Tag: Gay culture

Guy #212 – So who’s the woman?

So who’s the woman in your relationship?

According to quite a few gay people, it’s an offensive question for straight people to ask.

I never got why.

Of course it goes without saying that in a relationship between two men no women are present, but it doesn’t take a degree in abstract reasoning to understand that the question of who’s the woman merely asks what body part goes into what orifice.

I always thought of the question as a healthy dose of curiosity for the gay lifestyle. And I’m always happy to tell any straight person that arguably the biggest joy of being gay is that everything goes into everything.

When sex involves two penises and four workable orifices, the possibilities become endless.

Macho men can be raging bottoms as much as Guys with make-up can be dominant tops, so the question of what goes into whom often has a surprising answer.

Guy #212 was a Guy I met in this gay sauna this one night. He was a petite Asian of the shy type. To him I must have looked like a deliciously tall hump of white privilege. I gauged his appearance and thought to myself Sure, I can dominate you for a while.

I’m not the dominant type, but being so much taller than Guy #212 it seemed only natural I would assert some dominance, be in control and have him ‘be the woman’.

Guy #212 was indeed the woman of our relationship, for the first 30 seconds or so that is.

Being a bottom isn’t always easy or without pain. Guy #212’s facial expression shifted between pleasure and agony a few times, until it settled on agony and the words ‘Please stop!’ came out of his tiny mouth.

Sometimes you intuitively feel you can top a Guy if you’re gentle enough in your persuasion. I was about to go in a second time whilst reassuring how tenderly I’d go about it, when Guy #212 pushed me back.

From a top’s perspective, having a bottom shove you out that early is like going to church and being told god doesn’t exist. Liberating, but hardly satisfying.

After we exchanged some aimless cuddles, Guy #212 rose up. I assumed he was getting ready to leave, but instead he suggested to top me instead.

It struck me as silly.

At the same time I had paid €19.95 to be in a gay sauna. It’d be a waste not to bend over. And besides, literally everything about Guy #212 was petite, which meant little to no agony on my end.

To exchange my dominant mood for a submissive one was as easy as it was awkward. I imagine that sense of awkwardness was the common feeling that sealed our connection. I don’t care much about masculinity or femininity, but to switch sides halfway during sex felt, dare I say it, unnatural.

It wasn’t unnatural because I can’t go both ways. It was unnatural because both of us changed personalities halfway through. On the gender spectrum I’m limber enough to bend from attempted manly to reluctant feminine and everything in between, but to make the transition in a matter of seconds felt as weird as a Game of Thrones episode featuring a laugh track.

Guy #212 asked for my phone number after we were done. I hesitated, so he resigned to giving his to me. He rests quietly in my contact list under the name of Sauna 5 or 6 or 7.

Sauna 5 or 6 or 7 was a nice Guy and not at all unattractive, but being with him was just a little too odd to pursue it further.

I suppose I didn’t want to be the woman in this relationship.

He did make me feel like I hadn’t wasted €19.95 though.

Guy #205 – Close for comfort…

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

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

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

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

Naked in every sense of the word.

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

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

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

Guy #205 was such a familiar face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And gays are good at throwing parties.

Do what I did: start with Guy #1!

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #186 – The one I wanted to forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s always an afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #190 – The one who made me forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #191 – The one I actually forgot

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

Guy #154 – The old friend

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

Guy #192 – The young and the restless

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

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

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

Guy #193 – The one who died

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #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 #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.

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

Porn.

How I used to love it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

People at orgies always have the most fascinating backstories.

One shouldn’t underestimate the power of XTC.

 

 

 

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #146 – Why do gay saunas have to be so dark?

Why do gay saunas have to be so dark?

Dimly lit hallways, faint beams of light at waist level, the air of horniness interwoven with the smell of poppers… It’s the perfect environment to show off one’s gym hours without having to truly reveal one’s self. In other words: Darkness carries both truth and lies further than light tends to.

Gay saunas are places people go to hide as much as they go to hunt. I suppose darkness facilitates both.
I for one go to gay saunas because I like to shine. Sure I aim to find someone porkable, but beneath that is a Guy who just wants to feel loved, something I believe is true for anyone who has pork on the menu. Wanting to shine is just my narcissistic translation for wanting to be loved.

Even though I am insecure about my looks as any pig would be, I know I’m generally considered attractive. The main reason Guys keep their distance is because they’re shy. Being shy myself, I pretend not to look at other people as much as people pretend not to look at me.
Darkness is a contributing factor in all of that and if I’m being completely honest, darkness is where I too shine the most, unhampered by the hassle of facial contact that often lies on the road to getting laid.

Still, if it were up to me I would prefer to meet people where I can see them.

Guy #146 taught me that.

I first saw Guy #146 as he entered the steam cabin I was just leaving. The very definition of cruising dictates one doesn’t make any sudden course adjustments. When you cruise, you cruise, always acting as if you have a destination to be at. Even though Guy #146 and I first saw each other going in opposite directions, me turning around and following him would have been too desperate. Even in a place where it’s just about sex, desire is best expressed in subtleties.

Guy #146 being hot looking in every sense of the word I positioned myself in a sauna that came with a view to the steam room my prey had just entered. There I sat, quietly waiting as one does at a bus stop, until Guy #146 left his steamy quarters. From there he disappeared into a dark alley full of hunters such as myself.

I went in pursuit.

‘Pursuit’ in this case meant navigating myself through a handful of crotch grabbing elderly men as quickly and quietly as I could, until I got Guy #146 in my sight again. My walking speed being well above the cruising limit I knew my intentions were now out in the open. If I wanted a chance with this Guy, I would have to sell my quick pace as an act of assertion, so I did. I stumbled toward Guy #146 and gently caressed his shoulder, not exactly a move befitting the top I wanted to be, but in that moment I was happy enough to have overcome my shyness.

My approach felt clumsier and more out of place than a 747 landing on an aircraft carrier. Assertive, sure, but far from gracious. As such, it came as a surprise Guy #146 replied to my improvisational assertiveness by grabbing my balls and kissing me. Having trouble believing my luck I immediately followed suit by pushing Guy #146 toward the nearest available cabin, kissing him all the way.

It wasn’t until Guy #146 and I had removed our towels and were lying next to each other on a sweaty mattress that I discovered Guy #146 had chest hair, something he didn’t have a few minutes before at that steam room. It took me about two seconds to do the math: The Guy I was sharing a cabin with was not Guy #146. I mean, technically this was the 146th Guy I was having sex with, but not my intended target.

I had accidentally captured the wrong Guy. Somewhere in my pursuit the Guy I was chasing had eloped me, only to be replaced by someone whose hairdo, body, length and posture seemed similar in what little light we were granted.

Which begs the question: Why do gay saunas have to be so dark?

It’s the question that went through my mind as I halfheartedly had sex with Guy #146. Even though this Guy was nowhere near as cute the one I’d been chasing, I remember him being a good enough kisser. That at least made up for some of his chest hair.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling of having failed, probably because that’s exactly what I had done as far as the hunt was concerned. Guy #146 and I ended up spending no more than five minutes together. Falling comfortably within the realm of courtesy in a gay sauna, I simply stopped having sex and left Guy #146 alone in his cabin, telling him I needed to be in a brighter place.

The day I accidentally fooled around with Guy #146 would mark the last time I exceeded the cruising speed limit. I also picked up the habit of checking out Guys at the bar before chasing them through dark corridors filled with the scent of poor judgment.

Darkness had allowed me to chase a Guy. Darkness had allowed me to make a move. Darkness got me intimate with someone. In turn, Guy #146 would never have gotten close to my testicles had it not been for darkness. Darkness goes hand in hand with intimacy. Darkness smoothes seduction. Darkness is social lubricant.

I guess darkness is part of the compromise inherent to the concept of a gay sauna. It’s a place where the things we don’t reveal about ourselves carry as much weight as the wrinkles that do show. I’d be lying if I said the darkness doesn’t make me feel safe and secure.

The cute Guy I had my eyes on at first? I ran into him later that night, as I sat down in a whirlpool, inches away from his personal space. I made a move, but my hand was shoved back the way it came.

That’s another thing. Rejection is very bearable under the cover of darkness. I look for darkness to shine, and when I don’t, when I turn dark inside, there’s no one to witness it.

Thank god gay saunas are so dark.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 minutes
FORMAT: Mistake
SEX SCORE (0 = Hair when you don’t expect it <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

 

 

Guy #90 – The logistics of getting a naked stranger in my bed…

Scoring a sex date is often said to be easy.

The truth is that getting a naked stranger in your bed is a logistical nightmare.
As with life evolving on a planet, so many factors need to line up perfectly for random sex to even have a remote chance of happening.

For starters, you have to be into each other. This might be the case for every 25th person I meet online. That’s 96% of potential hook-ups that will never happen.

Second, you have to be horny.
It sounds like a no-brainer, but whenever a cute Guy hits me up, part of the chase is done. On Grindr Hi means I want to do you. Often being wanted is enough to satisfy my ego.

Because for a sex date to happen at least one person must have access to privacy, while the other must have means to travel. Guys who live with their parents, Guys who don’t have a car, Guys who don’t have money, Guys who have to get up early the next day, Guys who have roommates, Guys who have boyfriends…The road to casual sex is paved with obstacles. For a sex date to materialize you have to ask yourself: Do I want to go down that road only to spend a good fifteen minutes with someone who’s probably fatter than his photoshopped selfie?

Guy #90 was about as traditional as a sex date can be.

Our date started on neutral ground, at a bar. As expected, his selfie had been a bit of a lie, but having already invested time in this Guy I decided to stay the course and get him naked in my bed somehow.

While I appreciate casual hook-ups that start with a conversation, Guy #90 and I didn’t have that much to talk about. He was nice. I was nice. He had hobbies. I had hobbies. He liked pets. I liked meat.
We managed to chat our way through two non alcoholic drinks, but the more we talked the less we had in common.

Which is why I steered the conversation in the direction of my bedroom.

The only thing standing in between us and my bedroom was a 15 minute drive to my place. I figured the two of us could squeeze out another 15 minutes of small talk. Besides, it’s perfectly acceptable to start foreplay in a car when you’re on a date with a stranger. If we were to run out of things to say I could always put my hands on Guy #90’s leg and let our hormones carry us over the social awkwardness.

The social awkwardness actually began when my car wouldn’t start.

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Instead of initiating foreplay on our way home we sat on the pavement, waiting for my mechanic to show up. I don’t remember what we talked about. I do know it was exhausting coming up with things to talk about.

Still, when you’re halfway down the road to Mordor it’s silly to turn around and head back.

When my mechanic arrived it felt strange to introduce him to Guy #90. It felt even stranger when my car couldn’t be fixed on the spot, meaning Guy #90 and I had to fetch a ride from my mechanic, a man who was smart enough to figure out the format of my relationship with Guy #90.

Once we were alone at my place we finally had the very sex that had been on the menu for hours. We just had to consume each other. All the frustration from the waiting and the exchange of increasingly irrelevant pleasantries needed an outlet.
The sex was hasty though. I mostly remember being relieved I had succeeded in getting another somewhat cutish naked stranger in my bed. The sex celebrated the completion of an obstacle course, not so much the bond we had, or the attraction we felt.

Afterward I managed a friend of mine to give Guy #90 and me a ride back to his hotel. It had never been my intention for Guy #90 to intertwine with my social life, but logistically speaking I had no other options.

When the date was finally over I was relieved, but I hadn’t experienced any relief. I imagine Guy #90 felt the same.

I guess my mechanic got the most out of our time together.

 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 hours
FORMAT: Attempted sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = The word “Intercourse” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #85 – XTC.

Three symptoms are indicative of people on XTC:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s probably for the best.

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Relationship summary:

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

Guy #35 – The virgin…

 

 

 

 

When I first met Guy #35 I assumed I meant a lot to him.

I was his first time with a guy.

I knew it’s never wise to have sex out of empathy, but I really felt I could give something to another human being. I had grown so comfortable with my own sexuality I considered it a gift to people. Or maybe I just felt sexually at ease in the presence of a virgin taking his first step out of the closet.

Guy #35 and I met in Toronto, but he took me to his home halfway to Niagara Falls. I enjoyed the train ride, also because it allowed me to take a nap. I hardly ever get a chance to do that on a first date.

Toward the end of our journey I woke up and initiated a conversation. Having a background in psychology however makes me inclined to ask intimate questions to total strangers without giving it a second’s thought. Whenever I’m with someone I want to get to know that someone, even on a sex date.

I got the impression Guy #35 liked me better when I was asleep. He clearly didn’t want to answer my questions about how lonely the closet can get when you’re the bearer of so many secrets or if he even enjoyed being gay.

I was going to have sex with Guy #35 out of empathy, so that’s what I gave him. I thought that’s what he needed, considering what my first time with a guy had been like.

The majority of my waking moments I spent comforting Guy #35, telling him he didn’t need to be nervous, that I wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to or how brave he was for making this step.

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When we ended up at his place Guy #35 went straight to business. It’s common courtesy on sex dates to offer your guest a glass of water, but I was guided straight to a bed where we had sex. He was good.

He was good because he knew what he was doing.

The bastard.

I found my first guy through a dating service. It didn’t strike me as odd I could meet someone who was going through the exact same thing I had gone through. It never occurred to me people might advertize themselves as a virgin to up their market value. It had worked for me. Guy #35’s virginity was nothing but a marketing tactic and I had fallen for it.

I believe Guy #35 was more experienced than I was.

Karma did its work though:

My empathy gave me a nice nap and unexpected pleasant sex.
He got to have sex based on a lie, but he paid by having to live it. He must have had many guys before me. I was probably the only one that started acting like his therapist, asking him if he was okay with all the lies.

I was asking the right questions without even knowing it.

Bet that was a first for Guy #35.

 

 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: 1:45 hours of unsollicited therapy, 15 minutes of sex
SEX SCORE (0 = When Dick Cheney shoots you in the face <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.2

Guy #34 – Hunter or prey…

 

 

 

 

In the gay scene it doesn’t really matter if you’re top or bottom. Hunter or prey, that’s the question.

Some go to gay saunas to hunt. Others go there to be hunted.

The ones that hunt walk around through barely lit areas filled with the occasional sound of humping men. Then there are the ones that preystitute themselves in strategic positions, waiting for their hunter to make a move whilst rejecting hunters they don’t find attractive.

I’ve always been a hunter, a hunter blessed with one superpower: I can sense when someone is into me. In a heartbeat. All I need is one second and I can tell if a person wants to have sex with me or not. I can even sense how much they want it.

Occasionally I will meet someone who I know wants to have sex with me. This happens to people all the time, but I am always aware when it happens. Even in the darkness of a gay sauna I can see that twinkle in people’s eyes when they like what they see.

In the case of Guy #34 I found myself in a sauna cabin crowded with a dozen hunters and one prey sitting silently on the top bench, naked and silently aroused. I sat down just within his personal space. I moved quickly and conquered his entire personal space in less than a minute. Guy #34 showed no visible reaction, physical or emotional, to anything I was doing. His enthusiasm was like that of a dead bird caught in the mouth of a bigger bird.

While I was starting to grow disappointed with my catch the other dozen hunters became aware of what was happening and wanted in on the fun.

Soon the entire sauna was all over Guy #34 and I found myself awkwardly entertaining his epicenter. Quickly everyone was in everybody’s space. I was turned off by the greediness of it, the way every hunter claimed Guy #34 as his rightful meal. It should be noted me and Guy #34 were the only ones not in our fifties or older.

I decided I didn’t want to have any part in what was happening. I got up and walked away, leaving Guy #34 to the mercy of a dozen hungry vultures. He continued allowing everyone as passively as he had allowed me. As I left the room I got a good look at his face for the first time. It was as static as blow-up doll.

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I hope for Guy #34 he was into older men.

When I came by again some 15 minutes later Guy #34 was gone. What was left was the same pack I had left behind, each member quietly minding his own space again. I looked around for Guy #34, but I never saw or heard from him again.

It wasn’t really a good night for me. I had been rejected from a threesome earlier and now I had accidentally fed Guy #34 to the council of elders.

It’s not always easy being a hunter. It’s a setup for frequent failure if I’m being honest. Sure, occasionally you catch something you never want to let go off, but you always do somehow.

That’s why I believe a hunter should have faith in himself no matter what. It’s not about the failures. It’s about that one prey that would hunt you too.

A hunter has to stay positive: I’m a hunter with a superpower. I can sense when someone is into me.
In a heartbeat.

Or after I’ve seen their face. Or after people walk out of a threesome with me. It all depends really.

 

 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 or 4 minutes
FORMAT: Foreplay turned accidental sacrifice
SEX SCORE (0 = Pray the gay away <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2

Guy #28 – Parking lot purgatory…

 

 

 

 

Nothing is quite as depressing as sex in a car on a parking lot in broad daylight.

First of all, most cars are not designed to have sex in. They’re an ergonomic disaster when it comes to intertwining your body with that of someone else. Second, I was constantly on the lookout for people who might see me, along with Guy #28’s head appearing in and out of view over my dashboard.

My date with Guy #28 was a complete disaster.

They say size doesn’t matter. Well, this guy’s penis was pretty much the complete absence of matter. It was tiny. When he unzipped his pants I was greeted by something best described as a socially phobic shrimp.

I found myself on a date with an Asian stereotype:

Guy #28 was completely submissive. That much became clear the moment I stepped into his car on what would be our first and only encounter.
“Hi, how are you doing? You look super! I’m so glad you could make it,” he said as if I was a long lost friend.
My first thought of him was that he didn’t look at all like the guy from the picture, although from a certain angle I could see how he had gone about Photoshopping himself.
He was good with computers.

When we drove off I assumed we were going to his place. After a while he told me he still lives with his parents. He wasn’t driving to his place. He was just driving. He asked if I knew of a place to go. I didn’t.

Our love nest would become a parking lot. In broad daylight.

I wasn’t proud of myself for having sex on a parking lot in broad daylight. It’s not that we got caught or that I never did it again, but the size of Guy #28’s penis made me realize how my ruthless pursuit of sex had sunk my standards. It was ridiculous of me to agree to sex on a parking lot with someone I wasn’t comfortable sharing a space with.

To make things worse Guy #28 was unbelievably passionate. He acted as if we were lovers, while in reality we were just two guys with nothing in common except their time on Craigslist. I couldn’t stand Guy #28’s drama.

I came quickly. I had trouble thinking happy thoughts when I did, but I figured it would be the quickest way to end this ordeal.

At first I was relieved the sex was over. Then Guy #28 asked if I wanted to go have coffee with him. It should be noted it’s not customary to go for coffee after anonymous hook-ups on a parking lot.
I really wanted my date to drop me off at my subway station, but he was already parking his car in front of Starbucks when he dropped the question.

Being with Guy #28 must be what purgatory is like.

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All I wanted was to be released from my date, who kept on saying how super happy he was to have met me and how he really wanted to be my friend.
The parking lot sex had evaporated his initial shyness. Now he was constantly telling me how super I was.

Then came the moment Guy #28 ran into two of his girlfriends. I’m not entirely sure their sudden appearance was a coincidence: Guy #28 stopped sending messages on his phone the moment his hags entered the scene. Guy #28 couldn’t believe his luck he was surrounded by so much people to not feel lonely with.

I was loathing myself however. I had to make small talk with the friends of someone who had just given me a blowjob in his car.

I felt like hitting Guy #28 when he ordered himself a second latte. I wanted to go back home, away from my date’s desperate attempts at having company.

I socially obligated my way through Guy #28’s friends for a good half hour. His clinginess became increasingly annoying. At times I got the impression he was pretending to be my boyfriend.

When we finally ended up back in his car we went to another parking lot, this one belonging to my subway haven. I nodded Guy #28 goodbye the moment we got there. He asked if I was going to call him. I told him I would think about that. He said it was making him so sad I had to go. I told him he would get over it.

As I grabbed the door handle Guy #28 put his arms around me and started to cry.
“Please don’t go. I like you so much,” he cried. I told him he had just given me a blowjob on a parking lot and that it was to be the extent of our relationship.

He cried over my impending absence the way North Koreans cry over the death of a Supreme Leader. It was unbearably awkward. In the end I had to pull myself out of Guy #28’s arms. I left him crying in his car.

I’m not saying sex dates are a bad thing, but I do find it interesting you often encounter a lot of loneliness on a sex date.

For what it’s worth Guy #28 has my sympathy. But when your penis is that small and you are incredibly needy, dependent and insecure, it might not be wise to find love in random strangers on a parking lot. In a way I may have taught him that by slamming the door in his crying face.

For his sake I’d like the world to be a place where penis size is irrelevant, but that’s not the case. Stats are an important part of our culture. As is Photoshop. Or parking lots for that matter.

Or post-orgasmic self loathing.

But maybe that’s just me.

 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: 10 minute drive, 5 minute blowjob, 90 minute latte, 15 minute farewell
SEX SCORE (0 = Room 101 <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

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