Guy #119 – A vacation from my vanity…

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shame about the fat though.



Relationship summary:

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

Guy #81 – Nearer to God… (Part 2)

This one time Guy #81 took me to a meeting for Jehovah’s witnesses. Faith had always been an essential part of his life and I was very curious to learn more about his religion.

He called it a meeting, but it was really a hangar filled with thousands of Jehovah’s witnesses.

Entire families attended this gathering, which consisted of people preaching about God and youngsters performing a play about how to ask God for advice when someone wants to have premarital sex with you.

Then there were the obligatory references to humanity’s demise and God’s chosen few being granted a life in paradise.

To me, it was fascinating to be among thousands of devout believers as the only one wearing jeans. Even the many children there wore ties. To Jehovah’s witnessess God is someone to suit up for.

Personally, I don’t believe the world will end in the next ten years or that the survivors will inherit a planet with pet pandas. It felt eerie to be among thousands of people that do. It was also weird to think about the stuff Guy #81 and I had done with each other, sexually, and how such things were considered sinful by everyone around me. I felt like an alien among aliens.
Guy #81 must have felt like an alien among his own family.


As we left Guy #81 pointed to a few people sitting in the crowd. They were his parents and his siblings. He couldn’t go to them. He couldn’t say ‘hi’. He couldn’t even acknowledge their presence, nor could his family do the same for him. Guy #81 had abandoned his religion and with it his entire home. He cried when we walked by his family.
A lot of people saw his tears. The jaded looks on their faces suggested it wasn’t the first time they had seen someone cry at one of their meetings.


Guy #81 had come out of the closet a few years earlier. I was living in Suriname, South America at the time. Guy #81 left his closet by flying to me. His family back home had to break into his house and call the police to find out he was with me, in a banana republic, and gay.
I even got a phone call from the police, asking if Guy #81 was okay and not kidnapped. Minutes later I got another call. This time it was Guy #81’s mother.

I met Guy #81 in a gay sauna. We had shared sex, drugs and friendship together. Now I had his mother on the phone, right at the moment she found out her son was gay and giving up his place in paradise because of it. As I listened to his mother’s voice I realized I was listening to someone who, for all intents and purposes, had just lost a child.
Our conversation didn’t last long. His mother asked me if her son was okay. I reassured her that her son was safe. She asked if she could speak with her son, who at that moment was lying next to me on my bed, crying and wanting to be left alone.
It felt wrong being a gatekeeper to a mother, but I didn’t see any way I could be of help to her. She quite literally had but God to count on.

Guy #81 would later tell me that the few weeks he spent with me in Suriname were the most terrible of his life. He cried a lot, had a lot of nightmares in which he was hunted down by Satan and would often just stare at a photo of him and his family.

It was difficult for me to not be angry with his parents. I couldn’t imagine growing up in an environment so dictated by religion. I’m fairly atheist, but I’m open minded enough to feel God’s love every now and then. Sex for instance has always been a very spiritual experience for me.

Being with Guy #81 as he stepped out of his closet was, if nothing else, spiritual. The difference between me and him and his family was that I always welcomed God in my gay sex life.

It was the fall of 2010 and Guy #81 was about to enter the real world, leaving everyone and everything behind. I think I was pretty much the only friend he had in the real world at first.

I worried about Guy #81’s capability to adapt to his new environment.

A community of Jehovah’s witnesses shields you from reality. Guy #81 was a bit like Mowgli taking his first steps among humans. For a long time I half expected him to return to his closet at some point. I figured the safety of his religion would eventually weigh up against the cold of life outside a bubble.

For Guy #81 being gay was never a choice, but living a gay lifestyle had to be. He spent many years of his life knowing he would have to choose between a life in paradise with his family but deprived of physical intimacy or a life of satisfaction in the absence of safety. God just never made it easy on him.

I could resent God for putting Guy #81 in such an unnecessary conundrum.

Then again, I can’t help but like the God I felt when I slept with him.


And if anything, Guy #81 to me is proof that God has little problems with homosexuality. Guy #81 would end up making himself a new home. It would never be a substitute for the world he left behind, but last time I asked he told me he doesn’t regret his decision. He still misses his family. It still hurts. But at least he belongs.

Six years ago, the two of us met one night to share our sexuality. We ended up sharing way more than that. Sex with Guy #81 was anything but spectacular at first. His guilt used to overshadow any hint of arousal.
It wasn’t until much later that sex with him would become awesome and fulfilling: A few months ago we sat in a whirlpool, Guy #81 on my lap. Without using any words we reflected on our journey of the last six years. I’m thankful I got to be there when it mattered. And I was proud of him for having listened to his intuition, to have that kind of bravery. We kissed. Guy #81 was still as hot as the day I met him, but this time I didn’t feel his guilt.

It was one of the best kisses ever.



Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 years and counting
FORMAT: Very loving friendship with increasingly good benefits
SEX SCORE BEFORE COMING OUT OF CLOSET (0 = The worst parts of the bible <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4
SEX SCORE AFTER COMING OUT OF CLOSET (0 = Pet pandas <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9


Guys #40, #41, #42, #43, #44 and #45 – To the moon and back…





Explorers are never in it for the destination.

Think about it. Neil Armstrong didn’t fly to the moon because it’s such a great place. Destinationwise, the moon is the last place anyone wants to end up.

It’s the same with parts of my sex life. For a while I was in it for the journey and not so much the destination.

So when my good friend and porn producer asked if I wanted to perform in a gay sauna, I accepted. It sounded like something my ego could enjoy.

The sauna’s owner had even made flyers for the occasion. Me and my whorish attitude were now being advertized in Toronto’s gay district. It was weird seeing my naked self on a flyer.

Of all my stories, I’m probably least proud of this one.

Lying naked in front of dozens of strange men who are also naked felt like being Neil Armstrong on the moon, without a space suit. Not the best destination.

As I was pretending to be aroused, I was wondering if a job in the sex industry would make me feel like I was floating in space naked. The emptiness of it all…

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On the other hand, some of the guys that came by were not all that unattractive. In fact, the cute ones were allowed to do a little more than just watching. They would go down in history as Guys #40, #41, #42, #43, #44 and #45. Well, if I’m being honest Guy #40 was kind of cute. I allowed him to become a part of my performance. The other five Guys followed suit. They’re the reason I’m not so proud of this.

It’s difficult to strike a balance between inducing arousal and keeping people at a desired distance. I definitely succeeded in making Guys #41 through #45 aroused enough to cross the distance I wanted to keep them at.
A spacesuit would have made me feel better.

Still, while the moon is a desolate and lifeless rock it’s worth checking out. I was glad I did.

And after I was done performing me and Guy #40 did have a nice conversation in a whirlpool. I had landed back on Earth, where naked wasn’t so bad anymore.

When the owner gave me my check he complimented me on my performance. I had made people smile, or so I was told.

I got offered other gigs. At one time I was asked to participate in a live sex show on stage. I decided not to. I had been okay with being a product doing porn. Being a product for people to touch wasn’t my thing.

I’m okay with having the one memory of performing my sexuality in front of a live audience. It was another experience I was glad for having. I was also glad for not having to do it twice.

It’s not like Neil Armstrong ever went back to the moon.




Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One performance
FORMAT: Pretending arousal in exchange for money
SEX SCORE (0 = Sex that makes you want to wear a spacesuit <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

Guy #36 – Pain relief…





Guys #20 through #48 all guest starred in my life in the summer of 2009, when I spent three months in Toronto. Whatever I had going with Guys #20 to #48, each and every ‘relationship’ had an expiry date.

A very big part of me resented the fact I was to leave the city soon. It’s not so much the abundance of sex I would miss. It’s that I met some people that could have been good friends or maybe even more than that.

Guy #36 felt like a very good friend for one night.

Sex dates are actually a great way to meet people. Sure, sometimes they have the formality of a job interview, but for every person that leaves you feeling empty inside there’s another one that makes you feel alive, valuable and even loved.

Guy #36 came to my place and had sex with me. It was awesome. Our sexualities were a near perfect match.

The sex didn’t last very long. Things went from awesome to modestly spectacular after the sex, when Guy #36 and I started talking.

We ended up really connecting with each other.

Guy #36 told me he had been in a car accident this one time. He said he didn’t know what pain was until that moment. His body was still recovering from it. Pain was a near constant for him.

It’s probably why the sex had been so good. It was his pain relief. I always thought of physiotherapists as masseurs with less sex appeal, but Guy #36 told me physiotherapy can be a living hell. Sex must have been like morphine to him.

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When I told Guy #36 I would be flying back to my home country soon he seemed genuinely disappointed, but neither one of us saw any use forcing a clumsy transatlantic friendship just because we digged each other. We were fine with this being a one-time pain relief.

Sometimes it can be strangely wonderful to cuddle up with a complete stranger you met on the internet. Someone who’s been through a lot of pain.

I don’t miss Guy #36. I do miss Toronto because of guys like him.
And I really hope his pain is gone.




Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Intimate sex date with pain relief
SEX SCORE (0 = Lying to your parents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

Guy #35 – The virgin…





When I first met Guy #35 I assumed I meant a lot to him.

I was his first time with a guy.

I knew it’s never wise to have sex out of empathy, but I really felt I could give something to another human being. I had grown so comfortable with my own sexuality I considered it a gift to people. Or maybe I just felt sexually at ease in the presence of a virgin taking his first step out of the closet.

Guy #35 and I met in Toronto, but he took me to his home halfway to Niagara Falls. I enjoyed the train ride, also because it allowed me to take a nap. I hardly ever get a chance to do that on a first date.

Toward the end of our journey I woke up and initiated a conversation. Having a background in psychology however makes me inclined to ask intimate questions to total strangers without giving it a second’s thought. Whenever I’m with someone I want to get to know that someone, even on a sex date.

I got the impression Guy #35 liked me better when I was asleep. He clearly didn’t want to answer my questions about how lonely the closet can get when you’re the bearer of so many secrets or if he even enjoyed being gay.

I was going to have sex with Guy #35 out of empathy, so that’s what I gave him. I thought that’s what he needed, considering what my first time with a guy had been like.

The majority of my waking moments I spent comforting Guy #35, telling him he didn’t need to be nervous, that I wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to or how brave he was for making this step.


When we ended up at his place Guy #35 went straight to business. It’s common courtesy on sex dates to offer your guest a glass of water, but I was guided straight to a bed where we had sex. He was good.

He was good because he knew what he was doing.

The bastard.

I found my first guy through a dating service. It didn’t strike me as odd I could meet someone who was going through the exact same thing I had gone through. It never occurred to me people might advertize themselves as a virgin to up their market value. It had worked for me. Guy #35’s virginity was nothing but a marketing tactic and I had fallen for it.

I believe Guy #35 was more experienced than I was.

Karma did its work though:

My empathy gave me a nice nap and unexpected pleasant sex.
He got to have sex based on a lie, but he paid by having to live it. He must have had many guys before me. I was probably the only one that started acting like his therapist, asking him if he was okay with all the lies.

I was asking the right questions without even knowing it.

Bet that was a first for Guy #35.




Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: 1:45 hours of unsollicited therapy, 15 minutes of sex
SEX SCORE (0 = When Dick Cheney shoots you in the face <–> 10 = The best sex ever)8.2

Guy #29, #30 and #31 – Another date, another Dollar…





At least I’m getting paid for this.

Those were my thoughts as I went through having sex with Guy #29, #30 and #31.

Thinking about money doesn’t make for great sex. I don’t think it made for a good movie either.

One day, in the summer of 2009, I shot three porn scenes in a hotel room in Toronto’s gay district.

Having sex three times a day is a lot of work.

Guy #29, my first colleague of the day, was by far the cutest. Our story was an inspiring one: The two of us had supposedly met in the lobby of our hotel and went from eying each other to having oral sex in a hotel room.

The sex with Guy #29 was actually fun. Both of us were enjoying it, despite the fact there were three guys filming us.

The thing is, those three guys wanted an hour of material. That meant I had to postpone the part people often fast forward to when watching porn, the money shot as it’s called.

Going a full hour of constant receptive oral sex without any money shooting requires a lot of concentration. I literally had to think of unsexy thoughts to prevent myself from climaxing.

When I finally was allowed to, I knew the hardest part of my day was over.

That was true in the sense that Guy #30, who I had to perform oral duties on half an hour later, was anything but hard. I suspected him of being a straight guy looking for a way to make money. He must have figured there are worse things than receiving oral sex for an hour.
I got the feeling he resented me. Or maybe he resented himself for doing gay porn and that sentiment echoed into his sexuality.

It was difficult acting excited when we both clearly weren’t. God knows what we were thinking back in the lobby, where we had supposedly met each other.

Going a full hour of having sex with someone who radiates nothing but resentment is nothing short of torture, even more so when it’s being filmed.

The only time Guy #30 and I felt the same was at the end, when we were both happy it was over.

Guy #31 entered the hotel room just as Guy #30 was leaving.

Guy #31 was by far the least attractive of the three. He was also the sweetest. I could tell he considered himself lucky he had supposedly met me in the lobby. With two money shots already on my score board it was very easy to postpone this one for as long as I needed it to.

Added to that, Guy #31 was good at his job.

I think it’s funny I ended up having the better sex with the one I deemed least attractive.

Still, doing porn is hard work. I was happy to have experienced it, but I was probably happier it would always be an adventure, never a career.

There’s just too many unsexy thoughts going on when you’re doing porn.

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Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 x 1 hour
FORMAT: Collegial
SEX SCORE GUY #29 (0 = Thinking of Kim Jong-un during sex <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5
SEX SCORE GUY #30 (0 = Picturing Kim Jong-un doing a lap dance <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2
SEX SCORE GUY #31 (0 = ‘Kim Jong-un, is that a box of Pringles in your pants or are you happy to see me?’ <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #19 – The quickest of quickies…





If a guy grabs you by the balls while you’re peeing into a urinal and you let him, does that count as sex?

I guess technically it could count as the quickest of quickies, clocking in at 5.4 seconds of absolute foreplay.

Even in a filthy public washroom Guy #19 was hot. It was never a question of whether or not I would let him grab my balls. The question was whether or not I would hold up my pee for him. The thing is, I had already started peeing by the time Guy #19 arrived at the scene. My mind was puzzled: Would it be rude to continue peeing? Would it be awkward if I suddenly stopped? And if I stopped, how long was I supposed to wait until I could let the remainder flow? Was I willing to exert that much power over someone I didn’t know? Did I want this guy to think he can make me pee whenever it pleases him? Should I tell him I’m nowhere near that submissive? What would be a good time to tell him? Should I be peeing when I tell him, or should I hold it up, tell him, and then continue peeing?

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I don’t really remember what the ball grabbing actually felt like. Guy #19 either enjoyed it or pretended to, as did I.

I do remember it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Guy #19 retracted his hands, greeted me like a gentleman and walked away.

At the time I was absolutely confident that our washroom encounter was but a prelude of what was to come, but strangely enough I’ve never seen or heard from him since.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t hold up my pee for him.





Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5.4 seconds
FORMAT: Hand-to-balls physical contact
SEX SCORE (0 = A hobbit Jehovah’s witness <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

Guy #16 – Mi casa…





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

Mi casa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





Relationship summary:

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

Guy #15 – Guilt Vs. Pleasure…





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

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

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

They have my sympathy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Relationship summary:

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


Guy #14 – The fearful fag…





The closet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Relationship summary:

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

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