Funny – Page 2

Guy #169 – When being yourself is easy…

Being yourself is both the easiest and the hardest thing to do. And usually, we opt for making it hard on ourselves.

I for one am way too much of a people pleaser. It’s rooted in my innate desire to be liked and/or eternal fear of not being loved. The easiest thing would be to just ignore it, be nice to people and live life while you can. Instead I aim to resolve my conflict by being nice to people for all the wrong reasons.

Sexwise, I am usually the one who does most the work. When I’m having sex I go into please mode. Generally speaking, I aim to please more than I please to aim.

I would love to completely let go, because few occasions taught me it’s awesome when I do, but most of the time a big part of me is consciously making sure the other Guy is enjoying it at least as much as I am.

Guy #169 was a notable exception and the reason for it was food poisoning.

I first met Guy #169 a few hours after I had eaten what could have been bad anchovies or undercooked chicken, neither of which bothered me yet when Guy #169 and I started talking. He had a job, I did stuff, he wanted sex, I went into please mode.

Until I started getting dizzy. It instantly rendered me incapable of doing any pleasing. Guy #169 wanted to continue what we were doing, but I intuitively felt I was about to vomit. I told Guy #169 I needed to be by myself and quickly made my way for a toilet, which I was lucky enough to find just in time.

In just ten minutes I had gone from feeling great to hanging over a toilet with a fever and the weirdly familiar taste of chicken and anchovies in my mouth. Hovering over your own vomit in a toilet in a gay sauna alone with a fever sending all your thoughts into overdrive, it’s easy to get philosophical and wonder about where your life is going, and if hanging over the toilet at 3AM in a gay sauna would have made your mother proud.

So when I ran into Guy #169 a while later, I was still feeling queasy and not at all in the mood for sex. Also, I would feel bad for letting Guy #169 kiss me, because I had literally thrown up minutes earlier and had taken but a menthos to remedy it. Guy #169 however wanted me really badly, so I made a decision. Either I would sit out my little flu alone and miserable, or I would treat Guy #169 as my massage therapist and let him do the pleasing.

It struck me that the great thing about feeling sick is how it makes being yourself so much easier. You simply don’t have the energy to engage in appearances.

And so it happened I ended up getting an intensely erotic massage that allowed me to more or less enjoy the flu wave.

The fun ended when Guy #169 wanted more than just be my massage therapist. I told him I wasn’t feeling too well and that there was no way in hell he would get more from me, as much as I more or less didn’t even want it to to begin with. Guy #169 settled for letting me give him my number. We apped a few times.

I considered going on a date with him. I figured it could be good exercise in turning off the please switch. Then again, I knew I would only enjoy being that passive on a diet of bad anchovies or undercooked chicken. I suppose I just wasn’t that much into Guy #169, which I already knew the moment I let him kiss me moments after I had vomited. That’s not what I would do to a Guy I really like.

However, when I’m slightly delirious and shaky from a fever, the gloves come off and I have no qualms using people for my pleasure.

People often tell me I’m a nice Guy. Little do they know I’m nice for all the wrong reasons.

Guy #167 – Twice you go black…

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

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

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

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

Fortunately there were drugs involved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #166 – The thing with orgies…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #164 – Attractiveness means nothing. And everything.

Here’s the thing with being attractive: It doesn’t really mean anything. And it means everything.

Attractiveness is a conflict in and of itself.

In many ways I feel I’ve been blessed with my looks, as I generally receive decent amounts of attention from Guys.

At the same time I get rejected all the time. While it’s impossible to dive into the mind of others to acquire their perspective on me, the general assumption is that people who reject me do so because they don’t find me attractive enough to have sex with.

So whenever I go to a place where my merit is measured by my looks I’m a walking conflict, blessed with attention and burdened with the few I don’t get it from.

I should add that, even though I’m a hunter, I am unbelievably bad at picking up Guys. I try to be smooth about it, hitting up Guys as if I’m Joey from FRIENDS. But no matter how hard I try to be a Joey, a Ross or even a Chandler, I always end up a Gunther somehow.

The result is that I mostly depend on people hitting on me to get laid.

And I don’t get hit on very often.

Being a hunter who’s barely hunted himself, I sometimes go through endless nights of futile attempts to get intimate with someone. Sometimes I go for hours without a successful hook-up. Attractiveness means nothing, but after hours of nothingness I generally start to question my looks, thinking that maybe I’ve been overrating myself all these years, that Guys have sex with me out of pity as often as I have pity sex with them. The more unattractive I feel, the more important a feature it becomes.

So when Guy #164 started chasing me down our little gay sauna maze I was at first relieved. Then I took a look at him. Attractiveness means nothing, but it also means everything. In the case of Guy #164 I considered him unattractive enough to reject. Having sex with him, I figured, would only help to lower my market value even more. Even less than wanting to have sex with him, I didn’t want other people to see me having sex with him. Allowing Guy #164 to go down on me would be like having a white trash family exchange their trailer for a mansion. Guy #164 would be the Trump to my White House.

When Guy #164 first reached for my testicles I pushed his hands back and walked away. Guy #164 however persisted, following me and trying to push me against a wall several times. I hated him for it, but at the same time I couldn’t help but enjoy that feeling of being wanted. Gunther doesn’t get to feel like that very often.

So I took a closer look at Guy #164 and decided that, although I don’t have a thing for Guys with beards, at least this beard was kind enough to cover his face.

Guy #164 and I had sex for about ten minutes. He seemed to be enjoying it. I enjoyed the fact at least one person found me attractive.

“Can I have your phone number?” Guy #164 asked me when I interrupted the sex for the sake of not having it anymore.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Please, you’re so beautiful.”
Even though I felt I was way above Guy #164’s league, he was the only one that night to tell me I was pretty. It felt good to hear, while at the same time I resented the compliment for coming from a Guy I couldn’t give it to in return.
“We’ll let fate decide if we ever meet again,” I said, the second time I used that line to distance myself from someone without it having to be a cold hearted rejection.

I walked out on Guy #164, took a shower, and went home quickly.

When I started writing about every Guy I ever had sex with I was very much under the impression love and sex are inseparable. Even Guys that cruise, Guys who frequent places so dark rejection and passion are evenly secluded from the outside, Guys who spend their weekends doing drugs and hunting for mating partners, are in it for love, even if they say it’s just sex.
“Every Guy you see here is looking for love,” I once proclaimed to Guy #168 when I ran into him at the same sauna I met #164.
“Every Guy you see here is looking to love himself,” Guy #168 reasoned, a small but probably just distinction.

I never had sex with Guy #164 because I wanted to love him. Instead, he allowed me to love myself a little. And then, being the wonderful Guy that I am, I resented him for it and walked out on him.

Attractiveness means nothing. And everything.

Guy #163 – Being a dominant kiss-ass…

Being a psychologist who spends a lot of time in places where gays get naked, I see insecurity the way that kid from The Sixth Sense sees dead people: Insecurity is everywhere. It doesn’t know it’s insecure, although in the end it kind of does and for some reason I feel it’s my duty to help those with insecurities face their issues so they may overcome them and move on.

I like saying nice things to people. Sure I do it because I want them to like me, but mostly it’s a conscious effort to let people know that insecurities are like birth marks in the sense that everybody has them in places we don’t want them.

In short, I love making Guys with abs feel good about themselves.

Guy #163 had terrific abs. In fact, his entire body was more than could be summed up in one compliment. Also, I quickly noticed how Guy #163 felt insecure about himself. We met up at his place, where the air of arousal got perturbed by his constant restlessness. I offered him a few sips of a joint I had brought, but as it turns out people with ADHD become more like people with ADHD when they slow their brains down. The weed rendered Guy #163 unable to sit still for more than a few seconds.

Although I was in the mood for some conversation as a means to make the sex more interesting, Guy #163 and I soon got physical. I suppose it was the most sensible thing to do. Guy #163 clearly lacked the inner calm to carry a conversation and I was too high to carry it for the both of us.
During sex, Guy #163 remained somewhat frantic, occasionally checking if everything was in place. The only moment I could focus on our sex was when I positioned myself as the dominant factor in our little one-night stand. It was in that moment Guy #163 managed to let go a little and ride his high the way it was intended.

The thing is, I only like being dominant when the other Guy fights it, not when it’s blithely accepted. Being dominant with someone who immediately allows you to is akin to the bad Guy dying at the start of a movie or starting sex with an orgasm: It puts the reward before the effort.

So I did what I figured was the right thing: I started giving compliments, hoping to put Guy #163 at ease and only as I write this down do I realize how odd it must have been for him to be dominated by a kiss-ass.

I praised Guy #163 for his body and hotness. I told him I’d wanted him the moment I first laid eyes on him.

It wasn’t long before the sex was over.

I however wasn’t done upping my date’s ego. Even as he secluded himself to his bathroom to take a shower did I practically yell at him, letting him know how gorgeous he was.

“You should really stop saying how beautiful I am all the time,” Guy #163 said as he returned from his shower.
“Why?” I asked surprised. I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to receive a compliment. I love it when someone tells me I’m beautiful. How could anyone not?
“It takes away the tension,” Guy #163 said.

Oddly enough, I was both surprised and empathetic. Sex without tension indeed is like Will & Grace without Jack & Karen, but do we really need insecurites to create that tension? Do we need doubt to make sex interesting? Guy #163, despite his insecurities, seemed absolutely certain that we do.

I was reluctant to accept the fact my kind words were not well received. At the same time I couldn’t help but agree with Guy #163: Repeatedly saying how beautiful he was didn’t appear to make him feel more beautiful, at least not in the way he wanted to be beautiful.

I guess compliments are like orgasms: They’re more rewarding the harder you work for them. Silly me handing out orgasms for free.

Guy #163 and I would occasionally run into each other after our date, but sex between the two of us never again materialized, nor do I think either one of us wanted it to. My dominant self had killed all the tension by being a kiss-ass.

Shame, because Guy #163 had the most amazing abs.

Guy #162 – The perfect relationship for when you don’t know how to have them…

I suppose Guy #162 was the perfect Guy in many ways. We never talked, we never committed, we never expected anything from each other, but each time we met we had the kind of sex that reminded me how fun living can be.

Guy #162 and I only spoke with each other the night we met. He was a gorgeous Colombian twink and I have blond hair and blue eyes. Gravity did the rest.
The conversation was mostly a formality, but it lasted a good hour nonetheless, probably because I felt shy in the presence of such a beautiful Guy. I guess I wanted to give him the impression I wasn’t just in it because of his looks, despite the fact I wanted him because of his looks.

Looks aside, Guy #162 was a very friendly person who spoke English as a second language. His English was better than my Spanish, but in terms of complexity our conversation could just as easily have taken place on Sesame Street.
He spoke a little about missing his Colombian family and even got a bit emotional when he opened up about the worst thing that had ever happened to him: the death of his dog. I had buried my mother a few years before and spent my days tending to my stepdad who was currently knocking on heaven’s door. I couldn’t care less about a dead dog, but I was affected by Guy #162’s sadness, plus I really wanted to get to the sex part we had both agreed upon the instant we first glanced at each other.

So I empathized and got physical, two things that are really just one and the same when it’s sex you’re after. The kissing soon followed.

I enjoyed having sex with Guy #162 and he enjoyed me in return. After we were done we each went our seperate ways, only to run into each other a few weeks later. This time we skipped the talking and went straight to lovemaking. It was even better than the first time.

For a while we would run into each other occasionally and each time we did we ended up having sex. It was the perfect relationship for someone who, like me, is very inept at having them. Our conversation never exceeded Cookie Monster’s vocabulary and we gorged on each other as if we were made of oatmeal. The great thing was that, in those gorging moments, Guy #162 and I completely understood each other. Whatever we were feeling – lust mostly – it was completely mutual.

Sex with a beautiful person, in all its simplicity, is nothing short of a treat. I dare say it’s the kind of treat every Guy is looking for when they go out hunting.

Whenever Guy #162 and I would run into each other, we both instantly knew something sexual would sprout from it. We never made any effort to meet. We just did, our local gay scene being small enough for us to bump into each other every so often.

After we bumped each other the fifth or sixth time, I decided to up the fun a little by giving Guy #162 my phone number.
“App me sometime,” I said.

I haven’t seen or heard from him since.

Guy #160 and #161 – 9 minute 20 second relationships

According to PornHub the average human being visits their site for 9 minutes and 20 seconds.

Think about it. Isn’t it the greatest statistic in the history of statistics? That’s 9 minutes and 20 seconds between pressing Play and grabbing Kleenex.

9 minutes and 20 seconds is all the time we invest in porn stars as they go down on their routine, after which we casually dismiss them from our lives as if they have no meaning whatsoever.

Coincidentally, I’ve had relationships that lasted this long. I’ve known people I dismissed as soon as I was done with them. Guys #253 and #254 were among those whose life I walked out of the moment they had served their purpose. I met both of them last weekend. Both gave me a quick fix, after which I practically couldn’t bare to be with them.

When I started this blog I advocated the view that anyone looking for sex is looking for love. Yet last weekend I met two Guys, used them for bodily pleasure and then left them to their own devices as if they were homeless people asking for change.

I wasn’t always this heartless.

In fact, a little over a year ago I bumped into Guy #160. The place we were at allowed for sex to occur mere feet from where we met. Guy #160 wasn’t exactly pretty, but I was flattered by how much he wanted me. Even though I was about a foot taller than this little Asian fellow, he insisted he was only top. I always find it a bit awkward to bend over for a Guy smaller than me, but I remember being very much okay with anything Guy #160 set his mind to. It wasn’t really the sex I was after. Instead, I enjoyed the cuddling and kissing way more than I did those few seconds he frantically tried getting his Asian penis to turn Black-ish.
Cuddling and kissing would prove to be the peak of our relationship.

It wasn’t my intention however to end the relationship the moment Guy #160 couldn’t get it up. He seemed like a nice Guy, someone I’d enjoy cuddling up with and getting to talk to for the remainder of the night. However, as soon as Guy #160 had gathered his stuff, a towel, a flask of poppers and a barely used condom, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and took off, never to be seen or heard from again.

It’s not that we had established any sort of connection I deemed worthy of celebrating, but it did make me feel slightly empty inside to see Guy #160 take off like that, almost as if he didn’t want me to be a memory.

Things went slightly better with Guy #161, who I met not long afterward. Sexually speaking Guy #161 was that night’s winner, though of course the competition had been anything but stiff. Actually, the sex with Guy #161 was better only in terms of how closely we resembled a porn scene. The nine minutes we spent in our cabin surely must have been a nice sight had there been anyone to see us, but our little sex ritual fell short of offering me any sense of intimacy or bonding.

After we were done Guy #161 offered me to join him and his Asian friends, who were hanging out in a lounge area.
Guy #161 was a friendly person, sociable and welcoming, but beyond that he bored me to no end. He and his friends all spoke English as a second language and while their use of English far exceeded my proficiency in whatever language they grew up with, their current conversation was one of shallow oneliners and meaningless catchphrases. These people had obviously seen every episode of Sex and the City and to their credit their impressions of Samantha Jones were spot-on. I however didn’t feel entirely in place in the presence of Asian Guys pretending to be a 60 year old slut. It wasn’t the kind of connection I was looking for.

A few minutes into Samantha’s breast cancer storyline I excused myself and told Guy #161 I would walk around some more, which we both knew meant cruising the darker areas in search of more meat, which I wouldn’t find that night.

A year ago I would proudly tell people about my blog and how it ‘proved’ love and sex are inseparable. Often Guys would look at me as if I don’t know how Guys work, that male sexuality prescribes we spread seed and not raise it into anything worth mentioning outside the walls of a gay sauna. Yet even though I was fully aware of how shallow my encounters with Guys like #160 and #161 had been, I wholeheartedly tried to establish at least some form of human bond between us. Granted, I didn’t try very hard, but at least I made some effort to live my sex life according to my belief that love and sex are like Batman and Robin, or at the very least Batman and Alfred…not Batman and the Joker.

A year ago I didn’t yet know why Guys joked about my ideas on love and sex, which is why I felt disappointment when Guy #160 walked out on me or when I walked out of Guy #161.

Last weekend I met two Guys. I had sex with both of them. They clearly wanted to hang around with me, but I couldn’t be bothered. I gave both a quick kiss on the cheek and wished them luck with the rest of their lives.

So did I become heartless? Or did I give too much heart to a place that has so little?

A lot can happen in a year.

You should read about it in my upcoming book.

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 #121 – The dorminant one…

Dominance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #83 – By the way, I’m a Nazi.

People go on dating sites because it gives them hope.
Each time you receive a message from a stranger there’s that quiet sparkle of anticipation that this time, yes maybe this time, you have been contacted by a gorgeous, funny and smart underwear model who has seen the inner beauty radiate from your mirror selfies.

Of course most messages we receive on dating sites are a bit of a letdown. Our search for the one often starts off with a healthy chunk of compromise.

Guy #83 was clearly no underwear model. Nothing from his profile indicated that he had any sense of humor. And his message simply read Hi how are you (I get turned off by Guys who don’t have the decency to end such a simple sentence with a question mark.)

On the other hand, Guy #83 turned out to be a doctor. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be on good terms with a doctor, plus I assumed his degree was indicative of some brain power on his end.

Compromise is a powerful trait, one humanity should pride itself for.
It also led to Hitler ass raping Czechoslovakia overnight.

At some point compromise goes from being a virtue to being the pussy’s weapon of choice.

I’m not sure at what point I became a pussy with Guy #83, but I do know I felt invaded like an Eastern European country after I spent the night with him.

Unlike Hitler, there was nothing very wrong with Guy #83. He was just intolerably boring. I very much enjoyed his awesome 24^th floor penthouse, his cooking skills and his designer pillows, but I couldn’t help but feel empty in his presence.

Guy #83 wasn’t unattractive, the food had been great and I was too lazy to go out in the cold, so I had sex with him and slept on his designer pillows.
I did not sleep well.
Guy #83 snored. Call me shallow, but people that snore ought to sleep in isolation. Or be put down.

Few things are quite as agonizing as trying to catch sleep lying next to a snoring hump of human.
I kicked Guy #83, I pushed him around, I went to the bathroom to flush his toilet as loudly as I could. Nothing helped.

People generally think of me as a nice person. In reality there’s a sadistic Nazi living in my brain. It wakes up when others deny me the pleasure of sleep.
Lying next to Guy #83 I pictured him being arrested by German men in uniforms and taken away to a camp for people that snore.
Yes, I know how that sounds, but when your entire existence is someone else’s snoring you can’t help but think the world would be a better place without it. After a few hours of someone else’s perpetual noise making you don’t think about rejecting someone. Rather, you want to cleanse them.

I felt nothing but resentment when Guy #83 curled up against me next morning. Tired from coughing up ways to kill him and get rid of the body, I wanted to sleep, not cuddle.

After my date with Guy #83 I did what any hero of the revolution would do: I ghosted him.
I did not respond to text messages, email messages and Facebook messages. I just didn’t need a doctor that badly.

A few years later Guy #83 suddenly popped up on Grindr, saying Hi how are you. I ignored him initially, but he persisted, asking if there was anything he had done. I finally replied by saying I didn’t feel any connection between the two of us.
Ok he said.

And so ended my relationship with Guy #83.

Thank god.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: A few months
FORMAT: Months of predictable online chats, followed by one night that seemed to last longer
SEX SCORE (0 = A presidential candidates’ orgy <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #50 – Jaws.

When you meet someone online you don’t always get to see their teeth right away.

For instance, braces can be hidden by closing your mouth on all your selfies.

Guy #50 was one of the many Guys I had sex with out of empathy. Once again it was a disaster.

I don’t have anything against people with braces, but Guy #50 reminded me of Jaws from the James Bond movies.

Added to that, he was irritating.

He constantly laughed at his own jokes, which often came out wrong due to his dental deficiency.

He constantly interrupted me, which I thought was unfair. I was way better at talking than he was.

Then there was the fact he talked very loud. Everybody in our vicinity could hear him and his teeth. People looked up and saw Guy #50 laughing as if he was controlled by a ventriloquist. They could also see me, cringing my way through the ordeal. Standing in line with him at Taco Bell was what purgatory must be like.

As a result of the social awkwardness I wanted me and my date to end up somewhere isolated as quickly as possible. I knew people were staring at me over the edge of their tacos.

But Guy #50 insisted on eating our food at Taco Bell. That’s the thing with purgatory. It always lasts longer than you expect.

It was obvious Guy #50 was very lonely, having just moved to the city from Mexico. Maybe he actually felt at home in Taco Bell. It was the most Mexican thing our wintry Wisconsin had to offer.

As the evening progressed I came to realize Guy #50 was a normal person overcompensating for looking like Jaws.

I know a Guy can’t help it if he has to wear braces. It’s just difficult not to hold it against someone when everything about him makes you want to leave Wisconsin.

Despite his obnoxious behavior I felt sorry for him. He smiled a lot. I doubt he went on dates often.

By the time Jaws said he wanted to feel me inside of him, I had already reached that unrecoverable stage of self loathing. Titanic’s bow had already gone under so to speak.

God knows why I take the pity route so often. If you have sex with someone out of pity, you inevitably end up feeling sorry for yourself. Actually, it’s not just sex. The pity had taken control over me the moment I agreed to go to Taco Bell on a first date.

And it never ends up well for the Guys I pity either: Because of the sex Guy #50 was under the impression I liked him. However I always follow up pity sex by turning into a ghost. I stop sending emails, text messages or apps. I make myself an unperson to those I pitysex, while they in turn always think of me as relationship material.

I suck at rejecting people.

So instead of rejecting Guy #50 before the sex, I rejected him after, hurting him more than I would had I simply told him he looked like Jaws before he suggested tacos for dinner.

Guess I’m not as good at talking as I thought I was.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 hours + plus an eternity at Taco Bell
FORMAT: Dinner at Taco Bell followed by pity sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Jaws and glory holes <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #9 – Hot guy. Disgusting roommate.

If you live near the equator and can’t afford a place with air conditioning, insects become like roommates. Guy #9 had one big fat disgusting roommate.

It’s not so much that the sex with Guy #9 was bad. It was the cockroach that kept crawling over his floor that kept me from really enjoying it. Privileged white guys such as me don’t like being confronted with poverty, especially not during sex.

For any Scandinavians out there, a cockroach is arguably evolution at its freakiest. They’re like miniature versions of that thing from ALIEN.

I dare anyone to keep up the sexual tension in the presence of a pulsating cockroach that may or may not fly, mere feet away. It can be done. It just requires a lot of concentration, perseverance and guts.

But most of all I felt pity as me and Guy #9 were having sex. He actually lives here! is what went through my mind. What I considered a dump was what Guy #9 referred to as ‘home’. It was his closet in each and every sense of the word.
I was uncomfortably humbled by the way my host did his best to make me feel at home, offering me a seat on his stretcher as if it was a chair. He must have known I was used to houses where the living room, bedroom, washroom and kitchen aren’t all the same tiny-ass room.

I felt nervous throughout our entire date. Afterward, he didn’t offer me to stay the night while I was glad he hadn’t asked me to. Looking back, I think Guy #9 and I came from two completely different worlds. In a way I appreciated how nothing but sexual chemistry had brought the two of us together.
But the experience must have been a bit surreal for the both of us. I guess we both felt alien.

I was most uncomfortable the moments I couldn’t see where that cockroach had gone. ALIEN was scary precisely because it got so little screen time. The cockroach followed a similar tactic.

Guy #9 was a very sweet, slightly timid and cute student. I have no idea what he studied, but he did strike me as ambitious. I hope life has given him the means to afford some decent IKEA. At least.

RELATIONSHIP SUMMARY:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = having to read about cockroaches <–> 10 = the best sex ever): 5