Guy #194 – The cutest Guy in the sauna…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I needed the compliment, badly.

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

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

Thank you, universe.

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

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

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

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

Thanks a lot, universe!

Guy #152 and #153 – Gay dating and the true meaning of the word ‘No’…

As is to be expected from a gay Guy over 30, rejection is an integral part of my daily routine. After all, most 20 year olds believe there was a time I roamed the Earth with dinosaurs.
I rarely initiate a conversation with anyone on Grindr, but when I do it’s usually with someone younger and in my opinion cuter than me. Sometimes I am successful. Other times not so much.

I do however maintain one very simple rejection policy: If a Guy ignores me or tells me he’s not into me, I will not hit up that same person again. Ever. I simply don’t enjoy rejection enough to make a habit of it, which is hard enough as it is when you’re a gay Guy over 30.

Equipped with a reasonably good looking body and a not at all unattractive face by dinosaur standards, I spend quite some time rejecting people as well. Most Guys that hit me up are old enough to have experienced the last ice age. Some are even over 40!

My policy for rejecting is akin to the one for rejection. When I have no interest in someone, I either ignore them completely or, if they’ve taken the effort to say something nice, I tell them politely, with a smiley to ease the pain. This too I do only once.

And that’s where things get interesting. And irritating.

For reasons I often wonder about the gay scene is riddled with Guys who don’t take No for an answer. In fact, it seems perfectly normal for people of all ages to keep sending me the same opening line, the same dick pic, the same ass pic and the same grainy face pic over and over and over again. My dating apps are filled with hundreds of unread messages.

It baffles me why someone would set himself up for rejection at regular intervals. No means no, does it not?


One night, as I was aching for some fun in a gay sauna, someone reached for my testicles. Up till that moment it had been a slow night for me. I had seen some Guys I fancied, but all of them had avoided me as one would a T-Rex. Still, the Guy currently grabbing my testicles was by no means the kind of prey I had given up my night’s sleep for, so I pushed his hand back the way it came and proceeded walking as if I had somewhere else to be.
To my annoyance, said testicle grabber went in pursuit of me and it wasn’t long before he started touching me again. When I turned around to say something about it I was greeted by a friendly, slightly desperate, but nevertheless inviting smile, and I started thinking: Maybe I should lower my ridiculously high standards. Maybe this Guy is the universe’s way of telling me I need to learn how to settle. Granted, the string of rejections that had preceded our encounter no doubt fueled my lenient attitude, as I empathized with this Guy and his not exactly pretty face but not at all half bad body that could have been less gross were it not for its random snippets of chest hair.

No one likes to reject someone. Rejecting the same person twice is even harder. And my ego wasn’t going strong that night.

So I listened to my frail ego, which I often mistake for the universe trying to tell me stuff. The Guy I had rejected before now became Guy #152. I don’t really remember what we did exactly, except that it was brief and heartless, and in many ways still a form of rejection. Afterward, Guy #152 asked for my phone number, to which I said I wasn’t sure if we’d be seeing each other again. He pointed out the odds of us seeing each other again would be bigger if he had my phone number. To settle the issue of us ever seeing each other again, I gave Guy #152 a kiss on the cheek and told him we’d let fate decide if and when we’d meet again. The universe hasn’t brought us together since.

Feeling regret over the fact I had committed pity sex because I once again mistook my ego for the universe I found myself in a steam room later that night, where Guy #153 came out of nowhere and pushed his penis into my mouth. I angrily pushed him away and turned my head down, a rejection as obvious as they come.
Still, Guy #153 was undeterred, almost as if he could see my insecurities and subsequent lack of defenses. As if me rejecting him hadn’t just happened he donaldtrumped his way to my lips once more and stuck his penis in between them with a sense of entitlement that would have gotten me mad on any other day, but when I looked up to take a look at the Guy I was now more or less giving it to, I saw that his face might have been somewhat attractive had it not been for his beard. Maybe the universe was talking to me again. After all, why else would I be aroused by Guy #153’s dominance?

The arousal lasted for about five seconds, after which I realized I was only susceptible to dominance because I so happened to lack a backbone. The very thing that turned me on I now resented, so I pushed back Guy #153 a second time and said: “You’re welcome,” referring to the 5 second blowjob I had just given him. Guy #153 laughed, this time accepting the rejection, and went on his way.

No means no, but a lot of gay Guys continue making endless efforts to turn a no into a yes of sorts. I guess it makes sense: When sex becomes a commodity, most people set up camp in the gray area, whether they’re rejected or the one doing the rejecting.

Counting on people’s lack of self esteem seems to be a genuine hunting strategy, online and elsewhere. That’s why I have hundreds of unread Grindr messages that keep piling up, because people anticipate the day my ego renders me defenseless.

Defenseless, or older than 40. Whichever comes first.






Guy #148 – Three out of three…

If planet Earth houses 7 billion people, it’s safe to say a few hundred million of those people are Guys who enjoy mating with other Guys.

On the other hand, of all the hundreds of millions of gay Guys this planet has to offer, frustratingly few of them set up camp on remote tropical paradises.

Life in the Caribbean was nice, but after spending a total of seven years under the sun I was drawn back to a gayer place: Home. I had spent some time in the Netherlands over the years, dating Guys here and there, but I had never settled there as a gay person. The last time I truly lived in my home country had been nearly ten years prior, around the time I ‘clumsied’ around with Guys #1 through #4.

So I moved back home and went online, only to discover something: Local gay scenes are often small, libido driven hamlets where everybody knows your name if not your selfie. Though known for its lustrous gay life, most people I met in Amsterdam were already a friend of a Facebook friend.

Guy #148 was no exception.

The first time I learned of Guy #148’s existence was when Guy #108 befriended me. Going over Guy #108’s wall I saw many pictures of him with two other guys. One of those Guys would later become Guy #130 and the other one was Guy #148.

So when Guy #148 and I got in touch online I already knew two of his best friends. That feeling people supposedly have when they get to yell Bingo, that’s the feeling I was chasing when I suggested the two of us meet up for a drink.

While I showed interest in Guy #148 during our date, I don’t remember a single thing we talked about. I do remember him showing some reluctance in getting physical. That worried me a little. If you’ve done two out three stooges it just seems silly to not get horizontal with the third.

So I got tactical.

I entertained my date by means of doing interesting conversation stuff, asking questions, making him feel at home, validated…until the time had come no more trains were leaving Amsterdam.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘we’ve been talking for so long, I lost track of time. I don’t mean to intrude, but I kind of need a place to sleep.’

And so Guy #148 offered me to spend the night in his bed, where we exchanged mildly satisfying sexual favors for about fifteen minutes before going to sleep.

Bingo. Three out of three.

Things weren’t exactly romantic when we woke up next morning. I saw little reason to continue treating Guy #148 as if I found him interesting, and on some level he must have felt he was no more than a score card.

We parted ways way before breakfast and never spoke to each other again. We didn’t even become Facebook friends.

It’s not that I didn’t find Guy #148 interesting. I remember he was. I know for a fact I really enjoyed our conversation. I just hadn’t flown back home to have a conversation. I had flown back to consume the gay scene I had left behind nearly ten years earlier. Guy #148 was simply the first familiar face on a long list of semi-familiar faces, friends of familiar faces and the occasional actual new face.

While I never considered my years in the Caribbean a waste of time, I was now ready to finally enjoy gay life to the full, which, considering I already had sex with 147 Guys, seems like a bit of a spoiled attitude, which it was, which is probably why Guy #148 didn’t bother to make me breakfast.

Come to think of it, ever since I moved back to the Netherlands I probably consumed more Guys than breakfasts.

At the time of Guy #148 I didn’t know it, but I still had so much to learn.

Lucky for me there are a few hundred million Gay guys on the planet.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand, but mostly just a sleepover
SEX SCORE (0 = The concept of Facebook friends <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #131 – The ring beard…

Blessed with everything but a plan or even the slightest idea of what I wanted to do with my life, I moved to the island of Curaçao in October of 2013.

For a few years I lived in this tiny country, cocooned from the outside world by its climate, the beaches, the rum, the air conditioning and the fact I was one of only a few white Guys on Grindr.

On the downside, I was also one of the few Guys actually on Curaçao. On bad days the bottom 50 Guys appearing on my Grindr screen were literally an ocean away from me, stuck in Venezuela or Colombia.

With a population of just 150,000 people, Curaçao had no gay life to speak of. It was friendly to gays, but by no means hospitable, or facilitating for that matter.

Discouraged by the lack of doable Guys in my vicinity I decided to be polite when Guy #131 hit me up online, saying he liked my selfies. I didn’t consider it much of a compliment. In this corner of the Earth I was one of the few online people who even had selfies.

Still, it was nice talking to a gay Guy again. That hadn’t happened in weeks. Guy #131’s job consisted of writing copy for gay porn sites. It struck me as the easiest job in the world, getting paid to write about sex. When I shifted through some of the sites Guy #131 referred me to I was appalled by the number of mistakes and errors there were to be found in his copywriting efforts. I instantly knew I would be so much better at this job than Guy #131 was.

So I accepted Guy #131’s invitation for drinks at his place, hoping to learn how one can get paid writing about sex. It was more of a mission than a date, one that did not start off well: I had just parked my car and slammed the door when I realized my keys were still inside. My car, much like my date, was kind of old. Its lack of electrical windows allowed Guy #131, his landlord and his landlord’s friend to pry one open far enough to get my keys back. It had taken them a good 15 minutes.

Relieved as I was to know I still had a working car at my disposal, it came with a price, namely my diminished amount of self worth: Here I was, in a strange country, where I knew absolutely no one and my first date had to witness me being completely incompetent by locking myself out of my car.

My intention had been to seduce Guy #131 up to the point he would tell me how to get paid writing about stuff people do in gay porn. I had anticipated my charm to be enough to sway him, but our little paradise by the dashboard light had killed my mojo.

Once inside Guy #131 showed me more of his work as he spoke about working in the porn industry. From what I gathered all he ever did was write captions for porn videos. And they were awful. So I asked how one becomes a writer in porn, but no matter how I phrased it, I never got a clear answer. Instead he showed me some more porn videos and started touching me. Determined to get my first job as a paid writer I kissed him when he tried to.


It was in that moment I realized his ring beard was all the hair he had. It’s not that I hadn’t seen his baldness before. I just hadn’t registered it as such. Now that he was about to do a porn routine on me I could only think Guy #131 was kind of weird looking with that silly ring beard, not unattractive, but too weird to be pretty regardless.

There are one or two wholly painless sexual positions where one person can be completely passive. Those were the positions I attained as Guy #131 went down on me. It was the kind of sex where I wished for a magazine to make the time pass quicker.

Afterward, he turned off the porn and started inquiring about my life. I told him about this blog I maintained at the time and how it got over a 100 views on a good day. Even before our date was over I knew I would always regret letting a ring beard this outlandishly peculiar go to second base without giving me a single clue about living off the internet first.

I continued my inquiry for good manner, but in the end all he told me was that someone had asked him to do this job. Basically, Guy #131 got to give oral in exchange for telling me he owed his job to one of the 7 billion people on this planet.

I did end up thanking Guy #131 for helping me out with my car key earlier. Leaving had indeed become my top priority as our date progressed. He contacted me a few times afterward, but I pretended to be one of 7 billion people.

My reason for going on a date with Guy #131 was to get information. I was armed with my charm and well received selfies. Guy #131 met up with me to get laid. He was armed with information.

Even as one of the few white Guys in a little tropical paradise, I suck at playing the game sometimes.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Drinks with sex involved somehow
SEX SCORE (0 = Being stared at by an octopus <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2,5

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.


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

Guys #114, #115, #116 and #117 – The most dangerous drug of all…

Drugs will forever be a part of our lives, whether it’s nicotine, weed, alcohol, cocaine, XTC, roofies, poppers, ketamine, speed or the most dangerous drug of all: Intimacy.

The high Intimacy provides is unrivaled by any substance, but like all drugs, Intimacy is only fun by the token of its risk: Dosage is key and I for one suck at dosing Intimacy. Go easy on the Intimacy and you can’t help but crave a little extra. Go overboard and you OD on your own misery.
Added to this, Intimacy is the one drug you can’t dose by yourself. At the very least it requires two people to get it right. Achieving a successful high on Intimacy is like walking toward each other on a high wire and exchanging a hug without plunging to your death.


On the surface dating is about finding ways to fit genitals into other people and the gay scene is unbelievably facilitating in that respect. Scratch the surface however and you quickly find people hiding behind their genitals, people like Guy #114, #115, #116 and #117, people whose genitals led their tepid quest for Intimacy.

Guys #114 through #117 all had one thing in common: I had nothing to offer them except my body. It’s not that I didn’t like them or that I didn’t find them attractive. I simply had no Intimacy to give. Not everybody you meet is someone you want to cuddle on a high wire. At the same time everyone – and I do mean everyone – is constantly on alert for someone willing to do Intimacy together. We say we’re not in it for the feelings the same way people read Playboy for the articles: We lie.

The result is a scene where everybody tries to maintain his balance and when sex becomes a commodity, people tend to plummet.

Guy #114 was a kindergarten teacher. I taught him a lesson by laying him down on my countertop for a good five minutes. It was fun, but all the while I couldn’t help but imagine this slutty piece of human standing in front of a dozen toddlers singing songs about Old MacDonald and his farm. Sure, kindergarten teachers can be greedy bottoms as much as anyone, but I’m not the type who enjoys thinking about toddlers during sex.

Guy #115 was a reclusive Asian who for reasons I will never understand neglected to shave his armpits. They were sweaty and disgusting. He contacted me many times after our first and only date, but his armpits were sweaty and disgusting.

Guy #116 had a gorgeous body featuring an interesting skin condition. He assured me it wasn’t contagious, but I wasn’t quite comfortable going to fifth base with someone who needed Vaseline literally everywhere but his fifth base. Still, when his skin condition indeed turned out to be benign, I met up with him a few more times, until he became irritated I couldn’t meet up with him every week. Irritation soon led to anger, to which I tend not to respond.

Guy #117 was unremarkably cute. The sex was unremarkably pleasant. He wanted to meet up another time, but I deemed him too unremarkable. The end.

If Guys #114 through #117 would ever ask me why I held off on seeing them again, I would tell them I was just in it for the sex, but it would of course be a lie. I lie as often as I’m lied to. We all know we lie, but it’s not like we have a choice: Intimacy is a dangerous drug. We all crave it as much as we fear it and when we find it all the strength in the world isn’t enough to prevent us from getting addicted to it. I didn’t reject Guys #114 through #117 because the sex was bad or because there was anything fundamentally wrong with them. They simply couldn’t give me the high I was looking for and I let them plummet the moment I realized they looked for it in me.

I’m an addict, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything in search of my fix. It’s what I do to people. It’s what people do to me. One day I might find an addict like me, someone equally bad at dosing Intimacy. It will be awesome, mind blowing, overwhelming and possibly life shattering.

I want it to be today, but I hope the day never comes.

French daredevil Jean Francois Gravelot, a.k.a 'The Great Blondin,' tightrope walks across the Niagara River Gorge carrying his manager, Harry Colcord, on his back, August 19, 1859. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)


“Ballad of the sad young men”

Sing a song of sad young men, glasses full of rye
All the news is bad again, kiss your dreams goodbye

All the sad young men, sitting in the bars
Knowing neon lights, and missing all the stars

All the sad young men, drifting through the town
Drinking up the night, trying not to drown

All the sad young men, singing in the cold
Trying to forget, that they’re growing old

All the sad young men, choking on their youth
Trying to be brave, running from the truth

Autumn turns the leaves to gold, slowly dies the heart
Sad young men are growing old, that’s the cruelest part

All the sad young men, seek a certain smile
Someone they can hold, for just a little while

Tired little girl, does the best she can
Trying to be gay, for a sad young man

While a grimy moon, watches from above
All the sad young men, who play at making love

Misbegotten moon shine for sad young men
Let your gentle light guide them home again
All the sad, sad, sad, young men

(Frances Landesman)



Relationship summaries:

Guy #114
LENGTH: 15 minutes

FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to Darth Vader <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

GUY #115
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to Jabba the Hut <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

GUY #116
LENGTH: 2 months
FORMAT: Occasional bootie call on speed dial
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to Yoda <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.2

GUY #117
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Waking up next to George Lucas <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #89 – Divide and conquer…

DSCN3886 - Copy (3)

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 #49 – Knocking on heaven’s door…




In October of 2009 I landed a job that required me to spend a few months in Madison, Wisconsin. I was given a car, a hotel room, a laptop and a salary. In return I had to spend my days in a classroom getting a basic feel for the software my employer developed.

I did get a basic understanding of how computers work.

I also got gonorrhea.

If you give a predatory gay guy a hotel room, a laptop, a car and money, he will thrive like Donald Trump at a KKK rally. Getting dates in Wisconsin is easy when you have a car, money and a hotel room at your disposal.,,,,, and Facebook were but a few of the online places where one could get gonorrhea in 2009. Like I said, I had gotten a basic understanding of how computers work.

Guy #49 was as lovely as he was hot. Of all the Guys I had browsed in the Madison area he was by far the cutest, so I hooked up with him first. We had a great evening in my hotel room. He even spent the night with me. I love falling asleep in someone’s arms, even if they belong to a stranger.

When this stranger called me a week later I was thrilled, expecting an invitation for a second date. Why else would someone call me after spending the night with me?
“I’ve been having this weird painful feeling in my ass for a few days,” Guy #49 told me over the phone. It struck me as an odd choice of words to initiate a second date. He continued by saying he had seen a doctor and that he had been diagnosed with gonorrhea.

I had never disobeyed the rules of safe sex, but I guess I did bend them on a few occasions, such as that time with Guy #49. Gays often don’t use a condom when they knock on heaven’s door.

At the advice of Guy #49 I made a doctor’s appointment.
However, before I even made it to a doctor peeing became as frequent as it became hurtful and my penis started secreting slimy stuff as if it was auditioning for a role in Ghostbusters.

I’m all for gay pride, but I didn’t feel much of it when I pulled down my pants in front of my doctor and a nurse.
Two days after that glorious moment I called Guy #49.
“So I tested positive for gonorrhea too,” I said.
“Well, I’m glad we both know now.”
What followed was a conversation in which we both stated it didn’t matter who had given gonorrhea to whom, even though we both thought we had gotten it from each other.

Guy #49 made me realize how lucky I am not to have been born 20 years earlier, when AIDS consumed a generation, or 20 years later, when antibiotics may no longer be effective as they have been for me. 20 years earlier and I might not have lived past the 1980s. 20 years later and I would have spent a lifetime peeing in agony.

These days a lot of gay guys do more than just knocking on heaven’s door without a condom. Nearly everybody claims to practice nothing but safe sex, yet whenever you get down to it you’ll find that a shockingly large number of people are willing to make an ‘exception’ for you. I don’t think safe sex is the standard anymore.

Sometimes I wonder if there will be another generation of gay guys traumatized by a disease they alone appear to be vulnerable for. Knocking on heaven’s door might not be that much of a metaphor ten years from now.

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Guy #49 and I never had a second date. Gonorrhea is simply more disgusting than casual sex is pleasurable. Seriously, I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone to be grossed out by their own penis.

It took me one pill to shed the disease from me. Regardless, I felt shame being part of a statistic, a certain group of people that gets an STD. I even felt shame toward my employer. It’s not that I ever told my boss about my Ghostbusters audition, but I did feel bad getting gonorrhea at his expense.

Also, I had to refrain from having sex for a while. Suddenly the hotel room, the car, the laptop and the money had lost their value.

I did learn a lot more about how computers work though.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 8 hours, followed by two awkward phone conversations
FORMAT: Intimate sleepover
SEX SCORE (0 = Gonorrhea <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.7


Guy #34 – Hunter or prey…





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Relationship summary:

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

Guy #16 – Mi casa…





I know enough Portuguese to get a guy to have sex with me. Two words, to be precise:

Mi casa

I didn’t even say those words to Guy #16. Instead I wrote them down on my cell phone for him to read.
Guy #16 nodded in agreement.

For those of you less eloquent than I am: Mi casa means My place, which is short for Hey, your looks attract me to the point I want to do stuff to your body in exchange for stuff you do to mine so that we may both experience pleasure, a potential ego boost and someone to be hung over with the next morning, at my place.
The language of sex dating is very efficient.

Mind you, Guy #16 and I had eyed each other a lot of times before I showed him my invitation. We both frequented the same tiny gay scene. We both knew it would only be a matter of time before we’d do each other. Mi casa merely sealed the bond we had already established.

I guess it goes without saying at this point that Guy #16´s only language of output was Portuguese. After we left the dance floor of our country´s only gay night club we ended up in a taxi. Before we got to the part that included sex, he took me to a place I can only describe as a Brazilian whorehouse, where promiscuously dressed women made half hearted attempts to seduce me, as they did with every man they saw.

I wasn’t sure why Guy #16 insisted on stopping by this shady place at 4 AM in the morning, but I welcomed the experience. I remember it being shady as much as it was gay friendly.

Guy #16 introduced me to a whole new tiny subculture of the country we lived in at the time, consisting of often illegal Brazilian gold miners who spent their hard earned money on equally hard working women. The men spent their entire week in the jungle, aching to find gold. The women spent their entire weekend giving the men a purpose to ache.

Guy #16 felt at home in this place. Maybe that’s why he had taken me there, as a non-verbal introduction to his life. He introduced me to some of his friends, all of which spoke Portuguese. They all welcomed me into their circle. I might have felt awkward were it not for the alcohol I got offered.

The sun was already rising when Guy #16 and I finally grabbed a taxi again. This time the destination was sex, but the journey was a silent one. Mi casa was the only thing we could agree upon.

When Guy #16 and I finally got around to having sex together, things got lovely. I learned it’s not a big deal if a guy comes quickly, provided he can do it twice.

Only we somehow ended up doing it twice at his place.

Also, I would later find out that mi casa is in fact Spanish, not Portuguese.





Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 year
FORMAT: Three or four sex dates, even one at my place
SEX SCORE:  (0 = Fifty Shades of Grey featuring Anita Bryant <–> 10 = The best sex ever):  8.4

Guy #6 – Sex with chocolate chip cookies…




Did I mention Guy #5 had a boyfriend?

Well, he did and a few days after spending a night at Guy #5’s place while his boyfriend was away on business, he introduced me to this boyfriend. In doing so, he also introduced me to the concept of open relationships.

Guy #5’s boyfriend would become Guy #6, in case you didn’t see that one coming. It would be my first ever threesome.

Guest starring in a couple’s sex life can be intense. It will teach you there’s no such thing as “just sex”. Just because a relationship is open, does not mean sex isn’t an issue.

And while the idea of a threesome might seem like a good one in movies and fantasies, the reality of it is that, at any given moment, one person will get less attention than the other two. That’s just a mathematical certainty. Add even a smidgen of insecurity to a threesome and you got yourself a cock fight.

As I was doing things with Guy #6, he would very often look at Guy #5, his eyes begging permission for whatever he was doing with me.

Although Guy #5 was very involved in our threesome at first, the night ended with me and Guy #6 having sex, while Guy #5 was sitting upright on his side of the bed, eating cookies, passively waiting for the sex to be over.


Granted, it wasn’t a cock fight in the traditional sense, meaning there weren’t any direct casualties. People did get hurt, though. At least, I think they did. I felt hurt after Guy #5 had grabbed his bowl of chocolate chip snacks, signaling that the party was over. Perhaps it was wrong of me to continue having a go at Guy #6. Maybe I should have called it quits when cookie #1 entered the scene.

At the time, Guy #5 and Guy #6 had been together for over half a decade. Sex may become a commodity over the years, but intimacy doesn’t. Despite the pure sexual tension I had seen in gay porn, to me it seemed impossible to tread on another couple’s sex life without trespessing on their love life as well.

As I was busy performing oral duties on Guy #6, his boyfriend actually offered us both a cookie. Led by a different kind of hunger, I rejected his generous offer. Guy #6 did have one, though. I guess he wasn’t in a position to reject anything his boyfriend threw at him.

In all fairness, I should point out it’s perfectly possible that the cause of all the tension was me. I had been nervous from the moment I realized I was going to be part of a threesome. I was afraid my relative sexual inexperience would be a factor. I wondered if perhaps there was some kind of “threesome etiquette” I ought to know about. Perhaps my own insecurities had transposed onto Guy #5 and Guy #6.

Then again, who in their right mind starts eating chocolate chip cookies in the midst of a threesome?

I guess sex is always an emotional experience. It’s part of what can make it fun. In movies and fantasies at least.
As you might expect from a site called, Guy #5 and Guy #6 weren’t my last threesome. After my first experience I concluded it was an area worth exploring, but not chasing.

Somehow Guy #5 and Guy #6 had struck the right balance with me.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 7 years and counting
Sex date followed by friendship that lasts till this day
SEX SCORE (0 sitting next to a smelly person on the subway and 10 being the best sex ever):




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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 





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