Tag: Funny

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 #204 – Hottest consent ever…

The world is a beautiful place, but that doesn’t mean everybody you meet at an orgy is your type.

I first met Guy #204 in the company of Guys #200, #201, #202 and #203.

To me Guy #204 was the odd one out. He was the only one older than me and as such not quite my type: he wasn’t a twink, he had chest hair and he wasn’t a twink.

Yet on all objective accounts Guy #204 had the looks of a pornstar successful enough to make a living out of it. He was a gay Guy of the overtly manly type, sensitive and considerate, but with enough testosterone to perform magic tricks like changing the oil in a car, plastering a wall, doing some plumbing, or any of the other things I’ve never seen a twink do.

When I first laid eyes on Guy #204 I realized two things: this man is very handsome and it’s a pity he’s not my type.

Seeing as orgies are by no means all-you-must-eat buffets, I appreciated Guy #204 for the company he was, not at all expecting him to become Guy #204.

But when Guy #204 and I started talking, I did intuitively like him and his manliness. I’d like to consider myself manly in the presence of gay people, but part of me would bend over for a hundred car mechanics before I’d even think of attempting an oil change myself. Being in the presence of someone ostensibly manlier than me was refreshing if nothing else.

When it became apparent Guy #204 was into me I was mostly flattered, and I allowed him to come on to me a little. We were at an orgy after all.

It wasn’t my intention to go all the way with Guy #204, but it seemed that if I wanted him to stop, I would have to make him.

And I didn’t really want to make him.

Not because he wasn’t my type or because I suck at rejecting people, but because I simply liked him too much to reject. And I really liked how much I was liked by him.

Before long I was lying on my back on a couch with Guy #204 hovering over me, gently but steadily making me push my boundaries bit by bit.

“You’re not really my type,” I giggled, and I immediately regretted the possibility of having hurt Guy #204’s feelings, so I lapsed into a clumsy monologue along the lines of I mean, I can tell you’re very handsome, but I’m more into twinks and such, but if I were into manly men of the car mechanic type you’d be heaven to me.

Guy #204 calmly absorbed my words, clearly understanding them while at the same time undeterred in his ways. It was hot to see him strike a delicate balance between being assertive, keeping his distance and seducing me.
“Do you mind what I’m doing right now?” Guy #204 asked while showing no signs of stopping.
“No, not at all,” I said, enjoying the fact someone took the effort to play me and actually be good at it.
“I’m just going to continue doing what I’m doing, until you tell me to stop,” Guy #204 said.
“Okay,” I smiled, swayed and turned on by how smoothly he worked consent into foreplay.

As someone who mostly does younger Guys I’m accustomed to being the one in need of consent. But because I’m shy like a flat earth believer on board the ISS, my main tactic for getting consent is playing hard to get and waiting for even shier people to come onto me, a strategy that ends in failure most of the time, because gravity simply doesn’t work like that.

To have someone like Guy #204 make the effort to conquer my consent gave me a sense of relief I seldom get during foreplay and, as a result, during the sex itself as well. It literally gravitated me toward him.

Guy #204 and I didn’t go all the way on our first meet-up. I enjoyed his sexuality and the personality behind it, but did want to give myself some time to embrace his physicality.

I embraced it in multiple positions about a month later. And on several occasions after that.

 

 

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 #199 – A quick history of AIDS…

Movies are almost instantly dated by the technology they feature. You could probably rank every James Bond film chronologically just by looking at 007’s phone.

Likewise, you can date gay culture quite accurately by looking at the role of one of its biggest villains: AIDS.

I was born in 1982, around the time AIDS began its massive killing spree. The first thing I ever heard someone say about homosexuality was that homosexuals were people who get AIDS, homosexuals and Magic Johnson.

That, in effect, was my introduction to the gay scene.

As time evolved, so did AIDS.

Most people diagnosed with HIV in the 1980s died.
People contracting HIV in the 1990s expected to die, but then a lot of them ended up not doing that.
At the turn of the century, being HIV positive mostly meant you could never have sex without a condom again. Not a great stigma to carry, but a definite step up from getting the Philadelphia treatment.

This day and age antiviral medication allows most people with HIV to attain an undetectable viral load, which in turn means they can’t transmit the disease.

In the 1980s, having unprotected sex with an HIV positive Guy was a game of Russian roulette. Today, having sex with an ‘undetectable’ is about the safest lay there is.

And then there’s Prep, or Pre-exposure prophylaxis. Virtually unheard of ten years ago, Prep has probably surpassed Beyoncé as our go-to daily dosage of empowerment. The dialogue below is very common among gay Guys these days:

– Do you want to use a condom?
– I’m on Prep, so…

“I’m on Prep, so…” essentially means “I hate STD’s as much as the next Guy, but I’m horny enough to run the risk of peeing in agony for a week and knowing the risk of HIV is pretty much negligible at this point and not discounting the fact I’m really very horny and that condoms for all their merit do reduce fun by a factor of some number I’d happily calculate if it wasn’t for me being so horny and all this talk of condoms is not doing wonders for my erection, so…”

Ten years ago, not using condoms was restricted to Guys in committed relationships and irresponsible daredevils. Today, we hate condoms more than we fear HIV.

The story of Guy #199 marks the first time I saw the effect of Prep on gay culture, and it made me realize just how much AIDS has evolved over the years.

I met Guy #199 a few years ago at this orgy. I had heard about Prep and how gays were going bareback because of it. At the time my attitude toward Prep was hesitant at best. Having lived through the 1980s, I was very much conditioned to view barebacking as reckless. For all its downgrades over the years, HIV and AIDS were still scary.

Not so much to Guy #199.

I was lying on a mattress, comfortably riding out my wave of XTC, GHB, ketamine, cocaine and weed, when Guy #199, clearly as high as I was, lay down next to me and started touching me up. I wasn’t that much in the mood for a Guy, but Guy #199 was good looking, not something I’d turn down easily.

Passive as a captured bird I granted Guy #199 an attempt to bring me to life. It worked, right up to the moment he wanted to sit on me.
I stopped him, a little taken aback by the fact he didn’t want me to put on a condom. That, to me, was a first.

It’s not that I never had any unprotected sex before, but it had always been a somewhat careful albeit misguided consideration. And without exception, I had always come to regret it.

Most gay Guys will know what it’s like to give in to temptation, only to frantically check for signs of acute HIV infection the weeks after. Every time I barebacked a Guy, the slightest hint of a fever, sore throat or malaise would send my thoughts into overdrive, and I would vow to never take risks like that again.

Only to end up taking the very same risk after my next HIV test came back negative.

I honestly can’t remember how many times I’ve checked Wikipedia’s signs and symptoms of acute HIV infection, desperately trying to find any that ruled out HIV as the reason for my runny nose, headache or mysterious itch.

So when Guy #199 wanted to ride me without having the obligatory chat about how clean we both were, it struck me as too impulsive. He didn’t even ask if, in terms of diseases, my johnson was magic or tragic.

“Don’t you want to use a condom?” I asked.
“I’m on Prep, so…” Guy #199 rebuffed.

Guy #199 could tell I wasn’t comfortable going bareback with a stranger, so he gave me a condom and we partied like it was 1999. No doubt the party would have been better without the rubber, but being unfamiliar with Prep I anticipated another Wikipedia session I wanted to avoid.

Having sex with Guy #199 wasn’t bad, but I couldn’t shake the thought of how blithely this Guy barebacked his way through life.
It’s a thought that prevented me from starting Prep for quite some time.

Until more and more Guys around me started doing it. In the last few years I came to realize Guy #199 was not an exception but rather a first Mohican in a generation of gays to whom barebacking is back on the menu.

From the early 80s to the mid 10s, a period I commonly refer to as all my life, condom use was the nigh undebatable standard.

Then Prep came, along with HIV positive Guys with an undetectable viral load, and with it HIV gradually stopped being scary.

In August of 2018, I caved: I started taking Prep, blessed to live in a country where the stuff is accessible and affordable.

A few weeks ago, I ran into Guy #328. He was gorgeous and he wanted to do me.

“Do you want to use a condom?” he asked.
To which I said: “I’m on Prep, so…”

I’ve been checking Wikipedia’s signs and symptoms of chlamydia ever since.

Guy #197 and #198 – Orgy politics…

It’s always nice to be invited to an orgy.

You may not be in the mood for an orgy, it might even come at a bad time, but in and of itself, someone asking you to join their private sexfest is a nice compliment if nothing else.

While the great thing about orgies is that everybody is free to be naked to their heart’s content, there is such a thing as orgy politics, a bunch of unspoken obligations that don’t always perfectly align with your sexual preferences.


When I go to an orgy, there’s roughly four kinds of people:

1. People I would like to have sex with (e.g. Guy #195)
2. People who host the event (e.g. Guy #196)
3. People who invited me (e.g. Guy #197)
4. People who are also there and not my type (e.g. Guy #198)

In a perfect world, everybody at an orgy falls into the first category.

In reality, I spend my orgy hours chasing the cute Guys and sexually obligating my way through Guys I feel deserve a piece of me on account of them either hosting me, having invited me or, in rare cases, also being there.

Guy #197 invited me to this orgy one day. The reason I had accepted his invitation however was not because of Guy #197. Although he was not entirely unattractive, I had arrived at the scene to chase meat of a better flavor.

Still, Guy #197 had invited me. I had him to thank for conquering Guy #195 earlier that night. It seemed a given the two of us would have sex at some point.

So we did.

In line with my expectations, the sex between the two of us was not formidable, but comfortable enough to be entertaining.

As Guy #197 and I were doing our thing, I noticed his attention was divided between me and someone who was also there.

As it turned out, this someone was Guy #197’s boyfriend.

Usually when I’m at an orgy, I aim to have sex only with people I find attractive, unless they invited me, or unless it’s their house I’m in. That’s a pretty solid compromise for someone like me, to whom looks are the most determining factor in my sexcapades.

Guy #197’s boyfriend fell into the fourth category: he was also there. I’m always friendly to people who are also there at orgies. I engage in conversation with them. I even allow them to caress me if they feel so inclined. But anything more intimate than that is where I draw the line. I go to orgies because I want to have good sex, not just any sex.

Except that I couldn’t help but feel Guy #197’s boyfriend on some level reasoned that whatever his boyfriend scored, he scored it for the team.

So when Guy #197’s boyfriend started feeling me up, I took the diplomacy route, and allowed him to become Guy #198.

Truth be told the sex wasn’t awful, but it felt off because I was doing it for the wrong reasons.

While I enjoy the premise of an orgy – that anyone can do with anyone as he pleases – I often finds it foregoes the mutual consent-phase good sex is known for.

Of course neither Guy #197 or #198 forced themselves upon me in any way. I could have rejected them easily, but one doesn’t want to be rude.

When you reject someone at an orgy, you’re basically saying that person is unattractive to you, no matter how much GHB and XTC are flowing through your system. That’s not the kind of sentiment you want to relay to your host, or the Guy who invited you, or his boyfriend who is also there, especially when they’re really nice people who deserve good sex just as much as anyone.

So you halfheartedly engage in some sexual activity where you let people like Guy #197 and #198 do most of the work. And when they make the effort to give you a blowjob, you moan loud enough to validate them, but dial down any other physicality to prevent them from going anal.

Everybody wins:

Guy #197 and #198 got a piece of me. I got two far from unpleasant blowjobs out of it. It was the orgy equivalent of Donald Trump shaking hands with Kim Jong-un.

I would run into Guy #197 and #198 on a few other occasions. Because we had shared sex, we were friendly faces to each other. Even better, I no longer felt any obligation to have sex with them again.

In terms of orgy politics, we had become allies of sorts.

Of course sex is something ideally done when love’s on the table, but in the absence of romance an alliance is not at all a bad result.

Allies are the kind of people who invite you to orgies.

And it’s always nice to be invited to an orgy.

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.

Guy #194 – The cutest Guy in the sauna…

In a gay sauna, there are three types of Guys:

  1. The nontouchables, or people I don’t want to touch no matter how often they grab my balls. They account for about 90% of sauna guests, are often fat and hairy, not to mention high.
  2. The touchables, 9% of Guys I could see myself doing, not the cream of the crop I pay my admission for but more than attractive enough to have a go on when I am high.
  3. The untouchables, those 1% of Guys I would love to do, but am too shy for to try. Whenever I go to a gay sauna, I aim to score one of these, or rather to have an untouchable hit me up.

Cruising through a gay sauna, you try to avoid the nontouchables, attain a casually ambivalent attitude toward the touchables and follow the movement of the few untouchables like a hawk.

Catching an untouchable is a rare delight, like finding out ABBA is back together or not testing positive for gonorrhea even though your previous date did.

Given that my hunting strategy consists of passively waiting in a corner till an untouchable touches me, I usually settle for having sex with a touchable.

That’s not a complaint by the way. I’m way more at ease in the presence of someone I deem myself worthy of, making it fairly easy for me to suppress my issues. If touchables have taught me anything it’s that looks and chemistry only correlate when you let them.

Guy #194 on all accounts was a great touchable. He was attractive and made an effort by coming on to me. Although I was aware of the presence of some untouchables nearby, I forewent the ache of silently hoping for them to hit me up by enjoying the enthusiasm Guy #194 showed.

Sex with Guy #194 as it turned out correlated with his enthusiasm. Even though we had hardly spoken, the way we communicated our sexuality told us we were likeminded, two people who might have similar interests, a shared sense of humor or appreciation for ABBA music. The similarities weren’t acknowledged, but the sex made them feel very likely. And I wasn’t even that high!

Afterward we did speak a little. I told him I had recently written the fictional diary of Kim Jong-un as a novel. Guy #194 responded by giving me his phone number and asking for the link, so he could read it. I was flattered by his interest, which seemed sincere, especially considering I wasn’t all that high.

After lying next to each other for what may have been fifteen minutes or so, I told Guy #194 I was going to cruise some more. He seemed a tad disappointed, but also very accepting.
“I had a great time with you,” I said, hoping to make me walking away and looking for other people to have sex with less awkward.
“You too,” Guy #194 said, “I caught the cutest Guy in the sauna.”
“Really?” I asked, wanting to milk the compliment as best I could.
“Yeah, I saw you and said to myself That’s the Guy I want to hook up with tonight.”
“Wow, thank you!,” I said and walked away, making it all the more awkward I was doing so to have sex with other people.

I needed the compliment, badly.

Also present that night was Guy #168, whom I was very much in love with at the time. A week before I had invited him to this orgy where he never showed up. My intuition told me I had a decent chance of running into him at this particular sauna this night. My intuition had proven right.

It thrilled me Guy #168 was also there, allowing me to show off how much of a catch I was. At the same time it was a frustrating experience, as the good parts of me jumped off a cliff each time Guy #168 came near. There was definitely some chemistry between the two of us, but I was all but incapable of channeling it into something sexual. He was, as one might call it, an untouchable. So instead of trying to have sex with Guy #168, I wondered off, hooked up with Guy #194 and got labeled an untouchable myself.

Thank you, universe.

Yet instead of revelling in Guy #194’s adoration, I left him to find Guy #168 to tell him I just had awesome sex and that the Guy I’d gotten it from thought I was the cutest Guy in the sauna.
“Ow,” Guy #168 replied with a rather heartless ‘good-for-you’ inflection.
“Turns out I can be a good bottom to the right Guy,” I continued, trying way too hard to point Guy #168 to my finer qualities as a human being.

Guy #168 was probably the most dysfunctional crush I ever had: I met the wonderful Guy #194, he thought I was the cutest Guy around and even wanted to read my book. Had I bottomed for him another time, I might have actually sold a copy.

Instead I just wanted Guy #168 to know how awesome some random Guy thought I was. I never even got around to sending Guy #194 the link to my book.

I guess when someone labels me an untouchable, I really play the part, treating Guy #194 as Guy #168 treated me, getting my karma served to me instantly.

Thanks a lot, universe!

Guy #184 and #185 – Spread love, not scabies…

1.
Intuition

It’s knowing what you don’t know you know yet.

It’s the most unreliable advice you should always listen to.

It’s what I should’ve listened to the moment I first saw Guy #184.

It’s what could have saved me a lot of agony.

2.
Social obligation

It’s doing what you don’t know you’re doing yet.

It’s the most reliable advice you should never listen to.

It’s what I listened to the moment I first saw Guy #184.

Two weeks later not even the hottest shower could rid me of the relentless itch Guy #184 had become.

The story of Guy #184 is the story of the most regrettable foursome I ever had.

It started one night when me and two of my friends were chilling at my place. We had some drugs lying around, some Grindr conversations going on and were in the mood to make the night interesting by means of chemsex, because issues.

To make this experience worthwhile we were totally dependent on bringing in other Guys. Me and my friends were just friends after all, comfortable to have sex in each other’s presence, but not looking to have sex with each other.

My goal was a room of at least six Guys: me and my two friends and one date for each of us. Organizing a Sunday evening sexfest however is easier said than done. The Guys on Grindr weren’t exactly biting. Like seamen harvesting a fish bowl, we ended up reeling in no more than one Guy, Guy #184. And I wasn’t even the one who had caught him.

In fact, had I caught him, I would’ve thrown him right back into his bowl, or preferably the ocean. I didn’t like Guy #184 based on his pics, and I liked him even less when I opened the door for him, when I saw just how much this Guy wasn’t my type.

Gauging Guy #184’s response, I could tell I wasn’t his type either. We gave each other an awkward hug as one does when you kick off an orgy get-together. Social obligation had stumbled into our relationship the second it started and it wasn’t going to disappear. I let Guy #184 into my house, doing what I didn’t know I was doing yet.

Fortunately for Guy #184, my two friends were into him. That for me should have been the end of it. I wasn’t at ease in Guy #184’s company, his skin didn’t quite strike me as healthy and I couldn’t help but notice he was scratching himself a lot. One of my friends even asked him if everything was okay, to which he said it was.

When you’re having sex with three other people and two of them are your friends, it’s socially acceptable to focus most of your attention on the one Guy who isn’t your friend. I witnessed my two friends having fun with Guy #184, hesitant to join in the fun but halfheartedly participating regardless.
But then one of my friends spoke up: “You should fuck him too,” he said after he had given it to Guy #184 for a while.

My intuition, amplified by the drugs I had taken, yelled at me, urging me to stay away from Guy #184. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I simply did not like the Guy and I strongly sensed the feeling was mutual. And then there was the scratching. When an itch is persistent enough to demand attention during a blowjob, something is clearly wrong.

Then again, isn’t it impolite to not do a Guy when a good friend asks you to?

Not wanting to disappoint, I followed my friend’s suggestion. It was unpleasant, uncomfortable and unrewarding for the both of us.

Thinking sex was kind of expected, I also fooled around with one of my friends a little, making him Guy #185. It was a whole lot better than my experience with Guy #184, but still awkward. It’s weird to do benefits with friends you don’t have benefits with, even more so when they’re obligatory, even more than more so when the one person you should be feeling attracted to attracts you like a moth to a popsicle.

The four of us spent most of the night on my bed, on my sheets, naked. I was enjoying the company of my friends, but regretted the sex I just had. And I regretted forging the orgy guidelines into my relationships with Guy #184 and #185.

And of course there was the fact Guy #184 kept scratching himself. All the time.

Two weeks later I was scratching too. Guy #184, as it turned out, had scabies. Perfectly curable, harmless and mind-bogglingly excruciating scabies. I was pissed off at him for spreading his itchy skin in my bed, but most of all I loathed myself for not listening to my intuition. I knew Guy #184 was a bad idea the moment I saw him.

I just didn’t know I knew it yet.

Guy #181 – Waiter must cut meat…

If a Guy likes me that much, something must be wrong with him.

That was my main thought during my time with Guy #181.

Guy #181 was actually kind of very hot. I say kind of, because he wasn’t perfect in each and every way: he had a great personality, he was smart, considerate, caring, empathetic, a decent top, an amazing bottom, he had a cute, boyish face, a great body and talking was only the third best thing he could do with his mouth.

And he liked me. A lot.

People sometimes ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend, instead spending my nights dividing my attention between Netflix and Grindr. I’d like to say it’s because I fail to meet the right Guys. In reality it’s because sometimes the right Guy is slightly too bald and has slightly more chest hair than a perfect 20 year old twink with a 40 year old personality would have.

I’m world champion in compromizing for the sake of others. Compromizing to do myself a favor is a skill I choose to lack:

Guy #181 came on to me one night. I let him. We had awesome sex, then exchanged phone numbers.

He apped me, a full week later. Not three days later as I always do when I project onto someone the aforementioned image of perfection, but a full week. That was hot.

I allowed Guy #181 to set up a second date, at my place, this time adding candlelight and poppers to the equation. It ranked among the best sex I ever had.

Yet I kept focusing on the fact Guy #181 was almost as old as I am and that he didn’t make me laugh at regular intervals. And then there was the chest hair, tiny amounts of it, but still.

A third date materialized, again because Guy #181 made the effort. It was great.

So great in fact that I couldn’t quite fathom Guy #181 being into me that much.

Guy #181 and I met up a fourth time, by accident.
He told me he’d been waiting for me to contact him, as I had more or less promised on our third date. I told him I was sorry, and then made up for it by once again having amazing sex with him.

It’s not that I don’t have any interest in having an actual relationship with someone, but I suppose I only do a relationship when the universe presents one on a golden platter with a waiter to cut my meat. If a relationship is a meal, I categorically refuse to touch any cutlery myself. No wonder I’m starving on Netflix and Grindr.

Guy #181 is someone I ought to have chased, if only a fraction of the amount he chased me. Instead I focused on celebrating my youth, going from Guy to Guy, bathing in attention or really mostly just hints thereof.

It was nice being wanted by Guy #181, but I suppose it was a certainty that came at the expense of the excitement I’ve grown addicted to. Every time you open Grindr, you quietly hope to strike up a bond with the most delicious piece of meat you ever tasted. Opening Grindr, then feeling your phone vibrate because you have a new message… it’s a deceptively little high I keep chasing. Even though Grindr in reality is an orgy of social awkwardness where attention is as meaningful as a clown at a funeral, many gays opt to stand out at a funeral instead of, well…just living life.

About a year after our last encounter Guy #181 popped up on Grindr, only a few minutes away from my place. We met up (his idea, not mine, because waiter must cut meat), had great sex, and agreed to see each other again soon.

Another year has passed since then.

I still have his number. Having had more than 300 Guys, I’ve grown tired of orgy culture, random hook-ups and drug induced friendships that fade the moment the high does. I hardly ever reply to anyone on Grindr anymore, and when I do the conversation always fades into oblivion well before getting off the ground. I simply can’t be bothered anymore.

Guy #181 strikes me as someone who I should hit up someday, just asking how he’s doing, to maybe tentatively show I think he’s well worth the effort of getting to know him and that I’m kind of ashamed of focusing on his hair while I should be blown away by everything else.

The reason I don’t text him and probably won’t in the foreseeable future?

Because I’m a bit of a sad gay stereotype. I resent it, but waiter must cut meat. For some reason, I prefer to flaunt my selfies on Grindr in hopes of getting so much attention I won’t feel like the 24 year old virgin I was when I first hooked up with a Guy.

Investing time and effort in someone like Guy #181 seems like a much easier, more effective way of straightening my issues.

Instead I went on Grindr just now. My phone vibrated: no less than two strangers sent me a message, along with this old Guy who keeps hitting me up every two weeks or so.

That felt slightly satisfying for a few seconds.

If a Guy likes me that much, something must be wrong with me.

Guy #179 and #180 – A hot Guy and someone who was also there…

Threesomes can be like a game of rock paper scissors, only rebranded as a game of top bottom woman. Of course, not everybody can win a game of top bottom woman. Top and bottom get along fine, but it’s not unlikely for a third person at a threesome to more or less just be there.

Some gay Guys don’t enjoy being the woman in a game of top bottom woman. Some don’t deal with it all too well. To be honest I only enjoy threesomes when I get at least 33% of the attention.

In that sense Guy #179 was a way bigger person than I am.

I first met Guy #179 in this whirlpool. Seconds after sitting down next to him he started feeling me up. Seconds later we were kissing.

It’s not that Guy #179 was really my type. The only reason I sat down within reach of his right arm was because his left arm was busy disappearing between the legs of someone sitting on his other side. And this someone was my type.

I sat down next to Guy #179 in hopes of turning his twosome into a threesome. Not long after we started kissing Guy #179’s cuter looking friend started feeling me up, quickly becoming Guy #180.

Guy #179 and #180 had some fun with the three of us for a short while, until it became obvious me and Guy #180 were top and bottom respectively, whereas Guy #179 was also there.

It wasn’t long before Guy #179 suggested Guy #180 and I should continue together, and then he got up and left.

I felt bad for Guy #179, but admired how much he accepted things as they were. He simply seemed happy for us. It’s not everyday I run into a gay Guy who can excuse himself from a threesome without even the slightest bit of negativity.

In fact, I would later learn Guy #179 had started feeling me up, precisely because he figured me and Guy #180 would be a good match. He literally hit on me so his friend could have me, or rather I could have his friend.

After Guy #179 got up and left our whirlpool I never saw him again, but I did stay in touch with Guy #180 for a while. I went on a date at his place a few times, out of which nothing really ever grew.

I suppose Guy #180 looked cute compared to Guy #179. In the absence of his friend it was just a game of top and bottom, without any stakes.

It was at a time in my life when I had begun exploring the world of orgies and drugs. It was thrilling still, but the more I had sex with people while high on drugs, the less exciting regular sex with normal people was becoming.

Had I met Guy #180 a few years earlier, I would’ve given him more of my attention, I would’ve never compared a threesome to a game of rock paper scissors. But once you’ve owned a Guy while another Guy is owning you, surrounded by Guys that do the same, all on a wave of XTC, GHB, ketamine, poppers and weed, sharing a cigarette with Guy #180 quickly becomes mundane and forgettable.

It was still nice winning a game of top bottom woman though.

Guy #178 – Matrix Me…

There’s two sides of me.

One is Matrix Lennard, cool, in control, super hot and capable of dodging bullets if only for showing off.
It’s the Lennard I hope the Guy of my dreams will see in me.

Then there’s just Lennard, my actual self, insecure, needy and incapable of dodging insults.

Guys I am attracted to are often a lot like Matrix Lennard. Whenever I run into a super hot Guy that has the slightest echo of a personality, I fantasize about the two of us living a perfectly sleek gaytopian fairytale in which we celebrate each other’s perfection.

It’s a pleasant albeit dysfunctional mirage, about as real as the Matrix itself.

The Guys that are attracted to me tend to be a far cry from the Guys I fantasize about.

Guy #178 was such a guy. He saw in me the super great awesome Guy I wish people will write books about someday. He expressed his admiration by becoming a saggy sack of compliments that got wetter each time we kissed.

Guy #178 was probably one of the sweetest Guys I ever dated. I could do no wrong. I could ignore him on WhatsApp a thousand times and let him rejoice the one time I didn’t. I could cancel a date at the last minute for the sake of going on a better looking one, and he would completely understand. I could tell him to continue doing oral even when his jaws started showing signs of old age, and he’d be happy to.

Guy #178 was without a doubt one of the most annoying people I ever dated. He idolized the worst in me, and reminded me of the parts I thought were even worse than that.

Yet I went on a date with him a total of 5 times. And each time I felt annoyed and regretted spending time with him.

My relationship with Guy #178 was like seeing Sharknado and then somehow investing in its 4 sequels, each time wondering why.

So why are there people who’ve seen Sharknado 1 through 5 and why am I one of those people?

The sex with Guy #178 was about as satisfying as the special effects in a Sharknado movie: silly but somehow rewarding, because you know you will never be as dumb as that movie. Likewise, the sex was as spectacular as an actual sharknado is likely, but it did make me feel like I was by far the coolest, securest and catchiest Guy at the scene. Guy #178 made me feel like Matrix Me, even though I resented him for being a nerdy sidekick that failed to live up to my own image.

My life at the time wasn’t going great. I was hopelessly in love with Guy #168, a gorgeous Guy I had met at this orgy this one time. He was everything Matrix Lennard ached for, and as such all but unreachable. Whenever I ran into him, I would lapse into endless monologues about how much I admired his personality, his accomplishments, his body and his personality. Guy #168 always got uncomfortable by me giving him the Messiah treatment, which I remedied by giving even more compliments. The harder I tried, the more he distanced himself from me.

Guy #168 was the perfect match for Matrix Lennard. Sadly though, Matrix Lennard failed to load each time I saw him. The only side Guy #168 got to see was my actual self, desperate, needy and highly capable of dodging hints from a Guy that appreciated his own space as if it was his to own.

Few things are more frustrating than being incapable of being more than you in front of someone you want to be more than you with.

During all of this I spent my days taking care of my ailing stepdad, constantly surrounded by illness, decay and steadily approaching death. I had no job, no social life to speak of and had gotten addicted to weed, spending large parts of my days in a haze Matrix Me couldn’t reach me.

A sharknado was just what I needed.

Enter Guy #178, someone who annoyed me to no end with his compliments, his never ending attention and less than perfect looks.

On our third or fourth date I had smoked a joint in advance to ease myself into it. Minutes after starting foreplay on his couch, the weed kicked in much stronger than I had anticipated. I got dizzy and made it to the toilet just when my Burger King dinner resurfaced. As I clung to Guy #178’s toilet, puking my guts out and silently resenting my life and everything in it, Guy #178 constantly hovered over me, asking if I was okay, if I needed a towel, if there was anything he could do. And then he just started caressing my shoulder, almost as if his mind was still on foreplay.

I believe everyone on Earth knows but a very few people they would like to be touched by when they’re coasting down a bad trip hanging in the aura of their own vomit while clinging to someone else’s toilet. Guy #178 was not one of those people. I was high, depressed, nauseous and could only think of Guy #168, and what he would think of me if he’d see me failing at my life the way I was. Instead of enjoying my gaytopian lifestyle with Guy #168, Guy #178 was occupying my space like a fly circling around my head, capable of dodging everything you throw at it.

Guy #178 reminded me of me a lot. Although Matrix Lennard has all the makings of a movie star, my self loathing self is actually a much nicer person, as was Guy #178.

When you sit through one half of a Sharknado movie whilst having no life to speak of, it’s easy to succumb to everything that’s wrong with a sharknado. My life was a mess, but at the very least it made more sense than a Guy dodging sharks with a chainsaw as they were falling from the sky.
So after I was done vomiting Guy #178 and I proceeded to have sex. Despite being a jerk to him, puking in his toilet and over his bathroom floor and resenting him for being so relentlessly nice and devoted, Guy #178 wanted me for the Matrix Lennard he saw in me.

I fought not to admit it, but part of me liked being admired by Guy #178. And in a way, I grew to respect him for staying true to his own character all the time, annoying as it was.

We stopped dating eventually, not because I didn’t want to give him more of my attention, but because he moved to another country.

Yet whenever I think of him, I know how irritating he was, but what I remember is him doing his very best to take care of me after puking through foreplay. And I remember me waking up next to him the following morning because of it.

When you watch a Sharknado movie, you can’t help but loathe yourself for wasting your time on something so obviously stupid. But when you remember that time you watched Sharknado, it’s impossible to hide a faint but definite smile. Somehow, for reasons as mystifying as life’s biggest unanswered questions, a sharknado makes you feel like Matrix You for a while.

Thank you, Guy #178, for being as annoying as I am.

Guy #176 and #177 – What is this whole sex thing anyway?

It is September 11, 2018, I am 36 years old and at this exact point in time I have had sex with about 305 Guys. I say ‘about’ because, among other things, this story will show you sex is not a simple yes or no variable.

When you’ve more or less had sex with some 300 Guys and counting, sex itself loses some of its mojo, especially when love is notably absent most of the time.

In my early days of sexual exploration dating sites (and later apps) were a source of excitement. It felt naughty, to expose myself and my body to the kind of pleasure I would not dare tell my mother about.

300 Guys later, I don’t go on Grindr to hunt for Guys. The only real reason I go online is to see how well my profile picture performs. Every day when I get back home from work, I open Grindr, alerting gays in a one mile radius of my presence. An hour later, I open Grindr again…and then I look at the profiles of people who hit me up as I was busy eating, watching Netflix and getting ready to go to the gym.

And then I ignore those people. I don’t even bother reading their messages. I hardly ever initiate a conversation on Grindr and the people that hit me up are almost always not my type. I simply can’t be bothered.

Because once you’ve been on one Grindr date, you’ve been on all. The details vary, but the formula is pretty straightforward: Sexual frustration + loneliness + social awkwardness = Grindr date.

It’s interesting the first 100 times. After that, you can’t help but get jaded. So after a while Grindr stops being instrumental in getting laid. It becomes an instrument in getting attention. Getting laid is something you can do in a gay sauna or a raunchy nightclub, where you don’t have to go through obligatory conversation to get some action.

At least, that must have been my assumption the night I met Guy #176 and #177.

Guy #176 was the type of Asian I could tell was into white Guys such as myself. He was too shy to actively chase me, but every time our paths crossed I could see his eyes light up. Added to that he was cute, generically cute, so a perfect fit for someone like me, who wasn’t looking for a layered person.

Guy #176 and I started our conversation in front of some lockers in a gay sauna. It was brightly lit, but the twinkle in his eye shone brightly regardless. It was not at all a surprise he reached for my parts. I was happy to let him: having a generically cute Asian Guy fiddle with my testicles was just the thing I was in the mood for. And by the looks of Guy #176’s face, he had found exactly what he was looking for too!

Things don’t get much better in gaytopia.

Except that when I leaned in to kiss Guy #176 he veered back. Our lips had touched, we had played with each other’s genitals: technically, this Guy was now blog material, but just when I thought we’d submit ourselves to some tender foreplay, Guy #176 started laughing uncomfortably, apologetically even.
“I’m sorry, I just had to feel you up for a bit,” Guy #176 said.
“Well, now you have,” I replied, hoping it would be quirky enough to glide our relationship into the actual stuff I wanted to do to this Guy.

It didn’t. Guy #176 said sorry one more time and then went off, ending our relationship as randomly as it had begun.

(I actually ran into Guy #176 at a clinic this one time as we were getting an AIDS test, where of course we pretended not to know each other.)

Up next was Guy #177. My relationship with him started online, where he hit me up saying ‘Hi’. I usually don’t respond to Hi’s, but a quick glance at his profile taught me he had a boyfriend and that the two of them were on the lookout for threesomes. Both looked reasonably cute, so I made a slight effort for a change.

Guy #177 and I chatted for a while, discussed sexual preferences and even pondered setting a date with the three of us, which then never materialized because we lived too far apart for me to be truly bothered. Threesomes top twosomes, but when you’ve done orgies, a threesome is about as exciting as Finding Nemo is to Finding A Fish.

Then came the day I ran into Guy #177 at a gay sauna. We recognized each other from our pics and awkwardly said ‘Hi’. I don’t remember how exactly, but we ended up sitting next to each other in a steam room not long after. He wasn’t as cute as his pics had suggested and he could probably tell my abs didn’t come with a contrast button in real life. Yet at the same time we had spoken about having vivid sexual intercourse. Giving each other a socially awkward handjob seemed weirder than not doing anything at all.

So Guy #177 jerked me off for a short while, while I did the same to him. As I bestowed upon him the pleasure of my left hand, my mind was stuck between upping the sex with oral or using my mouth to start a conversation.

In the end Guy #177 simply got up and left, never to be seen or heard from again. He didn’t even get to experience what my right hand is capable of.

Guys #176 and #177 make me wonder if Karma has taken note of my Grindr etiquette: Grindr me is not exactly a great Guy. I prefer getting attention over actually having sex and I dismiss Guys when they require the slightest pinch of effort. Guys #176 and #177 gave me attention, then dismissed me as I tend to with the Guys I meet.

My relationships with Guys #176 and #177 were a bit like this story. You make a little effort to get invested, hope it will lead somewhere and then it ends before getting off the g…

Guy #175 – Donald Trump the aphrodisiac…

“I apologize for Donald Trump,” was one of the first things Guy #175 said to me.

I don’t have anything against Americans, but the ones who apologize for Donald Trump the first chance they get have a special place in my heart.

There’s nothing cuter than a Guy apologetically admitting his American citizenship, knowing all too well Europeans have come to see America the way America sees Detroit.

It’s the land of the free and home of the brave, but to those that spend enough time outside of it the words “I’m American” often come with a pinch of shame these days…and it’s absolutely adorable when a cute Guy does it.

I don’t think anyone should ever have to apologize for their country, but saying sorry for Donald Trump has become a very effective way of letting people know that Hey, I’m American, but I am aware Africa is not a country, I don’t believe in angels and it’s never a good idea to nuke Finland.

Mind you, Guy #175 said sorry for Donald Trump way back in the summer of 2016, when it still seemed unlikely he would become president. His preemptive apology made him one of the nicest Americans I ever had sex with.

Because it was in that moment, when Guy #175 said he was sorry for Donald Trump, that I decided I would turn him into Guy #175.

When you meet someone who dislikes Donald Trump, you quickly find you have a lot in common. Whether it’s about building walls, grabbing women by the pussy, or cuddling up with racists – all of which activities gay Guys seldom engage in – the road to foreplay is smooth as a slide: the Donald Trump apology was a push, and from there we comfortably coasted toward kissing and, eventually, what could best be described as a gay attempt of grabbing each other by the pussy.

Guy #175 and I didn’t spend much time together. I had a life I needed to be at, he was an American, staying in my country for no more than a few days.

We enjoyed each other’s company in his hotel room for about an hour, then we went out and got high together, because what else would I be doing with an American tourist in Amsterdam?

We got along very well, even becoming Facebook friends.

About a year later he contacted me, saying he was back in the Netherlands for a short while, asking if I’d want to meet.

By this time Donald Trump had found his way to the White House. There would’ve been so much for us to talk about, so much to bond over, yet I only halfheartedly set a date for him to come over at my place. And when that date arrived, neither of us made any real effort to actually meet up. He said his train got delayed, I told him not to rush, which he probably took to mean he needn’t show up at all.

A second date never happened.

When we met, Guy #175 and I talked about way more than just Donald Trump, but for some reason I mostly remember making fun of American politics as the thing that set our date apart from others.

Guy #175 was cute, but in my memory our bond was mostly the result of a common sense of disbelief toward things happening an ocean away. I’m sure there was more to us, but I simply didn’t register it as a memory…maybe because I got high too much.

Who knows if Guy #175 and I ever meet up again. He’s an American who lives in Finland, so as long as Donald Trump hasn’t nuked it, I won’t rule it out as a possibility. Stranger things have happened, like Donald Trump being an aphrodisiac.

Guy #174 – The one with feelings. And cocaine. And gonorrhoea.

Some time ago I wrote the ‘story’ of Guy #168, except that it wasn’t much of a story, but rather an overview of all my personal issues standing in the way of me getting an actual, loving relationship with a Guy.

It’s not that Guy #168 is not a story I don’t want to tell:

Guy #168 was someone I met at this orgy this one time. For a while he was someone I wanted to be more with than just ‘someone I run into at orgies’. And when I say ‘for a while’ I mean Guy #168 was on my mind pretty much every time I had sex with someone, from Guy #169 all the way through #275, a good one and a half year of my life.

I have this habit of having dysfunctional crushes.

So when I met Guy #174 my first thought was This Guy doesn’t look at all like Guy #168.

Of course, being hopelessly in love doesn’t mean I become picky when it comes to picking Guys to have sex with. On the contrary: when I’m hopelessly in love I remedy my hopelessness by projecting all my feelings onto someone who doesn’t match my image of perfection, and then I resent that person for not being perfect.

Guy #174 was an exception in many ways, and I think the reason for it was feelings. His feelings.

I really wanted Guy #168 to have feelings for me, but instead I met Guy #174, a smart, funnily tortured cocaine addict who reminded me of myself in more ways than I was comfortable with. I say ‘funnily tortured’ because his drama was a great source of laughter for me. My life was far from on track at the time, but his issues dwarfed mine. We were similar in many ways, but Guy #174 seemed worse off in all dimensions. He was the embodiment of solace.

At the time I spent my waking hours at home, jobless, taking care of my stepdad. Guy #174 also lived with his family, his life lacking direction as well. He spent his sleeping hours away from his home as much as he could, as did I. He remedied his sadness with cocaine. I got high on weed every day.

We both lived life forgetting as much of it as we could.

When we first had sex Guy #174 made me forget about Guy #168 for a short while, like a few hours. It was like taking a new drug and discovering a new kind of high. Only the second time Guy #174 and I got together he gave me gonorrhoea, which is just the most annoying of all STD’s.

Like the caring person he was, Guy #174 joined me as we went to get our antibiotics. It struck me as hardcore to see him swallowing his pills with a bottle of champagne: this was clearly not the first time he had taken gonorrhoea meds.

I suppose it was in that moment I decided Guy #174 and I would continue as friends, something I instinctively felt he was willing to do: he’d seemed in awe of me from the moment we met, giving me nothing but compliments about my personality and the way I dealt with my issues, neither of which I felt were deserving of any praise.

I could tell he lamented the fact I wanted to be just friends, but he granted me full control of the relationship. For me, Guy #174 became someone I could talk to, about whatever I wanted to talk about.
“I am in love with this Guy I met at this orgy,” I told Guy #174, wanting to vent my issues as Guy #174 was often keen to let me.
“I don’t want to hear about that,” he said however.
I refrained from talking about my feelings for another Guy, until a few days later, when I brought him up again. This time I was allowed to. I could tell he wasn’t happy listening to me talking about a Guy I liked more than him, but he didn’t resist.

Guy #174 never explicitly said he had feelings for me. I suppose he knew me well enough not to.

I guess when we’re in love we prefer being tortured by the ones we love over not being with them at all. I didn’t resent Guy #174 as I would so many others who didn’t resemble the Guy I was in love with. Instead I appreciated him for allowing me to quietly torture him with my meanderings about this random Guy I met at this orgy this one time. It was what I needed, and Guy #174 was all too available to give me what I wanted, from laughing about his life, to whining about mine, to antibiotics, to just friendship.

Over the years I’ve been with a lot of Guys. yet as far as I can tell only a very few of them ever developed any feelings for me. With the exception of a few weeks with Guy #143 and a long distance fling with Guy #96, I never experienced much reciprocation. Likewise, the few people who ever fell for me…simply fell.

What can I say? I only fall for people I can’t have. People who fall for me I can have…so why fall for them?

Did I mention I only do dysfunctional crushes?

This one time Guy #174 and I went to a gay sauna together, where of all people we ran into Guy #168. It must have been an eye opener for Guy #174 to see me ache for attention from someone I barely got it from. I imagine it helped Guy #174 to let go of chasing me.

Usually when someone I had sex with isn’t perfect in each and every way I become dismissive toward that person.
Guy #174 didn’t look like the Guy I really wanted, he always complained about how not doing cocaine was such a drag, he had given me gonorrhoea. Yet despite all that I always enjoyed his company. His feelings didn’t chase me away as people with feelings so often do.

Guy #174 wasn’t perfect. Instead he was very much like me.

“We’re both stuck,” he once said, summing up both our lives in three words.

As time passed, we saw each other less and less frequently. My life gradually got ‘unstuck’, my need of solace fading away, hopefully not unlike Guy #174’s feelings for me.

We don’t really keep in touch these days. Of all the people I ever suspected of having feelings for me, Guy #174 was the one that made it the least awkward. Of all the people who ever gave me gonorrhoea, he was the only one kind enough to take our meds together. I feel sorry I didn’t feel for him what he seemingly felt for me, but if I’d ever get gonorrhoea again, I’d want it to come from someone like Guy #174.

Coming from a narcissist, that means a lot.

Thank you, Guy #174.

Guy #172 and #173 – Quitting smoking is easy. I do it all the time…

Gay saunas.

A lot of my stories take place in a gay sauna, even though I consider myself a sensitive person who prefers an intimate hug over an anonymous quickie. So why the many, many quickies?

To me, sex with strangers is a bit like cigarettes: every month you go without them is a good month. Every day you deprive yourself of nicotine a month feels like an eternity. It’s not that I’m a sex addict, but I do lack the patience to let life run its course. Sex tends to find me every so often. But if I actively pursue sex, I get it more often and I live life under the assumption that more sex is more good, even if it’s bad sex.

Enter gay saunas, the quick fix of gay sex.
The fifth cigarette of the day is not that rewarding, but the first one in a month is pure oral glory. On average, I probably visit a gay sauna about once a month, when I haven’t had sex for that long. Or when I have a free night with nothing better to do. Or when I think my hair looks good and I feel like showing off. Or when I just feel like showing off. Or when I just want to feel something.

When I go to a gay sauna, I hope to find someone I can talk to, laugh with, cuddle and penetrate. Finding guys to penetrate is easy. Talking, laughing, cuddling are bigger hurdles.
In part this is due to my narcissism: I only talk, laugh and cuddle with people that fit my image of perfection.
The other part has to do with the very nature of gay saunas:

I first met Guy #172 in some dark corridor. We pursued each other for a few minutes, passed each other while semi-accidentally touching our bodies and pretended not to check each other out. Penetration was on the menu, that much was clear.

Sadly, the sauna we were in was packed, meaning every cabin was taken. If Guy #172 and I wanted to have sex, we would have to do it out in the open, in the very corridor we met.

This is not unusual for gay saunas. Whenever I’m there I see people having sex all the time. I prefer having sex where no one can see me, but gay saunas are an orgy of compromises. Guy #172 and I didn’t have the time or space to talk, laugh or cuddle, but darn it, I had captured him as my first prey of the evening and I wasn’t going to let him off without me giving it to him.
We had but a wall to lean against, so that’s what we did, in full view of everybody who was there.

Here’s the thing with having sex in a gay sauna where everybody can see you: everybody can touch you there as well. To some people this is seen as an invitation. And for some reason it’s always the fat sweaty hairy old nasty Danny DeVito lookalikes that pick up on it.

If you’re a Danny DeVito lookalike who frequents gay saunas and thinks it’s okay to grope people just because they’re engaged in sex, stop doing that! You are the Bill Cosby’s of gaytopia. Nothing is more annoying than putting on a condom while a pack of Danny DeVito’s disrupts your balance trying to get a sense of what your testicles feel like.

Because that’s what happened as I pushed Guy #172 up against our wall and rubbered up to do my thing to him: people started touching us, wanting in on the fun. Guy #172 and I were more engaged in shoving other people’s hands off our bodies than we were with each other. At one point we even had to shout at someone to leave us alone.

Okay, granted, you don’t go around raping people like Bill Cosby, so let me take it down a notch: you’re the gay sauna equivalent of crying babies on an airplane. Imagine sipping on your first cigarette in a month time. Now add Danny DeVito grabbing your balls to the picture. That’s you – and I know you know who you are.

Frustrated by the people around us, Guy #172 and I moved around a bit in hopes of finding an empty cabin, or at the very least to get away from our intruders. Yet everywhere we went, we were denied the joy of consensual penetration by the hands of people who were even more of a stranger to me than Guy #172.

The bond Guy #172 and I had was mostly the sentiment we shared toward the people around us. Eventually, we more or less gave up and went our own way.

It left me feeling empty inside, but not undeterred, as it wasn’t long before Guy #173 and I started pretending not to check each other out. Within minutes we were all over each other.

To my surprise we managed to find a cabin, a space where no one could impose on our little romance. I could freely penetrate, and if that went well maybe follow up on it with some nice talking, laughing and cuddling, something narcissist me is in the mood for about 10% of the time after climaxing with a stranger.

Guy #173 and I quickly worked through the three stages of gay foreplay (kissing, oral and tentative humping), and then I grabbed a condom.
“I have this allergy for rubber,” Guy #173 interrupted me.
“And I’m allergic to HIV,” I told him.
It’s not that I never take risks or that I don’t hate condoms as much as anyone who’s never had AIDS, but like any sensible gay Guy, I only take risks with extremely cute people. I simply wasn’t high enough to consider Guy #173 that cute. I knew that if I would bareback him, I would only feel regret afterward, and that I wouldn’t want to talk, laugh, let alone cuddle him.
“I’m clean though,” Guy #173 assured me.
“Sorry, I just never have unsafe sex,” I lied as if I was Bill Cosby offering a woman a drink.
Guy #173 reiterated just how clean he was. It was hard not to believe him, as I really wanted to get my fix.

That’s another thing with gay saunas these days: back in the 80s, Bill Cosby gave us a laugh and HIV was scary. How the tables have turned. As such, Guys in saunas dispense with condoms more often than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. Guy #173 only seemed concerned with convincing me he was clean. He didn’t even ask about my status. As we talked about him being so clean, I noticed the mattress we were on still contained the sweat of those who had used it before us. It made me realize I was pursuing a fix in the easiest, but far from the best place to do so.

Guy #173 took off after he realized barebacking was off the table.

I was left feeling frustrated, but nevertheless relieved. I was unsatisfied, but took comfort in the fact I wouldn’t have to spend the next month on the lookout for symptoms of acute HIV infection.

So I celebrated my little victory. With a well deserved cigarette. My first one in well over a month.

Guy #170 – Oprah on a bad day…

I don’t like fat.

It’s why I prefer walking over public transportation, why I have a gym membership I don’t use as often as I feel I should and why I have to digest guilt each time I eat ice cream.

So when I meet a Guy and find myself confronted with the decision whether or not to have sex with him, the amount of fat this Guy carries is a very determining factor in my decision making process.

Which doesn’t mean fat Guys don’t stand a chance. They simply need to put in a little extra effort.

Fatwise, Guy #170 was like Oprah on a bad day. Like Oprah, he didn’t make an effort to hide his lack of abs. Instead, he initiated a conversation about his body and freely acknowledged it wasn’t the best thing he had going for him. Like Oprah, he too talked about things he was doing to shape up, one of which included a diet that consisted of less than 1000 calories a day.

I don’t like fat, but that doesn’t make me heartless. Although I was well aware Guy #170 was playing on my empathy to find him attractive, I couldn’t deny his tactic was working. The more he spoke about his struggle to lose weight, the more I saw in him the Guy he could be if he stayed in Oprah-mode long enough.

Personally, I’m not very smooth when it comes to hitting on people. I more or less have my looks to offer. Beyond that, I lack the ability the steer a conversation in the direction of sex. I simply have no idea how to talk people into sexual contact. The art of seduction, reading people, playing into their weak spots, figuring out what makes them tick. I lack those skills. For me, hitting on a Guy is simply a matter of going in and hoping for the best, an on and off successful strategy I intend to keep using as long as I don’t have any fat forcing me to make a real effort.

Guy #170 however was smooth to the bone. He knew that if he wanted to have sex with me, he would have to work me. At some point in time he must have figured empathy was to be his weapon of choice. Instead of hiding his fat, he made it the center of his campaign.

In addition to infecting me with his highly contagious Oprah positivity, Guy #170 was also assertive. His intentions of wanting to have sex with me were clear well before he opened up about his diet, as he repeatedly touched me in places fat people usually don’t get to touch me.

Even though I remained hesitant throughout the sex, it was far from unpleasurable. Guy #170 knew what to do and was good at what he did, a combination that made up for most if not all of his fat.

“Thank you,” I said after we were done.

“You’re a dumbass,” Guy #170 laughed as he gently slapped my face. He implanted the idea that maybe I tend to be too much of a kiss ass toward people who give great blowjobs.

Seconds after I extended my gratitude Guy #170 walked off, though we would later meet up again and talk some more.
I still run into him occasionally and when I do it’s always nice to see each other again. Sex however will never again materialize between the two of us. Every time I see him I can’t help but feel I was tricked, even though I liked it enough to say thank you.



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