LGBT – Page 7

Guy #53 – Nipples.

Wikipedia says the following about nipples:

Because the “female template” is the default for humans, the question is not why evolution has not selected against male nipples, but why it would be advantageous to select against male nipples to begin with.

Personally I never had a thing for nipples, regardless of what gender they belong to. I never enjoyed a Guy biting mine, no matter how tenderly he tried it.

Except this one time with Guy #53.
Well, two times actually.

Guy #53 was the type that spent a respectable amount of hours in the gym. He took good care of his body. I could tell he was good at taking care of his body, because he took good care of mine too.

What should I make for dinner?
Did Hitler really have only one testicle?
Is it cauli flower or cauliflower?

Those are the kind of thoughts that fill my mind during mediocre sex. The better the sex, the less I think about Hitler’s testicle.

The moment someone starts giving my nipples some teeth action, gravity kicks in and I crash land back on Earth, in the here and now. Nipple action makes me want to abandon sex. No matter how gentle, nipple pain serves no evolutionary purpose. Wikipedia says so.

Yet for some reason Guy #53 knew exactly what made me feel good. We didn’t have a very strong connection, but he was simply incredibly good at lovemaking. His actions were very considerate but equally focused on his target: Me.

So when he started doing his routine on my nipples, gravity did not show up for work.

Guy #53 visited me in my hotel room on two occasions. The second one was the best, because I got to spend a few days looking forward to it.

In terms of sex dates, Guy #53 was probably the best I ever had. The sex defied gravity and there was no emotional bond to worry about.

I hope for his sake he also became skilled in letting gravity do its work. Part of me wanted to get to know Guy #53 better. It just wasn’t on my mind while I was caught up in his teeth action. That’s how good he was. At everything. Twice.

Dates like the ones with Guy #53 make you feel less silly for hooking with random Guys. My sex dates generally featured a lot of social awkwardness. This time the word social was wholly and exclusively expressed in the sex. It was everything a sex date should be and, more importantly, it wasn’t what it shouldn’t be.
I remember nothing of our conversations. The only thing I do remember is how satisfied I felt afterward.

Guy #53 had made me thankful for my nipples.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Hitler’s testicle <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.8

Guy #52 – LOST…

Wisconsin gets dark at night.

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

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

Big and dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To my relief it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I never saw Guy #52 again.

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #51 – Once, you go black.

A lot of Guys take offense to people that write about certain preferences on their dating profiles:

Not into Asians
Looking for black cock
Latinos move to the front of the line

I never got why any of this is offensive.

Personally, I don’t have much sexual experience with black Guys. Truth be told I’ve never felt much sexual chemistry between me and ebony. Whether the preference on my end is conditioned or innate I don’t know, although being as white privilege as they come it’s not unlikely my lack of sexual interest in black Guys is at least partly because of my inherent racism.

Which is exactly the reason why I would never share my racial preferences on my dating profile.

I actually had a very nice date with a black Guy once.
Guy #51 was a lawyer. I asked him questions about how to get away with murder. It wasn’t really the kind of law he specialized in, but he went along in pondering various crime scenarios with me.

The reason I ended up at Guy #51’s house was simple. I had set myself on a mission.

It was my mission to have sex with a black Guy at least once, which I suppose is the gay scene equivalent of me bragging about having this one black friend.

It took me all but an hour to hook up with the first cute black Guy I found online.

The sex was interesting.

My personal experiences taught me Asians tend to have smaller genitalia. Guy #51 confirmed another stereotype for me. There’s size and then there’s size. There’s penis and then there’s Cape Canaveral.

Impressed as I was, I didn’t really know how to handle it. Having done so many Asians I felt like a hairdresser whose comb had just been replaced by a brush cutter. I was impressed, but equally inept.

I very much enjoyed being with Guy #51, but mostly because he was the kind of lawyer that would help a stranger get away with murder. Sexually though, he wasn’t really the Guy from his pictures. He was a little fat and a tad too hairy, which I felt bad about, because I really wanted to be attracted to Guy #51. It would be key to proving I wasn’t in any way racist.

Things were very cuddly for a sex date. It’s the best I could do. It was nice being intimate with Guy #51, but it never quite turned me on, I suppose because I was consistently reminding myself I was being intimate with a black Guy, showing the world how much of a racist I wasn’t.

Not the kind of thought process to expedite any arousal.

So many of our preferences are variables we have so little control over: cuteness, eye color, hair color, body type, dick size. I always live under the assumption I know my preferences, yet I often find myself surprised by the people I am attracted to.

After going black with Guy #51, I didn’t have sex with another black Guy until Guy #167 came along. I didn’t consciously avoid having sex with black people. It just never happened again, nor did I pursue it as avidly as that one time with Guy #51.

I don’t understand why it would be racist to have a sexual taste in race, but I also don’t get what exactly turns me on and off, and how much of my inner workings are of a benign origin.

I do understand never to rule anyone out on a dating profile.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = The Hindenburg disaster <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #50 – Jaws.

When you meet someone online you don’t always get to see their teeth right away.

For instance, braces can be hidden by closing your mouth on all your selfies.

Guy #50 was one of the many Guys I had sex with out of empathy. Once again it was a disaster.

I don’t have anything against people with braces, but Guy #50 reminded me of Jaws from the James Bond movies.

Added to that, he was irritating.

He constantly laughed at his own jokes, which often came out wrong due to his dental deficiency.

He constantly interrupted me, which I thought was unfair. I was way better at talking than he was.

Then there was the fact he talked very loud. Everybody in our vicinity could hear him and his teeth. People looked up and saw Guy #50 laughing as if he was controlled by a ventriloquist. They could also see me, cringing my way through the ordeal. Standing in line with him at Taco Bell was what purgatory must be like.

As a result of the social awkwardness I wanted me and my date to end up somewhere isolated as quickly as possible. I knew people were staring at me over the edge of their tacos.

But Guy #50 insisted on eating our food at Taco Bell. That’s the thing with purgatory. It always lasts longer than you expect.

It was obvious Guy #50 was very lonely, having just moved to the city from Mexico. Maybe he actually felt at home in Taco Bell. It was the most Mexican thing our wintry Wisconsin had to offer.

As the evening progressed I came to realize Guy #50 was a normal person overcompensating for looking like Jaws.

I know a Guy can’t help it if he has to wear braces. It’s just difficult not to hold it against someone when everything about him makes you want to leave Wisconsin.

Despite his obnoxious behavior I felt sorry for him. He smiled a lot. I doubt he went on dates often.

By the time Jaws said he wanted to feel me inside of him, I had already reached that unrecoverable stage of self loathing. Titanic’s bow had already gone under so to speak.

God knows why I take the pity route so often. If you have sex with someone out of pity, you inevitably end up feeling sorry for yourself. Actually, it’s not just sex. The pity had taken control over me the moment I agreed to go to Taco Bell on a first date.

And it never ends up well for the Guys I pity either: Because of the sex Guy #50 was under the impression I liked him. However I always follow up pity sex by turning into a ghost. I stop sending emails, text messages or apps. I make myself an unperson to those I pitysex, while they in turn always think of me as relationship material.

I suck at rejecting people.

So instead of rejecting Guy #50 before the sex, I rejected him after, hurting him more than I would had I simply told him he looked like Jaws before he suggested tacos for dinner.

Guess I’m not as good at talking as I thought I was.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 hours + plus an eternity at Taco Bell
FORMAT: Dinner at Taco Bell followed by pity sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Jaws and glory holes <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #49 – Knocking on heaven’s door…

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

I did get a basic understanding of how computers work.

I also got gonorrhea.

If you give a predatory gay guy a hotel room, a laptop, a car and money, he will thrive like Donald Trump at a KKK rally. Getting dates in Wisconsin is easy when you have a car, money and a hotel room at your disposal.

www.gayromeo.com, www.adam4adam.com, www.manhunt.net, www.gaydar.com, www.craigslist.com, www.dudesnude.com and Facebook were but a few of the online places where one could get gonorrhea in 2009. Like I said, I had gotten a basic understanding of how computers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Six weeks of celibacy…

If you leave home for a long time, home will not change much during your absence.

You will.

When I entered the living room of my mother’s house for the first time in two and a half years, it was filled with family, friends and former colleagues. My mother had thrown me a surprise party to welcome me.

Before I left my home country of the Netherlands I was a shy, sexually insecure and inexperienced closet case. It was nice seeing familiar faces again, but I felt off, wondering if these people still had any connection to the real me. I had found something resembling love two nights prior. I had done my last porn shoot the night before that one. Yet I felt surrounded by company that expected nothing but obligatory chitchat from me.

So I chitchatted my way through my surprise party. I truly appreciated everybody for showing up and for taking an interest in me being home, but they couldn’t mask the truth I felt:

Part of the insecurity I felt all my life expressed itself by doing what I thought was expected of me. Home used to be a place where I did nothing but meet people’s expectations. For a long time I figured I was expected to start a family, get a decent job, get my opinions from the morning paper and generally be the most unimaginative sad stereotype I could be.

Anal sex changed all that.

And now the time had come to tell my mother.

In the weeks following my return I had been searching for a job. Most of the jobs I applied for would take me abroad again. My mother wanted to know if there was anything pushing me away from the Netherlands, if I wanted to live the remainder of my life out of a suitcase, if I ever thought about settling down with a woman.
I told my mother it would not be a woman.

Being an only child, I could tell my mother was a bit disappointed to learn she’d never be a grandmother. Apart from that she was never stupid or blind. She had suspected my gayness for a long time. She wanted to know if there was anything pushing me away from the Netherlands, if I wanted to live the remainder of my life out of a suitcase, if I ever thought about settling down with a man. And with that my homosexuality had found itself a home in the realm of our issues.

I spent about six weeks in my home country. In that time I struck up some online conversations with Guys here and there, but I didn’t go on any dates.
I felt too alien to get naked with anyone.

It did feel good being back though. It made me realize that, had I never left, I might very well have ended up as some dopey suburban husband who secretly loathed his wife for not having a penis. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, or anyone’s wife.

Had I known then what I know now I would have dropped everything and pursued a writing career.

However, my confidence had grown in the field of sexuality and sexuality alone. Careerwise, I still figured doing something in an office was the fuel my talents needed. It would take a lot more Guys for me to figure out where my real talents lie.

My time in the Netherlands was cut short on account of a job I found, a job that required me to spend a few months in the United States, alone, in a hotel room.

My celibacy ended the moment I landed in Wisconsin.

Guy #48 – Summertime sadness…

Dear Guy #48,

Are you still alive?

I can’t find you on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or even Myspace. If you died I would never know.

Our lives only intersected once. It was on September 18^th, 2009, my last night in Toronto.

Our date was heavily anticipated. In the weeks leading up to it we had exchanged messages of ever increasing length and depth. Often Guys on Craigslist speak in abbreviations (e.g. m4m, vers/top, no ff, 33, 6in cut, 6’1’, 160lbs, in2 bdsm, no ws), but the two of us had swapped entire autobiographies. We had even talked over the phone for hours.

Our actual date was one of the best I ever had.

We met up in Downtown Toronto and simply made the city our home for the night. We sat at the harbor front for a long time, staring out over Lake Ontario. We talked. I can’t remember what we talked about exactly. All I do remember is that we talked a lot. It was immensely liberating to have found someone I didn’t have to explain my thoughts to.
At one point we found out we both liked the Pet Shop Boys. It was just one of the many places where we ‘found’ each other.

I knew you were someone I could be with. In fact, I felt very much at home in your presence. It wasn’t the kind of bond I ever expected to find with a Guy.

Two and a half years before our date, I had left my home. Since then I had grown from being a shy bicurious recluse to a sexually confident predator in a city full of prey. Now I had finally found a sense of home the night before I had to fly back to it.

Our date ended on the backseat of a cab. I don’t know about you, but to me it was the best cab ride ever. We kept our clothes on, but apart from that the cab driver had access to free porn whenever he looked in his rearview mirror. We didn’t care.

The plus side of riding a cab at night is that cab drivers are probably used to people making out on their backseats. The downside is that cabs drive fast when there’s no traffic to make the moment linger.

Our ten minute taxi adventure would be the only occasion we ever consumed our feelings for each other. We consumed them like rabbits, but even animals can only go so far inside a taxi cab before they get arrested. In that sense our relationship got stuck in foreplay. Kiss me hard before you go…

Things didn’t end after we said goodbye. The lengthy emails and phone calls continued for a while.

Of course, distance is often a deciding factor in the battle between longing and ease. I would go on to meet other Guys, closer to home.

…whatever home was the first few months after our date. You made me feel at home in the backseat of a taxi.

Had I stayed in Toronto we probably would have gotten to know each other much better and more intimately. Instead our relationship slowly dissolved like smoke after an explosion.

In what would become your last email to me you told me you were suffering from severe depression. It was almost a year after our date. Depression had always been one of your main adversaries.

I realize it sounds weird, but I sincerely hope you didn’t kill yourself. Whenever I think of you, that’s my first thought: Hopefully Guy #48 is still alive.

One of the things I liked about you was that you didn’t let yourself get caught up in social media as we’ve come to know it.

It also means I have no way of knowing how bad your depression really was. We had a very strong human connection, but not a digital one.

I hope you managed to overcome the sadness.

Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby, you’re the best

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 hours (not counting three weeks of anticipatory emails and phone calls)
FORMAT: Date
SEX SCORE (0 = The obligatory economy class baby that cries throughout long flights <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Connection

Guy #47 – Finding friends in the wrong places…

I’m not sure what’s worse: Doing porn with someone you can’t stand or doing porn with someone you want to spend the night with.

Guy #47 had great looks, a good sense of humor and we seemed to really get each other.

The sex was very good, except for the fact there was a bearded guy with a camera minding our every business all the time.

It’s not that I resented the bearded camera guy. If it wasn’t for him Guy #47 and I never would have met. It’s just that I wanted Guy #47 and me to me more than just colleagues.

We probably could have been, were it not for the fact that I was moving to another country mere days after our shoot.

I did have a lot of fun riding the subway with Guy #47 on our way back home. It’s always a thrill to meet someone who seems to really get you. It felt like I made a friend. He too regretted the fact I was leaving the country so soon.

Guy #47 and I kept in touch through Facebook for a while. I think I would have enjoyed Guy #47’s friendship as much as the benefits that would have been a part of it. It would have been nice to hook up with Guy #47 in the absence of a cameraman.

Of all my porn shoots this had been the only time I was sorry when it was over.

The summer of 2009 was one of sexual exploration. Guy #47 was my penultimate date of that period, signaling the end of it. I was days away from moving back to my home country and trying to figure out what to do with my life.

The summer had been brief as it had been enjoyable, much like my time with Guy #47.

I remembered the time I still thought having sex with guys was just a bisexual experiment. I literally believed I could never have feelings for a Guy at one point.

Now that I was leaving a city in which I had met so many of them, I realized I would miss some.

It was awful doing porn with a passive aggressive straight guy. It was just as awful saying goodbye to a colleague I very much wanted to cuddle up with.

It had been a summer of exploration, but I never realized what I was looking for, what fueled my journey in the first place. I figured it was suppressed horniness from my closet years. While that was part of it, the actual reason I had been on a gay hunting spree was a much more valid one.

I was looking for a human connection.

It was both liberating and frustrating to find one on a porn set.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Collegial
SEX SCORE (0 = When a pharmaceutical commercial lists the side effects of their product <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.7

Guy #46 – The massage…

A good massage is quite literally like a trip to heaven, a place of infinite bliss and carelessness.
A good massage makes you forget about your worries and your imperfections.
I could probably enjoy a plane crash if someone gave me a good backrub all the way down.

If I ever strike up a serious relationship with a Guy, I would like for him to be good at giving massages. It would make loving him considerably easier.

For a long time I denied myself the pleasure of getting massages. I was too self conscious.

Here’s why:

As you can see I drew a little circle on my back. It marks the spot where my T-shirt bulges slightly.

For the first 27 years of my life I had this strange little growth on my back. It was about the size of a pea. Although small compared to the rest of my body I resented it. It made me feel unattractive whenever a Guy was within visual range of my useless mutation.

Many times I tried cutting it off with a peeler. Operating on my own back in front of a mirror with a kitchen knife is not exactly Nobel Prize material. For starters I never bothered to think of sedation. I got my back to bleed this one time, but my growth remained. It had literally made its home on the one place my arms couldn’t reach.

So massages were never really my thing, knowing it would reveal my pea for the world to see.

Guy #46 insisted however.

Guy #46 understood that sex is infinitely more pleasurable when there’s personality involved. So although the format of our date was well established in advance, we did have a very good time getting to know each other, making ourselves comfortable and learning to embrace each other’s energy.

I was already completely at ease by the time Guy #46 pulled off my shirt and started to massage me. Before I could turn around to hide my cubic centimeter of bodily shame he said: ‘Oh look, you have a little thing there. How cute!’

It took me a few moments to absorb that. In my opinion Guy #46 was saying something like Oh, you listen to ‘N Sync. You have such good taste in music!
I explained how I had come to dislike my little growth, but Guy #46 maintained it didn’t bother him at all.

As luck would have it I was already in a fairly deep stage of relaxation when Guy #46 complimented me on my imperfection. Added to that he was good at giving massages.

For the first time in my life I surrendered my body completely, pea and all.

I’m sure the sex we had afterward was phenomenal. I don’t remember much of it. Me and my consciousness had drifted to another dimension. I don’t even remember what we did exactly. All I do remember is the feeling of letting go.

I think it was the feeling I had been chasing since Guy #1.

Guy #46 and I ended up having two dates. I got rubbed to heaven and back both times. I would have gone back for more, were it not for the fact I was weeks away from moving back to my home country.

As for my inoperable little stump, I had my doctor remove it about half a year later. He laughed when I told him I had tried to operate on myself.

I’m glad the doctor found a cure for my mutation, but strangely enough I never enjoyed a massage as much as I did those nights with Guy #46. Maybe he was that good.

Or maybe I’ve gotten used to letting go since then.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Operating on yourself with a peeler <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

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…

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 #39 – The lie that was his selfie…

Selfies can be deceptive.

I’ve come across internet profiles from men that go by one and the same picture for years at an end. It’s because they only have that one picture in which they look good. I don’t trust profiles with only one picture.

Guy #39 taught me.

Guy #39 looked good in his selfie. I thought it would be greedy of me to ask for more pictures of him looking horny, but I now know my greed had motivated me to go on this date in the first place. I should have listened to my greed as one does on sex dates.

On the other hand I ended up liking the fact Guy #39 had deceived me into getting to know him.

We clicked. I found myself very comfortable with him. We laughed a lot.

We both knew his selfie was ten years old and heavily photoshopped. But it was okay. Lying is often part of a sex date.
In the end Guy #39 even told me he wished he was hot like he used to be. I guess that was his way of saying sorry for the lie that was his selfie.

Selfies are good for making us feel like we look good. I think I made Guy #39 feel he looked like his selfie again.

I was approaching 30 when I first started photoshopping myself. I was amazed by what the contrast button could do to my abs.

Though I’m hardly ever on dating sites these days I do update them every so often with my latest pictures of me looking bored into a mirror, holding up a phone, wearing a towel. It’s my way of letting people know I’m not a person with only one good picture.

Over the years my selfies have become increasingly beautiful. And increasingly deceptive. And as I grow older, I will stop uploading selfies every so often. If I stay single I might end up being a guy with only one selfie.

I wonder what my life would have been like had I come out sooner. I enjoyed the gay scene very much, but at times I wish hadn’t spent the first 24 years of my life being so afraid of it.

Then I might have met Guy #39 around the time his selfie was taken.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = That one mosquito circling around your head when you’re trying to sleep <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.3

Guy #37 and #38 – And there was much embracing…

For reasons I won’t bother you with I attended church last Sunday.

As you might expect from a guy who writes a blog about all the 168 guys he’s ever had sex with, I don’t go to church often.

At first I felt very odd sitting among a hundred people who spend Sunday mornings in church. I’m more accustomed to spending Sunday mornings with the Guy I meet on Saturday evenings.

The service wasn’t all that bad, actually.

The pastor or whatever her title was spoke a lot about love. Love and guilt.

She encouraged her audience to embrace all their fellow people with love. She told us never to judge others for who they are or what they do. And then she read those verses about turning the other cheek.
She also mentioned that Jesus died for our sins, making me wonder if I had any.

I wondered if the story of Guy #37 and #38 would qualify as a sin to the lady preaching about what Jesus had done to make up for it.

I first met Guy #37 at his apartment. When he opened the door he immediately grabbed my hand and pulled it inside his pants which were already unzipped.

Guy #37 embraced me for sure, but not with love.

The second time I met Guy #37 was when he had also invited Guy #38. There was a lot of embracing that night, but very little love.

I never had one single line of dialogue with Guy #37. (Although I did have an obligatory conversation with Guy #38 when he gave me a ride back to my subway station. The conversation lasted long enough to discover we had absolutely nothing in common.)

When God told me to embrace my fellow men with love, this is not what He had in mind, was it? Does God really want me to treat sex as casually as a bag of chips?

I don’t think so. Sex is like a drug. We can use it recreationally, but we should never deny it the respect it earns.

I believe that’s what I did those two times I visited Guy #37’s apartment. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t even lust. It was consumption. Emotionless greedy carnal consumption.

As I was pondering my sins someone came by with a little basket in which people were throwing money. I ended up throwing money in a basket three times last Sunday.

Did I pay the bill for those nights I consumed Guy #37 and Guy #38?

After the service the pastor lady was standing outside greeting people. It felt like exiting a plane and having to politely greet the cabin crew. This particular crew was holding a basket for my coins. I wonder when airlines are going to pick up on that.

When the pastor lady greeted me she did so with the most genuine of smiles, even before I had thrown any money in her basket.

She didn’t strike me as a person that would ever judge me for the things I’ve done. She would probably think of Guy #37 and #38 as a waste, not a sin.

And she’d be right. Sometimes you just have to say ‘No’ to drugs. It’s the same with sex. The moment someone greets you for the first time by pulling your hand to their hardware and starting to kiss you without even a proper ‘Hello’ and you feel the sex will be incredibly boring because you’re not allowed to know the person you’re doing it with, that’s the moment when you should say ‘No’ to drugs.

(Well, those and other moments.)

I think God and the pastor lady got through to me last Sunday. I deposited a well earned coin in their basket.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 15 minutes + 20 minutes with Guy #38
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE GUY #37 (0 = When Bambi’s mother got shot <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5
SEX SCORE GUY #37 and #38 (0 = Bowling shoes <–> 10 = The Best sex ever): 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.

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 #34 – Hunter or prey…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #32 and #33 – Stroke that ego…

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not judging by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #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.

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 #28 – Parking lot purgatory…

Nothing is quite as depressing as sex in a car on a parking lot in broad daylight.

First of all, most cars are not designed to have sex in. They’re an ergonomic disaster when it comes to intertwining your body with that of someone else. Second, I was constantly on the lookout for people who might see me, along with Guy #28’s head appearing in and out of view over my dashboard.

My date with Guy #28 was a complete disaster.

They say size doesn’t matter. Well, this guy’s penis was pretty much the complete absence of matter. It was tiny. When he unzipped his pants I was greeted by something best described as a socially phobic shrimp.

I found myself on a date with an Asian stereotype:

Guy #28 was completely submissive. That much became clear the moment I stepped into his car on what would be our first and only encounter.
“Hi, how are you doing? You look super! I’m so glad you could make it,” he said as if I was a long lost friend.
My first thought of him was that he didn’t look at all like the guy from the picture, although from a certain angle I could see how he had gone about Photoshopping himself.
He was good with computers.

When we drove off I assumed we were going to his place. After a while he told me he still lives with his parents. He wasn’t driving to his place. He was just driving. He asked if I knew of a place to go. I didn’t.

Our love nest would become a parking lot. In broad daylight.

I wasn’t proud of myself for having sex on a parking lot in broad daylight. It’s not that we got caught or that I never did it again, but the size of Guy #28’s penis made me realize how my ruthless pursuit of sex had sunk my standards. It was ridiculous of me to agree to sex on a parking lot with someone I wasn’t comfortable sharing a space with.

To make things worse Guy #28 was unbelievably passionate. He acted as if we were lovers, while in reality we were just two guys with nothing in common except their time on Craigslist. I couldn’t stand Guy #28’s drama.

I came quickly. I had trouble thinking happy thoughts when I did, but I figured it would be the quickest way to end this ordeal.

At first I was relieved the sex was over. Then Guy #28 asked if I wanted to go have coffee with him. It should be noted it’s not customary to go for coffee after anonymous hook-ups on a parking lot.
I really wanted my date to drop me off at my subway station, but he was already parking his car in front of Starbucks when he dropped the question.

Being with Guy #28 must be what purgatory is like.

All I wanted was to be released from my date, who kept on saying how super happy he was to have met me and how he really wanted to be my friend.
The parking lot sex had evaporated his initial shyness. Now he was constantly telling me how super I was.

Then came the moment Guy #28 ran into two of his girlfriends. I’m not entirely sure their sudden appearance was a coincidence: Guy #28 stopped sending messages on his phone the moment his hags entered the scene. Guy #28 couldn’t believe his luck he was surrounded by so much people to not feel lonely with.

I was loathing myself however. I had to make small talk with the friends of someone who had just given me a blowjob in his car.

I felt like hitting Guy #28 when he ordered himself a second latte. I wanted to go back home, away from my date’s desperate attempts at having company.

I socially obligated my way through Guy #28’s friends for a good half hour. His clinginess became increasingly annoying. At times I got the impression he was pretending to be my boyfriend.

When we finally ended up back in his car we went to another parking lot, this one belonging to my subway haven. I nodded Guy #28 goodbye the moment we got there. He asked if I was going to call him. I told him I would think about that. He said it was making him so sad I had to go. I told him he would get over it.

As I grabbed the door handle Guy #28 put his arms around me and started to cry.
“Please don’t go. I like you so much,” he cried. I told him he had just given me a blowjob on a parking lot and that it was to be the extent of our relationship.

He cried over my impending absence the way North Koreans cry over the death of a Supreme Leader. It was unbearably awkward. In the end I had to pull myself out of Guy #28’s arms. I left him crying in his car.

I’m not saying sex dates are a bad thing, but I do find it interesting you often encounter a lot of loneliness on a sex date.

For what it’s worth Guy #28 has my sympathy. But when your penis is that small and you are incredibly needy, dependent and insecure, it might not be wise to find love in random strangers on a parking lot. In a way I may have taught him that by slamming the door in his crying face.

For his sake I’d like the world to be a place where penis size is irrelevant, but that’s not the case. Stats are an important part of our culture. As is Photoshop. Or parking lots for that matter.

Or post-orgasmic self loathing.

But maybe that’s just me.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: 10 minute drive, 5 minute blowjob, 90 minute latte, 15 minute farewell
SEX SCORE (0 = Room 101 <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!

SHARE IF YOU DARE!