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 #210 and #211 – So you think you can choke my boyfriend…

“Put your hand there.”
“Grab his ass.”
“Turn him around.”
“Now choke him.”

These are things Guy #210 told me to do to his boyfriend, Guy #211, a few minutes after I met them.

This one night in a gay sauna Guy #210 and #211 came on to me in the most systematic of fashions. While it’s normal to be chased in a sauna, this was one of only a few times two Guys grouped together to get me.

It’s flattering to be chased, but arguably even nicer to be flanked by a pair of velociraptors. The apparent team work these clever girls applied in catching me indicated I was about to engage in a threesome with a couple.

When you engage in a threesome with a couple, you basically sign up as a guest star among a cast of main characters.

As with every television format, guest stars serve only for the glory of those that receive top billing.

But when you’re aching for sexual action you gladly accept the part of Bystander 1. It’s better than not being cast at all.

So when Guy #210 and #211 pushed me against a wall from two angles, I expected a threesome to which I more or less had to surrender, which I was fine with.

Like two actors in a main cast my two companions had clearly played together before, many times. Guy #210 knew exactly what #211 liked and vice versa.

Guy #210 quickly positioned me in front of him, with Guy #211 in front of me. And that’s when the instructions started:
“Grab his shoulders.”
“Grab them harder.”
“Spank him.”
“Now choke him.”

Guy #210 was the dominant one, and his goal was to dominate me into dominating Guy #211.

The thing is I’m about as dominant as Mike Pence on weed.

It was easy for me to submit myself to the instructions I was given, even kind of comfortable. I did fail miserably at being dominant though.

Being dominant on command is unnatural. Also, I’m mostly good at just being me, and that’s only when you catch me on a good day.

So like a guest star, I was allowed to join an episode, have a few lines, do a little routine and then get lost again.


Guy #210 and #211 were two American tourists celebrating Amsterdam in a gay sauna and they had picked me not so much to celebrate with, but to celebrate off.

I did everything I was asked, up until the point I was asked to choke Guy #211. I wrapped my hand around his neck, but couldn’t bring myself to exert any force. I’m not one to choke strangers.

My failure to properly suffocate Guy #211 signaled the end of our affair, some 5 minutes after it had started.

We politely exchanged names afterward and I wished my two companions a pleasant continuation of their vacation. They were already busy working their next target when we said goodbye.

Submissive Guys can be the most aggressive hunters. And dominant types sometimes don’t come out of their shell before third base.

It can get kinda weird when you made your home in the middle ground as I have.

Sex with Guy #210 and #211 was exactly that: a little weird. Expertly choreographed, neatly executed, perfectly adjusted to the format they were used to, but a little weird.

It was still better than not being cast at all though.


Guy #208 and #209 – The twins…

Okay, so Guy #208 and #209 weren’t really twins. They were a couple.

They did however look very similar to me: similar mannerisms, similar bodies, similar height and stats, similar names and whenever I saw them I saw them together. I’ve come to think of them as twins because I can never remember which one is which.

It’s because I’m bad with names, and often also with people. So attaching the right names to the right people is a reluctant and challenging exercise for me.

When I meet someone in a setting where gay sex is the agreed upon end goal, I tend to focus on the sex part. Sure I can carry a conversation and even laugh at the appropriate moments, but when push comes to shove I have little sincere interest in people when they cross paths with me.

This may seem harsh.
And it is.
And I wasn’t always like that.
But attend enough orgies and eventually even the people you’re intimate with become replaceable like toothpicks.

I used to try to connect with people I met at orgies outside of orgies, but in most cases the friendship dried up when my libido did. Sober me is simply not a social person. Forging friendships is not my forte.

Although there was a certain sense of mutual attraction, I don’t think there was much sexual chemistry between me and Guy #208 and #209. But sometimes you find yourself at a party with naked people and before you know it you’re sharing a bathtub with the twins, where casual conversation eventually becomes a few blowjobs.

Whether my oral efforts were well received I will never know. I was fairly sleep deprived and as such coasted all the way to third base on autopilot. Consequently, I never made a real effort to remember which name belonged to which twin. There were just too many similarities between them.

The thing is I quite regularly run into them, at orgies, in clubs or even at everyday gay gatherings where the clothes don’t come off. Slowly they’re becoming part of my social life.

It’s great that I’m making friends.

It’d be nice to know their names though.

And the longer I postpone asking for it, the more awkward it will be.

I don’t like confrontation or communication, so what little communication I can’t avoid I use to avoid confrontation. Whenever I see the twins I treat them like any of my gay scene acquaintances, always making sure the conversation does not require me to know their names.

Basically, it’s hanging out with Bert and Ernie, without knowing who’s who. The only thing you do know is you played with one of their rubber duckies in a bathtub this one time.

That’s not a metaphor for anything, by the way. There really was a rubber duck in that tub for some reason.

Orgies are weird.

Of course I never ask either one who’s Bert and who’s Ernie. The question would make me look irreparably stupid. And the only thing I dislike more than communication or confrontation is making an ass of myself.

***

I started this post about a week ago. Incidentally I ran into the twins again last weekend. Seeing as I was writing a post about me not being a social human being I figured I’d make the effort for a change. The twins are genuinely nice Guys and there’s no reason for me not to validate that except for being an ass.

So I summoned the courage and bluntly asked who was who. They simply told me and didn’t seem offended.

Sadly though I was high last weekend. I remember them telling me their names. I just forgot which name goes where.

I’m the worst.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Guy #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.


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 #175 – Donald Trump the aphrodisiac…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We got along very well, even becoming Facebook friends.

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

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

A second date never happened.

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

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

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


Guy #171 – The old Guy…

If there’s one thing I hate it’s getting old. I don’t mind picking up some wisdom here and there as the years go by, but dammit the skin around my eyes wrinkles when I laugh.

I’m getting wrinkles.

Perhaps the main reason for clinging to my youth is the way I treated ‘old’ people all my life. Living what I would call the gay lifestyle. I’m very much accustomed to people grabbing my testicles as I pass them. In most cases, the person reaching for my crotch looks like Tutankhamon on a bad day and the idea of him and me having sex is so preposterous I don’t even bother to look my pharaoh in the face.

It’s about as cold rejections come.

I could feel bad about it, but in all honesty I can’t help but wonder what those old men are thinking by having a go at prime-of-my-life me! We waste our youth on old cars, not on old people.

Yet each time I ignore a horny mummy as one would I realize that one day, in the less and less distant future, I too will become old. One day, there will be people who consider the thought of having sex with me too ridiculous to give it a moment’s thought.

I met Guy #171 in a steam room this one time. He was already engaged in sexual activities with about three or four other Guys. Usually I’m not the type to insert myself in someone else’s sexfest. I’m way too shy for that, except this time I noticed Guy #171 was surrounded by men who were way older than I was. We gave each other a quick look in which I saw relief in his eyes, so I went in. To my relief, he let me.

For a few minutes, Guy #171 allowed me to do stuff to his body. We even followed up on it with a kiss, after which Guy #171 suddenly signaled the party was over by getting up and walking off, leaving me with Ramses the First, Second and Third. The idea of them and me even acknowledging each other’s existence seemed too intrusive, so I left them as Guy #171 had seconds earlier.

I ran into Guy #171 a while later. He had kissed me rather amicably before, so I was expecting to get some lip action going on by moving into his personal space and grabbing his testicles. To my surprise, Guy #171 swiftly shoved my hands back and turned his head away. He seemed repulsed. That was new to me. I’d been rejected plenty of times, but never by someone I’d given oral to moments before. Could it really have been that bad, or were there other factors at play?

As I thought back on things that had transpired in the steam room during our first encounter, I noticed how it had happened in almost complete obscurity. Come to think of it, Guy #171 never seemed to eager to do anything, nor was he having any fun. Those three or four men surrounding him didn’t do much either, except for a little caressing here and there, which in a gay sauna is less than a handshake. In retrospect, Guy #171 wasn’t having sex when I first met him. He was letting some people touch him and wasn’t even that comfortable with it. When I joined in, it quickly became too much and he had to leave.

 
 
Cut to us half an hour later, where we meet up in a place bright enough to actually see each other…and suddenly I’m the dinosaur.I have memories of the Challenger disaster, the Berlin Wall coming down and Nelson Mandela being released from prison. By the looks of him Guy #171 was barely old enough to know the difference between Mel B and Mel C.

 

To me old people are the ones who have vivid memories of the seventies, Woodstock and Hitler. Guy #171 made me realize that as time moves on, so should my definition of ‘old’, that one day there will be a day that definition fits me, that one day I’ll be among the last people to know what the world without the internet was like, something me and all the pharaohs have in common.

It’s not the kind of thought you want occupying your head when you find yourself hunting meat that’s younger than yours. On the plus side, I wasn’t laughing the night I got rejected by Guy #171, so my wrinkles at least were kept under wraps.


Guy #159 – That thing I hate to talk about…

Let’s talk about anal sex. It’s a kind of sex the way artichokes are a kind of food: You usually don’t like it the first time around and good preparation is always key to success.

More specifically, you commit sodomy about as impulsively as you eat artichokes. Delightful and healthy as they are, both require a thorough cleansing. While it’s not something gay people talk about a lot, it’s common knowledge you need to clean yourself if you want to be on the receiving end of another Guy.

Of course accidents do happen from time to time. Anuses will forever be a two-way street. Consequently, if you insert something varying in size from a baby carrot to a banana you always run the risk of running into other traffic. And sometimes traffic comes out and turns a romantic get together into a bit of a mess.

Whenever this happens, it goes down as follows:
The top is commonly the first to notice something is wrong. He pulls out his baby carrot or banana and empathically says everything is not entirely clean.
The bottom then apologizes and quietly wishes the moment will be forgotten soon.
The lovemaking stops and both parties try their best to minimize the damage. The top takes a quick shower. The bottom requires a longer one, during which the top replaces the bed sheets.
Afterward the bottom apologizes and the top reassures him accidents can happen and that he shouldn’t worry. If the air is right, the awkwardness makes way for another round of foreplay, followed up by the sequel to Guy, Interrupted.

The better you know someone, the less uncomfortable these events are. However, the thing with people you meet on Grindr is that they are mostly strangers, people you’ll gladly share anything with as long as you don’t have to talk about it.

Guy #159 was such a stranger. Our Grindr conversation was courteous but equally goal oriented. He still lived with his parents, both of whom were on vacation for a few days. It meant he had the house to himself and with it a small window of opportunity for having a date over at his place. At the time I was unable to host people at mine, so I decided to not let this opportunity pass.

Guy #159 nor me had brought up the subject of who was to be top. I suppose we were too eager to get sex to deal with the technicalities involved in such an undertaking. Besides, my date was more than ten years younger than I was. It seemed a given my age, wisdom and ego would render me superior in each and every way. As such, I didn’t wash my artichoke with the intent of anyone consuming it, instead only making sure it looked decent on the outside.

You can guess where this is headed.

When I arrived at Guy #159’s place, the conversation was short and formal. The two of us shared a good vibe, but neither one could think of anything to say, probably because our minds were both focused on the sex. So instead of paining our brains to squeeze out unnecessary small talk, Guy #159 invited me to his bedroom, where sex happened.

Sex with Guy #159, as it turned out, was good. He made me feel incredibly relaxed, allowing me to succumb to the lovemaking. It was pleasant to have a stranger’s physicality mute my otherwise never ending stream of thoughts.  So when we got to the anal part my brain wasn’t working at full capacity.
“You like to bottom?” I asked, half expecting Guy #159 to lie on his back and eagerly put his legs up.
“I go both ways,” was Guy #159’s actual answer. He looked naughty when he said it and raised his body over mine.
“I go both ways as well,” I said, not wanting to disappoint. Also, I was so relaxed I couldn’t imagine me being a bottom would be problematic.

Cut to us a few minutes later:

“It’s not entirely clean,” Guy #159 says as my legs are wrapped around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I say, ashamed and uncomfortable.
I look down and see the phrase It’s not entirely clean is an understatement and a testament to Guy #159’s politeness.
“It’s okay,” he says, as he pulls out and hastily grabs a tissue to do some damage control.
“Let me take that,” I quickly say, removing his condom and ferrying it with me to the bathroom as quickly as I can.

Stuck in an unknown bathroom, I can’t find any trashcan to lose my condom to, so I decide to throw it in the toilet.

And that’s when things get frantic.

I flush the toilet, but my condom has created itself an unsinkable air pocket. Flubby rubber rises back up with the same enthusiasm Guy #159 said he goes both ways. It’s too filthy to touch it, so I flush the toilet again, this time holding the condom down with a toilet brush, praying I will defy the laws of physics this way.

Naturally, the laws of physics defy me.

Meanwhile, Guy #159 is in his room, replacing the sheets and no doubt wondering what on Earth I’m flushing his toilet for, not once, not twice, but four times. I put on the shower for my third and fourth attempts, hoping the sound will mask the flushing, but probably just creating more sound and more stuff for Guy #159 to wonder about.

And no matter what I do, my condom keeps jollily floating in its newfound home, impervious to my efforts to drown it. Part of me can’t help but respect its resilience as if it’s the David to my Goliath. The other part however thinks of Guy #159, who could have replaced the sheets five times over by now and must be wondering what on Earth is taking me so long, or why I would flush his toilet and shower at the same time.

Cut to us another few minutes later:

While the presence of Guy #159 felt relaxing as it had before, I wasn’t quite comfortable going to fifth base with him again. The back of my mind constantly put forward the reminder that there was in fact a gross condom floating in his toilet that moment and that it would only be a matter of time before he’d find out.

Pleasant as his company was, I told Guy #159 I ‘really needed’ to go home, which was probably closer to the truth than it must have sounded to him at that point.
To my relief Guy #159 didn’t visit his bathroom while I was still in his house. We said goodbye amicably, but I already knew more than anything we wouldn’t be seeing each other ever again.

The walk home took me a good 45 minutes. The exercise felt cathartic, notwithstanding the guilt I felt knowing Guy #159 would soon discover why someone would flush a toilet four times whilst keeping the shower running. I eased my conscience by actively hoping he would manage to rid himself of that condom well before his parents got back from their vacation.

When I got back home I treated myself to another shower and took comfort in the thought I would never have to be reminded of this night ever again, until it hit me: I would have to write a blog about it someday…


Guy #158 – Dumped by an angel…

It was January 1st 2016, 4 a.m. I had spent the night before celebrating New Year at a party at a friend of a friend’s house, gobbling up the free wine as if there was no tomorrow. The place was Amsterdam, the city that never sleeps for a good two days a year, one of those being January 1st.

Generally speaking I’m not a big fan of the holiday season. I mostly like New Year’s celebrations because they announce the cessation of the generically merry festivities December is known for. So when the party at my friend’s friend’s place was starting to die off, I decided to try my luck at the local gay sauna, because surely there’s no place to not celebrate the season than at a gay sauna, a sentiment felt by many gay people, as the place was packed.

This particular night the sauna was filled with so many cute Guys I instantly knew I would start the new year on a positive note, something I was in need of at the time. I had just finished writing my first novel entitled The Super Secret Diary of a Young Dictator and had already received a few rejection letters from publishers who didn’t consider it the War and Peace of our time. I knew I wanted to be a writer, but I had no idea how I would go about selling myself as one.

As I scoured that night’s sauna looking for someone to up my ego through means of anal I enjoyed the many luscious looks I was getting. When I went to the bar to get a drink I found myself standing next to a somewhat cute looking Guy who at sight of me started caressing my chest with a heartwarming familiarity that won me over instantly. I knew this was far from the cutest Guy I could lay my hands on that night, but I reasoned having some fun with him could serve as a nice appetizer for other Guys to come.

And so it happened this Guy became Guy #158, my first lover of 2016. We secluded ourselves to the darker corners of our already secluded venue, where we had lovely sex that eventually flowed into lovely conversation. Guy #158 told me about himself. He was an American artist who was currently traveling the world, going from one exhibition to the next, selling his work, doing what he loves and getting laid in pretty much every time zone. It wasn’t long before I realized Guy #158 was living the life I wanted to live.

Hoping to get some valuable life lessons I told Guy #158 about my predicament. I specifically mentioned I considered it meaningful to start off the new year doing someone who was living my dream: writing, traveling and getting laid. Guy #158 told me about the importance of marketing myself and that I couldn’t reasonably expect to be successful if I didn’t put myself out there the way I usually only do when I’m at a gay sauna. It was at this point Guy #158 suggested I self publish my book. Up till then I had not considered the fact we live in a time where we can post anything we do online, including entire books.

Guy #158 and I had a great time together and I was very appreciative of his wisdom, so when he suggested we’d leave the sauna and finish the holiday season in his hotel room, I immediately said ‘Yes’, looking forward to spending the day in bed with someone I felt absolutely at ease with while at the same time getting valuable career advice.

The two of us quickly got dressed and met up at the sauna’s checkout counter. Guy #158 was the first one to walk through, followed by myself a few seconds later.

That’s when things turned eerie.

When I stepped outside Guy #158 was all but gone. I found myself in a small alley that stretched a good 50 meters in both directions, but couldn’t see Guy #158 anywhere. Feeling a bit stupid I asked the bouncer if he had seen anyone come out in front of me. He said he hadn’t, empathetically but also with little interest for my social life, almost as if ‘No’ was the only answer at his disposal, him being a bouncer and all.

I waited in said alley for about ten minutes, doubting everything that had just happened. Guy #158 seemed to have vanished into thin air. At first I figured that maybe he was still inside, which is why I waited for him to come out. Yet in my mind I had a very clear memory of him leaving the sauna mere seconds before I did. Did he suddenly change his mind and ran off? Surely no human being could cover 50 meters in mere seconds after receiving the amount of anal I had just given this one. And if the bouncer had seen someone running away wouldn’t he have told me? Besides, why would Guy #158 have disappeared on me? We’d been having a good time. He had even told me how good he felt in my company.

Nothing made sense.

I felt like a bit of a loser, standing in the cold at 6 a.m. on January 1st, alone and completely at odds with everything that had just happened. Part of me questioned if Guy #158 had been real. The way he had disappeared lacked a rational explanation.
After enduring the cold for about ten minutes, not to mention the increasingly annoying stares of the bouncer who didn’t like me standing in front of his entrance as if I had no life to speak of, I made my way to the train station, disillusioned, disappointed and with less ego than the year before. The only thing offering solace was the career advice I had been given. While I’m usually not too keen on attributing the unexplainable to the paranormal, that’s what my whole affair with Guy #158 had come to feel like.

A few weeks later I published my book on Amazon and ventured into the ins and outs of book marketing. Guy #158 to me had become an apparition of sorts. I’m still not 100% sure he was real, that’s how unreal his disappearance had been. The theory best fitting my senses is that Guy #158 was an angel from above, sent to inspire me to get my life on track.

Since its publication The Super Secret Diary of a Young Dictator went on to sell a staggering 30 copies.

So yeah, I probably got stood up by a Guy at 6 a.m. on January 1st.
Or, at best, I got stood up by an angel.


Guy #150 and #151 – Adam and Steve and some Guy they met on Grindr…

Put simply, the concept of threesomes tends to warp common boundaries people might have for what they consider normal, acceptable or decent. This is true for people who shy away from threesomes as much as it holds up for those that engage in them.

You can’t enjoy a threesome if you’re not sexually confident.

This makes threesomes a bit of a risky game. When there’s two of you, you can focus all your energy on making the other person at ease, comfortable or, if that doesn’t work, high. But when Adam and Steve reel in a Guy from Grindr, attention will have to be divided. As I pointed out before, threesomes always run the risk of being psychological warfare.

In the case of Guy #150 and #151, they were Adam and Steve, two Guys in their sexual prime at the peak of their beauty, and I was this Guy they talked to on Grindr. When they found out they were both chatting with the same person the decision was made to reel me in. Not wanting to miss out on sex with two people whose selfies were well above average, I hastily cycled to their place, knowing all too well there was a very real opportunity one of my dates would consider me an intruder of sorts, that my presence was but a compromise to keep a relationship sexually interesting.

The first pleasant surprise of the evening came when I met Guy #150 and #151: Both of them were equally cute to me. This meant that, whatever issues they might have with dividing attention, I would be flexible and all too happy to bend myself into the dynamic of their relationship no matter what.

The second pleasant surprise came when I noticed there wasn’t much of a relationship going on. Guy #150 and #151 turned out to be friends and not lovers. They in turn both looked pleasantly surprised by how much I resembled the Guy from my Grindr pictures. Indeed, pleasant surprises were flying all over the place, filling the room with a scent of anticipatory arousal.

Instead of going straight to the sex part, my hosts laid me down on their bed and put on a movie. I don’t remember much of the decision making process that preceded it, but I do recall being pleasantly surprised they put up American Psycho, a movie I had been meaning to see for years.

Unsurprisingly, but not any less pleasant, the movie was as entertaining as Christian Bale was cute. As the three of us lay on bed, we quietly allowed each other to get sucked into the story, cuddling up against each other. What made it fun was the unspoken knowledge our little gathering would evolve into sex well before the end credits.

In fact, Christian Bale was about to butcher one of his friends with an ax when the kissing started.

I don’t remember seeing much of the movie afterward, except that the credits rolled around the time the three of us were done with each other.

It was the best threesome I ever had, not because the sex was spectacular, but because the dynamic had been. Guys #150 and #151 were two ‘pals’ who happened to engage in sex every now and then. Being a stranger from Grindr, I fit right in. What made ‘movie night’ fun was the total lack of issues: No jealousy, no attention deprivation, no insecurities…the only thing hanging in the air was an unspoken sense of horniness, distributed evenly among us. Whatever issues we may have had, they were neatly canalized by all the blood going on in the background.
“You guys are bastards,” Guy #150 said after we were done. The three of us laughed: Guy #151 and I had turned Guy #150 into the designated bottom that night, something I suppose had been a pleasant surprise on his end.

When I started 168guys.com, one of the morals pouring down on each of my stories was the ‘fact’ there is no such thing as just sex, that every act of sex is but an opportunity for unresolved mother issues and past intimacy failures to resurface. While I still believe I got hard by Christian Bale the ax murderer as part of my innate desire to be loved, being loved doesn’t have to be complicated, lasting or even real when you find it on Grindr.

One could argue Guys #150 and #151 were the first to show me there can be such a thing as just sex, simply three Guys getting together and having fun.

Or maybe it had just taken me 150 Guys to become sexually confident.

Naturally, I did not stay in touch with Guy #150 or #151. It was just sex after all.

Also, I have yet to sit down one day and actually watch Christian Bale slaughter some of his friends.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One feature length movie
FORMAT: Just sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Murder porn <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5

Guy #138 – The hotness that is clinical depression…

A few years ago my father died. I never dealt with it very well. Sometimes I wonder if I myself want to live at all.

Those were the words Guy #138 spoke toward the end of our date, mere seconds before getting in his car and driving off.

More often than not, a sex date is the kind of thing you don’t want lasting too long. When the physical relationship has played its part, the usual lack of remaining chemistry makes you want to bail out, to get back to your own life, away from any naked strangers.
Guy #138 was a notable exception in that respect.

Sometimes clinical depression looks good on a Guy. Before he spoke of his suicidal tendencies Guy #138 had been another good looking human being that had Grindred his way to my back yard, where I had the pleasure of doing him for a good few minutes. It was fun, sure, but our relationship was expressed entirely in movements, cold, concise and deliberate movements typical of a sex date: The silent walk toward the spot we’d be having sex, the somewhat obligatory crotch grabbing, the three stages of foreplay (kissing, handwork and oral), followed by an uneasy intermission needed to get condom and lube in place, followed by doing that thing Guy #138 had in mind back when he said ‘Hi’ on Grindr.

Afterward, Guy #138 and I both lit up a cigarette as we walked back to his car. Our dialogue was brief and in many ways compulsory as our movements had been, yet a few sentences into our conversation he told me about the death of his father and his own subsequent depression.

Sometimes orgasms are but a prelude to social awkwardness and self pity, but I guess they also have a tendency to lower our defenses. Sometimes the relationship stops being one of movements after those movements have climaxed.
Suddenly, seconds before he would drive off, Guy #138 became interesting, his perpetual sadness adding a welcome dimension to his already well defined abs.

Guy #138 had somewhere else to be though. He never intended to spend more than 15 minutes with me. It was only in that final minute I became frustrated by the agreed upon format of our relationship. I wanted to know more of Guy #138. I wanted to hear his story, perhaps even cuddle up with him and let him ponder ways to kill himself.

For the record, I wasn’t being morbid. I was being empathetic.
Okay, I was being morbidly empathetic, but still, I wanted nothing more than to share my good intentions with Guy #138. More specifically, I had glimpsed someone I could connect with, which is what I have in mind each time I say ‘Hi’ on Grindr.

I accidentally ran into Guy #138 about a year later. Our date had taken place in obscurity. This time we met in a crowded and brightly lit place. Good intentions aside, I didn’t recognize Guy #138 when he stood before me and rather enthusiastically said ‘Hi’. He needed to remind me who he was. I tried to make up for my apparent ambivalence by texting him, asking if he would be willing to meet up with me again sometime.
I haven’t seen or heard from him since.

For what it’s worth, I hope Guy #138 is doing better these days, and I guess I would like to run into him again someday and actually be aware it is him. I’d like to know more than just his moves.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 15 minutes + 2 minute awkward encounter
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Clowns <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #132 – The marine.

A question I get asked on a daily basis is whether I’m top or bottom. At times it’s the first thing that comes up in conversation.

I’m sure some kind of Kindsey-scale could be attributed to the top-bottom continuum, but the truth is it’s impossible to predict who ends up on top. It all depends on who you’re with.

Guy #132 was with the navy.

He looked the part.

Guy #132 radiated a boyish manliness that, combined with his perky smile, made you wonder how they managed to even keep Don’t ask don’t tell going for that long.

Being a marine, my date had seen places, things, events even. He was the kind of Guy you’d want to be with when your car breaks down in the middle of the desert. In porn, he would have been the John McTame to my Nakatomi building. He had this sturdy clumsiness about him that befitted a Guy harvesting a primitive sex drive, someone who could let himself be owned by his own instinct.

One could say I dug Guy #132’s sexual energy as he offered me a glass of water. He wasn’t even that attractive. He didn’t need to be, which somehow made him even more attractive. We engaged in one of those conversations we both knew was only a formality standing in between us and the bedroom and I was comfortable in the knowledge he would take charge and be the first to put away his drink to kiss me.

He did, which made it all the more surprising he quickly turned out to be a total bottom.

It’s not that I don’t know what to do with the body of a marine, but part of me couldn’t shake the thought You’re a soldier. Conquer me!

It was hardly a punishment to own a marine for a night, but I did feel like the sex hadn’t lived up to its image.

227039_218064818211691_8337715_n-copy

We met up on two occasions. On our second date he withheld the formalities altogether and went straight to sex. He knew exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it and what he needed to do to get it. It had this manly pragmatism to it that empowered enough potential to own a harem, yet again, when push came to shove, I had to push.

Seeing that much surrender embedded in the sexuality of this army person it was comforting to know Don’t ask don’t tell isn’t a thing anymore. In that sense I can proudly argue I did my part making my country combat ready. Twice. On two occasions.

I lost interest in Guy #132 the moment he brought up the subject of fisting. I guess I’m not that much of a patriot.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 90 minutes
FORMAT:
 Sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Patriotism <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #123 – The reason I’m on Grindr…

These days it says the following on my Grindr profile:

I will have sex with you if you can tell me what happened ‘before’ the Big Bang.

It’s an easy promise. Not even Stephen Hawking knows the answer, but it’s a nice invitation for Guys to get intellectual with me. I still judge people by their selfies, but I ache to be turned on by their brains.

Although the first I ever saw of Guy #123 was a picture of him in a swimsuit, he wasn’t the kind of underwear model I had come online for. Still, we somehow became engaged in an exciting conversation.

It happens sometimes. You start talking to someone, an actual dialogue erupts and it’s just nice to let it run its course. Sometimes the conversation dissolves almost the moment it started and sometimes you go from discussing youth traumas to cosmic inflation to Bach to trashing the Lord of the Rings-franchise to being invited over for dinner at his place.

Despite the absence of any sexual chemistry I found Guy #123 interesting enough to get to know in person. I had made it clear I had no sexual interest in him, which he was totally fine with.

Yet we soon ended up doing more than just having dinner and talking about each other’s lives. We’d spend entire nights watching The Lord of the Rings, after which Guy #123 admitted it indeed made no sense Frodo wouldn’t use those eagles from the get go. Or we’d lie on a couch and listen to music together. It’s difficult not to establish connection when you feel someone’s heartbeat to the tune of Beethoven’s 5th Piano Concerto.

Our fourth meet-up as friends was a bit of a goodbye. I was to go abroad for a while and wasn’t sure when I would be seeing Guy #123 again. He had become a dear friend I would miss.
So what started off as an innocent backrub quickly turned me on somehow, and since I was the one doing the rubbing I considered it an excellent opportunity to show some initiative. The kissing soon followed. The bed is where things ended.

It was unexpectedly great to have sex with Guy #123. I had reached a point where I could no longer relate to my previous self, who had rejected him over a photo.

Afterward, Guy #123 told me he he’d always known we would end up having sex at some point. The only thing he had to do to make it happen was not tell me. His brain had figured that out.1-copy

I’m not on Grindr to find sex. I’m not on there to find relationships. I’m certainly not on there to forge anything platonic. I’m on Grindr to find Guys like Guy #123, Guys who can give me the intimacy of a relationship with the commitment of a friendship, Guys who know my weaknesses well enough to understand I’m not the type to maintain a serious commitment, Guys who know my strengths to appreciate how much I have to give if they just let me, Guys who can even use the word ‘love’ without it having to define a relationship, Guys who get that relationships define themselves, Guys I can cuddle up with, cook for, sleep with and wake up next to.

Actually, Guy #123 and I only woke up together on a handful of occasions. Like most people with a good working brain he was a very sensitive person. Oftentimes I’d meet him while he was busy being hopelessly in love with someone he couldn’t be with, making it difficult for him to get truly intimate with someone.

I’m the type of person who looks for intimacy everywhere when I’m hopelessly in love. Guy #123 was the kind who’d deprive himself of it. Still, we often met on the middle ground and exchanged a lot of hugs there. One could argue it was in one of those hugs that Guy #123 inspired me to start writing.

His brains have proven to be an enormous turn on for me.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Loving friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Anything Gollum <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guy #122 – The spoiled brat…

Like most men never subjected to radiation poisoning I have hair growing out of my body at various places. While I make the effort to keep my chest Bieberesque by shaving it regularly, sometimes a single hair dodges my razor blade and remains sticking out of my body, as desolate as a man standing in the Sahara.

Guy #122 didn’t like chest hair either. That much became apparent when he noticed that one hair a few inches south of my right nipple. Even though we had been engaged in doing naked stuff for a good half hour already, Guy #122 stopped what he was doing and shifted all his attention to that one single bit of hair.

“Can you shave it off?” Guy #122 asked.
“No, I’m having sex,” I said.
It’s not like that one little hair got in the way of anything, but Guy #122 insisted. Again I refused to shave myself, proud as I was to stand up for myself for a change.

That’s when my date proceeded by trying to pull my hair out of my chest. The pain was intense and came without warning. I half heartedly yelled at Guy #122 and scolded him for hurting me, while at the same time laughing about how ridiculous sex with strangers can be sometimes.

The laughter stopped when Guy #122 pulled on my hair again, once again sending shock waves through my entire body. It was the first and to date only time I’ve ever been furious at someone during sex.

At the same time I had been enjoying the sex with this Guy. He was cute and good at it. I didn’t want the sex to stop because of that one tiny hair. Yet much to my surprise and anger Guy #122 kept making attempts at pulling it out. Thankfully I managed to stop him each time he tried, but my defenses came at the expense of my libido. After his fourth or fifth attempt I was so pissed off I turned Guy #122 on his stomach and had my way with him. He seemed to enjoy it, which pissed me off even more. I couldn’t stand being with someone so spoiled, so determined to get his way, so used to getting his way.

Putting on a T-shirt was my first act of business after I was done teaching Guy #122 a lesson. Finally, me and my hair were safe from the clutches of this spoiled maniac who now wanted to cuddle up with me. I however wanted him gone, out of my house, preferably out of my solar system.

Guy #122 hit me up online a few days later. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact our date had angered me to no end. We may have sent a few messages back and forth, but it wasn’t long before I ghosted him. I simply couldn’t stand someone as spoiled as Guy #122.

img_0519

He would hit me up again many, many times over the course of the next year or so, until eventually I blocked him. Just looking at his picture reminded me of his claws, obsessively trying to pull out that one tiny hair of mine.

I doubt Guy #122 ever realized what the reason for my rejection was. He probably confused my anger for lust, while the lust had merely been a disguise for my anger. Still, I feel good about not giving him his way. He needed it badly.

I do pay more attention to lone hairs sticking out of my chest these days. In that sense I’m giving Guy #122 exactly what he wanted.

Damn, he’s irritating.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = “Quid Quo Pro, doctor” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #119 – A vacation from my vanity…

As a gay Guy who frequents places where I face the scrutiny and judgment of other gay Guys, I try to take care of my body. I eat healthy, I even pack a few bananas every week, I run, I go for walks, I hardly ever drink alcohol, I reluctantly do push-ups, I plank until I fold and I quit smoking as often as I can.

The result is a body that, when photographed in a certain light and subsequently filtered in a tantalizing hue, is reasonably hot to look at.

It took me years to become reasonably hot. Being reasonably good looking is a lot of work. The reason I make the effort is because I like my sex to be with Guys that are reasonably hot as well.

Actually, what I’m really aiming for are Guys who I think are hotter than I am, so they can give me the feeling I am in fact more than reasonably good looking. So whenever I have sex with a Guy I deem hotter than myself, I do my best to be the Guy from my selfies, rather than just being me.

img_0523-copy

Of course, sometimes it’s nice not to look for the hot one, but to be the hot one.

In terms of narcissism Guy #119 gave me the day off. Twice.

Sex can be comfortable when you know you’re the hot one. It takes off the pressure.
Guy #119 had a cute face, but his body reminded me of Elvis in his final days. It wasn’t a pleasant surprise, but I know what it’s like to be chubby and I know how easy it is to live your hotness away.
That’s why I didn’t reject Guy #119 when he turned out to be way fatter than his antiquated Grindr selfies. Instead I viewed him as a little vacation from my vanity: To be with a Guy without having to hold my breath for my tiny abs to show.

Granted, there were moments when I got a little uncomfortable by the amount of fat that crawled its way over and against and around my body, but Guy #119’s cute smile made up for a lot, as did his personality.

I guess Guy #119 marked the first time in my life I had sex with someone I deemed unattractive without it being pity sex. Although maybe I did have sex out of pity, pity for my future fat self.

Guy #119 gave me hope that all people, even fat people, can have sex with people who are reasonably good looking, meaning that no matter what happens to me and my looks, I can always count on my brains to get me laid.

Guy # 119 had used his brains to get me horizontal. Being insecure about the way I look, it was nice to be seduced by brains.

When you frequent places where gay Guys go to scrutinize and pass judgment over other gay Guys, it’s good to be reminded how sexy personality can be. Guy #119 definitely was one of the hottest Guys I ever dated.

Shame about the fat though.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 1 hour
FORMAT: Sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Toilet Elvis <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.3

Guy #118 – Dating alone together…

Sex is like food. Whether it’s caviar, a Happy Meal or anything in between, sex is something to look forward to. But unless it’s masturbation sex is not a dish you eat alone. Eating together can be very rewarding, provided both parties can agree on what’s for dinner.

Guy #118 and I had met online, where he had pictures of him wearing leather outfits for the world to see. Leather ain’t my thing, but it lets me know when a Guy is aching for sex and nothing but sex. So when I met Guy #118 at his place he took me to his bedroom, sat me down on his bed, offered me an obligatory glass of water which I refused and then proceeded to let me have his way with him.

At the time I mostly had sex to avoid thinking about being a telemarketer without any goals to speak of. I avoided conversations about my life the way Stephen Hawking avoids escalators. After all, I wasn’t living. I was telemarketing, the last thing anyone would want to think of during sex.

So when Guy #118 hit me up a few weeks later I was all too happy to meet up with him once more and forget about living for a short while, except this time Guy #118 suggested we’d meet up for a drink first.

That ticked me off somewhat. I’m not keen on spending money on drinks if it’s sex I’m after, not in the least because I don’t enjoy having to scream over loud music in aid of keeping a conversation going with someone I only want to get inside of. Still, Guy #118 being very cute I deemed it an acceptable investment.

Naturally, Guy #118 asked me about my life as we were having drinks. I complained about being a telemarketer whilst trying to maintain a sense of pride befitting the top I was to him. It was difficult to keep that up, especially when Guy #118 wanted another round of drinks. Small talk has a tendency to become torture after a while, especially in the case of Guy #118, who himself had little to say.
“Shall we go to your place?” I asked after he finally finished his second drink. It wasn’t subtle, but then again, the only reason our paths had ever crossed was because the internet had pictures of him wearing leather. Subtlety was never supposed to be part of our relationship.
“Yeah, about that…” Guy #118 replied as my heart sank.
My date went on to explain his housemate was also home that night, meaning we couldn’t exactly have sex there.
I did not stick around for a third drink, instead going home, sexually frustrated like a rabbit in a cage full of mice.

img_0396-copy

Looking back, I don’t remember what on Earth convinced me to meet up with Guy #118 a third time. Once again he had asked to meet up for a drink. I guess I really wanted to believe Guy #118 was in it for the sex.
What struck me about our third date was how much attention Guy #118 had paid during our second. He remembered everything I had told him about myself. I on the other hand had totally forgotten what his job was, what part of Asia he was from, or what his name was.

Guy #118 wanted to be friends. I wanted to not think about telemarketing. He wanted a McCaviar. I wanted to eat my misery away.

A fourth date never materialized.

A few months ago Guy #118 got back in touch with me. He wanted to meet up again, only this time he suggested we’d get together and have fun on XTC and roofies. I guess he’d given up on friendship and gotten back to being his leather self again.

It’s not that I have anything against drugs, but I don’t think Guy #118 and I were ever meant to be on the same page together.

Like I said: A fourth date never materialized.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ±2 months
FORMAT: Sex date followed by failed attempt at friendship followed by failed attempt at sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Telemarketing <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.7

Guy #113 – The one I told my mother about…

My mother and I never talked about my love life. We maintained a silently agreed upon don’t ask don’t tell policy, which meant I ran off every time the subject of love and sex appeared on the horizon.

Guy #113 would go down in history as the only Guy I ever told my mother about:
“Mom, I may have met someone who I guess you could maybe call my boyfriend,” I said one day, after which my mother gave me a nice warm hug and told me she was very happy for me. She looked relieved, possibly because the last time she saw her son find love was when I was dating Girl #1, some six years prior.

A few days after informing my mother of the wonderful news, Guy #113 broke up with me. I never told my mother. Rather I stopped mentioning my boyfriend, until she quietly understood he was not to be brought up in conversation ever again.

Guy #113 had been a nice surprise. We dated each other for a few weeks during the 2012 holiday season. Our first date consisted of a conversation that lasted twice as long as it felt. On our second date we just got high and ended up in bed together.
The two of us had a lot in common, our sense of humor, the way we looked at things and people and the fact we both agreed Annafrid was the better ABBA singer.

Yet even though our personalities matched, our lives didn’t. Guy #113 had a successful career, a nice Amsterdam apartment and his life was in order. I on the other hand was a struggling telemarketer that lived with his mother, incapable of planning more than a few days ahead.

img_0315

Having never had a serious relationship with someone I never gave much thought to the concept. To me relationships were like Ebola: It only happened to other people. I had heard some Oprahesque clichés about getting your own stuff in order before committing to anyone or anything, but I had been so busy exploring my sexuality I neglected Oprah for the glory of my libido. I never even thought of committing myself to Guy #113. It was just good fun to experience true intimacy with someone for a change, to experience a relationship that didn’t end by putting my clothes back on.

What I considered a relationship probably was more of an escape. When I was with Guy #113 I didn’t have to think about telemarketing, what to do with my life or how to deal with my mother’s baldness. What I did focus on was how nice it was to wake up next to someone who’d make me breakfast in exchange for oral. Commitmentwise, that was as close as I’d ever gotten with someone.

Guy #113 had goals based on life. I had goals based on a lack thereof. A few weeks into our relationship he sat me down and told me things would not be working out between us. It hurt a little, but mostly because I knew my libido had to search for breakfast elsewhere. When Guy #113 broke up with me, I couldn’t help but agree with him. In fact, my primary concern was that I had just told my mother about him.

The word relationship can have many definitions. To me Guy #113 became a relationship the moment my mother learned of his existence. I suppose it´s safe to say Guy #113 didn’t use his mother as a measure of intimacy.

Of course Guy #113 agreed to remain friends and of course this friendship bled out faster than you can say Grindr.

I guess love, much like my mother´s cancer, struck a few years ahead of its time.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Going steady but not that steady
SEX SCORE (0 = Making out with a stormtrooper <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5