LGBT – Page 5

Guy #107 – The former model…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We ended up doing it twice.

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #106 – Damn that beauty…

It is said that looks don’t matter. This is of course the biggest lie since Bill Clinton did not have sexual relations with that woman. Looks can fuel a crush as much as cigars can define a presidency.

In terms of hormones, Guy #106 to date has been the only Guy to get me hard at first sight. I could attempt to describe him, but for the sake of the story simply imagine the most beautiful person you’ve ever met and ever will meet.

Guy #106 and I spent one night together. The first few hours we talked in the absence of any physical contact. It made me wonder if he was even into me. I considered Guy #106 so beautiful I did not dare initiate a first move. It was he who had started our conversation. It was he who offered me a drink. And it was he who asked if I was up for sex.

It’s one thing to desire beauty. It’s a whole other thing to be desired by it.

The sex itself was what I would call spectacular. My lack of initiative dissipated the moment we got naked and I pleasantly surprised myself with my adequacy as I surrendered myself to the desires of my desire. If heaven is a place that houses 72 Guy #106’s I could empathize with people that fly planes into buildings.

Of course, the dimly lit cell that is a cabin in a gay sauna is about as far from heaven as a gay Guy can be. After exploring each other for a good few hours Guy #106 got ready to give me what I had wanted him to give me the moment I first saw him…and then he came. As such, the trip to heaven lost to gravity just as my hands reached for the clouds.

Guy #106 felt bad about it. I on the other hand was flattered and cuddled up next to him. For a long time we simply cuddled and talked, which I guess has always been my favorite sexual position. Not only was guy #106 drop dead gorgeous, he had a mind, feelings, thoughts, enough material to keep our conversation going for hours.

When morning broke Guy #106 suggested the two of us check into a cheap hotel and continue the weekend there. I wanted to, but instead I told him my mother had recently been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and that we had a family thing I would feel guilty for not attending, given the circumstances.

There really was a family thing and I really would have felt guilty for checking into a hotel with Guy #106. It’s also true I opened up about my mother’s illness to bring depth to a relationship that wasn’t really a relationship. For all the intimacy we shared we were still mostly strangers.

In lieu of flying to heaven in a hotel room I left Guy #106 my phone number. He texted me later that day (just as I was engaged in an epic battle of mini golf with family) saying he had enjoyed his time with me.
I’m not the kind of person that pursues a commitment, but when it comes to beauty I do tend to behave like an addict. Guy #106 got me high for a short while, but I quickly craved for more. So I texted back, asking when we could meet again. He said he’d have to check his schedule. I gave him dates when I’d be available. He said he’d really have to check his schedule.

He’s been checking his schedule for four years now. For years and counting.

I suck at playing hard to get, blissfully unaware of the fact my initial shyness was the very thing that made me worth chasing. I had been hard to get without realizing it. My reluctance to make even a hint of a first move had created a certain equality between Guy #106 and me. Now that I knew he found me attractive and nice to be around with I had completely submitted myself to his beauty, neglecting my own in the process. As a result I stopped being the delicious prey I was when Guy #106 first laid eyes on me.

If ever there was a Guy I’d like to meet again, it’s Guy #106. Not because I want to have sex with him – well, not just because I want us to cuddle above the cloud deck – but because he’s someone I’d want to know.
Most Guys I met have Grindr profiles, Facebook accounts or Instagram selfies. Guy #106 turned out to be a digital ghost I only knew by his first name. Maybe that’s for the best. I’m about to publish this post labeling him as the most beautiful Guy I’ve ever been with. It doesn’t get much less hard to get than that.

I do regret not checking into a hotel with him.
I regret it every time I see beauty.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 hours
FORMAT: Wow
SEX SCORE (0 = Gravity <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.6

Guy #105 – Urkel.

Love can be either devastating or annoying.

Guy #105 was annoying. The more he fell in love with me, the more annoying he became.
What annoyed me most were his tics. He constantly made a “clissing” sound with his mouth (clicking and hissing, I don’t know what else to call it). Guy #105 had this weird accent I could never quite take seriously. He was a nerdy PhD. in something, German, and the closest I ever came to dating Urkel.

Urkel was smart and from a certain angle and after a few glasses of wine not entirely uncute. He obviously wanted me as he explained to me the PhD. stuff that he did. He wanted me so eagerly I could make him eat his own socks if I wanted to. Apparently he thought me so worthy he considered himself blessed I was within reach. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, his clisses became more frequent and he giggled like a ventriloquist’s doll when I told him I like talking about quantum physics during sex.

Our first date wasn’t all that bad actually. I was in a romantic mood and must have enjoyed talking about particles. I probably initiated the first kiss as a gift of sorts. That somehow ended up in four hours of tender lovemaking. It was during those four hours Urkel’s mannerisms started to annoy me. His spit spat outward like a supernova each time he laughed. Even worse, he thought he was funny. He laughed a lot.

Urkel was so busy enjoying his moment in time he failed to notice I contemplated smacking his head each time he clissed. Instead, he spoke of me visiting him in Germany someday. He wanted to show me around and introduce me to his social life. I on the other hand was silently wondering why I had let it come to this. It’s difficult to enjoy sex when the other one is enjoying it so much more than you ever could.

Of course it’s nice when someone finds you attractive, but even admiration can be overdone. Nothing is more irritating than someone who wants to be your shadow.

For a few hours I had granted Urkel the illusion the two of us could ever be a thing of sorts. That had planted a seed. The moment his first cliss annoyed me Urkel became unaware of my true feelings for him. No matter what I did, he liked me more. No matter how curt, avoidant or rude I was, Urkel praised me like a Trekkie taking a shower with Jean-Luc Picard. The fact he idolized me and every breath I took made him an incredible nuisance, like a mosquito hovering around your head when all you want is sleep.

I considered myself lucky Urkel lived in Germany. It’s easy to ghost people long distance. Yet somehow he managed to find himself in my country again two months later, where he somehow had us attending a pride parade together. (As mentioned before, I absolutely suck at rejecting people.)

At times I pitied Urkel. His brain was undoubtedly sexy, but his nerdisms were too much for me to take in. His clissing in particular annoyed me, especially when accompanied by one of his many attempts to get physical with me. Being with him again made me wonder how on Earth the two of us had ever gotten to seeing each other naked.

Urkel was clearly disappointed when I told him we would not be having sex again, even though that had been the main purpose of his visit. I could tell he was sad because the clissing stopped.

We didn’t see each other after that, though he would frequently hit me up online to ask me questions like What’s up?, How’s it hanging?, How are you? and Hi?. I did not Hi back.

No one likes to see a sad Urkel, but I guess that’s because we’re all Urkel from time to time. Being in love is pretty much what being Urkel is all about. Guy #105 completely neglected his own brilliance for the sake of praising my pretty blue eyes. Fortunately, crushes come and go and he eventually stopped attempting to contact me. I guess it means he rekindled his relationship with the hot PhD. stuff he was so very good at.

Perhaps one day I’ll be the failed writer whose only claim to success is that he dated a future Nobel Prize winner this one time.

That’s still better than having to listen to any more of his clisses though.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: Drunken mistake followed by four month hangover
SEX SCORE (0 = Urkel’s pubic hair in your soup <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3

Guy #104 – Best pity sex ever.

Sexting.
Like smelling your fingers or wanting to kill your neighbor, sexting is one of those common things people rarely talk about in public. In the land of sexting everybody has libidos that last all night, cum spreads like supernovae and penises stay erect till the end of time.

Sexting often doesn’t lead to an actual date, perhaps because it’s kind of silly and everyone involved knows too many superlatives can only result in disappointment.

Guy #104 was my most memorable exception in that respect.
The two of us got in touch on a dating site and quickly entered a conversation that read like a porn script. Unlike most sexting partners, Guy #104 seemed genuinely interested in meeting up with me, which is why we set a date at his place.

That’s when he got down with the flu. Usually people get down with the flu as a polite way of saying On second thought, I don’t want you in my house, but Guy #104 insisted we’d meet a week later.

A week later he still had the flu.

The thing with sexting is it’s kind of like sex itself: It can’t go on forever. Eventually Guy #104 and I started talking about other stuff, most notably about the fact he stayed in flu mode for so long.

As Guy #104 revealed more and more of his symptoms I realized he probably didn’t have the flu, but Acute HIV Infection. Not wanting to burden him with my hypochondria, I didn’t tell him about my suspicions at first.
But when another week passed during which his flu didn’t, Guy #104 told me he had seen a doctor who also deemed HIV the most likely culprit. Shortly after his test came back positive.

Needless to say Guy #104 was devastated. Like so many gay Guys he had barebacked his way through a recent date and subsequently became part of that statistic no one wants to be a part of.

There’s no arousal to be found in a sentence like Hm, yeah, Ima slide that condom on so hard. That’s why in the land of sexting the hypothetical sex is always a bareback extravaganza. Guy #104 and I had sexted each other about doing stuff some people get AIDS from. Now he knew he would never be able to do any of that stuff with anyone ever.

What started off as a lighthearted sexting session eventually took the form of therapy. Guy #104’s world was pretty much shattered and he could only confide in a sexting stranger.

Perhaps his biggest issue was he now felt unattractive. HIV simply isn’t a popular niche. It lets everybody know you barebacked one too many times. Guy #104 had trouble accepting Guys could still be attracted to him. So I told him I’d take him up on our date, saying I would gladly show him HIV was not a turn off for me.

We met sometime after his symptoms had disappeared. We spoke a lot about him having to adjust to his new status. He struck me as relieved, having taken comfort in the fact it’s not the death sentence it used to be.

It’s not uncommon for me to take on the role of therapist on dates, but never as much as with Guy #104. I actually enjoyed being able to offer him a sense of comfort.

It was during sex I felt his relief the most. It was his first time after testing positive and it was nice to see him enjoy himself.
For me the sex wasn’t great though. Guy #104 wasn’t really the kind of hot I had seen on his selfies and besides HIV we didn’t have much else to talk about. There wasn’t that much of a connection to be celebrated, but maybe that’s because I took on the role of therapist, even during sex.
Still, Guy #104 made me feel like a good therapist. It was definitely the best pity sex I ever had.

The two of us met on three or four occasions. He was the kind of friend that would say ‘Hi’ each time I popped online on Skype. I am however not a very sociable person when I’m not having sex.
I could tell I meant something to Guy #104 and was very happy to have been there for him, but I never intended to be there for him forever: The better the therapist, the quicker his patients don’t need him anymore.
And of course I get immensely annoyed by people that say ‘Hi’ on Skype.

Ghosting someone always comes with a pinch of guilt. I simply suck at rejecting people. It would have been courteous of me to let him know I was happy to have been of help, but that I had given him all the help I could have. Instead I stayed silent until, eventually, Skype did.

I eased my guilt by figuring Guy #104 would take comfort in the fact that, whatever my reason for ghosting him, HIV wasn’t it.

I imagine he’s been happily sexting since.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: Sexting turned therapy
SEX SCORE (0 = That thing with Freud and wanting to do your mother <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #103 – Sticky rice…

Hotels are great for having sex with strangers.

When you go online to find a date, Guys in hotels are among the easiest catches. They can host, they are willing and sex will forever be the best amenity the Hilton has to offer.

Guy #103 was an Asian guy visiting Europe on business. We met online, where we agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel, where he picked me up and took me to his room, where we had mildly satisfying sex that lasted about 20 minutes.

The end.

Or so I thought.

Usually when two strangers meet up for sex in a hotel this tends to be the extent of their relationship. Guy #103 and I didn’t have any connection I deemed worthy of exploring, so putting my clothes back on was my way of saying goodbye.

Guy #103 however was new to the city. He wanted to explore. And worst of all, he wanted to explore with me. Fake politeness being my superpower, I accepted his offer to go for a walk together.

As far as I could tell nothing was wrong with Guy #103. I simply felt no more for him than I feel for strangers on a subway. Guy #103 gave me the feeling you get when a random passenger starts talking to you. The fact I just had sex with this stranger made things awkward and extremely tiring.
I would have been moderately fine with this had the sex taken place at the end of our date. Then at least our meaningless conversations would have led somewhere. Now we were merely exchanging increasingly superfluous pleasantries that sucked the life out of me, all for the sake of being polite to someone I knew I would never see again.

We ended up in some sort of Hindu temple, where Guy #103 lit a candle and had himself a moment of solemn silence. While I find spirituality interesting, I found it odd to top off anonymous hotel sex with a few minutes of less consensual prayer.

Guy #103 spoke of a restaurant he wanted to try out. He said he wanted to buy me lunch. I said yes.

I really do suck at rejecting people.

We sat down in an obscure and rather filthy establishment. Our table placed us in full view of an abattoir where dead poultry hang on its legs. Our table cloth was plastic and the cutlery felt sticky. Having exhausted every other possible casual conversation topic, the food was the only subject of our discussion. My dish most closely resembled a watery rice porridge I imagine must have been conceived in times of famine. It perfectly mirrored the satisfaction I had gotten from my date.
I told Guy #103 my food tasted healthy, the culinary equivalent of telling an ugly Guy he looks sweet.
I’m not sure what should worry me most: the fact I lie during my dates or that I mostly lie for my dates.

When we got back at his hotel Guy #103 invited me to come up with him. The thought of having to go through another round of sex with this Guy was no more appealing than a root canal treatment at this time. So I decided to be honest and said: “No force in the universe is strong enough to make me have sex with you ever again.”

That was a lie. The kind of honesty I actually performed went something like: “I really had a lot of fun. It was really nice meeting you. Thank you so much for that lunch also. It was really great. I would love to come up with you, really. But I don’t really want to keep my friend waiting. I have this thing I really need to be at. We should really keep in touch though.”

We did not keep in touch.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 hours
FORMAT: Purgatory
SEX SCORE (0 = Youtube commercials you can’t click away <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #102 – In sickness and in health…

Throughout my sex with Guys #1 through #101 there was always a moment, however brief, in which I wondered what my mother would think of the Guy I chose to have sex with. I knew she would never judge me for my sometimes pedestrian tastes, but I often pondered the idea of bringing home someone who could be part of my family. I always assumed there would come a day I’d settle down and go on Grindr to find someone to join me on family weekends.

Then came the day my mother got diagnosed with ovarian cancer, the absolute cunt of cancers in terms of survivability.

Having sickness in your life affects your sex life.

Maybe it’s my inner Rain Man, but I couldn’t help but objectify the human body a little, even the ones I had sex with. Sex is the human body celebrating its existence. Sickness reminds us it’s just a carcass in the making.

Guy #102 was one of the most beautiful Guys I’ve ever been with. Both his body and face were human nature at its best. We met on two occasions. The first time we had a few drinks and strolled around the city, talking and getting to know each other. The second time we met at his place and had two rounds of sex in just under 45 minutes. When I hit him up online to invite myself over for a third date, he politely held it off, quickly ending our relationship with the words we’ll see.

The strange thing was I tried to score a third date out of politeness rather than desire. Despite his raging gorgeousness I didn’t really feel like seeing Guy #102 another time. It was a bit confusing to not be attracted by beauty, though it probably wasn’t beauty I had issues with. It was health.

I dated Guy #102 around the time my mother’s hair started falling out. Having never experienced sickness at close range it was difficult to shed my mind of it, even when I was celebrating life with Guy #102. Not counting a common mono infection, health had always been a given for me. Not once did a body I have sex with remind me of sickness and while Guy #102 was about as perfect as bodies come, I couldn’t help but be reminded of how the human body can turn against itself sometimes.

The fact our first date consisted of nothing but talking suggested Guy #102 was interested in me. I even told him about my mother’s recent diagnosis, to which he responded empathetically. On our second date it became apparent Guy #102 didn’t want total strangers in his house, our first date being his means to check if I was mentally stable enough for an actual sex date.

As I was putting my clothes back on toward the end of our second date, Guy #102 told me to hurry. He mentioned something about a landlord coming home any minute.
“Sorry for rushing you like this,” he said.
“That’s okay. I have to go home anyway because of my mother.”
While it was true I was expected for dinner that evening, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry. I merely mentioned my mother to gauge Guy #102’s reaction. By the look on his face he thought it was strange someone my age had to report to his mother somehow. He had clearly forgotten about her illness. I didn’t mind. Guy #102 wanted me horizontal. The fact he got me horizontal twice had probably been a compliment of sorts. He simply wasn’t interested in my back story. Besides, who wants to talk about sickness when you just celebrated the human body, twice?

Perhaps me bringing up the topic of mothers while there were still condoms on the floor was the reason I didn’t get invited for a third date.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Background check followed up by standard sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #101 – World’s worst blowjob…

I like sex to be a game of give and take. I want to want and be wanted, love and be loved, take and be taken.

As such, I don’t really have a thing for Guys that are either very dominant or extremely passive. I prefer my Guys to be versatile in each and every sense of the word.

Being with someone who gives himself completely bores me pretty quickly:
I listen to pretentious new age music, I like cooking, I cried when I saw Titanic the first four times. There’s no way I can dominate someone all the time. I have a very distinct feminine side that under influence of drugs can be like a princess locked away in a castle with no one to do it with except a dragon.

Being with someone who takes complete ownership of me tends to yield even worse results:
I can get off on rap or hard rock, I will destroy you if you’re in my space while I’m cooking and I still laugh about that Guy who jumped off the sinking ship and hit a propeller halfway down. I’m definitely a man, someone who will slay a dragon if it means I get laid.

Guy #101 was as gorgeous as he was dominant.

He was so dominant I had trouble liking him at first, even though he was in fact a very likeable person. He had a very strong opinion about every topic we discussed, but he made me feel like I would have to be stupid not to agree with him. My nuances weren’t given much attention.

Our date transpired at my place. Guy #101 had brought two bottles of wine for our kitchen table conversation. We were already halfway through the second bottle when he started showing videos of him having sex with his boyfriend, who of course was totally okay with him using their sex life as a means to induce foreplay with other Guys.

Granted, I enjoyed the way Guy #101 smoothly filled the room with sexual energy. It was cheap, very obvious, but every bit as effective. In a matter of seconds I felt as if I was on the set of a 1970s porn movie. Suddenly everything made me horny.

It’s probably what Guy #101 felt as well. We kissed and quickly went on to undressing each other. That’s where the conflict started. Guy #101 pushed my hands away when I tried to sensually unbutton his blouse. Instead he pulled my T-shirt up over my head, forcing me to either take it off completely or go blind for the rest of our date. As I rid myself of my shirt I saw that Guy #101 had unzipped his pants. I tried once more to take out his blouse, but once again my hands were pushed back. Instead he grabbed my head and pushed it down so hard I was afraid of having suffered a whiplash injury.

It was clear Guy #101 required oral sex. While we both aimed for that scenario, Guy #101 dismissed the scenic route as he had all my opinions. It had a certain kind of inequality about it that didn’t sit right with me. Just because I’m part princess doesn’t mean I’m not a feminist.

I like it when sex is a fight, but I don’t want it to be like Gladiator. Guy #101 was the kind of Guy that would get his opponent naked on his knees in front of him facing nothing but his huge sword and yell Are you not entertained?

Aggressive and willing as he was, Guy #101 did not make me feel desired, or entertained for that matter.

Additionally, what little coordination I was granted was hampered greatly by the alcohol in my system.

The end result of our date was both the worst and shortest blowjob I’ve ever given. It was so bad the sexual chemistry had all but evaporated.

Guy #101 gave me a friendly smile as he zipped his pants back up. His sword would remain hidden for the remainder of the evening and all eternity.

We saw each other on a few other occasions, but always as friends. It allowed me to get to know his friendly side.

The strange thing is I was sorry the fight had stopped. I guess my inner princess got off on the idea of cooking Maximus a nice meal and making sweet tender love to him, while Maximus had pictured slaying a princess.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 years
FORMAT: One time failed sex date followed by friendly Facebook friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = The worst blowjob ever <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0

Guy #100 – The joy of revenge sex…

Guy #96 was the love of my life.

Well, maybe not so much the love of my life as that I wanted to do him at least once and be done with it. Sadly, Guy #96 stalled at dry humping every single time. He simply refused to cheat on his boyfriend. If he got caught, he could always claim we were just humping as friends.

Adding to my misery was the fact Guy #96 got insecure when he knew I’d be going out. So not only did I have to feel miserable the clothes were coming off for another Guy, I also had to carry guilt for trying to move on.

Needless to say Guy #96 was starting to piss me off at this point.

My previous efforts at finding someone to make me forget about Guy #96 had been as successful as the North Korean space program. Every attempt had been a failure, each one filling me up with more and more rage.

Then came Guy #100. Guy #100 was one of those Guys I could immediately tell was into me. He gave me the kind of vague but nonetheless revealing smile that let me know he was mine for the taking if I wanted him. The great thing was I wanted him.

Even greater was the fact Guy #100 was witty, smart and opinionated. Even greatest, he could make me laugh. In short, he was a cake in an ocean of icing, as I would have taken him home on account of his looks alone.

Even greater than greatest, most of my friends I was with were totally into Guy #100 as well. Filled with anger and sadness over Guy #96, it was nothing short of awesome to hook up with the Guy that was generally considered to be our collective dance floor’s best catch. In between our conversations Guy #100 and I went at each other in full view of Guys #5, #7, #10, #11, #14, #89, #93, #98 and #99. Finally my sad, sad ego was given the boost it had been aching for a long, long time.

Even greater than greater than greatest, I was living out Guy #96’s worst fear! Finally I was the one doing the hurting. No longer was I bound by the shackles of our failed relationshipwreck. Instead, I met another Guy and celebrated this joyous occasion by having him hump the anger out of me in full view of my social life. Life doesn’t get much better than that.

When I drove home early the next morning I felt jubilant, victorious and gay as in happy. As I sat in my car, alone, I literally screamed my guts out: “Fuck you, Guy #96!” (Okay, I didn’t actually call him by his number. That would have been sad.)

While Guy #100 had to go home the night we met, we did end up dating for a short while. He was an intern, scheduled to fly back to his home country in a matter of weeks. In those weeks leading up to his departure he became part of my inner circle. It was a relationship with a rapidly approaching expiry date, but a relationship nonetheless. It soothed me to be wanted by someone I wanted, to be with someone who wanted to be with me and to wake up next to someone I wanted to wake up with.

Naturally, Guy #100 and I became Facebook friends so that we could keep in touch, which we then of course didn’t.

Revenge is like chewing gum. It quickly loses its minty freshness and you inevitably want to spit it out at some point.
Likewise, Guy #100 met me when he was in tourist-mode. Things were fun because they weren’t meant to last.

Whenever two people have sex it means they want the same thing. It doesn’t mean they’re on the same path, that they want it for the same reason or that Facebook friends have meaning.

Guy #100 gave me my revenge. I gave him his vacation.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Loving fling
SEX SCORE (0 = The prince kissing Snow White (seriously, think about it) <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t doing anything for me though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #98 – The tease…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #? – A letter to a Guy I haven’t had sex with. Yet.

Guy #? and I met each other last December. We eyed, smiled and even talked to each other, flirted a little and took our relationship to the next level by becoming Facebook friends. Him being a French Guy living in Germany and me a Dutch one living in the Caribbean, we haven’t seen each other since. We have kept in touch though, sending each other metaphorical reminders of how nice it would be to maybe possibly have sex someday. I’ve also been quite loyal in liking his pics, especially those of his abs.

About a week ago Guy #? surprised me with a rather lengthy email. In it, he said he often feels lonely and that relationships, despite his best efforts, never work out for him. He spoke of an Italian Guy he had met on a getaway in Venice. They spent a few holidays together and established some form of long distance exclusive relationship. Then came the day Guy #?’s newfound boyfriend started acting more like a friend and less like a boyfriend: distant and ‘uncuddly’.
After addressing the matter his boyfriend confirmed the two of them were only dating, exclusively for sure, but not something one would call ‘having a boyfriend’. There was a lot of liking coming from Venice, but little loving. His boyfriend expressed doubts about his feelings, the distance had became a factor and perhaps more importantly, it seemed ‘typical’ of all the relationships Guy #? gets into.

Guy #? also lamented the many Guys focusing mostly on his looks, neglecting the intimacy he aches for, worsening his thirst for attention and love.

Feeling empathetic and slightly aroused, I sat down to write Guy #? a decent reply. That somehow ended up being the following letter. With his permission, here it is:

Dear Guy #?,

“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle
Que nul ne peut apprivoiser,
Et c’est bien en vain qu’on l’appelle,
S’il lui convient de refuser.”

Bizet or something

First of all, you can’t find love. It finds you. The only thing you need to do is believe it will. Given the history between you and the Germans I can see why it’s not working out. They did try to invade your home after all. Twice.

Okay, I’m kidding, but the point is you don’t feel at home where you live. If love is what’s missing and you believe Germany and love don’t go together – and no one would blame you – you need to ask yourself: Are Germans bad for you or are your own issues standing in between you and love?

I know, it’s hard to tell with Germans.

I get why many of them would be interested in your physicality. It means you are hot. As with everybody strengths and weaknesses are often one and the same trait. It is precisely your hotness that gets Guys to objectify you. The only thing you can do is what I try to tell every hot Guy I meet and that is to simply accept and embrace their own hotness. The hotter the Guy, the harder they shrug it off for some reason. Some people face the obstacle of being unattractive. You on the other hand are often judged on account of your good looks. If I were you, I would count your blessings. (All six packs of them for starters.)

Sure, people can be shallow, but the more you open up to them, the less shallow they become (or the faster they run away from you, it all depends). Compromise is an important part of any relationship, except for compromising on who you are. My guess is your frustration stems from your ability to please others when you should be pleasing yourself. I generally find that Guys are less into me the more I compromise. And the more I like a Guy, the more I compromise, the end result being an unrewarding fling that leaves me feeling lonely. I guess you know what that’s like.

You strike me as the romantic type. The gay scene can be harsh to romantics. Gays can be bitches after all, especially to hot romantic softies such as yourself. That was a compliment by the way.
In that respect I’m certainly sorry to hear it’s not working out between you and that Guy from Italy, or as I like to call him: the competition. (Let’s face it, I dig you.) I feel bad for you, but it would seem your latest relationship took place on vacation. Could it be you mostly meet Guys when you’re in flee-mode?

Could it be you’re a hopeless romantic constantly on the run from Germany?
Relationships don’t work when you’re on the run.

Like I said, you can’t find love. It finds you. If long distance is the default format of your relationships, something is wrong: Long distance relationships have this tendency to be doomed from the start.

The question is whether you don’t feel at home because love can’t find you in Germany or if love can’t find you there because you can’t make it your home. You say you’re okay with a long distance relationship, but I’m not so sure you are. Something tells me you’d settle for distance because it shields you from defining the meaning of ‘home’.

Home is where the heart is.

Personally, I’ve had quite a journey finding my home over the past ten years, having lived in Suriname, Canada and now Curaçao. In fact, I’ll be moving back to the Netherlands soon, Curaçao’s depressing lack of doable men being a major factor in my decision. I hope I will find my home, though truth be told it depends on me more than my environment. The same goes for you.
I actually have no idea what kind of work it is you do and if it would be easy for you to leave Germany. However, I’d say the odds of love finding you are spread equally over Germany, Italy or any other place where gays have parades. The trick is to embrace your own beauty, which is basically the point of those parades. I think you’re focused more on acknowledging and admiring another person’s beauty than your own. That’s very sweet but equally silly.

I’m not saying relationships only work out when you live within Grindr range of each other. I’m saying you, like everybody else, need to live your own life and believe there will come a day someone will fit in, instead of trying to accommodate your life to that of someone else.

The sadness you feel now is very real, but it’s rooted in what you deny yourself.

Wherever you end up, make it your home. I know this doesn’t happen overnight, but it helps to stop fleeing, to focus on having fun in the place you live, ‘fun’ meaning whatever you want it to mean. And who knows, maybe Germany isn’t the right place for you. I’d sure hate to make love in German. I’ve heard African clicking languages that sound sexier than German. But that’s just me.

Focus on loving yourself and love will find its way to you, is what I’m saying.

By the way, I am aware of my wiseassery. For the record, I suck at finding love just as much as the next Guy, but I am presently enjoying the rides. Well, most of them.

Hope this helps. Let me know if you want to talk more.

Umarmungen und Küsse (see how godawful that sounds?),

Lennard

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 months and counting
FORMAT: Anticipatory Facebook friendship
SEX SCORE: ?

Guy #97 – Going on the prebound…

When a relationship ends in tears, as it often does, it’s customary to remedy our sadness by hooking up with someone we have no emotional attachment to. It’s like taking a vitamin pill when all you really want is heroin.

In the case of Guy #96 the tears came before we ever got around to having an relationship. So instead of going on the rebound, I got myself a ‘prebound’ Guy, someone I hoped would make me forget about Guy #96 for a night.

While Guy #96 didn’t like the thought of me sleeping with someone that wasn’t him, I knew I had every right to. He was busy having a boyfriend after all.

Going on the prebound with Guy #97 served one single purpose: Relief.

Preboundwise, I could have done a lot worse. Guy #97 was easy to talk to, amicable, polite, sort of attractive and willing. We had a pleasant conversation that lasted a few hours and the inevitable sex that followed was far from depressing.

The depressing part came after the sex, when Guy #97 had comfortably fallen asleep and I was left to ponder my state of mind to the sound of his snores.

Guy #97 had given me my fix and it had been a decent trip, but now I was crashing. Given my innate allergy to snoring it was a rough landing.

The entire night I could only think about how much I wanted to be lying next to Guy #96 and not #97. I knew #96 was also lying in his bed somewhere, also with someone. I also knew he would be nowhere near as alone as I was.

I was wide awake throughout the night, trying to make sense of the ceiling. No matter how much I stared at it, my brain kept vomiting negative thoughts. I don’t remember what they were exactly, but my mind must have been home to a corny soap opera. People think the stupidest things when they’re in love. I’m no exception.

When the sun came up I was relieved to let go of the ceiling, but at the same time I resented having to start another day.
Guy #97 awoke in cuddle mode, not exactly the thing I was looking for. The thing I was looking for was lying in another bed with another Guy. I was definitely in the mood for cuddles, but not from Guy #97.

On the other hand, Guy #97’s attempted cuddle session did inspire me to get out of bed that morning. It would have been a lot harder without it.

Had I been in a better mood Guy #97 and I could have had a much better time together. He was definitely the kind of person I’d enjoy having breakfast with. It’s probably why he offered me some. Instead I excused myself by making up an appointment I needed to be at. I’ve lied to a lot of Guys in my life, but Guy #97 was someone I felt bad lying to.

I remember the outside being viciously chilly that day as I shivered my way to a bus stop, knowing I was out there in the cold while Guy #96 was probably involved in a cuddle extravaganza that didn’t involve me.

In terms of sex I suppose Guy #97 had been a decent date. But the plan to forget about Guy #96 had completely failed.

Both Guy #96 and Guy #97 were pretty great trips that ended in major hangovers.

It could be a rebound is really the heroin you take when you’re starved for vitamins, I’m actually not sure.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 12 hours
FORMAT: Amicable sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = A date with Hannibal Lecter <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #96 – A long distance relationship that was absolutely fabulous until it absolutely wasn’t…

Guy #96 lived in Europe. I lived in South America. We had met on the internet. The two of us had a fantastic relationship together. It lasted 1 ½ years.

The first time we saw each other in real life was after 1 ½ years.

We would send lengthy emails back and forth, call each other and talk on Skype for hours, often a few times a week. And of course we also used our webcam for other stuff that could last hours.

At first I was reluctant to open myself up to Guy #96, there being an ocean between us and all. However it quickly became apparent Guy #96 was completely into me, falling for me even. That widened my comfort zone and allowed me to fall for him as well.

Of course it sucked we could never get to the physical part of our relationship, but we both agreed things were fun as they were with a webcam and that neither of us should do anything rash like buying a plane ticket.

I think I realized I was in love around the time I started chatting with him during work meetings. It was great. It seemed like our relationship could only go up. After all, we still had to look forward to meeting each other someday.

We did go up for a long time, until we peaked. We peaked before we ever met each other. There’s only so many things a webcam has to offer.
The thing with falling in love is that we often fall in love with an idea. Fueled by the absence of any physical intimacy, Guy #96 embodied the idea of having an actual loving relationship with someone, someone to maybe grow old with, someone who could be family. The longer our long distance relationship lasted, the more that idea wired itself into my brain. My hormones took care of the rest.

After about a year Guy #96 started acting distant. By that time I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t telling me everything that was on his mind. Slowly I came to learn he had a bit of an avoidant personality.

Instead of hearing about his feelings, pictures of Guy #96 with another Guy started popping up like mushroom clouds on his Facebook wall. Pictures of them cooking together, them sitting in a grassy field together, them celebrating Halloween together. All things people can do together as friends. I clung to the hope Guy #96 had found himself a very good platonic non-sexual unerotic friend which he somehow never talked about.
I started getting officially worried when Guy #96’s mother started liking their friend’s comments: A family was being formed, and I wasn’t part of it.

When I visited the Facebook profile of Guy #96’s friend I couldn’t believe my eyes: This Guy was most definitely less attractive than I was. Being a narcissist I accepted good looking competition as a part of life, but average looking competition was a bigger paradox than a Jew at a Nazi rally.

In a desperate attempt to sell myself on my looks I started taking selfies. A lot of them. I would spend hours setting the lighting and contrast buttons just right. And then I would post them on Facebook. I knew the whole world was witness to my vanity, but I was okay with it as long as Guy #96 got to see me and my pretty blue filtered eyes. Every time he liked one of my Facebook photos was a good day for me.

Then came the moment he finally opened up about seeing another Guy. By this time we didn’t chat as often as we used to. Every night he wasn’t online was a bad day for me, because I knew it could mean he was doing stuff offline with his boyfriend, stuff that wasn’t restricted to a webcam. Those were nights I used my webcam to make selfies.

Love can be a bit of a black hole. It sucks you in and before you know it your whole life revolves around one person. I resented Facebook for facilitating my obsession, but I couldn’t help myself: If I couldn’t be part of Guy #96’s life, at the very least I had to be a sad outside observer.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I took a month off from work, bought a plane ticket and went to see Guy #96. After 1 ½ years of Skyping our asses off we would finally meet, for real.
Although Guy#96 was now steadily dating his boyfriend, he would often tell me he had doubts about his relationship. I believed him. After all, wasn’t I the better looking option?

People always look different in real life, even if you’ve seen each other a thousand times on a webcam. He made a remark about my lower teeth not lining out as nicely as my upper ones and I mentioned his head was bigger than it looked on screen. Other than that, the two of us got along like we had on Skype.

Guy #96 took me to his place on our first date. Standing mere feet away from his bed I initiated our first kiss. It wasn’t at all like the kiss I had imagined. Instead of feeling relief I could only think about Guy #96’s boyfriend and the fact he had kissed him a lot more than I ever had.
To his credit Guy #96 didn’t cheat on his boyfriend as much as I wanted him to. While we used his bed to dry hump the living daylights out of each other, any hand that attempted to remove clothes, clothes that had come off so easily on our respective webcams, was pushed back the way it came.

For 1 ½ years I had waited to be with Guy #96. Given how much he had wanted me on Skype I figured our hormones would be enough to make him forget about his relationship with a Guy whose Facebook pictures were not nearly as photoshopped as mine.

Reality can be your biggest enemy when you’re in love. What seemed sound, reasonable and even logical in my mind was constantly challenged by it. I did my best to be the smartest, cutest, funniest and all round bestcatchiest me I could be. I knew Guy #96 was into me. He even told me he didn’t know whether to choose me or his other half.

I couldn’t fathom the idea I was fighting a losing battle. After all, wasn’t I obviously the bestcatchiest one on my Facebook page? I had over 100 meticulously crafted selfies to prove it!

Guy #96 even told me he “kind of wanted to get out of his relationship”. It was around that time I started seeing the pattern:

Whenever I came close he would push me away. Whenever I threatened to leave him and his webcam he would seduce me back in. Guy #96 didn’t want me. He wanted the option of having me. His relationship with his boyfriend played out in front of their friends and families. Ours was a dirty secret. It’s not that Guy #96 didn’t like me and my selfies. He just couldn’t bring himself to inform the rest of the world of it. I believe he feared shame more than hurt.

The month I took off from work was intended to be a catharsis. Instead I flew back to South America feeling drained, sad, frustrated and more in love than ever.

Our ‘relationship’ continued as it had, through the safety of a webcam, but the only thing that grew at this point was the hurt.

So I made a bit of rash decision. I moved back to my home country to resolve our issues once and for all. I actually dropped my well paying job, my life and my more than decent sex life and moved 4000 miles to be with someone who liked me better on a laptop.

Of course relationships only work out when you love yourself, when you’re able to live your own life and when your wellbeing isn’t completely dependent on someone else’s Facebook updates. It’s just ridiculously easy to confuse dependency with love when you’re in love, even more so when you’re a narcissist.

Our relationship had consisted of what would have amounted to thousands of pages of chats, emails and texts, countless hours of webcam sessions but less than a handful of unrewarding dates that failed to live up to even the least of my expectations.
The reason I moved back was because I wanted Guy #96 to make a choice. The distance between us had always been the go to-argument for staying with his boyfriend. Now I had gotten rid of that distance, hoping to even the playing field that way.
The two of us saw each other only once after I moved back. We strolled through the city, smoked a cigarette here and there and talked about him having to make a choice. He still couldn’t.

It was painful, but I realized the only way Guy #96 would ever break up with his boyfriend was if his boyfriend did it for him. Guy #96 never made it clear what he wanted. What he wanted was someone else to want it on his behalf.

On our last night together Guy #96 told me he had never told his boyfriend about me. It became clear I would never escape the clutches of my webcam. So after surrendering my entire life to the non-existing wishes of Guy #96 I finally made a sensible decision. I broke up with him.

The two of us said goodbye on the same train station we had first met each other. I told him we would not keep in touch online. It was definitely awful saying goodbye to someone I so much wanted to be with but would never see or hear from again. I hugged him pretty fiercely when my train was about to leave. Knowing me I probably cried as well. I really wanted our final goodbye to be as worthy and beautiful as I imagined the two of us could have been. Sadly, our Kodak moment got interrupted by Guy #96’s cell phone: His boyfriend called. The last I saw of Guy #96 was him walking away from me, answering his phone. It was one final blow, telling me I wasn’t allowed to be part of Guy #96’s life.

I went off Facebook for about half a year. One might consider that my rehab.

It was exhausting telling people how happy I was living back in my home country. Few things suck the life out of you like smiling when all you really want is to cry your guts out. For a long time the mere thought of Guy #96 would turn my stomach around, make me angry, sad and of course ashamed of all my desperate selfies.

The thing with love is that the more you realize why something didn’t work out, the happier you are it didn’t. As time passes you realize reality can be a bitch, but it’s never the enemy.

About a year after our not so perfect goodbye I looked up Guy #96 on Facebook once more. It was a test to see if it would still get to me. Fortunately, I found myself feeling happy for Guy #96 when I learned he and his boyfriend were moving in together.
The very next day my laptop crashed. Every picture of Guy #96, every conversation…all of it got deleted from existence. All the proof of our relationship has since been reduced to the memory of a dry hump that ended in tears.

A few days ago I checked out Guy #96’s wall again. It would seem he and his boyfriend have their five year anniversary coming up. Reality knows Guy #96 and me never would have lasted that long.

I guess not making a choice was the right one for him.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 ½ years
FORMAT: Long distance
SEX SCORE WITH WEBCAM (0 = Abstinence pledges <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5
SEX SCORE WITHOUT WEBCAM (0 = The concept of Facebook likes <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #95 – The sad one’s boyfriend…

Open relationships are quite common among gays. The reason is simple: Sex is nice, but the hunt is nicer.

Guy #95 possessed an insatiable libido. Added to that, he was cute, charming and even somewhat smart.

In short, our date was pretty awesome. Even though it was just about sex it didn’t feel shallow. In many ways Guy #95 was the complete opposite of his boyfriend, the rather depressing Guy #94.

Guy #94, who had moodkilled his way through my sheets a few days prior, was depressed because he had to settle for someone that enjoyed hunting other Guys. Guy #94 was in it for the intimacy, which he failed to find in me. Guy #95 was in it for the hunt.

Here’s the thing with hunters like Guy #95: They enjoy the hunt more than their prey. They’re like fishermen who throw their catch back in the water after reeling it in. Humane, sure, but fairly pointless.

I enjoy the hunt and the intimacy. Maybe I never met the right people, but most Guys seem to enjoy either. The end result for me can be unrewarding, perhaps even lonely sometimes.

Whenever I strike good sex with someone I expect the other person to want more of it, just like I do. It therefore came as a surprise when Guy #95 stopped showing any enthusiasm after our first and only date. Our gay community was a small one, so we ran into each other regularly. He was always happy to see me and to exchange pleasantries. However, any attempts at getting him back in my bed were disappointing like an M. Night Shyamalan movie, each effort being worse than the previous one, despite an excellent first try.

When the two of us had sex we were both rather ecstatic about it, but for different reasons: Guy #95 celebrated his catch, I celebrated a connection. We had been allies instead of lovers.

Somehow Guy #95 left me with a taste of his boyfriend’s sadness, on par with that time I saw After Earth.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 year
FORMAT: One-time hook-up followed by mandatory exchange of pleasantries
SEX SCORE (0 = An M. Night Shyamalan movie marathon <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.4

Guy #94 – The sad one…

There was a time when Facebook was my main source of dates.

The country I lived in was a small, almost anonymous strip of land hidden inside South America. The gay scene was small, being gay often considered smaller. It had no Grindr, no Craigslist, for there was no anonymity to speak of.

Except for Facebook, where you can date in plain sight.

For reasons still not entirely known, the human race went through a phase where it was considered completely normal to invite total strangers to be your friend. It doesn’t get much sadder than that.

Still, I wasn’t complaining. Every few days I would get a friend request from a Guy who I had never seen or heard of. It always meant that friend was into me. All of them were closet cases. Living life inside a closet is depressing. Sometimes this depression echoes into sex, as was the case with Guy #94.

Guy #94 was a bit like the donkey Eeyore, Winnie the Pooh’s friend.

He had this radiating glow of melancholy resting on his shoulders. That surprised me at first, because closetwise he could have done worse. He even had a boyfriend (who would hit me up on Facebook a few days later and would go on to become Guy #95).

Maybe it wasn’t the closet that had sucked the life out of Guy #94. Perhaps he was simply depressed.
Either way, it wasn’t long before Pooh started having enough of this moodkill. I guess it’s unreasonable to ask depressed people to leave their mood outside when they step into my car on a first and most likely only date, but still, at least during sex act as if you’re enjoying yourself! You don’t even have to smile. Just moan a little.

Guy #94 did nothing but radiate sadness throughout our date. He complimented my looks and even the stuff I did to his body, but with the same reluctance the Catholic Church credited Galileo. I wasn’t exactly feeling the love. In fact, all I felt was Guy #94 feeling sorry for himself.

I wondered why this Guy had taken the effort to befriend me on Facebook. It became clear a few days later, when his boyfriend did the same.

Guy #94 wasn’t the slutty type. His boyfriend was. Guy #94 wasn’t a date. He was a scout, sent by his boyfriend to explore me. The only reason Guy #94 went on a date with me was to prep me for his better half. His sadness probably stemmed from the fact he didn’t want an open relationship. He settled for one, knowing closet cases in banana republics were lucky to find any relationship at all.

My guess is Guy #94 didn’t resent me. He resented his boyfriend for making him do me, for bearing the brunt of his boyfriend’s shyness. Guy #94 probably didn’t like the fact his boyfriend would also end up in my bed a few days later.

God knows what Guy #94 and #95 were thinking when they started an open relationship inside a closet.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sad sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Vinegar on fries <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3.5

Guy #93 – Back when I was chubby…

Among other things I am not an underwear model.

The main reason is that I like chips, recipes that involve lots of sour cream, pasta, pizza and more pasta. All of this is stuff that makes me happy.

Happy and chubby.

At least, it did for a while in my late twenties.
At the time I lived in Suriname, where I enjoyed the perks of being one of the only white Guys in town. Despite a history of slavery and racism generally associated with my pigmentation, people considered my color a delicacy. Enticing a Guy in Suriname was so easy I didn’t pay much attention to my body: In a game of rock, paper, scissors, color trumped shape.

Or so I thought.

Guy #93 could have been an underwear model. He clearly had a lot of gym hours above his belt. He was also clearly disappointed when my clothes came off.

Back when I was still a virgin I felt unattractive and undoable. Most of the 92 Guys I had been with since had elevated my ego to the point I considered myself hot-ish. I knew my abs were subpar, but I also assumed that color trumps abs.

While Guy #93 no doubt appreciated the way my skin lit up the darkness, the skin itself was wobbly, shaky and puffy. I held my breath for good measure, but there’s only so many places fat can go to hide. Besides, I needed that breath as well, for breathing and such.

My date with Guy #93 transpired quickly and without emotion. I could tell I was being pitysexed. Guy #93, beautiful as he was, resented me on some level. And then he started resenting himself.
I’ve had a lot of pity sex in my life. To my knowledge, this was the only time I was the one being pitied.

Although we had some online chats after our date, Guy #93 never showed any interest in meeting up with me again. Occasionally I would see him at our local gay bar, where he would pretend not to know me.

The day after our date I looked at myself in the mirror. I had become a first world problem: It’s impossible to gorge on vanity and chocolate at the same time. Also, doing push-ups sucks the life out of you, especially when you smoke and eat chocolate and like pasta.

For the sake of the story I could say it was in that moment I decided to shape up. In reality, it took me a few months to buy some running shoes, another month or so before I started to run and do some exercise, followed a few weeks later by little changes in my diet.
The reason change came slow was because I still looked pretty lean with my clothes on, chocolate had never tasted better and I guess one could argue my lack of confidence was a factor.

Also, surely I wasn’t the only one who held my breath to look prettier during sex. And push-ups suck the life out of you.

Alright, it was 90% lack of confidence and 10% laziness, which in itself was probably rooted in low self esteem as well. These days people take many pictures of mirrors, but looking into one often proves a bigger challenge.

It has never been my intention to become an underwear model, nor will I ever desire abs as I do food. Guy #93 did inspire me to strike a healthier or at least better looking balance.

These days I actually look kinda hot-ish when I hold my breath.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 hour
FORMAT: Pity sex
SEX SCORE (0 = German accents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #92 – Ode to my genitals…

This post is entitled Ode to my genitals…, but a more honest title would have been World’s Best Blowjob.

Going down on a Guy’s genitals is like playing the piano: Not everybody is equally talented. Like making music, the act of oral sex is a product of instinct as much as technique. Combining mouth, lips, tongue, head, hands and even teeth to produce an animalistic yet coherent pleasure inducing ode to one’s penis can result in anything ranging from a timeless masterpiece to a painful Idols audition.

Blowwise Guy #92 was like Beethoven on acid.
That’s a compliment.

Guy #92 started off a bit shy, careful to expose himself and his body. Instead he made sure the sex focused on me and my body. He even kept on his clothes on our first date (after taking mine off).
I needed a moment to adjust to that. Being raised in a world where politeness is considered a virtue I always treated sex as a game of give and take, not take and take. With Guy #92 however, my center was the only center of attention.

Receiving pleasure is often more difficult than giving it. I felt guilty for my own passiveness, even though Guy #92 clearly didn’t expect more from me than my enjoyment.

Fortunately, the guilt stopped when Guy #92 started playing my piano.

Anyone capable of finding words to describe Beethoven’s Ode to Freedom might be able to do justice to Guy #92’s Ode to my Genitals. I for one lack the vocabulary to verbalize that kind of music.

As time went by, Guy #92 slowly allowed himself to become more naked in my presence, even allowing me to give something back after a while. Still, he was always the type that likes to serve. All I had to do was grant him the pleasure that was me. It felt odd thinking of myself as a ‘piece of pleasure’, but once I submitted to the format of our combined sexualities I was able to enjoy Guy #92 as I would music, passionate, liberating and extremely good looking music.

A lot of people have trouble accepting generosity. They confuse acceptance with greed. In the case of Guy #92 I learned that allowing someone’s generosity can be the most generous thing one can do.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 years and counting
FORMAT: Friendship with occasional benefits
SEX SCORE (0 = Beethoven’s temper <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.6

Guy #91 – Abs and brains.

People reading this blog probably would’t think of me as the relationship type. The format of my relationships is overtly sexual most of the time.

While I’m open to the possibility of a commitment, the thing I’m actively looking for is a connection in any way, shape or form or position.

I met Guy #168 last weekend, finally rendering the name of this blog valid. He was one of the best connections I ever had, like the best parts of this blog combined into one person. In short, he had abs and brains.

Like Guy #91.

Guy #91 was a pleasant surprise. He had made quite the effort to meet up with me. I believe I ignored him the first couple of times he hit me up online. His profile picture just didn’t quite do it for me. But there are of course days when boredom inspires an open mind. It was on one such day I gave this Guy a shot at becoming my Guy #91.

When he stepped into my car I was greeted by one of the cutest and most seductive smiles I had ever seen. Profile pictures always set you up for disappointment, except this time. Guy #91 was simply one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen in any car.

As we drove to my place I could tell he liked the music I was playing. No Guy ever gets my taste in music.

Guy #91 was smart, funny and easy to talk to. We had no trouble getting on each other’s wavelengths and enjoying the view from there.

So where’s the conflict in this story?

Guy #91 quickly fell into my is this too good to be true?-category. That was the one thought I couldn’t get out of my head. Hitting abs and brains is like winning the lottery for me. Hitting abs and brains and my taste in music is like being struck by lightning twice in one day.

We spent a few hours together, during which we talked, laughed, got high and had sex. And while it was one of my best days as a human being ever, I couldn’t help but question my luck. The sheer beauty of what was lying in my bed was all but completely apparent, but I couldn’t submit to it.

Somehow I still had trouble accepting pleasure. Instead of wondering if this Guy was worthy of me, which is what I usually did during sex, I wondered if I was worthy of him.

When I have sex with people I consider less attractive I can pretend I don’t have issues with worthiness. Abs and brains render me more naked somehow.

Although Guy #91 stayed in touch over Facebook for a few years, we never saw each other again. The first time I had rejected him out of a sense of superiority. Now I was rejecting him out of shyness.

It’s not easy being a narcissist.

Guy #91 made repeated efforts to get back into my bed, but I kept him and his drop dead gorgeous smile at a distance, where my self esteem didn’t have to look at it.

Guy #91 and I eventually lost touch (though I’ve taken up the habit of liking his Instagram photos lately). We now live an ocean apart and I don’t have a car anymore, so chances of us meeting up anytime soon are slim.

Still, being with Guy #168 last weekend made me realize something:

Sometime after Guy #91 I started accepting pleasure.

Life is more fun when you’re not afraid of beauty.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years
FORMAT: One time sexual date followed by Facebook friendship, followed by mutual Instagram validation
SEX SCORE (0 = US elections <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5