Gay sex – Page 2

Guy #87 – Trying to be me…

Sometimes I miss Guy #87.

Sexually speaking, he was the cream of the crop. He looked awesome, felt better and our performance was stellar.

When I think of Guy #87, I wonder about what could have been, what I did wrong and what he never told me.

On paper and in practice, Guy #87 was one of my wettest dreams: He was funny, sensitive, sweet, daring, considerate, manly yet boyish, a math graduate and a dancer. His torso overshadowed my own imperfections, sharing time with someone who could actually think was liberating and sizewise he wasn’t nearly as Asian as the rest of him.

The best part was that he wanted me, that he actively pursued me even. Few things boost your confidence like being chased by someone hotter than you.

Even though our relationship was mostly sexual in nature, the two of us had dates that lasted entire days. It never felt shallow.
At times I wondered if Guy #87 could be more than just the perfect Guy for in my bed. Neither one of us ever came close to using words like ‘commitment’, ‘relationship’ or ‘going off Grindr’, but given the enthusiasm with which Guy #87 kept seeing me, I sometimes played with the idea of opening up to him, to try and be me as it were.

We lived an ocean apart for most of the time we knew each other. This made dating difficult. Guy #87 would hit me up online sometimes, only to be disappointed to hear I was out of reach.
It was about two years after our last date that we were in each other’s proximity again. I contacted Guy #87 to let him know I was in his country and asked if he wanted to meet up.
“Hell yeah!” was his answer.

It would be the last time I ever saw his enthusiasm.

When we did meet up on what would become our last date, his behavior had changed. He allowed for a courteous Hi how are you I’m fine-conversation, but nothing beyond that. We had sex, which at best could be described as a distant echo of previous poundings.
After the sex we lay together for a while. It was cozy, but hardly as intimate as we had been before. I tried to initiate a second round, but it ended with Guy #87 saying: “You know, I’m not really that much of a bottom.”

Two years earlier he had done the exact opposite of saying that.

I’m not sure if it’s typical of the gay scene or if it’s just a human thing: Sometimes you meet someone, you hit it off nicely, you have a great time, the sex is great, you tell each other how great everything is and then, without warning, the other person stops making things great for some great unknown reason.

Guy #87 never hurt me, but the way we left things has always puzzled me. Did I do something wrong? Was I too eager? Or perhaps too distant? Should I have said how much I liked his brain? Or did he have issues he didn’t feel like sharing? And if that’s the case, I wonder if it’s something trivial or big, and why the change happened so suddenly.

Sometimes life throws you people who leave you with questions. I’m sure there are Guys who still have questions about me: the Guy who snored, the Guy with braces, the Guy who wasn’t perfect enough, to name but a few.

I suppose Guy #87’s sudden change of heart was karma for all the times I ghosted people who thought I was into them. Maybe Guy #87 was never really into me. Maybe he just sucked at rejecting people, like I do.

Or maybe the CIA did something to that lovely brain of his.

Yeah, it’s probably the CIA.

(I use ‘blaming the CIA for my failed relationships’ as a coping mechanism. When you think about it, it’s really sad how often the CIA has pulled the plug on my love life.)

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 years
FORMAT: 4 dates spread over a long time
SEX SCORE (0 = Being Pacman <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.8

Guy #84 – The stalker…

A fact of life is that some people are crazy. And sometimes you find out someone is crazy after exchanging bodily fluids and phone numbers.

Guy #84 and I spent about an hour together. It was good. He was very passionate, funny, kind and made me feel completely at ease.

He liked me as well.

I know, because I had forty missed calls the morning after.
Over seventy on the second day.
About thirty on the third.

In between came the text messages. The first one went something like Hey, why are you not picking up? Are you there? About four or five text messages later I was bombarded by F-bombs, raging obscenities and uncontrolled anger, interwoven with desperate pleas for contact.

The sex between us had been so good I had given Guy #84 not just my phone number, I had also deemed him worthy of a Facebook friendship.

Within days he began attacking some of my cute looking Facebook friends, informing them of the kind of slut I was. (As if my cute looking Facebook friends didn’t already know.)
To date, Guy #84 has been the only person I ever had to block on Facebook, and that’s saying something.

I should hope it goes without saying I had no intention of seeing Guy #84 ever again at this point. Nothing is as unattractive as a stalker.

Except of course a stalker that quits.

I have to say I was somewhat disappointed to get but thirty missed calls on the third day. I could sense Guy #84 was giving up the fight. Indeed, the few missed calls I got on the fourth day were obligatory at best, but hardly suffocating like they were a few days before.

To his credit, Guy #84 proceeded by creating a fake Facebook account, from which he contacted me posing as his friend. His so called ‘friend’ said Guy #84 had some psychological problems and asked if I was willing to forgive his shortcomings and give him another chance.

But after ignoring Guy #84’s fake friend the stalking stopped, barely a week after it got started.

In my opinion, the Oxford dictionary should define the word stalkers as follows:

Stalkers: Crazy people who are fully aware of their own insanity, which doesn’t make them crazy, just weak, manipulative and downright evil. Or, to phrase it liberally: Stalkers are chickens too afraid to love themselves.

But darn it, are they good at sex!

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 week
FORMAT: One time hook-up, followed by one week stalking spree
SEX SCORE (0 = “The call is coming from inside the house” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guys #59 through #79 – To sex or not to sex…

I have a confession to make.

I’m not entirely sure how many Guys I’ve had sex with in my lifetime.

Yes, this site is called 168guys.com, but in all honesty 168 is just a ballpark figure. I had already bought the domain name when I created an Excel document listing all my sexual escapades.
As it turned out I could not remember all the Guys I’ve ever been with.

How do you lose track of the people you had sex with, a good Christian might ask.

The answer is orgies.

The year was 2010 and I found myself in what was arguably the most gay friendly place on Earth: A shady dance floor occupied by about 150 naked Guys, of which I was one.

As with many of my sexual experiences, I had fun, but not because of the sex. It was fun because it was interesting.

First of all, when you’re naked and you share a space with 150 people who are also naked and you’re all there to be naked and have sex with other naked people, some Guys make the assumption anyone’s testicles are up for grabs. Anyone’s, including mine.

I removed quite a few hands from my balls in 2010.

Also, an orgy with 150 Guys changes the meaning of the word ‘sex’.

When someone pushes you against a wall and starts to kiss you and then suddenly four or five other Guys show up and start participating, does that mean I had sex with five or six Guys? Some touched me, some kissed me, some tried to go a little further. Some I allowed to go a little further.

So did I really do 20 Guys on one night? It all depends on one’s definition of sex. For me it depends on having an Excel document that has to sum up 168 Guys in total. I needed 20 Guys to make that work. How many Guys I really did that night?
First, it depends on the definition of sex. Second, I have no clue.

I don’t have anything against orgies, but I believe the people I was with misunderstood the concept of an orgy because they misunderstood the concept of sex. Sex is about intimacy. It’s perfectly possible to share something intimate with 150 people, provided it’s not a drug induced ball grabbing fest aimed solely at lifting our egos above the discomfort of mediocrity.
Because that’s pretty much what this particular orgy was all about.

There was no naughty secrecy, no sense of breaking boundaries together, no intimacy of any kind. In fact, the Guys all acted cold and goal oriented. Nobody was nice to anyone. Everybody merely consumed everybody for the sake of consumption.

In fairness, I was probably the only Guy not on drugs that night. When you’re in a room with 150 naked Guys on XTC, roofies and poppers, sobriety tends to warp reality. Maybe I would have enjoyed myself more if I had taken the effort to get on the same wavelength as Guys #59 through #79.

Still, it was to sex or not to sex for them. Nothing else seemed to matter. I’ve done drugs, but I’ve never found myself on that wavelength.

As the evening progressed, tissues started scattering the floor like stars lighting up the night sky. Eventually, the music softened, the mood got killed and more and more people put their clothes back on. And then everybody dispersed on the streets outside, going back to being the total strangers they were before.

I took a streetcar back home. I consciously observed my fellow passengers. In all likelihood, none of them had any idea I had just attended a gay orgy. It felt like I was carrying a big secret with me. I imagine there were 150 Guys spread throughout the city, feeling the same.

I like Amsterdam.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: “Relationship”? Really?
SEX SCORE (0 = Your name on a Starbucks cup <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

Guy #52 – LOST…

Wisconsin gets dark at night.

Being the hazel eyed slightly toned latino twink that he was, Guy #52 was my kind of hot in each and every way. I simply had to meet up with him and make my dream of having sex with him come true. He hadn’t shown that much enthusiasm for our date, so when I convinced him to let me come over I did not play hard to get. I persuaded him to give me his address and said I would be there in half an hour. I instinctively felt it would be my only window of opportunity with this Guy.

That was his reply to my See you in 30 minutes!:). He was just barely okay with me showing up at his doorstep. I had to move quickly. I opened up Google maps and discovered that Wisconsin is kind of big.

Big and dark.

Being the expert navigator that I am and lacking a printer, I drew out the roads I was supposed to take on a piece of paper. I figured I was enough of a left-brain thinker to make that work.

It was about 45 minutes later when I first called Guy #52 to tell him I’d be there in five minutes.

Realizing that Guy #52 was barely k with me being there in 30, I started getting desperate around 60.

I really did my best to find his house, but every turn drove me further off the map I had drawn. I ended up on busy highways headed to Chicago and tiny country roads that led to places like ‘Prairie du Suc’ or ‘Sauk city’.

When I called Guy #52 for the third time he tried to guide me in like an airliner being flown by a stewardess. As the conversation continued, so did my anxiety. Guy #52 sounded irritated when he told me he had never heard of the places I was driving through. I said I was sorry. Twice.
I was losing him.

I decided to follow road signs that got me into Downtown Madison and work my way out from there.

I took me another 45 minutes to get back to the point I first got lost. I was running out of fuel and not carrying any money. My phone credit was close to zero. It was now or never.

I called Guy #52.
‘I can see your car,’ was the first thing he said.
I wanted to reply, but my phone ran out of juice that very moment. All I knew was that Guy #52 had seen me. For the first time in a long time I felt hope.

Then I saw someone flickering his lights in an apartment building a block away. My gut told me it had to be him.

To my relief it was.

His place looked familiar. I had already driven by it one and a half hour earlier.

Even though Wisconsin was frozen, I stepped out of my car sweating. I literally had to catch my breath. From driving.

I can’t say Guy #52 and I hit it off well.

He was as gorgeous as his selfies and his k turned out to mean way more than ‘just okay’. But we both had lived through 2 hours of my ineptness as a navigator. Our relationship was based on irritability and ineptitude.

The sex was pretty good, but not what it could have been either. I was mostly relieved I got to have any. I was so busy being thankful for the gift that I almost neglected enjoying the gift itself.
Guy #52 also felt relief. I think the sex made him let go of his irritability.

However, it was already late and both of us had lives the next day. Guy #52 told me he was busy moving to Milwaukee, wanting to try his luck there. I jokingly said I know where Milwaukee is on the map. Guy #52 did not laugh. Maybe it was too soon for jokes about my ineptitude.

Fifteen minutes was a really short time for being with Guy #52. I avidly wished it could have been longer, but I think our key traits, irritability and ineptitude, resurfaced after we both had our relief.

I never saw Guy #52 again.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours and 15 minutes
FORMAT: Searching for each other, followed by 15 minutes of sex
SEX SCORE (0 = The taste of Donald Trump’s hair <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #32 and #33 – Stroke that ego…

There’s one very simple moral to every story here on 168guys.com: Love and sex are inseparable. If you’re looking for sex you’re looking for love.

While quite a few gay people told me they enjoy reading this blog, some have trouble accepting its message.

When I look around it’s as if people want to live in a world where love and sex can live apart.

Which is why gay saunas exist. They help maintain the illusion that sex can be a commodity.

Granted, we don’t have sex with total strangers because we want to love total strangers. We have sex with total strangers because we want to love ourselves, if only for a short while.

Gay guys visit gay saunas because we are lured by our egos.

I’m not judging by the way.

There’s nothing wrong with having someone stroke your ego every so often. It’s what it’s there for.

We say it’s just sex, so we may pretend hurt is off the menu.

But when you go to a place where people wear towels instead of clothes you expose your needy ego to the elements it craves the most. That can be a risky game.

I met Guy #32 in a whirlpool. As is so often the case in whirlpools, words were never part of our relationship. We looked at each other, got within lip range and started kissing.

Guy #32 was very cute in my opinion. My ego started salivating like a Pavlovian dog when he touched me at places my ego likes to be touched the most.

Guy #32 was also just the beginning, because a minute or so into our relationship, Guy #33 came out of nowhere and slid himself and his gorgeous body into the whirlpool. He sat down right next to me.

I found myself right smack in the middle of two beautiful naked guys that either kissed me, touched me or both. Sure it was just about sex, but I couldn’t help but feel like being one of the cool kids. I had never felt like a cool kid before.

I was finally at a place where my own sexuality had matured to the point reality was on par with my fantasies. My ego opened up and settled in for the trip to heaven.

That’s when Guy #32 and #33 got up and walked away, leaving me alone in my whirlpool.

They didn’t say anything. They just left. Together.

At first I figured I had fallen victim to a simple communication error, something easily remedied. So I got up and followed Guy #32 and #33. I found them making out in a steam room. As soon as they noticed my presence they got up and walked away.

It wasn’t a communication hiccup. It was a cold hearted rejection. Guy #32 and #33 wanted something that didn’t involve me. That was unfortunate, as I had just exposed my bare ego on the assumption I was one of the cool kids.

Maybe I was too sensitive to be satisfying my sexuality through sex instead of love. Maybe I should never have gone to gay saunas. Being shunned from a threesome hurts. I can’t pretend it didn’t. It may very well have been the first moment I ever realized there is no such thing as just sex.

At the time I didn’t quite understand why I felt hurt. My previous sexual encounters had already made me feel attractive and cute. I knew I had no reason for feeling insecure, but no rationalization could keep me from feeling the way I did: Like an unattractive and undoable outsider.

It felt like being a virgin again. It reminded me of that time I was convinced no one would ever see the beauty in me.

Gay saunas is where the umbilical cord between love and sex is stretched to its limit. But no matter how thin the cord is stretched, it never breaks.

It took me a good half hour to get over Guy #32 and #33. I allowed both to become a part of my past when I ran into Guy #34 later that night, but that’s another story.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1-2 minutes
FORMAT: Foreplay followed up by exclusion
SEX SCORE BEFORE REJECTION (0 = What Hitler felt like when he was rejected from art school <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9
SEX SCORE AFTER REJECTION: N/A (sadly)

Guy #27 – Recreationship…

Sex is a bit like drugs.

If you know how to use drugs wisely, a lot of them can be fun.

Sex is the one drug we should embrace as a society. It is pretty well established that the more people smoke weed, the less people get upset about it. It’s the same with sex.

So while we shouldn’t get high 24/7, on the special occasion you do the best idea is to simply enjoy it as much as you can.

This was my mindset the night I met Guy #27.

His opening line was Do you know that you are very beautiful? It was in that moment I decided I was going to enjoy him as much as I could.

We talked a little over very loud music. I’m not a fan of extremely loud club music, but I do like how it forces you to be in each other’s space when you’re talking. It makes the whole seduction ritual flow ever so smoothly. The noise causes proximity. The proximity causes touching. The touching causes even more touching. All the touching causes kissing and not long after that Guy #27 and I were gorging on each other like a pair of toothless zombies.

We didn’t just kiss. We ate each other.

I was in a big city in a shady night club celebrating my own sexuality. I was fully aware of the fact there were people mere feet away from us, staring at us in silent disbelief over how Guy #27 and I were going at each other.

When you have sex it’s nice not to care about what the rest of the world thinks of it.

Naturally I ended up at Guy #27’s place, a beautiful Downtown apartment overlooking the city skyline. I was living a dream.

The great thing about careless sex is that it allows you to open up to someone. Guy #27 and I got to know each other quite well over the few months we dated. In some ways we had a little bit of a relationship-thing going on. We went out for dinner together. We ate breakfast together. We would talk together. We would be together.

A big city becomes so much more of an experience when you have someone to share it with.

Sexwise, the gorging stopped after our first date. The sex between us became increasingly satisfying, but neither one of us was being greedy about it anymore.

I guess you could say Guy #27 and I were both very good recreational drug users. You might argue the two of us were having a recreationship. I enjoyed being with Guy #27 the way I enjoyed a good massage or a nice dinner. Or drugs.

Guy #27 had made his home in the city we enjoyed together. To me this city was merely a stopover. Our recreationship was never meant to last.
The two of us recently got back in touch though. It’s a nice feeling when someone welcomes you back into their life after having been absent from it for years.
Guy #27 told me he has fond memories of the time we shared together. He also said he had enjoyed the sex, but that he has since gotten better at it.

I told him the same goes for me.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 2 months
FORMAT: Recreationship
SEX SCORE (0 = Club music at a funeral <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.8

Guy #22 – My looks matter too…

It can’t be denied some of the guys you find on Craigslist are hot.

Guy #22 was one of those guys.

In fact, he was the hottest guy I had ever been with up till then. And I was already at a point where that meant something.

At first I considered myself lucky. What could possibly go wrong in the presence of sheer beauty?

Well, for starters it didn’t take me long to realize Guy #22 was hotter than I was. I couldn’t help but feel sorry he had to settle for me. I felt unworthy of the sex he agreed upon.

The sex was actually modestly spectacular, for me at least. I’m not sure if Guy #22 was having any fun. I don’t think he enjoyed me as much as I him.

As we were busy performing numerous pleasures on each other’s bodies I found myself constantly in awe of the body I was performing them on. I felt sorry for my own body in return. Guy #22 must have felt my inferiority. Even if he did find me attractive, my own shame must have masked most of what I had to offer.

We followed up the sex with a shower. Again, I was uncomfortable rubbing soap on something I considered too good to be mine. I literally didn’t know how to rub things the right way.

A few days after our 45 minute encounter I talked to Guy #22 on MSN, which people still used back then. I asked if he wanted us to meet up a second time.
‘Not really,’ he said. I was flattered by his honesty, but disappointed at the same time. I wondered if I would ever get another chance to be wanted by so much beauty again. Then again, I was never that wanted. I was granted, at best.

People with good therapists tend to believe looks don’t matter. I have a MSc. in Psychology and I think looks do matter. So either I’m a lousy therapist or looks are an important part of who we become in life. That’s not an ideology. It’s an observation.

Yet I also observed how looks are fluid, how they are mostly an extension of how you feel about yourself. I believe everybody looks as attractive as they feel.

Had I felt more attractive in the presence of Guy #22, he might have wanted me a second time. Still, him granting me access to his beauty made me feel more beautiful. I know, our personalities hardly played a role. At the time I was still caught up in discovering my own personality and lacked the mental capacity to really dive into the minds of people I met through Craigslist.

Had I met Guy #22 today I probably would have tried to get to know him. I would have allowed him to know me. And then the sex might have been really spectacular, and plentiful.
We could have granted each other much more than we did.

I wasted Guy #22 and quite a few hotties after him, simply by referring to them as hotties. Whenever I consider a guy a hottie it’s an expression of insecurities about my own looks. Those insecurities prevented a lot of pleasant sex from becoming phenomenal sex.

Whenever I think back about guys like Guy #22, I often wish I could see them again. I would love to have a conversation with Guy #22, find out what makes him tick.

Then again, his Craigslist ad at the time specifically stated he was an ‘athletic top in search of NSA fun’. He never wanted our relationship to last more than an hour.

Guys often make it difficult to find love in each other.
We’re like people that way.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 45 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE: (0 = Having ‘the Talk’ with your parents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.2

Guy #21 – Looks matter…

There’s a big difference between a body and a face.

A body can be shaped. A human being can survive on blueberries, bananas, rice and oatmeal. Really, if you don’t mind bidding farewell to pasta and cramming out a hundred sit-ups every day, getting a nice body isn’t that big of an achievement.

A face however is pretty static. No amount of gym hours can change the way you look with your clothes on.

Of course, impulsive little me found that out the hard way.

You can guess where this is going.

Guy #21 had a gorgeous body. By the looks of his abs pasta was poison to him. I would have been attracted to him, were it not for the fact that his face appeared to have been drawn by Picasso.

Our paths had crossed on Craigslist, where his faceless body pic was somehow hot enough to make me want to see him. Heaven knows what the hell I was thinking.

I felt sorry for Guy #21. I’d like to believe we live in a world where everybody is equally beautiful on the outside, but the sad reality is that some people are objectively unattractive. Guy #21 probably read the disappointment in my eyes when we first met. I’m sure it was a look he had seen on other faces, perhaps even his own every time he passed a mirror.

Having been a virgin for the first 24 years of my life, I know what it’s like to go through life feeling ugly. For a long time I probably was unattractive. That’s the kind of energy I radiated. It’s the kind of energy Guy #21 radiated.

I had sex with him out of empathy.
It wasn’t great.

Yet it wasn’t awful either. And not just because of his abs. Guy #21 had a warm and loving personality, especially by Craigslist standards. And even though Craigslist was swarming with guys looking for quick fixes, it was obvious Guy #21 was looking for a connection, a bond with someone, something meaningful, however superficial.

Actually, over the years I’ve come to experience there’s no such thing as superficial sex. I just wasn’t aware of that during my date with Guy #21. Had I known Craigslist cashes in on our desire to be loved, I might have summoned up the honesty to tell him he wasn’t my type. I might have told him he should work on believing in his beauty instead of doing sit-ups to increase his sense of self worth.

A face may be static, but a brain isn’t. It took me 168 guys to appreciate how much my brain determines the way I look, 168 and counting.

I hope Guy #21 grew up to be as attractive as I am now.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: Two hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE: (0 = “I did not hit her. It’s not true. It’s bullshit. I did not hit her. I did not. Oh, hi Mark.” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6

Guy #20 – Going supernova…

Guy #20 marked the first time I ever had sex in Canada. Toronto, to be precise.

All of my previous sexual experiences had taken place either in the closet or in a small country with only one gay club. Now I had arrived in a city big enough to have its very own gay village.

I spent the summer of 2009 in and around Downtown T.O., enjoying the thought of constantly being surrounded by millions, many of whom were gay guys.

It was a time of many firsts. Sexually speaking, I went supernova that summer.

For starters, the summer of 2009 introduced me to the world of Craigslist, where gay men gathered before the rise of Grindr:

“NSA blow”
“Looking for chubby bottoms”
“Reward for your dirt”
“Fun in your hotel room”
“Dad, I need a punishment”
Those were the kind of advertisements I shifted through in search of my Guy #20, who I first came to know as “Athletic Hot Bi Guy”.

Athletic Hot Bi Guy and I got in touch through Craigslist. We exchanged a few pictures, decided we were both doable and then set up a date at his place, a beautiful penthouse in Downtown Toronto overlooking the city skyline. The scenery might actually have been prettier than Guy #20 himself.

My first ever Craigslist date went like clockwork up until the moment I suddenly had to puke. And again. And again. And then once more. And a few more times after that. I lost count eventually.

I had never heard of roofies, or that people sometimes put roofies in other people’s drinks. I do remember thinking my wine had tasted funny that night.

It wasn’t until years after my date with Guy #20 that I finally realized he had pimped up my drink. At the time I figured I had drunk too much, even though one glass of alcohol had never made me sick before.

Apart from feeling unbelievably dizzy, weak and sick, I was very much ashamed of myself. No one likes to puke on a sex date. I was so busy being ashamed of constantly hovering my head above a toilet, I neglected to fully realize how calmly Guy #20 was taking all of it. He didn’t comfort me, nor did he get in any way upset or worried. He just kept sitting on his bed, athletic and hot, waiting for me to feel better.

Of course Guy #20 knew exactly what was going on. He was probably counting himself lucky I didn’t realize I had been such a good bottom because of a roofie.

Naturally, I wish it upon Guy #20 to end up in the Emergency Room with a vacuum cleaner stuck to his parts. The sad thing is he never even needed drugs to get me. Athletic Hot Bi Guy summed him up nicely. He was athletic and hot. That’s usually enough to get me high.

To my surprise, Guy #20 later contacted me to invite me a second time. At the time it highly surprised me all my puking hadn’t been a turn-off, but I guess in his mind it was a fair price for such a good bottom.
I however didn’t feel like being reminded of my shame, so I kindly ignored Guy #20’s invitation.

So, my first sexual experience in a big city ended in a modest drug overdose. Yet at the time I wasn’t aware of that. What impressed me most was how unworldly easy it was to obtain sex in a populated area. To me, Guy #20 marked the beginning of a new era: I had definitively left behind this shy, insecure and dorky figure who couldn’t get a girlfriend. That had been me, barely two years before.

After spending the night at Guy #20’s house, recuperating from what I still thought was bad alcohol, I walked down the streets of Toronto, feeling content and satisfied.

I knew I had a busy summer ahead of me.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Windows Vista <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #18 – Sexual fast food…

The first time Guy #18 kissed me his mouth swallowed my lips like a hungry octopus. It wasn’t good.
The last time he kissed me it was like floating through space and feeling at home at the same time. It was considerably better.

In fact, all the things Guy #18 and I did were awful the first time we did them. And sexually speaking, we did a lot of things, for a long time, a lot of times.

Of all the 168 guys I’ve ever been with one way or another, Guy #18 is the guy I’ve been with the most.

Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so.

You see, Guy #18 thought the moon is a planet, among other things. It would be easy to say his IQ was barely a two digit number, but then again, that’s what Guy #18 was all about for me: Ease.

For years at an end, Guy #18 was someone I could call whenever I was in the mood for him, as if he were a pizza. He always showed up at my doorstep in thirty minutes or less.
As time progressed, so did our sex. Some of my life’s hottest and most intimate moments occurred in the sole presence of Guy #18. He was my sexual fast food. And it tasted better each time I ordered take-out.

“I love you,” he would often tell me.
“You don’t even know me,” I would reply as I made sure his mouth was engaged in something that wasn’t talking.

I would eventually realize that Guy #18 and I did in fact have a very strong and meaningful connection, albeit a one-dimensional one. Our relationship was flat like a pizza. It was just about sex, increasingly magnificent and mind blowing sex.

The only way we knew how to communicate was by way of having sex. In that sense, Guy #18 and I had some of the best conversations humanly possible. Words just weren’t a part of it.

Guy #18’s stupidity was surpassed only by my selfishness. I figure it was on account of his low IQ that he allowed me to treat him like a pizza over and over again. I never took him seriously. Part of me even embraced the fact that I could get ever increasingly awesome sex without the risk of getting hurt. Call me heartless, but people who believe the moon is a planet can’t hurt me or my feelings.

Enjoyable as fast food can be, no one wants to eat pizza every day, except maybe people who think the moon is a planet. I always knew Guy #18 would get to see me and my life from the sideline. He would always be disposable. I was never loyal, meaning I went from Guy #19 all the way through Guy #130 during the time Guy #18 was a part of my life.

As it turns out I ended up hurting Guy #18 quite a lot, though I’d like to think he also found true happiness in me, the way I found true happiness in him. True, honest, one-dimensional happiness.

The thing is, even though Guy #18 thinks the moon is a planet, I do love him. I’ve come to love his sexuality, which constitutes an important part of anyone’s personality. On the one dimension we did find each other, we came to know each other through and through.
He was quicker to acknowledge his feelings than I was.

Guy #18 definitely outsmarted me there.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 5/6 years
FORMAT: Highly intermittent love relationship based on nothing but sex somehow
SEX SCORE: (0 = A vibrator that runs on diesel <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5

Guy #17 – Not perfect enough…

I visited a gay sauna recently.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept: A gay sauna is a facility where guys have sex with anonymous strangers in dimly lit conditions.

The first guy to hit on me was a chubby guy with a funny accent.
“Hi, you pretty boy,” he said as he sat down next to me and laid his arm around my neck.
“Thank you,” I said, as I pushed his arm back where it came from.
“Where you from?”
“I live in the Caribbean.”
“Ah, Asia.”
“Not quite.”
Silently, we sat next to each other for a moment. Not wanting to be impolite, I stretched our conversation somewhat: “Where are you from?”
“Eritrea.”
“Wow. What’s it like being gay over there?”
“I’m no gay. I have wife and kids. I’m bi.”
“So does your wife know you go to gay saunas?”
“No, she not know. I’m no gay. Only once a year I come here and fuck boy. You boy.”
I wished my Eritrean bisexual acquaintance good luck on his quest for a boy that was not me.

The second guy was clearly on drugs.
“Do you think my hair looks scruffy?” he asked.
“You mean curly?”
“No, I know it’s curly. It’s supposed to be curly. It just feels scruffy. Really scruffy.”
“I don’t think anyone will notice in this light.”
“How about my teeth?”
“What about your teeth?”
“Is there plaque on my teeth?”
The guy showed me his smoker’s teeth. I told him his teeth looked fine, though he reminded me I really ought to quit smoking.

The third guy had a job at airport security. He told me he sent off passengers for flight MH 17 last year, the one that got shot down over the Ukraine.
“There was this one man who arrived at the gate late, afraid he had missed his flight. I helped him get on board. I remember his relief for having made it.”
“It must be unreal to realize you saw so many people that were just hours away from their deaths.”
“Yes, it was. I needed some time to cope with it. So, are you a bottom?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant at this point.”

It’s nights like these that make me miss people like Guy #17.

Guy #17 could have been the real thing.

I believe every body goes through life aching for and because of that real thing. A gay sauna is a place where intimacy meets up with lust, the way a symphony orchestra could accompany a rock band. It’s a place where people can find love with minimal amounts of hurt. It’s also a place where people get high on poppers, XTC and roofies, or just plain weed in my case. I believe we take those drugs because they obliterate the hurt that comes with love, in each and every sense of the word.

Guy #17 was a nerd, living proof of the fact that the brain is by far the sexiest organ. Seriously, I get really turned on by a guy who can have a conversation about quantum physics during sex.
We ended up dating for a few months. I mostly remember how much I felt at home whenever we simply lay in bed together, against each other, not saying anything, exhausted from all the physics we’d done.

I think Guy #17 fell in love with me somewhat. I on the other hand wasn’t ready for that. I knew there was still so much I wanted to explore. If love were to find its way to me, I figured, it would have to be perfect in each and every way. And Guy #17 wasn’t perfect. For example, this one time he got a little drunk and I didn’t really like him that way.
So there was that.

Of course, the only place I ever met the perfect guy was at a gay sauna. And Guy #106 was only perfect because he never called me back, and because I was high at the time.

Guy #17 and I never broke up. We simply stopped seeing each other. I wasn’t ready to commit myself to someone with imperfections. The distance flowed naturally from there on out.

Still, in the dark corridors of a gay sauna, where complete strangers engage in a battle of lust, love, rejection and ostensible perfection, it’s easy to miss a guy who could explain relativity to me when it mattered the most: during sex.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 7 years and counting
FORMAT: A few months of dating, followed by friendship (mostly on Facebook) that lasts till this day
SEX SCORE (0 = A Twilight movie marathon <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #15 – Guilt Vs. Pleasure…

It’s difficult enjoying sex with people of your favorite gender when you’re in the closet.

Whenever I have sex, I tend not to think about my mother’s opinion on the matter, or my dad’s, my family’s or my friends’, unless of course it’s the friend I’m having sex with.

But for people in the closet, it must be a daunting task to completely remove those thoughts. In some cases the quest for pleasure gets stopped dead in its tracks by guilt. That’s when gay people resort to living straight lifestyles.

They have my sympathy.

As does Guy #15, who according to his Facebook profile recently spent a holiday in Miami, together with his wife.

Guy #15 used to be gorgeous. He was the hottest guy I’d ever been with up till that point. I hope he’s happy these days, though his Facebook pictures emit an aura of loneliness. My guess is he prefers feeling lonely over feeling guilty.

In the case of Guilt vs. Pleasure Guy #15 ruled in favor of Guilt. Even during sex.

Being with Guy #15 was certainly very pleasant, but in large part because he looked so good. He once told me he went through life knowing he would never find someone he could truly be happy with, because family. That general sense of sadness echoed all the way into sex.
Technically speaking Guy #15 was good in bed, and on the couch. Even in the absence of any furniture he knew how to unleash pleasure over the both of us. Yet his attention was always divided between us two and the rest of the world. Psychologically speaking I had sex with his entire family.

Sex with Guy #15 was like an AA Christmas party. Everything fell neatly into place, but there was just something missing. Sex with Guilt is like a party without booze: tepid, depressing and predictable.

After about four or five dates Guy #15 and I lost touch. He gravitated toward a straight lifestyle, eventually getting married.

As the years progressed, Guilt slowly consumed Guy #15 and his dropdead gorgeous body. Judging by his Facebook pictures, he gradually stopped paying attention to his own sexuality. He’s still fairly cute and attractive, but it doesn’t radiate like it used to. It’s like he doesn’t want to be reminded of Pleasure.

On the other hand, life gave him a daughter not too long ago.

I guess he found someone to be truly happy with, because family.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: A few months
FORMAT: A couple of sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = A dentist with a German accent <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #14 – The fearful fag…

The closet.

It’s the birthplace of all things sexual, gay and straight. While the majority of closets gets demolished by the end of puberty, some people end up making it their home.

What I remember most about Guy #14 was his house. It was spacious, but mostly because it felt empty. It had everything a person needed: a fridge, a table, a couch, a TV, yet every household object seemed lonely as a comet, aimlessly lost in space. The walls were plain white, without so much as a generic IKEA painting or even an obligatory family photo to give the place at least a hint of an identity. His house was just that: a house, a place to keep the weather out, and with it everything else.

To Guy #14 the closet wasn’t just for hiding the fact he enjoyed other people’s penises so much. His gayness was merely the tip of the iceberg. Everything that I liked about Guy #14, his sense of humor, his wit, his ambitions, his sexuality, all of it was frantically hidden from the possible judgment of others.

Some take refuge in a closet for fear of persecution, AIDS or Jesus. Guy #14 stayed in his closet for fear of himself. He was the only one in his environment who had any real trouble accepting his sexuality.

In that sense he reminded me of myself a lot. I used to be a bit of a fearful fag myself not that long ago.

After all, when I started dating guys I had convinced myself I was merely being bicurious. Yet here I was, having an actual relationship with a guy, a personal connection with someone I cared about. Guy #14 was probably a turning point for me, allowing me to finally let go of the idea that I must find women sexually interesting.

For about three months, Guy #14 secretly allowed me to be a part of his life. One night, as we were making out in his bedroom, a neighbor suddenly appeared in the garden. Guy #14 panicked and told me to stay in his bedroom, away from any windows. I ended up hiding in his walk-in closet, in the dark, while Guy #14 socially obligated his way through his neighbor’s visit for a good twenty minutes.

I broke up with him shortly after that. I guess it was the moment I decided not to make my closet my home.

Guy #14 unwillingly painted a picture of my life, had I fortified my closet as much as he had. It’s not an ugly picture, just void of any joy, intimacy or love. It’s a picture of sterility.

Life inside a closet can be pretty depressing, as I’m afraid it has been for Guy #14. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him within grabbing range of happiness.
I’ve never seen him reach for any, either.

I hope he someday finds the courage to accept himself for the raging bottom he could have been by now.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ±3 Months, followed by a few years of on and off friendship
FORMAT: Loving relationship followed by pleasant friendship with a slight touch of sex every now and then
SEX SCORE (0 = Doing the Macarena <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #10 – Why I’ve been such a bad kisser for so long…

Our lips are basically a part of our body that’s turned inside-out. That’s what makes kissing so intimate: It’s when our insides touch, connect and shake tongues.

In my experience it’s not uncommon for sex dates to not feature any kissing, for the same reason Julia Roberts refused to kiss Richard Gere throughout Pretty Woman: Kissing a complete stranger mimics the intimacy I believe all human beings both crave and fear. Kissing is a slippery slope.

Personally, I’m a big fan of kissing. Sex is infinitely better when lip-to-lip action is on the menu.

Except in the case of Guy #10.
Not all lips are created equal.

It would be unfair to say Guy #10 was a bad kisser. It’s just that his labial anatomy had completely failed him. That much became clear the moment our lips touched.

From a distance Guy #10’s lips appeared completely ordinary. Only upon first contact did I discover he lacked the capability to move his lips in any meaningful way. They were just there, stiff and motionless, tight and cold, lifeless and dry.

I’m not judging Guy #10. I for one have quite a few incurable genetic setbacks myself: I can’t blink my eyes separately, I can’t make my ears move, I can’t curl up my tongue, I can’t whistle, I can’t get my jaw to make that clicking sound, I can’t separate my ring finger from my middle finger like Dr. Spock. The list of my innate fallacies is endless.

However, lipwise I’m pretty well endowed and to me, kissing is a dichotomous variable. Either you kiss or you don’t.

Except of course in the case of Guy #10.

I imagine kissing a blow-up doll most closely resembles the touch of Guy #10’s lips. I could sense he was trying to keep up with mine, but he didn’t stand a chance. His lips were like a sphinx cat fencing off a T-Rex.
Guy #143 once told me I kiss too fiercely. I think my aggressive kissing philosophy has been a contributing factor in losing many guys over the years. Sometimes I wish I had known before Guy #143 straight out told me my kissing was a bit too much “in his face”. Guy #10 could have benefitted from that.

Apart from his lips being small and cold, perhaps the main reason Guy #10 couldn’t keep up was because he wasn’t looking for any intimacy. I was, even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. The two of us got along really nicely, had done some pleasant conversational stuff and the sex just flowed naturally from thereon out. I must have felt some sort of connection. I kissed him to seal that connection. He kissed me because it was obligatory foreplay.

We didn’t kiss long. The rest of our date went like clockwork. It would be our only date, though. It was nice to regularly run into Guy #10 at our local gay bar for a while. We shared a nice memory but didn’t feel the need to expand on that. We had both erased ourselves from our to do-lists. I think I could have made him hungry for more if I hadn’t gorged on him so much. Then again, that’s why I wasn’t hungry for more in the first place.

Sadly, it would take me a very long time to realize not everyone likes to be kissed by a T-Rex.

I kissed too eagerly for years at an end. I never consciously entered the gay scene in search of love or something sappy. It took me years to finally learn it’s always been exactly that what’s driven me: Love, or something sappy. I must have unconsciously expressed that feeling in my kissing technique.

Unfortunately, Guy #10’s lips were the opposite of sappy.

I apologize for wreaking havoc on his inside-out.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 4 years
FORMAT: One-time sex date, followed by a few years of politely greeting each other at random encounters
SEX SCORE (0 = kissing a frog that doesn’t turn into a prince <–> 10 = the best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #9 – Hot guy. Disgusting roommate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RELATIONSHIP SUMMARY:

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

Guy #8 – Caught in translation…

The story of Guy #8 began when the two of us bumped into each other one night under the fluorescent light of a dirty washroom filled with penetrant club music and the sound of a guy peeing into a urinal that had somehow gotten stuffed with toilet paper.

Don’t expect a love story.

Our washroom hook-up wasn’t the first time we had seen each other. In the weeks leading up to our meeting I had caught Guy #8 staring at me while pretending not to. The washroom was simply the first time our personal spaces intertwined.
Knowing any obligatory chitchat would only postpone the thing we both so obviously wanted, we started kissing each other. The room must have been engulfed in the smell of pee that lay scattered on the floor. Fortunately, sexual arousal has a way of dampening reality.

It wasn’t until Guy #8 and I got back on the dance floor that I found out he spoke French and nothing but French. This would prove to be an obstacle in our relationship, as he labeled ‘us’ next morning when we woke up in his bed.

The sex had been lovely, intimate, passionate and fun. Sex without words is actually very enjoyable. The lack of a workable vocabulary forced us to go at it intuitively, like animals if you will. We had but our bodies to communicate with each other. That’s hot.

Yet in my mind I was convinced sex was the only thing I was after. Odd as it may sound, I still considered myself to be bisexual. My closeted self still envisioned me having a life with regular vaginal intercourse that would one day produce the offspring to make my mother oh so happy. Sex with a guy was one thing, but I couldn’t fathom being attached to one, certainly not one I had met in a washroom.

As it turned out Guy #8 was expecting a love story. He wanted me to be his copain.
“Mais je ne parle pas Français,” I countered. It’s pretty much the only French I know, but in this case I thought I had provided a solid argument for my case.

Regardless, my rejection must have gotten lost in translation, because it didn’t take long for Guy #8 to start calling me numerous times a day. The one time I did pick up he started being angry at me in French. Lacking any words to contribute, I simply hang up. I ignored Guy #8 for a full week, during which he continued sending me indecipherable French text messages and leaving missed calls.

Since the local gay scene counted less people than the island from LOST, Guy #8 and I ran into each other again the following Friday. I continued my previously successful tactic of completely ignoring my newly acquired stalker. This proved difficult, as he continuously stared at me like a Nazi from a Tarantino-movie.

When I had to go to the washroom he creepily followed me there, bringing us full circle. Once again we met in a place where there was no chance of escaping each other’s presence, or the smell of pee. To the best of my capabilities, I explained Guy #8 that I did not want to be his copain. I believe I came up with Je ne veux pas coucher avec toi, ce soir, ou any other soir.

Fortunately, most stalkers are weak like cactuses in the Arctic: They die from lack of attention. It wasn’t long before Guy #8 stopped calling me and started leaving me alone, although he would give a few angry stares every time we saw each other again, which was on most Friday nights.

Guy #8 was the first guy I ever topped. (If you don’t know what that means, you’re probably not gay.) I had enjoyed being the dominant factor in our short ‘relationship’. I had also learned that intense sex can be caused by intense people, such as French stalkers.

In terms of playing the field, Guy #8 was an easy kill. I knew he was into me. Plus he had major dependency issues as it turned out. He had given me a sense of power I had never felt before.

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility.
Who would have thought the moral of a superhero movie applies to guys you meet in a public washroom?

Guy #8 taught me it does.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 1 year
FORMAT: One-time sex date, followed by two week stalking spree, followed by months of angry stares of ever decreasing intensity
SEX SCORE (0 = forever not knowing if Glenn from The Walking Dead is alive or not and 10 = the best sex ever): 8

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

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