Guy #212 – So who’s the woman?

So who’s the woman in your relationship?

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

I never got why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It struck me as silly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #186 – The one I wanted to forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s always an afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #190 – The one who made me forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #191 – The one I actually forgot

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

Guy #154 – The old friend

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

Guy #192 – The young and the restless

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

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

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

Guy #193 – The one who died

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #181 – Waiter must cut meat…

If a Guy likes me that much, something must be wrong with him.

That was my main thought during my time with Guy #181.

Guy #181 was actually kind of very hot. I say kind of, because he wasn’t perfect in each and every way: he had a great personality, he was smart, considerate, caring, empathetic, a decent top, an amazing bottom, he had a cute, boyish face, a great body and talking was only the third best thing he could do with his mouth.

And he liked me. A lot.

People sometimes ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend, instead spending my nights dividing my attention between Netflix and Grindr. I’d like to say it’s because I fail to meet the right Guys. In reality it’s because sometimes the right Guy is slightly too bald and has slightly more chest hair than a perfect 20 year old twink with a 40 year old personality would have.

I’m world champion in compromizing for the sake of others. Compromizing to do myself a favor is a skill I choose to lack:

Guy #181 came on to me one night. I let him. We had awesome sex, then exchanged phone numbers.

He apped me, a full week later. Not three days later as I always do when I project onto someone the aforementioned image of perfection, but a full week. That was hot.

I allowed Guy #181 to set up a second date, at my place, this time adding candlelight and poppers to the equation. It ranked among the best sex I ever had.

Yet I kept focusing on the fact Guy #181 was almost as old as I am and that he didn’t make me laugh at regular intervals. And then there was the chest hair, tiny amounts of it, but still.

A third date materialized, again because Guy #181 made the effort. It was great.

So great in fact that I couldn’t quite fathom Guy #181 being into me that much.

Guy #181 and I met up a fourth time, by accident.
He told me he’d been waiting for me to contact him, as I had more or less promised on our third date. I told him I was sorry, and then made up for it by once again having amazing sex with him.

It’s not that I don’t have any interest in having an actual relationship with someone, but I suppose I only do a relationship when the universe presents one on a golden platter with a waiter to cut my meat. If a relationship is a meal, I categorically refuse to touch any cutlery myself. No wonder I’m starving on Netflix and Grindr.

Guy #181 is someone I ought to have chased, if only a fraction of the amount he chased me. Instead I focused on celebrating my youth, going from Guy to Guy, bathing in attention or really mostly just hints thereof.

It was nice being wanted by Guy #181, but I suppose it was a certainty that came at the expense of the excitement I’ve grown addicted to. Every time you open Grindr, you quietly hope to strike up a bond with the most delicious piece of meat you ever tasted. Opening Grindr, then feeling your phone vibrate because you have a new message… it’s a deceptively little high I keep chasing. Even though Grindr in reality is an orgy of social awkwardness where attention is as meaningful as a clown at a funeral, many gays opt to stand out at a funeral instead of, well…just living life.

About a year after our last encounter Guy #181 popped up on Grindr, only a few minutes away from my place. We met up (his idea, not mine, because waiter must cut meat), had great sex, and agreed to see each other again soon.

Another year has passed since then.

I still have his number. Having had more than 300 Guys, I’ve grown tired of orgy culture, random hook-ups and drug induced friendships that fade the moment the high does. I hardly ever reply to anyone on Grindr anymore, and when I do the conversation always fades into oblivion well before getting off the ground. I simply can’t be bothered anymore.

Guy #181 strikes me as someone who I should hit up someday, just asking how he’s doing, to maybe tentatively show I think he’s well worth the effort of getting to know him and that I’m kind of ashamed of focusing on his hair while I should be blown away by everything else.

The reason I don’t text him and probably won’t in the foreseeable future?

Because I’m a bit of a sad gay stereotype. I resent it, but waiter must cut meat. For some reason, I prefer to flaunt my selfies on Grindr in hopes of getting so much attention I won’t feel like the 24 year old virgin I was when I first hooked up with a Guy.

Investing time and effort in someone like Guy #181 seems like a much easier, more effective way of straightening my issues.

Instead I went on Grindr just now. My phone vibrated: no less than two strangers sent me a message, along with this old Guy who keeps hitting me up every two weeks or so.

That felt slightly satisfying for a few seconds.

If a Guy likes me that much, something must be wrong with me.


Guy #178 – Matrix Me…

There’s two sides of me.

One is Matrix Lennard, cool, in control, super hot and capable of dodging bullets if only for showing off.
It’s the Lennard I hope the Guy of my dreams will see in me.

Then there’s just Lennard, my actual self, insecure, needy and incapable of dodging insults.

Guys I am attracted to are often a lot like Matrix Lennard. Whenever I run into a super hot Guy that has the slightest echo of a personality, I fantasize about the two of us living a perfectly sleek gaytopian fairytale in which we celebrate each other’s perfection.

It’s a pleasant albeit dysfunctional mirage, about as real as the Matrix itself.

The Guys that are attracted to me tend to be a far cry from the Guys I fantasize about.

Guy #178 was such a guy. He saw in me the super great awesome Guy I wish people will write books about someday. He expressed his admiration by becoming a saggy sack of compliments that got wetter each time we kissed.

Guy #178 was probably one of the sweetest Guys I ever dated. I could do no wrong. I could ignore him on WhatsApp a thousand times and let him rejoice the one time I didn’t. I could cancel a date at the last minute for the sake of going on a better looking one, and he would completely understand. I could tell him to continue doing oral even when his jaws started showing signs of old age, and he’d be happy to.

Guy #178 was without a doubt one of the most annoying people I ever dated. He idolized the worst in me, and reminded me of the parts I thought were even worse than that.

Yet I went on a date with him a total of 5 times. And each time I felt annoyed and regretted spending time with him.

My relationship with Guy #178 was like seeing Sharknado and then somehow investing in its 4 sequels, each time wondering why.

So why are there people who’ve seen Sharknado 1 through 5 and why am I one of those people?

The sex with Guy #178 was about as satisfying as the special effects in a Sharknado movie: silly but somehow rewarding, because you know you will never be as dumb as that movie. Likewise, the sex was as spectacular as an actual sharknado is likely, but it did make me feel like I was by far the coolest, securest and catchiest Guy at the scene. Guy #178 made me feel like Matrix Me, even though I resented him for being a nerdy sidekick that failed to live up to my own image.

My life at the time wasn’t going great. I was hopelessly in love with Guy #168, a gorgeous Guy I had met at this orgy this one time. He was everything Matrix Lennard ached for, and as such all but unreachable. Whenever I ran into him, I would lapse into endless monologues about how much I admired his personality, his accomplishments, his body and his personality. Guy #168 always got uncomfortable by me giving him the Messiah treatment, which I remedied by giving even more compliments. The harder I tried, the more he distanced himself from me.

Guy #168 was the perfect match for Matrix Lennard. Sadly though, Matrix Lennard failed to load each time I saw him. The only side Guy #168 got to see was my actual self, desperate, needy and highly capable of dodging hints from a Guy that appreciated his own space as if it was his to own.

Few things are more frustrating than being incapable of being more than you in front of someone you want to be more than you with.

During all of this I spent my days taking care of my ailing stepdad, constantly surrounded by illness, decay and steadily approaching death. I had no job, no social life to speak of and had gotten addicted to weed, spending large parts of my days in a haze Matrix Me couldn’t reach me.

A sharknado was just what I needed.

Enter Guy #178, someone who annoyed me to no end with his compliments, his never ending attention and less than perfect looks.

On our third or fourth date I had smoked a joint in advance to ease myself into it. Minutes after starting foreplay on his couch, the weed kicked in much stronger than I had anticipated. I got dizzy and made it to the toilet just when my Burger King dinner resurfaced. As I clung to Guy #178’s toilet, puking my guts out and silently resenting my life and everything in it, Guy #178 constantly hovered over me, asking if I was okay, if I needed a towel, if there was anything he could do. And then he just started caressing my shoulder, almost as if his mind was still on foreplay.

I believe everyone on Earth knows but a very few people they would like to be touched by when they’re coasting down a bad trip hanging in the aura of their own vomit while clinging to someone else’s toilet. Guy #178 was not one of those people. I was high, depressed, nauseous and could only think of Guy #168, and what he would think of me if he’d see me failing at my life the way I was. Instead of enjoying my gaytopian lifestyle with Guy #168, Guy #178 was occupying my space like a fly circling around my head, capable of dodging everything you throw at it.

Guy #178 reminded me of me a lot. Although Matrix Lennard has all the makings of a movie star, my self loathing self is actually a much nicer person, as was Guy #178.

When you sit through one half of a Sharknado movie whilst having no life to speak of, it’s easy to succumb to everything that’s wrong with a sharknado. My life was a mess, but at the very least it made more sense than a Guy dodging sharks with a chainsaw as they were falling from the sky.
So after I was done vomiting Guy #178 and I proceeded to have sex. Despite being a jerk to him, puking in his toilet and over his bathroom floor and resenting him for being so relentlessly nice and devoted, Guy #178 wanted me for the Matrix Lennard he saw in me.

I fought not to admit it, but part of me liked being admired by Guy #178. And in a way, I grew to respect him for staying true to his own character all the time, annoying as it was.

We stopped dating eventually, not because I didn’t want to give him more of my attention, but because he moved to another country.

Yet whenever I think of him, I know how irritating he was, but what I remember is him doing his very best to take care of me after puking through foreplay. And I remember me waking up next to him the following morning because of it.

When you watch a Sharknado movie, you can’t help but loathe yourself for wasting your time on something so obviously stupid. But when you remember that time you watched Sharknado, it’s impossible to hide a faint but definite smile. Somehow, for reasons as mystifying as life’s biggest unanswered questions, a sharknado makes you feel like Matrix You for a while.

Thank you, Guy #178, for being as annoying as I am.


Guy #176 and #177 – What is this whole sex thing anyway?

It is September 11, 2018, I am 36 years old and at this exact point in time I have had sex with about 305 Guys. I say ‘about’ because, among other things, this story will show you sex is not a simple yes or no variable.

When you’ve more or less had sex with some 300 Guys and counting, sex itself loses some of its mojo, especially when love is notably absent most of the time.

In my early days of sexual exploration dating sites (and later apps) were a source of excitement. It felt naughty, to expose myself and my body to the kind of pleasure I would not dare tell my mother about.

300 Guys later, I don’t go on Grindr to hunt for Guys. The only real reason I go online is to see how well my profile picture performs. Every day when I get back home from work, I open Grindr, alerting gays in a one mile radius of my presence. An hour later, I open Grindr again…and then I look at the profiles of people who hit me up as I was busy eating, watching Netflix and getting ready to go to the gym.

And then I ignore those people. I don’t even bother reading their messages. I hardly ever initiate a conversation on Grindr and the people that hit me up are almost always not my type. I simply can’t be bothered.

Because once you’ve been on one Grindr date, you’ve been on all. The details vary, but the formula is pretty straightforward: Sexual frustration + loneliness + social awkwardness = Grindr date.

It’s interesting the first 100 times. After that, you can’t help but get jaded. So after a while Grindr stops being instrumental in getting laid. It becomes an instrument in getting attention. Getting laid is something you can do in a gay sauna or a raunchy nightclub, where you don’t have to go through obligatory conversation to get some action.

At least, that must have been my assumption the night I met Guy #176 and #177.

Guy #176 was the type of Asian I could tell was into white Guys such as myself. He was too shy to actively chase me, but every time our paths crossed I could see his eyes light up. Added to that he was cute, generically cute, so a perfect fit for someone like me, who wasn’t looking for a layered person.

Guy #176 and I started our conversation in front of some lockers in a gay sauna. It was brightly lit, but the twinkle in his eye shone brightly regardless. It was not at all a surprise he reached for my parts. I was happy to let him: having a generically cute Asian Guy fiddle with my testicles was just the thing I was in the mood for. And by the looks of Guy #176’s face, he had found exactly what he was looking for too!

Things don’t get much better in gaytopia.

Except that when I leaned in to kiss Guy #176 he veered back. Our lips had touched, we had played with each other’s genitals: technically, this Guy was now blog material, but just when I thought we’d submit ourselves to some tender foreplay, Guy #176 started laughing uncomfortably, apologetically even.
“I’m sorry, I just had to feel you up for a bit,” Guy #176 said.
“Well, now you have,” I replied, hoping it would be quirky enough to glide our relationship into the actual stuff I wanted to do to this Guy.

It didn’t. Guy #176 said sorry one more time and then went off, ending our relationship as randomly as it had begun.

(I actually ran into Guy #176 at a clinic this one time as we were getting an AIDS test, where of course we pretended not to know each other.)

Up next was Guy #177. My relationship with him started online, where he hit me up saying ‘Hi’. I usually don’t respond to Hi’s, but a quick glance at his profile taught me he had a boyfriend and that the two of them were on the lookout for threesomes. Both looked reasonably cute, so I made a slight effort for a change.

Guy #177 and I chatted for a while, discussed sexual preferences and even pondered setting a date with the three of us, which then never materialized because we lived too far apart for me to be truly bothered. Threesomes top twosomes, but when you’ve done orgies, a threesome is about as exciting as Finding Nemo is to Finding A Fish.

Then came the day I ran into Guy #177 at a gay sauna. We recognized each other from our pics and awkwardly said ‘Hi’. I don’t remember how exactly, but we ended up sitting next to each other in a steam room not long after. He wasn’t as cute as his pics had suggested and he could probably tell my abs didn’t come with a contrast button in real life. Yet at the same time we had spoken about having vivid sexual intercourse. Giving each other a socially awkward handjob seemed weirder than not doing anything at all.

So Guy #177 jerked me off for a short while, while I did the same to him. As I bestowed upon him the pleasure of my left hand, my mind was stuck between upping the sex with oral or using my mouth to start a conversation.

In the end Guy #177 simply got up and left, never to be seen or heard from again. He didn’t even get to experience what my right hand is capable of.

Guys #176 and #177 make me wonder if Karma has taken note of my Grindr etiquette: Grindr me is not exactly a great Guy. I prefer getting attention over actually having sex and I dismiss Guys when they require the slightest pinch of effort. Guys #176 and #177 gave me attention, then dismissed me as I tend to with the Guys I meet.

My relationships with Guys #176 and #177 were a bit like this story. You make a little effort to get invested, hope it will lead somewhere and then it ends before getting off the g…


Guy #170 – Oprah on a bad day…

I don’t like fat.

It’s why I prefer walking over public transportation, why I have a gym membership I don’t use as often as I feel I should and why I have to digest guilt each time I eat ice cream.

So when I meet a Guy and find myself confronted with the decision whether or not to have sex with him, the amount of fat this Guy carries is a very determining factor in my decision making process.

Which doesn’t mean fat Guys don’t stand a chance. They simply need to put in a little extra effort.

Fatwise, Guy #170 was like Oprah on a bad day. Like Oprah, he didn’t make an effort to hide his lack of abs. Instead, he initiated a conversation about his body and freely acknowledged it wasn’t the best thing he had going for him. Like Oprah, he too talked about things he was doing to shape up, one of which included a diet that consisted of less than 1000 calories a day.

I don’t like fat, but that doesn’t make me heartless. Although I was well aware Guy #170 was playing on my empathy to find him attractive, I couldn’t deny his tactic was working. The more he spoke about his struggle to lose weight, the more I saw in him the Guy he could be if he stayed in Oprah-mode long enough.

Personally, I’m not very smooth when it comes to hitting on people. I more or less have my looks to offer. Beyond that, I lack the ability the steer a conversation in the direction of sex. I simply have no idea how to talk people into sexual contact. The art of seduction, reading people, playing into their weak spots, figuring out what makes them tick. I lack those skills. For me, hitting on a Guy is simply a matter of going in and hoping for the best, an on and off successful strategy I intend to keep using as long as I don’t have any fat forcing me to make a real effort.

Guy #170 however was smooth to the bone. He knew that if he wanted to have sex with me, he would have to work me. At some point in time he must have figured empathy was to be his weapon of choice. Instead of hiding his fat, he made it the center of his campaign.

In addition to infecting me with his highly contagious Oprah positivity, Guy #170 was also assertive. His intentions of wanting to have sex with me were clear well before he opened up about his diet, as he repeatedly touched me in places fat people usually don’t get to touch me.

Even though I remained hesitant throughout the sex, it was far from unpleasurable. Guy #170 knew what to do and was good at what he did, a combination that made up for most if not all of his fat.

Thank you,” I said after we were done.

You’re a dumbass,” Guy #170 laughed as he gently slapped my face. He implanted the idea that maybe I tend to be too much of a kiss ass toward people who give great blowjobs.

Seconds after I extended my gratitude Guy #170 walked off, though we would later meet up again and talk some more.
I still run into him occasionally and when I do it’s always nice to see each other again. Sex however will never again materialize between the two of us. Every time I see him I can’t help but feel I was tricked, even though I liked it enough to say thank you.




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can guess where this is headed.

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

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

Cut to us a few minutes later:

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

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

And that’s when things get frantic.

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

Naturally, the laws of physics defy me.

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

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

Cut to us another few minutes later:

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

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

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

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


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

Porn.

How I used to love it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

People at orgies always have the most fascinating backstories.

One shouldn’t underestimate the power of XTC.

 


 

 

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #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?

Well…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Relationship summary:

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

Guy #149 – The most forgettable of them all…

Do you really remember all the people you ever had sex with?

It’s a question I get asked a lot. While I try to be 100% sure this blog tells the story of every Guy I ever had sex with, I may have forgotten one or two of my dates over the years.

When I started 168guys.com I drew up a list of all the dates I could remember. That exercise joggled my memory and for a few months my daily routine would be routinely interrupted by the sudden memory flash of a Guy I had sex with once, which I would follow up on by assigning that Guy a number in the overall chronology of my sex life. The end result became an Excel sheet that powers this blog. Although one of my more recent dates, the memory of Guy #149 was one of the last to pop up in my head, one of the last to be added to said sheet.

That means I came very close to forgetting Guy #149 altogether.

Which means it’s not exactly easy writing the story of us two. I barely remember him as a person. I suppose the most memorable thing about Guy #149 was how forgettable he was. Of all my dates so far, he came closest to not becoming a memory.

I don’t mean to be derogative by the way. I’m sure there are Guys I dated who don’t remember me. When you live a life where sex is a commodity, forgetting about a person whose anus you inserted becomes as easy as forgetting what you had for dinner a week ago. This may be hard to grasp for people who never paid much attention to other people’s anuses, but those that do it on a daily basis will agree with me: The more sex you have, the more spectacular it has to be for it to become a memory.

So was there anything wrong with Guy #149?

Not at all. He was a very nice and reasonably cute Asian twink who lived in a crappy apartment with a very small bed. Him being from China or Vietnam or Thailand, we no doubt worked our way up to foreplay by talking about the strains and stresses of settling in an unknown country, the upside of living in a place where being gay is not an issue, the downside of missing a family that wouldn’t be entirely on board with the whole gay thing and then at some point the conversation must have dissolved into kissing somehow, probably because I initiated it. Mind you, aside from his tiny bed I don’t actually remember any of this happening, but I can only assume things went down this way.

The kissing flowed into sex on a bed clearly not designed to withstand any, but I can’t remember it bothering me much. Guy #149 was friendly, attractive and he had an anus. It was exactly what I had bargained for, nothing less, but nothing more either.

If you’re a Guy from Birma or Japan or South Korea who had sex with me not too long ago, someone with a small bed and a crappy apartment, please don’t take offense. The fact you’re forgettable says nothing about you and everything about the way I treat people.

Guy #149, if you’re reading this: Thank you for a lovely evening. If you ever ordered a pizza, you know that feeling you get after a hard day’s work, when you turn on the TV and let a slice go down on you as you numb off to reruns of Friends or How I met your mother or Family Guy. Life is good when you got pizza, but we don’t remember every pizza we’ve ever eaten. Guy #149, the fact you even made it to this blog is a testament to your cuteness.

Although truth be told I might have forgotten about you were it not for that tiny ass bed.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand
SEX SCORE (0 = Microsoft Excel <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7,5

Guy #147 – Pretty woman…

I first saw Pretty Woman a full decade before I became sexually active. I particularly remember that scene where Richard Gere and Julia Roberts go down on a grand piano. Famously, this sex scene lacked any kissing, for Hollywood hookers don’t kiss on the mouth lest they get feelings.

Aged 13 and with no real interest in Julia Roberts, most of my empathy went toward the piano, yet I do remember getting Richard Gere’s frustration for not being allowed to kiss his mistress. I guess even at a young age I intuitively felt kissing is an integral part of sex.

Cut to me, some twenty years later:

I go on Grindr and find myself a twink less than 100 meters away. He says ‘Hi’ and follows up on that with an ass pic… As if I don’t know what ‘Hi’ means.

Proximity is a deciding factor in many gay relationships. This particular twink sends his location after I say ‘Hi’ back. Getting an ass pic-location combo from a cute twink within shouting distance doesn’t happen every day. Truth be told I’m not really in the mood for sex, but I’m even less in the mood for missing an opportunity to get any.

So when this twink asks for a picture of my penis, I send one, along with an extra body pic to sweeten the deal. He replies by giving me his address. I tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.

Three minutes later I find myself in Guy #147’s living room. He’s as cute as his selfie and I infer I’m no disappointment myself, as I’m shown the way to a bed. I make a clumsy attempt at small talk, asking my date what he does for a living. He answers by asking me to stay away from the window. Across the street is a department store Guy #147 happens to work at and he doesn’t want his colleagues to see him having a sex date.

Foregoing further attempts at being sociable I start touching Guy #147. He touches me back, so naturally I head inbound and kiss Guy #147 on the lips. He pulls back immediately.
“I don’t kiss,” Guy #147 tells me bluntly.
“Okay,” I say, trying to remain calm and cool, but I suppose I do a poor job hiding my disappointment. Sex without kissing is like a salad without dressing, a healthy disappointment that leaves you wanting more even after you’re done.

When someone sends you a picture of their naked ass, this generally means said person wants you to insert your penis into said ass. I always assumed that if you’re okay with the whole anal insertion thing, kissing is an integral part of the deal. After all, I use my penis to get intimate. It never occurred to me some people seek anal pleasure without exposing themselves to the affection that makes the whole exercise worthwhile to me.

Guy #147 and I have sex without kissing. I try to turn up the eroticism by moaning my way through it and by changing position every few minutes, acting as if someone is watching and I need to convince that person the two of us are having a good time. I am of course only trying to convince myself my date is not a complete waste of my time and energy. My gut wants to kiss Guy #147, establish the bond we have, but there’s no bond to celebrate. Proximity brought us together. Closeness not so much.

Having sex with Guy #147 is unfulfilling, hot as he is. Even though I get to own nearly every part of his body, I can’t help but feel rejected. As much of a willing bottom Guy #147 is, my ‘Pretty Woman’ comes off as a prude.

Conversely, I have no way of knowing if Guy #147 is having a good time. Without kissing, touching each other’s face and holding each other’s head our sex is almost entirely mechanical. Whatever feelings my date might have, I’m not privy to them.

About 15 minutes into our relationship I decide I’ve had enough and do the only sensible thing: Coming. I give Guy #147 a minute or so to do the same, but with no lip action at my disposal I feel completely inept and ‘disaroused’, a made-up word that perfectly sums up a made-up connection.

Guy #147 and I get dressed and I leave quickly. He will go on to hit me up online a couple of times over the next few years, and while I politely respond to his messages each time he does, I hold off on meeting up with him a second time.

Sex without kissing. It’s as frustrating as playing a grand piano with your butt. Richard Gere, Julia Roberts and Guy #147 taught me that.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 years and counting
FORMAT: One time sex date followed by highly intermittent online chats that don’t lead anywhere
SEX SCORE (0 = Making out with a grand piano <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5.5

Guy #145 – Look at me not being shallow!

Sometimes I like to look at human beings as I imagine aliens would. Aliens, in my view, would be unable to rank us based on our attractiveness. Voluptuous lips, muscled legs, dark blue eyes, straight teeth, abs…all of it would look equally random when seen from hundreds of light years away.

The reason I try to take on an alien perspective is simple: I often wish I wasn’t as shallow as I am. I wish I could be happy with someone whose looks don’t turn me on. I wish I had it in me to not consider it a compromise.
In fairness, there have been times I enjoyed being intimate with someone I deemed of a lesser league, but always because I knew the fun would be temporary and wholly non committing.

How liberating it would be to view Guys as aliens would, ranking them on their merits and not their looks.

I guess my relationship with Guy #144 made me long for some liberty, which is why I attained an open mind the moment Guy #145 hit me up online.

Guy #145 was not at all unattractive by alien standards. Yet through my petty human eyes he looked like one of those people you just assume are good at math because why else would the universe have made them so dorky, clumsy and overall off the mark when it comes to outer beauty?
Guy #145 was the kind of Guy whose online attempts at starting a conversation would have been futile solely on account of his looks: I’m not on Grindr to make other people feel good about themselves. I’m there to make me feel good about myself. Entering a conversation with an unattractive person is something I consider a waste of time when it’s my genitals I’m trying to satisfy.

Then again, time is relative when light years are involved.

So for once I decided to empathize with this Guy #145 and his grainy, sad attempt of a selfie. I figured it must have taken at least some courage to hit me up, knowing all too well the odds of me replying were as slim as he should have been.
And so it happened Guy #145 and I became engaged in conversation. As is so often the case with unattractive people, he was good at having a conversation, putting in the effort hot Guys seldom do.
A few days later I found myself at his place, on his couch, holding a glass of water and observing him as he sat across from me. The thought of having sex with him made me queasy, yet at the same time I couldn’t help but like Guy #145. He had this inner calm over him I myself tend to lack. We spoke about spirituality for well over an hour and found we had a lot in common. Guy #145 was the kind of Guy who, like me, could empathize with aliens in aid of making himself a better person, something not at all common in the gay scene.

At some point during our date I flipped the switch and went into alien mode. I decided I would not let Guy #145’s greasy skin or nigh lack of upper lip turn me off, instead making a conscious effort to focus solely on his personality and the fact I was sharing a room with a wise, generous, friendly and by all galactic standards more than decent Homo sapiens.

I can’t say the sex was satisfying, but I did get to experience a sense of pride, patting myself on the back for not being shallow.
Being so immensely focused on my newfound character depths I neglected to note whether or not Guy #145 had any fun going down on me, but I reckon he did: He invited me over a second time mere days after our first date.

Our second date echoed our first: We talked about philosophy, spirituality, music, life, the shallowness of the gay scene…and then of course we had sex. Yet as much as I tried to look at Guy #145 as if I had traveled light years to be with him, the novelty of not being shallow had worn off. It had taken me one date to prove I have it in me to not be shallow. Now all I really wanted was to celebrate my layered personality with abs.

Long story shallow: After two fun, interesting and rewarding dates with Guy #145, I moved on to #146.

Spoiler alert: #146 had abs.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 2.5 hours
FORMAT: Sex mixed with philosophical banter
SEX SCORE (0 = Platonic porn <–> 10 The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #140 and #141 – Letting go of the shallow…

The one thing I remember most from my dates with Guys #140 and #141 is the scenery.

For a while I had the pleasure of living in a house right next to the sea. It even had its own little private beach. The sea in question was the Caribbean Sea, meaning I lived next to what could have been the set for Finding Nemo. Basically, I woke up to the sight of the world’s most generic wallpaper every day.

Having dates in that environment can be fun, even if those dates themselves aren’t that attractive.

Guy #140 was an engineer from Colombia, over at my island to do some engineering stuff and to get off with the locals in his spare time. We sat on my beach, counted the number of ships we saw on the horizon, talked about the mysteries of the cosmos and our macabre interest in plane crashes. I actually had a great time with him as we pondered the final moments of Air France 447. It was awesome to go that deep with a stranger.

Yet as much as I dig deep, I consider looks important too. While it’s definitely hot to discuss the inner workings of a pitot tube with an engineer at night on your own private beach, this particular engineer had belly fat and chest hair.

Still, I found myself in a romantic setup in one of the most romantic places I had ever been, let alone lived. I believe it was me who initiated the first kiss, which ended in my bed somehow.

While Guy #140 surrendered himself to making love to me as passionately as engineers can manage, I couldn’t shake the thought of being in a plane crash. While I thought of it in terms of how lucky I am to be alive, it wasn’t the sort of motivational speech to get me in the mood. Added to that, said sex took place in my bedroom, where the sound of the ocean got replaced by the humming of the air conditioning.

Still, I didn’t feel regret afterward. In fact, part of me couldn’t deny part of me had enjoyed it. I guess sometimes it’s liberating to let go of the shallowness, uneasy as it may feel. If it hadn’t been for that generic wallpaper as my back yard, I probably would have rejected Guy #140.
So there you go. Scenery matters.

Testament to that fact was Guy #141, a tourist from France, also equipped with belly fat and chest hair, but also equally engaging. It actually thrilled me I was capable of maintaining a conversation in French for a full hour, covering topics such as terrorism, freedom of speech or the horror that is blue cheese.
Once again, it was me who initiated foreplay and although it’s never a good idea to have sex with the memory of blue cheese resurfacing as blue cheese would, part of me had nothing but a good time.

Before Guys #140 and #141 there had been Guy #139, the most beautiful Guy I ever shared a bed and a car with. He too had been at my beach. He only spoke Spanish, meaning my mind wasn’t on global warming or the Challenger disaster when I had sex with him.
Now, I had used my secret human powers to connect with someone on a meaningful level, in French even. The resulting sex was almost equally rewarding, even though I would have done Guy #139 over any engineer no matter what the scenery.

Guys #140 and #141 were both intelligent, friendly and charming people who came by to teach me a few simple yet powerful life lessons:

– Scenery matters.
– As do looks.
– And even brains in some cases.

It’s rewarding to let go of the shallow.
It’s also not easy.


Relationship summaries:

Guy #140:
LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Beauty and the Beast, when you stop to think about what it entails <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #141:
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Also, The Little Mermaid was a minor when she hooked up with Prince Eric <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

 

Do what I did. Start with Guy #1.

Guy #139 – So sometimes hot Guys are into me…

When I met Guy #22, he was the most beautiful Guy I’d ever been with.
When I met Guy #81, he was the most beautiful Guy I’d ever been with.
Until I met Guy #106, the most beautiful Guy I’ve ever been with.

Except for Guy #139 that is.

I don’t know what to tell about Guy #139 except for the fact he was the most beautiful Guy I have ever been with up till now. He was a Colombian tourist who visited my home island of Curaçao for a weekend. Although I hardly ever take initiative on Grindr, the sight of his abs compelled me to say ‘Hi’. I couldn’t imagine someone this undeniably gorgeous to take an interest in me, but much to my surprise he said ‘Ola’ back.

Guy #139 spoke Spanish. I did not.
I spoke English. Guy #139 did not.

So when I went to meet Guy #139 at his hotel, our only means of communicating was this phone app he had. I would say something in English and then some distant cousin of Siri would read my words back to him in Spanish and vice versa.

It was frustrating having to articulate and compress all my thoughts into childlike sentences, but at the same time I was probably blessed by our little language barrier: I was so in awe of Guy #139’s beauty I had trouble thinking of sensible things to say. Had we been granted a common language odds are I would have awkwardized our date beyond repair, as I so often do in the presence of beauty.

Guy #139 and I walked down a beach until we reached the outer edge of the hotel’s wifi network, where Spanish Siri rendered our conversation dead. Forced to head back, Guy #139 suggested we’d get together in my car.

And so Guy #139 and I had sex in my car in broad daylight on a parking lot where ‘hotel_guest’ got one bar, just enough to ask my Colombian twink underwear model to join me on the back seat. I usually don’t like car sex, but Guy #139 being so incredibly good looking my libido allowed me to let go of my inhibitions. I didn’t care whether we’d be seen, get caught or even disturbed.

What I did care about was whether or not I was enjoying Guy #139 to the full. Though I wholeheartedly embraced the Naughty, I really wanted to embrace Guy #139, something that proved difficult in a 1982 Mazda.

Earlier, Siri’s cousin had informed me my date would also be available later that night, for a full few hours, meaning I could pick him up, take him to my place, get high to the sound of the ocean, embrace the most beautiful Guy I ever had sex with and then drop him off again.
To increase my chances of seeing Guy #139 a second time I stopped when he started showing signs of coming. I wanted him close, but not over the edge just yet. Except for sexual chemistry there was no language in which I could adequately express how much I wanted him at my place later that night. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted something to look forward to as well. And in another stroke of pure luck, neither one of us had condoms at hand, meaning our car date would leave something to be desired no matter what.

I suppose it’s a good thing Guy #139 had no access to my thoughts.

I’d like to think of Guy #139 as a little present the universe threw in my path, just a quick reminder that yes, sometimes even beautiful Guys are attracted to me. This one in particular was all too eager to come to my place that night, where we got high and then had sex in which I embraced the living daylights out of him. We hugged a lot too. And then I dropped him off at his hotel, knowing all too well the chances of me ever owning Guy #139 again were slimmer than the plot of Jurassic Park actually happening.

In a way I was relieved I’d never be seeing Guy #139 again, beautiful as he was. I couldn’t help but feel I had enjoyed him to the full, meaning every other attempt at having a conversation would just be pushing it, not to mention make things awkward.

I’m pretty sure he’s the most beautiful thing ever to have found itself inside of that 1982 Mazda though.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 x 1 hour + 1 x 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date + a better sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Philately <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.9

Guy #138 – The hotness that is clinical depression…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Relationship summary:

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

Guy #136 and #137 – The ones who inspired this blog…

It’s not always easy not being the relationship type, especially when there are very few gay people around.

In fact, living on a small Caribbean island most of my Grindr conversations were with tourists and the occasional flight attendant. My window of opportunity for getting dates was often small. There have been many, many gorgeous Colombian Guys who dug my mirror selfies to the point they regretted not being able to leave their family to go hump me for a few hours. I regretted it too, and it wasn’t long before I became somewhat sexually frustrated.

So when I picked up Guy #136 from his hostel one night it was mostly because he was free and willing, not because his selfies had been stellar. We ended up having sex next to a pile of two-by-fours on an abandoned construction site with a view of the ocean. It was ridiculously bad, awkward and as a result even a tad gross. Guy #136 came off as a clumsy hump of nerves, part overly excited to have some fun, part hopelessly inept at doing so.

It felt off doing this primitive sex ritual with such premeditation and routine. Guy #136 and I both knew our relationship would be measured in minutes and that we should probably just ignore the other in case we’d ever pass each other on the street again (which is what I did when I ran into Guy #125 at the gym a few days ago).
Even though I wasn’t the relationship type, it had always been the connection with someone that made sex something worth chasing. It made me wonder what on Earth I had been chasing the moment I decided to pick up Guy #136.

The same question popped up in my head when I visited Guy #137 in his vacation bungalow a few sexually dry weeks later. Guy #137 matched #136 in clumsiness, but this time I realized it was me who was causing it. I remember feeling misplaced, simply because I wasn’t having any fun. I was living a sad derogative of an unrealistic fantasy. I halfheartedly forced myself to feign arousal so that Guy #137 might not notice how much of a disappointment he was to me, but I suppose I was unable to mask the disappointment I felt toward myself. I have no way of knowing what Guy #137 felt in my presence, but I’m pretty sure we both felt relief when I left. Our date had transpired quicker than a Judge Judy court session.

img_201510293_080844

It reminded me of my first date with a Guy, nearly ten years prior. I remembered the excitement of getting my first kiss from someone, followed some Guys later by my first good kiss. The more sex you have, the more difficult it can become to experience the thrill of it. More and more it becomes a matter of who you do it with and when you lack suitable ‘who’s’, you go for cheap thrills, in the case of Guy #137 a bungalow bedspring that squeaked its way through our ten minute date as if it was the soundtrack to our relationship.

So what was it I was chasing? And why was there this Grindr to facilitate other people chasing it? Construction site sex with a stranger by its very nature is a compromise on many levels. Stranger yet, unless people generally have lower standards than I do (and I highly doubt that’s the case), a lot of us appease to our limited options by default. It’s as if many of us consider ourselves lucky to have weird sex at all.

How did that happen?

After I got home from my quickie with Guy #137 I got high and recalled the first time I had sex with someone. I was struck by how the excitement of my first date contrasted with the sheer ambivalence of my time with Guys like #136 or #137, or #134, #131 and #124 through #129, to name but a very few.

I wondered if perhaps the story of my often clumsy but occasionally spectacular sex life could be fun for people to read, perhaps even helpful. The internet has a lot of sex, but it does a poor job picturing the social maze that accompanies it.

The thought of writing about my sex life for the world to see brought back the excitement my date with Guy #1 had been about. As with then, part of me hesitated to move forward. Then again, what better way to give at least some meaning to dates like the ones with #136 and #137 than to have people laugh about them?

I started writing the day I met and said farewell to Guy #137.

Guess there was something worth chasing there after all.


Relationship summaries:

Guy #136:
LENGTH: 20 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Having to spell out your name to get a Starbucks coffee <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #137:
LENGTH: 8.25 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Making ‘Tall’ the new ‘Small’ <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2

 

Get the full story. Start with Guy #1 here.