Gay dating – Page 2

Guy #112 – Gayspeak.

Social awkwardness is like quicksand: The more you fight it, the more you drown.

I drowned the night I met and did Guy #112. I believe we both did, but I will never know for sure. Communication between Guy #112 and me was so bad I can’t even say if he loathed or loved me.

Our online conversation had been cold and curt, our language one of abbreviations:

– top/bot?
– vers
– u host?
– y
– stats
– 6’1” 155 7.5”
– nice!
– thnx
– 10 min
– k

When Guy #112 and I met up he turned out to be shy, very shy, like embryo at an abortion clinic-shy.

Gayspeak definitely has an Orwellian ring to it, the way it doesn’t allow for any feelings. Only when you meet someone in real life do you get to find out what kind of person hides behind the Gayspeak, which in this case turned out to be a socially phobic mute.

Guy #112 took my coat, sat me down on his couch and followed up on that by not saying anything.
The worst thing was he was visibly uncomfortable, his eyes constantly on the lookout for a place to rest, his body repeatedly changing posture and nothing but uneasiness spread on his face.
I didn’t know what to make of it: Was he mesmerized by my beauty or repulsed by my narcissism? I had no clue.
“So what kind of work do you do?” I asked.
Guy #112 seemed both relieved a conversation had started and at the same time distressed because he had to think of words to say.
“Bank,” was his answer.

It took Guy #112 another few seconds of everlasting silence before he leaned over and reached for my head with his lips. Not knowing what else to do I reached back. Our heads collided mid-couch. It was one of the worst kisses I ever had. His lips were void of any warmth, body or soul. The fact he kissed suggested he was into me. The way he kissed made me wonder he was straight.

The more we kissed, the more I felt the desire to move on, to do anything but linger in this perpetual gray area of consent. I guess undressing someone in a realm of ambiguity can be fun and exciting, but in this case the only thing I felt was Guy #112’s shyness and/or mortal fear: I might as well have been undressing a captured bird.

As Guy #112 and I celebrated our bond by exploring each other’s nakedness it amazed me how Gayspeak had been the prelude to a gathering such as ours. I imagine Guy #112 got to see as little of my personality as I did of his. All we did get to see were our bodies clumsily partnering up to create the act of sex.

I don’t remember how we ended, but it can’t have been climactic. To my recollection the word ‘Bank’ marked the last time Guy #112 and I spoke with each other. What I do remember is wanting to leave as quickly as I could, which I did. The fact I don’t remember any details is probably a testament to how awkward things had been.

The funny thing about Gayspeak is that you know for sure it will lead to sex, but never who you’ll be having it with. It’s literally a computer generated language programmed to facilitate horniness. Sometimes it’s a great way to make friends.

Other times it’s a great way to remind yourself it’s okay to stay inside and watch porn.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 20 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance on quicksand <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #110 – The Oscar to my Elmo…

Sometimes life gives you lemons. Lemonwise, 2012 was not a great year for me. My mother was undergoing treatment for ovarian cancer, my brain still went sour at the thought of Guy #96 and I had to work as a telemarketer to make ends meet. Dating at the time was an escape.

The same was probably true for Guy #110. His mother had recently died from a brain tumor and his father was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Eating lemons was all we talked about on our first date.

Our first date took place at Guy #110’s apartment. He had made me dinner, the dessert of which was us making out on his couch. It was a make-out session during which we talked about the horror of having to see your parents lose their strength in front of your very eyes, the way life can wreak havoc on what you wanted life to be and how telemarketing has got to be the leading cause of suicide, because nothing kills you more than having to sell your soul over the phone 40 hours a week when one of your parents is fighting death itself. Sometimes it’s nice to dwell on the negative, to be with someone who doesn’t go into Oprah-mode the moment you say life sucks. Our first date was very romantic indeed.

We traded underwear on our second date.
Apparently underwear trade signifies the start of a commitment in the gay scene, at least it did to Guy #110. The last Guy to have ever worn my underwear had been Guy #8 and he turned out to be a possessive stalker, so I can’t see I felt totally at ease in my new wardrobe.

I guess what I liked most about Guy #110 was the fact his life was more messed up than mine. He was the Oscar to my Elmo.

It was around the time Guy #110 put on my underwear I realized human misery was what connected us more than anything else. On our third date I remembered why we had hooked up in the first place: To sugarcoat our lemons. Guy #110 was friendly, warmhearted and funny enough to at least laugh at my jokes, but he wasn’t a fruit of his own kind.

After our third date he told me he was looking forward to our fourth. I said I’d send him a message on Facebook to initiate it, but then somehow ended up never doing it, and he somehow never reminded me.
My guess is Guy #110 was a bit offended, but that he was used to being let down in life. I imagine he regretted ever giving me his underwear, but that it was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

I did feel a bit guilty over quietly forgetting about Guy #110, believing I had added another pinch of misery to his life.

I guess grief doesn’t make for great relationships.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: 3 romantic dates that led nowhere
SEX SCORE (0 = Sequels <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #109 – That time STD’s were sexy…

Common as they are, no one particularly enjoys talking about STD’s. The human body is an ecosystem of countless miniscule organisms, but it’s the few that make you die or feel like you’ll die peeing that hardly come up in conversation. The reason is simple: STD’s cover our body in icky shame.

So when Guy #109 came over for an evening of sex it came as a surprise when he told me his hot body had hepatitis.

I quickly realized Guy #109 had to go through life broadcasting this disclaimer each and every time he encountered someone he wanted to have sex with. Or rather, he chose to be honest.

Honesty to me is hotter than STD’s are icky, so Guy #109 telling me his liver was at constant risk of succumbing to the dark side immediately turned me on. I also empathized with him, imagining what it must be like to hold off on foreplay with a chat on infectious disease all the time. I’d probably feel like a waiter handing out a roll of toilet paper in lieu of a menu. We don’t like to talk about STD’s because we fear it will ruin our appetite.

Yet when Guy #109 opened up about his hepatitis he became more human than his hot body had previously suggested. I told him I had no trouble having sex with him and his liver provided I couldn’t see the latter from the outside.

That’s when it became apparent how disastrously poorly educated I was.

Unlike HIV I had always ranked hepatitis as one of the more forgettable Bond villains. I knew one could get shots to prevent getting hepatitis and always figured there’d come a day I would. Until Guy #109 told me I never knew how contagious hepatitis really is, or how lucky I’d been never to have gotten it.

Guy #109 told me we couldn’t have the sex we had both anticipated, at least not until I arranged for myself to get vaccinated.
What we could do was get naked together and tease the living daylights out of each other, which is what we did on a number of occasions over the next few months.

It was actually kind of hot to be with Guy #109 and not do what we wanted to do. It allowed us to get to know each other in a way we would never have known each other had sex been on the menu from the get go. When I finally was protected against hepatitis the sex between the two of us was cathartic, which it has been pretty much every time we hooked up since.

Every few weeks or so, Guy #109 and I would get together, cuddle up to watch a movie, eat pizza and have awesome safe sex. Hepatitis had stopped being an issue the moment Guy #109 opened up about it. And he may very well have saved me from getting it myself someday.

STD’s, as it turns out, are kind of hot.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Friends with benefits
SEX SCORE (0= The concept of ranking sexual partners <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

Guy #108 – Good things come from taking pictures of mirrors…

Guy #108 and I dug each other’s pictures. It was all we talked about online. He was hot, I was hot and together we set a date to celebrate our collective hotness.

Usually dates based solely on hotness feature very little conversation. When two Guys get together for sex a conversation is like listening to Al Gore introducing a stripper. It sucks the libido out of you.

On the other hand, I was raised to be polite, to at least feign interest in people in the absence of any.

The thing is, when you start a conversation with someone just for the sake of the conversation, an actual conversation might arise and people can become interesting all of a sudden.

Guy #108 and I dug each other’s vibe more than we did our pictures. The sex that followed our chitchat even seemed a bit misplaced, like Al Gore at a strip club if you will.

The conversation flowed into sex was because it was the agreed upon arrangement. It never occurred to me some hot Guys are just not meant to be hot for each other.

Going to third base with Guy #108 wasn’t at all unpleasant, but I think both of us were sorry the conversation had ended.

The sex ended when Guy #108 started laughing.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer: I was laughing too.

It was actually kind of refreshing to lie in bed with a beautiful Guy and not feel any sexual tension. In fact, all the tension that comes with random hook-ups had evaporated along with our collective libidos.

In lieu of consuming each other’s bodies in ways previously discussed online, Guy #108 and I became friends, our sexual history but a weird memory.

To people who meet me based on what I look like taking pictures of mirrors it can come as a surprise I’m not always as horny as my selfies would suggest. A sex date is not something I expect my personality to stand in the way of, but I guess Guy #108 had enough of a brain to realize I’m not at all like the person in my pictures. Sure, I try to come across as a hot puddle of vanity holding a cell phone when I’m on a sex date, but the reality is of course that having a laugh, making fun of myself and not being aroused by a total stranger come way more easily for me.

Sex dates, if nothing else, are a good way to make friends. I’m sure the world would be a prettier place if more people could get naked the way Guy #108 and I did.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Ridiculous hook-up that quickly evolved into comfortably sexless friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Anything with the name TRUMP on it <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5

Guy #107 – The former model…

Not too long ago scientists discovered an Earth-like planet about 490 light years away. That means we get to see this planet as it was 490 years ago.

The same thing happens in dating: Some people advertise themselves using selfies that were taken light years ago. In astronomy it’s interesting. In dating it’s just a big fat lie.

Astronomers would agree with me Guy #107 qualified as a big fat liar of cosmic proportions.

Guy #107 had been a model. Had been. That’s more past tenserish than anything you see in the night sky.

I get it. The world of dating is shallower than the world of science. I don’t look at bodies the way NASA does. I do have a tendency to not really care for the inside until the outside satisfies me.

Guy #107 got it too. He had spent a few years in the sun, being photographed by professionals when he was at the peak of his hotness. When we chatted online he would send me the most idyllic pictures of him at beaches, pools and against a wall with some hot woman who looked equally bored celebrating her prime. His pictures were hot alright.

Or maybe people on Grindr just like to be lied to.

Most of the time anticipation is but a prelude to disappointment. Guy #107 was no exception. When he opened the door to his apartment I felt like Dr. Who stepping out of a time machine: Based on his pictures I had expected to meet Guy #107 at least a decade earlier.

The funny thing was his house had pictures of him everywhere, yet Guy #107 looked nothing like him. I could tell it was definitely him in the pictures, but his face looked like it had taken an asteroid hit. Age had hit him hard.

When I first laid eyes on Guy #107 he had this hopeful yet questioning smile on his old face. He knew modeling would never pay another bill in his life. His smile was him asking me if I was okay with it.

I wasn’t, but I had traveled more than an hour to get to his place, it was late, it was freezing cold outside and I suck at rejecting people, so I politely asked for water when he offered me a drink. I never get to finish my glass of water on a sex date. This date was no exception.

Not wanting to look at his face any longer, it was probably me who initiated the first kiss. Before long, we were in his bedroom, which was a lot like his living room in the sense the walls were like a museum in his honor. Everywhere I looked I saw hot looking professional photographs of a very hot Guy looking very hotly bored in very little clothes.

I have to admit it was kind of hot to realize I was doing it with all the hot Guys around me. Sure it was a bit sad to have so many pictures of oneself, but I was glad to be constantly reminded of the hotness I might have been with had Grindr been around a few years earlier.

Afterward, Guy #107 and I sat on his bed as he gave me a binder which consisted of highlights from his portfolio. He’s the only person who ever started showing me pictures of himself after sex. I could tell he liked being reminded of the hot Guy he used to be. His interior was designed to look like the distant star he had become.

I could have been mad at Guy #107 for turning into a big fat liar, but I guess he was just a former model who had become karma to everyone who only cares what bodies look like on the outside.

We ended up doing it twice.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night trip down memory lane
SEX SCORE (0 = Bad karma <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #99 – That time I saved the universe from imploding…

Like most people, I’m not entirely free from OCD. I for one don’t kiss and tell. At a certain point in time, shortly after losing my virginity, I decided I would have sex with everyone I ever kissed. Just because otherwise the universe might implode and I would end up lonely somehow. OCD gets pretty creative when it comes to connecting the dots.
For a disturbingly long time, this meant every Guy I ever seduced on a dance floor ended up in my bed. Even today, kissing nearly always leads to sex with me, at least to third base. It’s a bit of a compulsion.

Guy #99 and I met one night. We spoke amicably and that somehow ended up in us making out to the beat of Waka Waka Eeh Eeh.

This time for Africa was the universe telling me I was setting myself up for pity sex once more.

At the time I still considered pity sex a better option than no sex at all. When I kiss someone it means I’m willing to invest in that person. And of course I also got off on people that find me hot. So while Guy #99’s head reminded me of the Roswell alien, I didn’t want to break my string of kisses that ended up in sex.

To my surprise, Guy #99 drifted off after kissing me. I expected us to hook up later and then go to my place – I don’t dry hump someone on a dance floor unless I mean business. The fate of the universe depends on it after all.
Instead Guy #99 simply went home at some point.

That had never happened to me. Every Guy I ever kissed had seen me naked as well. For a long time, Guy #99 was the only exception, the weakest link in my chain.

It wasn’t until a few years later I ran into Guy #99 again. By this time some of the Guys that had seen me naked had looked very good naked themselves. Guy #99 looked like an alien, which I’m not into.

On the other hand, it was actually rather nice running into each other. Guy #99 was incredibly friendly and warm hearted, and his head was truly kind of good looking, except of course for its disproportionally small body.
Added to that Guy #99 was really into me. I felt bad turning down his enormous head.

For the sake of the universe I decided to have another try with Guy #99. I had kissed him once before. I simply had to do him.
We kissed again and sure enough, a few weeks later he finally visited me at my place.

It was on a Friday. I picked him up at his school campus. Having just finished a busy work week, I came wearing a tie, emphasizing the age difference between us. Age difference would turn out to be a major theme throughout our date.

As we drove to my house we mostly talked about homework. During our conversation he sang pop songs I had never heard before.

The thing is, his big head being so weird I had trouble seeing anything but weirdness. The fact our date was rooted in OCD probably didn’t help either.

Once we were at my place having sex, he started singing Britney Spears songs. I’m pretty sure it meant he was enjoying himself. He sang Toxic.
Actually, he didn’t just sing, he gave a performance, complete with his own choreography. To be fair, Guy #99 deserves credit for combining dancing and riding so graciously.

It wasn’t doing anything for me though.

Guy #99 was well above legal age, but you can’t help but feel an age gap when someone starts re-enacting a Britney concert during sex.

I guess unrewardingly weird intimacy is to be expected when you have pity sex out of OCD.

On the plus side, the universe didn’t implode.

A few weeks after our one and only date I ran into Guy #99 again. It was at our country’s only gay nightclub. Guy #99 walked up to me right as I was engaged in making out with Guy #100.
“Can I have sex with you tonight?” Guy #99 asked me like Oliver Twist asking for some more, soft spoken and anticipating his inevitable rejection.
“We’ll see,” I said, pointing my head at Guy #100, the Guy I was presently humping.

As I proceded to conquer Guy #100 I saw Guy #99 going around the dance floor, initiating a short conversation here and there, only to timidly walk away from whoever he spoke with. I can only assume he was going around asking people to have sex with him.

I felt sorry for Guy #99. All he wanted was someone to validate him and sing Britney songs with. Existence can be a sad experience when such a thing is too much to ask for. On the other hand, even my OCD can’t compel me to pity someone twice.

I can save the universe, but not everybody in it.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 years
FORMAT: Sex date/Britney Spears concert
SEX SCORE (0 = “My loneliness is killing me” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5

Guy #98 – The tease…

When love doesn’t work out our brains tend to warp reality.

So when things didn’t work out between me and Guy #96, around the time I was feeling devastated and sorry for myself, every remotely cute looking Asian Guy I ran into was a potential love interest. Literally every Guy I laid my eyes on was a potential rebound.

Guy #98 was actually pretty decent, Guy-wise.

We met when some of our friends became mutual friends. We would hang out with the same group of people and run into each other frequently. One time he even came by my house to get high with me.

It was to be the night Guy #98 and I were going to have sex. After all, weed smoothes the seduction process in ways similar to the lube I had on stand-by.

Getting high with Guy #98 was a lot of fun. Apart from being cute looking and Asian, he had a bit of a cynical mind worth exploring.
I soon realized Guy #98 was someone I could have meaningful conversations with. He had a good sense of humor. Not only that, he was Asian, just like Guy #96!

As is common when two gay Guys get high together, we eventually landed on the subject of sex. It was around that time he reached for my balls.

What I really wanted was for Guy #96 to reach for my balls, but I couldn’t deny Guy #98 was objectively better looking and just as Asian. I thought I wanted to become part of Guy #96’s family. I thought he was someone I wanted to grow old and adopt babies with, but maybe my long distance drama with Guy #96 had only been some form of cosmic preparation for my introduction to Guy #98. Maybe Guy #98 was the Guy that could make me feel loved, or at the very least reasonable enough looking to spend a lifetime with. He was touching my balls after all.

Anticipating my long awaited salvation from the burdens of heartbreak, I got immensely turned on by Guy #98’s initiative. The weed might have also helped, plus brains warp reality when you’re in love.

I gladly unzipped my pants for Guy #98, who responded with laughter. That wasn’t really the kind of groove I was hoping for. It’s never a good sign when someone laughs at the sight of your penis.

Still, Guy #98 was kind enough to fiddle around with my only naked part. He laughed, made jokes and didn’t seem to take anything seriously, but I wasn’t worried. After all, how could a hand job end up in anything but sex?

Just as I was getting ready to undo more of my clothing, Guy #98 covered my nakedness with my underwear and zipped up my pants. And then he lit up a cigarette, which I thought was premature at that point.

The Guy I was sure could make me forget about my broken heart turned out to be the Guy who merely added incurable horniness to my list of symptoms. In terms of friendship we had been and still are on the same page. In terms of sex and love, Guy #98 never intended to read more than the back cover of the book I had in mind.

Guy #98 never planned to have sex with me. He simply wanted to know if he had the option. Me, sad, desperate and all too available, obliged him in seconds.

It’s doubtful Guy #98 would have enjoyed the burden of my heartbreak, nor was it likely he could have offered me any relief.

We did become friends though. He would later tell me that grabbing Guys by the balls, turning them on and subsequently leaving them hanging in a seemingly perpetual state of unfulfilled arousal was kind of his modus operandi.

Like I said: Guy #98 had a good sense of humor.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = When someone laughs at your penis <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2

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 25^th 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.

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 #89 – Divide and conquer…

When I lived in Suriname, South America I wasn’t the only white Guy in town.

I befriended a Guy who was like me in many ways: He was a hunter, attracted to Latinos as I was, he made sure sex played an important role in his life, he used sex to cope with his insecurity, he was educated, around my age and enjoyed the perks of being white.

One night the two of us found ourselves on a somewhat discouragingly empty dance floor in our country’s only gay nightclub. He asked me to point to a Guy I considered attractive. We had met each other only recently and were curious for each other’s taste. And of course we wanted to know whether we would be playing the field as colleagues or as competitors.

After pointing at some Asian I asked my newfound friend who he considered a good catch. He pointed at Guy #10. Guy #10 and I had done each other a few years prior.
“I’ve done him,” I bragged. It absolutely thrilled me to be able to say I already had sex with the Guy my white companion singled out.
I could see the twinkle in my friend’s eyes. It meant he was now officially out to conquer Guy #10 as I had, because I had. I decided to let him.
“Do you want me to introduce you two?” I asked.
My friend gladly accepted my offer, so I stepped up to Guy #10 and told him I had a friend who wanted him. Guy #10 was happy to see me again and even happier to find out my friend was the other white Guy.

I didn’t throw Guy #10 in the arms of my white friend because I’m such a nice person. While I was fine with him going over goods I’d damaged years before, I wanted my friend to see how skilled I was at catching prey.

Guy #10 was also with a friend, a shy fellow I decided would make a fine Guy #89.

Divide and conquer. That’s basically what I did that night. I gave a buddy some leftover Guy from a few years back and then proceeded to conquer Guy #89 right in front of him.

I was marking my territory.

I have this intense look that works really well on insecure 20 year olds, so I went with that. Within minutes, Guy #89 and I were all over each other’s faces. From the corner of my eyes I could see the admiration on my friend’s white face. If this was the jungle, I was Shere Khan.

Nothing was particularly special about Guy #89. His looks were sort of okay, I didn’t pay attention to his personality and his looks were sort of okay. All that mattered was that I had asserted my dominance over all the other white Guys, all one of them.

I don’t know where Guy #10 and his second white friend ended up that night, but from what I understood they’ve had some good times together. Guy #89 and I ended up in my car, on the parking lot. We continued kissing and meddled with each other’s genitals for good measure, but by this time I wasn’t into it anymore. My audience had left the scene. Guy #89, still impressed from the look I’d given him before, was starting to irritate me. Making out on a parking lot with a stranger doesn’t really do it for me.

I guess Guy #89 became dispensable the moment I was the only white Guy again. We never made it off the parking lot. Not together at least.

Still I went home feeling satisfied. I was fine living in a small country with a small gay scene. I was also fine not being the only white Guy in that scene. Our country was big enough for two delicacies.

I never spoke to Guy #89 again, but my friendship with the white one lasts to this day. I even arranged him a date with Guy #16 once.

I guess I don’t just play the field. I aim to rule it.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 hour
FORMAT: Dirty dancing followed by pitiful car sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Chihuahuas <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

Guy #5 – Grabbing myself by the balls…

December 25, 2007 was the only Christmas I ever spent alone.

You see, after having sex with a lesbian and four guys I met over the phone, I got my MSc. in Psychology and moved from the Netherlands, Europe to Suriname, South America.

I went from slowly tentacling my sexuality in a safe and familiar environment to being a socially phobic recluse in what I still considered to be a banana republic.

Throwing myself into such a lonely adventure has proven to be one of the best decisions I ever made, though. It forced me to grab myself by the balls once again to get me to overcome my fears.

After spending a year in hiding I finally made the decision I needed to have sex again. After a full year without any sex my virginity started growing back on me.
However, anonymous phone dating services were not a thing in Suriname as they were back in the Netherlands. I had to think of something different, something more daring.

I had to go out.

Religiously determined to go home with a guy, I dragged myself to the country’s only gay night club. I went alone. It petrified me, to stand at a bar in a place with people, all of whom could watch me, observe me, judge me and make fun of how desperately I was trying to look attractive. I could actually see people watching me. In banana republics with only one gay nightclub, no new face goes unnoticed, especially not a white one. They say social phobia only plays out in your head, but in this case I just knew: These people are watching me.

I’ll admit I had some confidence issues at the time. I wasn’t even sure what I was really expecting to happen. How do hook-ups usually happen? How do people go from being total strangers to ending up in each other’s arms naked in the time span of just a few hours? I had no idea. But I did know one thing: I was going to go home with a guy. I just had to.

That was the night I met Guy #5.

When he walked in and saw me standing at the bar, he immediately walked up to me to say ‘hi’. His familiarity almost made me think we’d already met before, not at all unlikely in a country the size of Suriname. In fact, I even entered the conversation under the assumption I was talking to an acquaintance of sorts.

I would later find out Guy #5 has the innate quality to make others feel at home. By that time I had already decided the answer to the question Do I see myself doing do this guy tonight? was ‘yes’.

I don’t think I ever had a nightclub hook-up as smooth and easy as the one I had with Guy #5. One thing became clear right away: He wanted me and I was going to let him. I had a lot of fun going down that road together. It would be the first time I ever kissed a guy on a dance floor.

Apart from getting me back in touch with my sexuality, Guy #5 became a good friend who also got me in touch with other people. He gave me a social life in my new environment. Like I said, he’s good at making others feel at home. Sex with someone who makes you feel like that is never a bad thing.

Guy #5 taught me that.

Relationship summary:

Length: 7 years and counting
Format: On and off sex, followed by friendship that lasts till this day
Sex score (0 making out with an accordion and 10 being the best sex ever): 7,5

Girl #1 – The perfect daughter-in-law

Between the ages of 16 and 24, my life consisted of falling for girls I imagined could bear the grandchildren that would make my mother so happy. I got rejected every time. For some reason I always gravitated toward the friend zone as if it was a black hole from which there was no escape.

Except this one time.

I had already experimented with four different guys the month before. This had boosted my self esteem up to the point I was no longer afraid of people with vaginas. It was during this time that I met a girl at this improv class we both attended. We got to know each other and for the first time in my life, a girl didn’t show any interest in my friend zone. The three months I dated her were among the happiest of my life.

Finally, after 24 years, I was able to say I had a girlfriend. And not just anyone. This chick would have made the perfect daughter-in-law! She was funny, smart, sophisticated, witty, creative and independent. It’s not so much that I really wanted her to be the mother of my kids. I was simply thrilled by the fact I had managed to get the kind of girlfriend I had been picturing all those years. It was literally a dream come true.

Even the sex was good. It was intimate, passionate and very loving. And I turned out to be right about vaginas being way more comfortable than anuses. Though I can’t say I ever really got how a vagina works exactly. Of course I was immensely grateful I was finally allowed to come near one, but I could never quite figure out what makes it tick. I did my best and I believe I may have even been successful in some cases.

But I never fully allowed the female anatomy to get through to me. Whenever we had sex, there was a voice in my head that repeatedly said Look at me, I’m having straight sex! I’m actually doing IT with a girl. It created a distance between myself and the sex I was having. I guess on some level I already knew I had been chasing the wrong dream all those years. Girl #1 must have known it too, as she broke up with me after three months.

It was okay, though. For the first time I had met a girl that didn’t reject me. Looking back, that’s probably all I really wanted; someone to make me believe I’m not the Elephant Man. These days I’m thankful for every girl that ever turned me down. They were right to pull me into their friend zone, but at the time all those rejections were quite a burden to carry. Girl #1 shed me of it, at least for a while.

Of all the girlfriends I could have ever had, Girl #1 was probably the one I needed the most. She knew about my previous ‘experiments’ with guys. She probably also figured I was gay. She allowed me to gently let go of this heterosexual mirage I had been chasing for so long. Now, after 24 years, I had finally crossed it off my to do-list.

I guess Girl #1 gave me the confidence to start exploring more of the gay scene, weird as that may sound.

And while I can’t imagine ever having sex with a girl again, I’m glad to know what it’s like. If Girl #1 had allowed me to chase my dream of pleasing my mother with the announcement of her first grandchild, she would have made the straight lifestyle very, very bearable for me. At the time Girl #1 was the best sex I ever had.
Of course back then I didn’t know yet an anus can be comfy too if used properly.

I know for a fact I’m not the best sex Girl #1 has ever had. She’s been living together with her girlfriend for years now. I very much hope she’s a happy lesbian.

Thank you.

Relationship summary

Length: ± 3 Months
Format: Loving heterosexual relationship including meet-up with each other’s parents
Sex score (0 being the walk to Mordor and 10 being the best sex ever): 7

Guy #4 – Thirty seconds of horror…

If you start exploring the world of gay sex, you can’t avoid that moment when a guy starts taking an interest in your anus.

During my previous sexual escapades, I had managed to avoid any anal contact. Guy #4 however wanted to do that thing that gay sex is commonly known for. Even scarier, he wanted to do it to me.

The thing is, while I knew most gay guys like anal sex, the concept never played a role in my secret fantasies my ‘straight self’ felt guilty for having. For a long time I had convinced myself I couldn’t be gay because I had no interest in sodomy. Even in my gay head a vagina seemed way more comfortable, for everyone involved.

Yet I also knew I enjoyed exploring my own sexuality. At 24 years of age it was a much needed exercise. All in all I met four different guys through a paid phone service. The fourth one was by far the nicest, most honest and most experienced. He would be the one to finish this chapter and… well, take my virginity. For real.

Not to offend any gay rights movement, but unless you’re a turkey, an asshole is not made to insert things. It just isn’t. Just because you can, doesn’t mean that’s its function. As I was being definitively devirginilized, I couldn’t imagine how anyone could enjoy anal sex. I tried to ache my way through it for about half a minute and then suggested we’d retreat to doing other stuff.

Guy #4 didn’t mind. And apart from those thirty seconds of horror I actually had a really good time with him. He would become the first person I ever spent a night with.

In retrospect, spending the night with someone was much more relevant than those thirty seconds. Still, for the first time I found myself empathizing with people who consider anal sex a good idea. To inflict joy and pain simultaneously creates an extremely intimate tension. And seeing as relationships are basically about inflicting joy and pain, it did seem natural something like that is reflected in the sex.
But I guess I wasn’t ready to embrace any of that, not yet anyway.

Next morning my sex date woke me up by putting his arm around me. I had never woken up like that, so at first I was surprised, followed by pleasantly surprised. It was nice to be awakened by such a nice gesture.
Guy #4 didn’t rank too high on attractiveness. Nevertheless he was the best sex I had ever had, up till then that is.
Unlike my previous guys, Guy #4 was out of the closet. He seemed okay with being gay. That sense of comfort must have reflected itself in the sex, save for those thirty seconds of course.

But I did feel conflicted. In my head I was still just a bicurious guy doing other guys to get at least some sex. It was supposed to be just about sex, not intimacy. I couldn’t get myself to like the fact I was liking this so much.

Also, as we woke up together Guy #4 told me he had completely fallen in love with me. He said it kiddingly, or at least I think he did. I honestly don’t remember how I reacted, but I imagine it must have been distant. His use of the word ‘love’ was probably the main reason I didn’t see him ever again.
That’s a shame, because Guy #4 had just given me the biggest compliment anyone had ever given me, not to mention the best sex I had ever had. I should have given him credit for that.

Thank you, Guy #4.

Relationship summary

Length: ± 10 hours
Format: A loving sex date
Sex score: (0 being an Oprah moment and 10 being the best sex ever): 5

Guy #3 – In the Oval Office…

When a guy is in a committed relationship with a woman and has sex with another guy on the side, a bedroom becomes a crime scene.

Guy #3 cheated on his girlfriend, with me, in her house and on her bed. I was nervous due to my relative sexual inexperience. Guy #3 was nervous for fear of his girlfriend showing up. He constantly checked his phone. He would freeze every time he heard a noise coming from outside. I could see he was trying to enjoy sex, but his mind was preoccupied with consequences of getting caught.

To Guy #3, it must have been like having sex in the Oval Office.

Still, I wasn’t complaining. Guy #3 was the first guy I found myself somewhat attracted to. He looked like a metrosexual hooligan, if ever there was such a thing. He was manly, simpleminded to the point of stupidity, but he obviously took good care of himself and his body.

He had made the effort to spice up the bedroom with candlelight and music. He even threw a bit of hot wax over my body at one point. It instantly taught me SM is not my thing, but I was glad to add something to my short list of experiences, even hot wax that got impractically messy once it cooled down.
Everything indicated that Guy #3 wanted to enjoy having sex with me. It was a pity he couldn’t allow himself to.

Guy #3 asked me if I liked doing poppers. I had never done poppers before. In fact, at the time I didn’t even know whether poppers were something people smoke, eat or inject.
‘Poppers aren’t really my thing,’ I said, pretending to know what I was talking about.
‘Do you mind if I have some?’ Guy #3 asked.
‘Not at all,’ I said, all too eager to find out what poppers really were.

The reason Guy #3 did poppers soon became apparent, though. To him, it was an amnesiac: Each and every time he vigorously sniffed the contents of this small flask, filling the room with the invasive smell of a freshly cleaned public washroom, Guy #3 forgot about his girlfriend for a good 30 seconds. It was during those 30 seconds that our sex was somewhat hot, save for the air of chemically induced arousal.

After we were finished, Guy #3 did his best to erase all hints of my presence. The sheets were sprayed with air freshener, the floor was meticulously checked for any ‘foreign’ objects, candles were blown out and put back in storage. What struck me was the eagerness Guy #3 had to clean everything up. The thought of his girlfriend must have really scared him.

Guy #3 and I ended up seeing each other on two occasions. Our second date got cut short because a certain girlfriend was about to come home unexpectedly. I guess I should consider myself lucky I was given time to put on my clothes before Guy #3 frantically showed me the door.

Guy #3 did ask me to come over a third time. I didn’t. I felt sorry for Guy #3 and his girlfriend. Although I was exploring the world of gay sex, I still considered myself to be a bicurious straight guy who couldn’t get himself a girlfriend. I wondered what I would be like in a relationship with a girl in terms of fidelity, if I would be anything like Guy #3, leading a closeted double life. To me, it seemed like a lonely prospect.

On the plus side, I finally got to learn what poppers are.

I have Guy #3 to thank for that.

Relationship summary:

Length: 1 x 30 minutes + 1 x 13 minutes and 23 seconds
Format: Sex date
Sex score (0 being phoned by a telemarketer during dinner and 10 being the best sex ever): 3.5

Guy #2 – A much needed shower…

If there’s one thing that sets humans apart from animals, it’s post-orgasmic guilt.

It’s that moment one sobers up in the time span of literally no more than a few heartbeats, when you realize Kleenex can wipe anything but the shame off your body.

You see, when you anonymously meet a guy through a paid phone service and subsequently have sex with a complete stranger once, it’s easy to do it twice.

The act of sex was still mostly a mystery to me, but the act of meeting up a total stranger for the explicit purpose of having sex already felt strangely habitual. It had been about a week since I lost a decent chunk of my virginity. I was proud of having some sexual experience to speak of. That pride must have inspired me to hook up with yet another guy, another unknown whose voice I had heard on a phone box.

I reckon it must sound like a sad concept: Back in 2006 and perhaps still today, thousands of guys look for sex over the phone. It’s the perfect medium to hide yourself. I was hiding too. My first steps into active homosexuality were not something I would tell my mother about. I had confided my one sexual escapade in a few close friends, but to the rest of the world I was still a heterosexual virgin in search of a girl friend.
Phone lines were the perfect tool for closet cases such as myself, and Guy #2.

Guy #2 claimed to be a straight guy who simply wanted to experiment. I advertized myself like that as well. As if to make a point of his heterosexuality, Guy #2 had put up straight porn on his television, no doubt in an attempt to throw a little eroticism into the equation. The porn somehow added to the overall feeling of sadness I was having.

Things started getting a bit weird when I found out that, between Guy #2 and me, I had the most experience. I had kissed a naked guy the week before. Guy #2 claimed to have no sexual experience whatsoever, which I suppose made me the ranking officer on deck.

Needless to say, sex between two people who know so little of each other, so little of themselves and even less of sex itself is pitiful. It was about as coherent as Ashley Simpson lip syncing her way through Saturday Night Live, that’s how inept we both were. It didn’t help I wasn’t at all attracted to Guy #2. The only reason I was doing this awkward routine called sex was the fact I hadn’t had any sex for the first 24 years of my life. I figured I had to start somewhere.

The guy’s name was the same as my dad’s, by the way. It made not thinking of my father difficult. That little hint of incest distracted me more than the straight porn in the background.

It wasn’t long before I just wanted to go home again, to take a shower. My previous sexual encounter had already taught me there’s an easy way to end a gay date quickly: Coming.

Coming can come at a price, though, and that price is post-orgasmic guilt.
Me and Guy #2 both felt it.
‘I think I will like girls better,’ was the first thing Guy #2 said after reaching for his Kleenex. I couldn’t care enough about his thoughts to be offended.

I imagine most people know what it’s like to have sex that’s regrettable. I reckon it happens because it’s deceptively easy to lose your sense of worth sometimes. My sense of worth wasn’t in great shape, in large part on account of my near everlasting virginity.

Everything has to start somewhere, or so I figured, foregoing the fact that Guy #2 and I had nothing in common, except for our loneliness and confusion perhaps.

However, I had noticed how Guy #2 had complimented my looks, just like Guy #1 the week before. Sure, it’s the easiest compliment to give on a sex date, but I got the impression they both meant it. Even though the shower was long and cathartic when I got home, I did feel more attractive than usual.
Feeling attractive proved good for my sense of worthiness.

Guy #2 and I did not stay in touch. I guess we both reminded each other too much of our post-orgasmic guilt. It happens on sex dates. If you try something intimate with someone you have absolutely no connection with on any meaningful level, it’s impossible to not feel awkward about it afterward.

Yet somehow, after that much needed shower, I felt more attractive than I had in a long, long time.

I have Guy #2 to thank for that.

Relationship summary

Length: 20 minutes
Format: Introduction to sex
Sex score (0 being groped by a Muppet and 10 being the best sex ever): 1

Guy #1 – If the shoe fits…

The first one is always special, as special as it can be disappointing.

One might say I did Guy #1 out of despair. That’s never a solid ground for any relationship, however casual. But at the time I was already 24 and still a virgin. I avoided seeing The 40 year old virgin because I was afraid it would be too confronting. I was simply very ready to know what having sex was like. That’s why I was willing to compromise.

The reason for my inexperience was ostensibly simple: I had spent years falling hopelessly in love with girls that looked just above average, who grew to like me as a friend and ended up confiding their love life in me, because they so much enjoyed the lack of any sexual energy between us. Those were the kind of girls I envisioned myself with, married, with children, a loving family that goes on holidays together, watches plays, goes to museums and in which I would have heterosexual sex. That’s the kind of dream I was chasing.

It took some years for me to finally realize, accept and embrace the fact that I am in fact gay. Actually, by the time I was on my way to see Guy #1 I convinced myself I was merely being bicurious, having my first sexual experience at age 24. I mean, who wouldn’t try it with a guy by then? For me it was either this or a rubber doll.

The year was 2006. The internet had arrived, but I was too afraid to advertize my sexual quest online, alerting the world of my bicuriosity.
Instead, I assumed a pseudonym and paid fifty Euro cents per minute to listen to voice messages of horny guys. I ended up texting quite a lot with different guys and after a while I had summoned up the courage to go all the way and try to meet up with one.

I had to spend an hour in a train to get to my date. It was a very philosophical journey for me. I was shaking from anxiety and excitement at the same time. I enjoyed how the people sitting around me had no idea who they were facing: Someone who was about to lose his virginity. I couldn’t help but feel proud of what I was doing.

Of course, someone you meet over the phone seldom looks like anything you had in mind. In my case, the disappointment started the moment my date opened his door to greet me: Was I willing to lose my virginity to this unshaven, sweaty and slightly chubby Guy #1?
I quickly noticed something, though: Me and Guy #1 were wearing the exact same pair of shoes. Never before and never since have I ever encountered someone with identical shoes. I guess I felt our sneakers connected the two of us somehow. Perhaps I needed to have sex with an unshaven, sweaty and slightly chubby guy who looks a lot older than he says he is because that’s how I had come to see myself over the years, after a seemingly endless stream of rejections from girls that appreciated my friendship so much. Guy #1 was a reflection of my subconscious.

His apartment was depressingly neat and unimaginative. The view was that of other apartments staring right back at me.
He offered me something to drink. Half a minute later we sat down on his bed and talked. My glass of water was the only thing standing between us and sex. As I drank I spoke of my situation. I explained Guy #1 that this would be my first time with a guy. I said I wanted to explore, not realizing what a sad cliché I was being.

Throughout our date the disappointments kept on coming. His accent was weird and unsexy. I could see he had a lot of chest hair, even though he had texted me otherwise. His breath was slightly bad. He was nothing like any of the guys from my very secret fantasies.
Only the shoes matched. So after finishing my drink I simply asked: ‘How do we do this thing?’

That’s when I received my first kiss. It was one of the most conscious experiences I ever had. Finally, after years and years of wondering if something might be very wrong with me, this guy put his sweaty arms around me, during which he revealed his arm pits were as hairy as the rest, only with longer hair. His rugged cheeks wreaked havoc on mine. The kissing lasted a good 45 minutes. Then we undressed each other. He seemed really into me, but I figured he could easily be pretending, just as I was. I behaved under the assumption the two of us were doing each other a favor by pretending the sex to be extraordinary. It was in fact, just not in a good way.

I had already seen a bit of gay porn here and there, but I knew Guy #1 and I would not be doing any of that stuff. Instead, I finished off by saying I was ready to come, which we then did.

Afterward, I was mostly glad it was over. I was happy to say I was not totally a virgin anymore. That and the fact it was over. Guy #1 offered me another drink. I really wanted to leave, but I asked for another glass of water out of politeness. I didn’t know yet it’s okay for sex dates to be heartless.

As I drank my second glass of water, after the two of us had already put our clothes back on, we talked some more. I’d be lying if I said I remember anything about his life. All I remember are his shoes. It’s probably better that way.

Before I left, Guy #1 said I was always welcome to contact him in case I ever felt like talking to someone about anything. I thought that was very sweet of him. I knew I had no intention of ever meeting or interacting with him ever again, but I genuinely thanked him for his offer.
I felt his loneliness when I left. My guess is he had felt mine too.

The train ride home was equally spiritual. My cheeks hurt like hell, but that didn’t stop me from feeling good about myself for having accomplished my mission of having sex. I wasn’t going to become a 40 year old virgin.

I have Guy #1 to thank for that.

Relationship summary

Length: 1 hour
Format: Introduction to sex
Sex score (0 being a date with Darth Vader and 10 being the best sex ever): 1.5