Food Sushi came to know and love so very very briefly, nor did I envision myself growing old consuming Fast Food Sushis for the rest of my life.

I wanted love as much as my mother wanted it for me, but it would seem she was less afraid of it.

Fast Food Sushi, like so many of the Guys I ever had sex with, represented my youth. He embodied the idea that I was youthful enough to conquer any Guy I wanted. Guy #82 made me feel pretty for a short while.
Of course talking about him with my mother would be the equivalent of telling her I didn’t feel pretty most of the time and that I did Guys to rid me of that feeling, 82 Guys and counting. It’s never been in my nature to burden my mother with my insecurities.

Rather, I shoved my burden in Fast Food Sushi. It’s what he asked of me when he said Hi.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 20 minutes
FORMAT: Hook-up
SEX SCORE (0 = Zombie porn <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6

Guy #81 – Nearer to God… (Part 2)

This one time Guy #81 took me to a meeting for Jehovah’s witnesses. Faith had always been an essential part of his life and I was very curious to learn more about his religion.

He called it a meeting, but it was really a hangar filled with thousands of Jehovah’s witnesses.

Entire families attended this gathering, which consisted of people preaching about God and youngsters performing a play about how to ask God for advice when someone wants to have premarital sex with you.

Then there were the obligatory references to humanity’s demise and God’s chosen few being granted a life in paradise.

To me, it was fascinating to be among thousands of devout believers as the only one wearing jeans. Even the many children there wore ties. To Jehovah’s witnessess God is someone to suit up for.

Personally, I don’t believe the world will end in the next ten years or that the survivors will inherit a planet with pet pandas. It felt eerie to be among thousands of people that do. It was also weird to think about the stuff Guy #81 and I had done with each other, sexually, and how such things were considered sinful by everyone around me. I felt like an alien among aliens.
Guy #81 must have felt like an alien among his own family.


As we left Guy #81 pointed to a few people sitting in the crowd. They were his parents and his siblings. He couldn’t go to them. He couldn’t say ‘hi’. He couldn’t even acknowledge their presence, nor could his family do the same for him. Guy #81 had abandoned his religion and with it his entire home. He cried when we walked by his family.
A lot of people saw his tears. The jaded looks on their faces suggested it wasn’t the first time they had seen someone cry at one of their meetings.


Guy #81 had come out of the closet a few years earlier. I was living in Suriname, South America at the time. Guy #81 left his closet by flying to me. His family back home had to break into his house and call the police to find out he was with me, in a banana republic, and gay.
I even got a phone call from the police, asking if Guy #81 was okay and not kidnapped. Minutes later I got another call. This time it was Guy #81’s mother.

I met Guy #81 in a gay sauna. We had shared sex, drugs and friendship together. Now I had his mother on the phone, right at the moment she found out her son was gay and giving up his place in paradise because of it. As I listened to his mother’s voice I realized I was listening to someone who, for all intents and purposes, had just lost a child.
Our conversation didn’t last long. His mother asked me if her son was okay. I reassured her that her son was safe. She asked if she could speak with her son, who at that moment was lying next to me on my bed, crying and wanting to be left alone.
It felt wrong being a gatekeeper to a mother, but I didn’t see any way I could be of help to her. She quite literally had but God to count on.

Guy #81 would later tell me that the few weeks he spent with me in Suriname were the most terrible of his life. He cried a lot, had a lot of nightmares in which he was hunted down by Satan and would often just stare at a photo of him and his family.

It was difficult for me to not be angry with his parents. I couldn’t imagine growing up in an environment so dictated by religion. I’m fairly atheist, but I’m open minded enough to feel God’s love every now and then. Sex for instance has always been a very spiritual experience for me.

Being with Guy #81 as he stepped out of his closet was, if nothing else, spiritual. The difference between me and him and his family was that I always welcomed God in my gay sex life.

It was the fall of 2010 and Guy #81 was about to enter the real world, leaving everyone and everything behind. I think I was pretty much the only friend he had in the real world at first.

I worried about Guy #81’s capability to adapt to his new environment.

A community of Jehovah’s witnesses shields you from reality. Guy #81 was a bit like Mowgli taking his first steps among humans. For a long time I half expected him to return to his closet at some point. I figured the safety of his religion would eventually weigh up against the cold of life outside a bubble.

For Guy #81 being gay was never a choice, but living a gay lifestyle had to be. He spent many years of his life knowing he would have to choose between a life in paradise with his family but deprived of physical intimacy or a life of satisfaction in the absence of safety. God just never made it easy on him.

I could resent God for putting Guy #81 in such an unnecessary conundrum.

Then again, I can’t help but like the God I felt when I slept with him.


And if anything, Guy #81 to me is proof that God has little problems with homosexuality. Guy #81 would end up making himself a new home. It would never be a substitute for the world he left behind, but last time I asked he told me he doesn’t regret his decision. He still misses his family. It still hurts. But at least he belongs.

Six years ago, the two of us met one night to share our sexuality. We ended up sharing way more than that. Sex with Guy #81 was anything but spectacular at first. His guilt used to overshadow any hint of arousal.
It wasn’t until much later that sex with him would become awesome and fulfilling: A few months ago we sat in a whirlpool, Guy #81 on my lap. Without using any words we reflected on our journey of the last six years. I’m thankful I got to be there when it mattered. And I was proud of him for having listened to his intuition, to have that kind of bravery. We kissed. Guy #81 was still as hot as the day I met him, but this time I didn’t feel his guilt.

It was one of the best kisses ever.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 years and counting
FORMAT: Very loving friendship with increasingly good benefits
SEX SCORE BEFORE COMING OUT OF CLOSET (0 = The worst parts of the bible <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4
SEX SCORE AFTER COMING OUT OF CLOSET (0 = Pet pandas <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9


Six weeks of celibacy…




If you leave home for a long time, home will not change much during your absence.

You will.

When I entered the living room of my mother’s house for the first time in two and a half years, it was filled with family, friends and former colleagues. My mother had thrown me a surprise party to welcome me.

Before I left my home country of the Netherlands I was a shy, sexually insecure and inexperienced closet case. It was nice seeing familiar faces again, but I felt off, wondering if these people still had any connection to the real me. I had found something resembling love two nights prior. I had done my last porn shoot the night before that one. Yet I felt surrounded by company that expected nothing but obligatory chitchat from me.

So I chitchatted my way through my surprise party. I truly appreciated everybody for showing up and for taking an interest in me being home, but they couldn’t mask the truth I felt:

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Part of the insecurity I felt all my life expressed itself by doing what I thought was expected of me. Home used to be a place where I did nothing but meet people’s expectations. For a long time I figured I was expected to start a family, get a decent job, get my opinions from the morning paper and generally be the most unimaginative sad stereotype I could be.

Anal sex changed all that.

And now the time had come to tell my mother.

In the weeks following my return I had been searching for a job. Most of the jobs I applied for would take me abroad again. My mother wanted to know if there was anything pushing me away from the Netherlands, if I wanted to live the remainder of my life out of a suitcase, if I ever thought about settling down with a woman.
I told my mother it would not be a woman.

Being an only child, I could tell my mother was a bit disappointed to learn she’d never be a grandmother. Apart from that she was never stupid or blind. She had suspected my gayness for a long time. She wanted to know if there was anything pushing me away from the Netherlands, if I wanted to live the remainder of my life out of a suitcase, if I ever thought about settling down with a man. And with that my homosexuality had found itself a home in the realm of our issues.

I spent about six weeks in my home country. In that time I struck up some online conversations with Guys here and there, but I didn’t go on any dates.
I felt too alien to get naked with anyone.

It did feel good being back though. It made me realize that, had I never left, I might very well have ended up as some dopey suburban husband who secretly loathed his wife for not having a penis. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, or anyone’s wife.

Had I known then what I know now I would have dropped everything and pursued a writing career.

However, my confidence had grown in the field of sexuality and sexuality alone. Careerwise, I still figured doing something in an office was the fuel my talents needed. It would take a lot more Guys for me to figure out where my real talents lie.

My time in the Netherlands was cut short on account of a job I found, a job that required me to spend a few months in the United States, alone, in a hotel room.

My celibacy ended the moment I landed in Wisconsin.




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